IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


k^ 


%^ 


4^ 


4^ 


1.0 


12.5 


1.1 


■JO     ^^ 

s;  ij£  12.0 


u& 


—  IIIM IJ4 

^ 

6" 

^ 

Photographic 

Sciences 

Carporation 


23  WBT  IrJMN  STIHT 

WHSTIR,N.Y.  14SM 

(71*)  173-4503 


4^ 


> 


r 


^ 


>^ 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CiHM/iCIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Inatituta  for  Hiatorical  Microraproductions  /  Inatitut  Canadian  da  microraproductiona  hiatoriquaa 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notaa/Notas  tachniquaa  at  bibiiographiquaa 


Tha  Instituta  haa  attamptad  to  obtain  tha  baat 
original  copy  availabia  for  filming.  Faaturaa  of  thia 
copy  which  may  ba  bibliographicaiiy  uniqua, 
which  may  altar  any  of  tha  imagaa  in  tha 
raproduction,  or  which  may  aignificantly  changa 
tha  uaual  mathod  of  filming,  ara  chackad  balow. 


D 


D 


D 


D 


Cclourad  covara/ 
Couvartura  da  coulaur 


I      I    Covara  damagad/ 


Couvartura  andommagte 

Covara  raatorad  and/or  laminatad/ 
Couvartura  raataurte  at/ou  palliculte 


□   Covar  title  miaaing/ 
La 


titre  de  couverture  manque 

loured  mapa/ 
Cartea  gtegraphiquaa  an  couleur 


I     I   Coloured  mapa/ 


/|    Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  bleck)/ 
^  '    Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


Coloured  platee  and/or  iiiuatrationa/ 
Planchea  et/ou  iiiuatrationa  an  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
ReliA  avac  d'autrea  documenta 

Tight  binding  may  cauaa  ahadowa  or  diatort!on 
along  interior  margin/ 

Lareliure  aerrte  peut  cauaar  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
diatortion  la  long  de  la  marge  intirieure 

Blank  leavea  added  during  reatoration  may 
appear  within  tha  text.  Whenever  poaaible,  theae 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  ae  peut  que  certainea  pagea  blanchaa  ajoutAea 
lora  d'une  reatauration  apparaiaaent  dana  la  taxte, 
mala,  loraqua  cela  Atait  poaaible,  cea  pagea  n'ont 
pea  titi  f  iim^aa. 


Th< 
toi 


L'Inatitut  a  microfilm*  la  mailleur  exemplaira 
qu'il  lui  a  4t4  poaaible  de  ae  procurer.  Lea  dAtaila 
da  cat  exemplaira  qui  aont  paut-Atre  uniquaa  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dana  la  m^thode  normala  de  filmage 
aont  indiquAa  ci-deaaoua. 


I — I  Coloured  pagea/ 


D 
0 


Pagea  da  coulaur 

Pagea  damaged/ 
Pagea  endommagiaa 

Pagea  raatorad  and/oi 

Pagea  reataurtea  at/ou  pellicuMea 

Pagea  diacoloured,  atalned  or  foxei 
Pagae  dteolorAaa,  tachatAea  ou  piquAaa 

Pagea  detached/ 
Pagea  ditachAea 

Showthroughy 
Tranaparance 

Quality  of  prir 

Qualit*  In^iBaNi  da  rimpraaaion 

Includee  aupplamentary  matarii 
Comprend  du  material  auppMmantaira 


FTI  Pagea  damaged/ 

I — I  Pagea  raatorad  and/or  laminated/ 

E  Pagea  diacoloured,  atalned  or  foxed/ 
Pagae 

I     I  Pagea  detached/ 

Fyl  Showthrough/ 

FTl  Quality  of  print  variea/ 

I     I  Includee  aupplamentary  material/ 


Th( 
poi 
of 
filn 


Ori 
bei 
the 
aio 
otti 
fira 
aio 
or 


Th< 
ahi 
Tm 
wh 

Ma 
dif^ 
ant 
befl 
rigl 
req 
me' 


FT]    Additional  commenta:/ 


Commentairae  aupplimantairea: 


Irragular  pagination: 
xxvi-xxviii,  x-xxx  p. 


Only  edition  available/ 
Saula  MItion  diaponibia 

Pagea  wholly  or  partially  obaeured  by  errata 
aiipa,  tiaauea.  etc.,  have  been  ref limed  to 
enaura  the  beat  poaaible  image/ 
Lee  pagea  totalament  ou  partiellement 
obacurciaa  par  un  fauillat  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  4ti  fllmAee  A  nouveau  da  fa9on  A 
obtanir  la  meilleura  image  poaailMa. 


((]•  vili,  vil-viii,  ix-x,  xv-xxii,  x-xxiv,  x-xxvi, 


Thia  item  ia  filmed  et  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  eat  filmA  au  taux  da  rAduction  indiquA  ci-deaaoua. 


10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

30X 

sj 

H 

12X 


16X 


20X 


a4X 


32X 


■ir« 
dAtails 
UM  du 
t  modifier 
g«r  une 
I  f  iimag* 


r« 


y  mrata 
Id  to 

nt 

no  polure. 

i9on  A 


n 


Th«  copy  filmod  horo  has  baan  raproducad  thanica 
to  tha  o*naroaity  of: 

MorisMt  Library 
Univtrsity  of  Ottawa 

Tha  imagaa  appaaring  hara  ara  tita  baat  quality 
poaaibia  conaidaring  tha  condition  and  lagibiiity 
of  tlia  originai  copy  and  in  kaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  apacifieationa. 


Original  copiaa  in  printad  papar  covara  ara  fllmad 
beginning  with  tha  front  covar  and  anding  on 
tha  iaat  paga  with  a  printad  or  iliustratad  impraa- 
sion,  or  tha  bacic  covar  whan  appropriata.  All 
othar  originai  copiaa  ara  fllmad  beginning  on  tha 
first  paga  with  a  printad  or  iliuatratad  impras- 
aion,  and  anding  on  tha  Iaat  paga  with  a  printad 
or  iliuatratad  impraaaion. 


Tha  iaat  raeordad  frama  on  aaeh  microfieha 
shall  contain  tha  aymboi  — ^^  (moaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  tha  symbol  ▼  (moaning  "END"), 
whichavar  appliaa. 

IMaps.  platas.  charts,  etc..  may  ba  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratioa.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  expoaure  ara  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  aa  many  framea  aa 
required.  The  following  diegrama  illuatrate  the 
method: 


1  2  3 


L'exemplaira  filmA  fut  reproduit  grAce  A  la 
gAnAroaitA  da: 

BibliothiquaMoritMt 
UnivaraitAd'Ottawni 


Lea  images  suivantes  ont  AtA  reproduites  avac  la 
plus  grand  soin,  compta  tenu  de  la  condition  at 
da  la  nettetA  de  l'exemplaira  filmA.  at  an 
conformitA  avac  las  conditions  du  contrat  da 
filmage. 

Lea  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimAe  sent  fiimAs  en  commengant 
par  la  premier  plat  at  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
darnlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'iilustration,  soit  par  la  second 
plat,  salon  la  cas.  Toua  las  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  aont  fiimAs  en  commenQant  par  la 
premiAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'iilustration  at  9n  terminant  par 
la  derniAre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparattra  sur  la 
derniAre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
caa:  la  symbole  — ^  signifle  "A  SUIVRE".  ie 
symbols  ▼  signifle  "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  pienches.  tableaux,  etc..  peuvent  Atre 
fiimAs  A  des  taux  da  rAduction  diff Arents. 
Lorsque  ie  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichA.  11  est  filmA  A  partir 
de  I'angia  aupArieur  gauche,  de  gauche  A  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  baa,  en  prenant  ie  nombre 
d'imagea  nAcaasaira.  Lea  diagrammea  auivants 
illustrent  la  mAthode. 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

'1  III.  K  \.\l  KI.'SKII  I.  Il;\  IN 


I  ii|i.\  Mti'i  i--i  '\-  ri'i,i.M;ii  .V  .M' 


15 


m- 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE'S  RETURN. 


THE;  I^ORKS 


A^i^ 


Ml  3 


n    -73 


or 


WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


!■  1  'i! 


bock.;-,   Hi:.fe.-.^   X.-,    \^,K.-S,i„v.gundi.  / 


Lire ,  0  F  W  h  SMI  N  GTO  N  1 R  VI N  (}, 


RiCJiAm.  *,r-^^P'-^  svor-OAmK 


^ 


^sJUJtm  ONF. 


i^-: 


'::  -New  York.   ; 
Pt  vgR  rERliLON  COLLIER,  PDBLISI TER. 


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^■.•-  .f.'^^'.Mi: 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE'S  RETURN. 


,.,,fti,v.^tf: 


^=; 


THE   WORKS 


/^. 


JUIL  31  1973 


OF 


WASHINGTON  IRVING, 


The  Sketch    Book. — The    Alhambra. — The    History  of   the  Conquest  of  Granada. 
Legends  of  the  Conquest  of  Spain. — Tales  of  a  Traveller. — Knicker- 
bocker's History  of  New  York. — Salmagundi. 


A  LIFE  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING, 


BY 


RICHARD    HENRY    STODDARD. 


..■s»fi>-- 


■■«* ' 

I'M.. 


VOLUME  ONE. 


New  York. 


PETER  FENELON  COLLIER,  PUBLISHER. 


r^ 


Vw 


o 


<»1 


fi'^JLIOTHtCA  "^ 


Ida,  by  Rii 


Angler,  Th( 
A  Royal  Pc 
Art  c*  B<iol 
Bnv'c  Heui 
Broken  Fie: 
Christnuds  . 
Christmas  I 
Christmas  I 
Christmas  E 

I  Country  Chi 
English  Wri 

I  John  Bull.., 
Little  Britaii 

Muubility  o 

PbUip  of  Po 


A  SE 


f3 

2  0  no 


ytambra,  Tl 

Inhabitat 

Iilterior  c 

Finisher  ( 

Founder 

Go"ernm 

Visitors  t 

A  Ramble  An 

Boabdtl  El  Ch 

Governor  Mai 

Fuaef  Abul  1: 

bra  . . . 

Legend  oi  the 

of  the 

••      of  the 

"      of  Pri 

of  the 

"      Of  the 


A( 


BAPIBK 


I.-O 

II.-H 

III.~H 


CONTENTS 


VOLUME   ONE. 


Ida,  tj  Richard  Henry  Stoddsrd. 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


Angler,  The 86 

A  Roval  Poet 31 

Art  c*  Bock-Making iq 

Bnv'c  Heud  'I  avern,  Eastcheap 3o 

Broken  Heart,  The i3 

ChristriihS 47 

Christmas  Day S't 

Christmas  Dinner.  The 5^ 

Christmas  Eve 51 

I  Country  Church,  The 25 

English  Writers  on  America 13 

[John  Bull 80 

Little  Britain 62 

MuUbiUty  of  Literature 32 

PhiUpof  Pokanokei 75 


Pride  of  the  Village It 

Rip  Van  Winkle i 

Roscoe 4 

Rural  Funeral,  The ..  36 

Rural  Life  in  Enirland ....  t6 

Sleepy  Hollow,  The  Legend  of 9g 

Spectre  Bridegroom,  The 39 

Stage-Coach,  The 49 

Stratford-on-Avon 67 

The  Inn  Kitchen ...  39 

The  Wife 6 

The  Voyage a 

Traits  of  Indian  Character 79 

Westminster  Abbey 44 

Widow  and  her  Son,  The aj 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 

A  SERIES  OF  TALES  AND   SKETCHES  OF  THE   MOORS  AND 

SPANIARDS. 


4IlMmbra,  The,  by  Moonlight 

Inhabitants  of. 

Iifterior  of  the 

Finisher  of  the 

Founder  of  the 

Go"ernment  of  the 

Visitors  to  the 

A  Ramble  Among  the  Hills. 

Boabdil  El  Chico . ., 

Governor  Manco  and  the  Soldier 

Iiuef   Abut  Hagias,   the  Finisher  of  the  Alham- 

bra 

Legend  ol  the  Arabian  Astrologer 

of  the  Moor's  Legacy 

"       of  the  Page  and  the  Ger-Falcon 

*•       of  Prince  Ahmed  El  Kamel 

of  the  Rose  of  the  Alhambra 

**      of  the  Three  Beautifd  P  -i  cesses 


114 

115 

106 
170 
168 
105 
142 
ii3 

122 

170 
124 

136 
152 

143 
IS2 
129 


Legend  of  the  Two  Discreet  Statues 163 

Local  Traditions 13$ 

Mahamad  Aben  Alahmar,  the  Founder  of  the  Al- 
hambra   168 

Reflections  on  the  Moslem  Domination  in  Spain,   no 

The  Adventure  of  the  Mason 117 

The  Author's  Chamber 113 

The  Balcony 116 

The  Court  of  Lions 130 

The  Governor  and  the  Notary 156 

The  House  and  the  Weather-cccV, .  134 

The  Household 11* 

The  Journey loi 

The  Pilgrim  of  Lo%'e '143 

The  Tower  of  Comares 108 

The  Tower  of  Las  Infantas 134 

The  Truant ii3 

The  Veteran 156 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


I.— Of  the  Kingdom  of  Granada,  and  the 
tribute  which  it  paid  to  the  Castil- 

ian  crown 173 

II. — How  the  Catholic  sovereigns  sent  to 
demand  arrears  of  tribute  of  the 
Moor,  and  how  the  Moor  replied.   174 
IIL— How  the  Moor  determined  to  strike 

the  first  blow  in  the  war 175 ' 


PAGE ; CHAfTER 


PAGI 


IV. — Expedition  of  Muley  Abeh  Hassan 

against  the  fortress  of  Zahara.    . .  fjt 

V. — Expedition  of  the  Marques  of  Cadiz 

against  Alhatna 177 

VI. — How  the  people  of  Granada  were  af- 
-fected  on  hearing  of  the  capture  oi 
Alhama ;  and  how  the  Moorish 
King  sallied  forth  to  regain  iu.  ■ .    179 


/ 


CONTENTS. 


X84 
185 


187 
189 
19a 


eMAmm  paoi 

VII.— How  the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia, 
and  the  Chivalry  of  Andalusia, 
hastened  to  the  relief  of  Alhama. .  181 

Vtll  —Sequel  of  the  evenu  at  Alhama i8a 

IX.— Events  at  Granada,  and  rise  of  the 
Moorish  King  Boabdll  El  Cbico. . 

X.^Royal  expedition  against  Loxa 

XI.— How  Muley  Aben  Hassan   made  a 

foray  into  the  lands  of    Medina 

Sidonia,  and  how  he  was  received. 

XII.— Foray  of  Spanish  cavaliers  among 

the  mountains  of  Malaga.  

XIII. — Effects  of  the  disasters  among  the 

mountains  of  Malaga 

XIV.— How  King  Bc^bdil  El  Chico  marchet 

over  tlie  borders 193 

,  XV,— How  the  Count  De  Cabra  sallied  forth 

-^  . .  from  his  castle,  In  quest  of  King 

Boabdil 194 

XVI.— The  battle  of  Lucena 195 

XVII. — Lamentations  of  the  Moors  for  the 

battle  of  Lucena ...     197 

,  XVIII.—  How  Muley  Aben  Hassan  profited 

by    the    misfortunes    of    his  son 

Boabdil 198 

XIX.— Captivity  of  Boabdil  El  Chico 199 

XX.— Of  the  treatment  of  Boabdil  by  the 

Castilian  sovereigns 300 

XXI. — Return  of  Boabdil  from  captivity.,  aoi 
XXII. — Foray  of  the  Moorish  Alcaydes  and 

battle  of  Lopera aoa 

XXIII.— Retreat  of  Hamet  El  Zegri,  Alcayde 

of  Ronda 304 

XXIV.— Of    the    reception  at  court  of  the 
Count  De  Cambra  and  the  Alcayde 

De  Los  Donzeles 305 

XXV. — How  the    Marques  of  Cadiz  con> 
certed  to  surprise  Zahara,  and  the 

result  of  his  enterprise ao6 

XXVI  —Of  the  fortress  of  Alhama,  and  how 
wisely  it    was   governed   by  the 

Count  De  Tendilla aoS 

XXVII.— Foray  of  Christian  knights  into  the 

territory  of  the  Moors 909 


CHAPTBR  FAOf 

XXVIII.— Attempt    o(  El   Zagai  to  auiprlM 

Boabdil  in  Atmeria ill 

XXIX. — How  King  Ferdinand  commenced 
another  campaign  against  tM 
Moors,  and  how  he  Uud  aicgc  to 

Coin  and  Cartama  . . . , an 

XXX.— Siege  of  Ronda ais 

XXXI. — How  the  people  of  Granada  invited 
El  Zagal  to  the  throne,  and  bow 

he  marched  to  the  capital ai4 

XXXII.— How  the  Count  De  Cabra  attempted 
to  capture  another  King,  and  bow 

he  fared  in  his  attempt aiA 

XXXIII. — Eapedition  against  the   castlea   of 

Can^bil  and  Albahar ai7 

XXXIV.— Enterprise  of  the  Knighu  of  Cala- 

Uava  against  Zalea 319 

XXXV.— Death  of  Muley  Aben  Hassan aao 

XXXVI.— Of  the   Christian    army   which  as- 
sembled at  the  city  of  Cordova. .  aai 
XXXVII. — How  fresh    commotions  broke   out 
in   Granada,  and  how  the  people 

undertook  to  allay  them . .  aas 

XXXVIII.— How  King  Ferdinand  held  a  council 

of  war  at  the  Rock  of  the  Lovers.  aa4 
XXXIX. — How  the  royal  army  appeared  be- 
fore the  city  of  Loxa,  and  how  it 
was  received  ;  and  of  the  doughty 
achievements  of  the  English  Earl  aaj 
XL.— Conclusion  of  the  siege  of  Loxa. . . .  aao 

XLI. — Capture  of  Illora nj 

XLIL— Of  the  arrival  of  Queen  Isabella  at 
the  camp  before  Moclin  ;  and  of  the 
pleasant  sayings  of  the  English  Earl  MfJ 
XLIII.— How  King  Ferdinand  attacked  Moc- 
lin, and    of    the   strange  evcnta 

that  attended  its  capture a*9 

XLIV.— How  King  Ferdinand  foragel  the 
Vega ;  and  of  the  battle  ol  the 
Bridge  of  Pinos,  and  the  fate  of 

the  two  Moorish  brothers ajc 

XLV.— Attempt  of  El  Zagal  upon  the  life 
of  Boabdil,  and  how  the  Utter  waa 
roused  to  action 191 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OK  GRANADA. 


I 


VOLUME 

WAPTBa  PAOB 

I. — How  Boabdil  returned    secretly  to 

Granada,  and  how  he  was  received  33a 
II. — How  King  Ferdinand  laid  siege  to 

Velez  Malaga 333 

III. — How  King  Ferdinand  and  his  army 
were  exposed  to  imminent  peril  be- 
fore Velez  Malaga , . . . .  335 

IV.— Result  of  the  stratagem  of  El  Zagal 

to  surprise  King  Ferdinand 337 

V. — How  the  people  of  Granada  rewarded 

the  valor  of  El  Zagal <, 338 

VI. — Surrender  of  Velez  Malaga  and  other 

places 338 

VII.  -Of  the  city  of  Malaga  and  iu  inhabit- 

anu 339 

VIII.— Advance  of  King  Ferdinand  against 

Malaga 341 

IX.— Siege  of  Malaga 34a 

X. — Siege  of  Malaga  continued,  obstinacy 

of  Hamet  El  Zegri 343 

XI. — Attack  of  the  Marques  of  Cadiz  upon 

Gibralfaro 343 

XII. — Siege  of  Malaga  continued,   strata- 

cem^  of  various  kinds 844 


SECOND. 

i 

CHAPrnt  PAOI 

XIII.— Sufferings  of  the  people  of  Malaga. .  343 
XIV. — How  a  Moorish  Santon  undertook 
to  deliver  the  city  of  Malaga  from 

the  power  of  its  enemies 84A 

XV. — How  Hamet  El  Zegri  was  hardened 
in  his  obstinacy  by  the  arts  of  a 

Moorish  astrologer 347 

XVI. — Siege  of  Malaga  continued,  destruc- 
tion of  a  tower  by  Francisco  Ra- 
mirez De  Madrid 348 

XVII. — How  the  people  of  Malaga  expostu- 
lated with  Hamet  El  Zegri 349 

XVIII.— How  Hamet  El  Zegri  sallied  forth 
with  the  sacred  iMinner,  to  attack 

the  Christian  camp 349 

XIX. — How  the  city  of  Malaga  capitulated  af  I 
XX. — Fulfilment  of  the  prophecy  of   the 

dervise — Fate  of  Hamet  El  Zegri  asa 
XXI. — How  the  Castilian  sovereigns  took 
possession  of  the  city  of  Malaga, 
and  how  King  Ferdinand  signal- 
ized himself  by  his  skill  in  bargain- 
ing with  the  Inhabltanu  for  their 
ransoqi a; 


>-j-H>.»*>».i,.^-"  ~ 


CONTBNTS. 


▼w 


ai«rm  moi 

XXII. "How  KInf  Ferdinand  prepared  to 
carry  the  war  Into  a  different  part 
o(  tlir  tcrritoriee  o(  the  Moors 154 

XXIII.— How  King  Ferdinand  invuded  the 
eaitern  tide  of  the  kingdom  of 
Granada,  and  bow  he  waa  rece'  ed 
by  El  Zagal ajS 

XXI  v.— How  the  Moon  made  various  enter- 

prlnes  against  the  Christians aj6 

XXV.— How  King  Ferdinand  prepared  to  be- 
siege the  City  of  Baxa,  and  bow 
the  city  prepared  for  defence 357 

XXVI.— The  Battle  of  the  Gardens  before 

Baza 359 

XXVII.  —Siege  at  Baia— EmbarrassmenU  of 

the  army 360 

XXVIII.— Siege  of  Baia continued— How  King 
Ferdinand  completely  Invested  the 
city a6o 

XXIX.— Exploit  of  Hernando  Peres  Del  Put- 

gar  and  other  cavaliers i  361 

XXX.— Continuation  of  the  siege  ol  Baza. . .  963 

XXXI. — How  two  friars  arrived  at  the  camp 
and  how  they  came  from  the  Holy 
Land 363 

XXXII.— How  Queen  Isabella  devised  means 
to  supply  the  army  with  provis- 
ions   364 

XXXIII.— Of  the  disasters  that  befell  the  camp  36$ 
XXXIV. — Encounters  between  the  Christians 
and  Moors  before  Baia ;  and  the 
devotion  of  the  inhabitants  to  the 
defence  of  their  city a66 

XXXV.— How  Queen  Isabella  arrived  at  the 
camp,  and  the  consequences  of  her 

arrival 367 

XXXVI.— Surrender  of  Baza 368 

XXXVII  —Submission  of  El  Zagal  to  the  Cas- 

tilian  sovereigns 369 

XXXVIII.— ETents  at  Granada  subsequent  to  the 

•ubmission  of  El  Zagal 370 


CHAPTia  fAOl 

XXXIX.— How  King  Ferdinand  turned  his  hos- 

tililies  against  the  city  of  Granada  371 
XL.— The  fate  of  the  Castle  of  Roma —  373 
XLI.— How   Bobv<il    El  Chico    took  the 
field ;  ard  bis  expedition  against 

Alhendin tK 

XLII.— Exploit  of  the  Count  De  Tendilla..  171 
XLIII.— Expedition    of    BcabdII    El    Chico 
against    Salcbrena  —  Exploit    of 

Hernando  Perez  Del  Pulgar >;6 

XLIV.— How  King  Ferdinand  treated  the 
people  olGuadix,  and  how  El  Za- 
gal finished  his  regal  career 877 

XLV. — Preparations  of  Granada  for  a  des- 
perate defence 37! 

XLVI. — How  King  Ferdinand  conducted  the 
siege  cautiously  ;  and  how  Queen 

Isabella  arrived  at  the  camp at« 

XLVII.— Of  the  insolent  defiance  of  Varfe, 
the  Moor,  and  the  daring  exploit 
of  Hernando  Perez  Del  Pulgar. .  380 
XLVIII. — How  Queen  Isabella  took  a  view  of 
the  city  of  Granada,  and  how  her 
curiosity  cost  the  lives  of    many 

Christians  and  Moors 381 

XLIX.— Conflagration  of  the  Christian  camp  383 
L. — The  last  ravage  before  Granada. ...  383 
LI.— Building  of  the  City  of  Same  F^— 

Despair  of  the  Moors 384 

LII.— Capitulation  of  Granada 385 

LIII. — Commotions  in  Granada 386 

LI V. — Surrender  of  Granada 387 

LV.^How  the  Castilian  sovereigns  took 

possession  of  Granada 98S 

APPENDIX. 

Fate  of  Boabdil  El  Chico 189 

Death  of  the  Marques  of  Cadiz 190 

The  legend  of    the  death  of    Don  Alonso  D« 
Aguilar mfl 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  SPAIN. 

THE  LEGEND  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


BHAI  m  PAOl 

I. — Of  the  ancient  inhabitants  of  Spain 

Of  the  misrule  of  Witiza  the  Wicked  395 
II.— The  rise  of  Don  Roderick— His  gov- 
ernment   397 

III. — Of  the  loves  of  Don  Roderick  and 

the  Princess  Elyau 398 

IV. — Of  Count  Julian 399 

V. — The  story  of  Florinda 399 

VI. — Don  Roderick  receives  an  extraor- 
dinary embassy 301 

VII. — Story  of  the  marvellous  and  portent- 
ous tower 303 

VIII.— Count  Julian — His  fortunes  in  Africa 

— He  hears  of  the  dishonor  of  his 

child — His  conduct  thereupon. . . .  304 

IX.— Secret  visit  of  Count  Julian  to  the 

Arab  camp — First  expedition    of 

Taric  El  Tuerto 305 

X.— Letter  of  Muza  (o  the  Caliph— Sec- 
ond expedition  of  Taric  El  Tuerto  306 
XL— Measures  of  Don  Roderick  on  hear- 


CHAPTBK  Moa 

ing  of  the  Invasion — Expedition  of 

Ataulpho — Vision  of  Taric 307 

XII.— Battle  of  Caipe— Fate  of  Ataulpho.  308 
XIII. — Terror  of    the    country — Roderick 

rousef  Himself  to  arms 310 

XIV. — March  01  the  Gothic  army- -Encamp- 
ment on  the  banks  of  the  Guada- 
lete — Mysterious  predictions  of  a 
Palmer---Conductof  Pelistes  theie- 

upon 311 

XV. — Skirmishing  of  the  armies — Pelistes 
and    his    son  —  Pelistes    and  the 

bishop 311 

XVI. — Traitorous  message  ol  Count  Julian  31) 

XVII.— Last  day  of  the  battle  313 

XVIII.— The  field  of  battle  after  the  defeat— 

The  fate  of  Roderick S'S 

APPENDIX. 
Illustrations  of  the  foregoing  legend—  The  tomb 

of  Roderick ftt 

The  cave  of  Heiculea fiC 


,>ji      t^  ■  T  - — ,— . — ^^R!^^ 


flit 


CONTfcNTS. 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  SUBJUGATION  OF  SPAIN. 


BHArriK  PAoi 

I.— Contternation  of  Sp*ln — Conduct  of  the 
Cunaucrori — Miiilvet  between   Ttric 

and  Muza 318 

II  —Capture  of  Granada — Subjugation  of  the 

Alpuxarra  Mountains 319 

'     III.  — Eipedition  of  Magued againut  Cordova — 

Defence  of  the  patriot  Peliates 330 

IV.— Defence  of  the  Convent  of  St.  Georne  by 

Pelistei 3JI 

V. —Meeting  between  the  patriot  Pcliitet  and 

the  traitor  Julian 323 

VI.— How  Taric  El  Tuerto  captured  the  city 
of  Toledo  through  the  aid  of  the  Jews, 
and  how  he  found  the  famous  talis- 

manic  table  of  Solomon 323 

VII.— Muza  Ben  Nozier's  entrance  into  Spain 

and  capture  of  Carmona 324 

VIII.— Miua  marches  against  the  city  of  Seville,  325 
IX.— Muu  besieges  the  city  of  Merida 325 


CHAPTIl  r«M 

X.— Expedition  of  Abdalasis  siralntt  Swills 

and  the  "  land  of  Tadmir    )•} 

XI. — Muza  arrives  at  Toleda— Interview  b« 

tween  him  and  Taric 31$ 

XII. — Muza  prosecutes  the  scheme  of  conquest 
— Siege  of  Saragossa — Complete  subju- 
gation of  Spain 330 

XIII.— Feud  between  the  Arab  Generals—They 
are  summoned  to  appear  before  the 
Caliph    at    Damascus  —  Reception  of 

Taric 311 

XIV. — Muia  arrives  at  Damasixit- H.j  diCi- 
view  with  the  Caliph— The  Table  of 

Solomon — A  rigorous  sentence 33a 

XV. — Conduct  of  Abdalasis  as  Emir  of  Spain. .  333 

XVI. — Loves  of  Abdalasis  and  Lxilona 333 

XVII.-  Fate  of  Abdalasis  and  Exilona— Death  of 

Muza 334 

LEGEND   OF   COUNT    JULIAN    AND    HIS 
FAMILY 336 


TALES  OF  A   TRAVELLER. 


P  A  R  r      FIRST. 
STRANGE   STORIES   BY   A   NERVOUS  GENTLEMAN. 


A  Hunting  Dinner .341 

The  Adventure  of  my  Aunt 346 

The  Adventure  of  the  Mysterious  Picture 3su 

The  Adventure  of  the  Mysterious  Stranger 353 


The  Adventure  of  my  Uncle 34} 

The  Adventure  of  my  Grandlatber 3<|i 

The  Hold  DraRoon 34I 

The  Story  of  the  Young  Italian 35$ 


\ 


PART     SECOND. 

BUCKTHORNE    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 


A  Literary  Dinne;     364 

Buckthorne    r>r,  the  V^ung  Man  of  Great  Expec- 
tations  373 

Grave  Retiectioaj  3!  1  Disappointed  Man 385 

Literary  Life 363 


The  Booby  Squire sSe 

The  Club  of  Queer  Fellows 365 

The  Poor  Devil  Author 367 

The  Strolling  Manager ....   38I 


V. 


PART     THIRD. 

THE      ITALIAN      BANDITTI. 


The  Adventure  of  the  Little  Antiquary  ^ 395 

The  Adventure  of  the  Popkins  Family 397 

The  Ion  at  Terracina 393 


Tke  Painter's  Adventure )9f 

The  Story  of  the  Bandit  Chieftain 401 

The  Story  of  the  Young  Robber 40; 


PART     FOURTH. 

THE      MONEY-DIGGERS. 

Hell  Gate 4tolThe  Adventure  of  Sam,  the  Black  Fisherman, 

Kidd  the  Pirate 41 1 1         commonly  denominated  Mud  Snm 4a} 

rhe  Devil  and  Tom  Walker 413 1  Wolfert  Webber  ;  or  Golden  Dreams 4lf 


APPENDIX. 


KNICKERBOCKER'S  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 

■  VOLUME  ONE. 


Account  of  the  Author 4.13 

AddrcM  to  the  Public 43^ 

BOOK  I. 

CONTAININO  DIVRRS  INOENIOirS  THEORIES  AND   nril.O- 

loriiic  si'EcurATioNS,  conckrnind  the  creation 

AND    I'fU'ULATION    OK    THE    WOULD,    AS    CONNECTED 
Willi  TUB   HISTORY   OK  NEW-YORK. 

CHAFl ER  PAOE 

I.— Description  of  the  World 43» 

II.— Cosmogony,  or  Creation  of  the  World ; 
with  a  multitude  of  excellent  theories, 
BV  which  the  creation  of  a  world  is 
shown  to  be  no  such  difficult  matter  as 

common  folk  would  imn^ine 430 

ill -'How  that  famous  navJKator,  Noah,  was 
shamrfuiiy  nick-named  ;  and  how  he 
committed  an  unpardonable  oversight, 
in  not  having  four  sons.  With  the 
great  trouble  of  philosophers  caused 
thereby,  and  the  discovery  of  America.  441 
IV, — Shewing  the  great  difficulty  philosophers 
have  had  in  peopling  America — aiid 
how  the  Aborigines  camu  to  be  begot- 
ten by  accident — to  the  great  relief  and 

iatisfactjon  of  the  Author 443 

V. — In  which  the  Author  puts  a  mighty  ques- 
tion to  the  rout,  by  the  assistance  of 
the  Man  in  the  Moon — which  not  only 
delivers  thousands  of  people  from  great 
embarrassment,  but  likewise  concludes 
this  introductory  book 444 

BOOK   II. 

TR8ATINO  OF  THE    FIRST    SETTLEMENT  OF  THe'  PROV- 
INCE OF   NIEW-NEDERLANDTS. 

I.^n  which  are  contained  divers  reasons 
why  a  man  should  not  write  in  a  hurry. 
Also,  of  Master  flendrick  Hudson,  his 
discovery  of  a  strange  country — and 
how  he  was  magnificently  rewarded  by 
the  munificence  of  their  High  Mighti- 
nesses     44S 

IL— Containing  an  account  of  a  mighty  Ark, 
which  floated,  under  the  protection  of 
St.  Nicholas,  from  Holland  to  Gibbet 
Island — the  descent  of  the  strange  Ani- 
mals therefrom — a  great  victory,  and 
a  description  of  the  ancient  village  of 

Communipaw 451 

Ill,«~ln  which  is  set  forth  the  true  art  of  mak- 
ing  a  bargain— together  with  the  mi- 
raculous  escape  of  a  great  Metropolis 
in  a  fog — and  the  biography  of  certain 
Heroes  of  Communipaw 45a 


CHAPTER  TAOm 

IV, — How  the  Hemes  of  Communipaw  voy- 
aged to  Hell-Gate,  and  how  they  were 

received  there 45'4 

V. — How  the  Heroes  of  Communipaw  re- 
turned .somewhat  wiser  than  they  went 
— and  how  the  sage  Oloffe  dreamed  a 
dream — and  the  dream  that  he  dreamed  45^ 
VI. — Containing  an  attempt  at  etymology— 
and  of  the  founding  of  the  great  city 

of  New-Amsterdam 458 

VII. ^How  the  city  of  New-Amsterilam  waxed 
great,  under  the  protection  of  CMofle 
the  Dreamer 4sq 

BOOK   III. 

IN     WHICH      18      REQORDED     THE     OOI.DEM     REION     0$ 
WOUTER  VAN  TWILLER.  • 

I. — Of  the  renowned  Walter  Van  Twiller,  his 
unparalleled  virtues — and  likewise  his 
unutterable  wisdom  in  the  lawcase  of 
Wandle  Schoonhoven  and  Harent 
Bleecker — and  the  great  admiration  of 
the  public  thereat 46I 

II. — Containing  some  account  of  the  grand 
council  of  New-Amsterdam,  as  also 
divers  especial  good  philosophical  rea- 
sons why  an  alderman  should  be  fat — 
with    other    particulars    touching    the 

state  of  the  province 46J 

III. — How  the  town  of  New-Amsterdam  arose 
out  of  mud,  and  came  to  be  marvel- 
lously pol.shed  and  polite — together 
with  a  picture  of  the  manners  of  our 
great-great-grandfathers 46} 

IV.- Containing  further  pari'ulars  of  the 
Golden  Age — and  what  constituted  a 
fine  I.ady  and  Gentleman  in  the  days 

of  Walter  the  Doubter 467 

V. — In  which  the  'eader  is  beguiled  into  a  de- 
lectablf:  walk,  which  ends  very  differ- 
ently from  what  it  commenced 468 

VI. — Faithfully  describing  the  ingenious  peo- 
pie  of  Connecticut  and  thereabouts- 
showing,  moreover,  the  true  meaning 
of  liberty  of  conscience,  and  a  curious 
device  among  these  sturdy  barbarians, 
to  keep  up  a  harmony  of  intercourse. 

and  promote  population 46^^ 

VII. — How  these  singular  barbarians  turned 
out  to  be  notorious  squatters — how  they 
built  air  castles,  and  attempted  to  inl> 
tiate  the  Nederlanders  in  the  mystery 

of  bundling 471 

VIII. — How  the  Fort  Goed  Hoop  was  fearfully 
beleaguered — how  the  renowned  Wou* 

vii 


TIU 


CONTENTS. 


CKAPTII 


?AOI 


ter  fell  into  a  profound  doubt,  and  how 
be  finally  evaporated 472 

BOOK   IV. 

CONTAINING  THE  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  RKIGN  OF  WIL- 
LIAM THE  TESTY. 

I. — Showing  the  nature  of  history  in  general ; 
containing  furthermore  the  universal 
acquirements  of  William  the  Testy, 
and  how  a  man  may  learn  so  much  as 
to  render  himself  good  for  nothing... .  4>3 
II  —In  which  are  recorded  the  sage  projects 
of  a  ruler  of  universal  genius — the  art 
of  fighting  by  proclamation — and  how 
that  the  valiant  Jacobus  Van  Curlet 
came  to  be  foully  dishonoured  at  Fort 

Goed  Hoop 476 

UI. — Containing  the  fearful  wrath  of  William 
tlie  Testy,  and  the  great  dolour  of  the 
New-Amsterdammers,  because  of  the 
affair  of  Fort  Goed  Hoop — and,  more- 
ever,  how  William  the  Testy  did 
strongly  fortify  the  city — together  with 
the  exploits  of  StoSel  BrinkerhoS. . . .  478 


CHAPTER 


FAOa 


IV.— Philosophical  reflections  on  Jie  fc.ly  of 
being  happy  in  times  of  prosperity- 
sundry  troubles  on  the  southern  fron 
tierF — how  William  the  Testy  had  well- 
nigh  ruined  the  province  through  a 
cabalistic  word — as  also  the  secret  ex- 
pedition of  Jan  Jansen  Alpendam,  and 

his  astonishing  reward (7f 

V. — How  William  the    Testy  enriched  the 
^     province  by  a  multitude  of  laws,  and 
.'    came  to  be  the  patron  of  lawyers  and 
bum-bailiffs — and  how  the  people  be- 
came exceedingly  enlightened  and  un- 
happy under  his  instructions iSi 

VI. — Of  the  great  pipe  plot — and  of  the  do- 
lourous perplexities  into  which  William 
the  Testy  was  thrown,  by  reason  ot 
his  having  enlightened  the  multitude. .  48a 
VII. — Containing  divers  fearful  accounts  of 
Border  Wars,  and  the  flagrant  outrages 
of  the  Mosstroopers  of  Connecticut — 
with  the  rise  of  the  great  Amphyctionic 
Council  of  the  east,  and  the  decline  of 
William  the  Testy 481 


KNICKERBOCKER'S  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


VOLUME  TWO 


BOOK  V. 

rONT.UNTNG  THE  FIRST  PART  OF  THE  REIGN  OF  PR- 
1HR  STUVVESANT,  AND  HIS  TROUBLES  WITH  THE 
AMI-MYCTIONIC  COUNCIL. 


t 


% 


CHAPTER 


I. 


PAGE 


-In  which  the  death  of  a  great  man  is 
shown  to  be  no  very  inconsolable  mat- 
ter of  sorrow — and  how  Peter  Stuy- 
vesant  acquired  a  great  name  from  the 
uncommon  strength  of  his  head 4^7 

II. — Showing  how  Peter  the  Headstrong  be- 
stirred himself  among  the  rats  and 
cobwebs  on  entering  into  office — and 
the  perilous  mistake  he  was  guilty  of 
in  his  dealings  with  the  Amphyctions.  489 
III. — Containing  divers  speculations  on  war 
and  negotiations — showing  that  a  treaty 

of  peace  is  a  great  national  evil 490 

IV. — How  Peter  Stuyvesant  wa*  greatly  belied 
by  his  adversaries,  the  Mosstroopers — 
and  his  conduct  thereupon 493 

v.— How  the  New-Amsterdammers  became 
great  in  arms,  and  of  the  direful  catas- 
trophe of  a  mighty  army  —  together 
with  Peter  Stuyvesant's  meaaires  to 
fortify  the  city,  and   how  he  was  the 

original  founder  of  the  Battery 494 

VI.— How  the  people  of  the  east  country  were 
suddenly  afflicted  with  a  diabolipal  evil, 
and  their  judicious  measures  for  the 

extirpation  thereof '. . .  495 

VII, — Which  records  the  rise  and  renown  of  a 
valiant  commander,  showing  that  a 
man,  like  a  bladder,  may  be  puffed  up 
to  greatness  and  importance  by  mere 
wind 497 


BOOK  VI. 

CONTAINING  THE  SECOND  PART  OF  THE  RBION  Of 
PETER  THE  HEADSTRONG,  AND  HIS  GALLANT 
ACHIEVEMENTS  ON  THE  DELAWARE. 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 


I. — In  which  is  exhibited  a  warlike  portrait  of 
the  great  Peter — and  how  General  Van 
Poffenburgh  distinguished  himself  at 
Fort  Casimir 491 

II. — Showing  how  profound  secrets  are  often 
brought  to  light ;  with  the  proceedings 
of  Peter  the  Headstrong  when  he 
heard  of  the  misfortunes  of  General 
Van  Poffenburgh 501 

III. — Containing  Peter  Stuyvesant's  voyage  up 
the  Hudson,  and  the  wonders  and  de- 
lights of  that  renowned  river 503 

IV. — Describing  the  powerful  army  that  as- 
sembled at  the  city  of  Nfew-Amsterdam 
—together  with  the  interview  between 
Peter  the  Headstrong  and  General  Van 
Poffenburgh,   and    Peter's  sentiments 

touching  unfortunate  great  men 50; 

V. — In  which  the  author  discourses  very  in- 
genuously of  himself — after  which  is  to 
be  found  much  interesting  history  about 
Peter  the  Headstrong  and  his  followers  507 

VI. — Showing  the  great  advantage  that  the 
author  has  over  his  reader  in  time  of 
battle — together  with  divers  portentous 
movements,  which  betoken  that  some- 
thing terrible  is  about  to  happen goq 

VII. — Containing  the  most  horrible  battle  ever 
recorded  in  poetry  or  prose — with  the 
admirable  exploits  of  Peter  the  Head- 
strong   510 


CONTENTS. 


IX 


ClfAPTKR  PAGE 

VIII. — In  which  the  author  and  the  reader,  while 
reposing  after  the  battle,  fall  into  a 
very  grave  discourse — after  which  is 
recorded  the  conduct  of  Peter  Stuyves- 
ant  after  his  victory 513 

BOOK  VII. 

CONTAINING  THE  THIRD  PART  OF  THE  REIGN  OF  PE- 
TER THE  HEADSTRONG — HIS  TROUBLES  WITH  THE 
BRITISH  NATION,  AND  THE  DltCLINE  AND  FALL  OF 
THE  DUTCH  DYNASTY. 

I. — How  Peter  Stuyvesant  relieved  the  sov- 
ereign people  from  the  burthen  of  tak- 
ing care  of  the  nation— with  sundry 
particulars  of  his  conduct  in  time  of 

peace 5^5 

li.-  -How  Peter  Stuyvesant  was  much  mo- 
lested by  the  Mosstroopers  of  the 
East,  and  the  Giants  of  Merryland — 
and  how  a  dark  and  horrid  conspiracy 
was  carried  on  in  the  British  Cabinet 
against  the  prosperity  of  the  Manhat- 

toes 518 

KI  •'  Of  Peter  Stuyvesant's  expedition  into  the 
East  Country — showing  that,  though 
an  old  bird,  he  did  not  understand  trap  520 


CHAPTER 


PAOI 


IV. — How  the  people  of  New-Amsterdam 
were  thrown  into  a  great  panic  tiy  the 
news  of  a  threatened  invasion,  and  the 
manner  in  which  they  fortified  them- 
selves  523 

V. — Showing  how  the  grand  Council  of  ths 
New-Netherlands  came  to  be  miracu- 
lously gifted  with  long  tongues — to- 
gether  with  a  great  triumph  of  Econ- 
omy  5?i 

VI. — In  which  the  troubles  of  New-Amster- 
dam  appear  to  thicken — showing  the      1 
bravery  in  time  of  peril  of  a  people 
who  defend  themselves  by  resolutions.  524 
VII. — Containing  a  doleful  disaster  of  Antony 
the  Trumpeter — and  how  Peter  Stuy- 
vesant, like  a  second  Cromwell,  sud- 
denly dissolved  a  rump  Parliament.. . .  5S6 
VIII. — How  Peter  Stuyvesant  defended  the  city 
of  New-Amsterdam,  for  several  days, 
by  dint  of  the  strength  of  his  head. . . .  528 

IX, — Containing  tho  dignified  retirement,  and 
mortal  surrerder,  of  Peter  the  Head- 
strong  530 

X. — The  Authcr's  reflections  upon  vhat  has 

been  said 531 


'i 


SALMAGUNDI; 


OR,  THE 


WHIM-WHAMS    AND    OPINIONS    OF  LAUNCELOT  LANGSTAFF,  Esq., 

AND  OTHERS. 
VOLU  M  E    ON  E. 


NO.  PAGE 

I.— Editor's  advertisement 533 

Publisher's  notice 533 

Introduction  to  the  work 534 

Theatrics — by  Will  Wizard 535 

New  York  Assembly — by  ^.  Evergreen  . .   536 
II, — Launcclot     Langstafi's     account    of     his 

friends 537 

Mr.  Wilson's  concert — by  A.  Evergreen..  538 
Pindar  Cockloft  to  Launcelot  Langstaff . .  540 
III.— Account  of    Mustapha    Kub-a-dub    Keli 

Khan 541 

Letter    from    Mustapha   Rub-a-dub   Keli 

Khan  to  Asem  ILacchem 542 

Fashions — by  A    Evergreen 543 

I''ashioi  i,  ble  morning-clrcss  for  walking. . .   543 

The  pr|v  .ress  of  Salmagundi 544 

Poetica,'^*  proclamation   from   the    mill  of 

PindiJ  Cockloft,  Esq 545 

TV— Some   it'rcount    of    Jeremy   Cockloft    the 

younger 545 

Memorandums  for  a  tour  to  be  entitled 
"The  Stranger  in  New  Jersey;  or, 
Cockney  Travelling  " — by  Jeremy  Cock- 
loft the  younger 546 

V. — Introduction   to  a  letter  from   Mustapha 

Rub-a-dub  Keli  Khan 54S 

Letter  from  Mustapha  to  Abdallah  Eb'n 
al  Rahab 54S 


NO.  PAGE 

Account  of  Will  Wizard's  expedition 
to  a  modern  ball — by  A.  Evergreen. 

Poetical  epistle  to  the  ladies — from  tlie 
mill  of  Pindar  Cockloft,  Esq.  .  . . 
VI. — Account  of    the   family   of   the  Cock- 
lofts  

Theatrics — bv  William  Wizard,  Esq  . .  . 
VII. — Letter  from,  Mustapha    Rub-a-dub  Keli 

Khan  to  A»em  Haccliem 557 

Poetical  account  of  ancient  times — 
from  the  mill  of  Pindar  Cockloft, 
Esq 

Notes  on   the   above— by  W.  Wizard, 

Esq 

VIII. — Anthony    Evergreen's    account    of    his 
friend  LangstaT 

On  style — by  William  Wizard,  Esq., 

The  editors  and  the  i    ulic 

IX. —  Account  of  Miss  Charily  Cockloft 566 

P'rom  the  elbow-chair  of  the  author. . . .  567 

Letter  from  Rub-a-dub  Keli  Khan  to 
Asem  Hacchem 568 

Poetry,  from  the  mill  of  Pindar  Cock- 
loft, Esq 570 

X.— Introdi'clion  to  the  number 571 

Letter  from  Demi  Semiquaver  to  Launce- 
lot Langst;;ff.  Epq 571 

Note  by  the  publisher 573 


550 

553 

553 

555 


56c 

560 

561 
563 
565 


CONTENTS 


SALMAGUNDI; 

OR,  THE 

WHIM-WHAMS   AND    OPINIONS  OF    LAUNCELOT  LANGSTAFF,   Esq., 

AND  OTHERS. 

VOLUME    TWO. 


NO. 


PAGE 


XI. — Letter  from  Mustapha  Rub-a-dub  Keli 

Xhan  to  Asem  Hacchem 574 

Account  of  "  mine  uncle  John" 57*^ 

XlL— Christopher  Cockloft's  company 57S 

The  Stranger  at  Home  ;  or,   a  Tour 
in   Broadway — by  Jeremy  Coclvloft 

the  younger 581 

Introduction  to  Pindar  Cocklo/t's  poem 
A  poem,  from  the  mill  of  Pindar  Cock- 
loft, Esq 583 

XIII. — Introduction  to  Will  Wizard's  plan  for 

defending  our  harbor. 584 

'  "  Plans  for  defending  our  Harbor,"  by 

William  Wizard,  Esq 585 

A  Retrospect ;  or,  "  IV/iat you  will".,  587 

To  readers  and  correspondents 589 

3UV. — Letter  from  Mustapha  Rub-a-dub  Keli 

Khan  to  Asem  Hacchem 590 

Cockloft  Hall — by  L.  Langstafi 592 

Theatrical     Intelligence — by    William 

Wizard.  Enq 594 

XV. — Sketches  from  Nature— by  A.    Ever- 
green, gem 596 

On  Greatness — by  L.  Langstaff,  Esq . .  597 


NO.  PAOB 

XVI.— Style  at  Ballston— by  W.  Wizard,  Esq.  60a 
From  Mustapha  Rub-a-dub  Keli  Khan 

to  Asem  Hacchem. 601 

XVII. — Autumnal   Reflections  —  by   Launcelot 

Langstaff,  Esq 604 

Description  of  the  library  at  Cockloft 

Hall — by  L.  Langstatf 605 

Chap.  CIX.  of  the  Chronicles  of   the 
renowned     and     ancient     City     of 

Gotham 606 

XVIII. — The  little  man  In  black— by  Launcelot 

Langstaff,  Esq 608 

Letter  from  Mustapha  Rub-a-dub  Kelt 

Khan  to  Asem  Hacchem 6iq 

XIX. — Introduction  to  the  number 6ia 

Letter  from  Rub-a-dub  Keli  Khan  to 

Muley  Hclim  al  Raggi (^12 

Ai.'.hony  Evergreen's  introduction    to 

the  "  winter  campaign  " 615 

Te.i,  a  poem,  from  the  mill  of  Pindar 

Cockloft,  Esq 616 

XX. — On  the  new  year 617 

To  the  ladies — from  A.  Evergreen,  gent  6ig 
Farewell  Address 621 


List   of    Illustrations. 


•    voLUJiE  one. 

1.  Rip  Van  Winkle's  return.— Fronh'sptece. 

2.  The  Pride  of  the  Village.  '  .         . 

3.  The  King  and  Princess  in  search  of  the  Garden  of  Irem. 


4.    The  Alcayde's  Wife  imploring  Protection. 


5.  The  Daring  Exploit  of  Hernando  del  Pulgar. 

1.  The  Story  of  the  Young  Italian, 

2.  The  Little  Man  in  Bi.ack. 

3.  Walter  the  Doubter  decides  a  Knotty  Cask. 


LIFE  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


BY 


RICHARD  HENRY  STODDARD. 


Tub  life  of  Washington  Irving  was  one  of  the 
brightest  ever  led  by  an  author.  He  discovered 
his  genius  at  an  early  age ;  was  graciously  wel- 
comed by  his  countrymen  ;  answered  the  literary 
condition  of  the  period  when  he  appeared ;  won 
easily,  and  as  easily  kept,  a  distinguished  place 
in  the  republic  of  letters;  was  generously  re- 
warded tor  his  work ;  charmed  his  contempora- 
ries by  his  amiability  and  modesty;  lived  long, 
wisely,  happily,  and  died  at  a  ripe  old  age,  in  the 
fullness  of  his  powers  and  his  fame.  He  never 
learned  the  mournful  truth  which  the  lives  of  so 
many  authors  force  upon  us : 

Slow  risei  worth,  by  poverty  deprcned ; " 

be  never  felt  the  ills  which  so  often  assail  the 
•ouls  of  scnotars 

"  Toil,  envy,  want,  the  patron  and  the  jail ; " 

he  never  wrote  for  his  bread  like  Johnson  and 
Goldsmith,  and  never  hungered  like  Otway  and 
Chatterton ;  but  lived  in  teamed  ease,  surrounded 
by  friends,  master  of  himself  and  his  time — a 
prosperous  gentleman.  Born  under  a  lucky  star, 
all  good  things  sought  him  out,  and  were  turned 
by  him  to  delightful  uses.  He  made  the  world 
happier  by  his  gifts,  and  the  world  honors  his 
memory. 

The  ancestry  of  Washington  Irving  reaches 
back  to  the  days  of  Robert  Bruce,  who,  when  a 
fugitive  from  the  court  of  Edward  I.,  concealed 
himself  in  the  house  of  William  De  Irwin,  his 
secretary  and  sword-bearer.  William  De  Irwin 
followed  the  changing  fortunes  of  his  royal 
master:  was  with  him  when  he  was  routed  at 
Methvcn ;  shared  his  subsequent  dangers ;  and 
was  one  of  the  seven  who  were  hidden  with  him 
in  a  copse  of  holly  when  his  pursuers  passed  by. 
When  Bruce  came  to  his  own  again  he  made  him 
Master  of  the  Rolls,  and  ten  years  after  the  battle 
of  Bannockburn,  gave  him  in  free  barony  the 
forest  of  Drum,  near  Aberdeen.  He  also  permit- 
ted him  to  use  his  private  badge  of  three  holly 
leaves,  with  the  motto,  Sud  sole  sub  umbra  vt'rens, 
ivhich  are  still  the  arms  of  the  Irving  family.  Our 


concern,  however,  is  not  with  the  ancestors  ol 
Irving,  but  with  his  father,  William  Irving,  who 
was  from  Shapinsha,  one  of  the  Orkney  Islands, 
and  who,  on  the  death  of  his  mother,  determined 
to  follow  the  sea.  He  was  born  in  1731,  a  year 
before  Washington,  and  when  his  biographers 
find  him,  was  a  petty  officer  on  board  of  an 
armed  packet-ship  in  the  service  of  his  British 
Majesty,  plying  between  ■  Falmouth  and  New 
York.  At  the  former  port  he  met  and  became 
enamored  of  Sarah  Sanders,  a  beautiful  girl 
about  two  years  younger  than  himself,  the  only 
daughter  of  John  and  Anna  Sanders,  and  grand- 
daughter of  an  English  curate  named  Kent.  They 
were  married  at  Falmouth,  on  the  iSth  of  May, 
1761,  and  two  years  and  two  months  latei  em- 
barked for  New  York,  leaving  the  body  of  their 
first  child  in  an  English  grave-yard.  Williaui 
Irving  now  abandoned  the  sea,  and  entering  into 
trade,  was  prospering  in  a  small  way  when  the 
Revolution  broke  out.  His  house  ^as  under  the 
guns  of  the  English  ships  of  war  in  the  harbor,  so 
he  concluded  to  remove  to  the  country,  and  took 
refuge  with  his  family  in  Rahway,  New  Jersey.  He 
was  safer,  perhaps,  than  he  would  have  been  in 
New  York ;  but  business  was  at  an  end.  He  was 
pointed  out  as  a  rebel,  and  British  troops  were 
billeted  in  his  best  rooms,  while  the  family  was 
banished  to  the  garret,  so  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
return  to  New  York.  He  was  still  a  rebel,  as  well 
as  his  wife,  who  supplied  prisoners  with  food  from 
her  own  table,  visited  them  in  prison  when  they 
were  ill,  and  furnished  tnem  with  clothes,  blank- 
ets, and  the  like.  "  I'd  rather  you'd  send  them  a 
rope,  Mrs.  Ir\'ing,"  said  the  brutal  Cunningham, 
who,  nevertheless,  allowed  ht:r  charities  to  pass 
through  his  hands. 

Washington  Irving,  the  )'oungest  of  eleven 
children,  and  the  eighth  son  of  William  and 
Sarah  Irving,  was  born  toward  the  close  of  these 
troublous  times  in  New  York,  on  April  3d,  1783. 
The  house  in  which  he  was  born,  a  plain,  two- 
story  dwelling  in  William  Street  (131),  between 
Fulton  and  John,  has  long  since  disappeared,  as 
well  as  the  house  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 

(xv) 


&V1 


LIFE  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


'.ii 


same  street  (128)  to  which  the  family  moved 
within  a  year  after  his  birth.  If  the  boy  differed 
m  any  respect  from  the  average  boy,  the  particu- 
lars have  not  reached  us.  The  earliest  recorded 
anecdote  in  which  he  figures  connects  him 
with  the  illustrious  name  of  Washington,  who  en- 
tered the  city  with  his  army  not  many  months 
after  his  birth.  The  enthusiasm  which  greeted 
the  gicut  man  was  showed  by  a  young  Scotch 
maid-servant  of  the  family,  who  followed  him  one 
morning  into  a  shop,  and  showing  him  the  lad, 
said :  "  Please,  your  honor,  here's  a  bairn  was 
named  after  you."  He  placed  his  hand  on  the 
head  of  his  little  namesake  and  blessed  him. 

Master  Irving  was  not  a  prodigy;  for  at  the 
first  school,  kept  by  a  woman,  to  which  he  was 
sent  in  his  fourth  year,  and  where  he  remained 
upwards  of  two  years,  he  learned  little  beyond 
his  alphabet;  and  at  the  second,  where  boys 
and  girls  were  taught,  and  where  he  remained 
until  he  was  fourteen,  he  was  more  noted  for 
his  truth-telling  than  for  his  scholarship.  He 
distinguished  himself  while  at  school  by  playing 
the  part  of  Juba  in  Addison's  Cato,  at  a  public 
exhibition,  and  by  amusing  the  audience  by 
struggling  at  the  same  time  with  a  mass  of 
honey-cake  which  he  was  munching  behind  the 
scenes,  when  he  was  suddenly  summoned  upon 
the  stage.  The  first  book  he  is  known  to  have 
read  with  pleasure  was  Hoole's  translation  of 
'  Orlando  Furioso,"  which  fired  him  to  emulate 
the  feats  of  its  heroes,  by  combatting  his  play- 
tnates  with  a  wooden  sword  in  the  yard  of  his 
father's  house.  His  next  literary  favorites  were 
"  Robinson  Crusoe "  and  "  Sinbad  the  Sailor," 
and  a  collcctid'n  of  voyages  and  travels,  entitled 
"  The  World  Displayed,"  which  he  used  to  read 
at  ftight  by  the  glimmer  of  secreted  candles  after 
he  had  retired  to  bed,  and  which  begot  in  him 
a  desire  to  go  to  sea — a  strong  desire  that  by 
the  time  he  left  school  almost  ripened  into  a 
determination  to  run  away  from  home  and  be  a 
sailor.  It  led  him,  at  any  rate,  to  try  to  eat  salt 
pork,  which  he  abominated,  and  to  lie  on  the 
hard  floor,  which,  of  course,  was  distasteful  to 
him.  These  preliminary  hardships  proved  too 
mucn  for  his  heroism,  so  the  notion  of  becoming 
a  gallant  tar  was  reluctantly  abandoned. 

Irving's  first  known  attempt  at  original  com- 
position was  a  couplet  levelled  against  a  larger 
school-fellow,  who  was  attentive  to  the  servant- 
girl  of  his  master,  and  who  was  so  enraged  at  the 
fun  it  occasioned,  that  he  gave  the  writer  a  severe 
threshing.  The  young  poet  was  discouraged  in 
his  personalities,  but  not  his  art ;  for  he  contrib- 
uted metrical  effusions  to  the  Weekly  Museum,  a 
little  periodical  of  four  pages,  published  in  Peck 
Slip,  to  which  he  also  contributed  moral  essays. 
At  the  age  of  thirteen  he  wrote  a  play,  which  was 
represented  at  the  house  of  a  frienc,  and  stim- 
ulated his  boyish  fondness  for  the  stage.     He 


was  abetted  in  his  dramatic  passion  b)  fames  K. 
Paulding,  who  was  between  four  and  five  years  his 
senior,  and  was  residing  with  his  brother  William 
Irving,  who  had  married  his  sister.  The  theatet 
was  situated  in  John  Street,  between  Broadway 
and  Nassau,  not  far  from  his  father's  house,  from 
which  he  used  to  steal  to  see  the  play,  retumin({ 
in  time  for  the  evening  prayer,  after  which  he 
would  pretend  to  retire  for  the  night  to  his  own 
room  in  the  second  story,  whence  he  would  climb 
out  of  the  window  on  a  woodshed,  and  so  get 
back  to  the  theater,  and  the  enjoyment  of  the 
after-piece.  These  youthful  escapades,  if  detected, 
would  no  doubt  have  subjected  him  to  a  severe 
lecture  from  his  father,  who  was  a  strict,  God- 
fearing man,  and  to  tender  reproaches  from  his 
mother.  "  Oh,  Washington ! "  sighed  the  old 
lady,  "  if  you  were  only  good ! " 

After  a  year  or  two  more  of  school-life,  touring 
which  he  acquired  the  rudiments  of  a  classical 
education,  he  concluded  to  study  law,  a  profes- 
sion to  which  his  brother  John  had  devoted  him- 
self, and  accordingly  entered  the  office  of  Henry 
Masterton,  with  whom  he  remained  until  the 
summer  of  1801,  when  he  transferred  his  services 
to  Brockholst  Livingston,  and,  on  that  gentle- 
man being  called  to  the  bench  of  the  Supreme 
Court  of  the  State  in  the  following  January,  he 
continued  his  legal  pursuits  in  the  office  of  Josiab 
Ogden  Hoffman.  Why  Irving  conceived  that  he 
had  the  makings  of  a  lawyer  in  him,  we  are  not 
told ;  nor  why  his  father,  who  was  averse  to  law, 
should  have  permitted  him  to  mistake  his  tal- 
ents. It  was  not  a  very  dangerous  mistake,  how- 
ever, for  he  soon  awoke  from  it ;  nor  was  it  sedu- 
lously indulged  in  while  it  lasted ;  for  when  not 
employed,  like  Cowper  before  him,  in  giggling 
and  making  giggle,  he  passed  his  days  in  readmg 
the  bclle-lettre  literature  of  England,  and  such 
literature  as  America  then  possessed,  which  w«s 
not  much,  nor  worth  dwelling  upon  now.  He 
found  his  vocation  in  his  nineteenth  year,  in  the 
beginning  of  December,  1802,  or  it  was  found  for 
him,  by  his  brother  Peter,  >,  a  couple  of 
months  before,  had  started  a  daily  paper  in  New 
York,  under  the  title  of  the  Morning  Chronicle, 
ui  which  he  was  the  editor  and  proprietor,  and 
in  which  he  persuaded  his  clever  young  brother 
to  assist  him.  He  furnished  a  series  of  essays 
over  the  signature  of  "  Jonathan  Oldstyle,"  which 
betrayed  the  bent  of  his  mind  and  his  early  read- 
ing, and  which  were  generally  of  a  humorous 
character.  They  were  so  much  superior  to  the 
newspaper  writings  of  the  period  that  they  at- 
tracted great  attention,  and  in  spite  of  their  local 
and  temporary  interest,  were  copied  into  the 
journals  of  other  cities.  Among  those  who  were 
struck  by  their  talent  was  Charles  Brockden 
Brown,  who  was  the  first  American  that  made 
literature  a  profession,  and  who  had  already  pub- 
libUed  four  or  five  novels,  remarkable  both  for  their 


LIFE  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


extravagance  and  their  power.  He  was  a  con- 
tributor to  the  periouicals  of  the  day — such  as 
they  were— of  which  the  best,  perhaps,  was  The 
Monthly  Magazine  and  American  Register,  of 
which  he  was  the  proprietor.  It  soon  died, 
and  was  followed  by  The  Literary  Magazine  and 
Ametican  Register,  of  which  he  was  also  the 
proprietor,  and  it  was  in  this  latter  capacity, 
rather  than  as  the  first  American  author,  that  he 
visited  Irving,  and  besought  him  to  aid  him  in  his 
new  enterprise.  Fie  was  not  successful,  for, 
whatever  may  have  been  his  inclinations,  "  Mr. 
Jonathan  OUlstyle"  had  not  yet  decided  upon 
being  an  author. 

Irving's  love  of  adventure,  which  had  been 
stimulated  by  the  reading  of  voyages  and  travels, 
and  which  would  have  led  him  to  follow  a  mari- 
time life,  if  he  could  have  gratified  his  inclina- 
tions, expended  itself  in  long  rambles  about  the 
rural  neighborhoods  of  the  city,  which  he  knew 
by  heart,  and  in  more  distant  excursions  into  the 
country.  He  spent  a  holiday  in  Westchester 
County  in  his  fifteenth  year,  and  explored  the 
recesses  of  Sleepy  Hollow ;  and,  in  his  seven- 
teenth year,  made  a  voyage  up  the  Hudson,  the 
beauties  of  which,  as  Bryant  has  pointed  out,  he 
was  the  first  to  describe.  He  was  greatly  im- 
p.-essed  by  the  sight  of  the  Highlands,  crowned 
with  forests,  with  eagles  sailing  and  screaming 
around  them,  and  unseen  streams  dashing  down 
their  precipices ;  and  was  fairly  bewitched  by  the 
Kaatskill  Mountains.  "  Never  shall  I  forget,"  he 
wrote, "  the  effect  upon  me  of  the  first  view  of  them 
predominating  over  a  wide  extent  of  country, 
part  wild,  woody,  and  rugged,  part  softened  away 
into  all  the  graces  of  cultivation.  As  we  slowly 
floated  along,  I  lay  on  the  deck  and  watched 
them  through  a  long  summer's  day ;  undergoing 
a  thousand  mutations  under  the  magical  eilccts 
of  atmosphere  ;  sometimes  seeming  to  approach, 
at  other  times  to  recede ;  now  almost  melting 
into  hazy  distance,  now  burnished  by  the  setting 
sin,  until,  in  the  evening,  they  printed  them- 
selves against  the  glowing  sky  in  the  deep  purple 
of  au  Italian  landscape."  In  his  twentieth  year 
he  made  a  visit  to  Johnstown,  the  residence  of 
his  eldest  sister,  which  he  reached  in. a  wagon, 
after  a  voyage  by  sloop  to  Albany.  This  visit 
seems  to  have  been  undertaken  on  account  of  his 
health,  for  he  was  troubled  with  a  constant  pain 
in  his  breast,  and  a  harassing  cough  at  night.  "  I 
have  been  unwell  almost  all  the  time  I  have  been 
up  here,"  he  wrote  to  a  friend.  "  I  am  too  weak 
to  take  any  exercise,  and  too  low-spirited  half 
the  timt.  to  enjoy  company,"  "  Was  that  young 
Irving,"  asked  Judge  Kent  of  his  brother-in-law, 
"  who  slept  in  the  room  next  to  me,  and  kept 
up  such  an  incessant  cough  during  the  night  ?  " 
"  It  was."  "  He  is  not  long  for  this  world." 
This  lugubrious  judgment  of  the  great  jurist  was 
shared  by  the  family  of  Irving,  who  determined 


to  send  him  to  Europe.  The  expense  was  main!) 
borne  by  his  brother  William,  who  tpld  him, 
speaking  in  behalf  of  his  relatives,  that  one  ol 
their  greatest  sources  of  happiness  was  that  for- 
tune put  it  in  their  power  to  add  to  the  cojnfort 
and  happiness  of  one  so  dear  to  thei  i.  They  ac- 
cordingly secured  a  passage  for  him  .o  Bordeaux, 
for  which  he  started  on  the  19th  of  May,  1804. 
"There's  a  '.hap,"  said  the  captain,  "who  wil 
go  overboard  before  we  get  across." 

The  arst  E  .ropean  vis't  3f  an  American  was  a 
greater  event  seventy  yeats  ago  than  it  is  to-day. 
It  was  less  common,  at  any  rate,  and  was  attended 
with  dangers  which  no  longer  exist.  What  it 
was  to  Irving  we  gather  from  his  let'ers,  whicb 
may  still  be  read  with  pleasure,  thou^^h  nothing 
like  the  pleasure  they  afforded  his  friends,  who 
were  more  interested  in  his  itinerary  than  it  is 
possible  for  us  to  be.  He  reached  Bordeaux  aftei 
what  the  sailors  call  "  a  lady's  voyage,"  much  im- 
proved in  health,  and  enough  of  a  sailor  to  climb 
to  the  masthead,  and  go  out  on  the  main  topsail 
yard.  He  remained  at  Bordeaux  about  six  weeks, 
seeing  what  there  was  to  see,  and  studying  to  im- 
prove himself  in  the  language.  From  Dordsaux 
he  proceeded  to  Marseilles  by  diligence,  accom- 
panied by  an  eccentric  American  doctor,  who 
pretended  that  Irving  was  an  English  prisoner, 
whom  a  young  French  officer  that  was  with 
them  had  in  custody,  much  to  the  regret  ol 
some  girls  at  Tonneins,  who  pitied  "  le  pauvre 
gargon,"  and  his  prospect  of  losing  his  head,  and 
supplied  him  with  a  bottle  of  wine,  for  which 
they  would  not  take  any  recompense.  At  Nismea 
he  began  to  have  misgivings  about  his  passports, 
of  which  he  had  two,  neither  accurate,  his  eyes 
being  described  as  blue  in  one,  and  gray  in  the 
other.  He  had  a  great  dcnl  of  trouble  with  his 
passports,  first  and  last,  but  he  worried  through 
it,  with  considerable  loss  of  temper,  and,  after  a 
detention  at  Nice,  finally  set  sail  in  a  felucca  for 
Genoa.  From  Genoa,  where  he  resided  up- 
wards of  two  months,  he  started  for  Messina, 
falling  in  with  a  privateer,  or  pirate,  on  the  way, 
who  frightened  the  captain  and  crew,  and  relieved 
them  of  about  half  their  provisions,  besides  some 
of  their  furniture,  and  a  watch  and  some  clothes 
out  of  the  trunks  of  the  passengers.  From 
Genoa  he  proceeded  to  Syracuse,  where  he  ex- 
plored the  celebrated  Ear  of  Dionysius,  and  set 
out  with  a  party  for  Catania,  and  thence  to  Pa- 
lermo, where  he  arrived  at  the  latter  end  of  the 
Carnival.  He  reached  Naples  on  March  7,  1805 
and  after  resting  a  few  days,  made  a  night  ascent 
of  Mount  Vesuvius,  where  he  had  a  tremendous 
view  of  the  crater,  that  poured  out  a  stream  of  red- 
hot  lava,  the  sulphurous  smoke  of  which  stifled 
him,  so  much  so,  that  but  for  the  shifting  of  the 
wind  he  might  have  shared  the  fate  of  Pliny. 
Twenty  days  later  he  entered  Rome  by  the  Lat- 
eran  Gate.    Here  bu  met  a  fellow-countryman 


irjaadBMaMWMaikMaaM 


tvm 


LIFE  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


.im. 


in  the  person  of  Washington  Alston,  who  was 
about  four  years  his  elder,  whose  taste  for  art  had 
been  awakened  at  Newport  by  his  association  with 
Malbone,  the  famous  miniature  painter,  and  who 
was  already  more  than  a  painter  of  promise.  "  I 
do  not  think,"  Irving  wrote  years  after,  "  that  I 
have  ever  been  more  completely  captivated  on 
a  first  acquaintance.  He  was  of  a  light  and 
graceful  form,  with  large,  blue  eyes,  and  black, 
■ilken  hair,  waving  and  curling  round  a  pale,  ex- 
pressive countenance.  Everything  about  him 
bespoke  the  man  of  intellect  and  refinement. 
H>s  conversation  was  copious,  animated,  and 
highly  graphic,  warmed  by  genial  sensibility  and 
benevolence,  and  enlivened  by  chaste  and  gentle 
humor." 

Irving  and  Alston  iratemized,  and  spent  the 
twenty-second  birthday  of  the  former  in  seeing 
some  of  the  finest  collections  of  paintings  in 
Rome,  the  painter  teaching  the  traveller  how  to 
visit  them  to  the  most  advantage,  leading  him  al- 
ways to  the  masterpieces,  and  passing  the  others 
without  notice.  They  rambled  in  company 
around  the  Eternal  City  and  its  environs,  and 
Irving  contrasted  their  different  pursuits  and 
prospects,  favoring  as  he  did  so  those  of  Alston, 
who  was  to  reside  amid  the  delightful  scenes 
among  which  they  were,  surrounded  by  famous 
works  of  art  and  classic  and  historic  monu- 
ments, and  by  men  of  congenial  tastes,  while  he 
Wis  to  return  home  to  the  dry  study  of  the  law, 
\or  which  he  had  no  relish,  and,  as  he  feared,  no 
talent.  "  Why  might  I  not  remain  here,  and  be 
a  painter  ?  "  he  thought,  and  he  mentioned  the 
idea  to  his  friend,  who  caught  at  it  with  eager- 
ness. They  would  take  an  apartment  together, 
and  he  would  give  him  all  the  instruction  and 
assistance  in  his  power.  But  it  was  not  to  be ; 
their  lots  in  life  were  differently  cast.  So  Irving 
resigned  the  transient,  but  delightful,  prospect  of 
becoming  a  painter.  During  his  sojourn  in  Rome 
he  attended  the  conversaziones  of  Torlonia,  the 
banker,  who  treated  him  with  great  distinction, 
and,  calling  him  aside  when  he  came  to  make  his 
adieu,  asked  him,  in  French,  if  he  was  not  a  rela- 
tive of  General  Washington  ?  He  was  also  intro- 
duced to  the  Baron  de  Humboldt,  Minister  of 
Prussia  to  the  Court  of  Rome,  and  brother  to 
the  celebrated  traveller  and  savant,  and  to  Madam 
de  Stael.  who  astounded  him  by  the  amazing  flow 
of  her  conversation,  and  the  multitude  of  ques- 
tions with  which  she  plied  him. 

Irving  started  for'Parison  the  nth  of  April, 
«id  reached  it  on  the  24th  of  May.  His  stay  in 
Paris,  which  extended  over  four  months,  was  a 
round  of  sight'sceing  and  amusement.  One 
night  he  went  to  the  Theatre  Montansier,  where 
the  acting  was  humorous,  but  rather  gross  ;  an- 
•ther  night  he  went  to  the  Imper  al  Academytof 
4usic  wbti  e  he  saw  the  opera  of  "  Alceste  " ;  a 
taird  night  he  went  to  the  theatre  of  Jeunes 


Artistes,  where  boys  acted  plays ;  and  &  fourth  tc 
the  theatre  of  Port  St.  Martin.  He  made  ths 
acquaintance  at  this  time  of  another  American 
painter,  Vanderlyn,  a  man  of  genius,  in  whom  he 
was  much  interested,  and  who  made  a  sketch  of 
him  in  crayons.  H  s  mental  improvement  was 
not  neglected  in  the  gay  capital,  for  he  bought  a 
botanical  dictionary,  and  took  two  months'  tui- 
tion in  French. 

Irving  arrived  in  London  on  the  8th  of  Octo> 
her,  after  a  tour  through  the  Netherlands.  He 
found  lodgings  to  his  liking  in  Norfolk  Street, 
Strand,  not  far  from  the  city,  and  being  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  theatres,  he  devoted  most  of  his 
evenings  to  visiting  them.  Three  great  actors 
were  then  playing — ^John  Kemble,  Cooke,  and 
Mrs.  Siddons,  and  in  his  correspondence  with  his 
brother  William  he  described  the  impression  they 
made  on  him.  Kemble  was  a  very  studied  actor, 
he  thought.  His  performances  were  correct  and 
highly-finished  paintings,  but  much  labored.  He 
never  led  the  spectators  to  forget  him  in  "Othello," 
it  was  Kemble  they  saw  throughout,  not  the  jeal ' 
ous  Moor.  He  was  cold,  artificial,  and  unequal, 
and  he  wanted  mellowness  in  the  tender  scenes. 
He  was  fine  in  passages  when  he  played  "  Jaffier," 
but  great  only  in  Zanga,  whom,  for  the  moment, 
he  fancied  himself.  Cooke  was  next  to  him, 
though  rather  confined  in  his  range.  His  lago 
was  admirable ;  his  Richard,  he  was  told,  was 
equally  good  ;  and  in  Sir  Pertinax  Mc  Sycophant 
he  left  nothing  to  be  desired.  But  Mrs.  Siddons— 
if  he  wrote  what  he  thought  of  her,  his  praises 
would  be  thought  exaggerated.  "  Her  looks,  her 
voice,  her  gestures  delighted  me.  She  penetrated 
in  a  moment  to  my  heart.  She  froze  and  melted  it 
by  turns.  A  glance  of  her  eye,  a  start,  an  excla* 
mation,  thrilled  through  my  very  frame.  The 
more  I  see  her,  the  more  I  admire  her.  I  hardly 
breathe  while  she  in  on  the  stage.  She  works 
up  my  feelings  till  I  am  like  a  mere  child." 

Irving  set  out  from  Gravesend  on  the  i8th  of 
January,  1806,  and  reached  New  York  after  a 
stormy  passage  of  sixty-four  days.  He  had  contra- 
dicted the  prophecy  of  the  captain  with  whom  he 
originally  sailed — that  he  would  go  overboard  be- 
fore he  got  across ;  and  of  Judge  Kent,  who  de- 
clared he  was  not  long  for  this  world.  He  re- 
turned in  good  health,  and  resumed  his  legal 
studies.which  were  advanced  enough  to  enable  him 
to  pass  an  examination  in  the  ensuing  Novem- 
ber, which  ended  in- his  admission  to  the  bar.  He 
entered  the  office  of  his  brother  John,  at  No.  3 
Wall  Street,  and  while  waiting  for  clients  who 
never  came,  he  turned  his  attention  to  literature 
more  seriously  than  he  had  ever  done  before. 
There  was  more  room  in  it  than  in  the  over- 
crowded profession  of  the  law;  so  much  room, 
indeed,  that  a  young  man  of  his  talents  might  do 
almost  anything  that  he  chose.  There  was  nc 
fear  of  competitors,  at  any  rate    for  authorship 


Irving  c; 


jii;' 


LIFE  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


Zll 


as  a  craft,  had  no  followers,  except  Cbarles  Brock- 
den  Brown,  who  was  still  editing  the  Literary 
Maganiiu,  and  perhaps  John  Dennie,  whose  rep- 
utation, such  as  it  was,  rested  on  his  Lay  Preacher, 
and  who  was  editing  the  Port  Folio.  The  few 
poets  of  which  America  boasted  were  silent. 
Trumbull,  the  author  of  "  McFingal,"  which  was 
published  the  year  before  Irving's  birth,  was  a 
judge  of -the  Superior  Court;'  Dwight,  whose 
"  Conquest  of  Canaan  "  was  published  three  years 
later,  was  merely  the  President  of  Yale  College ; 
Barlow,  whose  "Vision  of  Columbus"  was 
published  two  years  later  still,  and  who  had  rer 
turned  to  this  country  after  shining  abroad  as  a 
diplomatist,  was  living  in  splendor  on  the  banks 
of  the  Potomac,  and  brooding  over  that  unread- 
able poem  which  he  expanded  into  the  epic  of 
"  The  Columbiad  " ;  and  Freneau,  by  all  odds  the 
oest  of  our  earlier  versifiers,  who  had  published 
a  collection  of  his  eifusions  in  1795.  had  aban- 
doned the  Muses,  and  was  sailing  a  sloop  between 
Savannah,  Charleston,  and  the  West  Indies. 
Pierpont,  who  was  two  years  younger  than  Irving, 
was  a  private  tutor  in  South  Carolina;  Dana  was 
a  student  at  Harvard,  and  Bryant,  a  youth  of 
twelve,  at  Cummington,  was  scribbling  juvenile 
poems,  which  were  being  published  in  a  news- 
paper at  Northampton. 

The  library  of  Irving's  father  was  rich  in  Eliza- 
bethan writers,  among  whom  Chaucer  and  Spen- 
ser were  his  early  favorites,  and  it  contained 
the  classics  of  the  eighteenth  century,  in  verse 
and  prose,  not  forgetting  the  Spectator  and  7a/- 
ler  and  Rambler,  and  the  works  of  the  ingenious 
Dr.  Goldsmith.  Everybody  who  read  fiction  was 
familiar  with  the  novels  of  Fielding  and  Smol- 
lett, and  lovers  of  political  literature  were 
familiar  with  the  speeches  of  Burke  and  the 
letters  of  Junius.  Everybody  read  (or  could 
read)  the  poetical  works  of  Cowper  and  Bums, 
Campbell's  "  Pleasures  of  Hope,"  and  Scott's 
"  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  and  whatever  else 
in  the  shape  of  verse  American  publishers 
thought  it  worth  their  while  to  reprint  for  them; 
for  then,  as  now,  they  were  willing  to  enlighten 
their  countrymen  at  the  expense  of  British 
authors. 

Equipped  with  a  liberal  education,  which  he 
had  imbibed  from  English  literature,  and  with 
the  practice  which  he  had  gained  in  writing  for 
the  paper  of  his  brother  Peter,  which  was  dis- 
continued shortly  before  his  return  to  America, 
Irving  cast  about  for  a  field  of  authorship  in 
»hich  he  mi^'ht  safely  venture.  His  inclination 
»a3  toward  the  writing  of  essays,  in  which  he 
had  had  considerable  experience,  and  the  taste 
of  his  friend  Paulding,  who  was  still  living 
under  the  roof  of  his  brother  William,  was  in 
the  same  direction.  They  put  their  heads  to- 
gether, and  sketched  out  a  plan  of  publication, 
in  which  tl  ey  might  have  their  fling  at  men  and 


things,  and  which  should  come  out  in  ncR.ben 
whenever  it  suited  their  pleasure  and  ccnvcn- 
ience.  The  title  that  they  selected  was  "  Salma- 
gundi,"  which  is  derived  from  the  French  word 
salmigondis,  which  is  made  up  of  two  Latin 
words  salgama  and  eondita,  signifying  preserved 
pickles.  Johnson  defines  the  word  as  "  a  mixtuie 
of  chopped  meat  and  pickled  herring  with  oil, 
vinegar,  pepper,  and  omons,"  whicli«  no  doubt,  is 
an  appetizing  dish  when  one  has  become  accus- 
tomed to  it.  Irving  and  Paulding  were  joined 
by  William  Irving,  and  the  three  resolved  them- 
selves into  what  the  Spaniards  call  a  junta, — /.  e, 
Launcelot  Langstaff,  Anthony  Evergreen,  and 
William  Wizard.  The  first  number  of  "  Salma- 
gundi" was  issued  on  January  24th,  1807,  the 
last  on  January  25th,  1S08,  the  twe;ity  numbers 
of  which  it  consisted  covering  just  the  true-love 
epoch  of  the  old  ballads,  "  A  twelvemonth  and 
a  day."  The  time,  which  was  ripe  for  almost 
anything  in  the  shape  of  American  literature, 
was  so  propitious  for  a  periodical  of  this  kind, 
that  the  success  of  the  first  number  was  decisive. 
There  was  no  home  literature  then  to  speak  of, 
as  I  have  already  hinted,  and  the  city  in  which 
this  bright  venture  appeared  was  a  mere  town 
compared  with  the  Babel  of  to-day,  scarcely 
numbering  80,000  inhabitants.  It  was  not  difHcuIt 
to  make  a  sensation  in  a  place  of  that  size,  in  ■ 
barren  literary  period,  .and  "Salmagundi"  cer- 
tainly made  a  great  one.  Everybody  talked 
about  it,  and  wondered  who  its  writers  could 
be,  and  nobody  was  much  the  wiser  foi  his 
wonderment,  for  the  secret  was  well  kept.  It 
would  be  idle  now  to  attempt  to  distinguiih  the 
share  of  the  different  writers,  for,  as  Paulding 
wrote  afterward,  in  the  uniform  edition  of  his 
works,  in  which  it  was  included,  "  The  thoughts 
of  the  authors  were  often  so  mingled  togethei  in 
these  essays,  and  they  were  so  literally  joint  pio- 
ductions,  that  it  would  be  difficult  as  well  as  use- 
less to  assign  each  his  exact  share." 

Authors,  there  were  none  in  New  York,  with 
the  exception  of  the  authors  of  "  Salmagundi," 
though  there  was  no  lack  of  writers,  so  called, 
among  whom  figured  Samuel  Latham  Mitchill, 
practicer  in  physic  (I'ke  Johnson's  friend  Levett), 
lawyer  and  retired  Indian  commissioner,  member 
of  Congress,  and  of  various  learned  societies, 
and  editor  of  the  Medical  Repository.  This  gen- 
tleman, who  wrote  largely,  and  was  a  butt  to  the 
wits  of  the  day,  had  lately  published  a  "  Picture 
of  New  York,"  which,  if  not  funny  itself,  was  a 
source  of  fun  to  others,  particularly  to  Irving 
and  his  brother  Peter,  who  determined  to  bur- 
lesque it.  With  this  object  in  view  they  made 
many  notes,  and  not  to  be  behind  its  erudite 
author,  who  began  his  work  with  an  account  of 
the  aborigines,  they  began  theirs  with  the 
creation  of  the  world.  Started  shortly  after  the 
publication  of  "  Salmagundi,"  it  proceeded  slowly 


tx 


LIFE  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


l^ 


and  with  many  intcriuptions,  until  the  following 
'anuary,  when  Peter  Irving  departed  for  Liver- 
pool on  urgent  business.    Left  to  himself,  his 
■  forsalcen  collaborateur  changed  the  whole  plan  of 
the  work,  condensing  the  great  mass  of  notes 
which  they  had  accumulated  into  five  introduc- 
tory chapters,  and  commencing  at  a  considerably 
later  period,  the  new  Genesis  being  the  dynasty 
of  the  Dutch  in  New  York.     Laid  aside  for  a 
time,  he  resumed  it  in  the  summer,  at  a  country 
house,  at  Ravenswood,  near  Hellgate,  whither  he 
had  retired  in  order  to  prepare  it  for  the  press. 
A  stupendous  hoax,  it  was  launched  with  a  series 
of  small  hoaxes,  the  first  of  which  appeared  in 
the  Evening  Post  of  October  25th,  1809,  in  the 
yhapeof  a  paragraph  narrating  the  disappearance 
from  his  lodging  of  a  small  elderly  gentleman, 
by  the  name  of  Knickerbocker.     He  was  stated 
to  be  dressed  in  an  old  black  coat  and  a  cocked  hat, 
and  it  was    intimated    that  there   were    some 
reasons  for  believing  that  he  was  not  in  his  right 
mind.    Great  anxiety  was  felt,  and  any  informa- 
tion concerning  him  would  be  thankfully  re- 
ceived at  the  Columbian  Hotel,  Mulberry  street, 
or  at  the  office  of  the  paper.   This  feeler  was  fol- 
lowed in  a  week  or  two  by  a  communication 
from  "  A  Traveller,"  who  professed  to  have  seen 
him  some  weeks  before  by  the  side  of  the  road, 
a  little  above  Kingsbridge.  "  He  had  in  his  hands 
a  small  bundle,  tied  in  a  red  bandanna  handker- 
chief; he  appeared  to  be  travelling  northward, 
iiBrl  was  very  much   fatigued   and  exhausted." 
Ten  days  later  (November  6th),  Mr.  Seth  Han- 
daside,  landlord  of  the  Independent  Columbian 
Hotel,  inserted  a  card  in  the  same  paper,  in 
which  he  declared  that  there  had  been  found  in 
the  room   of    the   missing   man,    Mr.   Diedrich 
Knickerbocker,  a  curious  kind  0/ a  written  book,  in 
his  own  handwriting;  and  he  wished  the  editor 
to  notify  him,  if  he  was  alive,  that  if  he  did  not 
return  and  pay  off  his  bill  for  board,  he  would 
have  to  dispose  of  his  book  to  satisfy  him  for 
the  same.    The  bail  >.ool{,  so  much  so  that  one 
of   the  city  authorities   actually  waited    upon 
Irving's  brother,  John,   and  consulted   him  on 
the  propriety  of  offering  a  reward  for  the  mythi- 
cal Diedrich ! 

To  these  "puffs  preliminary"  was  added  the 
precaution  of  having  the  manuscript  set  up  in 
Philadelphia,  which  lessened  the  danger  of  the 
real  charactc-  of  the  work  being  discovered  be- 
fore its  appearance 

The  "  History  of  New  York,"  which  was  pub- 
riahed  in  this  city  on  the  6th  of  December,  1809, 
vas  a  success  in  more  ways  than  one.  Its  whim 
and  satire  amused  the  lovers  of  wit  and  humor, 
and  its  irreverence  towards  the  early  Dutch  sct- 
'  tiers  of  the  State  annoyed  and  angered  their 
descendants.  Between  these  two  classes  of  read- 
ers it  was  much  talked  about,  and  largely  circula- 
ted.   The  Monthly  Antholog^y,  the  foterunnei  of 


the  North  American  Review,  pronounced  it  th( 
wittiest  book  our  press  had  ever  produced ;  and 
Scott,  to  whom  a  copy  of  the  second  edition  wai 
sent  by  Irving's  friend,  Henry  Brevort,  and  upon 
whom,  from  his  ignorance  of  American  parties 
and  politics,  much  of  its  concealed  satire  was 
lost,  owned,  that   looking   at    its   simple  aatf 
obvious  meaning  only,  he  had  never  read  any- 
thing 80  closely  resembling  the  style  of  Dean 
Swift  as  the  annals  of  Diedrich  Knickerbocker 
Bryant,  who  was  a  youth  jit  college  when  it  came 
out,  committed  a  portion  of  it  to  memory  to  re- 
peat as  a  declamation  before  his  class,  but  was 
so  overcome  with  laughter  when  he  appeared  on 
the  floor,  that  he  was  unable  to  proceed,  and 
drew  upon    himself   the  rebuke  of    his    tutor. 
Fifty  years  later,  when  he  delivered  a  discoune 
on  the  life,  character,  and  genius  of  Irving,  his 
admiration  had  not  subsided.     "When  I  com- 
pare it  with  other  works  of  wit  and  humor  of  a 
similar  length,"  he  said,  "  I  find  that,  unlike  most 
of  them,  it  carries  the  reader  to  the  conclusion 
without  weariness  or  satiety,  so  unsought,  spon- 
taneous,   self-suggested    are   the   wit    and  the 
humor.    The  author  makes  us  laugh,  because  he 
can  no  more  help  it  than  we  can  help  laughing." 
He  refers  to  the  opinion  of  Scott,  already  quoted, 
and  remarks  that  the  rich  vein  of  Irving  was  of 
a  quality  quite  distinct  from  the  dry  drollery  of 
Swift,  and  he  detects  the  influence  of  his  read- 
ing. "  I  find  in  this  work  more  traces  than  in  his 
other  writings,  of    what    Irving   owed  to  the 
earlier  authors  in  our  language.     The  quaint 
poetic  coloring,  and  often  the  phraseology,  be> 
tray    the    disciple    of     Chaucer    and   Spenser. 
We  are  conscious  of  a  flavor  of  the  olden  time, 
as  of  a  racy  wine  of  some  rich  vintage — 

'  Cooled  a  long  age  in  the  decp-delvM  earth.' 

I  will  not  say  that  there  are  no  passages  in  this 
work  which  are  not  worthy  of  their  context; 
that  we  do  not  sometimes  meet  with  phraseology 
which  we  could  wish  changed ;  that  the  wit 
does  not  sometimes  run  wild,  and  drop  here  and 
there  a  jest  which  we  could  willingly  spare.  We 
forgive,  we  overlook,  we  forget  all  this  as  we 
read,  in  consideration  of  the  entertainment  we 
have  enjoyed,  and  of  that  which  beckons  us  for- 
ward in  the  next  page.  Of  all  mock-heroic 
works,  Knickerbocker's  •  History  of  New  York' 
is  the  gayest,  the  airiest,  and  the  least  tiresome." 
Irving's  next  literary  labor  was  the  editorship 
of  a  monthly  publication,  which  had  been  estab- 
lished in  Philadelphia,  and  which,  from  its  title, 
Select  Reviews,  would  appear  to  have  been  of  an 
eclectic  character.  Its  name  was  changed  to  the 
Analectic  Magazine  during  his  management, 
which  extended  through  the  years  1813  and  1814, 
and  it  bade  fair  to  be  successful,  until  its  propri- 
etor was'  ruined  by  the  failure  of  the  New  York 
publishers  of  "Salmagundi."    Irving's  contribu- 


UFB  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


xzi 


tiona  to  thia  dead  and  gone  old  periodical  con- 
sisted of  critical  notices  of  new  worics  by  En- 
glish and  American  authors ;  among  others  one 
ay  his  friend  Paulding,  who  had  dropped  into 
poetry  with  a  "  Lay  of  the  Scottish  Fiddle";  of  a 
series  of  biographies  of  the  naval  heroes  of  our 
second  war  with  England;  and  of  a  revised 
and  enlarged  memoir  of  the  poet  Campbell, 
which  he  had  written  at  the  request  of  his 
brother  a  year  or  two  before,  to  accompany  an 
American  edition  of  his  poetical  works.  Irving 
signed  off  what  was  owing  to  him,  and  peace 
with  England  being  declared  shortly  after,  he 
departed  for  Europe  for  the  second  time  on  the 
25th  of  May,  1815.  He  was  a  partner  in  a  mer- 
cantile house,  which  his  brothers  Peter  and 
Ebenezer  had  started  in  Liverpool,  and  it  was 
quite  as  much  to  assist  the  former,  who  was  in 
ill-health,  as  to  divert  himself,  that  he  undertook 
the  journey.  He  remained  at  Liverpool  for  some 
time,  examining  the  affairs  of  "  P.  &  E.  Irving  & 
Co.,"  which  had  fallen  into  confusion  on  account 
of  the  sickness  of  his  brother  and  the  death  of 
his  principal  clerk,  mastering  details,  and  learn- 
ing book-keeping,  in  order  to  straighten  out 
their  books.  The  business  of  the  Irving  brothers 
ended  in  failure,  owing  to  a  variety  of  causes, 
which  there  is  no  occasion  to  specify  now,  and 
the  literary  member  of  the  firm  turned  his  at- 
tention again  to  the  only  business  for  which  he 
was  really  fitted.  He  had  renewed  his  acquaint- 
ance with  Alston,  who  was  now  residing  in  Lon- 
don, and  had  met  Leslie,  the  artist,  both  of  whom 
were  making  designs  for  a  new  edition  of  his 
"  History  of  New  York." 

The  summer  of  1817  found  Irving  in  London, 
whence  he  paid  a  visit  to  Sydenham  to  Camp- 
bell, who  was  simmering  over  his  "  Specimens 
of  the  English  Poets,"  and  where  he  dined  with 
Murray,  the  bookseller,  who  showed  him  a  long 
letter  from  Byron,  who  was  in  Italy,  and  was 
wgaged  on  the  fourth  canto  of  "Childe  Harold," 
and  who  had  told  him  "  that  he  was  much  hap- 
pier after  breaking  with  Lady  Byron — he  hated 
this  still,  quiet  life."  From  London  he  proceeded 
to  Edinburgh,  whence  he  walked  out  to  a  man- 
sion, which  had  been  taken  by  Jeffrey,  with  whom 
he  dined,  after  which  he  rattled  off  by  the  mail 
coach  to  Selkirk,  and  by  chakjc  to  Melrose.  On 
his  way  to  the  latter  place  he  stopped  at  the  gate 
at  Abbotsford,  and  sent  in  his  letter  of  introduc- 
tion to  Scott.  The  glorious  old  minstrel  him- 
self came  hobbling  to  the  gate,  and  took  him  by 
the  hand  in  a  way  that  made  him  feel  as  if  they 
were  old  friends  ;  in  a  moment  he  was  seated  at 
(lis  hospitable  board  among  his  charming  family. 
He  passed  two  days  at  Abbotsford,  rambling 
about  the  hills  with  his  host,  and  visiting  the 
haunts  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  and  other  spots 
rendered  classic  by  border  tale  and  song,  in  a 
kind  of  dream.    H^  was  delighted  with  the  char- 


acter and  manners  of  the  great  man,  and  it  wai 
a  constant  source  of  pleasure  to  him  to  watch 
his  deportment  toward  his  family,  his  neigh- 
bors, his  domestics,  his  very  dogs  and  cats.  "  It 
is  a  perfect  picture  to  see  Scott  and  his  hour.* 
hold  assembled  of  an  evening — the  dogs 
stretched  before  the  fire,  the  cat  perched  on  a 
chair,  Mrs.  Scott  and  the  girls  sewing,  and  Scott 
either  reading  out  of  some  old  romance,  or  tell- 
ing border  stories.  Our  amusements  were  oc- 
casionally diversified  by  a  border  song  from 
Sophia,  who  is  as  well  versed  in  border  min- 
strelsy as  her  father."  This  pilgrimage  to  Ab- 
botsford, which  is  described  at  length  in  the  fifth 
volume  of  Lockhart's  "Life  of  Scott,"  was 
brought  about  by  Campbell.  "  When  you  see 
Tom  Campbell,"  Scott  wrote  to  bne  of  his 
friends,  "tell  him,  with  my  best  love,  that  I  have 
to  thank  him  for  making  me  known  to  Mr. 
Washington  Irving,  who  is  one  of  the  best  and 
plcasantest  acquaintances  I  have  made  this  many 
a  day." 

The  house  of  the  Irving  brothers  succeeded  so 
ill  in  England  that  the  two  resident  partners 
Peter  and  Washington,  finally  made  up  theii 
minds  to  go  into  bankruptcy.  The  necessary 
proceedings  occupied  some  months,  during 
which  time  the  latter  shut  himself  up  from 
society,  and  studied  German  day  and  night,  partly 
in  the  hope  that  it  would  be  some  servic« 
to  him,  and  partly  to  keep  ofl  uncomfortabl* 
thoughts.  His  brother  William,  who  was  ia 
Congress,  had  exerted  himself  to  have  h  m  made 
Secretary  of  Legation  at  the  Court  of  St.  James, 
but  in  vain ;  and  his  friend.  Commodore  Decatur, 
had  kept  a  place  for  him  in  the  Navy  Board,  the 
salary  of  which  would  enable  him  to  live  in 
Washington  like  a  prince.  He  concluded  not  to 
accept  it,  however,  greatly  to  the  chagrin  of  his 
brothers,  but  to  remain  abroad,  and  battle  with 
fortune  on  his  own  account.  So  he  went  up  to 
London  again  in  the  summer  of  1818,  to  see  if 
he  could  not  live  by  his  pen. 

Nearly  nine  years  had  elapsed  since  the  pub- 
lication of  the  "  History  of  New  York,"  and  with 
the  exception  of  his  reviews  and  biographies  in 
the  Analectic  Magazine,  he  had  written  nothing. 
His  mercantile  connection  with  his  brothers  had 
proved  disastrous  to  them  as  well  as  to  himself, 
and  he  was  now  dependent  on  his  own  exertions. 
If  there  is  anything  in  experience  that  fits  one 
for  literature,  he  was  better  fitted  for  it  than  ever 
before.  He  had  passed  through  troubles  which 
had  deepened  his  knowledge  of  life,  having  \oh\ 
his  father,  who  died  shortly  before  the  rompletiou 
of  "Salmagundi,"  and  his  mother,  who  died 
about  ten  years  later,  and  whose  death  was 
still  fresh  in  his  memory.  Between  these  two 
sorrows  came  the  tragedy  which  darkened  his 
young  manhood,  and  was  never  forgotten — ^the 
death  of  Matilda  Hoffman,  the   young  lady  to 


i 


txu 


LIFE  OP  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


\ 


\A 


whom  he  was  attached,  who  closed  her  brief  ex- 
istence at  the  age  of  eighteen,  while  he  was  com- 
posing the  amusing  annals  of  Mr.  Diedrich 
Kniclcerbcckcr.  He  was  a  bold  American  who 
would  dare  to  attempt  at  that  time  to  live  by 
authorship  in  his  own  country,  which  had  known 
but  one  professional  author,  Charles  Brockden 
Br)wn,  who  had  died  about  eight  years  before, 
ax  the  early  age  of  thirty-nine ;  but  he  was  a 
bolder  American  who  would  dare  to  attempt  the 
tame  hazardous  feat  in  England.  Such  a  man 
was  Irvmg,  who  settled  down  in  London  in  his 
thirty-sixth  year,  to  see  if  he  could  earn  his 
living  by  his  pen.  His  capital  was  the  practice 
he  already  possessed,  and  some  uniinished 
sketches,  upon  which  he  had  been  engaged,  pre- 
cisely when,  or  where,  we  are  not  told.  He  set 
to  work  on  these  sketches,  with  the  intention  of 
issuing  them  in  numbers  as  a  periodical  publica- 
tion, and  when  he  had  finished  enough  to  make 
the  first  number  he  dispatched  the  manuscript 
across  the  Atlantic  to  his  brother  Ebenezer,  in  Feb- 
ruary, 1819.  It  was  put  to  press  under  the  title 
"The  Sketch-Book  of  Geoffrey  Crayon,"  and 
published  in  May,  simultaneously  in  New  York, 
Boston,  Philadelphia  and  Baltimore.  It  con- 
tained six  papers,  or  sketches,  of  which  the  per- 
ennial Rip  Van  Winkle  soon  became  a  general 
favorite.  There  was  an  immediate  demand  for 
"The  Sketch-Book,"  for  as  one  of  Irving's  critics 
observed,  the  honor  of  our  national  literature 
flras  so  associated  with  his  name,  that  the  pride 
i»  well  as  the  better  feelings  of  his  countrymen, 
were  interested  in  accumulating  the  gifts  of  his 
genius.  He  was  congratulated  on  resuming  the 
pen,  in  the  Analectic,  by  his  friend  Gulian  C. 
Verplanck  (who,  by  the  way,  had  not  taken  kindly 
to  his  Knickerbocker),  who  saw  in  every  page  his 
rich,  and  sometimes  extravagant  humor,  his  gay 
and  graceful  fancy,  his  peculiar  choice  and 
felicity  of  original  expression,  as  well  as  the 
pure  and  fine  moral  feeling  which  imperceptibly 
pervaded  every  thought  and  image.  The  second 
number,  which  was  finished  before  the  publica- 
tion of  the  first,  was  enriched  by  the  exquisite 
paper  on  Rural  Life  in  England,  and  the  pathetic 
story  of  The  Broken  Heart.  Mr.  Richard  Henry 
Dana  wrote  of  the  former,  in  the  North  American 
Review,  that  it  left  its  readers  as  restored  and 
cheerful  as  if  they  had  been  passing  an  hour 
or  two  in  the  very  fields  and  woods  themselves ; 
and  that  his  scenery  was  so  true,  so  full  of  little 
beautiful  particulars,  and  so  varied,  and  yet  so 
connected  in  character,  that  the  distant  was 
brought  nigh,  and  the  whole  was  seen  and  felt 
!ike  a  delightful  reality.  A  copy  of  this  number 
was  placed  by  one  of  Irving's  friends  in  the  hands 
of  William  Godwin,  the  famous  author  of  "  Caleb 
Williams,"  who  found  everywhere  in  it  the  marks 
of  a  mind  of  the  utmost  elegance  and  refinement 
^i  thing,  you  know,  that  he  was  not  exactly  pre- 


pared to  look  for  in  an  American),  and  he  wu 
pleased  to  say  that  he  scarcely  Knew  an  Engliib* 
man  who  could  have  written  it.  Another  English* 
man  was  of  the  same  gracious  opinion  as  thii 
illustrious  noveliut— Mr.  William  Jerdan,  the  ed> 
itor  of  the  London  Literary  Gaaetie,  who  began  tc 
reprint  the  first  number  of  "  The  Sketch«Book  "  ia 
his  periodical,  which  was  somehow  regarded  ai 
an  authority  in  literature.  A  copy  of  the  third 
number,  which  was  published  ir.  America  in  Sep- 
tember, reached  Engla':d,  and  came  into  the 
possession  of  a  London  p«ublisher,  who  was  con- 
siderhig  the  propriety  of  bringing  out  the 
whole  work.  This  determined  Irving  to  revise 
the  numbers  that  he  had  already  published,  that 
they  might,  at  least,  come  before  the  English 
public  correctly,  and  he  accordingly  took  them 
to  Murray,  with  whom  he  left  them  for  examina- 
tion, stating  that  he  had  materials  on  hand  for 
a  second  volume.  The  great  man  declined  to 
engage  in  their  publication,  because  he  did  not  see 
"that  scope  in  the  nature  of  it  to  make  satisfac* 
tory  accounts"  between  them  ;  but  he  offered  to 
do  wiiat  lie  could  to  promote  their  circulation,  and 
was  ready  to  attend  to  any  future  plan  of  his. 
Irving  then  bethought  himself  of  Scott,  to  whom 
he  sent  the  printed  numbers,  with  a  letter,  in 
which  he  observed  that  a  reverse  had  taken  place 
in  his  affairs  since  he  had  the  pleasure  of  en- 
joying his  hospitality,  which  made  the  exetci84 
of  his  pen  important  to  him.  He  soon  received 
a  reply  from  Scott,  who  spoke  very  highly  of  hia 
talents,  and  offered  him  the  editorship  of  so 
Anti-Jacobin  periodical,  which  had  been  pro- 
jected at  Edinburgh,  the  salary  of  which  would 
be  ;£5oo  a  year  certain,  with  the  rea.sonable  pros- 
pect of  further  advantages.  When  the  parcel 
reached  him,  as  it  did  at  Edinburgh,  he  added, 
in  a  postscript,  "  I  am  just  here,  and  have  glanced 
over  the  Sketch-Book  ;  it  is  positively  beautiful, 
and  increases  my  desire  to  crimp  you  if  possible. ' 
Irving  immediately  declined  the  editorship  pro- 
posed to  him,  feeling  peculiarly  unfitted  for  the 
post,  and  being  as  useless  for  regular  service  as 
one  of  his  country  Indians  or  a  Don  Cossack. 
Having  by  this  time  concluded  to  print  the  book 
at  his  own  risk,  he  found  no  difficulty  in  finding 
a  publisher,  who  was  unlucky  enough  to  fail  just 
as  it  was  getting  into  fair  circulation.  Scott 
came  up  to  London  at  this  juncture,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  receiving  his  baronetcy,  and  he  called 
upon  Murray,  who  now  saw  "  that  scope  in  the 
nature  "  of  the  Sketch-Book  which  it  had  lacked 
before,  and  who  printed  an  edition  of  the  first 
volume,  and  put  the  second  volume  to  press, 
and  so  became  Irving's  publisher. 

The  "  Sketch-Book  "  put  four  hundred  pounds 
in  the  pocket  of  Irving,  and  made  him  famous. 
Jeffrey  wrote  of  it  in  the  Edinburgh  Review. 
that  he  had  seldom  seen  a  work  that  gave  hia 
a  more  pleasing  impression  of  the  writer's  char 


LIFE  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


•cter.  or  t  more  favorable  one  of  his  Judgment 
and  taste;  Lockhart  declared  in  Blackwood \Mm 
"  Mr.  Washington  Irving  is  one  of  our  first  favor- 
iiet  among  the  English  writers  of  this  age,  and 
hQ  is  not  a  bit  the  less  so  for  being  bom  in 
America;"  and  Mrs,  Siddons  gave  it  ihe  seal  of 
her  authcrity,  and  intimidated  Irving,  when  he 
•iti  Introduced  to  her,  by  saying,  in  her  most 
tii^c  way,  "  You've  made  me  weep."  Byron, 
wno  lead  all  the  new  works  of  the  time  with 
avidity,  wrote  to  his  fcnd  Irving's  publisher,  Mur- 
ray. "  Crayon  is  very  good ;"  and  shortly  before 
his  death  waxed  eloquent  in  his  praise  to  a  young 
American,  who  had  called  upon  him,  and  who, 
at  his  request,  had  brought  him  a  copy  of  the 
"  Sketch-Book."  "  I  handed  it  to  him,  when,  seiz- 
ing it  with  enthusiasm,  he  turned  to  the  '  Broken 
Heart.'  'That,'  said  he,  'is  one  of  the  finest 
things  ever  written  on  earth,  and  I  want  to 
hear  an  American  read  it.  But  stay — do  you 
know  Irving?'  I  replied  that  I  had  never  seen 
him.  'God  bless  him!'  exclaimed  Byron:  'He 
is  a  genius;  and  he  has  something  better  than 
genius — a  heart.  I  wish  I  could  see  him,  but  I 
(car  I  never  shall.  Well,  read  the  "  Broken 
f  If  art"— yes,  the  "  Broken  Heart."  What  a  word  ! ' 
In  closing  the  first  paragraph,  I  said, 'Shall  I 
confess  it  ?  I  do  believe  in  broken  hearts.'  '  Yes,' 
exclaimed  Byron,  'and  so  do  I,  and  so  does 
everybody  but  philosophers  and  fools?'  While 
J  was  reading  one  of  the  most  touching  portions 
t)f  that  mournful  piece,  I  observed  that  Byron 
wept.  He  turned  his  eyes  upon  me,  and  s:tid, 
'You  see  me  weep,  sir.  Irving  himself  never 
wrote  that  story  without  weeping;  nor  can  I  hear 
it  without  tears.  I  have  not  wept  much  in  this 
world,  for  trouble  never  brings  tears  to  my  eyes, 
but  I  always  have  tears  for  the  "  Broken  Heart." ' 
He  concluded  by  praising  the  verses  of  Moore  at 
the  end  of  the  story,  and  asking  if  there  were 
many  such  men  as  Irving  in  America?  'God 
don't  send  many  such  spirits  into  this  world.' " 

The  lives  of  authors  are  not  often  interesting, 
apart  from  the  light  which  they  shed  upon 
their  writings,  and  the  life  of  Irving  was  not,  I 
think,  an  exception  to  the  rule.  What  it  was 
hitherto  we  have  seen,  and  what  it  was  hereafter 
I  shall  show,  though  not  in  its  details,  which 
were  neither  striking  nor  important.  Five  years 
had  now  elapsed  since  he  left  America,  and 
twelve  more  years  were  to  elapse  before  he  re- 
turned to  it.  He  had  published  his  third  book, 
end  had  made  a  name  for  himself  in  England ; 
'.3  other  words,  he  had  found  his  true  vocation, 
»nd  it  would  be  his  own  fault  if  he  did  not 
pursue  it  with  honor  and  profit.  The  summer 
of  1820  found  him  in  Paris  with  his  brother 
Peter,  and  bef  jre  the  close  of  the  year  he  had 
made  the  acquaintance  of  Moore,  the  poet,  who 
was  sporting  in  exile  in  France,  while  his  friends 
were  tryins  to  settle  a  claim  which  the  English 


Government  had  against  him,  on  account  of  thi 
defalcation  of  the  deputy  who  had  filled,  in  hn 
place,  the  office  of  Registrar  of  the  Admiraltji 
Court  of  Bermuda,  to  which  he  had  been  appoint 
ed  about  seventeen  years  before.  Moore  jolted 
down  in  his  Diary  that  they  met  at  the  iaAU 
d'hStt,  at  Meurice's  (the  most  expensive  hotel  ii 
Paris),  and  that  the  successful  author  was  "• 
good-looking  and  intelligent-mannered  man.' 
Seven  days  later  they  met  at  Moore's  cot  tage  in 
the  Champs  Elys^es,  and  scarcely  a  day  passeo 
without  their  seeing  each  other.  Moore  wa« 
trying  to  work,  now  on  his  Life  of  Sheridan,  ana 
now  on  an  Egyptian  romance,  but  it  was  the 
merest  pretence,  as  his  Diary  bears  witness ;  fot 
he  notes,  in  one  entry,  that  he  had  been  no  less 
than  five  weeks  in  writing  one  hundred  and 
ninety-two  lines  of  verse;  and  in  another,  whei 
he  thought  he  had  been  more  industrious,  thai 
he  had  written  nearly  fifty  lines  in  a  week.  The 
fertility  of  Irving,  who  wrote  with  ease,  when  he 
could  write  at  all,  astonished  him.  "  Irving 
called  near  dinner  time,"  he  wrote  on  March 
iQth,  1821;  "asked  him  to  stay  and  share  our 
roast  chicken  with  us,  which  he  did.  He  has 
been  hard  at  work  writing  lately ;  in  the  course 
of  ten  days  he  has  written  about  one  hundred 
and  thirty  pages  of  the  size  of  those  in  the  Sketch* 
Book  ;'  this  is  amazing  rapidity." 

Another  writer  was  in  exile  in  France  at  thli 
time,  a  fellow  townsman  of  Irving,  John  Howanl 
Payne,  who  had  taken  the  critics  of  New  York 
by  storm  when  he  played  Young  Norval  at  the 
Park  Theatre  ;  who  had  gone  to  England  about 
two  years  before  Irving,  where  he  became  a 
dramatic  author,  with  some  success,  and  a 
manager,  with  none  at  all;  and  who  is  now 
chiefly  remembered  by  the  song  of  "Home, 
Sweet  Home."  London  growing  too  small  for  him, 
he  escaped  to  Paris,  where  Irving  breakfasted 
with  him,  after  which  they  paid  a  visit  to  Talma 
together. 

A  whim  for  travelling,  which  frequently  seized 
him,  sent  Irving  back  to  London  in  the  summer 
of  1821,  with  no  definite  object  in  view,  unless  it 
was  to  see  his  friends,  and  the  approaching 
coronation  of  George  the  Fourth.  He  was 
fortunate  enough  to  witness  the  procession  from 
a  stand  on  the  outside  of  Weotminstcr  Abbey, 
and  to  meet  with  Scott,  who  told  him  that  he 
should  have  seen  it  from  within  the  Abbey 
which  he  might  easily  have  done,  as  his  name 
would  have  get  him  in  anywhere.  He  brought 
over  with  him  a  petite  comedy  of  Payne's,  with 
the  ominous  title  of  "  The  Borrower,"  and  made 
a  fruitless  attempt  to  have  it  produced  on  the 
stage.  He  also  brought  over  the  manuscript  of 
a  new  book,  his  speed  in  writing  which  had  so 
amazed  Moore,  and  worked  upon  it  when  he  waa 
in  the  humor.  When  it  was  finished,  which  wai 
not  until  the  foUowicg  winter,  he  was  waiteJ 


Si 


I 

! 

1 


tfXW 


LIFE  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVINU. 


upon  by  Colburn,  the  publiiiher,  with  a  letter  of 
Introduction  from  Campbell,  and  an  otfer  of  a 
thousand  flfulncuA.  He  wua  not  inclined  to  leave 
Murray,  who  had  treated  him  very  handsomely, 
and  was  anxious  to  publish  another  book  (or 
taim.  living  named  the  price  he  wished — fifteen 
nnndied  guineas,  wliich  rather  staggered  the 
prince  of  bool<scllers.  "  If  you  had  laid  a  thou- 
iMiid  guineas,"  he  bcf,'nn.  "  You  shall  have  it  for 
a  thousand  guineas,"  replied  Irving,  and  the 
bargain  was  completed. 

Concerning  Ir\ing's  fourth  boolc, "  Braccbridgc 
Hall,"  which  wa.s  published  in  England  and 
America  in  May,  1833,  critical  opinions  difTcred. 
The  North  American  Review  for  July,  spealcing 
in  the  person  of  Mr,  Edward  Everett,  its  editor, 
had  no  hesitation  in  pronouncing  it  equal  to  any- 
thing which  the  then  age  of  English  literature 
hud  produced  in  the  department  of  essay- 
wtittng,  and  praised  it  for  its  admirable  sketches 
of  life  and  manners,  hij^hly  curious  in  them- 
selves, and  rendered  almost  important  by  the 
good-natured  mock  ^jravity,  the  ironical  rever- 
ence, and  lively  wit  with  which  they  were  de- 
scribed. JefTrcy  recognised  the  singular  sweet- 
ness of  the  composition,  and  the  mildness  of  the 
sentiments,  but  thought  the  rhythm  and  melody 
ol  the  sentences  excessive,  in  that  they  wore  an 
air  of  mannerism,  and  created  an  impression  of 
the  labor  that  must  have  been  bestowed  upon 
irhat  was  but  a  secondary  attribute  of  good 
vriting. 

Wearied  by  his  London  life,  Irving  started  on 
a  tour  on  the  Continent,  which  lasted  about  a 
month,  and  which  finally  brought  up  at  Paris. 
He  was  not  in  trim  for  composition  when  he 
settled  down  again,  but  was  haunted  by  the 
dread  of  future  failure,  a  kind  of  nervous  horror 
which  frequently  overpowered  him.  His  poetic 
friend,  Moore,  had  returned  to  England,  where 
he  had  been  delivered  of  his  "  Loves  of  the 
Angels,"  but  his  dramatic  friend,  Payne,  was  still 
an  exile  in  Paris,  and  was  the  tenant  of  two 
residences,  one  of  which,  in  the  Rue  Richelieu, 
he  rented  to  Irving.  He  succeeded  in  persuad- 
ing Irving  to  join  him  in  his  dramatic  under- 
takings, one  of  which,  already  far  advanced, 
was  "  La  Jeunesse  de  Richelieu,"  a  French  play, 
which  had  been  acted  about  thirty  years  before. 
They  were  to  divide  the  profits,  if  there  were 
^ny,and  Irving's  share  in  the  projected  manufac- 
tures was  to  be  kept  secret.  They  must  have 
worked  with  great  rapidity,  for  in  addition  to 
the  play  just  mentioned  they  completed  a  trans- 
lation of  another,  entitled  "  Azendai,"  which  was 
intended  to  be  set  to  music ;  besides  two  others, 
"  Belles  and  Bailiffs,"  and  "  Ma  led  and  Single," 
not  forgetting  "Abul  Hassan,"  a  German  opera, 
which  Irving  had  done  into  English  at  Dresden. 
Laden  with  these  productions,  Payne  set  off  pri- 
rttely  for  London,  from  which  he  was  debarred  by 


hli  creditors,  and  put  himself  in  communicatlot 
with  Charles  Kemble.  While  he  was  under- 
going the  delay  incident  to  acceptance  or  rejeC' 
tion,  Irving  transmitted  to  him  the  manuscript 
of  "Charles  II.,  or  the  Merry  Monarch  "  a  three 
act  comedy,  from  the  French  of  "  La  Jeunetse  de 
Menri  V.,"  of  which,  as  far  as  I  can  understand 
he  was  nearly,  if  not  quite,  the  sole  author,  of 
adapter.  It  was  sold  by  F  .yne  to  Covent  Garden 
Theatre  for  two  hundred  guii  eas,  together  with 
"  La  Jeunesse  de  Richelieu,"  and  was  produced 
in  the  following  spring  (May  1834)  with  great 
success.  "  La  Jeunesse  de  Richelieu  "  was  pro- 
duced nearly  two  years  later,  and  withdrawn 
after  a  few  nights. 

Literary  activity  returned  to  Irving  during  thii 
curious  dramatic  episode  in  his  career,  stimula- 
ted, no  doubt,  by  a  letter  from  Murray,  who 
asked  him  what  he  might  expect  from  him  in 
the  course  of  the  winter.  He  replied  that  he 
should  probably  have  two  more  volumes  of  the 
"Sketch-Book"  ready  by  spring,  and  began  to 
write  the  story  of  Wolfcrt  Webber,  which  he 
soon  laid  aside.  His  journal  chronicles  the 
progress  of  his  labor,  which  proceeded  at  a  rapid 
rate,  in  spite  of  his  dinings  out,  hastened,  per- 
haps, by  the  title  which  he  found  for  his  new 
work,  "Tales  of  a  Traveller,"  and  by  Murray*! 
offering  twelve  hundred  guineas  for  it,  without 
seeing  the  manuscript.  When  it  was  flnished 
he  took  it  over  to  London,  where  he  met  Murray, 
"who  behaved  like  a  gentleman,"  /.  e„  gitve  him 
fifteen  hundred  guinca.s  for  it,  as  well  as  severa? 
celebrities,  including  William  Spencer,  Proctor 
Rogers,  and  Moore,  the  last  of  whom  went  with 
him  to  Bowood,  the  seat  of  Lord  Lansdowne. 
He  was  not  brilliant  as  a  conversationist  at  this 
time,  whatever  he  may  have  been  later,  for 
Moore  notes  in  his  Dia-y  that  at  two  dinners 
which  he  mentions,  he  was  sleepy,  and  did  not 
open  his  mouth,  and  adds,  curtly,  "  Not  strong  as 
a  lion,  but  delightful  as  a  domestic  animal." 

The  "  Tales  of  a  Traveller  "  appeared  in  two 
volumes  in  England,  and  in  America  in  four 
parts.  It  sold  well  in  the  former  country  ;  but  it 
can  hardly  be  said  to  have  been  a  literary  suc- 
cess in  either,  especially  in  the  latter,  where  the 
press  were  hostile  to  it.  Wilson,  speaking 
through  the  mouth  of  Timothy  Tickler,  in 
Blackwood,  said,  "  I  have  been  terribly  disap- 
pointed in  the  'Tales  of  a  Traveller :'"  and  thu 
reviewer  of  the  London  Quarterly,  though  he 
praises  the  story  of  Buckthome,  from  which  hn 
thought  it  probable  that  he  might,  as  a  novelist, 
prove  no  contemptible  rival  to  Goldsmith,  warns 
him  that  he  must  in  future  be  true  to  his  own 
reputation  throughout,  and  correct  the  habits 
of  indolence,  which  so  considerable  a  part  of  the 
work  evince. 

Irving's  next  intellectual  labor  after  his  return 
to  France,  was  the  planning  of  a  series  ol  papen 


LIFE  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


the  proper  execution  of  which  demanded,  I 
think,  a  weightier  pen  than  he  pnitseHHcd,  con- 
■iiting.as  it  did,  of  serious  essays  upon  American 
Manners,  National  Life,  Public  Prosperity, 
Probity  of  Dealings,  Education  of  Youth,  and 
luch  like  grave  and  momentous  problems.  He 
^it  interrupted  in  the  writing  by  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Alexander  H.  Everett,  Minister  Plenipoten- 
:  iTf  of  the  United  States  at  Madrid,  whotn  he 
ii.td  previously  met  at  Paris,  and  who  had,  at  lill 
request,  attached  him  to  the  embassy.  This 
letter  contained  his  passport,  and  a  propusitluf) 
from  Mr.  Everett  that  he  should  translate  Nuvar- 
rete's  "  Voyages  of  Columbus,"  which  w^^  'hen 
in  the  press.  It  was  compiled  by  this  ac((  n- 
plished  scholar  from  the  papers  of  Columbus, 
as  preserved  by  the  famous  Bishop  Las  Casas, 
and  of  extracts  from  his  journal ;  and  it  con- 
tained, as  Irving  found  shortly  after  his  arrival 
at  Madrid,  many  documents  hitherto  unknown, 
which  threw  additional  light  on  the  discovery  of 
the  New  World ;  but  was  defective  as  a  whole 
(at  any  rate  for  his  purpose),  in  that  it  was  rather 
a  rich  mass  for  history,  than  history  itself.  He 
abandoned,  therefore,  the  idea  of  translating  it, 
and  began  to  institute  fresh  researches  on  his 
own  account,  examining  manuscripts, and  taking 
voluminous  notes  for  a  regular  Life  of  the  great 
navigator. 

living  commenced  his  task  in  February,  1836, 
tnd  labored  upon  it  unceasingly  for  six  months, 
tuioetii-nes  writing  all  day,  and  until  twelve  at 
uight.  His  attention  was  diverted  from  it  in 
August  by  the  "  Conquest  of  Granada,"  which  so 
interested  him  that  he  devoted  himself  to  it  till 
November,  when  he  threw  aside  the  rough  draft, 
and  returned  to  his  greater  work,  which  was  not 
ready  for  the  press  until  July  of  the  following 
year.  Leslie  had  sounded  Murray  about  the  letter 
before  it  was  begun,  but  th^  wily  publisher  fought 
shy  at  first.  "lie  would  gladly,"  he  says,  "re- 
ceive anything  from  you  of  original  matter, 
which  he  considers  certain  of  success,  whatever 
it  might  be  ;  but  with  regard  to  the  Voyages  of 
Columbus,  he  can  not  form  any  opinion  at 
present."  When  the  manuscript  was  fmished 
Irving  sent  it  to  England,  to  the  care  of  his 
friend.  Colonel  Aspinwall,  American  Consul  at 
London,  whom  he  made  his  agent  in  the  dis- 
posal of  it.  and  wrote  a  letter  to  Murray,  in 
which  he  stated  the  sum  he  wanted  for  it — three 
thousand  guineas ;  but  also  stated  that  he  would 
be  willing  to  publish  on  shares.  Colonel  As- 
•lawall  played  his  cards  so  well  that  Murray  con- 
:l>ided  rouo  publish  it  on  shares,  but  to  pay  the 
tJ!Tee  tho.jand  guineas  out  and  out.  The  manu- 
tcript  was  shown  to  Southey,  who  pronounced 
tne  most  unqualified  praise  of  it,  both  as  to 
matter  and  manner;  and  Murray  himself  said 
it  was  beautiful,  beautiful— the  best  thing  that 
Irving  had  ever  writtea. 


By  the  publication  of  "  The  Lite  and  Voyafw 
of  Columbus,"  In  1838,  the  popularity  of  Irving 
which  had  waned  somewhiit  since  the  day  when 
he  first  burst  upon  the  world  of  English  readen 
in  his  "Sketch- Hook,"  rone  anew,  and  shone 
with  greater  lustre.    The  imj>ortance  of  the  work 
was  recognized  on  both  sides  of  the  water,  aa 
well  as  the  brilliancy  of  its  execution,    jeflrty 
who  reviewed  it  in  the  /ui/niurifA,  declared  that 
it  was  not  only  excellent,  but  that  it  would  en- 
dure. "  For  we  mean,"  he  explained,  "  not  merely 
that  tlic  bfiok  will  be  known  and  referred  to 
twenty  or  thifiy  years  hence,  and  will  pass  in 
solid  bjftding  into  every  considerable  collection  ; 
but  that  it  will  supersede  all  former  works  on  the 
SHrrif   subject,  and   rt«ver   be  itself  superseded." 
Not  Icssenthusiastic  was  the  carefully  considered 
opinion  of    Irving's   friend,   Everett,  who  origi- 
nally sugi^csted  the  translation  from  Navarrcte 
out  of  which  it  had  grown,  and  who  pronounced 
it,  in  the  North  American    Review,  one  of  the 
few  books  which  are  at  once  the  delight  of  read- 
ers and  the  despair  of  critics.    "  It  is  as  nearly 
perfect  as  any  work  can  be ;  and  there  is  little 
or  nothing  left  for  the  reviewer  but  to  write  at 
the  bottom  of  every  page,  as  Voltaire  said  he 
would  be  obliged  to  do  if  he  published  a  com- 
mentary on   Racine,  'Pulchrit  bene  I  optimi I' 
He  has  at  length  filled  up  the  void  that  before 
existed  in  this  respect,  in  the  literature  of  the 
world,  and  produced  a  work  which  will  fully 
satisfy  the  public,  and  supersede  the  necessity  of 
any  future  labors  in  the  same  tield.    While  we 
venture  to  predict  that  the  adventures  of  Co- 
lumbus will  hereafter  be  read  only  in  the  work  of 
Mr.  Irving,  we  can  not  but  think  it  a  beautiful  co- 
incidence that  the  task  of  duly  celebrating  the 
achievements  of  the  discoverer  of  our  continent 
should  have  been  reserved  for  one  of  its  inhabit- 
ants :  and  that  the  earliest  professed  author  of  first- 
rate  talent  who  appeared  among  us  should  have 
devoted  one  of  his  most  important  and  finished 
works  to  this  pious  purpose. 

'  Such  honors  Ilion  to  her  hero  paid, 
And  pcKcfut  slept  the  mighty  Hector'i  shade.' 

For  the  particular  kind  of  historical  writing  in 
which  Mr.  Irving  is  fitted  to  labor  and  excel,  the 
'  Life  of  Columbus'  is  undoubtedly  one  of  the  very 
best— perhaps  we  might  say,  without  fear  of  any 
mistake,  the  very  best— subject  afforded  by  the 
annals  of  the  world." 

The  magnitude  of  the  task  which  he  had  com- 
pleted so  satisfactorily,  left  Irving  leisure  to 
make  a  tour  which  he  had  planned  with  bit 
brother  Peter,  but  the  ill-health  of  that  gentle- 
man, who  now  returned  by  slow  stages  to  Paris, 
compelled  him  to  forego  the  pleasure  of  his  com- 
pany, and  to  replace  it  by  the  company  of  two  Rus- 
sian diplomatists,  with  whom  he  set  out  on  March 
1st,  by  the  diligence  for  Cordova.    They  reached 


I 


CXVl 


LIFE  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


f.- 


i 


I', 

I,;-  I 


:!iit! 


Granada  in  safety,  notwithstanding  the  robbers 
who  were  said  to  beset  the  roads,  and  spent  several 
days  in  traversing  the  city  and  its  environs.  From 
Granada  the  travelers  proceeded  to  Malaga,  and 
^bence  by  a  circuitous  route  to  Gibraltar,  after 
vhich  they  started  for  Cadiz,  where  Irving  left 
dis  companions,  being  impatient  to  get  to  Seville, 
uid  to  correct  and  complete  the  rough  draft  of 
the  manuscript  of  the  "  Conquest  of  Granada," 
which  diverted  his  attention  for  upwards  of 
three  months  at  Madrid,  while  he  was  engaged 
upon  his  "  Life  of  Columbus." 

The  summer  heat  being  overpowering  at 
Seville,  Irving  removed  to  a  little  country-seat 
on  a  hill,  about  eight  miles  from  Cadiz,  of  which 
and  its  beautiful  bay,  it  commanded  a  view  on 
one  side,  while  another  embraced  the  distant 
mountains  of  Ronda.  Here  he  dispatched  to 
England  half  the  first  volume  of  the  "Conquest 
of  Granada,"  as  a  fair  sample  of  the  whole,  and 
authorized  Colonel  Aspinwall  to  dispose  of  it  to 
Murray,  or  any  other  leading  and  respectable 
bookseller,  for  two  thousand  guineas,  or  as  near 
that  sum  as  he  could  get.  Before  a  month  was 
over  he  received  a  letter  from  Murray,  who  was 
waiting  for  the  corrected  copy  of  Columbus,  in 
order  to  issue  a  new  edition,  and  who  had  pur- 
chased from  Wilkie  a  sketch  that  he  had  made 
of  Irving's  likeness,  which  he  meant  to  prefix 
'.o  It.  A  second  letter  from  Murray  contained 
what  Irving  considered  the  best  critique  that  he 
had  ever  had  as  to  his  general  reputation  with 
the  public.  It  was  in  relation  to  a  monthly 
magazine  which  Murray  was  about  to  set  up,  on 
a  purely  literary  and  scientific  basis,  and  which 
he  offered  Irving  a  thousand  pounds  a  year  to 
edit,  besides  paying  him  liberally  for  any  articles 
which  he  might  contribute.  In  fact,  the  salary, 
with  other  offers  for  casual  writing,  would  insure 
him  at  least  seven  thousand  dollars  a  year. 

Irving  declined  Murray's  proposal,  as  he  had 
declined  a  similar  one  from  Scott  nine  years  be- 
tore,  partly  because  it  would  oblige  him  to  fix 
his  residence  out  of  America,  and  partly  because 
he  was  unwilling  to  shackle  himself  with  any 
periodical  labor.  Murray  concluded  to  purchase 
his  new  book  at  the  price  which  he  had  demand- 
ed— two  thousand  guineas — and  published  it 
early  in  1829,  under  the  title  of  "A  Chronicle  of 
the  Conquest  of  Granada,"  not  as  from .  the 
manuscript  of  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  a  nom  de 
gverre,  which  Ir\'ing  had  adopted,  but_  as  by 
Irving  himself  —  an  unwarrantable  liberty,  he 
thought,  in  that  it  made  him,  gravely,  in  his 
own  name,  tell  many  round  untruths,  and  made 
him,  also,  responsible  as  an  author,  for  the  exist- 
ence of  the  manuscript  of  Agapida.  Coleridge  re- 
garded the  work  as  a  masterpiece  of  romantic  nar- 
rative ;  Prescott  believed  that  Irving  availed  him- 
self of  all  the  picturesque  and  animating  move- 
ments of  the  period  which  he  liad  treated,  and 


that  he  was  not  seduced  from  historical  accoi 
racy  by  the  poetical  aspect  of  his  subject ;  and 
Bryant,  a  fine  Spanish  scholar,  as  well  as  an  ad< 
mirable  literary  critic,  maintained  that  it  was  on( 
of  the  most  delightful  of  his  works- an  exact  his- 
tory, for  such  it  is  admitted  to  be  by  those  who 
have  searched  most  carefully  the  ancient  recordr 
of  Spain — yet  so  full  of  personal  incident,  so 
diversified  with  surprising  tjrns  of  fortune,  and 
these  wrought  up  with  such  picturesque  effect, 
that,  to  use  an  expression  of  Pope,  a  young 
lady  might  read  it  by  mistake  for  a  romance.  It 
is  a  pleasant  thing  for  an  author  to  win  approb;i> 
tion  from  members  of  his  own  craft — much 
pleasanter,  on  the  whole,  perhaps,  than  to  win 
the  less  intelligent  approbation  of  the  public: 
but  unfortunately  for  his  ambition  and  hit 
pocket,  it  is  only  the  last  which  is  of  substantial 
benefit  to  him.  It  was  now  withheld  from 
Irving,  for  the  "  Conquest  of  Granada  "  did  not 
sell.  Before  it  saw  the  light  of  publication 
Irving  had  returned  to  the  line  of  biographic 
studies,  which  its  composition  had  interrupted, 
and  was  bus-'  j.i  tracing  out  the  Voyages  of  the 
Companions  of  Columbus,  and  had  in  contem- 
plation a  series  of  Legends  connected  with  the 
Moorish  domination  in  Spain,  upon  which  be 
wrote  from  time  to  time  as  the  spirit  moved  him. 
He  made  a  second  visit  to  Granada  in  May,  1829, 
and  lodged  in  the  Alhambra,  over  whose  halls 
and  courts  he  rambled  at  all  hours  of  the  da; 
and  night.  While  he  was  residing  in  this  ro- 
mantic old  Moorish  palace,  he  was  appointed 
Secretary  of  Legation  to  London,  whither  he 
repaired  in  October.  Here  two  honors  awaited 
him :  the  first  being  a  gold  medal,  of  the  value  of 
fifty  guineas,  which  was  adjudged,  to  him  by  the 
Council  of  the  Royal  Society  of  Literature,  the 
other,  the  degree  of  LL.D.,  which  was  conferred 
upon  him  by  the  University  of  Oxford.  Notwith- 
standing these  honers,  of  which  any  man  of  let- 
ters might  well  be  proud,  and  of  the  personal 
esteem  and  affection  with  which  he  was  regard- 
ed, there  can  be  no  doubt  that  his  reputation 
had  lessened  since  the  publication  of  the  "Sketch- 
Book,"  in  1820,  and  of  the  "  Life  and  Voyages  of 
Columbus,"  in  1828.  Whether  his  intermedi?'e 
and  later  works  were  of  a  lower  order  of  liter- 
ary excellence  than  -these  were  admitted  to 
possess,  or  whether  that  many-headed  beast, 
the  public,  was  weary  of  them,  is  a  question 
I  do  not  feel  called  upon  to  decide.  It  is 
enough  to  note  here  that  his  popularity  was 
so  greatly  on  the  wane  that  he  parted  with  the 
"Voyages  of  the  Companions  of  Columbus  "to 
Murray  for  only  five  hundred  guineas;  ard  that 
his  sharp  business  friend.  Colonel  Aspmwall, 
could  only  obtain  a  thousand  g^uineas  for  his  next 
work,  "  The  Alhambra,"  and  this  not  from  Mui- 
ray,  but  from  Colburn  and  Bentley.  Of  the 
reception  of  these  characteristic  studies  of  oA 


m 


LIFE  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


zzvi 


bpain  and  the  old  voyagers,  I  have  no  knowledge, 
except,  that  Mr.  Edward  Everett  wrote  concern- 
ing the  last,  in  the  North  American  Review,  that 
it  was  equal,  in  literary  value,  to  any  other  of 
the  same  class,  with  the  exception  of  the  "  Sketch- 
Book,"  and  that  he  should  not  be  surprised  if  it 
were  read  as  extensively  as  even  that  verj'  popu- 
lar production ;  and  that  Prescott,  the  historian, 
characterized  it  in  his  "  History  of  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella, '  as  the  "beautiful  Spanish  Sketch-Book." 
Of  Irving's  diplomatic  life,  his  presentation  at 
court,  etc.,  I  shall  not  speak,  nor  of  the  celebri- 
ties whom  he  met,  only  one  of  whom  is  likely  to 
interest  now.  It  was  Scott,  who  was  then  in 
London,  a  broken-down  old  man,  on  his  way  to 
Italy,  and  whom  he  met  again  at  a  family  din- 
ner, at  which  he  was  the  only  stranger  present. 
"  Ah,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Scott,  who  was  seated 
as  he  entered,  "  time  has  dealt  lightly  with  you 
since  last  we  met."  The  mind  of  the  great  ma- 
gician flickered  fitfully  during  the  dinner;  now 
and  then  he  struck  up  a  story  in  his  old  way,  but 
the  light  soon  died  out,  his  head  sank,  and  his 
countenance  fell,  when  he  saw  that  he  had  failed 
to  bring  out  his  points.  When  the  ladies  went 
up-stairs  after  dinner,  Lockhart  said  to  his 
guest,  "  Irving,  give  Scott  your  arm."  The  grand 
old  man,  mournful  in  ruin,  took  the  arm  that 
was  olfered  him,  and  grasping  his  cane  with  the 
other  hand,  said,  "  Ah,  the  times  are  changed, 
ray  good  fellow,  since  we  went  over  the  Eildon 
hills  together.  It  is  all  nonsense  to  tell  a  man 
that  his  mind  is  not  affected  when  his  body  is  in 
this  state."  They  never  met  again;  for  the 
mighty  minstrel  died  the  next  year,  and  Irving 
returned  to  America  after  an  absence  of  seven- 
teen years,  lacking  four  days. 

Irving's  arrival  was  anticipated  by  his  friends, 
who  received  him  with  the  greatest  cordiality, 
and  gave  him  a  public  dinner  at  the  City  Hotel, 
which  was  presided  over  by  his  eaily  friend, 
Chancellor  Kent,  who  had  so  promptly  dismissed 
him  to  the  world  of  shades  thirty  years  before. 
The  ordeal  was  a  trying  one  to  the  modest  man 
of  'etters,  who  had  a  nervous  horror  of  personal 
publicity,  but  he  acquitted  himself  creditably,  as 
the  newspapers  of  that  day  testify.  It  was,  of 
course,  the  happiest  moment  of  his  life,  and  was 
rendered  more  so  because  it  proved  that  the 
misgivings  which  had  haunted  him,  that  his 
countiymen  believed  he  was  alienated  from  them, 
vere'  groundless.  He  spoke  of  the  changes 
which  had  come  over  New  York  during  his  ab- 
sence, the  emotions  which  he  had  experienced 
when  hi  1>eheld  it,  as  he  sailed  up  the  harbor, 
seated  in  the  midst  of  its  watery  domain,  with 
the  sunshine  lighting  up  its  domes,  and  the  forest 
of  masts  at  its  piers  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach ; 
and  how  his  heart  throbbed  with  joy  and  pride 
as  he  felt  he  had  a  birthright  in  the  brilliant 
scene    before  him.    "  I  am  asked  !:ow  long    I 


mean  to  remain  here  ?  They  know  but  little  ol 
my  heart  or  my  feelings  who  can  ask  me  thin 
question.  I  answer,  as  long  as  I  live."  Here 
the  roof  rang  with  bravos,  handkerchiefs  were 
waved,  cheers  were  given  over  and  over  again, 
and  he  finally  sat  down,  satisfied  that  he  had 
done  better  than  he  expected.  Shortly  after  this 
dinner  Irviiig  repaired  to  Wtahington,  to  settle 
his  accounts  with  the  Government,  and  to  meet 
the  friends  of  his  earlier  years — Mr.  Ix>ui9 
McLane,  late  Minister  to  England,  Henry  Clay, 
General  Jackson,  and  others.  Returning  to  New 
York,  he  made  a  trip  up  the  Hudson  as  far  aa 
Tarrytown,  and  thence  to  Saratoga  and  Trenton 
Falls.  He  meditated  a  tour  in  the  western  part 
of  New  York,  Ohio,  Kentucky,  and  Tennessee, 
but  he  changed  his  plan,  and  joined  an  expedition 
to  the  far  West,  in  company  with  three  commis- 
sioners appointed  to  treat  with  deputations  ol 
the  different  tribes  of  Indians.  He  started  from 
Cincinnati  on  September  3d,  reached  Independ- 
ence, Missouri,  on  the  24th  of  that  month.  Fort 
Gibson,  Arkansas,  on  October  9th,  and  Mont- 
gomery Point,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Arkansas, 
early  in  November.  A  voyage  by  steamboat 
down  the  Mississippi  to  New  Orleans,  and  thence 
to  Washington,  and  so  back  to  New  York  com- 
pleted the  tour.  The  ground  over  which  he  had 
traversed,  which  was  then  but  little  known  to 
the  inhabitants  of  the  more  civilized  portions  ol 
the  United  States,  and  the  incidents  and  experi- 
ences of  travel  with  which  it  was  surrounded, 
determined  him  to  turn  them  to  account.  He 
set  about  a  narrative  of  what  he  had  seen  and 
undergone,  in  the  midst  of  other  avocations 
and  writing  leisurely,  completed  it  by  the  end  ol 
the  following  year.  It  was  entitled,  "A  Tour  on 
the  Prairies,"  and  was  published  in  London,  in 
1835,  by  Murray,  from  whom  Colonel  Aspinwall 
succeeded  in  obtaining  four  hundred  pounds  for 
it.  What  reception  it  met  with  in  England,  I 
know  not.  It  was  welcomed  here,  and  by  none 
more  warmly  than  Edward  Everett,  in  the  North 
American  Review.  "To  what  class  of  compo- 
sitions the  present  work  belongs,"  he  wrote, 
"  we  are  hardly  able  to  say.  It  can  scarcely  be 
called  a  book  of  travels,  for  there  is  too  much 
painting  of  manners  and  scenery,  and  too  little 
statistics ;  it  is  not  a  novel,  for  there  is  no  story ; 
and  it  is  not  a  romance,  for  it  is  all  true.  It  is 
a  sort  of  sentimental  journey,  a  romantic  excur- 
sion, in  which  nearly  all  the  elements  of  several 
different  kinds  of  writing  are  beautifully  and  gay!) 
blended  into  a  production  almost  sui  generis!' 
He  then  expressed  his  pride  in  Irving's  sketches  ol 
English  life,  and  the  gorgeous  canvas  v  pon  whicb 
he  had  gathered  in  so  much  of  ti.e  glowing 
imagery  of  Moorish  times,  but  was  more  pleased 
to  see  him  come  back  laden  with  the  poetical 
treasures  of  the  primitive  wilderness,  and  with 
spoils  from  the  uninhabited  desert.    "  We  thank 


KXTUl 


LIFE   OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


him  for  turning  these  poor,  barbarous  steppes  into 
ciassical  land,  and  joining  his  inspiration  to  that 
of  Cooftcr  in  breathing  life  and  fire  into  a  circle 
of  imagery,  which  was  not  known  before  to  ex- 
ist, for  the  purposes  of  the  imagination."  To 
revive,  peihaps,  the  nom  de  plume,  by  which  he 
had  become  best  known  among  English-reading 
people,  Irving  published  "A  Tour  on  the 
Praines"  as  the  first  number  of  the  Crayon 
MSscellany.  It  was  followed  in  the  course  of 
two  or  three  months  by  a  second  number,  en- 
titled, "Abbotsfoid  and  Newstead  Abbey,"  for 
which  Colonel  Aspinwall  obtained  from  Murray 
the  sum  of  lour  hundred  pounds,  with  a  promise 
of  two  hundred  pounds  more  when  a  second 
edition  should  be  reached.  It  appears  to  have 
bean  successful,  for  Colonel  Aspinwall  wrote  to 
Irving,  "  Murray  says  Abbotsford  delights  every- 
body, especially  the  Lockharts."  The  third  num- 
\ytT  of  the  Crayon  Miscellany,  "  Legends  of 
Spain,"  was  sent  about  six  weeks  later  to  the 
same  publisher,  who  declined  it  at  the  price  de- 
manded, but  put  it  to  press  on  the  author's  ac- 
count, whereby  Irving  realized  only  one  hundred 
pounds. 

Not  long  after  his  return  to  the  United  States, 
Irving  was  applied  to  by  Mr.  John  Jacob  Astor,  to 
write  about  his  settlement  of  Astoria  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Columbia  River.  He  declined  the 
undertaking,  beingengrossed  with  other  plans,  but 
recoTimended  his  nephew,  Mr.  Pierre  Munro 
Irving,  as  one  who  might  aid  him  in  preparing 
the  materials,  in  which  case  he  would  have  no 
abjection  in  putting  the  finishing  hand  to  the 
work.  Mr.  Astor  caught  at  the  idea,  and  Mr. 
P"ftire  Irving,  who  was  then  in  Illinois,  came  to 
New  York,  at  the  request  of  his  uncle,  and  the 
pair  cc  mmenced  their  joint  labors  at  a  country 
house,  belonging  to  Mr.  Astor,  at  Hellgate.  He 
paid  his  authors  liberally,  the  younger  for  his 
industry  as  a  compiler,  the  elder  for  his  skill  as  a 
literary  artist  and  the  use  of  his  name,  and  was 
fully  satisfied  with  their  endeavors  to  hand  him 
down  to  posterity  as  a  colonist  as  well  as  a  mil- 
lionaire. "Astoria"  was  published  in  1836.  Mr. 
Edward  Everett,  speaking,  as  usual,  through  the 
North  American,  saw  in  it,  as  a  whole,  the  im- 
press of  Irving's  taste,  and  sketches  of  life  and 
character  worthy  of  the  pen  of  Geoffrey  Crayon  ; 
and  an  anonymous  writer  in  the  London  Specta- 
tor, considered  it  the  most  finished  narrative  of 
Bucha  series  of  adventures  that  was  ever  written. 
While  Irving  was  residing  at  the  country  seat  of 
Mr.  Astor,  where  he  had  for  companions  the 
poet  Halleck,  and  Charles  Astor  Bristed,  then  a 
lad  of  fourteen,  he  met  Captain  Bonneville,  of 
the  United  States  army,  a  type  of  man  not  un- 
common at  the  time,  who  had  engrafted  the 
hunter  and  the  trapper  upon  the  soldier,  and  in 
whom  he  was  much  interested.  He  met  this 
gentlemaa    again   in   the   following   winter  at 


Washington,  where  he  was  engaged  in  re-writipf 
and  extending  his  travelling  notes,  and  makii  % 
maps  of  the  regions  he  had  explored,  and  Ic 
purchased  his  materials,  out  of  which,  t.cgethei 
with  other  facts  and  details  gathered  from  differ- 
ent sources,  conversations,  journals  of  the  cap- 
ts'n's  contemporaries,  and  the  like,  he  wrought 
a  volume  of  frontier  life,  which  was  published 
in  1837,  as  the  "Adventures  of  Captain  Bonne- 
ville," and  for  which  Bcntley  paid  him  nine  hun- 
dred pounds  for  an  English  edition,  which  was 
four  hundred  pounds  more  than  he  had  paid  fot 
"  Astoria." 

In  the  course  of  his  home-travels,  shortly  after 
his  return  to  America,  Irving  saw  a  rural  site 
at  Tarrytow.i,  on  the  Hudson,  not  far  from  the 
residence  of  his  nephew,  Oscar,  which  struck  his 
fancy.  It  consisted  in  ten  acres,  when  he  pur- 
chased it  in  the  summer  of  1835,  and  contained 
a  cottage  about  a  century  old,  which  he  conclu- 
ded to  rebuild  into  a  little  rookery  in  the  old 
Dutch  style.  He  accordingly  sent  up  an  architect 
and  workmen,  who  between  them  built  him  a 
stone  house  at  considerable  cost,  m  which,  sur- 
rounded with  Christmas  greens,  he  was  settled 
with  his  brother  Peter,  in  January,  1837.  In  this 
cosy  mansion,  which  he  at  first  christened 
"  Wolfert's  Roost,"  and  afterwards  "  Sunny  Side," 
he  finished  the  "  Adventures  of  Captain  Bonne- 
ville," and,  his  mind  still  running  on  the  might 
of  Old  Spain,  which  he  had  illustrated  so  bril- 
Ikintly  in  his  "  Life  of  Columbus,"  he  commenced 
what  promised  to  be  a  greater  work  than  that, 
and  which  like  that  was  to  concern  itself  with 
Castilian  domination  in  the  New  World — the 
"  History  of  the  Spanish  Conquest  of  Mexico." 
When  he  had  made  a  rough  draft  of  the  ground- 
work of  the  first  volume,  he  came  down  to  the 
city  to  consult  authorities  in  the  New  York  Soci- 
ety Library,  where  he  met  Mr.  Joseph  G.  Cogs- 
well, whom  he  knew,  and  who  asked  him  what 
new  work  he  had  in  hand,  sounding  him  in  the 
interest  of  Prescott,  who  had  lately  published 
his  "History  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella."  "Is 
Mr.  Prescott  engaged  upon  an  American  sub- 
ject?" inquired  Irving.  He  was  told  that  he 
was,  and  that  it  was  the  "  Conquest  of  Mexico." 
With  a  generosity,  of  which  few  men  could  have 
been  capable,  Irving  then  and  there  abandoned 
his  plan,  and  desired  Mr.  Cogswell  to  say  as  much 
to  Prescott,  whose  claim  to  it  (supposing  he  had 
any)  was  certainly  less  than  his  own,  in  that  he 
had  merely  collected  materials  for  it.  Prescott 
acknowledged  his  courtesy  in  a  grateful  letter, 
in  which  he  dwelt  upon  the  mortification  he 
would  have  felt  if  he  found  him  occupying  the 
ground,  and  expressed  a  fear  that  the  public 
would  not  be  so  well  pleased  as  himself  b; 
Irving's  liberal  conduct,  of  which  he  was  not 
sure  that  he  should  have  a  right  In  their  eyes  to 
avail  himself.    The  giving  up  of  this  great  task 


LIFE  OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


trnich  occupied  Prescott  five  years,  left  Irving  at 
leisure  to  renew  his  early  acquaintance  with  the 
British  Essayists,  and  to  revise  a  biographical 
study  which  he  had  executed  some  fifteen  years 
before.  This  was  a  "  Life  of  Goldsmith,"  which 
he  had  prepared  at  Paris,  for  Galignani,  for  a  col- 
lection of  British  Authors,  that  he  undertoolc 
to  edit,  and  which  he  now  re-wrote  for  the 
"  Family  Library,"  of  which  the  Harpers  were  the 
publishers.  This  was  followed  by  a  second  and 
a  much  less  important  biographical  study,  a  "  Life 
of  Margsiret  Davidson,"  the  younger  of  two 
American  sisters,  who  had  a  childish  talent  for 
writing  verse,  which  her  friends  called  poetry, 
and  who  had  died  of  consumption  in  her  six- 
teenth year. 

Two  political  honors  were  offered  Irving  in  his 
fifty-fifth  year,  one  being  an  unanimous  nomina- 
tion as  Mayor  of  New  York,  from  Tammany 
Hall,  the  other  the  appointment  of  Secretary 
of  the  Navy,  from  President  Van  Buren.  He 
accepted  neither,  wisely  preferring  to  the  doubt- 
ful distinction  they  might  have  bestowed  upon 
him,  the  peaceful  security  of  his  cottage  and  the 
society  of  his  relatives.  The  relinquishment  of 
the  "  Conquest  of  Mexico,"  left  him  at  leisure 
for  lesser  undertakings,  which  he  found  in 
writing  a  series  of  papers  for  the  Knickerbocker 
Magazine,  his  connection  with  which  lasted  from 
March,  1839,  to  March,  1841.  Before  the  latter 
date  (February  loth)  he  received  what  he  called 
"the  crowning  honor  of  his  life."  It  came  in  the 
shape  of  the  appointment  of  Minister  to  Spain, 
which  was  forwarded  to  him  by  Daniel  Webster, 
who  remarked,  when  sufficient  time  had  elapsed 
for  the  news  to  reach  him,  "  Washington  Irving 
is  the  most  astonished  man  in  New  York."  Hard 
upon  his  appointment  the  new  minister  was 
called  on  to  attend  the  dinner  which  the  citizens 
of  New  York  gave  Dickens,  at  which  it  was  de- 
cided that  he  must  preside,  and  where  he  did 
preside,  with  much  trepidation,  making  one  of 
the  shortest  dinner  speeches  on  record.  "  There," 
he  said,  as  he  concluded  his  broken  sentences  by 
proposing  the  health  of  Dickens,  as  the  guest  of 
the  nation,  "  There !  I  told  you  I  should  break 
down,  and  I've  done  it." 

Irving  embarked  for  Europe  for  the  third  time, 
on  April  loth,  1841.  He  soon  reached  London, 
where  he  waited  upon  his  friend,  Edward  Everett, 
then  American  Minister,  who  presented  him  to 
Queen  Victoria,  at  the  levee,  where  he  met  sev- 
eral of  his  old  acquaintances,  among  them  the 
ministers,  Lord  Aberdeen,  Sir  Robert  Peel,  etc., 
who  were  cordial  in  their  recognitions.  He  also 
met,  at  a  dinner  party  at  Mr.  Everett's,  the  vete- 
ran poet  and  wit,  Rogers,  who  took  him  in  his 
arms  in  a  paternal  manner ;  and  at  an  anniver- 
sary dinner  of  the  Literary  Fund,  he  met  Moore, 
upon  whom  the  cares  of  the  world  were  thicken- 
ing, and  to  whom  he  declared  his  intention  of 


not  speaking:  " that  Z7xV>I«mj  dinner,'  as  he  ex- 
plained to  the  more  glib-tongued  p^iet,  still 
haunting  his  imagination  with  the  memorj'  ui 
his  break-down.  Irving  hardly  filled  the  charao 
ter  of  an  ambassador,  as  defined  by  Sii  Henry 
Wotton,  /.  e.,  "  one  sent  to  lie  abroad  for  the  good 
of  his  country;"  for,  setting  aside  his  natural 
incapacity  for  mendacity,  the  good  of  h)^  coua" 
try  demanded  nothing  of  the  kind  from  him, 
whatever  it  may  have  done  from  our  Minister  to 
England,  who  had  the  Oregon  affair  upon  his 
hands.  The  diplomatic  life  of  Irving,  which  oc- 
cupied four  years,  need  not  detain  us  long. 
From  London  he  proceeded  to  Paris,  where,  aa 
in  duty  bound,  he  called  upon  General  Cass,  our 
Minister  to  France,  who  drove  out  with  him  one 
evening  to  Neuilly,  and  presented  him  to  Louis 
Philippe,  his  queen,  and  his  sister,  Madame  Ade. 
laide,  all  of  whom  took  occasion  to  say  some- 
thing complimentary  about  his  writings.  Hs 
arrived  at  Madrid  on  July  25th,  and  installed 
himself  in  the  appartments  of  his  predecessor  in 
the  hotel  of  the  Duke  of  San  Lorenzo.  Six  days 
later  he  had  an  audience  of  the  Regent,  Espar- 
tero,  Duke  of  Victoria.  He  was  then  driven  to 
the  royal  palace,  and  presented  to  the  little 
queen,  a  child  of  twelve,  a  puppet  in  the  hands 
of  intriguing  statesmen,  who  went  through  the 
part  assigned  to  her  with  childish  dignity. 
Irving's  letters  to  his  relatives  are  largely  matU 
up  of  accounts  of  the  politics  of  the  country  to 
which  he  was  accredited,  and  which  are  mildly  de- 
scribed by  the  word  stormy.  The  Regent,  Espar- 
tero,  for  example,  was  speedily  overthrown,  and 
the  child  queen  was  in  the  hands  of  Narvaez  and 
his  adherents,  who  issued  juntas,  pronunciamen' 
tos,  and  what  not  in  the  way  of  sounding  pub- 
lic documents.  He  was  a  sagacious  observer 
who  could  understand,  and  a  rapid  penman  who 
could  narrate,  the  events  which  Irving  witnessed 
during  his  residence  in  Spain,  and  which  it  was 
his  ambassadorial  duty  to  communicate  to  his 
government.  The  amount  of  diplomatic  busi- 
ness which  now  devolved  upon  him  left  him  no 
time  to  perform  a  task  which  was  near  his  heart, 
and  upon  which  he  had  hoped  to  labor  diligently. 
This  was  a  Life  of  Washington,  which  had"  been 
proposed  to  him  by  Constable,  the  publisher,  in 
1825,  while  he  was  residing  at  PariS,  and  which 
he  declined  at  that  time  from  a  modest  diffi- 
dence of  his  powers.  "  /  stand  in  too  great  awt 
of  it,"  he  wrote.  Long  brooded  over,  and  fairly 
begun,  at  "  Wolfert's  Roost,"  he  made  but  little 
progress  with  it  at  Madrid.  His  post  finally 
grew  so  irksome  to  him  that  he  resigned  it  ia 
December,  1845,  and  impatiently  awaited  his  suc- 
cessor, who  appeared  during  the  following  sum- 
mer, in  the  person  of  Gen.  Romulus  M.  Saunders, 
of  North  Carolina.  Irving  turned  his  back  on 
the  Old  World  for  the  last  time  in  London,  early 
in  September,  ,1846,  and  on  the  19th  of   thai 


czz 


LIFE  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


^ 


month  was  at  home  once  more  it  his  beloved 
"Sunny  Side." 

The  last  years  of  living's  life  were  passed  in 
the  enjoyment  of  the  leisure  and  the  honors  that 
he  had  earned.  His  chief  residence  was  at 
*  Sunny  Side,"  though  he  made  occasional  jour- 
neys, as  in  his  early  days,  and  his  chief  employ- 
ment was  the  task  upon  which  he  had  long  set  his 
heart— the  Life  of  Washington— and  the  collec- 
tion and  revision  of  a  complete  edition  of  his 
works,  many  of  which  were  by  this  time  out  of 
print.  This  edition,  which  was  commenced  in 
the  summer  of  1848,  contained,  in  addition  to 
the  list  of  Irving's  writings  in  the  preceding 
pages,  three  later  publications,  "Oliver  Gold- 
smith" (1849),  "Mahomet  and  his  Successors" 
(1850),  and  "  Wolfert's  Roost "  (1855).  The  first 
was  a  subject  which  had  engaged  his  attention 
twice  before,  and  to  which  he  was  led  to  return 
by  the  appearance  of  Forster's  "  Life  of  .Gold- 
smith," which  his  publisher  thought  of  reprint- 
ing. This  charming  book  so  freshened  the 
memory  of  his  favorite  author,  and  stimulated 
his  power  of  work,  that  in  less  than  two  months 
the  sheets  of  his  third  biographical  study  were 
in  the  printer's  hands.  "  Mahomet  and  his 
Successors,"  the  last  of  the  series  of  writings  which 
he  had  projected  during  his  first  residence  in 
Madrid,  illustrative  of  the  Moorish  domination 
in  Spain,  was  originally  prepared  for  Murray's 
"Family  Librarj' "  in  1831,  but  circumstances  pre- 
venting its  publication  at  the  time,  it  was  thrown 
Mide  for  years.  The  neglected  manuscript  was 
found  by  Minister  Irving  among  his  papers  dur- 
ing his  last  residence  in  Spain,  where  he  be- 
guiled the  tediousness  of  illness  by  revising  it, 
profiting,  as  he  did,  so  by  the  light  which  later 
writers  had  shed  upon  the  subject,  particularly 
Dr.  Gustav  Weil,  librarian  of  the  University  of 
Heidelburg,  who  is  still  an  authority  among  the 
biographers  of  the  great  Arabian  prophet. 
These  additions  to  the  body  of  his  writings,  excel- 
lent as  they  were  in  themselves,  and  important 
as  they  would  have  been  in  the  life  of  a  lesser 
author,  were  merely  diversions  from  the  labor 
which  constantly  occupied  his  mind  and  his  pen 
as  they  slowly,  but  surely,  proceeded  with  his 
"  Life  of  Washington,"  the  first  volume  of  which 
was  published  shortly  after  "  Wolfert's  Roost," 
In  1855,  the  fifth  and  last  volume  in  1859,  a  few 
months  before  his  death. 

Irving  died  on  the  night  of  November  28th, 
T859,  and  all  that  was  mortal  of  him  was  buried 


on  the  1st  of  December  at  Tarrytown.  It  wai 
a  beautiful  winter  day,  clear  and  sunny,  radiant 
with  the  still  lingering  Indian  summer,  which 
shed  a  soft  and  melancholy  light  over  the 
solemn  scene.  "It  was  one  of  his  own  days,' 
said  the  mourners,  as  they  rode  from  "Sunny 
Side  "  to  Christ  Church,  where  the  funeral  serv- 
ices were  held,  and  thence  to  the  cemetery,  about 
a  mile  distant,  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  with  a  view 
of  the  Hudson  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  ol 
the  valley  of  Sleepy  Hollow— classic  ground, 
which  the  gcnijs  of  Irving  has  made  immortal. 

"  Hi>  youth  was  innocent ;  hU  riper  age 

Marked  with  some  act  of  goodness  every  day  ; 
And  watched  by  eyes  that  loved  him,  calm  and  tag*, 

Faded  hit  late  declining  yean  away. 
Meekly  he  gave  hit  being  up,  and  went 
To  thare  the  holy  rest  that  waits  a  life  well  ipent. 

"  That  life  wai  happy  ;  every  day  he  gave 

Thanks  for  the  fair  existence  that  was  hit ; 
For  a  sick  fancy  made  him  not  hit  slave, 

To  mock  him  with  his  phantom  miseries. 
No  chronic  tortures  racked  his  aged  limb. 
For  luxury  and  sloth  had  nourished  none  for  hin. 

'  And  I  am  glad  that  he  hat  lived  thut  long, 

And  glad  that  he  has  gone  to  hit  reward ; 
Nor  can  I  deem  that  Nature  did  him  wrong, 

Sofily  to  ditengage  the  vital  cord. 
For  when  his  hand  grew  palsied,  and  hit  eye 
Faint  with  the  marks  of  age,  it  wat  bit  time  to  die. ' 

So  sang  the  greatest  of  our  poets,  Bryant,  ia 
his  early  manhood,  in  "  The  Old  Man's  Funeral," 
a  touching  poem  in  which  he  celebrated  a  blame- 
less life  like  that  of  Irving;  and  in  his  Oration 
in  memory  of  the  latter,  a  few  months  after  his 
death,  he  addressed  his  departed  friend  in  the 
following  eloquent  words :  "  Farewell !  thou  who 
hast  entered  into  the  rest  prepared,  from  the 
foundation  of  tho  world,  for  serene  and  gentie 
spirits  like  thine.  Farewell !  happy  in  thy  life, 
happy  in  thy  death,  happier  in  the  reward  to 
which  that  death  was  the  assured  passage  ;  fortu- 
nate in  attracting  the  admiration  of  the  world  to 
thy  beautiful  writings,  still  more  fortunate  in 
having  written  nothing  which  did  not  tend  to 
promote  the  range  of  magnanimous  forbearance 
and  generous  sympathies  among  thy  fellow-men ; 
the  lightness  of  that  enduring  fame  which  thou 
hast  won  on  earth  is  but  a  shadowy  symbol  of 
the  glory  to  which  thou  art  admitted  in  the 
world  beyond  the  grave.  Thy  errand  upon  earth 
was  an  errand  of  peace  and  good-will  to  men,  and 
thou  art  in  a  region  where  hatred  and  strife 
never  enter,  and  where  the  harmonious  activity 
of  those  who  inhabit  it  acknowledges  no  impulH 
less  noble  or  less  holy  than  that  of  love." 


The  Sketch-Book  of  Geoffrey  Crayon,  Gent„ 


"  I  hiv*  no  wif*  nor  cniidran,  good  or  bad,  to  provido  (or.  A  mora  ap*;,tatOf  of  ottiar 
man'i  (ortunat  and  advanturai,  and  how  thay  play  thaif  parli ;  which,  rnathlnki,  ar« 
dlvarMly  praiantad  unto  ma,  aa  from  a  common  thaatra  or  acana.'  — B'JRTON. 


to 

Sir  WALTER  SCOTT,  Bart., 
THIS  WORK  IS  DEDICATED,  IN  TESTIMONY 

or  THE 

ADMIRATION  AND  AFFECTION 

OP 

V  THE  AUTHOR. 


ADVERTISEMENT 

TO  THB 

FIRST  AMERICAN   EDITION. 

Thr  following  writings  are  published  on  experi- 
ment; should  they  please,  they  may  be  followed  by 
others.  The  writer  will  have  to  contend  with  some 
diaadvantages.  He  is  unsettled  in  his  abode,  subject 
10  interruptions,  and  has  his  share  of  cares  and  vicis- 
(iiudes.  He  cannot,  therefore,  promise  a  regular 
plan,  nor  regular  periods  of  publication.  Should  he 
oe  encouraged  io  proceed,  much  time  may  elapse  be- 
tween the  appearance  of  his  numbers;  and  their  size 
vrill  depend  on  the  materials  he  m.iy  have  on  hand. 
His  writings  will  partake  of  the  fluctuations  of  his  own 
thoughts  and  'feelings  ;  sometimes  treating  of  scenes 
before  him,  sometimes  of  others  purely  imaginary,  and 
sometimes  wandering  back  with  his  recollections  to 
his  native  country.  He  will  not  be  able  to  give  them 
that  tranquil  attention  necessary  to  finished  composi- 
tion ;  and  as  they  must  be  transmitted  across  the  At- 
lantic for  publication,  he  will  have  to  trust  to  others 
(0  correct  the  frequent  errors  of  the  press.  Should  his 
writings,  however,  with  all  their  imperfections,  be  well 
received,  he  cannot  conceal  that  it  would  be  a  source 
of  the  purest  gratification  ;  fcr  though  he  does  not  as- 
pire to  those  high  honours  which  are  the  rewards  of 
loftier  intellects  ;  yet  it  is  the  dearest  wish  of  his  heart 
to  have  a  secure  and  cherished,  though  humble  corner 
m  the  good  opinions  and  kind  feelings  of  his  country- 
men. 

Lcndom,  1819. 


>       ADVERTISEMENT 

TO  THB 

FIRST   ENGLISH   EDITION. 

Tkk  following  desultory  papers  are  part  of  a  series 
written  in  this  country,  but  published  in  America.  The 
anihcr  is  .iware  of  the  austerity  with  which  the  writings 
of  his  countrymen  have  hitherto  been  treated  by  Brit- 
ish criti:>;  he  is  conscious,  too,  that  much  of  the  con- 
'.irtts  of  his  papers  can  be  interesting  only  in  the  eyes 
ct  American  readers.  It  was  not  his  intention,  there- 
fore, to  have  them  reprinted  in  this  country.  He  has, 
however,  observed  several  of  them  from  time  to  time 
inserted  in  periodical  works  of  merit,  and  has  under- 
stood, that  it  was  probable  they  would  be  republished 
in  a  collective  form.  He  has  been  induced,  therefore, 
to  revise  and  bring  them  forward  himself,  that  they 
nay  at  least  come  correctly  before  the  public.    Should 


they  be  deemed  of  sufDcient  importance  to  attract  tht 
attention  of  critics,  he  solicits  for  them  that  courtrsj 
and  candour  which  a  stranger  has  some  right  to  claio: 
who  presents  hitnself  at  the  threshold  of  a  hospitabls 
nation. 

Febrttary,  1820. 


THE  AUTHOR'S  ACCOUNT  OF   HIMSELF 

I  am  of  this  mind  with  Homer,  that  as  the  snaiie  that  crept  out 
of  her  shel  was  tun.ed  efuoones  into  a  toad,  and  thereby  was  rorcud 
to  make  a  stoole  to  tit  on ;  so  the  traveller  that  stragleth  from  hil 
owne  country  is  in  ii  short  time  transformed  into  so  monstrous  a 
shape,  that  he  is  faine  to  alter  his  mansion  with  his  manners,  and 
to  live  where  he  can,  not  where  he  vavM.—Lyl/t  Euphuit. 

I  WAS  always  fond  of  visiting  new  scenes,  and  ob- 
serving  strange  characters  and  manners.  Even  when 
a  mere  child  I  began  my  travels,  and  made  many  touts 
of  discovery  into  foreign  parts  and  unknown  regioni 
of  my  native  city,  to  the  frequent  alarm  of  my  paienta^ 
and  the  emolument  of  the  town  crier.  As  I  grew  into 
boyhood,  I  extended  the  range  of  my  observations. 
My  holid.iy  afternoons  were  spent  in  rambles  abont 
the  surrounding  country.  I  made  myself  familiar  with 
all  its  places  famous  in  history  or  fable.  I  knew  everf 
spot  wher«  a  murder  or  robbery  had  been  committed; 
or  a  ghost  seen.  I  visited  the  neighbouring  villages, 
and  added  greatly  to  my  stock  of  knowledge,  by  not- 
ing their  habits  and  customs,  and  conversing  with 
their  sages  and  great  men.  I  even  journeyed  one  long 
summer's  day  to  the  summit  of  the  most  distant  hill, 
from  whence  I  stretched  my  eye  over  many  a  mile  of 
terra  incognit.!,  and  was  astonished  to  find  how  vast  a 
globe  I  inhabited. 

This  rambling  propensity  strengthened  with  my 
years.  Books  of  voyages  and  travels  became  m> 
passion,  and  in  devouring  their  contents,  I  neglected 
the  regular  exercises  of  the  school.  How  wistfully 
would  I  wander  about  the  pier  heads  in  fine  weather, 
and  watch  the  parting  ships,  bound  to  distant  climes— 
with  what  longing  eyes  would  I  gaze  after  their  lessen- 
ing sails,  and  waft  myself  in  imagination  to  the  ends 
of  the  earth ! 

Farther  reading  and  thinking,  though  they  brought 
this  vague  inclination  into  more  reasonable  bounds, 
only  served  to  make  it  more  decided.  I  visited  va- 
rious parts  of  my  own  country  ;  and  had  I  been  merely 
influenced  by  a  love  of  fine  scenery,  I  should  have  felt 
little  desire  to  seek  elsewhere  its  gratification  :  fcr  on 
no  country  have  the  charms  of  nature  been  mere  prod< 
igally  lavished.  Her  mighty  lakes,  like  oceans  of 
liquid  silver;  her  mountains,  w<th  their  bright  aiiri&l 
tints;  her  valleys,  teeming  with  wild  fertility;  her 
tremendous  cataracts,  thundering  in  their  solitudes  ; 
her  boundless  plains,  waving  with  spontaneous  verd- 
ure ;  her  broad  deep  rivers,  rolling  in  solemn  silence 
to  the  ocean  ;  her  trackless  forests,  where  vegetation 
puts  forth  all  its  magnificence  ;  her  skies,  kindling 
with  the  m.igic  of  summer  clouds  and  glorlogs  sun- 
shine : — no,  never  need  an  American  look  beyond  hii 
own  country  for  the  sub  ime  and  beautiful  of  natural 
scenery. 

^■it  Europe  held  forth  all  the  charms  of  storied  aad 


VORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


'■'1 


poetical  association.  There  were  to  be  seen  the  mas- 
terpieces of  art,  the  refinements  of  liighly  cuHivated 
society,  the  quaint  peculiarities  of  ancient  and  local 
castom.  My  native  country  was  full  of  youthful 
promise ;  Europe  was  rich  in  the  accumulated  treas- 
ares  of  age.  Her  very  ruins  told  the  history  of  times 
rone  by,  and  every  mouldering  stone  was  a  chronicle. 
I  longed  to  wander  over  the  scenes  of  renowned 
schievement  —to  tread,  as  it  were,  in  the  footsteps  of 
tnliquity — to  loiter  about  the  ruined  castle — to  medi- 
ate on  the  falling  tower — to  escape,  in  short,  from  the 
ScmraDiiplacc  realities  of  the  present, and  lose  myself 
ATUong  the  shadOjWy  grandeurs  of  the  past. 

I  had,  beside  all  this,  an  earnest  desire  to  see  the 
great  men  of  the  earth.  We  have,  it  is  true,  our  great 
men  in  America:  not  a  city  but  has  an  ample  share 
of  them.  I  have  mingled  among  them  in  my  time,  and 
been  almost  withered  by  the  shade  into  which  they 
cast  me;  for  there  is  nothing  so  baleful  to  a  small  man 
as  the  jhade  of  a  great  one,  particularly  the  great  man 
of  a  city.  But  I  was  anxious  to  see  the  great  men  of 
Europe  ;  for  I  had  read  in  the  works  of  various  phi- 
losophers, that  all  animals  degenerated  in  America, 
and  man  among  the  number.  A  great  man  of  Europe, 
thought  I,  must  therefore  be  as  superior  to  a  great 
man  of  America,  as  a  peak  of  the  Alps  to  a  highland 
of  the  Hudson;  and  in  this  idea  I  was  confirmed,  by 
observing  the  comparative  importance  and  swelling 
magnitude  of  many  English  travellers  among  us,  who, 
I  was  assured,  were  very  little  people  in   their  own 


country.  I  will  visit  this  lane,  si  wonders,  thonfht  1 
and  see  the  gigantic  race  from  which  I  am  degenerated 
It  has  been  either  my  good  or  evil  lot  to  hive  mi 
roving  passion  gratified.  I  have  wandered  through 
diflerent  countries,  and  witnessed  many  of  th»  shifting 
scenes  of  life.  I  cannot  say  that  I  have  studied  them 
with  the  eye  of  a  philosopher,  but  rather  with  the  saun- 
tering gaze  with  which  humble  lovers  of  the  pictur- 
esque stroll  from  the  window  of  one  print-shop  to 
another;  caught  sometimes  by  the  delineations  of 
beauty,  sometimes  by  the  distortions  of  caricature 
and  sometimes  by  the  loveliness  of  landscape.  As  it 
is  the  fashion  for  modern  tourists  to  travel  pencil  in 
hand,  and  bring  home  thei:  portfolios  filled  witn 
sketches,  I  am  disposed  to  get  up  a  few  for  the  enter- 
tainment of  my  friends.  When,  however,  I  look  ov»t 
the  hinis  and  memorandums  I  have  taken  down  fcr 
the  purpose,  my  heart  almost  fails  me,  at  finding  how 
my  idle  humour  has  led  me  aside  from  the  great  ob- 
jects studied  by  every  regular  traveller  who  would 
make  a  book.  I  fear  I  shall  gi've  equal  disappoint- 
ment with  an  unlucky  landscape-painter,  who  had 
travelled  on  the  continent,  but  following  the  bent  of 
his  vagrant  inclination,  h.id  sketched  in  nooks,  and 
corners,  and  by-places.  His  sketch-book  was  accord- 
ingly crowded  with  cottages,  and  landscapes,  and  ob- 
scure ruins  ;  but  he  had  neglected  to  paint  St.  Peter's, 
or  the  Coliseum;  the  cascade  of  Terni,  or  the  bay  of 
Naples ;  and  had  not  a  single  glacier  or  volcano  in 
his  whole  collection. 


THE  VOYAGE. 


ShljM,  ship*,  I  will  descrie  you 
Amidiit  the  main, 

I  will  come  and  try  you, 

What  you  are  protecting, 

And  projecting. 
What's  your  end  and  aim. 
One  IOCS  abroad  for  merch.-uidi.se  and  tradinCj 
Another  stays  to  keep  his  country  from  invading, 
A  third  is  coming  home  with  rich  and  wealthy  ladrng, 
Hallo  I  my  fancie,  whither  wilt  thou  go  ? 

Ol.D  POSM. 

To  an  American  visiting  Europe,  the  long  voyage 
he  has  to  make  is  an  excellent  preparative.  The 
temporary  absence  of  worldly  scenes  and  employ- 
ments produces  a  state  of  mind  peculiarly  fitted  to 
receive  new  and  vivid  impressions.  The  vast  si)ace 
of  water?  that  separates  the  hemispheres  is  like  a 
blank  page  in  existence.  There  is  no  gradual  tran- 
sition by  which,  as  in  Europe,  the  features  and  pop- 
ulation of  one  country  blend  almost  imperceptibly 
with  those  of  another.  From  the  moment  you  lose 
sight  of  the  land  you  have  left,  all  is  vacancy,  until 
you  step  on  the  opposite  shore,  and  are  launched  at 
once  info  the  bustle  and  novelties  of  another  world. 

In  travelling  by  lahd  there  is  a  continuity  of  scene, 
and  a  connected  su  :cession  of  persons  and  incidents, 
that  carry  on  the  story  of  life,  and  lessen  the  effect 
of  absence  and  separation.  We  drag,  it  is  true,  "  a 
ienglhening  chain"  at  each  remove  of  our  pilgrim- 
vge;  but  the  chain  is  unbroken;  we  can  rrace  it 
twick  link  by  link ;  and  we  feel  that  the  last  of  them 
It'll  grapples  us  to  home.  But  a  wide  sea  voyage 
leiri^  us  at  once.  It  makes  us  conscious  of  being 
•>.?(  loose  from  the  secure  anchorage  of  settled  life, 
ifid  sent  adrift  uix)n  a  doubtful  world.  It  interposes 
&  gulf,  not  merely  imaginary,  but  real,  between  us 
ana  our  homes — a  gulf,  subject  to  tempest,  and  fear, 
and  uncertainty,  that  makes  distance  palpable,  and 
return  precarious. 

Such,  at  least  was  the  case  with  myself.  As  I 
law  the  last  blue  line  oi  my  native  lana  fade  away 


like  a  cloud  in  the  horizon,  it  seemed  as  if  I  had 
closed  one  volume  of  the  world  and  its  concerns, 
and  had  time  for  meditation,  before  1  opened  another. 
That  land,  too,  now  vanishing  from  my  view,  which 
contained  all  th.at  was  most  dear  to  me  in  life ;  what 
vicissitudes  might  occur  in  it — what  changes  might 
take  place  in  me,  before  I  should  visit  it  again  !  Who 
can  tell,  when  he  sets  forth  to  wander,  whither  he 
m.ay  be  driven  by  the  uncertain  currents  of  exist- 
ence ;  or  when  he  may  return ;  or  whether  it  may 
be  ever  his  lot  to  revisit  the  scenes  of  his  childhood  ? 

I  said,  that  at  sea  all  is  vacancy ;  I  should  correct 
the  expression.  To  one  given  to  day  dreaming-, 
and  fond  of  losing  himself  in  reveries,  a  sea  voyage 
ir,  full  of  subjects  for  meditation  ;  but  then  they  are 
the  wonders  of  the  deep  and  of  the  air,  and  rather 
tend  to  abstract  the  mind  from  worldly  themes,  I 
delighted  to  loll  over  the  quarter-railing  or  climb  to 
the  main-top,  of  a  calm  Jay,  and  muse  for  hours  to- 
gether on  the  tranquil  bosoir;  of  a  summer's  sea ; — 
to  gaze  upon  the  piles  of  golden  clouds  just  peering 
above  the  horizon ;  fancy  them  some  fairy  re.tlms, 
and  people  them  with  a  creation  of  my  own ; — to 
watch  the  gentle  undulating  billows,  rolling  their 
silver  volumes,  as  if  to  die  away  on  those  happy 
shores. 

There  was  a  delicious  sensation  of  mingled  secu- 
rity and  awe  with  which  I  looked  down,  from  my 
giddy  height,  on  the  monsters  of  the  deep  at  their 
uncouth  gamtx)ls ;  shoals  of  porpoises  tumbling  about 
the  bow  of  the  ship ;  the  grampus,  slowly  heaving 
his  huge  form  above  the  surface ;  or  the  ravenous 
sh.ark,  darting,  like  a  spectre,  through  the  blue 
waters.  My  imagination  would  conjure  up  ail  that  I 
had  heard  or  read  of  the  watery  world  beneath  me : 
of  the  finny  hdrds  that  roam  its  fathomh"^  v.'ieys. 
of  the  shapeless  monsters  that  lurk  aBs.- /  liie  very 
foundations  of  the  earth,  and  of  those  wild  phantasms 
that  swell  the  tales  of  fishermen  and  sailors. 

Sometimes  a  distant  sail,  gliding  along  the  edge  o 
the  ocean,  would  be  another  theme  of  idle  specula- 
tion.     How  interesting  this  fragment  of  a  world. 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  G«mt. 


hastening  to  rejoin  the  great  mass  of  existence  1  What 
a  glorious  monument  of  human  invention  ;  that  has 
thus  triumphed  over  wind  and  *^ave ;  has  brought  the 
ends  ( f  the  world  into  communion ;  has  established 
an  interchange  of  blessings,  pouring  into  the  steril 
regions  of  the  north  all  the  luxuries  of  the  south  ;  has 
dlnused  the  light  of  knowledge,  and  the  charities  of 
cultivated  life ;  and  has  thus  bound  together  those 
scattered  portions  of  the  human  race,  between  which 
nature  seemed  to  have  thrown  an  insurmountable 
barrier. 

We  one  day  descried  some  shapeless  object  drift- 
ing at  a  distance.  At  sea,  every  thing  that  breaks  the 
monotony  of  the  surrounding  expanse  attracts  at- 
fenlion.  It  ]>roved  to  be  the  mast  of  a  ship  that  must 
have  been  coinnletclj^  wrecked;  for  there  were  the 
remains  of  handlcerchiefs,  by  which  some  of  the  crew 
had  fastened  themselves  to  this  spar,  to  prevent  their 
being  washed  off  by  the  waves.  There  was  no  trace 
by  which  the  name  of  the  ship  could  be  ascertained. 
The  wreck  had  evidently  drifted  about  for  many 
months ;  clusters  of  shell-fish  had  fastened  about  it, 
and  long  sea-weeds  flaunteu  at  its  sides.  But  where, 
thought  I,  is  the  crew?  Their  struggle  has  long 
been  over — they  have  gone  down  amidst  the  roar  of 
the  tempest — their  bones  lie  whitening  among  the 
c.iverns  of  the  deep.  Silence,  oblivion,  like  the 
waves,  have  closed  over  them,  and,  no  one  can  tell 
the  story  of  their  end.  What  sighs  have  been  wafted 
after  that  ship ;  what  prayers  offered  up  at  the  de- 
serted fireside  of  home  I  How  often  has  the  mistress, 
the  wife,  the  mother,  pored  over  the  daily  news,  to 
catch  some  casual  intelligence  of  this  rover  of  the 
deepl  How  has  expectation  darkened  into  anxiety 
—anxiety  into  dread — and  dread  into  despair  1  Alas ! 
not  one  memento  shall  ever  return  for  love  to 
cherish.  All  that  shall  ever  be  known,  is,  that  she 
iailed  from  her  port,  "  and  was  never  heard  of  more  ! " 

The  sight  of  this  wreck,  as  usual,  gave  rise  to 
r.iany  dism.al  anecdotes.  This  was  particularly  the 
case  in  the  evening,  when  the  weather,  which  had 
hitherto  been  fair,  uegan  to  look  wild  and  threaten- 
ing, and  gave  indications  of  one  of  those  sudden 
storms  that  will  sometimes  break  in  upon  the  serenity 
of  a  sun.mer  voyage.  As  we  sat  round  the  dull  light 
of  a  lamp,  in  the  cabin,  that  made  the  gloom  more 
ghastly,  every  one  had  his  tale  of  shipwreck  and  dis- 
aster. I  w.-fs  particularly  struck  with  a  short  one 
related  by  the  captain  : 

"  As  I  w.as  once  sailing,"  said  he,  "  in  a  fine,  stout 
ship,  across  the  banks  of  Newloundland,  one  of  those 
heavy  fogs  that  prevail  in  those  parts  rendered  it  im- 
possible for  us  to  see  far  a-head,  even  in  the  daytime ; 
b.it  at  night  the  weather  was  so  thick  th.it  we  could 
not  distinguish  any  object  at  twice  tiie  length  of  the 
siiip.  1  kept  lights  at  the  mast-head,  and  a  constant 
watch  forward  to  look  out  for  fishing  smacks,  which 
are  accustomed  to  lie  at  anchor  on  the  banks.  Tlie 
wind  was  blowing  a  smacking  breeze,  and  we  were 
going  at  a  great  rate  through  the  water.  Suddenly 
tlie  vvatch  gave  the  alarm  of '  a  sail  a-head  ! ' — it  was 
srarcely  uttered  before  we  were  upon  her.  She  was 
K  small  schooner,  at  anchor,  with  a  broadside  toward 
us.  The  crew  were  all  asleep,  and  had  neglected  to 
hoist  a  light.  We  struck  her  just  a-mid-ships.  The 
ijrce  the  size,  the  weight  of  our  .vessel,  bore  her 
"icvn  below  the  waves ;  we  passed  over  her  and 
wervi  hurried  on  our  course.  As  the  crashing  wreck 
was  i;inking  beneath  us,  1  had  a  glimpse  of  two  or 
three  half-naked  wretches,  rushing  from  her  cabin  ; 
ihey  just  started  from  their  beds  to  be  swallowed 
(hrieking  by  the  v^aves.  I  heard  their  drowning  cry 
mingling  with  the  wind.  The  blast  that  bore  it  to 
our  :::arE,  swept  us  out  of  all  farther  hearing.  I  shall 
aever  torgct  that  cry  I    U  was  some  time  before  we 


could  put  tn«  ship  about,  she  was  under  such  head* 
way.  We  returned  as  nearly  as  we  could  guess,  tc 
the  pl.ace  where  the  smack  had  anchored.  W« 
cruised  about  for  several  hours  in  the  dense  fog. 
We  fired  signal-gims,  and  listened  if  we  might  heal 
the  halloo  of  any  survivors;  but  all  was  silent — w« 
never  saw  or  heard  any  thing  of  them  more." 

1  confess  these  stories,  for  a  time,  put  an  end  to 
all  my  fine  fancies.  The  storm  increased  with  th« 
night.  The  sea  was  lashed  into  tremendous  confu- 
sion. There  was  a  fearful,  sullen  sound  of  rushing 
waves  and  broken  surges.  Deep  called  unto  deep 
At  times  the  black  volume  of  clouds  overhead  seemed 
rent  asunder  by  flashes  of  lightning  that  quivered 
along  the  foaming  billows,  and  made  the  succeeding 
darkness  doubly  terrible.  The  thunders  bellowed 
over  the  wild  waste  of  waters,  and  were  echoed  and 
prolonged  by  the  mountain  waves.  As  I  saw  the 
ship  staggering  and  plunging  among  these  roaring 
caverns,  it  seemed  miraculous  that  she  regained  her 
balance,  or  preserved  her  buoyancy.  Her  yards* 
would  dip  into  the  water;  her  bow  was  almost 
buried  beneath  the  waves.  Sometimes  an  impend- 
ing surge  appeared  ready  to  overwhelm  her,  and 
nothing  but  a  dexterous  movement  of  the  helm  pre- 
served her  from  the  shock. 

When  I  retired  to  my  cabin,  the  awful  scene  still 
followed  me.  The  whistling  of  the  wind  through  the 
rigging  sounded  like  funereal  wailings.  The  creak- 
ing of  the  masts ;  the  straining  and  groaning  of  bulk- 
heads, as  the  ship  laboured  in  the  weltering  sea,  were 
frightful.  As  I  heard  the  waves  rushing  along  the 
side  of  tlie  ship,  and  roaring  in  my  very  ear,  it  seemed 
as  if  Death  were  raging  round  this  floating  prison, 
seeking  for  his  prey :  the  mere  starting  of  a  nail,  tbt 
yawning  of  a  seam,  might  give  him  entrance. 

A  fine  day,  however,  with  a  tranquil  sea  and  favooT- 
ing  bree.re,  soon  put  all  these  dismal  reflections  it 
thght.  It  is  impossible  to  resist  the  gladdening  in- 
fluence of  fine  weather  and  fair  wind  at  sea.  When 
the  ship  is  decked  out  in  all  her  canvas,  every  sail 
swelled,  and  careering  gaily  over  the  curling  waves, 
how  lofty,  how  gallant,  she  appears — how  she  seems 
to  lord  it  over  the  deep  1  I  might  fill  a  volume  with 
the  reveries  of  a  sea  voyage ;  for  with  me  it  is  almost 
a  continuul  reverie — but  it  is  time  to  get  to  shore. 

It  was  a  fine  sunny  morning  when  the  thrilling  cry 
of  "land  I  "was  given  from  the  mast-head.  None 
but  those  who  have  experienced  it  can  form  an  idea 
of  the  delicious  throng  of  sensations  which  rush  into 
an  American's  Dosom  when  he  first  comes  in  sight  of 
Europe.  There  is  a  volume  of  associations  with  the 
very  name.  It  is  the  land  of  promise,  teeming  with 
everything  of  which  his  childhood  has  heard,  or  on 
which  his  studious  years  have  pondered. 

From  that  time,  until  the  moment  of  arrival,  it  was 
all  feverish  excitement.  The  ships  of  war,  that 
prowled  like  guardian  giants  along  the  coast;  the 
headlands  of  Ireland,  stretching  out  into  the  channel ; 
the  Welsh  mountains,  towering  into  the  clouds  ;  all 
were  oiyccts  of  intense  interest.  As  we  sailed  up 
the  Mersey,  I  reconnoitred  the  shores  with  a  tele- 
scope. My  eye  dwelt  with  delight  on  neat  cottages, 
with  their  trim  shrubbeiies  and  green  grass-plots.  I 
saw  the  mouldering  ruin  of  an  abbey  overrun  with 
ivy,  and  the  taper  spire  of  a  village  church  rising  from 
the  brow  of  a  neighbouring  hill — all  were  characteris- 
tic of  England. 

The  tide  and  wind  were  so  favourable,  that  the  shi[, 
was  enabled  to  come  at  once  to  the  pier.  It  w&a 
thronged  with  people ;  some  idle  lookers-on,  others 
eager  expectants  of  friends  or  relatives.  I  could  dis 
tinguish  the  merchant  to  whom  the  ship  was  cod- 
signed.  I  knew  him  by  his  calculating  biow  and 
restless  air.  His  hands  wete  thrust  into  his  pockets , 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


he  was  whistling  thoughtfully,  and  walking  to  and 
Iro,  a  small  space  having  been  accorded  him  l)y  the 
crowd,  in  deference  to  his  temporary  importance. 
There  were  repeated  chetnrffs  and  salutations  in- 
terchanged between  the  shore  and  the  ship,  as  friends 
happened  to  recognize  each  other.  1  particularly 
noticed  one  young  woman  of  humble  dress,  but  in- 
teresting demeanour.  She  was  leaning  forsvard  from 
nmong  the  crowd  ,  her  eye  hurried  over  the  ship  as 
It  neared  the  shore,  to  Catch  some  wished-for  coun- 
tenance. She  seemed  disappointed  and  agitated ; 
when  I  heard  a  faint  voice  call  her  name. — It  was 
f.'3m  a  poor  sailor  who  had  been  ill  all  the  voyage, 
and  had  excited  the  sympathy  of  every  one  on  board. 
When  the  weather  was  tine,  his  messmates  had 
spread  a  mattress  for  him  on  deck  in  the  sliadc,  hut 
of  late  his  illness  had  so  increased  that  he  had  taken 
to  his  hammocK,  and  only  breathed  a  wish  that  he 
might  see  his  wife  before  he  died.  He  had  been 
helped  on  deck  as  we  came  up  tlie  river,  and  was 
now  leaning  against  the  shrouds,  with  a  countenance 
so  wasted,  so  pale,  so  ghastly,  that  it  was  no  wonder 
»ven  the  eye  of  atft.-ction  did  not  recognize  him.  But 
It  the  sound  of  his  voice,  her  eye  darted  on  his 
features ;  it  read,  at  once,  a  whole  volume  of  sorrow ; 
she  clasped  her  hands,  uttered  a  faint  shriek,  and 
stood  wringing  them  in  silent  agony. 

All  now  was  hurry  and  bustle.  The  meetings  of 
acquaintances— the  greetings  of  friends — the  consul- 
tations of  men  of  business.  I  alone  was  solitary  and 
idle.  I  had  no  friend  to  meet,  no  cheering  to  receive. 
'  stf  pjied  upon  the  land  of  my  forefathers — but  felt 
nat  I  was  a  stranger  in  the  land. 


ROSCOE. 


-In  tht  :ervice  of  manlcind  lo  b« 
A  guardiitn  aod  below  ;  still  to  employ 
Trie  mind^s  Brave  ardour  in  heroic  aims, 
Such  u  may  raise  us  o'er  the  srovellinK  herd. 
And  make  us  thine  l»i  ever~taat  is  life. 

Thomson. 

One  of  the  first  places  to  which  a  str.anger  is  taken 
in  Liverpool,  is  the  Athenaeum.  It  is  established  on 
a  ijberal  and  judicious  plan ;  it  contains  a  good  li- 
brary, and  spacious  reading-room,  and  is  the  great 
literary  resort  of  the  place.  Go  there  at  what  hour 
you  may,  you  are  sure  to  find  it  filled  with  grr^ive- 
looking  personages,  deeply  absorbed  in  the  study  of 
newspapers. 

As  1  was  once  visiting  this  haunt  of  the  learned, 
my  attention  was  attracted  to  a  person  just  entering 
the  room.  He  was  advanced  in  life,  tali,  and  of  a 
form  that  might  once  have  been  comm-iniling,  but  it 
was  a  little  bowed  by  time — perhaps  by  care.  He 
had  a  noble  Roman  style  of  countenance ;  a  head 
that  would  have  pleased  a  painter ;  and  though  some 
.slight  furrows  on  his  brow  showetl  that  wasting 
thought  had  been  busy  there,  yet  his  eye  still  beamed 
with  the  fire  of  a  poetic  soul.  There  w-as  something 
ir>  bis  whole  appearance  that  indicated  a  being  of  a 
i  Terent  order  from  the  bustling  race  around  him. 

I  i.iquired  his  name,  and  was  informed  that  it  was 
R  JSCOE.  I  drew  back  with  an  involuntary  feeling 
of  veneration.  This,  then,  was  an  author  of  celeb- 
city  ;  this  was  one  of  those  men  whose  voices  have 
gone  forth  to  the  ends  of  the  earth ;  with  whose 
minds  I  have  communed  even  in  the  solitudes  of 
America.  Accustomed,  as  we  are  in  our  country, 
to  know  European  writers  only  by  their  works,  we 
tanoot  conceive  of  them,  as  of  other  men,  engrossed 


by  trivial  or  sordid  pursuits,  and  jostling  with'thi 
crowd  of  common  minds  in  the  dusty  paths  of  life, 
They  pass  before  our  imaginations  like  superioi 
beings,  r.adiant  with  the  emanations  of  their  own 
genius,  and  surrounded  bv  a  halo  of  literar\'  glor>'. 

To  find,  therefore,  the  elegant  historian  of  the  Me- 
dici mingling  among  the  busy  sons  of  traffic,  at  first 
shocked  my  poetical  ideas  ;  but  it  is  from  the  /ery 
circumstances  and  situation  in  which  he  has  been 
pl.aced,  that  Mr.  Roscoe  derive?  his  highest  claims 
to  admiration.  It  is  interesting  to  notice  how  some 
minds  seem  almost  to  create  themselves  ;  spiingin;; 
up  under  every  dis.adv.antage,  and  working  theii 
solitary  but  irresistible  way  through  a  thousand  ob- 
st.icles.  Nature  seems  to  delight  in  disappointinp 
the  assiduities  of  art,  with  which  it  would  rear  legit- 
imate ilulness  to  maturity ;  and  to  glory  in  the  vigoui 
and  luxuriance  ol  her  chance  productions.  .She  scat- 
ters the  seeds  of  genius  to  the  winds,  and  thouijfh 
some  may  perish  among  the  stony  places  of  the 
woHd,  and  some^  be  choked  by  the  thorns  and  bram- 
bles of  early  adversity,  yet  others  will  now  and  then 
strike  root  even  in  the  clefts  of  the  lock,  struggle 
bravely  up  into  sunshine,  and  spread  over  iheir  steril 
birth-place  all  the  beauties  of  vegetation. 

Such  has  been  the  case  with  Mr.  Roscoe.  Horn 
in  a  place  apparently  ungenial  to  the  growth  of  liter- 
ary talent ;  in  the  very  market-place  of  trade  ;  with- 
out fortune,  family  connections,  or  patronai^e  ;  self- 
prompted,  self-sustained,  and  almost  self-taught,  he 
nas  conquereil  every  obstacle,  achieved  his  way  to 
eminence,  and  having  oecome  one  of  the  ornamei.ti 
of  the  nation,  has  turned  the  whole  force  of  his  tal- 
ents and  influence  to  advance  and  embellish  his  na> 
live  town. 

indeed,  it  is  this  last  trait  in  his  character  which 
has  given  him  the  greatest  interest  in  my  eyes,  and 
induced  me  particularly  to  point  him  out  to  my  coun- 
trymen. Eminent  .an  are  his  literary  merits,  he  is  but 
one  among  the  many  distinguished  authors  of  this 
intellectual  nation.  They,  however,  in  general,  live 
but  for  their  own  fame,  or  their  own  pleasures. 
Their  private  history  presents  no  lesson  to  the  world, 
or,  perhaps,  a  humiliating  one  of  human  fr.ailty  and 
inconsistency.  At  best,  they  are  prone  to  steal  away 
from  the  bustle  and  commonplace  of  busy  existence ; 
to  indulge  in  the  selfishness  of  lettered  ease ;  and  to 
revel  in  scenes  of  mental,  but  exclusive  enjoyment. 

Mr.  Roscoe,  on  the  contrary,  has  claimed  none  of 
the  accorded  privileges  of  talent.  He  has  shut  him- 
self up  in  no  garden  of  thought,  nor  elysium  of 
fancy ;  but  has  gone  forth  into  the  highways  and 
thoroughfares  of  life,  he  has  planted  bowers  by  the 
way-side,  for  the  refreshment  of  the  pilgrim  and  the 
sojourner,  and  has  opened  pure  fountains,  where  the 
labouring  man  may  turn  aside  from  the  dust  and  heat 
of  the  day,  and  drink  of  the  living  streams  of  knowl- 
edge. There  is  a  "  daily  beauty  in  his  life,"  on  which 
mankind  may  meditate,  and  grow  better.  It  exhibits 
no  lofty  and  almost  useless,  because  inimitable,  a- 
ample  of  excellence ;  but  presents  a  picture  of  active, 
yet  simple  and  imitable  virtues,  which  are  within 
every  man's  reach,  but  which,  unfortunately,  are  ncil 
exercised  by  many,  or  this  world  would  be  a  parv 
dise. 

liut  his  private  life  is  peculiarly  worthy  the  atten* 
tion  of  the  citizens  of  our  young  and  busy  country, 
where  literature  and  the  elegant  arts  must  grow  up 
side  by  side  with  the  coarser  plants  of  daily  necessity; 
and  must  depend  for  their  culture,  not  on  the  exclu- 
sive devotion  of  time  and  wealth ;  nor  the  quickening 
rays  of  titled  patronage  ;  but  on  hours  and  seasons 
snatched  from  the  pursuit  of  worldly  interests,  b| 
intelligent  and  public-spirited  individuals. 

He  lias  shown  how  much  may  be  done  for  a  plaa 


THE  SKETCH -BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gsmt. 


iQ  hours  of  leisure  by  one  muter  spirit,  and  how 
completely  it  can  give  its  own  impress  to  surrounding 
objects.  Lilce  his  own  Lorenzo  De  Medici,  on  whom 
he  seems  to  have  fixed  his  eye,  as  on  a  pure  model  of 
antiquity,  he  has  interwoven  the  history  of  his  life 
with  the  history  of  his  native  town,  and  has  made  the 
foundations  of  its  fame  the  monuments  of  his  virtues. 
Wlierever  you  ^o,  in  Liverpool,  you  perceive  traces 
of  his  footsteps  in  all  that  is  elegant  and  liberal.  He 
found  the  tide  of  wealth  Howing  merely  in  the  chan- 
lels  of  traffic ;  he  has  diverted  from  it  invigorating 
rills  to  refresh  the  gardens  of  literature.  By liis  own 
example  and  constant  exertions,  he  has  effected  that 
union  of  commerce  and  the  intellectual  pursuits,  s6 
eloquently  recommended  in  one  of  his  latest  writings;* 
and  has  practically  proved  how  beautifully  they  may 
be  brought  to  harmonize,  and  to  beneiit  each  other. 
The  noble  institutions  for  literary  and  scientific  pur- 
poses, which  reflect  such  credit  on  Liverpool,  and 
are  giving  such  an  impulse  to  the  public  mind,  have 
mostly  been  originateu,  and  have  all  been  effectively 
promoted,  by  Mr.  Roscoe :  and  when  we  consider  the 
rapidly  increasing  opulence  and  magnitude  of  that 
town,  which  promises  to  vie  in  commercial  importance 
with  the  metropolis,  it  will  be  perceived  that  in 
awal<cning  an  ambition  of  mental  improvement 
among  its  inhabitants,  he  has  effected  a  great  benefit 
to  the  cause  of  British  literature. 

In  America,  we  know  Mr.  Roscoe  only  as  the 
author — in  Liverpool,  he  is  spoken  of  as  the  banker ; 
and  I  was  told  of  his  having  been  unfortunate  in  busi- 
ness. 1  could  not  pitv  him,  as  I  heard  some  rich 
men  do.  I  considereu  him  far  above  the  reach  of 
my  pity.  Those  who  live  only  for  the  world,  and  in 
the  world,  may  be  cast  down  by  the  frowns  of  ad- 
versity ;  but  a  man  like  Roscoe  is  not  to  be  overcome 
by  the  reverses  of  fortune.  They  do  but  drive  him 
in  upon  the  resources  of  his  own  mind ;  to  the  supe- 
rior society  of  his  own  thoughts ;  which  the  best  of 
tren  are  apt  sometimes  to  neglect,  and  to  roam 
ubrcid  in  search  of  less  worthy  associ-Ttes.  He  is 
independent  of  the  world  around  him.  He  ii;*?s  with 
antiquity,  and  with  posterity :  with  antiquity,  in  the 
sweet  communion  of  studious  retirement ;  and  with 
posterity,  in  the  generous  aspirinjjs  after  future  re- 
nown. The  solitude  of  such  a  mind  is  its  state  of 
h 'ghest  enjoyment.  It  is  then  visited  by  those  ele- 
vated meditations  which  are  the  proper  aliment  of 
noble  souls,  and  are,  like  manna,  s^nt  from  heaven, 
in  the  wilderness  of  this  world. 

While  my  feelings  were  yet  alive  on  the  subject, 
it  was  my  fortune  to  light  on  farther  traces  of  Mr. 
Koscoe.  I  was  riding  out  with  a  gentleman,  to  view 
the  environs  of  Liverpool,  when  he  turned  off, 
through  a  gate,  into  some  ornamented  grounds.  After 
riding  a  short  distance,  we  came  to  a  spacious  man- 
sion of  freestone,  built  in  the  Grecian  style.  It  was  not 
in  the  purest  taste,  yet  it  had  an  air  of  elegance,  and 
(he  situation  was  delightful.  A  fine  lawn  sloped  away 
trom  it,  studded  with  clumps  of  trees,  so  disposed  as 
10  break  a  soft  fertile  country  into  a  variety  of  land- 
scapes. The  Mersey  was  seen  winding  a  broad  quiet 
sheet  of  water  through  an  expanse  of  g-een  meadow 
land  ;  while  the  Welsh  mountains,  b  ending  with 
clouds,  and  melting  into  distance,  bordered  tlie 
hcirizon. 

This  was  Roscoe's  favourite  residence  during  the 
days  of  his  prosperity.  It  had  been  the  seat  of  ele- 
gant hospitality  and  literary  refinement.  The  house 
w.is  now  silent  and  deserted.  I  saw  the  windows  of 
the  study,  which  looked  out  upon  the  soft  scenery  I 
have  mentioned.  The  windows  were  closed — the 
library  was  gone.    Two  or  three  ill-favoured  beings 


of  th«  LiT«ipaol  InstitutioB. 


were  loitering  about  the  place,  whom  my  fuicy  pict* 
ured  into  retainers  of  the  law.  It  was  like  visiting 
some  classic  fountain  that  had  once  welled  its  pure 
waters  in  a  sacred  shade,  but  finding  it  dry  and  dusty 
with  the  lizard  and  the  toad  brooding  over  the  shat 
tered  marbles. 

I  inquired  after  the  fate  of  Mr.  Roscoe's  library, 
which  had  consisted  of  scarce  and  foreign  boolo, 
from  many  of  which  he  had  drawn  the  materials  foi 
his  Italian  histories.  It  had  passed  under  the  ham- 
mer of  the  auctioneer,  and  was  dispersed  about  tlu: 
country. 

The  good  people  of  the  vicinity  thronged  like 
wreckers  to  get  some  part  of  the  noble  vessel  that 
had  been  driven  on  shore.  Did  such  a  scene  admit 
of  ludicrous  associations,  we  might  imagine  some- 
thing whimsical  in  this  strange  irruption  into  the  re- 
gions of  learning.  Pigmies  rummaging  the  armour) 
of  a  giant,  and  contending  for  the  possession  of 
weapons  which  they  could  not  wield.  We  might 
picture  to  ourselves  some  knot  of  speculators,  derat- 
ing with  calculating  brow  over  the  quaint  binding 
and  illuminated  margin  of  an  obsolete  author ;  or 
the  air  of  intense,  but  baffled  sagacity,  with  which 
some  successful  purchaser  attempted  to  dive  into  the 
black-letter  bargain  he  had  secured. 

It  is  a  beautiful  incident  in  the  story  of  Mr.  Ros- 
coe's misfortunes,  and  one  which  cannot  fail  to  in- 
terest the  studious  mind,  that  the  parting  with  his 
books  seems  to  have  touched  upon  his  tenderest  feel- 
ings, and  to  have  been  the  only  circumstance  that 
could  provoke  the  notice  of  his  muse.  The  scholar 
only  knows  how  dear  these  silent,  yet  eloquent,  com- 
panions of  pure  thoughts  and  innocent  hours  become 
in  the  season  of  adversity.  When  all  that  is  worldly 
turns  to  dross  around  us,  these  only  retain  their 
steady  value.  When  friends  grow  cold,  and  the  con- 
verse of  intimates  languishes  into  vapid  civility  and 
commonplace,  these  only  continue  the  unaltered 
countenance  of  happier  days,  and  cheer  us  with  that 
true  friendship  which  never  deceived  hope,  nor  de- 
serted sorrow. 

I  do  not  wish  to  censure ;  but,  surely,  if  the  peo- 
ple of  Liverpool  had  been  properly  sensible  of  what 
was  due  to  Mr.  Roscoe  and  to  themselves,  his  library 
would  never  have  been  sold.    Good  worldly  reasons 
may,  doubtless,  be  given  for  the  circumstance,  which 
it  would  be  difficult  to  combat  with  others  that  might 
seem  merely  fanciful ;  but  it  certainly  appears  to  me 
such  an  opportunity  as  seldom  occurs,  of  cheering  a 
noble  mind  struggling  under  misfortunes  by  one  of 
the  most  delicate,  but  most  expressive  tokens  of 
public  sympathy.    It  is  difficult,  however,  to  estimate 
a  man  of  genius  properly  who  is  daily  before  our 
eyes.    He  becomes  mingled  and  confounded  with 
other  men.     His  great  qualities  lose  their  novelty, 
and  we  become  too  familiar  with  the  common  mate- 
rials which  form  the  basis  even  of  the  loftiest  char- 
acter.   Some  of  Mr.  Roscoe's  townsmen  may  regard 
him  merely  as  a  man  of  business ;  others  as  a  poli- 
tician ;  all  tind  him  engaged  like  themselves  in  ordi- 
nary occupations,  and  surpassed,  perhaps,  by  them- 
selves on  some  points  of  worldly  wisdom.    Even  thai 
amiable  and  unostentatious  simplicity  of  character, 
which  gives  the  name  less  grace  to  real  excellence, 
may  cause  him  to  be  undervalued  by  some  coarse 
minds,  who  do  not  know  that  true  worth  is  alwa}S 
void  of  glare  and  pretension.    But  the  man  of  letters 
who  speaks  of  Liverpool,  speaks  of  it  as  the  resi- 
dence of  Roscoe. — The  intelligjent  traveller  who  vis- 
its it,  inquires  where  Roscoe  is  to  be  seen. — He  is 
the  literary  landmark  of  the  place,  indicating  its  ex- 
istence to  the  distant  scholar.— He  is  like  Pompey's 
column  at  Alexandria,  towering  alone  in  classM 
dignity. 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


The  foDowing  sonnet,  addressed  by  Mr.  Roscoe  to 
bis  books,  on  partinff  with  tliein,  is  alluded  to  in  the 
proceding  article.    IT  any  thing  cin  add  effect  to  the 

Sure  feeiinfi;  and  elevated  thought  here  displayed, 
is  the  conviction,  that  the  wnole  is  no  efTusion 
of  fancy,  but  a  faithful  transcript  from  the  writer's 
beait: 

TO  MY  BOOKS. 

Al  one,  who,  dciiined  from  hiii  friendt  to  part, 

RexrcM  liis  lu»i,  but  hopes  agaiti  erewhil* 
To  ihare  their  convene,  and  enjoy  their  imiU, 
And  tempera,  as  he  may,  affliction'a  dart ; 

ThiUj  loved  anHOciatet,  chiefii  ofcldar  art, 

Tiuchen  of  wi>dum,  who  could  once  besuiU 
My  lediuut  houn,  ,ind  lighten  every  toil, 

I  now  renigu  you ;  nor  with  faintinf  heart ; 

For  pan  a  few  thort  yearn,  or  day«,  «r  houn. 
And  happier  aeasonk  may  their  dnwn  unfold. 
And  all  your  tacred  fellowship  restore ; 
When  (reed  from  earth,  unlimited  itt  powers. 

Mind  shall  with  mind  direct  communioD  hold. 
And  kindred  spirits  meet  to  part  no  mora. 


THE  WIFE. 


ine  treasures  of  the  deep  are  not  so  precious 
As  are  the  concealed  comforts  uf  a  man 
Lock'd  up  in  woman's  love.     I  scent  the  air 
Of  blessings,  when  I  come  but  near  the  house. 
What  a  itelicioiis  breath  marriage  sends  forth— 


The  violet  bed  's  not  sweeter  I 


MiDDI.BTOS. 


I  HAVE  often  had  occasion  to  remark  the  fortitude 
Tvith  which  women  sustain  the  most  overwhelming 
reverses  of  fortune.  Those  disasters  which  break 
down  the  spirit  of  a  man,  and  prostrate  him  in  the 
dust,  seem  to  call  forth  all  the  energies  of  the  softer 
Kt,  and  give  such  intrepidity  and  elevation  to  their 
character,  that  at  times  it  approaches  to  sublimity. 
Nothing  can  be  more  touching,  than  to  behold  a  soft 
and  tender  female,  who  had  been  all  weakness  and 
dependence,  and  alive  to  every  trivial  roughness, 
while  threading  the  prDsperous  paths  of  life,  suddenly 
rising  in  mental  for;e  to  be  the  comforter  and  sup- 
porter of  her  hus'Tiand  under  misfortune,  and  abiding, 
with  unshrnk'T,g  firmness,  the  bitterest  blasts  of 
adversity. 

As  the  n  • '.,  which  has  long  twined  its  graceful 
foliage  about  the  oak,  and  been  lifted  by  it  into  sun- 
shine, will,  when  the  hardy  plant  is  rifted  by  the 
thunderbolt,  cling  round  it  with  its  caressing  tendrils, 
and  bind  up  its  shattered  boughs ;  so  is  it  beautifully 
ordered  by  Providence,  that  woman,  who  is  the  mere 
dependant  and  ornament  of  man  in  his  happier  hours, 
should  be  his  stay  and  solace  when  smitten  with  sud- 
den calamity ;  winding  herself  into  the  rugged  re- 
cesses of  his  nature,  tenderly  supporting  the  droop- 
ing head,  and  binding  '.p  the  broken  heart. 

I  was  once  congratulating  a  friend,  who  had  around 
him  a  blooming  family,  knit  together  in  the  strongest 
affection.  "  I  can  wish  you  no  better  lot,"  said  he, 
with  enthusiasm,  "  than  to  have  a  wife  and  children. 
It  you  are  prosperous,  there  they  are  to  share  your 
(irosperity ;  if  otherwise,  there  they  are  to  comfort 
fou. '  And,  indeed,  1  have  observed  that  a  married 
T3.n  falling  into  misfortune,  is  more  apt  to  retrieve 
ti!s  situation  in  the  world  than  a  single  one ;  partly, 
because  he  is  more  stimulated  to  exertion  by  the  ne- 
cessities of  the  helpless  and  beloved  beings  who  de- 
pend upon  him  for  subsistence  ;  but  chiefly,  because 
nis  spirits  are  soothed  and  reHeved  by  domestic  en- 
dearments, and  his  self-respect  kept  alive  by  finding, 
that  though  all  abroad  is  darkness  and  humiliation, 
yet  there  is  still  a  little  world  of  love  at  home,  of 


which  he  is  the  monarch.  Whereas,  a  single  man  to 
apt  to  run  to  waste  and  sdf-neelect ;  to  fancy  him- 
self lonely  and  abandoned,  and  nis  heart  to  fall  to 
ruin,  like  some  deserted  mansion,  for  want  of  an  in- 
habitant. ' 

These  observations  call  to  mind  a  little  domestic 
story,  of  which  I  was  once  a  witness.  My  intimate 
friend,  Leslie,  had  married  a  beautiful  and  aojom- 
plished  girl,  who  had  been  brought  up  in  the  midst 
of  fashionable  life.  She  had,  it  is  true,  no  fortun«, 
but  that  of  my  friend  was  ample ;  and  he  delighted 
in  the  anticipation  of  indulging  her  in  every  elegant 
pursuit,  and  administering  to  those  delicate  tastes 
and  fancies  that  spread  a  Kind  of  witchery  about  the 
sex, — "  Her  life,"  said  he, "  shall  be  like  a  fairy  tale.' 

The  very  difference  in  their  characters  produced 
a  harmonious  combination  ;  he  was  of  a  romantic 
and  somewhat  serious  cast;  she  was  all  life  and 
gladness.  I  have  often  noticed  the  mute  rapture 
with  which  he  would  gaze  upon  her  in  company,  of 
which  her  sprightly  powers  made  her  the  delight ; 
and  how,  in  the  midst  of  applause,  her  eve  would 
still  turn  to  him,  as  if  there  alone  she  sought  favour 
and  acceptance.  When  leaning  on  his  arm,  her 
slender  form  contrasted  finely  with  his  tall,  manly 
person.  The  fond  confiding  air  with  which  she 
looked  up  to  him  seemed  to  call  forth  a  flush  of  tri- 
umphant pride  and  cherishing  tenderness,  as  if  he 
doated  on  his  lovely  burthen  for  its  very  helplessness. 
Never  did  a  couple  set  forward  on  the  flowery  path 
of  early  and  well-suited  marriage  with  a  fairer  pros- 
pect of  felicity. 

It  was  the  misfortune  of  my  friend,  however,  to 
have  embarked  his  property  in  large  speculations; 
and  he  had  not  been  married  many  months,  when, 
by  a  succession  of  sudden  disasters  it  was  swept 
from  him,  and  he  found  himself  reduced  to  vilmtif 
penury.  For  a  time  he  kept  his  situation  to  himself, 
and  went  about  with  a  haggard  countenance,  and  a 
breaking  heart.  His  life  was  but  a  protracted  agony ; 
and  what  rendered  it  more  insupportable  was  tfie 
necessity  of  keeping  up  a  smile  in  the  presence  of  his 
wife;  for  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  o/erwhclm 
her  with  the  news.  She  saw,  however,  with  the 
quick  eyes  of  affection,  that  all  was  not  well  with 
him.  She  marked  his  altered  looks  and  stifled  sighs, 
and  was  not  to  be  deceived  by  his  sickly  and  vapid 
attempts  at  cheerfulness.  Sh  i  isked  all  her  sprightly 
powers  and  tender  blandishments  to  win  him  l)acK 
to  happiness ;  but  she  only  drove  the  arrow  deeper 
into  his  soul.  The  more  he  saw  cause  to  love  her, 
the  more  torturing  was  the  thought  that  he  was  soon 
to  make  her  wretched.  A  little  while,  thought  he, 
and  the  smile  will  vanish  from  that  cheek — the  song 
will  die  away  from  those  lips — the  lustre  of  thost 
eyes  will  be  quenched  with  sorrow — and  the  happy 
he.irt  which  now  beats  lightly  in  that  bosom,  will  be 
weighed  down,  like  mine,  by  the  cares  and  miseries 
of  the  world. 

At  length  he  came  to  me  one  day,  and  related  his 
whole  situation  in  a  tone  of  the  deepest  despair. 
When  I  had  heard  him  through,  I  inquired,  "  Does 
your  wife  know  all  this?  "  At  the  question  .  i?  burst 
into  an  agony  of  tears.  "  For  God's  sake  !  "  crieu 
he,  "  if  you  have  any  pity  on  me,  don't  mention  in> 
wife ;  It  is  the  thought  of  her  that  drives  me  almost 
to  madness ! " 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  said  I.  "  She  must  know  it 
sooner  or  later :  you  cannot  keep  it  long  from  her, 
and  the  intelligence  may  break  upon  her  in  a  more 
startling  manner  than  if  imparted  by  yourself;  fm 
the  accents  of  those  we  love  soften  the  harshest 
tidings.  Besides,  you  are  depriving  yourself  of  th* 
comforts  of  her  sympathy  ;  and  not  merely  that,  bu' 
also  endangering  the  only  bond  that  can  keeo  hearu 


THE   SKETCH-nOOK   OF    r.ROPFRKY   CRAYON,   (>«WT. 


logfther — an  unrwcrvrd  community  of  thoiieht  and 
fceline.  She  will  soon  p.rcHvf  that  somctning  is 
s«Tretly  preying  upon  yoiir  mind  ;  and  true  love  will 
not  brooK  reserve :  it  feels  undervalued  and  outragfd, 
when  even  the  sorrows  of  those  it  loves  are  con- 
cealed from  it." 

"  Oh,  but  my  friend  !  to  think  what  a  blow  I  am 
to  pve  to  all  her  future  prospects-  how  I  am  to 
sirike  her  very  soul  to  the  earth,  by  telling  her  that 
li«T  husband  is  a  bi'jj^ar  ! — that  she  is  to  forego  ;dl 
the  eltigancies  of  life — all  the  pleasures  of  society — 
to  shrink  with  me  into  indigence  anil  obscurity  !  To 
tell  her  that  I  have  draf»Ked  her  down  from  the 
sphere  in  which  she  might  have  continued  to  move 
In  const.int  brightness — the  lii^ht  of  every  eye — the 
admiration  of  every  heart ! — How  can  she  hear  pov- 
erty? She  has  been  brought  up  in  all  the  retme- 
ments  of  opulence.  How  can  she  be.ir  neglect  ? 
She  has  been  the  idol  of  society.  Oh,  it  will  break 
her  heart — it  will  break  her  heart  I  " 

1  saw  his  grief  was  eloquent,  and  I  let  it  have  its 
tlow  ;  for  sorrow  relieves  itself  by  words.  When  his 
paroxysm  had  subsided,  and  he  had  relapsed  into 
moody  silence,  I  resumed  the  subject  gently,  and 
urged  him  to  break  his  situation  at  once  to  his  wife. 
He  shook  his  head  mournfully,  but  positively. 

"Hut  how 'are  you  to  keep  it  from  her?  It  is 
necessary  she  should  know  it,  that  you  may  take  the 
steps  proper  to  the  alteration  of  your  circumstances. 
You  must  change  your  style  of  living — nay,"  observ- 
ing a  pang  to  p.-iss  across  his  countenance,  "don't 
let  that  aftlict  you.  1  am  sure  you  h-ive  never  placed 
your  happiness  in  outward  show  -you  have  yet 
friends,  wann  friends,  who  will  not  think  the  worse 
of  you  for  being  less  splendidly  lodged  :  and  surely  it 
foes  not  require  a  palace  to  be  happy  with  Mary—" 
"1  cculd  be  happy  with  her,"  cried  he,  convulsively, 
•in  a  hovel !  — I  coulfl  go  down  with  her  into  poverty 
and  the  dust ! — 1  could — I  could — God  bless  her  I— 
God  bless  her  !  "  cried  he,  bursting  into  a  transport 
of  grief  antl  tenderness. 

".^nd  believe  me,  my  friend,"  said  I,  stepping  up, 
ind  grasping  him  warmly  by  the  hand,  "  believe  me, 
she  can  be  the  same  with  you.  Ay,  more :  it  will 
be  a  source  of  pride  and  triumph  to  her — it  will 
call  forth  all  the  latent  energies  and  fer\'ent  sympa- 
thies of  her  nature  ;  for  she  will  rejoice  to  prove  that 
she  loves  you  for  yourself.  There  is  in  every  true 
woman's  heart  a  sp.irk  of  heavenly  fire,  which  lies 
dormant  in  the  broad  daylight  of  prosperity ;  but 
which  kindles  up,  ami  beams  and  blazes  in  the  dark 
hour  of  adversity.     No  man  knows  what  the  wife  of 

his  bosom  is no  man  knows  what  a  ministering 

angel  she  is  —until  he  has  gone  with  her  through  the 
tier)'  ti-ials  of  this  world." 

There  was  something  in  the  earnestness  of  my 
manner,  and  the  tigurative  style  of  my  language,  that 
caught  the  excited  imagination  of  Leslie.  1  knew 
the  auditor  1  had  to  deal  with  ;  and  following  up  the 
impression  I  had  made,  I  finished  by  persuatling  him 
to  go  home  and  unburthen  his  sad  heart  to  his  wife. 

1  must  confess,  notwithstanding  all  1  had  said,  I 
kh  some  little  solicitude  for  the  result.  Who  can 
cal(;ulate  on  the  fortitude  of  one  whose  whole  life  has 
been  a  round  of  pleasures?  Her  gay  spirits  migiu 
r'jvolt  at  the  dark,  downward  path  of  low  humility. 
suMenly  pointed  out  before  her,  and  might  cling  to 
the  si:nny  regions  in  which  they  had  hitherto  revelled. 
Besides,  ruin  in  fashion.ible  life  is  accompanied  by 
so  many  galling  mortifications,  to  which,  in  other 
ranks,  it  is  a  stranger. — In  short,  I  could  not  meet 
Leslie,  the  next  morning,  without  trepidation.  He 
had  made  the  disclosure, 

"  And  how  did  she  bear  it  ?  " 

"  Lik*  an  angel  I    It  seemed  rather  to  be  a  relief 


t  mund  m"  "A-k, 

■  U«fly  M).»dc  nie 

"she  citinoi 

Sh'   ^ua  no 

;   %\\t     nM  ctU 
'  to  I    ve.     Sh. 
fio  \,.ss  b<  • 
es.     Whrr  ••  • 


to  her  mind,  for  she  threw  bcr  arr 

and  asked   if  this  w.m  all  thii 

unh.ippy. — Hut,  poor  girl."  ad 

realize  the  ch.mge  we  tnu-^t  im^ 

idea  of  poverty  but  in  the  nbsti 

read  of  it  in  poetry,  where  it  is  alli 

feels  as  yet  no  privation  :  she  suflc 

customed  conv<mienccs  nor  rlcjiftn 

come  practically  to  experience  its  n.  rdid  cares  ii 

paltry  wants,  its  petty  humiliations — th  ;n  will  lif    Ik 

real  trial." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  now  that  you  hai^c  got  over  the 
severest  task,  th.it  of  breakmg  it  lo  her,  the  sooner 
)ou  let  the  world  into  the  secret  the  better.  The 
disclosure  may  be  mortifying  ;  but  then  it  is  a  sing'e 
misery,  and  soon  over ;  whereas  you  otherwise  sutTcr 
it,  in  anticipation,  every  hour  in  the  day.  It  is  net 
povetty,  so  much  as  pretence,  that  h;irasses  a  ruineil 
man — the  struggle  between  a  proud  mind  and  an 
empty  purse — llie  keeping  up  a  hollow  show  tha 
biust  soon  come  to  an  end.  Have  the  courage  to  ap 
pear  poor,  and  you  disarm  poverty  of  us  sharpest 
sting.  '  On  this  point  I  found  Leslie  pertectly  pre- 
pared. He  had  no  false  pride  himself,  and  as  tj 
nis  wife,  she  was  only  anxious  to  conform  to  thek 
altered  fortunes. 

Some  days  afterwards,  he  called  upon  me  in  th« 
evening.  He  h.-id  disposed  of  his  dwelling-house, 
and  taken  a  small  cottage  in  the  country,  a  few  milej 
from  town.  He  had  been  busied  all  day  in  sending 
out  furniture.  The  new  establishment  reiiuired  few 
articles,  .and  those  of  the  simplest  kind.  All  thr 
splendid  furniture  of  his  late  residence  had  been  sold 
excepting  his  wife's  harp.  That,  he  said,  was  tot 
closely  associated  with  the  idea  of  herself;  it  be- 
longed to  the  little  story  of  their  loves;  for  some  of 
the  sweetest  moments  of  their  coiirtshij)  were  tr.ose 
when  he  h.'id  leaned  over  that  instrument,  and 
li.stened  to  the  melting  tones  of  her  voice.  I  could 
not  but  smde  at  this  instance  of  romantic  gcdlaniry 
in  a  doating  husband. 

He  w.as  now  going  out  to  the  cottage,  where  his 
wife  had  been  all  day,  superintending  its  arrange- 
ment. My  feelings  had  become  strongly  interested  in 
the  progress  of  this  family  stor^',  and  as  it  was  a  fine 
evening,  I  offered  to  .accompany  him. 

He  was  wearied  with  the  fatigues  of  the  day,  and 
as  we  walked  out,  fell  into  a  fit  of  gloomy  musing. 

"  Poor  Mary  I  "  at  length  broke,  with  a  heavy  sigh, 
from  his  lips. 

"  And  what  of  her,"  asked  I,  "  has  any  thing  hap- 
pened to  her  ?  " 

"  What."  said  he,  darting  .an  imjvatient  glance,  "  if 
it  nothing  to  be  reduced  to  this  paltry  situation — to 
be  caged  in  a  miserable  cottage — to  be  obliged  to 
toil  almost  in  the  menial  concerns  of  her  wretched 
habitation  ?  " 

"  H;is  she  then  repined  at  the  change  ?  " 

"  Uepined  !  she  has  been  nothing  liut  sweetness 
and  good  humour.  Indeed,  she  seems  in  better 
spirits  than  1  have  ever  known  her ;  she  has  been  tc 
nie  all  love,  and  tenderness,  and  comfort  !" 

"  Admirable  girl  !  "  exclaimed  I.  "  You  call  your- 
self poor,  my  friend ;  you  never  were  so  rich — yot; 
never  knew  the  boundless  treasures  of  exc(!ilence  yov 
possessed  in  that  woman." 

"  Oh  !  but  my  friend,  if  this  first  meeting  at  tht 
cottage  were  over,  I  think  I  could  then  \>e  comfort- 
able. But  this  is  her  first  d.iy  of  real  experience : 
she  h.-^  been  introduced  into  an  humble  dwelling — 
she  h.as  been  employed  all  day  in  arranging  its  mis- 
erable equipments — she  has  for  the  first  time  known 
the  fatigues  of  domestic  employment — she  h.as  for 
the  first  time  looked  around  her  on  a  home  destitute 
j  of  every  :hing  elegant — almost  of  I'vei^  thing  coD- 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON    (KVING. 


m 


k 


fcnlent ;  and  nuf  now  be  sittinf;  clown,  exhauntttd 
and  spiritless,  brooding  over  a  prospect  or  future 
poverty." 

Thrrc  was  a  de^jp-re  of  proltahility  in  this  picture 
that  I  cuuid  not  ^Miiinay,  so  we  wall<c(l  un  in  silt-ncc. 

After  turning  iroin  tlie  main  road,  up  a  narrow 
lane,  %o  thickly  shadrd  l)y  forest  trees  as  to  ^ive  it  a 
coinpliiie  air  ol  scclu  .iun.  we  came  in  si^ht  uf  tite 
I  otta(;c.  It  was  luimi)le  enough  in  its  appearance 
or  tliu  most  pastoral  poet ;  aiiiTyet  it  had  a  plcahing 
'^iral  look.  A  wild  vine  harl  overrun  one  end  with  a 
profusion  of  foliage  ;  a  few  treea  threw  their  branches 
{Ticf fully  over  it ;  and  1  observed  several  pots  of 
l.iwers  tastefully  dis|Kiscd  about  the  door,  and  on 
the  gi ass-plot  in  front.  A  small  wicket-gate  opened 
upon  a  lijotpatli  that  wounil  through  some  shruohcry 
to  the  <luor.  Just  as  we  approached,  we  heard  the 
sound  of  music — Leslie  grasped  my  arm  ;  we  paused 
and  liiiteiicd.  It  was  Mary's  voice,  singinif,  in  a  style 
of  the  must  touching  simplicity,  a  little  air  ot  wnii.ii 
her  husb.tnd  was  pcculiarlv  fond. 

I  felt  I  I'slie's  hand  treiiiUle  on  my  arm.  He  step- 
ped forw.trd,  to  hear  more  distinctly.  His  step  m.ule 
a  noise  on  the  gravel-walk.  A  bright  beautiful  face 
glanced  out  at  the  window,  and  vanished — a  light 
footstep  was  hoard — and  Mary  came  tripping  lorth 
to  meet  us.  She  was  in  a  pretty  rural  dress  of 
white ;  a  few  wild  flowers  were  twisted  in  her  tine 
hair ;  a  fiesh  bloom  was  on  her  cheek ;  her  whole 
countenance  beamed  with  smiles — I  had  never  seen 
her  look  so  lovely. 

"  My  (l^ar  (jcorge,"  crii;d  she,  "  I  am  so  glad  you 
are  come ;  1  have  been  watching  and  watching  for 
you ;  and  running  down  the  lane,  and  looking  out 
for  you.  I've  set  out  a  table  under  a  beautiful  tree 
behind  the  cottage;  and  I've  been  gathering  some 
ol  the  most  deliciuus  strawberries,  for  I  know  you 
are  fond  of  them — and  we  have  such  excellent  cream 
—and  every  thing  is  so  sweet  and  still  here. — Oh  ! " 
•aid  she,  putting  ner  arm  within  his,  and  looking  up 
brightly  in  his  face,  "Oh,  we  shall  be  so  happy  1 " 

Poor  Leslie  was  overcome. — lie  caught  her  to  his 
bosom — he  folded  his  arms  round  her — he  kissed 
her  again  and  again — he  could  not  speak,  but  tin- 
tears  gushed  intoTiis  eyes  ;  and  he  has  often  assured 
me,  that  though  the  world  has  since  gone  prosper- 
ously with  him,  and  his  life  has  indeed  been  a  happy 
one,  yet  never  has  he  experienced  a  moment  of  more 
etqtaaite  felicity. 


[The  following  Tale  was  found  among  tho  paptrs 
«f  the  Uto  Diedrich  Knirkerbocker,  an  old  gentle- 
man of  New-York,  who  was  very  curious  in  the  Dutch 
History  of  the  province,  and  the  manners  of  the  de- 
scendants from  its  primitive  settlers.  His  historical 
researches,  however,  did  not  lie  so  much  among  books 
as  among  men  ;  for  the  former  are  lamentably  scantv 
on  his  favourite  topics;  whereas  he  lound  the  old 
Uur((h<';s,  and  still  more,  their  wives,  rich  in  that  le- 
gendary lore,  so  invaluable  to  true  history.  Whcn- 
6ver,  therefore,  he  happened  upon  a  genuine  Dutch 
fanif.y,  snu^rly  shut  up  in  its  luw-rooted  larni-housc, 
onder  a  soreadinif  sycamore,  he  looked  upon  it  as  a 
little  :taspcd  volume  of  black-letter,  and  studied  it 
*ith  ;he  zeal  ot  a  bookworm. 

The  result  of  all  these  researches  was  a  history-  of 
tne  province,  during  the  rei^in  of  the  Dutch  governors, 
which  he  published  some  yeari  since.  There  have 
oeen  various  opinions  as  to  the  literary  character  of 
bis  work,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  it  is  not  a  whit  better 
than  It  should  be.  Its  chief  merit  is  its  scrupulous 
accoracy,  which,  indeed,  was  a  little  questioned,  o!t 
IH  flnt  appearance,  but  has  since  been  completely 


etiabllihed  ;  and  it  ir  now  admitted  Into  all  hiitoncf 
colleriions,  at  a  bock  of  uniiuestiunablu  authurtty. 

The  old  gentleman  died  shortly  ufior  the  public* 
tlon  of  his  work,  and  now,  that  he  Is  dead  snd  gone 
It  cannot  dn  much  harm  to  his  memory,  to  say,  thai 
hi*  time  might  have  been  much  beiinr  employed  ia 
weightier  lahuuri.  He,  however,  was  .ipt  to  ride  talr 
hubby  his  own  way  ;  and  though  it  did  ii»w  and  thee 
kirk  up  the  dust  a  little  in  the  eyes  of  his  nei^hbouo 
and  Kricve  the  spirit  uf  some  friends  for  whom  hf  Irli 
the  truest  defcrenre  and  all'ection,  yet  his  errors  an'; 
follies  are  remembered  "more  in  sorrow  than  in  t.n 
gur,"*aiid  it  Ill-Kins  to  be  suspected,  dial  he  neve 
intended  to  injure  or  olh'nd.  Hut  however  hi'*  iiiem 
ory  may  be  appreciated  by  critics,  it  is  still  held  deai 
amoiiM:  many  folk,  whose  good  opinion  is  well  worth 
having  ;  particularly  by  certain  biscuit-bakers,  who 
have  (tone  so  far  as  to  imprint  his  likeness  on  theii 
new-year  cakes,  and  have  thus  given  him  a  chance  fc« 
immortality,  aliiiusi  equal  to  tho  being  stamped  oa  i 
Vi''.  »'\z,'j  mcua>,  or  a  yueen  a:i:.c  «  ^.......s.j 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE. 

A  POSTHUMCUS  WRITING  OF  DIEDRIOH  KNICKI* 
BOCKEK. 


By  WorVn,  <5od  of  S»inm. 

From  whence  coinn  WctiMjjy,  thai  it  Wodaowlajr 

Triiih  i«  A  ihiiifi  ihitt  evei  I  w\ll  kc<p 

Untn  Ihylke  day  in  whivh  I  cicep  into 

My  icpukhr* — 

Caitwrioht 

WnoKVKR  has  made  a  voyage  up  the  Hudson 
must  remember  the  Kaatskill  mountains.  They  art 
a  dismembered  branch  of  the  great  Anpalachiar 
family,  and  are  seen  aw.ay  to  the  west  of  the  rive: 
swelling  up  to  a  noble  height,  and  lording  it  over  ihf 
surrounding  country.  Every  change  of  season,  rver\ 
change  of  weather,  indeed  every  hour  of  the  day 
produces  some  change  in  the  magical  hues  and 
shapes  of  these  mountains ;  and  they  are  regards' 
by  all  the  good  wives,  far  and  near, 'as  (HTlect  b.i- 
romcters.  When  the  weather  is  fair  and  settlnl. 
they  are  clothed  in  blue  and  purple,  and  print  theu 
bold  outlines  on  the  clear  evening  sky  ;  Init  .some- 
times, when  the  rest  of  the  Luidscajie  is  cloudless, 
they  will  g.ither  a  hood  of  gray  vapours  about  then 
summits,  which,  in  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun, 
will  glow  and  light  up  like  a  crown  of  glory. 

At  the  foot  of  these  fairy  mountains,  the  voyagtr 
may  have  descried  the  light  smoke  curling  up  fro:r 
a  village,  whose  shingle  roofs  gleam  among  th». 
trees,  just  where  the  blue  tints  of  the  upland  melt 
aw.iy  into  the  fresh  green  of  the  nearer  lanJscaix! 
It  is  a  little  village  of  great  antiquity,  havii.g  be't; 
founded  by  some  of  the  Dutch  colonists,  in  the  cdrJ!, 
times  of  the  province,  just  about  the  beginning  o: 
the  government  of  the  good  I'eter  Stuyvesant  (ma\ 
he  rest  in  peace  !)  and  there  were  some  of  the  houst;.' 
of  the  origin.al  settlers  standing  within  a  few  years 
built  of  small  yellow  bricks  brought  from  Holland 
having  latticed  windows  and  gable  fronts,  sunnountcc 
with  weathercocks. 

1  n  that  same  village,  and  in  one  of  these  ver,  I 
houses  (which,  to  tell  the  preci.se  truth,  was  sadly 
time-worn  and  weather-beaten),  there  lived  many 
years  since,  while  the  country  w;is  yet  a  province  ol 
Great  Hritain,  a  simple,  good-n.itured  fellow,  of  tht 
name  of  Rip  Van  Winkle.  He  was  a  descendant  ol 
the  Van  Winkles  who  figured  so  gallantly  in  the 


*  Vide  the  cicellenl  diKourte   i(  G.  C.  V -.rpliui '  k .  ICm]  . 
the  New-V'jifc  Hitlorical  Suoietv 


THE  SKETCHBOOK   OF  GEOFFRKY   CRAYON,  Oint. 


n  hitionci 
uihunty.        I 
he  pubtkca 
d  tnd  gone 
lo  nay,  that 

I  to  ride  bit 
<w  iirii)  thai 
nvi^libouC 
vliiMii  ht  Irll 
«  errur*  itv. 
r  than  in  un 
III  he  ncvc 
■er  hi-*  luom 
till  held  dual 
H  wi;ll  worth 
•bakers,  who 
icss  on  theii 
a  chaixce  (c« 
itamiivd  oa  t 


yH  KNICKI* 


tatday 


AITWIiaHT 

I  the  Hudson 

ns.    They  ar* 

I    AppaUchiat 

It  of  the  rive: 

ing  it  over  thf 

I  season,  rver> 

ur  of  the  day 

ical   hues   and 

f  are  reBiinlf' 

•as  (K'tlect  ba- 

r   ,111(1  sctlkii. 

^nd  prim  ihi'ii 

<y  ;  Init  some- 

)e  is  cloudless. 

urs  aliout  tht?it 

K-  st;ttinK  sun, 

■  RJory. 

IS,  the  voyaKff 

jurlin};  up  frtur 

im   among  th». 

r  upland  inell 

.rcr  lar.Jscai)e 

y,  h.ivii.g  l)«''i: 

its,  in  the  e^irU 

e  beginning  «: 

tuyvesant  (inaj 

le  of  the  house! 

in  a  few  year* 

from  Holland 

its,  sunnountcc 

of  these  ver, 

uih,  was  sadly  I 

-re  lived    man) 

t  a  province  ol  I 

1  fellow,  of  tht 

I  descendant  ol  I 

jallantly  in  the| 

plunV.  Ski  .I>«*<>^  I 


etilvalrotn  Hnys  of  Peter  Stuyvesant,  and  accom- 
panierl  him  to  the  siege  of  fort  Christini.  lie  in- 
hcr'ie<l,  however,  but  Tittle  of  the  martial  character 
of  hi«  anLcstorit,  I  have  observed  that  he  was  a 
simple  g"o«l-nature(l  man;  he  wius  moreover  a  kind 
neinhhoiir,  and  an  oVwdienl  hefspvcknl  htisliand. 
Indeed,  to  the  latter  circumstance  tnijjht  lie  owing 
thai  meekness  of  spirit  which  gaint'<d  him  such  uiii- 
"crsal  [KjpuSrily  ;  lor  those  men  «re  most  apt  to  he 
>b.'fe(iuious  ard  conciliating  alirua<l,  who  are  inidcr 
It:  iliscipline  of  shrews  at  home.  Their  tempers, 
'ouliilesH,  are  rendered  pliant  :tii(I  malleable  in  the 
tiery  furnace  of  domestic  trihulatiton,  and  a  curtain 
lecture  is  worth  all  the  sermons  In  the  world  for 
teaching  the  virtues  of  patience  and  long-sulFering. 
A  termagant  wile  may,  thcrelore,  in  some  respicts, 
be  considered  a  tolerable  birssing ;  and  if  so.  Kip 
Van  Winkle  was  thrice  blesse<L 

Cprtain  it  is,  that  he  was  a  gr*i"it  fi^'ourite  among 
all  the  pfiiod  wives  of  the  villai^e,  .  ho,'  as  usual  with 
the  amiable  sex,  took  his  part  in  ,\  ;  family  squabbles, 
and  never  failed,  whenever  tbey  talked  those  matters 
over  in  tht^ir  evening  gossipings,  lo  lay  all  thi; 
blame  on  Dame  Van  Winkle.  The  chiUlren  of  thi! 
village,  too,  would  shout  with  joy  whenever  he  ap- 
proaclie<l.  ile  assisted  at  their  sports,  made  their 
playthings,  taui^ht  them  to  fly  kites  and  shoot  mar- 
l)les,  and  told  itifiti  long  stories  of  ghosts,  witches, 
and  Indians.  Whenever  he  went  dodging  about  the 
village,  he  was  surrounded  hy  a  troonof  them  hang- 
ing on  his  skirts,  clambering  on  his  )>.ack,  and  play- 
ing a  thousand  tricks  on  him  with  impunity  ;  and 
not  a  dog  would  bark  at  him  throughout  the  neigh- 
bourhood. 

The  gnat  error  in  Rip's  composition  was  an  in- 
kuperabi;!  aversion  to  all  kinds  of  proliiabic  lalwur. 
U  could  not  be  from  the  want  of  assiduity  or  perse- 
'.  erance  ;  for  he  would  sit  on  a  wet  rock,  with  a  rod 
.15  long  and  he.ivy  as  a  Tartar's  lance,  and  fish  all 
iay  without  a  murmur,  even  though  he  should  not 
be  encouraged  by  a  single  nibble.  He  would  carry 
1  fowling-piece  on  his  shoulder,  for  hours  together, 
trudging  through  woods  and  swamps,  and  u\i  hill 
and  down  dale,  to  shoot  a  few  squirrels  or  wild 
pigeons.  1  le  would  never  refuse  to  assist  a  neigh- 
Dour  even  in  the  roughest  toil,  and  was  a  foremost 
man  r-.t  all  country  frolics  for  husking  Imlian  com, 
or  building  stone  fences.  The  women  of  the  viiii^je, 
too,  used  to  employ  him  to  run  their  errands,  and  to 
do  such  lilile  odd  jobs  as  their  less  obliging  hii.s- 
wnds  would  not  do  lor  them  ;— in  a  word,  Kip  w.is 
ready  to  attend  to  any  body's  business  but  bis  own  ; 
but  as  to  doing  lamily  duty,  and  keeping  his  l.arin  in 
order,  he  found  it  impossihie. 

In  fact,  he  declareu  it  was  of  no  use  to  work  on 
his  farm ;  it  w.is  the  most  pestilent  little  piece  of 
ground  in  the  whole  coimtry  ;  every  thing  about  it 
went  wrong,  and  would  go  wrong  in  spile  of  him. 
His  fences  were  continually  falling  to  pieces  ;  his 
cow  would  either  go  astray,  or  get  among  the  cab 
bages ;  weeds  were  sure  to  grow  fluici<er  in  his 
fields  than  a:,y  where  else  ;  the  rain  always  made  a 
pcMl  ol  setting  in  just  as  he  had  some  out-(U><)r 
RK'.ik  to  do  i  so  that  though  his  patrimonial  estate 
i'ul  dsvindlwl  ^way  under  his  management,  acre  by 
■re,  until  there  was  little  more  left  than  a  mere 
..■atch  of  Indian  corn  and  potatoes,  yet  it  was  the 
Worst  conditioned  farm  in  the  neighbourhood. 

His  children,  too,  were  as  ragged  and  wild  as  if 
they  belonged  to  nolxxly.  His  son  kip,  an  urchin 
oegotten  in  his  own  likeness,  promised  to  inherit  the 
habits,  with  the  old  clothes  of  his  father.  He  was 
generally  seen  troopine  like  a  colt  at  his  motbi.T's 
ncela,  equipped  in  a  pair  of  his  lather's  cast-off  galli- 
gaskins, which  he  hid  much  ado  to  hold  up  with 


one  hand,  aa  a  fine  lady  duet  hei   train   m  h«4 
wither. 

tip  Van  Winkle,  however,  wan  one  of  thoae  hapny 
iii.>rtali,  of  foolish,  well  oiled  dispositions,  whb  take 
the  world  easy,  eat  whit  ;  brrad  or  brown.  whlchr\et 
can  be  got  with  lea-^t  ihou^dit  or  trouble,  and  wouM 
rather  >itaivc  on  a  penny  ll'-in  work  for  a  pound.  H 
left  lo  himself,  he  would  h.ive  whistled  life  away,  in 
perfect  Cfmtentment ;  but  his  wife  kept  continual!* 
dinning  in  his  e.irs  .ibout  his  idleness,  .'lis  c.ireles* 
ness.  and  the  ruin  lie  was  bringing  on  his  family. 

Morning,  noon,  and  night,  her  tongue  was  inces- 
santly gi/ing,  and  every  thing  he  said  or  did  w.is  sutc 
to  produce  a  torrent  of  household  eloiiuenrr.  Ki,; 
hau  but  one  way  of  replying  to  all  lectures  ol  ihV 
kind,  and  that,  by  frequent  use,  had  grown  into  * 
habit.  1  le  shrugged  his  shoulders,  shook  his  head 
cast  up  his  eyes,  but  said  nothing.  This,  however 
always  provoked  a  fresh  volley  from  his  wife,  so  thai 
he  was  fain  to  draw  otf  his  forces,  and  take  to  the 
jUtsWle  of  the  house— the  only  side  which,  in  truth, 
lelongs  to  a  henpecked  husband. 

Rip  s  sole  domestic  .adherent  was  his  dog  Wolf, 
Arho  was  as  rniicli  henpecked  as  his  master ;  for 
Dame  Van  Winkle  reg.irded  them  as  comiwnions 
in  idleness,  and  even  looked  upon  Wolf  with  an  evil 
eye,  as  the  cause  of  his  master's  going  so  often 
astnay.  True  it  is.  in  all  points  of  spirit  belitting  an 
honourable  dog,  he  was  as  courageous  an  animal  as 
ever  scoured  the  woods — but  what  couraije  can  with- 
stand the  ever-during  and  all-besetting  terrors  of  a 
woman's  tongue?  The  moment  Wolf  entered  the 
house,  his  crest  fell,  his  tail  drooped  to  the  ground, 
or  curled  between  his  legs,  he  sneaked  about  with  a 
gallows  air,  casting  many  a  sidelong  glance  at  Damf. 
Van  Winkle,  and  at  the  least  tloun:^h  of  a  broomstick 
or  ladle,  he  would  fly  to  the  door  witli  yelping  pre- 
cipitation. 

Times  grew  worse  and  worse  with  Rip  Van  Win- 
kle. .'IS  years  of  matrimony  rolleil  on  :  a  tart  te:nper 
never  mellows  with  ,age.  and  a  sharp  tongue  is  tho 
only  edge  tool  tint  grow«  keener  with  constant  uie. 
For  a  long  while  he  used  to  conscle  himsrlf.  when 
driven  from  home,  by  frequenting  a  kind  of  perpetual 
club  of  the  sages,  philosophers,  and  other  idle  per- 
son.ages  of  the  village,  which  held  its  sessions  on  a 
bench  before  a  small  inn,  designated  bv  a  ruhicund 
portrait  of  his  m.ijesty  George  the  Third.  Here  thej 
used  to  sit  in  the  shade,  of  a  long  lazy  sununr  r'sd.iy, 
I. liking  listlessly  over  village  i^nssip,  or  lulling  endless 
sleepy  stories  ;'.l)out  nothing,  but  il  would  li.ive  been 
worth  any  statesman's  money  to  have  heard  ihf  pro- 
found discussions  which  sometime:)  to:)k  place,  when 
by  chance  an  old  newspaper  fell  into  llieir  ha'ids, 
from  some  pissing  traveller.  How  snlemniy  they 
would  listen  to  the  contents,  as  drawit-d  out  bv  De;- 
rick  V;in  Buminel,  the  schoolmaster,  a  dapper  learned 
little  m.in,  who  was  not  to  fje  daunted  by  the  most 
gig.inlic  word  in  the  dictionary  ;  and  how  sagely  they 
would  deliberate  upon  public  events  some  months 
alter  they  bad  t.aten  place. 

The  o|)inions  c^  tnis  junto  were  completely  con- 
trolled by  Nicholas  Vedder,  a  patriarch  of  the  vill.age, 
and  landlord  of  the  inn,  at  the  door  of  which  he  look 
his  seal  from  morning  till  night,  just  moving  suffi- 
ciently lo  avoid  the  sun,  and  keep  in  the  shade  of  a 
large  tree;  so  that  the  neighbours  could  tell  the  houi 
by  his  movements  as  accurately  \s  by  a  sun-dial.  It 
is  true,  he  was  rarely  heard  to  speak,  but  stroked 
his  [lipe  incessantly.  His  adherents,  however,  (for 
every  great  man  has  his  adherents,)  perfectly  under- 
stood him,  and  knew  how  to  gather  his  opinions 
When  any  thmg  that  was  read  or  related  displeased 
him,  he  w;is  observed  to  smoke  his  pipe  vehemently, 
and  to  send  forth  short,  frequent,  and  angry  puflb 


cc 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IKVliNU. 


but  when  pleased,  he  would  inhale  the  smoke  slowly 
and  tranquilly,  and  emit  it  in  light  and  placid  clouds, 
and  sometimes  tn.king  the  pii)e  from  his  mouth,  and 
letting  the  fra,i;rant  vapour  curl  about  his  nose,  would 
gravely  nod  his  head  in  token  of  perfect  approbation. 

From  even  this  strong  hold  tne  unlucky  Rip  was 
at  length  routed  by  his  termagant  wife,  who  would 
suddenly  break  in  upon  the  tranquillity  of  the  assem- 
Vage,  and  call  the  members  all  to  nouijfht ;  nor  was 
ihit  august  personage,  Nicholas  Vedder  himself, 
sacred  from  the  daring  tonjrjue  of  this  terrible  virago, 
who  charged  him  outright  with  encouraging  her  hus- 
band in  habits  of  idleness. 

Poor  Kip  wns  at  Inst  reduced  almost  to  despair, 
anclliis  on!)' alternative  to  escape  from  the  labour  of 
the  iarni  and  fn^  clamour  of  his  wife,  was  to  take 
gun  in  hand,  and  stroll  away  into  the  woods.  Here 
lie  would  sometimes  seat  himself  at  the  foot  of  a  tree, 
and  sharethe  contents  of  his  wallet  with  Wolf,  with 
whom  he  sympathized  as  a  fullow-sufTerer  in  pcrsi'cu- 
tion,  "  Poor  XVolf,"  he  would  say, "  thy  mistress  leads 
thee  a  dog's  life  of  it ;  but  never  nunil,  my  lad, 
whilst  I  live  thou  shalt  never  want  a  friend  to  stand 
by  thee  !  "  Wolf  would  wag  his  tail,  look  wistfully 
in  his  master's  tace,  and  if  dogs  can  feel  pity,  I  verily 
believe  he  reciprocated  the  sentiment  with  all  his 
heart. 

In  a  long  ramble  of  the  kind,  on  a  fine  autumnal 
day.  Rip  had  unconsciously  scrambled  to  one  of  the 
highest  i)arts  of  the  Kaatskill  mountains.  He  was 
after  his  favourite  S|)ortof  squirrel-shooting,  and  the 
still  solitudes  h.id  echoed  and  re-echoed  with  the  re- 
ports of  his  gun.  I'anling  and  fatitjucd,  he  threw 
himself,  late  in  the  afternoon,  on  a  gu-cn  knoll  cov- 
ered with  mountain  herb.age,  that  crowned  the  brow 
of  a  precipice.  From  an  opening  between  the  trees, 
be  could  overlook  all  the  lower  country  for  many  a 
ITiile  of  rich  wood'/vnd.  He  saw  at  a  distance  the 
lordly  Hudson,  fr,.,  far  below  him,  moving  on  its 
silent  but  majestic  course,  with  the  reflection  of  a 
purple  cloud,  or  the  sail  of  a  lagging  bark,  here  and 
there  sleei)ing  on  its  glassy  bosom,  and  at  last  losing 
itself  in  the  blue  highl.ands. 

On  the  other  side  he  looked  down  into  a  deep 
mountain  glen,  wild,  lonely,  and  shagged,  the  bottom 
filled  with  fragments  from  the  impending  cliffs,  and 
scarcely  lighted  by  the  reflected  rays  of  the  setting 
sun.  For  some  time  Rip  lay  musing  on  this  scene  ; 
evening  was  gradually  advancing;  the  mountains 
began  to  throw  their  long  blue  sh.adows  ovei  the 
valleys ;  he  saw  that  it  would  be  dark  long  before  he 
could  reach  the  village ;  and  he  heaved  a  heavy  sigh 
when  he  thought  ol  encountering  the  terrors  of  Dame 
Van  Winkle. 

As  he  was  about  to  descend  he  heard  a  voice  from 
a  distance  hallooing,  "Rip  Van  Winkle!  Rip  V.in 
Winkle  !  "  He  looked  around,  but  could  see  noth- 
ing but  a  crow  winging  its  solitary  flight  across  the 
mountain.  He  thought  his  fancy  must  have  de- 
ceived him,  and  turned  again  to  descend,  when  he 
heard  the  same  cry  ring  through  the  still  evening 
air,  "  Rip  Van  Winkle  !  Rip  Van  Winkle  !  "—at  the 
same  time  Wolf  bristled  up  his  b.ick,  and  giving  a 
low  growl,  skulked  to  his  master's  side,  looking  fear- 
fully down  into  the  glen.  Rip  now  felt  a  vague  ap- 
prehension stealing  over-  him  ;  he  looked  anxiously 
in  the  same  direction,  and  perceived  a  strange  figure 
slowly  toiling  up  the  r(x;ks,  and  bending  under  the 
weight  of  sometning  he  carried  on  his  back.  He 
was  surprised  to  see  any  human  being  in  this  lonely 
and  unfrequented  place,  bui  supposing  it  to  be  some 
one  of  the  neighbourhood  in  need  of  his  assistance, 
he  hastened  down  to  yield  it. 

On  nearer  approach,  he  was  still  more  surprised  at 
the  sing'.ilarity  ol    the  stranger's  appearance.     He 


was  a  jhort  square-built  old  fellow,  with  thick  \iaph; 
hair,  and  a  grizzled  beard.  His  dress  w.is  of  th« 
antique  Dutch  fashion  —  a  cloth  jerkin  strapped 
round  the  waist — several  pair  of  breeches,  the  outei 
one  of  ample  volume,  decorated  vith  rows  of  but- 
tons down  the  sides,  and  bunches  .it  the  knees.  He 
bore  on  his  shoulders  a  stout  keg,  that  seemed  full 
of  liquor,  and  made  signs  for  Rip  to  approach  and 
assist  him  with  the  load.  Though  rather  shy  and  dij> 
trustful  of  this  new  acquaintance.  Rip  complied  with 
his  usual  alacrity,  and  mutually  relieving  each  other, 
they  clainbered  up  a  narrow  gully,  apparently  the  dPi 
bed  of  a  mountain  torrent.  As  they  ascendeil.  Rit 
every  now  and  then  he;ird  long  rolling  ])eals.  like  dis- 
t.mtthimiler.thatseenudto  issueoutotatleepravin-i 
or  rather  cleft  betwecnlofty  rocks,  toward  which  their 
rugged  path  conducted.  He  paused  for  an  instant, 
but  supposing  it  to  be  the  muttering  of  one  of  those 
transient  thunder-showers  which  often  t.ake  place  in 
mountain  heights,  he  prjceeded.  Passing  through 
the  ravine,  they  came  tn  a  hollow,  like  a  small  am- 
phitheatre, surrounded  by  perpendicular  pre(:i|Mces 
over  the  brinks  ol  which,  impending  trees  shot  theii 
branches,  so  that  you  only  caught  glimpses  of  ihf 
azure  sky,  and  the  bright  evening  cloud.  During  th« 
whole  time.  Rip  an<l  his  companion  had  laboured  or 
in  silence ;  for  though  the  former  marvelled  greatly 
what  could  be  the  object  of  carrying  a  keg  of  liquoi 
up  this  wild  mountain,  yet  there  Wius  something 
strange  and  incomprehensible  about  the  unknown, 
that  inspired  awe,  and  checked  familiarity. 

On  entering  t.ie  amphitheatre,  new  objects  of  won 
der  presented  themselves.  On  a  level  spot  in  thf 
centre  was  a  company  of  odd  looking  personage: 
playing  at  nine-pins.  They  were  dressed  in  aquairf 
outlandish  fiishion  :  some  wore  shon  doutileis.otltcn 
jerkins,  with  long  knives  in  their  belts,  and  most  C 
them  had  enormous  breeches,  of  similar  style  witi' 
that  of  the  guide's.  Their  vis.ages,  too,  were  pe 
culiar:  one  had  a  large  head,  bro.ad  face,  ant 
small  piggish  eyes ;  the  face  of  another  seemed  to 
consist  entirely  of  no.se,  and  was  surmounted  by  & 
white  sugar-loaf  hat,  set  off  with  a  little  red  cock's 
tail.  They  all  had  lieards,  of  various  shapes  and 
colours.  There  was  one  who  seemed  to  be  the 
commander.  He  was  a  stout  old  gentleman,  with  a 
weather  -  beaten  counten.ance ;  he  wore  a  lacetl 
doublet,  broad  belt  and  hanger,  high-crowned  hat 
and  feather,  red  stockings,  and  high-heeled  shoes, 
with  roses  in  them,  Tne  whole  group  reminded 
Rip  of  the  figures  in  an  old  Flemish  painting,  in  the 
parlour  of  Dominie  Van  Schaick,  the  village  parson, 
and  w  hich  had  been  brought  over  from  Holland  at 
the  time  of  the  settlement. 

What  seemed  particularly  odd  to  Rip,  was,  that 
though  these  folks  were  evidently  amusing  them- 
selves, yet  they  maintained  the  gravest  faces,  thf 
most  mysterious  silence,  and  were,  withal,  the  most 
melancholy  party  of  pleasure  he  had  ever  witnessed, 
Nothing  interrupted  the  stillness  of  the  scene  bui 
the  noise  of  the  ball.s,  which,  whenever  they  were 
rolled,  echoed  along  the  mountains  like  rumbling 
peals  of  thunder. 

As  Rip  and  his  companion  approached  them,  thc) 
suddenly  desisted  from  their  play,  and  stared  at  hin: 
with  such  a  fixed  statue-like  gaze,  and  such  strange 
uncouth,  lack-lustre  countenances,  that  his  heart 
turned  within  him,  and  his  knees  smote  together, 
His  companion  now  emptied  thc  contents  of  the 
keg  into  large  flagons,  and  m.ade  signs  to  him  t4 
wait  upon  the  company.  He  obeyed  with  fear  and 
trembling ;  they  quatTed  the  liquor  in  profound  si- 
lence, and  then  returned  to  their  game. 

Hy  degrees.  Rip's  awe  anil  apprehension  sub- 
sided.    He  even  vcnturtd,  when  r.o  eye  was  fixed 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


11 


opon  him,  to  taste  the  beverage,  which  he  found  had 
much  of  the  flavour  of  excellent  Hollands.  He  was 
naturally  a  thirsty  soul,  and  was  soon  temptcil  to  re- 
peat llie  draught.  One  taste  provoked  another,  and 
ne  reiteiaied  his  visits  to  the  tlajjon  so  often,  that  at 
leng'th  his  senses  were  overpowered,  his  eyes  swam 
in  his  head,  his  r.ead  gradually  declined,  and  he  fell 
Into  .\  <leep  sleep 

On  waking,  he  found  himself  on  the  prien  knol! 
from  whence  he  had  first  seen  the  old  man  of  the 
glen  He  ruhbed  his  eyes — it  was  a  bright  sunny 
mornmg.  The  birds  were  hopping  and  twittering 
inirng  the  bushes,  and  the  eagle  was  wheeling  alolt, 
an»l  breasting  the  pure  mountain  breeze.  "Surely," 
ihoi'ght  Rip,  "I  have  not  slept  here  all  night."  He 
recalled  the  occurrences  before  he  fell  asleep.  The 
$trani?e  man  with  the  kei;  of  liquor — the  knountain 
avine — the  wild  retreat  amonjj  the  rocks — the  \vo- 
bejione  party  at  nine-pins— the  flagon  -  "  Oh  !  that 
wickid  flagon  I"  thought  Rip — "what  excuse  shall 
(  make  to  i)ame  Van  Winkle  ?  " 

He  looked  round  for  his  gun,  but  in  place  ot  the 
:lean  well-oiled  fowling-piece,  he  found  an  old  fire- 
tck  lying  by  him,  the  barrel  encrusted  with  rust,  the 
kock  falling  off,  and  the  stock  worm-eaten.  He  now 
suspected  that  the  grave  roystcrs  of  the  mountain 
had  put  a  trick  upon  him,  and  having  dosed  him 
with  liquor,  had  robbed  him  of  his  gun.  Wolf,  too, 
had  disapp<-ared,  but  he  might  have  strayed  away 
after  a  stjuirrel  or  partridge.  He  whistled  after  him, 
and  shouted  his  name,  but  all  in  vain ;  the  echoes 
repeated  his  whistle  and  shout,  but  no  dog  was  to 
be  seen. 

He  determined  to  revisit  the  scene  of  the  last 
evening's  gambo',  and  if  he  met  with  any  of  the 
party,  to  demand  his  dog  and  g\)n.  As  he  rose  to 
Wiik.  he  found  himself  stiff  in  the  joints,  and  want- 
ing in  his  usual  activity.  "  These  mountain  beds  do 
cot  agree  with  me,"  thought  Kip,  "and  if  this  frolic 
jho'.ild  lay  me  up  with  a  lit  of  the  rheumatism,  I 
shall  have  a  blessed  time  with  D.ame  Van  Winkle." 
With  some  difficulty  he  got  down  into  the  glen  ;  he 
found  the  guMy  up  which  he  and  his  companion  h.ad 
ascended  the  preceiling  evening;  but  to  his  aston- 
ishment a  mountain  stream  was  now  foaming  down 
it,  leaping  from  rock  to  rock,  and  filling  ilie  glen 
with  b.iliblmg  murmurs.  He,  however,  made  shift 
to  scraniiile  up  its  sides,  working  his  toilsome  way 
through  thickets  of  birch,  sassafras,  and  witch- 
ha;ei ;  and  sometimes  tripped  up  or  eni.mgled  by 
the  wild  grape  vines  that  twisted  tht'- coils  and  ten- 
drils from  tree  to  tree,  and  spread  a  kind  uf  network 
in  his  path. 

At  length  he  reached  to  where  the  ravine  had 
opened  through  l]ie  cliffs  to  the  amphitheatre ;  but 
no  traces  ot  such  opening  remained.  The  rocks 
presented  a  high  impenetrable  wall,  over  which  the 
torrent  came  tumbling  in  a  sheet  of  feathery  foam, 
and  fell  into  a  broad  deep  basin,  black  from  the 
shadows  of  the  surrounding  forest.  Here,  then, 
poor  Kip  was  brought  to  a  stand.  He  again  called 
and  whistled  alter  his  dog  ;  he  was  only  answered 
by  the  cawing  of  a  flock  of  idle  crows,  sporting  high 
ki  air  about  a  dry  tree  that  overhung  a  sunny  preci- 
cice ;  and  who,  secure  in  their  elevation,  seemed  to 
lock  down  and  scoff  at  the  poor  man's  perplexities. 
What  was  to  be  done?  The  morning  was  passing 
away,  and  Kip  felt  famished  for  want  ol  his  break- 
fast, He  grieved  to  give  up  his  dog  and  gun  ;  he 
dreaded  to  meet  his  wife ;  but  it  would  not  do  to 
starvt  among  the  mountains.  He  shook  his  head, 
shoaldereii  the  rusty  firelock,  and,  with  a  heart  full 
k)l  trouble  and  ansieiy,  turned  his  steps  homeward. 

As  he  approached  the  village,  he  met  a  number  of 
people,  t>ut  none  whom  he  Knew,  which  somewhat 


surprised  him,  for  he  had  thought  himself  acquainted 
with  every  one  in  the  country  round.  Their  dre.ss, 
too,  was  of  a  different  fashion  from  that  to  which  he 
was  accustomed.  They  all  stared  at  him  with  equal 
marks  of  surprise,  and  whenever  they  cast  eyes  upon 
him,  invariably  stroked  their  chins.  The  constant 
recurrence  of  this  gesture,  induced  Rip.  involunta« 
rily,  to  dothe  same,  wher,  to  his  astonishment,  ho 
found  his  beard  had  grc  ^  n  a  foot  long  i 

He  had  now  entered  the  skirts  of  tne  village.  A 
troop  of  strange  children  ran  at  his  heels,  hooting 
after  him,  and  pointing  at  his  gray  beard.  The 
dogs,  too,  not  one  of  which  he  recognised  for  €an  old 
.acquaintance,  barked  at  him  as  he  passed.  The 
very  village  was  altered :  it  was  larger  and  more 
populous.  There  were  ro«vs  of  houses  whxh  he  had 
riever  seen  before,  and  those  which  had  been  hia 
familiar  haitnts  had  disappeared.  Strange  names 
were  over  the  doors— strange  faces  at  the  windows 
— everything  Was  strange.  His  mind  now  misgave 
him ;  he  began  '.o  doubt  whether  both  he  and  the 
world  around  him  were  not  bewitched.  .Surely  this 
was  his  native  village,  which  he  had  left  but  a  day 
l)eforc.  There  stood  the  K;iatskill  mountains — there 
ran  tlie  silver  Hudson  at  a  distance — there  was  ev- 
ery hill  and  dale  precisely  as  it  had  ahvfays  been— 
Rip  was  sorely  perplexed— •"  That  flagon  last  night," 
thought  he,  "  has  adilled  my  poor  he.ad  sadly  ! ' 

It  was  with  some  dilViculty  that  he  found  the  way 
to  his  own  house,  which  he  approached  with  silent 
awe,  expecting  every  moment  to  hear  the  shrill  voice 
of  Dame  Van  Winkle.  He  found  the  house  gone  to 
decay — the  roof  fallen  in,  the  windows  shattered, 
and  the  doors  off  the  hinges.  A  halt-starved  dog, 
that  looked  like  Wolf,  was  skulking  about  it.  Rip 
culled,  him  by  name,  but  the  cur  snarled,  showed 
his  teeth,  and  passed  on.  This  was  an  unkind  cut 
indeed. — "  My  very  dog,"  sighed  poor  Kip,  "  has 
forgotten  me ! " 

He  entered  the  house,  which,  to  tell  the  truth 
Dame  Van  Winkle  had  always  kept  in  neat  order 
It  was  empty,  forlorn,  and  apparently  abandoned. 
This  dcsol.ateness  overcame  all  his  connubial  fears- 
he  called  loudly  for  his  wife  and  children  — the  lonely 
cliambers  rang  for  a  moment  with  his  voice,  and 
then  all  again  was  silence. 

He  now  hurried  forth,  and  hastened  to  his  old 
resort,  the  vilLige  inn — but  it  too  was  gone.  A  large 
rickety  wooden  building  stood  in  its  place,  with  great 
gaping  windows,  some  of  them  broken,  and  meniled 
wiih  old  hats  and  petticoats,  and  over  the  door  was 
p.ainted,  "The  Union  Hotel,  by  jo:tathan  Doolittle." 
Instead  of  the  great  tree  that  used  to  shelter  the 
quiet  little  Dutch  inn  of  yore,  there  now  w.as  reared 
a  tall  naked  pole,  with  something  on  the  top  that 
looked  like  a  red  night-cap,  and  from  it  was  flutter- 
ing a  flag,  on  which  was  a  singular  assemblage  of 
stars  and  stripes — all  this  was  strange  and  incom- 
prehensible. He  recognised  on  the  sign,  however, 
the  ruby  face  of  King  George,  under  which  he  had 
smoked  so  many  a  peaceful  pipe,  but  e\en  this 
was  singularly  metamorphosed.  The  red  coat  was 
changed  for  one  of  blue  and  hulT,  a  sword  was  held 
in  the  hand  instead  of  a  sceptre,  the  head  was  deco- 
rated with  a  cocked  hat,  and  underneath  was  paint- 
ed in  large  cluiracters.  General  Washington. 

There  was,  as  usual,  a  crowd  of  folk  about  the 
door,  but  none  that  Rip  recollected.  The  very  char- 
acter of  the  people  seemed  changed.  There  was  a 
busy,  bustling,  disi)utatioiis  tone  about  it.  instead  of 
the  accustomed  |)hlegm  and  drowsy  trancjuillity.  He 
looked  in  vain  for  the  sage  Nicholas  Vedder,  with 
his  broad  face,  double  chin,  and  fan  long  pipe,  utter- 
ing clouds  of  tobacco  smoke,  instead  ni"  uHe  s()ee(h- 
es ;  or  Vau  Huinrrjel,  the  schoolmaster,  doling  foiib 


la 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


the  contents  of  an  ancient  newspaper.  In  place  of 
these,  a  lean  bilious-Ionking  fellow,  with  his  pockets 
full  of  handbills,  was  haranguin).^  vehemently  about 
rights  of  citizens — election — members  of  Congress — 
liberty — Bunker's  hill — heroes  cf  sci'unty-six — and 
other  words,  that  were  a  perfect  Bal^ylonish  jargon 
to  the  bewildered  Van  Winkle. 

The  appearance  of  Rip,  with  his  long,  grizzled 
bta.-d,  his  rusty  fowling-piece,  his  uncouth  dress,  and 
the  army  of  women  and  children  that  had  gathered 
M  his  heels,  soon  attracted  the  attention  of  the  tav- 
ern politicians.  They  crowded  round  him,  eyeing 
bim  from  head  to  foot,  with  great  curiosity.  The 
orator  bustled  up  to  him,  and  drawing  him  p.irtly 
a'lide,  inquired,  "on  which  side  he  voted?"  Rip 
stared  in  vacant  stupidity.  Another  short  but  busy 
little  fellow  pulled  him  by  the  arm,  and  rising  on 
tiptoe,  inquired  in  his  ear,  "  whether  he  was  Federal 
or  Democrat."  Rip  was  equally  at  a  loss  to  com- 
prehend the  question;  when  a  knowing,  self-im- 
portant old  gentleman,  in  a  sharp  cocked  hat,  made 
his  way  through  the  crowd,  putting  them  to  the 
right  and  left  with  his  elbows  as  he  passed,  and 
planting  himself  before  Van  Winkle,  with  one  arm 
a-kimbo,  the  other  resting  on  his  cane,  his  keen  eyes 
and  sharp  hat  penetrating,  as  it  were,  into  his  very 
soul,  demanded  in  an  austere  tone,  "  what  brought 
him  to  the  election  with  a  gun  on  his  shoulder,  and 
a  mob  at  his  heels,  and  whether  he  meant  to  breed 
a  riot  in  the  village?" 

"Alasl  gentlemen,"  cried  Rip,  somewhat  dis- 
mayed, "I  am  a  poor,  quiet  man,  a  native  of  the 
place,  and  a  byal  subject  of  the  King,  God  bless 
bim  I " 

Here  a  general  shout  burst  from  the  bystanders — 
"  a  tory  !  a  tory  1  a  spy  I  a  refugee  !  hustle  him  ! 
•i.'A"iy  with  him  !" 

It  .vas  wit'i  great  difficulty  that  the  self-important 
iwiin  in  the  c.cked  hat  restored  order ;  and  having 
assumed  a  tenfold  austerity  of  brow,  demanded 
agam  of  the  unknown  culprit,  what  he  came  there 
for,  and  whom  he  was  seeking.  The  poor  man 
humbly  assured  him  that  he  me.irt  no  harm,  but 
merely  came  there  in  search  of  some  of  his  neigh- 
bours, who  used  to  keep  about  the  tavern. 

"  Well — who  are  they? — n.ame  them." 

Rip  bethought  himself  a  moment,  and  inquired, 
"Where's  Nicholas  Vedder?  " 

There  was  a  silence  for  a  little  while,  when  an  old 
man  replied,  in  a  lliin,  piping  voice,  "  Nicholas  Ved- 
der ?  why.  he  is  dead  and  gone  these  eighteen  years  ! 
There  was  a  wooden  tomb-stone  in  the  church-yard 
that  used  to  tell  all  about  him,  but  that's  rotten  and 
gone  too." 

"Where's  Brom  Dutcher?" 

"  Oh,  he  went  off  to  the  army  in  the  beginning  of 
the  war;  some  say  he  was  killed  at  the  storming  of 
Slony-roint — others  say  he  was  drowned  in  the 
squall,  at  the  foot  of  Antony's  Nose.  I  don't  know 
--he  never  came  back  again." 

"  Where's  Van  Bcmmel,  the  schoolmaster?" 

"  He  v.c:»t  off  to  the  wars,  too  ;  was  a  great  militia 
(jeneral,  and  is  now  in  Congress." 

Rip's  heart  died  away,  at  hearing  of  these  sad 
har.ges  in  his  home  and  friends,  and  finding  him- 
9cif  this  alone  in  the  world.  Every  answer  puzzled 
him,  tjo,  by  treating  of  such  enormous  lapses  of 
Lime,  ard  of  matters  which  he  could  not  understand  : 
war — Congress — Stony-Point  I — he  had  no  courage 
tn  ask  after  any  more  friends,  but  cried  out  in  despair, 
'Does  nobody  here  know  Rip  Van  Winkle?  " 

"  Oh,  Rip  Van  Winkle  '  "  exclaimed  two  or  three. 
"Oh  to  be  sure !  that's  Rip  Van  Winkle  yonder, 
leaning  against  the  tree." 

Rip  loolced,  and  beheld  a  precise  counterpart  of 


himself  as  he  went  up  the  mountain;  ap;>ar(nt1y  as 
lazy,  and  certainly  as  ragged.  The  poor  fellow  w.ai 
now  completely  confounded.  He  doubted  his  own 
identity,  and  whether  he  was  himself  or  anothei 
man.  In  the  midst  of  his  bewilderment,  the  ir.an  in 
the  cocked  hat  demanded  who  he  was,  and  whil 
was  his  name  ? 

"  God  knows,"  exclaimed  he  at  his  wit's  end ; 
"  I'm  not  myself — I'm  somebody  else — that's  rat 
yonder — no — that's  somebody  else,  got  into  tnj 
shoes — I  was  myself  las'  night,  but  I  lell  asleep  on 
the  mountain,  and  they  ve  clianged  my  gun,  and 
every  thing's  -.hanged,  and  .  m  changed,  and  I  can't 
tell  what's  my  name,  or  wl.o  1  am  ! ' 

The  by-standers  began  now  to  look  at  e;tch  other, 
nod,  wink  significantly,  ar.d  tap  their  fingers  against 
their  foreheads.  There  was  a  whisper,  also,  about 
securing  the  gun,  and  keeping  the  old  feliow  from 
doing  mischief;  at  the  very  suggestion  of  which,  the 
self-important  man  with  the  cocked  hat  retired  with 
some  precipitation.  At  this  critical  moment  a  fresh 
comely  woman  p.-issed  through  the  throng  to  get  a 
peep  at  the  gray-bearded  man.  She  had  a  chubby 
child  in  her  arms,  which,  frightened  at  his  looks, 
began  to  C'7.  "  Hush,  Rip."  cried  she,  "hush,  you 
little  fool ;  the  old  man  won't  hurt  you."  The  name 
of  the  child,  the  air  of  the  mother,  the  tone  of  her 
voice,  all  awakened  a  train  of  recollections  in  his 
mind. 

"  What  is  your  name,  my  good  woman  ?  "  asked 
he. 

"Judith  Gardenier." 

"  And  your  father's  name  ?  " 

"  Ah.  poor  man,  his  name  was  Rip  Van  Winkls ; 
it's  twenty  years  since  he  went  away  from  heme  with 
his  gun,  and  never  has  been  heard  of  since — his  clog 
came  home  without  him  ;  but  whether  he  shot  him- 
self, or  was  carried  away  by  the  Indians,  nobody  can 
lell.     I  was  then  but  a  little  girl." 

Hip  had  but  one  question  more  to  ask  ;  but  he  put 
it  with  a  faltering  voice: 

"  Where's  your  mother?  " 

Oh,  she  too  had  died  but  a  short  time  since  :  she 
broke  a  blood-vessel  in  a  tit  of  passion  at  a  New- 
England  pedlar. 

Tliere  was  a  drop  of  comfort,  at  least,  in  this  in- 
telligence. The  honest  man  cculd  contain  himself 
no  longer.  He  caught  his  daughter  and  her  child  in 
his  arms.  "  I  am  your  father  I  "  cried  he — "  Young 
Rip  Van  Winkle  once — old  Rip  Van  Winkle  now  1 
— Does  nobody  know  ))oor  Rip  V'an  Winkle  ! " 

All  stood  ama?ed.  until  an  old  woman,  tottering 
out  from  among  the  crowd,  put  her  hand  to  her 
brow,  and  peering  under  it  in  his  face  for  a  moment, 
exclaimed,  "Sure  enough  I  it  is  Rip  V.an  Winkle — 
it  is  himself.  Welcome  home  again,  old  neighlKuir 
— Why,  where  have  you  been  these  twenty  long 
years  ?  " 

Rip's  story  was  soon  told,  for  the  whole  twenty 
years  had  been  to  him  but  as  one  night.  The  neigh- 
bours sLired  when  they  heard  it ;  some  were  seen  to 
wink  at  each  other,  and  put  their  tongues  in  their 
cheeks ;  and  the  self-important  man  in  the  cocked 
hat,  who,  when  the  alarm  was  over,  had  returried  to 
the  field,  screwed  down  the  corners  of  his  iroutb, 
and  shook  his  head — upon  which  there  was  a  genetal 
shaking  of  the  he.id  throughout  the  assemblage. 

It  was  determined,  however,  to  take  the  opuiion 
of  old  Peter  Vanderdonk,  who  was  seen  slowly  ad- 
vancing up  the  road.  He  was  a  descendant  o'  the 
historian  of  that  name,  who  wrote  one  of  the  earliest 
accounts  of  the  province.  Peter  was  the  most  an- 
cient inhabitant  of  the  village,  and  well  versed  in  all 
the  wonderful  events  and  traditions  of  the  neighbour- 
hood.   He  recollected  Rip  at  once,  and  corroborated 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK  OF   GEOFFREY    CRAYON,   Gent. 


18 


his  story  in  the  most  satisfactory  maniicr.  He  as- 
gored  the  company  tliat  it  was  a  fact,  lianded  down 
from  iiis  ancestor  tlie  historian,  that  the  Kaatskill 
mountains  had  always  been  haunted  by  strange  be- 
ings. That  it  was  ailirmed  that  the  (jrcal  HendritI' 
Hudson,  the  first  discoverer  of  the  river  and  country, 
kept  a  kind  of  vigil  there  every  twenty  years,  with  his 
crew  of  the  Hall-moon,  lieing  permitted  in  this  way 
to  revisit  the  scei  es  of  his  enterprise,  and  keep  a 

?uardi3n  eye  upon  the  river  and  the  great  oily  called 
y  hi&  name.  That  his  father  had  once  seen  them 
]a  their  old  Dutch  dresses  playing  at  nine-pins  ui  a 
hollow  of  the  mountain ;  and  that  he  himself  had 
h:ard,  one  summer  afternoon,  the  sound  of  their 
balls,  like  distant  peals  of  thunder. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  the  company  broke 
up,  and  returned  to  the  more  important  concerns  of 
the  election.  Rip's  daughter  took  him  home  to  live 
with  her ;  she  had  a  snug,  well-furnished  house,  and 
a  stout  cherry  fanner  for  a  husband,  whom  Rip  rec- 
ollected for  one  of  the  urchins  that  used  to  climb 
upon  his  back.  As  to  Kip's  son  and  heir,  who  was 
the  ilitto  of  himself,  seen  leaning  against  the  tree,  he 
was  employed  to  work  on  the  farm  ;  but  evinced  a 
hereditary  disposition  to  attend  to  any  thing  else  but 
his  business. 

Rip  now  resumed  his  old  walks  and  Jiabits ;  he 
soon  found  many  of  his  former  cronies,  though  .ill 
rather  the  worse  for  the  wear  and  tear  of  time  ;  and 
preferred  making  friends  among  the  rising  genera- 
tion, with  whom  he  soon  grew  into  great  favour. 

Having  nothing  to  do  at  home,  and  being  arrived 
at  that  happy  age  when  a  man  can  do  nothing  with 
impunity,  he  took  his  place  once  more  on  the  bench, 
at  the  inn  door,  and  was  reverenced  as  one  of  the 
patriarchs  of  the  village,  and  a  chronicle  of  the  old 
times  "  betbre  thi  war."  l!  was  some  time  before 
he  could  get  into  the  regular  track  of  gossip,  or  could 
\x  made  to  comj.rehenu  the  strange  events  that  had 
taken  place  during  his  torpor.  How  that  there  had 
been  a  revolutionary  war  —  that  the  country  had 
thrown  off  the  yoke  of  old  England — and  that,  in- 
stead of  being  a  subject  of  his  majesty  George  the 
Third,  he  was  now  a  tree  citizen  of  the  United  .Stales. 
Rip,  in  fact,  was  no  politician  ;  the  changes  of  states 
and  empires  made  but  little  impression  on  him  ;  but 
there  was  one  species  of  despotism  under  which  he 
had  long  groaned,  and  that  was — pettico  it  govern- 
ment. Happily,  that  was  at  an  end ;  he  lad  got  his 
neck  out  of  the  yoke  of  matrimony,  and  could  go  in 
and  out  whenever  he  pleased,  without  dreading  the 
tyranny  of  Dame  Van  Winkle.  Whenever  her  name 
was  mentiotied,  however,  he  shook  his  head,  shrug- 
ged his  shoulders,  and  cast  up  his  eyes ;  which  might 
pass  either  for  an  expression  of  resignation  to  liis 
fate,  or  joy  at  his  deliverance. 

He  used  to  tell  his  story  to  every  stranger  that  ar- 
rived at  Mr.  Doolittle's  hotel.  He  was  observed,  at 
first,  to  vary  on  some  points  every  time  he  toUl  it, 
which  was  doubtless  owing  to  his  having  so  recently 
awaked.  It  at  last  settled  down  precisely  to  the  tale 
I  h.'ue  related,  and  not  a  man,  woman,  or  child  in 
the  neighbourhood,  but  knew  it  by  heart.  Some  al- 
ways pretended  to  doubt  the  reality  of  it,  .ind  insisted 
;:hat  Rip  had  been  out  of  his  head,  and  that  this  was 
one  |)oint  on  which  he  always  remained  flighty.  The 
old  Dutch  inhabitants,  however,  almost  universally 
^ve  it  full  credit.  Even  to  this  day,  they  never  hear 
a  •.hjnder-storm  of  a  summer  afternoon  about  the 
Kaatskill,  but  they  say  Hendrick  Hudson  and  his 
:rew  are  at  their  game  of  nine-pins  ;  and  ii  is  a  com- 
mon wish  of  all  henpecked  husbands  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, when  liJL  hangs  heavy  on  their  hands,  that 
they  might  have  a  quitting  draught  out  of  Rip  Van 
Winkle's  liagon. 


NoTK.— The  forrgoing  tale,  one  would  su^pecl,  had  bees  son 

gested  to  Mr.  Knickerbncker  by  a  little  German  superstition  aboul 
the  Emperiir  Frederick  df  Koihiart  and  the  lvv|iphuuser  moiiu- 
tarn;  the  sulijoined  note,  however,  which  he  had  appended  to  the 
tale,  shows  that  it  is  an  absolute  fact,  narrated  with  his  Ubual 
fidelity. 

"  The  story  of  Rip  Van  Winkle  may  seem  incredible  to  many 
hut  nevertheless  I  give  it  my  full  belief,  for  I  know  the  vicinity  o( 
our  old  Dtitch  settlements  to  have  been  very  subject  to  marvelloiu 
events  ana  appearances.  Indeed,  I  have  heard  many  stran^ei 
stories  than  this,  in  the  villajies  alon?  the  Hudson,  all  of  wli-ct 
were  Ion  well  authenticated  to  admit  of  a  doubt.  I  have  even  talkM 
with  Rip  Van  Winkle  myself,  who,  when  last  I  saw  him.  was  a  vei^ 
venerable  old  man,  and  so  perfectly  rational  ar  i  consistent  on  cverf 
other  point,  that  I  think  no  conscientious  person  could  refuse  to 
t.ike  this  it  to  tht.  bargain  ;  nay,  I  have  seen  a  certificate  on  the 
subject  taken  before  a  country  justice,  and  signed  with  a  cross,  in 
the  justice's  own  handwriting.  Tha  *tury,  therefore,  it  beyoad 
the  ;ossibility  of  doubt." 


ENGLISH  WRITERS  ON  AMERICA. 


"  Melhinka  I  sm  in  my  mind  a  noble  puissant  natioii,  routing 
heiself  like  a  strong  man  after  sleep,  ana  shaking  her  invincible 
locks;  methi-ks  I  see  her  as  an  eagle,  mewing  her  mighty  youth, 
and  kindling  hei  endazzled  eye«  at  the  full  mid-day  beam," 

Milton  on  thb  Libbrtv  op  thb  Prbu. 

It  is  with  feelings  of  deep  regret  that  I  observe  the 
literai7  animosity  daily  growing  up  between  England 
and  America.  Great  curiosity  has  been  awakened 
of  late  with  respect  to  the  United  St.ates,  and  tht: 
London  press  has  teemed  with  volumes  of  travels 
through  the  Republic ;  but  they  seem  intended  to 
diffuse  error  rather  than  knowledge ;  and  so  success- 
ful have  they  been,  Ih.it,  notwithstanding  the  con- 
stant intercourse  between  the  nations,  there  is  nc 
people  concerning  whom  the  great  mass  of  the  Hrit- 
ish  public  have  less  pure  infonnation,  or  cntertaiii 
more  numerous  prejudices. 

English  travellers  are  the  best  and  the  worst  i.. 
the  world.  Where  no  motives  of  pride  or  interest 
intervene,  none  can  equal  them  for  profound  and 
philosophical  views  of  society,  or  faithful  and  graph- 
ic.ll  descriptions  of  external  objects;  but  when  either 
the  interest  or  reputation  of  their  own  country  comes 
in  collision  with  that  of  another,  they  go  to  the  op- 
posite extreme,  and  forget  their  usual  probity  and 
candour,  in  the  indulgence  of  splenetic  remark,  ano 
an  illiberal  spirit  of  ridicule. 

Hence,  their  travels  are  more  honest  and  accurate, 
the  more  remote  the  country  described.  I  would 
place  implicit  confidence  in  an  Englishm.an's  descrip- 
tion of  the  regions  beyond  the  cataracts  of  the  Nile; 
of  unknown  islands  in  the  Yellow  Sea;  of  the  inte- 
rior of  India;  or  of  any  other  tract  wliich  othei 
travellers  might  be  apt  to  picture  out  with  the  illu- 
sions of  their  fancies.  But  1  would  cautiously  receive 
his  account  of  his  immediate  neighbours,  and  of  those 
nations  with  which  he  is  in  habits  of  most  frequent 
intercourse.  However  I  might  be  disposed  to  trust 
his  probity,  I  dare  not  trust  his  prejudices. 

It  has  also  been  the  peculiar  lot  of  our  countrj  to 
be  visited  by  the  worst  kind  of  English  travellers. 
While  men  of  philosophical  spirit  and  cultivated 
minds  have  been  sent  from  England  to  rans.ick  the 
poles,  to  penetrate  the  deserts,  and  to  study  the  man- 
ners and  customs  of  barbarous  nations,  with  whicfc 
she  can  have  no  permanent  intercourse  of  profit  oi 
pleasure  ;  it  has  been  left  to  the  broken-down  trades- 
man, the  scheming  adventurer,  the  wandering  me- 
chanic, the  M.mchester  and  Birmingham  agent,  to 
be  her  oracles  respecting  America,  From  such 
sources  she  is  content  to  re,;eive  her  information  re- 
specting a  country  in  a  singular  state  of  moral  and 
physical  develoi)ement ;  a  country  in  which  one  of 
the  greatest  politic.il  experiments  in  the  history  of 
i  the  world  is  low  performing,  and  which  pie-sents  tht 


li 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


ut: 


most  profound  and  momentous  studies  to  the  states- 
man and  the  philosopher. 

That  such  men  should  give  prejudice'  accounts  of 
America,  is  not  a  matter  of  surprise.  The  themes  it 
offers  for  contemplation,  are  too  vast  and  elevated 
!oT  their  capacities.  The  national  character  is  yet 
in  a  state  ol  fermentation:  it  may  have  its  frothiness 
inrl  sediment,  but  its  ingredients  are  sound  and 
whi  lesonie:  it  has  already  given  proofs  of  jjowerful 
and  generous  qiialitii's ;  aiul  the  whole  jiro  h  ses  to 
settle  down  into  something  substantially  e.\«.ellent. 
H-.ii  the  causes  which  are  operating  to  strengthen 
and  ennoble  it,  and  its  daily  indications  of  aduiirable 
properties,  are  all  lost  upon  these  purblind  observers ; 
who  are  only  atfected  by  the  little  asperities  ip.cident 
to  its  present  situation.  They  are  capable  of  judging 
only  of  the  surface  of  things ;  of  those  mattevs  which 
come  in  contact  with  their  private  interests  and  per- 
son.al  gratifications.  They  miss  some  of  the  snug 
conveniences  and  petty  comforts  which  belong  to  an 
old,  highly-finished,  .and  over-populous  state  of  so- 
ciety ;  where  the  ranks  of  useful  labour  are  crowded, 
and  many  earn  a  painful  and  servile  subsistence,  by 
studying  the  very  caprices  of  appetite  and  self-imlul- 
gence.  These  minor  comforts,  however,  are  all-im- 
portant in  the  estimation  of  narrow  minds  ;  which 
either  do  not  perceive,  or  will  not  acknowledge,  th.at 
they  are  more  than  counterbalanced  among  us,  by 
jfreat  and  generally  dilTused  l)lessings. 

They  may,  perhaps,  h.a-e  been  disappointed  in 
tome  unreasonable  expectation  of  sudden  gain.  They 
may  have  pictured  America  to  themselves  an  El  Do- 
rado, where  goh!  and  silver  abounded,  and  the  na- 
tives were  lacking  in  sagacity ;  and  where  they  were 
to  become  strangely  and  suddenly  rich,  in  some  un- 
fcreseen  but  easy  manner.  The  same  weakness  of 
wind  that  indulges  absurd  expectations,  produces 
jietulance  in  disappointment.  Such  persons  become 
i:mbittered  against  the  country  on  finding  that  there, 
as  every  where  else,  a  man  must  sow  before  he  can 
•■eap;  must  win  wealth  by  industry  and  talent  ;  and 
must  contend  with  the  common  difficulties  of  n.iture, 
and  the  shrewdness  of  an  intelligent  and  enterpris- 
ing people. 

Perhaps,  through  mistaken  or  ill-directed  hospi- 
tality, or  from  the  prompt  disposition  to  cheer  and 
cotjntenance  the  stranger,  prevalent  among  my  coun- 
trymen, they  may  have  been  treated  with  unwonted 
tespect  in  America ;  and,  having  been  accustomed 
all  their  lives  to  consider  themselves  below  the  sur- 
face of  good  society,  and  brought  up  in  a  servile 
feeling  of  infenoriiy,  they  become  arrogant  on  the 
common  boon  of  civility ;  they  attribute  to  the  low- 
liness of  others  their  own  elevation ;  and  underrate 
a  society  where  there  are  no  artificial  distinctions, 
and  where  by  any  chance,  such  indivickials  as  them- 
selves can  rise  to  consequence. 

One  would  suppose,  however,  that  information 
coming  from  such  sources,  on  a  subject  ^vheve  the 
truth  is  so  desirable,  would  be  received  with  caution 
i»y  the  censors  of  the  press ;  that  the  motives  of  these 
men,  their  veracity,  their  opportunities  of  intjuiry  and 
jbservation,  and  tneir  capacities  for  judging  correctly, 
would  be  rigorously  scrutinized,  before  their  evidence 
Ai!.»  admitted,  in  such  sweeping  extent,  ag.ainst  a 
vit.dred  nation.  The  very  reverse,  however,  is  the 
rase,  and  it  furnishes  a  striking  instance  of  human 
.ncoiis'stericy.  Nothing  can  surpass  the  vigil. ince 
with  which  knglish  critics  will  examine  the  credibil- 
ity of  the  traveller  who  publishes  an  accoimt  of  some 
distant,  and  comparatively  unimportant,  country. 
How  warily  will  they  compare  the  measurements  of 
a  pyramid,  or  the  de.scription  of  a  ruin;  and  how 
Sternly  will  they  censure  any  inaccuracy  in  these  con- 
tributions ol  merely  curious  knowledge  ;  while  they 


will  receive,  with  eagerness  and  unhesitating  faith 
the  gross  misrepresentations  of  coarse  and  oliscur* 
writers,  concerning  a  country  with  which  their  own 
is  placed  in  the  most  important  and  delicate  relations. 
Nay,  they  will  even  make  these  apocryphal  volumes 
text-l)ook»,  on  which  to  enlarge,  with  a  teal  and  an 
ability  worthy  of  a  moie  generous  cause. 

I  shall  not.  however,  dwr;ll  on  this  irksome  and 
h.ackneye<l  topic;  nor  should  1  h.ave  ad\erted  to  it, 
but  for  the  undue  interest  apparently  taken  in  it  bv 
my  countrymen,  and  certain  injurious  effects  which 
1  apprehend  it  might  produce  upon  the  national  feel- 
ing. We  attach  too  much  consequence  to  these  at- 
tacks. They  cannot  do  us  any  essential  injury. 
The  tissue  of  misrepresentations  attempted  to  be 
woven  round  us,  are  like  cobwebs  woven  round  the 
imibs  of  an  infant  giant.  Our  country  contimially 
outgrows  them.  One  falsehood  after  another  falls 
off  ol  itself.  We  h.ave  but  to  live  on,  and  every  day 
we  live  a  whole  volume  of  refutation.  All  the  writers 
of  England  united,  if  we  could  for  a  moment  sup- 
pose their  great  minds  stooping  to  so  unworthy  a 
combination,  could  not  conceal  our  rapidly  growing 
importance  and  matchless  prosperity.  They  could 
not  conceal  that  these  are  owing,  not  merely  to  phys- 
ical and  local,  but  also  to  moral  causes  ; — {o  the  po- 
litical liberty,  the  general  diffusion  of  knowledge, 
the  [)revalence  of  sound,  moral,  and  religious  [irin- 
ciples,  which  give  force  and  sustained  energy  to  the 
ch.iracter  of  a  people;  and  which,  in  tact,  have  been 
the  acknowledged  and  wonderful  supporters  of  their 
own  national  power  and  glory. 

Hut  why  are  we  so  excjuisitely  alive  to  the  asper- 
sions of  Englanil .'  Why  do  we  suffer  ourselves  to 
be  so  alTected  by  the  contumely  she  has  endeavouiod 
to  cast  upon  us.'  It  is  not  in  the  opinion  of  En- 
gland alone  that  honour  lives,  and  reputation  has  its 
being.  The  world  at  large  is  the  arbiter  of  a  na- 
tion's fame:  with  its  thousand  eyes  it  witnesses  a 
nation's  deeds,  and  from  their  cojlective  testimony 
is  national  glor)'  or  national  disgrace  established. 

For  eurselves,  therefore,  it  is  comparatively  of  but 
little  imjiort.mce  whether  Engl.and  does  us  justice  or 
not ;  it  is.  perhaps,  of  far  more  importance  to  her- 
self. She  is  instilling  anger  and  resentment  into  the 
bosom  of  a  youthful  nation,  to  grow  with  its  growth, 
and  strengthen  with  its  strength.  If  in  America,  as 
some  of  her  writers  are  labouring  to  convince  her, 
she  is  hereafter  to  find  an  invidious  rival,  and  a 
gig.mlic  foe,  she  may  thank  those  very  writers  foi 
having  provoked  rivalship,  and  irritated  hostility 
Every  one  knows  the  all-perv.ading  influence  of  liter.a- 
ture  at  die  [iresent  day.  and  how  much  the  opinions 
and  passions  of  mankind  are  under  its  control.  The 
mere  contests  of  the  sword  are  tem]X)rary ;  tlieii 
wounds  are  but  in  the  flesh,  and  it  is  the  pride  of 
the  generous  to  forgive  and  forget  them ;  but  the 
slanders  of  the  pen  pierce  to  the  lieart ;  they  rankle 
longest  in  the  noblest  spirits;  they  dwell  ever  pres- 
ent in  the  mind,  and  render  it  morbidly  sensitive  to 
the  most  trifling  collision.  It  is  but  seldom  that  any 
one  overt  act  produces  hostilities  between  two  na- 
tions ;  there  exists,  most  commonly,  a  previous  jeal- 
ousy and  ill-will,  a  predisposition  to  take  offence. 
Trace  these  to  their  cause,  and  how  often  will  ihcy 
be  found  to  originate  in  the  mischievous  effusions  ol 
mercenary  writers  ;  who,  secure  in  their  closets,  and 
for  ignominious  bread,  concoct  and  circulate  the 
venom  that  is  to  inflame  the  generous  and  the 
brave. 

1  am  not  laying  too  much  stress  upon  this  point ; 
for  it  applies  most 'emphatically  to  our  particular 
case.  Over  no  nation  floes  the  press  hold  a  more 
absolute  control  than  over  the  people  of  America, 
for  the  universal  education  of  the  poorest  classet 


rouJ 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gemt. 


18 


makes  every  individual  a  reader.  There  is  nothing 
published  in  England  on  the  subject  of  our  coun- 
try, that  does  not  ciroul.ate  throutjh  everj'  ji.irt  of  it. 
There  is  not  a  calumny  dropt  from  an  K.njjiish  pen, 
nor  an  unworthy  sarcasm  uttered  by  ,in  English 
statesman,  that  (foes  not  go  to  l>li;^ht  gor)d-\vill,  and 
add  to  the  mass  of  latent  r/jscnimi-nt.  Possessing, 
then,  as  England  does,  the  fountain-liead  from 
whence  the  literature  of  the  language  flows,  how 
completely  is  it  in  her  power,  and  how  truly  is  it  her 
duty,  to  make  it  the  medium  of  amiable  and  mag- 
nanimous feeling — a  stream  where  the  two  nations 
might  meet  together,  and  drink  in  peace  and  kind- 
ness. Should  she,  however,  persist  in  turning  it  to 
waters  of  bitterness,  the  time  may  come  when  she 
may  repent  her  folly.  The  present  friendship  of 
America  may  be  of  but  little  moment  to  her;  but 
the  futuie  destinies  of  that  country  <lo  not  admit  of 
a  doubt:  over  those  of  England,  there  lower  some 
shadows  of  uncertainty.  Should,  then,  a  day  of 
gloom  arrive —should  those  reverses  overtake  her, 
from  which  the  proudest  empires  h.ive  not  been  ex- 
empt— she  may  look  back  with  regret  at  her  infatu- 
ation, in  repulsing  from' her  side  a  nation  she  might 
have  grappled  to  her  bosom,  and  thus  destroying 
her  only  chance  for  real  friendship  beyond  the 
boundaries  of  her  own  dominions. 

There  is  a  general  impression  in  England,  that 
the  people  of  the  United  States  are  inimical  to  the 
p.rent  country.  It  is  one  of  the  errors  which  has 
been  <lili};ently  propag;.ted  by  designing  writers. 
There  is,  doubtless,  consider.'ible  politiral  hostility, 
and  a  general  soreness  at  the  illiberal uy  of  the  En- 
glirh  press;  but,  collectively  speaking.  Hie  prepos- 
ses;;ions  of  the  people  are  strongly  in  t.rour  of  En- 
gland. Indeed,  at  one  time  they  amounted.  ni  many 
parts  of  the  Union,  to  an  absurd  degree  of  bigotry. 
Vl;e  bare  name  of  Englishmari  was  a  passport  to 
;he  confidence  and  hospitality  of  every  family,  and 
(00  often  gave  a  transient  currency  to  the  worthless 
and  the  ungrateful.  Throughout  the  cou'itry,  there 
was  siJinething  of  enthusiasm  connected  with  theide-i 
nf  England.  We  looked  to  it  with  a  hallo'ved  feeling 
of  tenderness  and  veneration,  as  the  land  of  our 
lorefathers — the  august  repository  of  the  monuments 
and  anti(|uitics  of  our  race — the  birth-place  and 
mausoleum  of  the  sages  and  heroes  of  our  paternal 
history.  After  our  own  counti-y,  there  was  none  in 
whose  glory  we  more  delighted — none  whose  good 
opinion  we  were  more  anxious  to  possess — none  to- 
ward which  our  hearts  yearned  with  such  throbbings 
of  warm  consaiiguinity.  Even  during  the  late  war, 
whenever  there  was  the  least  opportunity  lor  kind 
feelings  to  spring  forth,  it  was  the  delight  of  the 
generous  spirits  of  our  country  to  show,  that  in  the 
midst  of  hostilities,  they  still  kept  alive  the  sparks  of 
future  friendship. 

Is  all  this  to  be  at  an  end  '  Is  this  golden  t)and 
->(  kindred  sympathies,  so  r.tre  between  nations,  to 
be  broken  forever?  -Perhaps  it  is  for  the  best— it 
may  dispel  an  allusion  which  might  have  kept  us  in 
n^ental  vassalape  :  which  might  nave  interfered  oc- 
casionally with  our  true  interests,  and  prevented  the 
growth  of  proper  national  pride.  Hut  it  is  hard  to 
give  up  the  kindred  tie  !— and  there  are  feelings 
dearer  than  interest — closer  to  the  heart  than  pride — 
that  will  still  make  us  cast  back  a  look  of  regret  as 
ws  wander  farther  and  farther  from  the  paternal 
rouf  and  lament  the  waywardness  of  the  parent 
that  would  repel  the  affections  of  the  child. 

Si.ort-3ighted  and  injudicious,  however,  as  the 
conduct  cf  England  may  be  in  this  system  of  asper- 
sion, rccriniination  on  our  part  would  be  equally  ill- 
:udged.  I  speak  not  of  a  prompt  and  spirited  vin- 
liicaiion  of  nnr  country,  or  the  keenest  rastig-.tion 


of  her  sland^'-irs — but  !  allude  to  a  disposidon  ta 
retaliate  in  k...d,  to  retort  sarcasm  and  insjjire  pre- 
judice, which  seems  to  be  spreading  widely  anrionc 
our  writers.  Let  us  guard  particularly  against  such 
a  temper;  for  it  would  double  the  evil,  instead  of 
redressing  the  wrong.  Nothing  is  so  easy  and  in- 
viting as  the  retort  of  abuse  and  sarcasm ;  but  it  ii 
a  paltry  and  unprolitable  contest.  It  is  the  altciiia- 
tive  of  a  morbid  mind,  fretted  into  petulance,  rithc. 
than  wangled  into  inchgnation.  If  England  is  v/il!- 
ing  to  pennit  the  mean  jealousies  of  trade,  or  ths 
rancorous  animosities  of  politics,  to  deprave  the  in- 
tegrity of  her  press,  and  poison  the  fountain  of 
public  opinion,  let  us  beware  of  her  example.  She 
may  deem  it  her  interest  to  diffuse  error,  and  en- 
gender antipathy,  tor  the  purpose  of  checking  emi- 
gration <  we  have  no  purjose  of  the  kind  to  ser\'e. 
Neither  have  we  any  spirit  of  national  jealousy  to 
gratify  ;  for  as  yet,  in  all  our  rivalships  with  England, 
we  are  the  rising  and  the  gaining  party.  There  can 
l)e  no  end  to,  answer,  therefore,  but  the  gratification 
of  resentment — a  mere  spirit  of  retaliation  ;  and 
even  that  is  impotent.  Our  retorts  are  never  repub- 
lished in  England  ;  they  fall  short,  therefore,  of  their 
aim  ;  but  they  foster  a  querulous  and  peevish  temper 
among  our  writers  ;  they  sour  the  sweet  flow  of  our 
early  literature,  i»nd  sow  thorns  and  brambles  among 
its  i)lossoms.  What  is  still  worse,  they  circulate 
through  our  own  country,  and,  as  far  as  they  have 
etTect,  excite  virulent  national  prejudices.  This  last 
is  the  evil  most  especially  to  be  deprecated.  Gov- 
erned, as  we  are,  entirely  by  public  opinion,  the 
utmost  care  should  be  taken  to  preserve  ihe  p'^rity 
of  the  public  mind.  Knowledge  is  power,  anc  train 
is  knowledge;  whoever,  therefore,  knowinglj  propa- 
gates a  prejudice,  wilfully  saps  the  foundation  of  hJI 
country's  strength. 

The  members  of  a  republic,  above  all  other  men, 
should  be  canilid  and  dispassionate.  Theyaie  in- 
dividually, portions  of  the  sovereign  mind  and  sov- 
ereign will,  and  should  be  enabled  to  come  to  alJ 
(|Uf.tions  of  nation.il  concern  with  calm  and  un- 
biassed judgments.  From  the  peculiar  nature  of  our 
relations  with  England,  we  must  have  more  frequent 
questions  of  a  difficult  and  delicate  character  with 
her,  than  with  any  other  nation;  questions  th.at 
affect  the  most  acute  anil  excitable  feelings :  and  as, 
in  the  adjusting  of  these,  our  national  measures 
must  ultimately  be  determined  by  popular  sentiment, 
we  cannot  lie  too  anxiously  attentive  to  purify  it 
from  all  latent  passion  or  prepossession. 

Opening  too,  as  we  do,  an  asylum  for  strangers 
!  from  every  portion  of  the  earth,  we  should  receive 
'  all  with  impartiality.  It  should  be  our  pride  to  ex- 
hibit an  example  of  one  nation,  at  least,  destitute  of 
II  itional  antipathies,  and  exercising,  not  merely  the 
overt  acts  of  hospitality,  but  those  more  rare  and 
noble  courtesies  which  spring  from  liberality  of 
opinion. 

What  have  we  to  do  with  national  piejudices? 
They  are  the  inveter.ate  diseases  of  old  comtrie^ 
contracted  in  rude  and  ignorant  ages,  when  nitioni 
knew  but  little  ot  each  other,  anil  looked  beyon.] 
their  own  boundaries  with  distrust  and  hostility. 
We,  on  the  contrary,  have  sprung  into  national  ex- 
istence in  an  enlightened  and  philosophic  age,  when 
the  different  parts  of  the  habitable  world,  and  the 
various  branches  of  the  human  family,  have  been 
indefatigably  studied  and  made  known  to  each  other ; 
and  we  forego  the  advantages  of  our  birth,  if  we  do 
not  shake  olf  the  national, prejudices,  as  we  would 
the  local  sui)erstitions,  of  the  old  world. 

But  above  all,  let  us  not  be  influenced  by  any 
angry  feelings,  so  far  as  to  shut  our  eyes  to  the  per- 
ception of  what  is  really  excellent  and  amiable  in 


"if 


16 


V/ORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


'% 


I* 


thfi  English  character.  We  are  a  young  people, 
necessarily  an  imitative  one,  ami  must  take  our  ex- 
amples and  models,  in  a  great  degree,  from  the  ex- 
isting nations  of  Europe.  There  is  no  country  more 
worthy  of  our  study  than  England.  The  spirit  of 
her  constitution  is  most  analogous  to  ours.  The 
manners  of  her  people — their  intellectual  activity- 
their  freedom  of  opinion — their  habits  of  thinking 
an  those  subjects  which  concern  the  dearest  inter- 
2S'B  and  most  s.icred  charities  of  private  life,  are  all 
•'oiiger.ial  to  the  American  character;  and,  in  fact, 
are  ali  intrinsically  excellent :  for  it  is  in  the  moral 
feehng  o(  the  people  that  the  deep  foundations  of 
British  prosperity  are  laid ;  and  however  the  super- 
stnicturi  may  be  time-worn,  or  overrun  by  abuses, 
there  mi.st  be  something  solid  in  the  basis,  admira- 
ble in  the  materials,  and  stable  in  the  structure  of 
an  edifice  that  so  long  has  towered  unshaken  amidst 
the  tempests  of  the  world. 

Let  it  be  the  pride  of  our  writers,  therefore,  dis- 
carding all  feelings  of  irritation,  and  disdaining  to 
retaliate  the  iUiberality  of  British  author?  to  speak 
of  the  English  nation  without  prejudice  md  with 
determined  candour.  While  they  rebuke  ,he  indis- 
criminating  bigotry  with  which  some  of  our  country- 
men admire  and  imitate  every  thing  English,  merely 
because  it  is  English,  let  them  frankly  point  out 
what  is  really  worthy  of  approbation.  VVe  may  thus 
place  England  before  us  as  a  perpetual  volume  of  ref- 
erence, wherein  are  recorded  sound  deductions  from 
ages  of  experience ;  and  while  we  avoid  the  errors 
»nd  absurdities  which  may  h.ave  crept  into  the  page, 
we  rnay  draw  thence  golden  maxims  of  practical 
iviodom,  wherevith  to  strengthen  and  to  embellish 
^t.T  national  character. 


RURAL  LIFE  IN  ENGLAND. 


Oh  I  friendly  (o  the  best  ^ursuitn  of  man, 
FnenHly  to  thought,  to  virtue,  >nd  to  peacfi, 
Domestic  life  in  rural  pleaturei  pait  I 

COWPRC 

The  Stranger  who  would  form  a  correct  opinion 
ct  the  English  character,  must  not  confine  his  ob- 
servations to  the  metrojjolis.  He  must  go  forth  into 
the  country  ;  he  must  sojourn  in  villages  and  ham- 
lets ;  he  must  visit  castles,  villas,  farm-houses,  cot- 
tages ;  he  must  wander  through  parks  and  gardens ; 
along  hedges  .and  green  lanes  ;  he  must  loiter  about 
country  churches  ;  attend  wakes  and  fairs,  and  other 
rural  festivals ;  .and  cope  with  the  jieople  in  all  their 
conditions,  and  all  their  habits  and  humours. 

In  some  countries,  the  large  cities  absorb  the 
wealth  and  fashion  of  the  nation  ;  they  .are  the  only 
fixed  abodes  of  elegant  and  intelligent  society,  and 
the  country  is  inhabited  almost  entirely  by  boorish 
p:as.antry.  In  England,  on  the  contrary,  the  metrop- 
ciiis  is  a  mere  gathering  place,  or  general  rendez- 
fcxiz,  of  the  polite  classes,  where  they  devote  a  small 
^jrti-jn  of  the  year  to  a  hurry  of  gayety  and  dissipa- 
tK,n,  and  having  indulged  this  kind  of  camiv.al,  re- 
t.urc  again  to  the  apparei.;ly  more  congeni.al  habits 
ot  rural  life.  The  various  orcfcrs  of  society  .are 
therefore  ilifTused  over  the  whole  surface  of  the  king- 
dom .and  the  most  retired  neighbourhoods  afford 
specimens  of  the  different  r.anks. 

The  English,  in  fact,  are  strongly  gifted  with  the 
rural  feeling.  They  possess  a  quick  sensibility  to 
the  beauties  of  nature,  and  a  keen  relish  for  the 
^dcasures  and  employments  of  the  country.  This 
passicn  seems  inherent  in  them.    Even  the  inhabit- 


ants of  cities,  bom  and  bro.ight  up  among  brici 
walls  and  bustling  streets,  enter  with  faciliry  into 
rur.al  h.abits,  and  evince  a  tact  for  rural  occupation. 
The  mercliant  h,a3  his  snug  retreat  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  metropolis,  where  he  often  displays  as  much 
pride  and  zeal  in  the  cultivation  of  his  flower-earc'cn, 
md  the  maturing  of  his  fruits,  .as  he  does  in  tne  con- 
duct of  his  business,  and  the  success  of  a  conmci- 
cial  enterprise.  Even  those  less  fortunate  indi. 
viduals,  wno  are  doomed  to  pass  their  lives  in  th( 
midst  of  din  and  traffic,  contrive  to  have  something 
that  shall  rentind  them  of  the  green  aspect  of  nature 
In  the  most  dark  and  dingy  quarters  of  the  city,  the 
dr:iwing-room  window  resembles  frequently  a  bank 
of  llowers  ;  every  spot  capable  of  vegetation  has  it.s 
grass-plot  and  flower-bed ;  and  every  square  iti 
mimic  park,  laid  out  with  picturesque  taste,  and 
gleaming  with  refreshing  verdure. 

Those  who  see  the  Englishman  only  in  town,  are 
apt  to  form  an  unfavourable  opinion  of  his  social 
cnar.acter.  He  is  either  absorbed  in  business,  or 
distracted  by  the  thousand  engagements  that  dis- 
sip.ate  time,  thought,  and  feeling,  in  this  huge  me- 
tropolis. He  has,  therefore,  too  commonly,  a  look 
of  hurry  and  abstraction.  Wherever  he  happens  to 
be,  he  is  on  the  point  of  going  somewhere  else ;  at 
the  moment  he  is  talking  on  one  subject,  his  mind  is 
wandering  to  another ;  and  while  paying  a  friendly 
visit,  he  is  calculating  how  h«;  shall  economize  time 
so  as  to  p.ay  the  other  visits  allotted  to  the  morning. 
An  immense  metropolis,  like  London,  is  calculated 
to  make  men  selfish  and  uninteresting.  In  their 
casual  and  transient  meetings,  they  can  but  dcpj 
briefly  in  commonplaces.  They  present  but  thts 
cold  superficies  of  character — its  rich  and  gciiil 
qualities  have  no  time  to  be  warmed  into  a  flow. 

It  is  in  the  country  that  the  Englishman  girts 
scope  to  his  natural  feelings.  He  breaks  loose- 
gl.ailly  from  the  cold  formalities  and  negative  civili- 
ties of  town ;  throws  off  his  habits  of  shy  reser^-e, 
.and  becomes  joyous  and  free-hearted.  He  manages 
to  collect  round  him  all  the  conveniencies  and  ele- 
gancies of  polite  life,  and  to  banish  its  restraints. 
His  country-seat  abounds  with  every  requisite,  cithei 
for  studious  retirement,  tasteful  gratification,  or  rural 
exercise.  Books,  paintings,  music,  horses,  dogs, 
and  sporting  implements  of  all  kinds,  are  at  hand. 
He  puts  no  constraint,  either  upon  his  guests  or 
himself,  but,  in  the  true  spirit  of  hospitality,  pro- 
vides the  means  of  enjoyment,  and  leaves  every  one 
to  partake  according  to  his  inclination. 

The  taste  of  the  English  in  the  cultivation  ofland, 
.and  in  what  is  called  landscape  gardening,  is  un- 
rivalled. They  h.ave  studied  Nature  intently,  and 
discovered  an  exquisite  sense  of  her  beautiful  forms 
and  hannonious  combinations.  Those  charms  which, 
in  other  countries,  she  larishes  in  wild  solitudes, 
are  here  assembled  round  the  haunts  of  domestic 
life.  They  seem  to  have  caught  her  coy  and  fur- 
tive graces,  and  spread  them,  like  witchery,  about 
their  rural  abodes. 

Nothing  can  be  more  imposing  than  the  magnifi- 
cence of  English  park  scenery.  Vast  ls.wns  that  ex- 
tend like  sheets  of  vivid  green,  with  here  and  there 
clumps  of  gigantic  trees,  heaping  up  rich  piles  of 
foliage.  The  solemn  pomp  of  groves  and  woo<lland 
glades,  with  the  deer  trooping  in  silent  herds  across 
them ;  the  hare,  bounding  away  to  the  covert ;  oi 
the  phe.asant,  suddenly  bursting  upon  the  wing.  The 
brook,  taught  to  wind  in  natural  meanderings,  or 
expand  into  a  glassy  Lake — the  sequestered  pool,  re- 
flecting the  quivering  trees,  with  the  yellow  leal 
sleeping  on  its  bosom,  and  the  trout  roaming  fcai 
lessly  about  its  limpid  waters:  while  some  rustic 
temple,  or  sylvan  statue,  grown  green  and  dan)* 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


17 


with  age    gives  a.n  air  of  classic  sanctity  to  the 
isclusion. 

These  are  hut  a  few  of  the  features  of  park  scenery; 
but  what  most  deiiKhts  n,  ,  is  the  creative  talent  with 
which  the  Lntjlish  decorate  the  unostentatious  abodes 
of  middle  life.  The  rudest  habitation,  the  most  un- 
promising and  scanty  portion  of  land,  in  the  hands 
of  an  Englishman  of  taste,  l)ecomes  a  little  paradise. 
With  a  nicely  discriminating  eye,  he  seizes  at  once 
'jjjon  its  capabilities,  and  pictures  in  his  mind  the 
j'.hare  landscape.  The  jtcril  spot  grows  into  loveli- 
ness under  his  hand  ;  and  yet  the  operations  of  art 
irhich  produce  the  effect  are  scarcely  to  be  perceived. 
The  cherishing  and  training  of  some  trees ;  the 
cautious  pruning  of  others  ;  the  nice  distribution  of 
flowers  and  plants  of  tender  and  graceful  foliage ; 
the  introduction  of  a  green  slope  of  velvet  turf;  the 
partial  opening  to  a  peep  of  blue  distance,  or  silver 
gleam  of  water — all  these  are  managed  with  a  deli- 
cate tact,  a  perva<Iing  yel  quiet  assiduity,  like  the 
magic  toiichings  with  which  a  painter  tlnishes  i.p  a 
favourite  picture. 

The  residence  of  people  of  fortune  and  refinement 
'n  the  country,  has  diffused  a  degree  of  tr.ste  and 
tlejiance  in  rural  economy,  that  descends  to  the  low- 
est cl.iss.  The  very  labourer,  with  his  thatched  cot- 
tage and  narrow  slip  of  ground,  attends  to  their 
embellishment.  The  trim  hedge,  the  grass-plot 
before  the  door,  the  little  llower-bed  bordered  with 
snug  box,  the  woodbine  trained  up  against  the  wail, 
and  hanjfing  its  blossoms  about  the  lattice  ;  the  pot 
of  tlowers  in  the  window  ;  the  holly,  providently 
planted  about  the  house,  to  cheat  winter  of  its 
dreariness,  ai>d  to  throw  in  a  semblance  of  green 
summer  to  cheer  the  fireside  : — all  these  bespeak  the 
influence  of  taste,  (lowing  down  from  high  sources, 
and  pervading  the  lowest  levels  of  the  public  mind. 
If  ever  Love,  ar  poets  sing,  delights  to  visit  a  cot- 
f^ge,  it  must  be  the  cott.nge  of  an  English  peasant. 

The  fondness  for  rural  life  among  the  higher 
classes  of  the  English,  has  had  a  great  and  salutary 
effect  upon  the  n.ational  character.  I  do  not  know 
a  finer  race  of  men  than  the  English  gentlemen. 
Instead  of  the  softness  and  effcmin.ncy  which  char- 
acterize the  men  of  rank  in  most  countries,  they  ex- 
hibit .in  union  of  elegance  and  strength,  a  robustness 
of  frame  and  freshness  of  complexion,  which  1  am 
inclined  to  attribute  to  their  living  so  much  in  the 
open  air.  and  pursuing  so  eagerly  the  invigorating 
recreations  of  the  country.  The  hardy  exercises 
produce  also  a  healthful  tone  of  mind  and  sjiirits, 
and  a  manliness  and  simplicity  of  manners,  which 
even  the  follies  and  dissipations  of  the  town  cannot 
easily  penert.  and  can  never  entirely  destroy.  In 
the  countrj',  too,  the  differeii'  orders  of  society  seem 
to  approach  more  freely,  to  be  more  disposed  to 
blend  and  operate  favourably  upon  each  other. 
The  distinctions  between  them  do  not  appear  to  be 
so  marked  and  impassable,  as  in  the  cities.  The 
manner  in  which  property  has  been  distributed  into 
small  estates  and  farms,  has  established  a  regular 
grad.ation  from  the  noblemen,  through  the  classes 
ot  gentry,  small  landed  proprietors,  and  subst.mtial 
?armers,  down  to  the  labouring  peasantry ;  and 
while  it  has  thus  band'  d  the  extremes  of  society  to- 
gether, has  infused  into  each  intermediate  rank  a 
spirit  of  independence.  This,  it  must  be  confessed, 
'a  no*,  so  universally  the  case  at  present  <as  it  was 
feni.irly  ;  the  larger  estates  having,  in  late  years  of 
distress,  .absorbed  the  sm.aller,  and,  in  some  parts  of 
the  country,  almost  annihilated  the  sturdy  race  of 
small  farmers.  These,  however,  I  believe,  are  but 
casual  breaks  in  the  general  system  I  have  men- 
tioned. 

In  rural  occupation,  there  !«  nothing  mean  and 
2 


closets  all 
landscape, 
appear  as 
visit,   and 


debasing.  It  leads  a  man  forth  among  scenes  of 
natural  giandeur  and  beauty;  it  leaves  hiir.  to  the 
workings  of  his  own  mind,  operated  upoti  by  the 
purest  and  most  elevating  of  external  influences. 
Such  a  man  may  be  simple  and  rough,  but  he  can- 
not be  vulgar.  The  man  of  refinement,  therefore., 
finds  nothing  revolting  in  an  intercourse  with  Ibc 
lower  onlers  in  rural  lile,  as  he  does  when  he  casu 
ually  mingles  with  the  lower  orders  of  cities.  Hi 
lays  aside  his  distance  and  reserve,  and  is  glad  ti. 
waive  the  distinctions  of  rank,  and  to  enter  into  the 
honest,  heart-felt  enjoyments  of  common  life.  In- 
deed, the  very  amusements  of  the  country  bring  men 
more  and  more  together ;  and  the  sound  gf  hound 
and  horn  blend  all  feelings  into  harmony.  I  believe 
this  is  one  great  reason  why  the  nobility  and  gentry 
are  more  popular  among  the  inferior  ord  :rs  in  Jin- 
gland,  than  they  are  in  any  other  country ;  and  why 
the  latter  have  endured  so  many  excessive  jjressures 
and  extremities,  without  repining  more  generally  at 
the  unequal  distribution  of  fortune  and  privilege. 

To  this  mingling  of  cultivated  and  rustic  society, 
may  also  be  attributed  the  rural  feeling  that  runs 
through  British  literature;  the  frequent  use  of  illus- 
trations from  rural  life ;  those  incomparable  descrip- 
tions of  Nature,  that  abound  in  the  British  poets — 
that  have  continued  down  from  "  the  Flower  and 
the  Leaf"  of  Chaucer,  and  have  brought  into  ou: 
the  freshness  and  fragrance  of  the  dewy 
The  pastor.ll  writers  of  other  countries 
if  they  had  paid  Nature  an  occasional 
become  acquainted  with  her  general 
charms  ;  but  the  British  poets  have  lived  and  revelled 
with  her — they  have  wooed  her  in  her  most  secret 
haunts — they  have  watched  her  minutest  caprices. 
A  spray  could  not  tremble  in  the  breeze — a  leal 
could  not  rustle  to  the  ground — a  diamond  dro'^" 
could  not  patter  in  the  stream — a  fragrance  could 
not  exhale  from  the  humble  violet,  nor  a  daisy  un- 
fold its  crimson  tints  to  the  morning,  but  it  has 
been  noticed  by  these  impassioned  and  delicate  ob- 
servers, and  wrought  up  into  some  beautiful  morality. 

The  etTcct  of  this  devotion  of  elegant  minds  to  ru- 
ral occupations,  has  been  wonderful  on  the  face  of 
the  country.  A  great  part  of  the  island  is  rather 
level,  and  would  be  monotonous,  were  it  not  for  the 
charms  of  culture ;  but  it  is  studded  and  gemmed, 
as  it  were,  with  castles  and  palaces,  and  embroidered 
with  parks  and  gardens.  Ii  does  not  abound  in 
gr.ind  and  sublime  prospects,  but  rather  in  little 
home  scenes  of  rural  repose  and  sheltered  quiet. 
Every  antique  farm-house  and  moss-grown  cottage  is 
a  picture ;  and  as  the  roads  are  continually  winding, 
and  the  view  is  shut  in  by  groves  and  hedges,  the 
eye  is  delighted  by  a  continual  succession  of  small 
landscapes  of  captivating  loveliness. 

The  great  charm,  however,  of  English  scenery,  is 
the  moral  feeling  that  seems  to  pervade  it.  It  is  as- 
sociated in  the  mind  with  ideas  of  order,  of  quiet,  of 
sober  well-established  principles,  of  hoary  usage  and 
reverend  custom.  Every  thing  seems  to  be  the  growth 
of  ages  of  regular  and  peaceful  existence.  The  old 
church,  of  remote  architecture,  with  its  low  mareivt 
portal ;  its  gotnic  tower ;  its  windows,  ricn  witn  w 
cerj'  and  painted  glass,  in  scrupulous  preservaticn— 
its  stately  monuments  of  warriors  and -worthies  of  the 
olden  time,  ancestors  of  the  present  lor  ds  of  the  soil 
— its  tombston,  recording  successive  generations  of 
sturdy  yeom.mr^  whose  progeny  still  plough  the 
same  fields,  .c.  .v.-.^el  at  the  same  altar — the  parson- 
age, a  quai.'  irregular  oile,  partly  antiquated,  but  ro 
paired  ?..id  altered  in  liie  tastes  of  various  ages  and 
occupants — the  stile  and  footpath  leading  from  the 
churchyard,  across  pleasant  fields,  and  .along  shadv 
hedge-rows,  acconling  to  an  immenorable  right  of 


18 


WORKS  OF  Washington  irving. 


way— the  neiffhiwuring  village,  with  its  venerable  cot- 
tages, its  public  grircn.  sheltered  by  trees,  under 
which  the  forefathers  of  the  present  race  have  sported 
—the  anti(|ue  family  mansion,  st.'indinjj  apart  in  some 
little  rural  domain,  but  looking  down  with  a  protect- 
ing air  on  the  surroundinij  scene — all  these  common 
features  of  English  landscape  evince  a  calm  and 
fettled  security,  a  hereditary  transmission  of  home- 
i>rcd  virtues  and  local  attachments,  that  speak 
C(xp]y  and  touchingiy  for  the  moral  character  of  the 
iiition. 

I",  is  a  ple.ising  sight,  of  a  Sunday  morning,  when 
the  bell  is  sending  its  sober  melody  across  the  quiet 
fields,  to  behold  the  peasantry  in  their  best  finery, 
with  ruddy  faces,  and  modest  cheerfulness,  throng- 
',i\g  tranquilly  along  the  green  lanes  to  church  ;  but 
it  is  still  more  pleasing  to  see  them  in  the  evenings, 
gathering  about  their  cottage  doors,  and  appearing 
to  exult  in  the  humble  comforts  and  embellisnments 
which  their  own  hands  have  spread  around  thein. 

It  is  this  sweet  home  feeling,  this  settled  repose  of 
affection  in  the  domestic  scene,  that  is,  after  all,  the 
parent  of  the  steadiest  virtues  and  purest  enjoyments; 
and  I  cannot  close  these  desultory  remarks  better, 
than  by  quoting  the  words  of  a  modern  English  poet, 
who  has  depicted  it  with  remarkable  felicity. 

Through  each  gradation,  fmm  the  caxttcd  hall, 
The  city  dome,  the  vill.i  crowned  with  shade. 
But  chief  from  midest  mansioni  numberless, 
In  town  or  hainlet,  shelt'ring  middle  life, 
Down  to  the  cotlaged  vale,  and  straw-roord  shed, 
I'hif  western  isle  has  lonu;  licen  famed  for  scenes 
Where  blivs  domestic  fiiuTs  a  dwelling-place  : 
Domestic  bliss,  that  like  a  harmless  dove, 
(Honour  and  sweet  endearment  keeping  guard,) 
Can  centre  in  a  little  Quiet  nest 
Alt  that  desire  would  fly  for  through  the  earth  . 
That  can,  the  world  eluding,  be  itself 
A  world  enjoyed  ;  that  wants  no  witnesses 
But  its  own  sharers,  and  approving  Meaveo. 
ThaL,  like  a  flower  deep  hid  in  rocKy  cleft. 
Smiles,  though  'i  is  looking  only  at  the  sky.* 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


r'fir 


T  never  heard 
U  ■  I)  t.n    affection,  but  'I  was  nipt 
With  rk  e,  that,  like  the  caterpillar,  eats 
The  leaves  of  *he  spring's  sweetest  book,  the  rose. 

MiDDLBTOM. 

It  is  a  common  ,  i  actice  with  those  who  have  out- 
lived the  susceptibi,ity  of  early  feeling,  or  have  been 
brought  up  in  the  gay  l.^i-artlessness  of  dissipated  life, 
to  laugh  at  all  love  storus,  and  to  treat  the  tales  of 
romantic  passion  as  men  fictions  of  novelists  and 
poets.  My  obser\'ations  m  human  nature  have 
mduced  ire  to  think  other »vise.  They  have  con- 
vinced me,  that  however  the  sjrface  of  the  character 
may  be  chilled  and  frozen  by  th,:  cares  of  the  world, 
or  cultivated  into  mere  smiles  by  ■:he  arts  of  society, 
itill  there  are  dormant  tires  hirkinj,  in  the  depths  of 
the  coldest  l)osom,  which,  when  one;  enkindled,  be- 
pome  inpetuous,  and  are  sometimes,  desolating  in 
fhsir  effects  Indeed,  I  am  a  true  btficver  in  the 
jlind  deity,  and  go  to  the  full  extent  of  hiS  doctrines. 
Jihall  I  confess  it  P—I  Itelieve  in  broken  l..»rts,  and 
Lbe  pi)ssibility  of  dying  of  disappointed  lovo  I  I  do 
not,  however,  consider  it  a  malady  often  fataf  to  my 
own  sex  but  I  tirmly  believe  that  it  withers  Jown 
nany  a  lovely  wornan  into  an  early  grave. 

Man  is  the  creature  of  interest  and  ambition  His 
nature  leads  him  forth  into  the  struggle  and  bustle 

*  From  a  po«an  tin  the  death  of  the  Princtai  Charlotte,  by  the 
Kaverend  Raiui  Kcnaedv,  A.M. 


of  the  work'  Love  is  but  the  emb-.  Ilsnmcnt  of  Mi 
early  life,  or  a  song  piped  in  the  intervals  of  th< 
acts.  He  seeks  for  fame,  for  fortune,  for  .space  in  th« 
world's  thought,  and  dominion  over  his  fellow-men 
But  a  woman's  whole  life  is  a  history  of  the  affec- 
tions. The  heart  is  her  world  ;  it  is  there  her  ambi 
tion  strives  for  empire — it  is  there  her  avarice  seek*, 
for  hidden  treasures.  She  sends  forth  her  sympa 
thies  on  adventure;  she  embarks  her  whole  soul  iVi 
the  trafbc  of  affection  ;  and  if  shipwrecked,  her  c.\»' 
is  hopeless — for  it  ij  a  bankpjptcy  of  the  heart. 

To  a  man,  the  disappointment  of  love  may  occa- 
sitn  soine  bitter  pangs  :  it  wounds  some  feelings  of 
tenderness — it  blasts  some  prospects  of  felicity ;  but 
he  is  an  active  being;  he  ir.ay  dissipate  his  thoughts 
in  the  whirl  of  v.aried  occupati.^n,  or  may  plunge  into 
the  tide  of  pleasure  ;  or,  it  the  scene  of  disappoint- 
ment be  too  full  ol  painful  associations,  he  can  shift 
his  abode  at  will,  and  taking,  as  it  were,  the  wings 
of  the  morning,  can  "  fly  to  the  uttermost  pf.rts  of 
the  earth,  and  be  at  rest," 

Hut  woman's  is  comparatively  a  fixed,  a  secluded 
and  a  meditative  life.  She  is  more  the  companion 
of  her  own  thoughts  and  feelings  ;  and  if  they  are 
turned  to  ministers  of  sorrow,  where  shall  she  look 
for  i.u,.6olation  ?  Her  lot  is  to  be  wooed  and  won  ; 
and  if  unhappy  in  her  love,  her  heart  is  like  sonic 
fortress  that  h.as  been  capturetl,  and  sacked,  and 
abandoned,  and  left  desolate. 

How  many  bright  eyes  grow  dim — how  many  sof> 
cheeks  grow  pale— how  many  lovely  forms  fade  away 
into  the  tomb,  and  none  can  tell  the  cause  thai 
blighted  their  loveliness!  As  the  dove  will  clasp  its 
wings  to  its  side,  and  cover  and  conceal  the  arrow 
that  is  preying  on  its  vitals — so  is  it  the  nature  of 
woman,  to  hide  from  the  world  the  pangs oi  wound- 
ed affectioii.  The  love  of  a  delicate  female  is  always 
shy  and  silent.  Even  when  fortunate,  she  scarcelj 
breathes  it  to  herself;  but  when  otherwise,  she  bur- 
ies it  in  the  recesses  of  her  bosom,  and  there  lets  it 
cower  and  brood  among  the  ruins  of  her  peace. 
With  her,  the  desire  of  her  heart  nas  failed — the 
great  charm  of  existence  is  .it  an  end.  She  neglects 
all  the  cheerful  exercises  which  gladden  the  spirits, 
quicken  the  pulses,  and  send  the  tide  of  life  in  health- 
ful currents  tnrough  the  veins.  Her  rest  is  broken — 
the  sweet  refreshment  of  sleep  is  poisoned  by  mel- 
ancholy dreams — "  dry  sorrow  drinks  her  blood," 
until  her  enfeebled  frame  sinks  under  the  slightest 
external  injury.  Look  for  her,  after  a  little  while, 
and  you  find  friendship  weeping  over  her  untimely 
grave,  and  wondering  that  one,  who  but  lately  glow- 
ed with  all  the  radiance  of  health  and  l)cauty,  should 
so  speedily  be  brought  down  to  "  darkness  and  the 
worm."  You  will  be  told  of  some  wintry  chill,  some 
casual  indisposition,  that  laid  her  low — but  no  one 
knows  the  mental  malady  th.at  previously  sapped  her 
strength,  and  made  her  so  easy  a  prey  to  the  spoiler. 

She  is  like  some  tender  tree,  the  pride  and  beauty 
of  the  grove :  graceful  in  its  fo<-m,  bright  in  its  foii.age, 
but  with  the  worm  preying  at  its  heart.  We  find  it 
suddenly  withering,  when  it  should  be  most  fresh  and 
luxuriant.  We  see  it  drooping  its  branches  to  the 
earth,  and  shedding  leaf  by  leaf;  until,  wasted  anc 
perished  away,  it  falls  even  in  the  stillness  of  the  for- 
est ;  and  as  we  muse  over  the  beautiful  ruin,  we  strive 
in  vain  to  recollect  the  bl.ast  or  thunderbolt  that  could 
have  smitten  it  with  decay. 

I  have  seen  many  instances  of  women  running  to 
waste  and  self-neglect,  and  disappearing  gradually 
from  the  earth,  almost  as  if  they  had  been  exhaled  to 
he.iven ,  and  have  repeatedly  fancied,  that  I  could 
trace  their  deaths  through  the  various  declensions 
of  consumption,  colfl,  debility,  langior,  melancholy, 
until  I  reached  the  first  symptom  of  disanpointeil 


I 


iove.    Rut  an 

me ;  (he  circui 

fry  where  they 

in  the  manner 

Every  one 

young  F. , 

to  be  soon  for] 
land  he  was  i 
chitge  of  tre.i' 
•W  public  syin 
,^cnt — .so  gt-nc 
wn  are  apt  to 
under  trial,  tot 
ble  indignation 
of  treason  agai 
tion  of  his  nan" 
ly,  in  tl'.e  hope 
entered  deeply 
his  enemies  l.ir 
his  execution. 

Hut  there  wr 
be  impossible 
fairer  lortunes, 
tiful  and  intere 
brated  Irish  b: 
interested  fervc 
When  every  v 
him;  wiien  bla 
ger  darkened  : 
more  ardently  f 
could  awaken 
■nust  have  beer 
^yas  occiip  ed 

»vc  had  the  pi 
tvveen  them  anc 
»Tho  have  sat  a 
•old  and  lonel 
t.ntjst  lovely  ant 
Hut  then  the 
I'il,  so  dishonoi 
I  01")  to  dwell  or 
ration — none 
circumstances, 
ing  to  melt  sor 
the  dews  o(  hea 
hour  of  anguis 
To  render  h 
she  had  incurrt 
fortunate  attac 
temal  roof,     li 
of  friends  have 
in  by  horror,  < 
of  consolation, 
generous  sensil 
ishing  attentioi 
and  distinction 
tried  by  all  kir 
•dissipate  her  j 
siory  of  her  lov 
ome  strokes  o 
joul — that  pen 
S;;,;l  blast  It,  ne 
>.Dr5  '»e/erobje( 
;oo.;he  was  as 
"jtVif  Jde.    She 
ri    tly  unconsi; 
carried  with  h( 
blandishments 
»ong  of  the  ch; 
The  person 
a  inasqjei  ade 
gone  wretched 
neet  it  in  sue! 
•pectre,  lonely 
to  see  it  dresst 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK.  OF  GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   GtNT. 


11 


nent  of  Ml 

rals  of  th< 
pace  in  th« 
ellovv-men 
r  the  affec- 
;  her  ambi 
Mrice  seeks 
K-r  sympa 
lole  soul  ui 
:(1,  her  CM' 
henrt. 
may  occa- 
feelings  of 
elicity ;  but 
is  thoughts 
pluni;e  into 
disappoint- 
le  csn  shif> 
,  the  wings 
ist  p;.rts  of 

a  secluded 
companion 
if  they  arc 
all  she  look 
1  and  won  ; 
>  like  some 
iacked,  and 

V  many  soft 
s  fade  away 

cause  that 
vill  clasp  its 
li  the  arrow 
le  nature  of 
SO!  wound 
le  is  always 
,he  scarcelj 
ise,  she  bur- 
there  lets  it 

her  peace. 

failed— the 
>he  nejjiects 
I  the  spirits, 
fe  in  health- 
is  broken — 
ned  by  mel- 
her  blood." 
he  slightest 

little  while, 
ler  untimely 

lately  glow- 
:auty,  should 
less  and  the 
y  chill,  some 
-but  no  one 
y sapped  her 
)  the  spoiler. 
;  and  beauty 
in  its  fo'.iage, 
We  find  it 
ost  fresh  and 
nches  to  the 

wasted  anc 
ss  of  the  for- 
iiin,  we  strive 
)lt  that  could 

1  running  to 
ig  gradually 
:n  exhaled  to 
that  I  could 
declensions 
melancholy, 
liisappointeri 


I 


lotre.  But  an  instance  of  the  kind  was  lately  told  to 
me  ;  (he  circumstances  are  well  known  in  the  coun- 
fr>  where  they  happened,  ami  1  shall  but  give  them 
in  the  manner  in  which  they  were  related. 

Eivery  one  must  recollect   the  tragical  story  of 

yo'in^;  F. ,  the  Irish  patriot;   it  was  too  touching 

to  be  soon  forgotten.  During  the  troubles  in  Ire- 
bnd  he  was  tried,  condemned,  and  executed,  on  a 
cli-itije  of  tre.fson.  His  fate  made  a  deep  impression 
m'  public  sympathy.  He  was  so  young — so  intelli- 
,^cnt — so  geinerous — so  brave — so  every  thing  that 
V?.  are  apt  to  like  in  a  young  man.  His  conduct 
under  trial,  too,  was  so  lofty  and  intrepid.  The  no- 
ble indignation  with  which  he  repelled  the  charge 
of  treason  against  his  country — the  eloquent  vindica- 
tion of  his  name — and  his  pathetic  appeal  to  posteri- 
ty, in  tl'.e  hopeless  hour  of  condemnation — all  these 
entered  deeply  into  every  generous  bosom,  and  even 
his  enemies  lamented  the  stern  policy  that  dictated 
his  execution. 

Hut  there  was  one  heart,  whose  anguish  it  would 
be  impossible  to  describe.  In  happier  days  and 
fairer  fortunes,  he  had  won  the  atTections  of  a  beau- 
tiful and  interesting  girl,  the  daughter  of  a  late  cele- 
brated Irish  barrister.  She  loved  him  with  the  dis- 
interested fervour  of  a  woman's  first  and  early  love. 
When  every  worldly  maxim  arrayed  itself  ag.ainst 
him ;  wiien  blasted  in  fortune,  and  disgrace  and  dan- 
ger darkened  around  his  name,  she  loved  him  the 
more  ardently  for  his  very  sufferings.  If,  then,  his  fate 
could  awaken  the  sympathy  even  of  his  foes,  what 
-nust  have  been  the  .igony  of  her,  whose  whole  soul 
^;'as  otcuped  by  his  image.'  Let  those  tell  who 
ivc  had  the  portals  of  the  tomb  suddenly  closed  be- 
tween them  and  the  being  they  most  lovecl  on  earth — 
»yho  have  sat  at  its  threshold,  as  one  shut  out  in  a 
old  and  lonely  world,  from  whence  all  that  was 
t.Tost  lovely  and  loving  had  departed. 

Hut  then  the  horrors  of  such  a  grave  ! — so  fright- 
ful, so  dishonoured  !  There  was  nothing  for  mem- 
ory to  dwell  on  that  could  soothe  the  pang  of  sepa- 
ration—none of  tho.se  tender,  though  melancholy 
circumstances,  that  endear  the  p.arting  scene — noth- 
ing to  melt  sorrow  into  those  blessed  tears,  sent,  like 
the  dews  o(  heaven,  to  revive  the  heart  in  the  parting 
hour  of  anguish. 

To  render  her  widowed  situation  more  desolate,, 
she  had  incurred  her  father's  displeasure  by  her  un- 
fortunate attachment,  and  was  an  exile  from  the  pa- 
ternal roof.  But  could  the  sympathy  and  kind  offices 
of  friends  have  reached  a  spirit  so  shocked  and  driven 
m  by  horror,  she  would  have  experienced  no  want 
of  consolation,  for  the  Irish  are  a  people  of  quick  and 
generous  sensibilities.  The  most  delicate  and  cher- 
ishing attentions  were  paid  her,  by  families  of  wealth 
and  distinction.  She  was  led  into  society,  and  they 
tried  by  all  kinds  of  occupation  and  amusement  to 
"dissipate  her  grief,  and  wean  her  from  the  tragical 
story  of  her  loves.  But  it  was  all  in  vain.  There  are 
ome  strokes  of  calamity  that  scathe  and  scorch  the 
s,iul — that  penetra'r,  to  the  vital  scat  of  happiness — 
-.:j;i  blast  It,  never  again  to  put  forth  bud  or  blossom. 
>,ir<  '"■•'c  objected  to  frequent  the  haunts  of  pleasure, 
^•^Q,  'he  was  as  much  alone  there,  as  in  the  depths  of 
"jjlir  J'Ic.  She  wal'id  about  in  a  sad  reverie,  app.a- 
r«.  lly  unconscious  of  the  world  around  her.  She 
rvried  with  her  an  inward  wo  that  mocked  at  all  the 
blandishments  of  friendship,  and  "heeded  not  the 
»c)ng  of  the  charmer,  charm  he  never  so  wisely." 

The  person  who  told  me  her  story  had  seen  her  at 
a  masqaeiade  There  can  be  no  exhibition  of  far- 
gone  wretchedness  more  striking  and  painful  than  to 
neet  it  in  such  a  scene.  To  find  it  wantlering  like  a 
«pectre,  lonely  and  joyless,  where  all  around  is  gay — 
to  see  it  dressed  out  in  the  trappings  of  nairth,  and 


looking  so  wan  and  wo-bcgone,  as  if  it  ht  1  tried  ir 
vain  to  cheat  the  poor  heart  into  a  momeitary  for- 
getfulness  of  sorrow.  After  strolling  thiough  mv 
splendid  jooms  and  giddy  crowd  with  an  a  r  oi'.uttei 
abstr.action,  she  sat  herself  down  on  the  steps  of  an 
orchestra,  an<l  looking  about  for  some  time  with  a 
vacant  air,  that  showed  her  insensibil.ty  to  tht;  gatisV 
scene,  she  began,  with  the  capriciousness  of  a  sickl] 
heart,  to  wari>le  a  little  plaintive  air.  She  had  wr 
exc|uisite  voice  ;  but  on  this  occasion  it  was  .K 
simple,  so  touching — it  breathed  forth  such  a  soul  o( 
wretchedness — rhat  she  drew  a  crowd,  mute  and 
silent,  around  her,  and  melted  every  one  into  tears. 

The  story  of  one  so  true  and  tender  could  not  b'it 
excite  great  interest  in  a  country  remarkable  for  en- 
thusiasm. It  completely  won  the  he<vt  of  a  brave 
officer,  who  paid  his  addresses  to  her,  and  thought 
that  one  so  true  to  the  dead,  could  not  but  prove  af- 
fectionate to  the  living.  She  declined  his  attentions, 
for  her  thoughts  were  irrecoverably  engrossed  by  the 
memory  of  her  former  lover.  He,  however,  persisted 
in  his  suit.  He  solicited  not  her  tenderness,  but  her 
esteem.  He  was  assisted  by  her  conviction  of  his 
worth,  and  her  sense  of  her  own  destitute  and  de- 
pendent situation,  for  she  was  existing  on  the  kind- 
ness of  friends.  In  a  word,  he  at  length  succeeded 
in  gaining  her  hand,  though  with  the  solemn  assur- 
ance, that  her  heart  was  unalterably  another's. 

He  took  her  with  him  to  Sicily,  hoping  that  a 
change  of  scene  might  wear  out  the  remembrance  o( 
early  woes.  She  was  an  amiable  and  exemplary 
wife,  and  made  an  effort  to  be  a  happy  one ;  but 
nothing  could  cure  the  silent  and  devouring  m.clan- 
choly  that  h.ad  entered  into  her  very  soul.  She  wasted 
away  in  a  slow,  but  hopeless  decline,  and  at  length 
sunk  into  the  grave,  the  victim  of  a  broken  heart. 

It  was  on  her  that  Moore,  the  distinguished  Ir*\flb 
poet,  composed  the  following  lines  : 

She  is  far  from  the  land  where  her  young  hero  ileciM, 

And  lovers  around  her  are  ^ij^hing  ; 
But  coldly  she  turns  from  their  eaie,  and  weeps 

For  her  heart  in  his  grave  is  lying. 

She  sin|^  the  wild  sone  of  her  dear  native  plaint. 

Every  note  which  he  loved  awaking — 
Ah  1  little  they  think,  who  delight  in  her  strains, 

Hew  the  heart  of  the  minstrel  is  breaking ! 

He  had  lived  for  his  love — for  his  country  he  died. 
They  were  all  that  to  life  had  entwined  him— 

Nor  soon  shall  the  tears  of  his  country  be  dried. 
Nor  long  will  hi;  love  stay  behind  him  I 

Oh  !  make  her  a  grave  where  the  sunbeams  rest, 

When  they  promise  a  glorious  morrow  ; 
They'll  shine  o'er  her  sleep,  like  a  smile  from  the  WMt. 


% 


torn  her  own  loved  island  of  sorrow  ! 


THE  ART  OF  BO0K-MAKIN8. 


"  If  that  severe  doom  of  Synesius  he  true — '  it  is  a  greatai  cStetw* 
to  steal  dead  men's  labours  than  their  clothes,'—  what  shall  uscoBt 
of  most  writers  ?  " 

BtnrroN'i  A  naiem-  e/  MtUneMf 

I  HAVE  often  wondered  at  the  extreme  fecundity 
of  the  press,  and  how  it  comes  to  pass  that  so  manj 
heads,  on  which  Nature  seems  to  nave  indicted  the 
curse  of  barrenness,  yet  teem  with  voluminous  pro 
ductions.  As  a  man  travels  on,  however,  in  the  jour- 
ney of  life,  his  objects  of  wonder  daily  diminish,  an** 
he  is  continually  finding  out  some  very  simple  cauie 
for  some  great  matter  of  marvel.  Thus  have  J 
chanced,  in  my  peregrinations  about  this  great  me- 
tropolis, to  blunder  upon  a  scene  which  unfolded  to 
me  some  of  the  mysteries  of  the  book-making  crafl 
and  1*  once  put  an  end  to  my  astonishment. 


90 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


'i 


I  was  one  summer's  day  loitering  through  the  great 
saloons  of  the  British  Museum,  with  that  listlussness 
with  which  one  is  apt  to  saunter  about  a  room  in 
v/unn  weather;  sometimes  lollin^jover  the  glass  cases 
of  minerals,  sometimes  stuilyinj,f  the  hieroglyphics  on 
an  Egyptian  mummy,  ant!  sometimes  tryinjj,  with 
nearly  equal  success,  to  coTnpreheml  the  allegorical 
paintun^s  on  the  lofty  ceilinys.  While  1  was  ga/.ing 
about  in  this  idle  way,  my  attention  was  attracted  to 
a  distant  tloor,  at  the  end  of  a  suite  of  apartments. 
It  was  closed,  but  every  now  and  then  it  would  open, 
and  some  strange-favoured  being,  geneially  clothed 
in  black,  would  steal  forth,  and  glide  through  the 
rooms,  without  noticing  any  of  the  surrounding  ob- 
iects.  There  was  an  air  of  mystery  about  this  that 
piqued  my  languid  curiosity,  and  I  (lutei-mined  to  at- 
tempt the  passage  of  that  strait,  antl  to  explore  the 
unknown  regions  that  lay  beyond.  I'lie  door  yielded 
to  my  hand,  with  all  that  facility  with  vvhich  the  por- 
tals of  enchanted  castles  yield  to  the  .-•dvcnturous 
knight-errant.  I  found  myself  in  a  spacious  :hamber, 
surrounded  with  great  cases  of  vener;;i)le  books. 
Above  the  cases,  and  just  under  the  cornice,  were 
arranged  a  great  number  of  quaint  black-looking 
portraits  of  ancient  authors.  Abof.t  the  room  were 
placed  long  tables,  with  stands  for  reading  and  writ- 
ing, at  which  sat  many  pale,  cad.tvtrous  personages, 
poring  intently  over  dusty  volumes,  rummaging 
among  mouldy  m.inuscripts,  and  taking  copious 
notes  of  their  contents.  The  most  hushed  stillness 
reigned  through  this  mysterious  apartment,  except- 
ing that  you  might  hear  the  racing  of  pens  over  sheets 
of  paper,  or,  occasionally,  the  deep  sigh  of  one  of 
thfise  sages,  as  he  shil'ted  his  position  to  turn  over 
the  page  of  an  old  folio;  doubtless  arising  from  that 
hol'owi.ess  and  flatulency  incident  to  learned  re- 
search. 

Now  and  then  one  of  these  personages  would 
write  something  on  a  small  sli|)  ol  paper,  and  ring  a 
bell,  whereupon  a  familiar  would  appear,  take  the 
paper  in  profound  silence,  glitle  out  of  the  room, 
and  return  shortly  loaded  with  ponderous  tomes, 
upon  which  the  other  would  fall,  tooth  and  nail, 
with  famished  voracity.  1  had  no  longer  a  doubt 
that  I  had  happened  upon  a  body  of  magi,  deeply 
engaged  in  the  study  of  occult  sciences.  The  scene 
reminded  me  of  an  old  Arabian  tale,  of  a  philoso- 
pher, who  was  shut  up  in  an  enchanted  library,  in 
the  bosom  of  a  mountain,  that  opened  only  once  a 
year ;  where  he  made  the  spirits  of  the  place  obey 
his  commands,  and  bring  him  books  of  all  kinds  of 
dark  knowledge,  so  that  at  the  end  of  the  year, 
when  the  magic  portal  once  more  swung  open  on  its 
hinges,  he  issued  forth  so  versed  in  forbidden  lore, 
as  to  be  able  to  soar  above  the  heads  of  the  multi- 
tude, and  to  control  the  powers  of  Nature. 

My  curiosity  being  now  fully  aroused,  I  whispered 
to  one  of  the  familiars,  as  he  was  about  to  leave  the 
room,  and  begged  an  interpretation  of  the  strange 
scene  before  me.  A  few  words  were  sufficient  lor 
the  purpose : — I  found  that  these  mysterious  person- 
ages, wliom  I  had  mistaken  for  magi,  were  princi- 
pilly  authors,  and  were  in  the  very  act  of  manufac- 
tari:\g  books.  I  was,  in  fact,  in  the  reading-room 
of  the  grciit  British  Library,  an  immense  collection 
of  volumjs  of  all  ages  and  languages,  many  of  which 
arc  now  forgotten,  and  most  of  which  ire  seldom 
read.  To  these  sei^aestered  pools  rtf  obsolete  liter.1- 
turs,  thefefore,  do  many  modem  authors  repair,  and 
draw  buckets  full  ol  classic  lore,  or  "  pure  English, 
undeClcd,"  wherewith  to  swell  their  own  scanty  rills 
ol'  thought. 

Being  now  in  possession  of  the  secret,  I  sat  do'vvn 
In  a  comer,  and  watched  the  process  of  this  book 
manuTactoiY.     I   noticed  one  lean.   bilious-looking 


wight,  who  sought  none  but  the  most  worm  laten 
volumes,  printed  in  black-letter.  He  was  evident!) 
constructing  some  work  of  profound  erudition,  that 
would  be  purchased  by  every  nan  who  wished  to 
be  thought  learned,  placed  upon  :i  conspicuous  shel: 
of  his  library,  or  laid  open  u|.on  his  table — bul 
never  re.id.  I  observed  him,  now  and  then,  draw  a 
large  fr.agment  of  biscuit  out  of  his  pocket,  ant' 
gnaw;  whether  it  was  his  dinner,  or  whether  he 
was  endeavouring  to  keep  off  that  exhaustion  cf  the 
stom.ich,  produced  by  much  pondering  over  dry 
works.  I  eave  to  harder  students  than  myself  tc 
determine. 

There  was  one  dapper  little  gentleman  in  bright 
coloured  clothes,  witn  a  chirping  gossiping  expres- 
sion of  countenance,  who  had  .all  the  appe.iiance  ol 
an  author  on  good  terms  with  his  bookseller.  After 
considering  him  .T.tentively,  I  recognised  in  him  a 
diligent  p"  .,)  of  miscellaneous  works,  which 
bustled  '  I  well  with  the  trade.  I  w.as  curious  to 
see  how  ne  manufactured  his  wares.  1  le  made  more 
stir  and  show  of  business  than  any  of  the  others; 
dipping  into  various  books,  fluttering  over  the  leaves 
of  manuscripts,  taking  a  morsel  out  of  one,  a  morsel 
out  of  another,  "  line  upon  line,  precept  upon  precept, 
here  a  little  and  there  a  little."  The  contents  of  his 
book  seemed  to  be  as  heterogeneous  as  those  of  the 
witches'  cauldron  in  Macbeth.  It  was  here  a  finger 
and  there  a  thumb,  toe  of  frog  and  blind  worm's 
sting,  with  his  own  gossip  poured  in  like  "  baboon's 
blood,"  to  make  the  medley  "slab  and  good." 

After  all,  thought  I,  may  not  this  pilfering  dispo- 
sition be  implanted  in  authors  for  wise  purposes? 
m.ay  it  not  be  the  way  in  which  Providence  h.as  take, 
caie  that  the  seeds  of  knowledge  and  wistlom  shal' 
be  preserved  from  age  to  age,  in  spite  of  the  inevilA' 
ble  decay  of  the  works  in  which  they  were  first  pro- 
duced ?  We  see  that  Nature  has  wisely,  though 
whimsically  provided  for  the  conveyance  of  seeds 
from  clime  to  clime,  in  the  maws  of  certain  birds ; 
so  that  animals,  which,  in  themselves,  are  little  bet- 
ter than  carrion,  and  apparently  the  lawless  plunde:- 
ers  of  the  orchard  and  the  corn-field,  are,  in  fact, 
Nature's  carriers  to  disperse  and  perpetuate  her 
blessings.  In  like  manner,  the  beauties  and  fine 
thoughts  of  ancient  .and  obsolete  writers  are  caught 
up  by  these  (lights  of  predatory  authors,  and  cast 
forth,  again  to  flourish  and  bear  fruit  in  a  remote 
and  distant  tract  of  time.  Many  of  their  works, 
also,  undergo  a  kind  of  metempsychosis,  and  spring 
up  under  new  forms.  What  was  formerly  a  ponder- 
ous history,  revives  in  the  shape  of  a  romance — an 
old  legend  changes  into  a  modern  play — and  a  sober 
philosoi)hical  treatise  furnishes  the  body  for  a  whole 
series  of  bouncing  and  s])arkling  essays.  Thus  it  is 
in  the  clearing  of  our  American  woodlands ;  where 
we  bum  down  a  forest  of  stately  pines,  a  progeny 
of  dwarf  oaks  start  up  in  their  place ;  and  we  never 
see  the  prostrate  tnink  of  a  tree,  mouldering  into 
soil,  but  it  gives  birth  to  a  whole  tribe  of  fungi. 

Let  us  not,  then,  lament  over  the  decay  and  ob- 
livion into  which  ancient  writers  descend ;  thej  c" 
but  su*-mit  to  the  great  law  of  Nature,  which  " 
Clares     .at  all  sublunary  shapes  of  mattet  shal'*^ 
limitft-  in  their  duration,  but  which  decrees,  ?"" 
that  their  elements  shall  never  perish.    Generaffbii 
after  generation,  both  in  animal  and  vegetable  life, 
passes  away,  but  the  vital  principle  is  transmitted 
to  posterity,  and  the  species  continue  to  flourish. 
Thus,  al.so,  do  authors  beget  authors,  and  h.avinj; 
produced  a  numerous  progeny,  in  a  good  old  agt 
they  sleep  with  their  fathers ;  that  is  to  say,  with 
the  authors  who  preceded  them — and  from  whoit 
they  had  stolen. 

Vv  hilst  I  was  indulging  in  ibese  rambling  fancier 


THE  SKETCH-BO jK  OF  GEOFFREY  CR.\YON.  Gmt. 


n 


\  had  leanetl  my  hea'l  against  a  pile  of  reverend  folios. 
VVneiher  >t  was  owing  to  the  soporitic  eni.iDatiuns 
from  thest  works  ;  or  to  tht;  profound  quiet  of  the 
room  ;  or  to  the  lassitude  arising  from  much  wander- 
ing; or  to  an  unlucky  habit  of  napping  at  improper 
tinei  and  places,  with  which  I  am  grievously  aftlictf  d. 
yj  it  was,  that  I  fell  into  a  doze.  Still,  however,  my 
!ru|.(i"*''""  continued  busy,  and  indeed  the  same 
w  rne  remair.'.nl  before  my  mind's  eve,  only  a  little 
;I;angeil  in  some  of  the  details,  I  dreamt  that  the 
:)  ?mtter  was  still  decorated  with  the  portraits  of  an- 
.y'nt  authors,  but  the  number  was  increased.  The 
l.'jg  table-j  had  disappeared,  and  in  place  of  the  sage 
magi,  I  bebeld  a  ragged,  threadbare  throng,  such  as 
may  be  seen  plying  about  the  great  repository  of 
cast-off  clothes,  Monmouth-street.  Whenever  they 
seized  upon  a  book,  by  one  of  those  incongruities 
coininon  to  dreams,  methought  it  turned  into  a  gar- 
ment of  foreign  or  antique  fashion,  with  which  they 
proceeded  to  equip  themselves.  I  noticed,  however, 
that  no  one  pretended  to  clothe  himself  from  any 
particular  suit,  but  took  a  sleeve  from  one,  a  c^pe 
Ironi  another,  a  skirt  from  a  third,  thus  decking  him- 
self out  piecemeal,  while  some  of  his  original  rags 
would  peep  out  from  among  his  borrowed  finery. 

There  was  a  portly,  rosy,  well-fed  parson,  whom  I 
obr.crved  ogling  several  mouldy  polemical  writers 
through  an  eye-glas.s.  He  soon  contrived  to  slip  on 
the  voluminous  tranile  of  one  of  the  old  fathers,  and 
having  purioined  the  gray  beard  of  another,  endea- 
voured to  look  exceedingly  wise  ;  but  the  smirking 
commonphce  of  his  countenance  set  at  nought  all  the 
tmppings  of  wisdom.  One  sickly-looking  gentleman 
w.is  busied  embroidering  a  very  flimsy  garment  with 
eeid  thread  dmwn  out  of  several  ol<l  court-dresses  of 
tte  reigri  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  Another  h.id  trimmed 
himself  magnificently  from  an  illuminated  manu- 
ji-ript,  h.id  stuck  a  noseg.ay  in  his  bosom,  culled  from 
"The  Paradise  of  Dainty  Devices,"  and  having  put 
Sir  I'hilip  Sidney's  hat  on  one  side  of  his  head, 
stnitted  off  with  an  exquisite  air  of  vulgar  elegance. 
\  third,  who  was  but  of  puny  dimensions,  had  bol- 
stered him.self  out  bravely  with  the  spoils  from  sev- 
eral obscure  tracts  of  philosophy,  so  that  he  had  a 
very  imposing  front,  but  he  was  lamentably  tattered 
'n  rear,  and  I  perceived  th.it  he  had  patched  his 
s:iiall-clothes  with  scraps  of  parchment  from  a  Latin 
author. 

There  were  some  well-dressed  gentlemen,  it  is  tnie, 
who  only  helped  themselves  to  a  gem  or  so,  which 
sjiarkled  among  their  own  ornaments,  without  eclips- 
ini,-  them.  Some,  too,  seemed  to  contemplate  the 
costumes  of  the  old  writers,  merely  to  imbibe  their 
principles  of  taste,  and  to  catch  their  air  and  spirit ; 
but  i  grieve  to  say,  that  too  many  were  apt  to  array 
themselves,  from  top  to  toe.  in  the  patch-work  man- 
ner I  have  mentioned.  I  should  not  omit  to  speak  of 
ne  genius,  in  drab  breeches  and  gaiters,  and  an 
A.rcaduin  hat,  who  had  a  \iolent  propensity  to  the 
p.istoral,  but  whose  rural  wanderings  had  been  con- 
fined to  the  classic  haunts  of  Primrose  Hill,  and  the 
lolitudes  of  the  Regent's  Park.  He  had  decked 
.;nself  in  wreaths  and  ribands  from  all  the  old  p.is- 
*.Dial  poets,  and  hanging  his  head  on  one  side,  went 
.bout  with  a  fantastical,  lack-a-daisical  air,  "bab- 
bling about  green  fields."  But  the  personage  that 
nest  strucl'  my  attention,  was  a  pragmatical  old 
(jtntleman,  in  clerical  robes,  with  a  remarkably  large 
uid  square,  but  bald  he.ad.  He  entert-d  the  room 
wheezing  and  putTing,  elbowed  his  way  through  the 
throng,  with  a  look  of  sturdy  self-confidence,  and 
having  I'aid  hands  upon  a  thick  Greek  quarto, 
clapped  it  upon  his  head,  and  swept  majestically 
•way  in  a  formidable  frizzkd  wig. 

In  tht  height  of  this  literary  masquerade,  a  cry 


suddenly  resounded  from  every  side,  of  thie>  t» ' 
thieves  !  "  I  looked,  and  lo  !  'he  portraits  ibout  tl-.< 
walls  became  animated  !  The  old  authors  tiirust  out 
first  a  head,  then  a  shoulder,  from  the  canv-as,  looked 
down  curiously,  for  an  instant,  ufon  the  mutlc) 
throng,  and  then  descended,  with  fury  in  their  eyrs, 
to  claim  their  rifled  property.  The  scene  of  scan> 
ncring  and  hubbub  that  ensued  baffles  .all  cli'scripti'jn. 
The  unhappy  culprits  endeavoured  in  vain  lo  escanr 
with  their  phindi.T,  On  one  side  might  be  seen  half- 
a-<lozcn  old  monks,  stripping  a  modern  professor ;  on 
another,  there  was  sad  devastation  carriid  into  the 
ranks  of  modern  dramatic  writers.  IJeauiiiont  and 
Fletcher,  side  by  side,  raged  round  the  fielct  like  Cas- 
tor and  Pollux,  and  sturdy  Ben  Jonson  enacted  more 
wonders  than  when  a  volunteer  with  the  army  in 
F'landcrs.  As  to  the  dapper  little  compiler  of  farragos 
mentioned  some  time  since,  he  had  arrayed  himself 
in  as  many  patches  and  colours  as  Har!ei|iiin,  and 
there  was  as  fierce  a  contention  of  claimants  alwut 
him,  as  about  the  dead  body  of  Patroclus.  I  waj 
grieved  to  see  many  men,  whom  I  had  been  ac- 
customed to  look  upon  with  awe  and  reverence,  fain 
to  ste.ll  off  with  scarce  a  rag  to  cover  their  naked- 
ness. Just  then  my  eye  was  caught  by  the  pragmati- 
cal old  gentleman  in  the  Greek  grizzled  wi;,%  who  was 
scrambling  away  in  sore  affright  with  half  a  score  ol 
authors  in  full  cry  after  him.  They  were  close  upon 
his  haunches  ;  in  a  twinkling  off  went  his  wig  ;  at 
ever)'  turn  some  strip  of  raiment  was  petled  away  ; 
until  in  a  few  moments,  from  his  domineering  pomp, 
he  shrunk  into  a  little  ptirsy,  "cho])p'd  bald  shot," 
and  made  his  exit  with  only  a  few  tags  and  rags  flut- 
tering at  his  back. 

There  was  .something  so  ludicrous  in  the  c.ttastro- 
phe  of  this  learned  Theban.  that  I  burst  into  an  im- 
moderate fit  of  laughter,  which  broke  the  whole  illu 
sion.  The  tumult  and  the  scuffle  were  at  a.r  crA 
The  chamber  resumed  its  usual  appearance.  Tht 
old  authors  shrunk  back  into  their  picture-frames,  aud 
hung  in  shadowy  solemnity  along  the  walls.  In  short, 
I  found  myself  wide  awake  in  my  corner,  with  the 
whole  assemblage  of  bookworms  gating  at  me  with 
astonishment.  Nothing  of  the  dream  had  b'.en  real 
but  my  burst  of  laughter,  a  sound  never  before  heard 
in  that  grave  sanctuary,  and  so  abhorrent  to  the  ears 
of  v/isdom,  as  to  electrify  the  fraternity. 

The  librarian  now  stepped  up  to  me.  and  ih:- 
manded  whether  I  had  a  card  of  admission.  At  first 
I  did  not  comprehend  him,  but  I  soon  found  that  the 
library  was  a  kind  of  literary  "  preserve,"  subject  t<; 
game  laws,  and  that  no  one  must  presume  to  hunt 
there  without  special  license  and  permission.  In  a 
word,  I  stood  convicted  of  being  an  arrant  poacher, 
and  was  glad  to  make  a  precipit,ite  retreat,  leat 
I  should  have  a  whole  pack  of  authors  let  loost 
upon  me. 


A  ROYAL  POET. 


Thoueh  your  tjody  be  confined 

And  (oft  love  a J>riioner  bound, 
Yet  the  beauty  of  your  mind 
Neither  cheek  nor  chain  hath  fnuod. 
Look  out  nobly,  tlien,  and  diur 
Kven  the  <etten  that  you  w«&r. 

Flstchsb. 

On  a  soft  sunny  morning  in  the  genial  month  of 
May,  I  made  an  excursion  to  Windsor  Castle.  It  ta 
a  place  full  of  storied  and  poetical  associations.  Tb« 
very  external  ascect  of  the  prcud  old  pile  is  enouffb 
to  inspire  high  tKougfht.     I»  nrii'?  its  Irregular  walW 


a 


WOktCSOF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


I:  i 


and  mnsnive  towers,  like  a  mural  crown  around  the 
brow  of  a  lofty  riiltje,  wivc.  Us  royal  banner  in  ihc 
cloucU,  and  looks  down  with  a  lordly  air  upon  the 
surroiindini;  world. 

On  this  morning;,  the  wrathrr  wn»  of  this  voluptu- 
ous vernal  kind  which  calls  fi)rth  all  the  latent  ro- 
mance of  a  man's  temperainet\t,  fiilinjj  his  mind  with 
music,  and  ilispusin^  him  to  (piote  jioftry  and  drfani 
of  beauty.  In  w.indcrinjj  ihri)u^;h  the  maKnit'iciiit 
MJoons  and  lonj(  echoing  p.dlcrK-s  of  the  castle.  I 
pas.sed  with  indiirer(-ncc  liy  whole  rows  of  (wrtr.iits 
of  warriors  and  sLitesmen,  hut  lingered  in  the  ch.uti- 
bcr  where  hanjj  the  likenesses  ol  the  beauties  th.it 

faced  the  ^ay  court  of  Ch.i.-lcs  the  Second  ;  and  .'is 
gazed  ujjon  them,  depicted  with  amorous  hall- 
disnevelled  tresses,  and  the  sleepy  eve  of  hjve,  I 
blessed  the  pencd  of  Sir  I'oter  I.ely,  wliich  h.a<l  thus 
enabled  me  lo  bask  in  the  retlccled  rays  of  bc.iuty. 
In  traversinji  also  the  "  larj^e  green  courts,"  with 
sunshine  beaminjj  on  the  ^ray  walls  and  glancini; 
along  the  velvet  tuif,  my  mind  w:is  enjjrossed  wiiii 
the  im.ifje  of  the  tender,  the  gallant,  but  hapless 
Surrey,  ind  his  account  of  his  Ioiterin|,'s  .about  them 
in  his  siriplinjf  days,  when  enamuured  of  the  Lady 
(.itraUline — 

"  With  (yen  can!  up  unto  th«  maiden't  towtr. 
With  eaui*  tiKhs,  such  u  man  draw  in  lovt." 

In  this  mood  of  mere  poetical  susceptibility,  I  vis 
Itwl  the  ancient  keen  of  the  castle,  where  James  the 
First  of  Scotland,  tne  pride  and  theme  of  Scottish 
poets  and  historians,  was  for  many  years  of  his  youth 
detained  a  prisoner  of  state.  It  is  a  larije  gniy 
tower,  that  has  stood  the  brunt  of  a;jes,  and  is  still 
in  good  preser\aiion.  It  stands  on  a  mounil  which 
elevates  it  above  the  other  parts  of  the  castle,  and 
a  great  flight  of  steps  leads  to  the  interior.  In  the 
.irmoury,  which  is  a  Gothic  hall,  furnished  with 
weapons  of  various  kinds  and  ajjes,  I  was  shown  a 
coat  of  annour  hanifinj^  apainst  the  w.dl,  which  I 
was  told  had  once  belonged  to  James.  From  hence 
I  w.\s  conducted  up  a  stiir-case  to  a  stiite  of  apart- 
ments of  faded  magnitkence,  hung  with  storied  tap- 
estry, which  formed  his  prison,  and  the  scene  of  th.at 
passionate  and  fanciful  amour,  which  has  woven  into 
the  web  of  his  story  the  magical  hues  of  poetry  and 
Bction. 

The  whole  history  of  this  amiable  but  unfortun.ite 
prince  is  highly  romantic.  At  the  tender  age  of 
eleven,  he  w;is  sent  from  his  home  by  his  father, 
Robert  HI.,  and  destined  for  the  French  court,  to 
be  reared  under  the  eye  of  the  French  monarch,  se- 
cure from  the  treachery  aiul  danger  that  surrounded 
the  royal  house  of  Scotland.  It  wiis  his  mishap,  in 
the  course  of  his  voyage,  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
English,  .and  he  was  detained  a  prisoner  by  Henry 
IV.,  notwithstanding  that  a  truce  existed  between 
the  two  countries. 

The  intelligence  of  his  capture,  coming  in  the  train 
of  m.>iny  sorrows  and  disasters,  proved  fatal  to  his 
unhappy  father. 

"  'I  he  news,"  we  are  told,  "  was  brought  to  him 
while  at  supper,  and  did  so  overwhelm  him  with 
jfrief,  th^.t  he  was  almost  re.ady  to  give  up  the  ghost 
Into  the  hands  of  the  servants  that  attended  him. 
But  fjeing  carried  to  his  bed-chamber,  he  abstained 
from  all  food,  and  in  three  days  died  of  hunger  and 
grief,  at  Rothesay."  ♦ 

J^mes  was  detained  in  captl.ity  .above  eighteen 
J^ajs;  b;it,  though  deprived  of  person.d  lil)erty,  he 
was  treated  with  the  respect  due  to  his  rank.  Care 
was  taken  to  instruct  him  in  all  the  branches  of  use- 
ful knowlxlge  cultivated  at  that  period,  and  to  give 


*  Bocluuika 


him  those  mental  and  personal  accomplishm^nr 
deemed  proper  for  a  prince.  Perhaps  tn  thlt  re 
sriect,  his  imprisonment  was  an  advantage,  .as  it  en> 
•anled  him  lo  apply  himself  the  more  exclusively  tc 
his  improvement,  and  miietly  to  imbil>c  th.tl  rich 
fund  of  knowledge,  and  to  cherish  those  elegant 
t.istes,  which  h.ive  given  such  a  lustre  to  his  mem- 
ory, The  jiicture  drawn  of  him  in  early  li*",  by  the 
Scottish  histori.ins,  is  highly  captivating,  and  seeim 
rather  the  description  of  a  hero  of  rom.mce,  than  ol 
a  cliar.acter  in  real  history.  He  was  well  lean  t,  w. 
are  told,  "  to  fight  with  the  sword,  to  joust,  to  toijr- 
nay,  to  wrestle,  to  sing  and  dance  ;  he  was  an  expert 
meiliciner,  right  cralty  in  playing  bflh  of  lute  and 
harp,  and  sundry  other  instrument •*  of  music,  an 
was  expert  in  grammar,  oratory,  and  poeliy."* 

With  this  combination  of  manly  aiul  delicate  ac 
complishments,  fitting  him  to  shine  both  in  active 
and  elegant  life,  and  calculated  to  give  him  an  in- 
tense relish  for  joyous  existence,  it  must  have  bet  n 
a  severe  trial,  in  an  age  of  bustle  and  chivalry,  Ic 
p.ass  the  spring-time  of  his  years  in  monotonou^ 
captivity.  It  was  the  good  fortune  of  James,  how- 
ever, to  be  gifted  with  a  jiowerful  poetic  fancy,  and 
to  be  visited  in  his  prison  by  the  choicest  inspira- 
tions of  the  muse.  .Some  minds  corrode,  and  grow 
inactive,  under  the  loss  of  personal  liberty;  others 
grow  morbid  and  irritable ;  but  it  is  the  nature  of 
the  poet  to  become  tender  and  imaginatixe  in  tht 
loneliness  of  confinement.  He  banciuets  \ip>m  the 
honey  of  his  own  thoughts,  and,  like  the  captive 
bird,  pours  forth  his  soul  in  melody. 

Have  you  mil  >«rn  ihe  ni(hlingal« 

A  pitt{Tim  co'ii.M  into  n  cukc. 
How  (lotti  <.he  .:!ijnl  tier  wonlcLl  'jlt^ 

In  lliat  tier  lourly  l\ermila£e  I 

Even  there  her  ch.irrriiije  meloHv  dnth  prove 
That  all  tier  boughs  are  treei.  her  cage  a  KTOv«.t 

Indeed,  it  is  the  divine  attribute  of  the  im  Jg'in.i 
tion,  that  it  is  irrepressible,  unconlinable;  that  whci 
the  real  world  is  shut  out,  it  can  create  a  world  foi 
itself,  and,  with  necromantic  power,  can  conjure  jf 
glorious  shapes  and  forms,  and  brilliant  visions,  tc 
make  solitude  populous,  and  irradiate  the  gloom 
of  the  dungeon.  Such  w.as  the  world  of  jiomp  and 
p.ageant  that  lived  round  Tasso  in  his  dismal  coll  at 
Ferrara,  when  he  conceived  the  splendid  scenes  of 
his  Jerusalem;  and  we  may  conceive  the  "King's 
Quair,"J  composed  by  James  during  his  captivity  ai 
Windsor,  as  another  of  those  beautiful  breakings 
forth  of  the  soul  from  the  restraint  and  gloom  of  the 
prison-house. 

The  subject  of  his  poem  is  his  love  for  the  lady 
Jarc  Beaufort,  datighterof  the  F.arl  of  Somerset,  and 
a  pri.'.cess  of  the  blood-royal  of  England,  of  whom 
he  became  enamoured  in  the  course  of  his  captivity. 
What  gives  it  peculiar  value,  is,  that  it  may  be  con- 
sidered a  transcript  of  the  royal  bard's  true  feelings, 
and  the  story  of  his  real  loves  and  fortunes.  It  is 
not  often  that  sovereigns  write  poetry,  or  that  poets 
deal  in  fact.  It  is  gratifying  to  the  pritle  of  a  com- 
mon man,  to  find  a  monarch  thus  suing,  as  it  werf., 
for  admission  into  his  closet,  and  seeking  to  win  hii 
favour  by  administering  to  his  pleasures.  It  is  a 
proof  of  the  honest  ci|uaiity  of  intellectual  competition 
which  strips  otT  all  the  trappings  of  factitious  dignity 
brings  the  canilidate  dovm  to  a  level  with  his  fellow- 
men,  and  obliges  him  to  depend  on  his  own  native 
powers  for  distinction.  It  is  curious,  too,  to  get  at 
the  history  of  a  monarch's  heart,  and  to  find  the 
simple  affections  of  human  nature  throbbing  undei 
the  ermine.    But  James  had  learnt  to  be  a  poet  be- 

I      *  t^alleoden'n  translation  of  Hffctor  Boyce. 

I     t  Roller  L'Eilranitc.  t  Quail,  w  old  tarm  foi  Rrnik 


THE  SKkTCH-BOOK  OF   GEOFFREY  CRAYON,   Gent. 


38 


I  lorm  foi  Knnfc 


loiT  he  waK  a  V'mg  ;  he  wa>  ichoolrd  in  mlvcrHity, 
■inil  rriiritl  in  the  company  of  his  own  thoii^'ht">. 
Mon.irchi  have  srldom  timr  to  parli-y  wild  thitir 
hcariH,  or  !o  nicdiiate  ihrir  minds  into  poftr\  ;  and 
ha<l  Jamrs  licen  l)rouKlit  up  aniidsi  ihc  adulation 
•»nd  K^y'y  o'  a  court,  wc  slumld  never,  in  all  pioba- 
5ilj;y,  have  hail  such  a  poem  as  the  (^u.iir. 

I  nAve  heen  particularly  interested  hy  those  parts 
:f  ihe  j)Oem  which  lireathir  his  imniediaie  thoujjhts  j 
•0!icerninj{   lii^  situation,  or  which   are   connected  I 
irilli  the  apaitineni   in  the  Tower.     'I'hev  h.ive  thus  | 
\  personil  atui  local  charm,  and  are  k'^''"  ^^i'h  such 
circumstanti.d  truth,  as  tn  make  ihe  reader  present 
with  the  captive  in  his  prison,  ami  the  comp.uiion  ol 
his  meditations. 

Such  is  the  account  which  he  (rives  of  his  weari- 
ness of  spirit,  and  of  the  incident  tliat  lirst  sUKi;esied 
the  idea  iif  vvnling  the  poem.  It  was  the  stiil  iiiid- 
w.iich  ofa  clear  moonlight  ni^jht  ;  th«  stars,  lie  s.iys, 
wt-rc  twinkliiifj  as  tiie  hre  in  the  hii;h  vault  ol  he.-iven, 
and  "Cynthia  rinsing  her  ^joldin  locks  in  A(|uarius" 
—he  lay  in  hed  wakeful  and  restless,  and  took  a 
hook  to  lic(,'uilc  the  tedious  hours.  Tlie  hook  lie 
chose  was  lioeiius'  Consolations  of  I'hilosopiiy.  a 
work  popiil  ir  ainonjj  the  writers  of  that  d.iy,  and 
which  h.ul  been  ti.miiiatcd  by  his  jjreat  prototype 
Chaucer.  From  the  hij,di  euloj^ium  in  which  he 
indul^;i:s,  it  is  evident  this  was  one  of  his  favour- 
ite volumes  while  in  prison  ;  and  indecal,  it  is  ;in  ad- 
niir  ihle  text-h.iok  for  meditation  under  a<K'ersity,  It 
is  llie  le>;.icy  ofa  noble  and  enduring  spirit,  purified 
by  .sorrow  and  suffering,  hequeatliiii);  to  its  success- 
ors in  calamity  the  mayims  of  sweet  morality,  and 
the  trai.isof  elo(|uent  but  simple  reasoning,  by  which 
ir  was  enabled  to  be.ir  up  against  the  v.-iiious  ills  of 
iiio.  It  is  a  t.disman  which  the  unfortun.ite  m.iy 
erasure  up  in  his  bosom,  or,  like  the  good  King 
'<unes,  lay  upon  his  iil^jhtly  pillow. 

A.ter  I  losing  the  volume,  he  turns  its  contents 
over  in  liis  imiul,  .'ir.d  gradually  falls  into  a  tit  of 
'ausing  on  the  licklcness  of  lortune,  the  vicissitudes 
of  his  own  life,  .and  the  rvils  that  h.ul  overtaken  him 
even  in  his  tender  youth.  Suddenly  he  hears  the 
bell  ringing  to  matins,  but  its  sound  chiming  in 
with  his  mel.iuclioly  fancies,  seems  to  him  like  a 
voice  exhortinj,'  him  to  write  his  story.  In  the  spirit 
of  poetic  errantry,  he  determines  to  comply  with 
this  intim.ition ;  he  therelore  Lakes  pen  in  hand, 
makes  with  it  a  si','n  of  the  cross,  to  implore  a  bene- 
diction, and  sallies  lorlh  into  the  fairy  land  of  poetry. 
There  is  something  extremely  tancilul  in  all  this,  and 
It  is  interesting,  .is  furnishing  a  striking  and  beautiful 
instance  of  the  simple  manner  in  whici)  wliole  trains 
of  poetical  thought  are  sometimes  awakened,  and 
literary  enterprises  suggested  to  the  mind. 

In  tne.  course  of  his  poem,  he  more  than  once  be- 
wails the  peculi.ir  hardness  of  his  f.ite,  thus  doomed 
to  lonely  and  inactive  life,  and  shut  up  from  the 
fr?tdom  anil  pleasure  of  the  world,  in  which  the 
meanest  animal  imlulges  unrestrained.  There  is  a 
sweetness,  however,  in  his  very  complaints;  they 
arc  the  l.iment.itions  of  an  amiable  ami  social  spirit, 
Ht  being  denied  the  indulgence  of  its  kind  and  gener- 
is propensities ;  there  is  nothing  in  them  harsh  or 
s^ja^^gerated  ;  they  How  with  a  natural  and  touching 
(Xithcs,  and  are  perhaps  rendered  more  touching  by 
•  heir  s!r>|,le  Orevity.  They  contra.st  finely  with  those 
rJabi.rate  and  iier.ated  repinings  which  we  sometimes 
•tieet  wiih  in  poetry,  the  effusions  of  morbid  minds, 
sickening  under  miseries  of  their  own  creating,  and 
venting  their  bitterness  ujion  an  unolfending  world. 
Tames  speaks  of  his  privations  with  acute  sensibility  ; 
but  having  mentioned  them,  passes  on,  as  if  his 
Tianly  mmd  disdained  to  brood  over  unavoidable 
calamities.      When  such  a  spii^t  breaks  forth  into 


complaint,  howrve?  bricl,  we  are  .iwarr  how  greal 

must  be  the  suffering  that  extorts  the  murmur.  \V« 
symp.ithi/e  with  J.imes,  ;i  rom.inlic,  active,  and  ac- 
conipiished  prince,  cut  off  in  the  lustihood  ol  yfnill, 
horn  all  the  enterprise,  the  noble  uses  and  ".'igoroiii 
ileliglus  of  life,  a«.  we  do  wiili  Milton,  ilive  to  a!l 
the  beauties  of  nature  and  gloiies  ol  art,  when  h« 
hre.ithes  forth  briel  but  deep  toned  l.iuiental.'OM' 
ovir  his  perpetu.d  blindness. 

H.ul  not  James  evinced  a  deficiency  of  (motic  nrt. 
tire,  we  miglit  alinosi  have  sus|>'Cied  that  these  low- 
erings  of  gloomv  reilection  were  nie.mt  as  prepara 
five  to  the  biighte'it  sci'ne  of  his  sloiy,  and  to  con- 
trast with  thai  efhilgence  of  light  and  loveliness, 
th.'it  exhilar.iling  accompaniment  of  bird,  and  song, 
and  foliage,  and  llo-^cr,  and  all  the  level  of  the  year, 
wiih  which  he  ushers  in  the  l.idy  of  his  heart.  Il  il 
this  scene  in  particular  which  throws  nil  t tie  majjic 
of  romance  about  the  old  castle  keep,  i  le  had  risen, 
he  says,  .at  day-bre;ik,  according  to  custom,  to  escape 
from  '.he  (Ire.ir/  meditations  of  a  slecnless  pillow, 
"  lle'.vailing  in  lis  chamfer  thus  alone,  '  despairing 
of  .ill  joy  and  remedy,  "lor,  tiled  of  thoiigiit,  ann 
uo-begone,"  h'j  h.id  wa  .dered  lo  tlic  window  to  in- 
dulge" the  captive's  mis'  rable  solace,  of  ga/ing  wist- 
fully upon  the  world  f'f  ni  which  he  is  excluded.  The 
window  looked  forth  jpon  a  small  giirden  which  lay 
at  the  loot  of  the  tower.  It  w.as  a  (|uict,  shellercil 
spot,  .adorned  with  arbours  and  gieen  alleys,  and 
protected  from  the  p.assing  g:i/.t  by  trees  and  haw- 
thorn hedges. 

Now  wa<  ihcr*  m.vle  f.iit  hy  the  Inwer't  wilk 

A  (;;inif*n  f.itre.  anil  in  lh«  ciinuri.  j-pI, 
An  .\rbottr  Kri^rii  wiih  wandis  long  Mxii  smaH 

Kuileit  ultiiiit,  aliil  so  Willi  Irjvc.  hef.r.t 
Wa*  all  the  pl.icc,  ami  hjwiliorii  lie(ljir>  Itnet, 

'I'lial  lyf*  was  tiotie,  wiilkyiiK  there  fnrhyv. 

That  nii|;ht  withiu  itcarce  any  wi^ht  Fspy«, 

So  Ihick  the  hranches  and  the  leves  (irenc, 

llrshaileil  ;ill  Ihv  all''V>  th.it  the.-r  were. 
Anil  midst  of  every  arbour  nu>;ht  be  seen 

The  sharpe,  ({''ene,  «wctc  juniper. 
Growing  so  f.iire  wilh  branches  here  and  thcrt, 

That  a^  it  si-emeil  to  a  lyf  without. 

The  boiiKhft  liiil  spread  the  arbour  all  about. 

And  on  the  small  green  twist is+  ret 

'I'he  Ivtel  swcie  nvi;htini{,ilrk,  and  sung 
So  loud  and  clerc,  tne  hymris  consecrate 

Of  lovis  Ukc.  now  soft,  now  Inud  ainonfl, 
That  .nil  the  ij.inlen  :uid  the  wallik  rung 
Kyfht  of  their  song- 
It  was  the  month  of  May.  when  every  if'ing  waj 
in  bloom,  and  he  interprets  the  song  of  tb-  night- 
ingale into  the  language  of  his  enaniouiv  d  l\.ol.ng 

Worship  all  ye  thai  lover*  he  this  M  iv 

for  of  your  bliss  the  kalends  are  he^.m. 
And  ting  wiih  us.  away,  winter,  aw  as. 

Come,  summer,  come,  the  sweet  se.T.soti  and  lun. 

As  he  gazes  on  the  scene,  and  listens  to  »  c  notes 
of  the  birds,  he  gradually  lapses  into  one  jf  ttiose 
tender  and  undefinable  revi  i us,  which  till  ti  e  youth- 
ful bosom  in  this  delicious  season.  He  wonders 
what  this  love  may  be,  of  which  he  has  so  often 
read,  and  which  thus  seems  breathed  forth  in  the 
(|uickening  breath  of  May,  and  melting  all  nature 
into  ecsiacy  and  -^ong.  If  it  really  be  so  great  a 
felicity,  and  if  it  '^c  a  boon  thus  generally  dispensed 
to  the  most  insignificant  of  '/emgs,  why  is  he  aloar 
cut  off  from  its  enjoyments ': 

Oft  woul-:  I  think,  O  I.orf  ,  what  may  ihil  b«, 
'l'*iiat  !    ve  is  ol'  such  d  ible  myght  ard  kyiiat^ 

Losing  his  folk,  and  sui  n  prost«ritee, 
Is  It  of  luin,  as  we  in  noolu  do  find  ; 

May  he  oure  hertes  setten^  and  unbjrnd 
I-laih  hi'  upon  oure  herces  »ucli  maulnrr  ? 

'  >r  is  all  this  but  feyuil  fanLuyc  ? 

•  i.y/,  person. 

-i-  /rt'rr/M,  small  ^  3ught  or  twtgt.  t  SeHtn.iuciisia. 

NoTR.— Th*  tang  tgo  ot  the  qitotationi  it  genu<Uy  luedailiattf 


tf« 


WORKS   OF    .VASHINGTON   IRVlWO. 


For  (iff  he  be  of  so  Krete  excellence 
That  he  >if  every  wight  hath  care  and  charge. 

What  hive  I  gill  •  to  him,  or  done  offence, 
That  I  am  chral'd  and  birdis  go  at  large  i 

In  the  midst  of  his  musing,  as  he  casts  his  eyes 
downward,  he  beholds  "  the  fairest  and  the  freshest 
roung  floure"  that  ever  he  had  seen.  It  is  the 
lovely  Lady  Jane,  walking  in  the  garden  to  enjoy 
the  beauty  of  that  "  fresh  May  morrowe."  Break- 
ing thus  suddenly  upon  his  sigiit  in  a  moment  of 
loneliness  and  excited  susceptibility,  she  at  once 
captiv.ites  the  fancy  of  the  roni.antic  prince,  and 
becomes  the  object  of  his  wandering  wishes,  the 
sovereign  of  his  ideal  world. 

There  is  in  this  charming  scene  an  evident  re- 
semblance to  the  early  part  of  Chaucer's  Knight'* 
Tale,  where  I'.alamon  and  Arcite  fall  in  love  wiln 
Emilia,  whom  they  see  walking  in  the  garden  of 
their  prison.  Perhaps  the  similarity  of  the  actual 
fact  to  the  incident  which  he  had  read  in  Chaucer^ 
may  have  induced  James  lo  dwell  on  it  in  his  poem. 
His  description  of  the  Lady  Jane  is  given  in  liie  pict- 
uresque and  minute  manner  of  his  master,  and  be- 
ing, doubtless,  taken  from  the  Kfe,  is  a  perfect  por- 
trait of  a  beauty  of  that  day.  He  dwells  with  the 
fondness  of  a  lover  on  every  article  of  her  apparel, 
from  the  net  of  pearl,  splendent  with  emeralds  and 
sapphires,  that  confmed  her  golden  hair,  even  to  the 
"  goodly  chair.e  of  small  orfeverye  "t  about  her  neck, 
whereby  there  hung  a  ruby  in  shape  of  a  heart,  that 
seemed,  he  says,  like  a  spark  of  tire  burning  upon 
her  white  bosom.  Her  dress  of  white  tissue  was 
looped  up,  to  enable  her  to  walk  with  more  freedom. 
She  was  accompanied  by  two  female  attendants,  and 
about  her  sported  a  little  hound  decorated  with 
bells,  procsDiv  the  small  Italian  hound,  of  exquisite 
jymnietry,  wnich  was  a  parlour  favourite  and  pet 
amo""  »he  fashionable  dair.es  of  ancient  times. 
I-iiTiss  Closes  his  description  by  a  burst  of  general 
P"logium  : 

In  her  was  youth,  beaiilv  with  humble  port, 

Bountee,  richesse,  ana  womanly  feature, 
God  better  knows  th.in  my  pen  can  report, 

Wisdom,  larf^esse.t  estate. ^  a.,  J  cunning  |  sure. 
Ill  eveiT  point  so  cuideil  her  irea.siire. 

Id  woti,  in  deed,  ;n  shape,  in  countenance. 

That  nature  might  no  moric  her  child  advance. 

The  departure  of  the  Lady  Jane  from  the  g.iiden 
puts  an  end  to  this  transient  riot  of  the  heart.  With 
her  departs  the  amorous  illusion  that  had  shed  a 
temporary  charm  over  the  scene  of  his  captivity,  and 
he  relap.ses  into  loneliness,  now  rentlered  tenfolil 
more  intolerable  by  this  p.assing  bentn  of  unattain- 
able beauty.  Through  the  long  and  weary  day  he 
repines  at  his  unhappy  lot,  and  when  evening  ap- 
proaches and  I'hoebus,  as  he  beautifully  expresses  it, 
n.ad  •'  bad  farewell  to  every  leaf  and  flower,"  he  still 
lingers  at  the  window,  and,  laying  his  head  upon  the 
cold  stone,  gives  vent  to  a  mingled  flow  of  love  and 
sorrow,  until  gradually  lulled  by  Ihe  mute  melan- 
choly 01  the  twilight  hour,  he  lapses,  "  half-.sleeping, 
.naif  swoon,"  into  a  vision,  which  occupies  the  re- 
mainder of  the  poem,  and  in  which  is  alltgorically 
ahadowed  out  the  history  of  his  passion. 

When  he  wakes  from  his  tram  !.",  he  rises  from  his 
.<l3ny  pillow,  and  pacing  his  apanmeni  full  of  dreary 
•'cfiections,  questions  his  spirit  whither  it  has  been 
ivandering;  whether,  indeed,  all  that  has  passed  be- 
/cre  his  dreaming  fancy  has  bt^en  conjured  up  by 
pro::edirig  circumstances,  or  whether  it  is  a  vision 
intended  to  comfort  and  assure  nim  in  his  despond- 
wicy.     If  the  latter,  he  prays  that  some  token  may 


"  i%V,  T.'l-.af  injtiTr  have  I  dona,  *c 
t  Wrought  j[olci. 
I  Viialt  diiiuity, 


t  Larftut,  bounty. 
I  CunHi'nf,  liiKtcUoa, 


be  sent  to  confimn  the  promise  of  happier  lays,  givea 
him  in  his  slumbers. 

Suddenly  a  turtle-dove  of  the  purest  whitenrsj 
comes  tlying  in  at  the  window,  and  alights  upon  hit 
hand,  bearing  in  her  bill  a  branch  of  red  gilliflower, 
on  the  leaves  of  which  is  written  in  letters  of  gold, 
the  following  sentence : 

Awake  I  awake  I  I  bring,  lover,  I  bring 
The  newis  glad,  thai  olissful  is  and  tort. 

Of  thy  comfort ;  now  laugh,  and  play,  and  s'Jig, 
For  in  the  heaven  decretit  i<  thy  cure. 

He  receives  the  branch  with  mingled  hope  and 
dread  ;  reads  it  wi'.h  rapture,  and  this  he  says  was 
the  first  token  of  his  succeeding  happiness.  Whether 
this  is  a  mere  poetic  fiction,  or  whether  the  Lady 
Jane  did  actually  send  him  a  token  ol  her  favour  in 
this  romantic  way,  remains  to  be  determined  accord- 
ing to  the  faith  or  fancy  of  the  reader.  He  concludes 
his  poem  by  intimating  that  the  promise  conveyed  in 
the  vision,  and  by  the  flower,  is  fulfilled  by  his  being 
restored  to  liberty,  and  made  happy  in  the  po-jsession 
of  the  sovereign  of  his  heart. 

Such  is  the  poetical  account  given  by  James  of  hij 
love  adventures  in  Windsor  Castle,  How  much  of 
it  is  absolute  fact,  and  how  much  the  embellishment 
of  fancy,  it  is  fniitless  to  conjecture ;  do  not,  how- 
ever, let  us  .always  consider  whatever  is  romantic  as 
incompatible  with  real  life,  but  let  us  sometimes 
take  a  poet  at  his  word.  I  have  noticed  merely  such 
parts  of  the  poem  as  were  immediately  connected 
with  the  tower,  and  have  passed  over  a  large  par* 
which  was  in  the  allegorical  vein,  so  much  cultivated 
at  that  day.  The  language  of  course  is  qtiamt  and 
anliqu.itcd,  so  th?t  the  be.auty  of  many  of  hs  golden 
phrases  will  scarcely  be  perceived  at  the  present  day 
but  it  is  impossible  not  to  be  charmed  with  the  gen 
uine  sentiment,  the  delightful  artlessness  and  ui' 
banity,  which  prevail  throughout  it.  The  descrip- 
tions of  Nature,  too,  with  which  it  is  embellished,  are 
given  with  a  truth,  a  discrimination,  and  a  freshness 
worthy  of  the  most  cultivated  period  of  the  i.its. 

As  an  am.itory  poem,  it  is  edifying,  in  these  days 
of  coarser  thinking,  to  notice  the  nature,  retinnnent 
and  exquisite  delicacy  which  pervade  it,  banishing 
every  gross  thought,  or  immodest  expression,  and 
presenting  female  loveliness  clothed  in  all  its  chiv'al- 
rous  attributes  of  almost  supernatural  purity  and 
grace. 

James  flourished  nearly  about  the  time  of  Chaucer 
and  Gower,  and  was  evidently  an  admirer  and  studier 
of  their  writings.  Indeed,  in  one  of  his  stanzas  he 
acknowledges  them  as  his  m.asters,  and  in  some  parts 
of  his  poem  we  find  traces  of  similarity  to  their  pro- 
ductions, more  especially  to  those  of  Chaucer.  There 
are  alw.ays,  however,  general  features  of  resnmblance 
in  the  works  of  cotemporary  authors,  which  are  not 
so  much  borrowed  from  each  other  as  from  the 
times.  Writers,  like  bees,  toll  their  sweets  in  the 
wide  world  ;  they  incorporate  with  their  own  coji- 
ce,itions,  the  anecdotes  and  thoughts  which  are  cur- 
ref  t  in  society,  and  thus  each  generation  has  some 
features  in  common,  characteristic  of  the  age  in 
which  it  lives.  James  in  fact  belongs  to  one  of  the 
most  brilliant  eras  of  our  literary  history,  and  estab- 
lishes the  claims  of  his  country  to  a  participation  in 
its  primitive  honours.  Whilst  a  small  cluster  of  En- 
glish writers  are  constantly  cited  as  the  fathers  ot 
our  verse,  the  name  of  their  great  Scottish  compeer 
is  apt  to  be  passed  over  in  silence ;  but  he  is  evi- 
dently worthy  of  being  enrolled  in  that  little  consteU 
lation  of  remote,  but  nt:vcr-failing  luminaries,  who 
shine  in  the  highest  finnament  of  literature,  and  who, 
like  morning  stars,  sang  together  at  the  bright  dawn- 
ing of  British  poesy. 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


26 


hilentsj 
ipon  hit 
litlower, 
of  gold. 


ries  of  his 
much  of 
llishinent 
not,  how- 
iTiantic  as  , 
ometinies 
erely  such 
:onnccleJ 
arj;e  jjar* 
cultivated 
uaint  an.i 
its  poklen 
esent  day 
h  the  gen 
s  and  ut' 
e  desciip- 
lished,  are 
freiihncss, 


Such  of  my  readers  as  may  not  be  fumiliar  with 
Scottish  history,  (though  the  manner  in  which  it  has 
of  late  been  woven  with  captivating  fiction  has  made 
it  a  universal  study,)  may  be  curious  to  learn  some- 
thing of  the  subsequent  history  of  James,  and  the 
fortunes  of  his  love.  His  passion  for  the  Lady  Jane, 
as  it  was  the  solace  of  his  captivity,  so  it  facilitated 
his  release,  it  being  imagined  by  the  Court,  that  a 
sonnexion  with  the  blood-royal  of  England  would 
attach  him  to  its  own  interests.  He  was  ultimately 
RStored  to  his  liberty  and  crown,  having  previously 
sjpoused  the  Lady  Jane,  who  accompanied  him  to 
Scotlan:!.  and  made  him  a  most  tender  and  devoted 
v/ife. 

He  found  his  kingdom  in  great  confusion,  the 
feudal  chieftains   having   taken   advantage   of    the 
troubles  and  irregularities  of  a  long  interregnum,  to 
strengthen  themselves  in  their  possessions,  and  place 
themselves  above   the  power  of  the  laws.     James 
sought  to  found  the  basis  of  his  power  in  the  affec- 
tions of  his  people.   He  attached  the  lower  orders  to 
hhn  by  the  reformation  of  abuses,  the  temperate  and 
equable  administration  of  justice,  tiie  encouragement 
of  the  arts  of  peace,  and  the  promotion  of  every 
thing  that  could  diffuse  comfort,  competency,  and 
innocent  enjoyment,  through  the  humblest  ranks  of 
society.     He  mingled  occasionally  among  the  com- 
mon people  in  disguise  ;  visited  their  firesides  ;  en- 
tered in  10  their  cares,  their  pursuits,  and  their  amuse- 
ments ,  informed  himself  of  the  mechanical  arts,  and 
how  they  could  best  be  patronized  and  improved ; 
and  was  thus  an  all-pervading  spirit,  watching  with 
a  benevolent  eye  over  the  meanest  of  his  subjects. 
Having  in  this  generous  manner  made  himself  strong 
in  the  hearts  ot  the  common  people,  he  turned  him- 
S'  H  to  curb  the  power  of  the  factious  nobility ;  to 
s'.:ip  them  of  those  dangerous  immunities  which 
th»^y  had  usurped ;   to  punish  such  as  hatl  been 
giiilty  of  tlagrant  offences;  and  to  bring  the  whole 
into  proper  obeilienc  to  the  crown.    For  some  time 
they  bore  this  with  outward  submission,  but  with 
secret  impatience  and  brooding  resentment.    A  con- 
spiracy was  at  length  fomted  against  his  life,  at  the 
head  of  which  was  his  own  uncle,  Robert  Stewart, 
Earl  of  Athol,  who,  being  too  old  himself  for  the 
perpetration  of  the  deed   of  blood,  instigated   his 
f^andson.   Sir   Robert   Stewart,   together  with  Sir 
Robert  Graham,  and  others  of  less  note,  to  commit 
the  deed.     They  broke  into  his  bed-chamber  at  the 
Dominic.m  convent  near  I'erth,  where  he  was  resid- 
ing, and  barbarously  murdered  him  by  oft-repe.ated 
wounds.     His  faithful  queen,  rushing  to  throw  her 
tender  body  between  him  and  the  sword,  was  twice 
wuuiidcd  in  the  inelTectual  attempt  to  shield  him 
from  the  assassin  ;  and  it  was  not  until  she  had  been 
forcibly  torn  from  his  person,  that  the  murder  was 
accomplished 

It  was  the  recollection  of  this  romantic  tale  of 
former  times,  and  of  the  golden  little  poem,  which 
had  its  birth-place  in  this  tower,  that  made  me  visit 
the  old  pile  with  more  tlian  common  interest.  The 
suit  of  armour  hanging  up  in  the  hall,  richly  gilt  and 
e.iibellis!icd,  as  if  to  hgure  in  the  toumay,  brought 
the  image  of  the  gallant  and  romantic  prince  vividly 
before  my  imagination.  I  paced  the  deserted  cham- 
^jers  v.iitre  he  had  composed  his  poem  ;  I  leaned 
(Cjvcn  the  window,  and  endeavoured  to  persuade  my- 
sc'.!  ii  w.'ts  the  veiy  one  where  he  had  been  visited 
by  his  vision  ;  I  looked  out  upon  the  spot  where  he 
hav"  first  seen  the  Lady  Jane.  It  was  the  same 
genial  and  joyous  month :  the  birds  were  again 
vying  with  each  other  in  strains  of  liquid  melody : 
every  thing  was  bursting  into  vegetation,  and  bud- 
ding forth  the  tender  promise  of  the  year.  Time, 
wnich  delights  to  obliterate  the  sterner  memorials  of 


human  pride,  seems  to  have  passed  liently  ever  thii 
little  scene  of  poetry  and  love,  and  to  nave'  withheld 
his  desolating  hancf.  Several  centuries  have  gone  by, 
yet  the  garden  still  flourishes  at  the  foot  of  the 
tower.  It  occupies  what  was  once  the  moat  of  the 
keep,  and  though  soine  parts  have  been  separated 
by  dividing  walls,  yet  others  have  still  their  arbours 
and  shaded  walks,  as  in  the  days  of  James  ;  and  the 
whole  is  sheltered,  blooming,  and  retired.  There  if. 
a  charm  about  the  spot  that  has  been  printed  by  t\ut 
footsteps  of  departed  beauty,  and  consecrated  by  the 
inspir.itions  of  the  poet,  which  is  heightened,  rathei 
than  impaired,  by  the  lapse  of  ages.  It  is,  indeed, 
the  gift  of  poetry,  to  h.allow  evei  /  place  in  which  i. 
moves  ;  to  breathe  round  nature  an  odour  more  ex- 
quisite than  the  perfume  of  the  rose,  and  to  shed 
over  it  a  tint  more  magical  than  the  blush  of  morn- 
ing. 

Others  may  dwell  on  the  illu.strious  deeds  of  James 
as  a  warrior  and  a  legislator  ;  but  I  have  delighted  to 
view  him  merely  as  the  companion  of  his  fellow-men, 
the  benefactor  of  the  human  heart,  stooping  from 
his  high  estate  to  sow  the  sweet  flowers  of  poetry 
and  song  in  the  paths  of  common  life.     He  was  the 
first  to  cultivate  the  vigorous  and  hardy  pl.ant  of 
Scottish  g^aius,  which  has  since  been  so  prolific  of 
the  most  wholesome  and  highly  flavoured  fruit.     He 
carrietl  with   him  into  the  sterner  regions   of  the 
north,  all  the  fertilizing  arts  of  somhern  refinement. 
He  did  every  thing  in  his  power  to  win  his  country- 
men to  the  gay,  the  elegant,  and  gentle  arts  which 
soften  and  refine  the  character  of  a   people,  and 
wreathe  a  grace  round  the  loftiness  of  a  proud  and 
warlike  spirit.     He  wrote  many  poems,  which,  un- 
fortunately for  the  fulness  of  his  fame,  are  now  lost 
to  the  world  ;  one,  which  is  still  preserved,  calleC 
"  Christ's  Kirk  of  the  Green,"  shows  how  diligentlj 
he   had   made   himself  acquainted   with  the  rustic 
sports  and  pastimes,  which  constitute  such  a  source 
of  kind  and  social  feeling  among  the  Scottish  peas- 
antry ;  and  with  what  simple  and  liappy  humour  he 
could  enter  into  their  enjoyments.     He  contributed 
gp-eatly  to  improve  the  national  music  ;  and  traces 
of  his  tender  sentiment  and  elegant  taste  are  said  *o 
exist  in  those  witching  airs,  still  piped  among  the 
wild  mountains  and  lonely  glens  of  Scotland.    He 
ha"  thus  connected  his  image  with  wh.atever  is  most 
gracious  and  endearing  in  the  national  character ; 
he  has  embalmed  his  memory  in  song,  and  floated 
his  name  down  to  after-ages  in  the  rich  stream  of 
Scottish  melody.     The  recollection  of  these  things 
was  kindling  at  my  heart,  as  1  paced  the  silent  scene 
of  his  imprisonment.     I  have  visited  Vaucluse  with 
as  much  enthusiasm  as  a  pilgrim  would  visit  the 
shrine  at  Loretto  ;  but  I  have  never  felt  more  poet- 
ical   devotion    than  when  contemplating    the  old 
tower  and  the  little  garden  at  Windsor,  and  musing 
over  the  romantic  loves  of  the  Lady  Jane  ai»d  the 
Royal  Poet  of  Scotland. 


THE  COUNTRY  CHURCH. 


A  Kcntleaan  t 
What  o'  the  woolpack }  or  the  lufv-ckat  ? 
Ot  tuU  of  velvet  f  which  i>'t,  pound,  or  yard. 
You  vand  your  gentry  by  I 

Diggak's  Bush. 

There  are  few  places  more  favourable  to  the 
stuily  of  character,  th.m  an  English  country  church. 
I  W.1S  once  passing  a  few  weeks  at  the  seat  of  a 
friend,  who  resided  in  the  vicinity  of  one,  the  ap 


SB 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


3  ..  ■: 


!«;/ 


pe<irance  of  which  particularly  struck  my  fancy.  It 
was  one  of  those  rich  morsels  of  quaint  antiquity, 
which  give  such  a  peculiar  charm  to  English  land- 
scape. It  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  county  tilled  with 
ancient  families,  and  contained,  within  its  cold  and 
silent  aisles,  the  con^reKated  dust  of  many  noble 
generations.  The  interior  walls  were  encrusted 
»ith  monuments  of  every  age  and  style.  The  light 
Itrcamed  through  windows  dimmed  with  armorial 
b.:-rinngs,  richly  emblazoned  in  stained  glass.  In 
■/^rioi.s  parts  of  the  church  were  tombs  of  knights, 
.md  hi,fn-born  d.imes,  of  gorgeous  workmanship, 
with  their  effigies  in  coloured  marble.  On  every 
side,  the  eye  was  struck  with  some  instance  of  aspir- 
ing iiortality;  some  haughty  memorial  which  hu- 
man pride  had  erected  over  its  kindred  dust,  in  this 
temple  of  the  most  tuimble  of  all  religions. 

The  congregation  was  composed  otthe  neighbour- 
ing people  of  rank,  who  sat  in  pe>vs  sumptuously 
IJnecI  and  cushioned,  furnished  with  richly-gilded 
prayer-books,  and  decorated  with  their  arms  upon 
the  pew  doors ;  of  the  villagers  and  peasantry,  who 
61lt-d  the  back  seats,  and  a  small  gallery  beside  the 
organ;  and  of  the  poor  of  the  parish,  who  were 
ranged  on  benches  in  the  aisles. 

The  service  was  performed  by  a  snufj]jipg,  weil-fed 
vicar,  who  had  a  snug  dwelling  ne.ar  the  church. 
He  was  a  privileged  guest  at  all  the  tables  of  the 
neighbourhood,  and  had  been  the  keenest  fox- 
hunter  in  the  country,  until  age  and  good  living  had 
disabled  him  from  doing  any  thing  more  than  ride  to 
see  the  hounds  throw  otf,  and  make  one  at  the  hunt- 
ing dinner. 

Under  the  ministry  of  such  a  pastor,  I  found  it  im- 
possible to  get  into  the  train  of  thought  suitable  to 
.'he  time  and  place ;  so  having,  like  many  other  feeble 
'rhristi.ws,  compromised  with  my  •  ^nscience,  by  lay- 
ing the  sin  of  my  own  delinquency  at  anotljer  per>- 
:K)n  s  threshold,  I  occupied  myself  by  making  obser- 
tations  on  my  neighbours. 

1  %vas  as  ,  tl  a  stranger  in  England,  and  curious  to 
aoiice  the  manners  of  its  fashionable  classes.  I 
found,  as  usual,  that  there  was  the  least  pretension 
where  there  was  the  most  acknowledged  title  to  re- 
spect. 1  was  particularly  struck,  for  instance,  with 
tne  family  of  a  nobleman  of  high  rank,  consisting  of 
several  sons  and  daughters.  Nothing  could  be  more 
siinple  and  tmassuming  than  their  api)earance.  They 
generally  came  to  church  in  the  plainest  equipage, 
and  often  on  foot.  The  young  ladies  would  stop 
and  converse  in  the  kindest  manner  with  the 
peasantry,  caress  the  children,  and  listen  to  the 
stories  of  the  humble  cottagers.  Their  countenances 
were  open  and  beautifully  fair,  with  an  expression  of 
high  refinement,  but  at  the  same  tim—  a  fr.-^.nk 
cheerfulness,  and  engaging  affability.  Their  brothers 
were  tall,  and  eleg-intly  formed.  They  were  dressed 
fashionably,  but  simply ;  with  strict  neatness  .Tnd 
propriety,  but  without  any  mannerism  or  t'opishness. 
Their  whole  demeanour  was  easy  and  natural,  with 
that  lofty  grace,  and  noble  frari<nt;ris,  v.'hich  bespeak 
fVce-born  souls  that  have  never  been  checked  in 
'.h'-'r  growth  by  feelings  of  inferiority.  1  nere  is  a 
'leilthfil  hardmess  alx)ut  real  dignity,  that  never 
Ire^ds  cor.tact  and  communion  with  otherr.,  how- 
ivei  humble.  It  is  only  spurious  pride  that  is  mor- 
bid Jind  sensitive,  snd  shrinks  from  every  touch.  I 
w.as  pleased  to  see  the  manner  in  which  they  would 
,?onverse  with  the  peasantry  about  those  rural  con- 
cerns and  tield  sports,  in  which  the  gentlemen  '_  f 
this  country  so  much  delight.  In  these  conversa- 
tions, there  was  neither  haughtiness  on  the  one  part, 
Qor  servility  on  the  other;  and  you  were  only  re- 
mmded  of  the  difference  of  rank  by  the  habitual  re- 
spect cf  the  peasant 


In  contrast  to  these,  was  the  iSiaiiy  of  a  wtdltny 

citizen,  who  had  am.assed  a  vast  fortune,  and,  having 
purchased  the  estate  and  mansion  Oi  a  ruined  noble- 
man in  the  neighbourhood,  w.as  endeavourii)g  to  as- 
sume all  the  style  and  dignity  of  a  hereditary  lord 
of  the  soil.  The  family  alwavs  came  to  church  en 
prince.  They  were  rolled  majestically  along  in  a 
carriage  emblazoned  with  r.-ms.  The  crest  glittered 
in  silver  radiance  from  e\ery  part  ot  the  harnesi 
where  a  crest  could  possibly  be  placed.  A  fat  coaci> 
man  in  a  three-cornered  hat,  richly  laced,  and  a  flajces 
wp  curling  close  round  his  rosy  face,  was  seated  on 
the  box,  with  a  sleek  D.mish  dog  beside  him.  Two 
footmen  in  gorgeous  liveries,  with  huge  bouquets, 
and  ;jold-he.a(led  canes,  lolled  behind.  The  carriage 
rose  and  sunk  on  its  long  springs  with  a  peculiar 
stateiiness  of  motion.  The  very  horses  champed 
iheir  bits,  arched  their  necks,  and  glanced  their  eyea 
more  proudly  than  common  horses ;  either  because 
they  had  got  a  little  of  the  family  feeling,  or  were 
reined  up  more  tightly  than  ordinary, 

I  could  not  but  admire  the  style  with  which  this 
splendid  pageant  was  brought  up  to  the  gate  of  '.he 
churchyard.  There  was  a  vast  effect  produced  at 
the  turning  of  an  angle  of  the  wall : — a  great  sm.ack- 
ing  of  the  whip;  straining  and  scrambling  of  the 
horses  ;  glistening  of  h.arness,  and  flashing  of  wheels 
through  gravel.  This  was  the  moment  of  triumph 
and  vain-glor>'  to  the  coachman.  The  horses  were 
urged  ami  checked,  until  they  were  fretted  into  a 
foam.  They  threw  out  their  feet  in  a  prancing  trot, 
dashing  about  pebbles  at  every  step.  The  crowd  of 
villagers  sauntering  quietly  to  church,  opened  pre- 
cipitately to  the  right  and  left,  gaping  in  vacant  ad- 
miration. On  reaching  the  gate,  the  horses  were 
pulled  up  with  a  suddenness  that  produced  att  im- 
mediate stop,  and  almost  threw  them  on  Iheii 
haunches. 

There  w.as  an  extraordinary  hurry  of  the  footmen 
to  alight,  open  the  door,  pull  down  the  steps,  and 
jirepare  ever>'  thing  for  the  descent  on  earth  of  this 
august  family.  The  old  citizen  first  emerged  his 
round  red  face  from  out  the  door,  looking  about  him 
with  the  pompous  air  of  a  man  accustomed  to  rule 
on  'change,  and  shake  the  stock-market  with  a  nod. 
His  consort,  a  fine,  fleshy,  comfortable  tl.ame,  fol- 
lowed him.  There  seemed,  I  must  confess,  but 
little  pride  in  her  composition.  She  was  the  picture 
of  broa<l,  honest,  vulgar  enjoyment.  The  world 
went  well  with  her ;  and  she  liked  the  world.  She 
had  fine  clothes,  a  fine  house,  a  fine  carriage,  fine 
children,  every  thing  was  fine  about  her  :  it  was 
nothing  but  driving  about,  and  visiting  and  feasting. 
Life  was  to  her  a  perpetual  revel ;  it  was  one  long 
Lord  Mayor's  day. 

Two  daughters  succeeded  to  this  goodly  couple 
They  certainly  were  handsome ;  but  h,ad  a  super 
cilious  air  that  chilled  admiration,  and  dis()osed  the 
npectator  to  be  critical.  They  were  ultra-fashion- 
ables in  dress,  and,  though  no  one  could  deny  the  rich- 
ness of  their  decorations,  yet  their  appropriateness 
might  be  questioned  amidst  the  simplicity  ot  a  country- 
church.  They  descended  loftily  from  the  carriage, 
and  moved  up  the  line  of  peasantry  with  a  step  th.at 
seemed  dainty  of  the  soil  it  trod  on.  They  cast  an 
excursive  glance  around,  that  passed  coldly  over  the 
burly  faces  of  the  jwasantry,  until  they  met  the  eyej 
of  the  nobleman's  family,  when  their  ccuntenancej 
immediately  brightened  into  smiles,  and  they  mad| 
the  most  profound  and  elegant  courtesies,  whicll 
were  returned  in  a  manner  that  showed  they  wer« 
but  slight  acquaintances. 

1  must  not  forget  the  two  sons  of  this  aspiring 
citizen,  who  came  to  church  in  a  dashing  curricle 
with  outriders.     They  were  arrayed  in  the  extremiH 


If: 
I  vmim- 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREV    CRAYON,   Geni. 


«*) 


01  the  mode  with  all  that  pedantry  of  dress  which 
marks  the  man  of  questionable  pretensions  to  style. 
They  kept  entirely  by  themselves,  eyeing  every  one 
askance  that  came  near  them,  as  if  measuring  his 
claims  to  respectability  ;  yet  they  were  without  con- 
versation, except  the  exchange  of  an  occasional  cant 
plirase.  They  even  moved  artificially,  for  their 
!x>dies,  in  compliance  with  the  caprice  of  the  day, 
liad  bcsfk  disciplined  into  the  absence  of  all  ecase  and 
'iirdom.  Art  had  done  every  thing  to  accomplish 
■Y.om  as  men  of  fiishion,  but  Nature  had  denied  them 
the  nameless  grace.  They  were  vulgarly  shaped, 
•lire  men  formed  for  the  conn/.f^n  purposes  of  life, 
and  had  that  air  of  supercilious  assumption  which  is 
never  seen  in  tlie  true  gentleman. 

1  have  been  rather  minute  in  drawing  the  pictures 
of  these  two  families,  because  I  considered  them 
specimens  of  what  is  often  to  be  met  with  in  this 
country — the  unpretending  great,  anjl  the  arrogant 
little.  I  have  no  respect  for  titled  rank,  unless  it  be 
accompanied  by  true  nobility  of  soul ;  but  I  have  re- 
marked, in  all  countries  where  these  artificial  dis- 
tinctions exist,  that  the  very  highest  classes  are  al- 
ways the  most  courteous  and  unassuming.  Those 
who  are  well  assured  of  their  own  standing,  are 
least  apt  to  trespass  on  that  of  others :  whereas, 
nothing  is  so  offensive  as  the  aspirings  of  vulgarity, 
which  thinks  to  elevate  itselt  by  humiliating  its 
neighbour. 

As  I  have  brought  these  families  into  contrast,  I 
must  notice  their  behaviour  in  church.  That  of  the 
nobleman's  family  was  quiet,  scriotis,  and  attentive. 
Not  that  they  appeared  to  have  any  ffr\'Our  of  devo- 
tion, but  rather  a  respect  for  sacred  things,  and 
sacred  pLaces,  inseparable  from  good-breeding.  The 
Xhers,  on  the  contrary,  were  in  a  perpetual  flutter 
ind  whisper  ;  thev  betrayed  a  continual  conscious- 
,?NS  of  iine.'y,  ar.d  the  sorry  ambition  of  being  the 
RGuirr:  of  a  rjr.-.      ngrc^gation. 

The  old  genth  (P.  ■  -••  the  only  one  really  aften- 
iive  to  the  servic-  imk  the  whole  burden  of 

family  devotion  up  /"Hilf;  standing  bolt  upright, 
and  littering  the  »...,, .onses  with  a  loud  voice  that 
might  !«  heard  all  over  the  church.  It  was  evident 
that  he  was  one  of  these  thorough  church  and  king 
men,  who  connect  the  idea  of  devotion  and  loyalty  ; 
who  consider  the  Deity,  some  how  or  other,  of  the 
government  party,  and  religion  "  a  very  excellent 
sort  of  thing,  that  ought  to  be  countenanced  and 
kept  up." 

When  he  joined  so  loudly  in  the  service,  it  seemed 
more  by  way  of  example  to  the  lower  orders,  to 
show  them,  that  though  so  great  and  wealthy,  he 
was  not  above  being  religious ;  as  I  have  seen  a 
turtle-fed  alderman  swallow  publicly  a  basin  of 
ch.irity  soup,  smacking  his  lips  at  every  mouthful, 
anil  pronouncing  it  "excellent  food  for  the  poor." 

When  the  service  w.as  at  an  end,  1  was  curious  to 
witness  the  several  exits  of  my  groups.  The  young 
nolilemen  and  their  sisters,  as  the  d:'.y  was  fine,  pre- 
leried  strolling  home  across  the  tields,  chatting  with 
ih;  country  people  as  they  went.  The  others  de- 
[)art:'d  as  they  came,  in  grand  parade.  Again  were 
\h~  equipages  wheeled  up  to  the  gate.  There  was 
151  r.  the  sm.acking  of  whips,  the  clattering  of  hoofs, 
<:i:t  the  glittering  of  harness.  The  horses  started 
^fi  almfjst  at  a  bound ;  the  villagers  again  hurried 
;o  -ight  and  left ;  the  wheels  t[»rew  up  a  clouil  of 
^11)1,  and  the  aspiring  family  was  wrapt  out  of  sight 
in  a  whirlwind. 


THE   WIDOW  AND  HER  SON. 


Piltic  olde  age,  withir  whaac  nilver  bairc* 
Honour  ind  reverence  evennore  have  raigo  d. 

Marlowe's  TamiMrU-'M4 

During  my  residence  in  the  country,  I  used  re 
quently  to  attend  at  the  old  village  church.  ItJ 
shadowy  ai<;les,  its  mouldering  monuments,  its  darV 
oaken  panelling,  all  reverend  with  the  gloom  of  de- 
parted years,  seemed  to  tit  it  for  the  haunt  of  solemn 
meditation.  ^A  Sunday,  too,  in  the  country,  is  so  holy 
in  its  repose— such  a  pensive  quiet  reigns  over  the 
face  of  Nature,  that  every  restless  passion  is  charmed 
down,  and  we  feel  all  the  natural  religion  of  the  soul 
gently  springing  up  within  us. 

Sweet  day,  «o  pure,  «o  calm,  m  bright. 
The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky  '  " 

I  canr.ct  lay  claim  to  the  merit  of  being  a  devout 
man  ;  but  tnere  are  feelings  that  visit  me  in  a  countrj- 
church,  amid  the  beautiful  serenity  of  Nature,  which 
I  experience  nowhere  else  ;  and  if  not  a  more  religious, 
I  thmk  1  am  a  better  man  on  Sunday,  than  on  any 
other  day  of  the  seven. 

But  in  this  church  I  felt  myself  continually  thrown 
back  upon  the  world,  by  the  frigidity  and  pomp  of  the 
poor  worms  around  me.  The  only  being  that  seemed 
thoroughly  to  feel  the  humble  and  prostrate  piety  ot 
a  true  Christian,  was  a  poor  decrepit  old  woman 
bending  under  the  weight  of  years  and  infirmities. 
She  bore  the  traces  of  somethiiv^  better  than  abject 
poverty.  The  lingerings  of  decent  pride  wert.  visiblt: 
in  her  appearance.  Her  dress,  though  humble  in  the 
extreme,  was  scrupulously  clean.  Some  trivial  re- 
spect, too,  had  been  awarded  her,  for  she  did  not 
lake  her  seat  an^ong  the  village  poor,  but  sat  alone 
on  the  steps  of  the  altar.  She  seemed  to  have  sur- 
vived all  love,  all  friendship,  all  society ;  and  to  have 
nothing  left  her  but  the  hopes  of  heaven.  When  I 
saw  her  feebly  rising  and  bending  her  aged  fonn  in 
prayer;  habitually  conning  her  prayer-book,  which 
her  palsied  hand  and  failing  eyes  could  not  permit 
her  to  re.id,  but  which  she  evidently  knew  by  heart ; 
I  felt  persuaded  that  the  faltering  voice  of  that  poor 
woman  arose  to  heaven  far  before  the  responses  ol 
the  clerk,  the  swell  of  the  organ,  or  the  chanting  ol 
the  choir. 

I  am  fond  of  loitering  about  country  churches ;  and 
this  was  so  delightfully  situated,  that  it  frequently  at- 
tracted me.  It  stood  on  a  knoll,  round  which  a  small 
stream  made  a  beautiful  bend,  and  then  wound  its 
way  through  a  long  reach  of  soft  meadow  scenery 
The  church  was  surrounded  by  yew  trees,  which 
seemed  almost  coeval  with  itself.  Its  tall  Gothic 
spire  shot  up  lightly  from  among  them,  with  rooks 
and  crows  generally  wheeling  about  it.  I  was  seated 
there  one  still  sunny  morning,  watching  two  labourer? 
who  were  digging  a  grave.  They  had  chosen  one 
of  the  most  remote  and  neglected  corners  cl  the 
churchyard,  where,  by  the  number  of  nameless  graven 
around,  it  would  appe<y  that  the  indigent  and  friend 
less  were  hudclled  into  the  earth.  I  was  told  that  '.he 
new-made  grave  was  for  the  only  son  of  a  poor  widow. 
While  1  was  meditating  on  the  distinctions  of  worldly 
rank,  which  extend  thus  down  into  the  very  dust,  the 
toll  of  the  bell  announced  the  approach  of  the  funeral. 
They  were  the  obsequies  of  poverty,  with  which 
pride  had  nothing  to  do.  A  coffin  of  the  plainest 
materials,  without  pall  or  other  covering,  %vas  borne 
by  some  of  the  villagers.  The  sexton  walked  before 
with  an  air  of  cold  indifference.  There  were  no  mock 
mourners  in  the  trappings  ot  affected  wo,  bu'  ther* 


WORKS   or  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


•<as  one  real  mourner  who  feebly  tottered  after  the 
corpse.  It  was  the  aged  mother  of  the  deceased — 
the  pcK.Told  woman  whom  1  had  seen  seated  on  the 
&e\£  of  the  altar.  She  was  supported  by  an  humble 
friend,  who  was  endeavouring  to  comtort  her.  A 
few  of  the  neighbouring  poor  had  joined  the  train, 
art!  some  children  of  the  village  were  running  hand 
in  hand,  now  shouting  with  unthinking  mirth,  and 
iWW  pausing  to  gaze,  with  childish  curiosity,  on  the 
gTtef  of  the  mourner. 

Ao  the  funeral  train  approached  the  gfrave,  the  par- 
.ion  issued  from  the  churci  porch,  arrayed  in  the  sur- 
plice, with  prayer-book  in  hand,  and  attended  by  the 
clerk.  The  service,  however,  was  a  mere  act  of 
charity.  The  deceased  had  been  destitute,  and  the 
survivor  was  pcnnvless.  It  was  shuflled  through, 
therefore,  in  form,  hut  coldly  and  unfeelingly.  The 
well-fed  priest  moved  but  a  few  steps  from  the  church 
door ;  his  voice  could  scarcely  be  heard  at  the  grave  ; 
and  never  did  I  hear  the  funeral  service,  that  sublime 
and  touching  ceremony,  turned  into  such  a  frigid 
mummer>'  of  words. 

I  approached  the  grave.  The  coffin  was  placed 
on  the  ground.  On  it  were  inscribed  the  name  and 
age  of  the  deceased — "George  Somers,  aged  26 
years."  The  jjoor  mother  had  been  assisted  to  kneel 
down  at  the  head  of  it.  Her  withered  hands  were 
clasped,  as  if  in  prayer ;  but  I  could  perceive,  by  a 
feeble  roc]dng  of  the  body,  and  a  convulsive  motion 
of  the  Ijps,  that  s^::e  was  gazing  on  the  last  relics  of 
her  sc  n  with  the  yearnings  of  a  mother's  heart. 

Preparations  were  made  to  deposit  the  colTin  in  the 
earth.  There  was  that  bustling  stir,  which  breaks  so 
harshly  on  the  feelings  of  grief  and  atfection  :  direc- 
tions given  in  the  cold  tones  of  business ;  the  striking 
cf  apadts  into  sand  and  gravel ;  which,  at  the  grave 
af  tnose  we  love,  is  of  all  sounds  the  most  withering. 
The  bustle  around  seemed  to  waken  the  mother  from 
a  wretched  reverie.  Sht;  raised  her  glazed  eyes,  nm\ 
looked  about  with  a  faint  wildness.  As  the  men  ap- 
proiched  with  cords  to  lower  the  coffin  into  the  grave, 
she  wrung  her  hands,  and  broke  into  an  agony  of 
mef.  The  poor  woman  who  attended  her,  took  her 
by  the  arm,  endeavoure-l  to  raise  her  from  the  earth, 
and  to  whisper  someti  ing  hke  consolation — "  Nay, 
nt'W — n.iy,  now — don't  take  it  so  sorely  to  heart." 
She  could  only  shake  her  head,  and  wring  her  hands, 
as  one  not  to  be  comforted. 

As  they  lowered  the  body  into  the  earth,  the 
creaking  of  the  cords  seemed  to  agonize  her;  but 
when,  on  some  accidental  obstruction,  there  was  a 
jostling  of  the  coflTm,  all  the  tenderness  of  the  moth- 
er burst  forth  ;  as  if  any  harm  could  come  to  him 
who  was  far  beyond  the  reach  of  worliily  suffering. 

I  ccuid  see  no  more — my  heart  swelled  into  my 
hroat — my  eyes  filled  with  tears — I  felt  as  if  I  were 
acting  a  barbarous  part  in  standing  by  and  gazing 
idiy  on  this  scene  of  maternal  anguish.  I  wandered 
to  another  part  of  the  churchyard,  where  1  remained 
iintil  the  funeral  train  had  dispersed. 

When  1  saw  the  mother  slowly  and  painfully  quit- 
ting the  grave,  leaving  behind  her  the  remains  of  all 
that  v/as  dear  to  her  on  earth,  and  returning  to  si- 
knc:  and  destitution,  my  heart  ached  for  her.  What, 
thought  I,  are  the  distresses  of  the  rich  ?  They  have 
friends  to  soothe — pleasures  to  beguile — a  world  to 
divert  and  dissipate  their  griefs.  What  are  ihc  sor- 
rows of  the  young  ?  Their  growing  minds  soon 
close  above  the  wound — their  elastic  spirits  soon 
rise  beneath  the  pressure — their  green  and  ductile 
tffections  soon  twine  around  new  objects.  But  the 
soiTows  of  the  poor,  who  have  no  outward  appli- 
ances to  soothe — the  sorrows  of  the  aged,  with  wnoiii 
life  at  best  is  but  a  wintry  day,  and  who  can  look  for 
ao  alter -growth  of  joy — the  sorrows  of  a  widow,  aged. 


solitary,  destitute,  mourning  over  an  only  son  the  Im 
solace  of  her  years ; — these  are  indeed  sorrows  which 
make  us  feel  the  impoiency  of  consolation. 

It  was  some  time  before  I  left  the  chtirchyard.  On 
my  way  homeward,  I  met  with  the  woman  who  had 
acted  as  comforter :  she  was  just  returning  from  ac- 
companying her  mother  to  her  lonely  habitation,  and 
I  drew  from  her  some  particulars  connected  with  ths 
affecting  scene  I  had  witnessed. 

The  parents  of  '.he  ''eceased  had  resided  in  the 
village  from  childhood.  They  had  inhabited  one  of 
the  neatest  cottages,  and  by  various  rural  occupa 
tions,  and  the  assistance  of  a  small  garden,  had  sup- 
ported themselves  creditably  and  comfortably,  and 
led  a  happy  and  a  blameless  life.  They  had  one  son, 
who  had  grown  up  to  be  the  staff  and  pride  of  theii 
age. — "  Oh.  sir  !  "  s.iid  the  good  woman,  "  he  was 
such  a  comelv  lad,  so  sweet-tempered,  so  kind  to 
every  one  aroujid  him,  so  dutiful  to  his  parents  I  It 
did  one's  heart  good  to  see  him  of  a  Sunday,  drest 
out  in  his  best,  so  tall,  so  straight,  so  cheery,  sup- 
porting his  old  mother  to  cnurch — for  she  was  al- 
ways fonder  of  leaning  on  George's  arm,  than  on  hei 
good  man's ;  and,  poor  soul,  she  might  well  be  proud 
of  him,  for  a  finer  lad  there  was  not  in  the  country- 
round." 

Unfortunately,  the  son  was  tempted,  durng  a  year 
of  scarcity  and  agricultural  hardship,  to  enter  into 
the  ser\'ice  of  one  of  the  small  craft  that  plied  on  a 
neighbouring  river.  He  had  not  been  long  in  this 
employ,  when  he  was  entrapped  by  a  press-gang,  and 
carried  off  to  sea.  His  parents  received  tidings  of  his 
seizure,  but  beyond  th.at  they  could  learn  nothing. 
It  was  the  loss  of  their  main  prop.  The  fnther,  whr 
was  already  infirm,  grew  heartless  and  melancholy, 
and  sunk  into  his  gia\e.  The  widow,  left  lonely  i'. 
her  age  and  feebleness,  could  no  longer  suppor  l.ci- 
self,  and  came  upon  the  p.arish.  Still  there  was  d 
kind  of  feeling  toward  her  throughout  the  village, 
and  a  certain  respect  as  being  one  of  the  oldest  in- 
habitants. As  no  one  applied  for  the  cottage  in 
which  she  had  passed  so  many  happy  days,  she  was 
permitted  to  remain  in  it,  where  she  lived  solitary 
and  almost  helpless.  The  few  wants  of  nature  were 
chiefly  supplied  from  the  scanty  productions  of 
her  little  garden,  which  the  neighbours  would  now 
and  then  cultivate  for  her.  It  was  but  a  few  days  be- 
fore the  time  at  which  these  circumstances  were  tolo 
me,  that  she  was  gathering  some  vegetables  lor  her 
repast,  when  she  heard  the  cottage-door  which  fjice{i 
the  garden  suddenly  opened.  A  stranger  came  ojt. 
and  seemed  to  be  looking  eagerly  and  wildly  around 
He  was  dressed  in  seamen's  clothes,  was  emaciated 
and  ghastly  pale,  and  bore  the  air  of  one  broken  by 
sickness  and  hardships.  He  saw  her,  and  hastened 
toward  her,  but  his  steps  were  faint  and  faltering; 
he  sank  on  his  knees  before  her,  and  sobbed  like  a 
child.  The  poor  woman  gazed  upon  him  with  a  va- 
cant and  wandering  eye — "  Oh  my  dear,  dear  moth- 
er 1  don't  you  know  your  son  ?  your  poor  boy 
George?"  It  was,  indeed,  the  wreck  of  her  once 
noble  lad ;  who,  shattered  by  wounds,  by  sickness, 
and  foreign  imprisonment,  h.-id,  at  length,  dragged 
his  wasted  limbs  homeward,  tc  repose  among  the 
scenes  of  his  childhood. 

I  will  not  attempt  to  detail  the  particulars  of  such 
a  meeting,  where  sorrow  and  joy  were  so  completely 
blended  :  still  he  was  alive  ! — he  was  come  home  !  - 
he  might  yet  live  to  comfort  and  cherish  her  old  age ! 
Nature,  however,  was  exhausted  in  him  ;  and  if  any 
thing  had  been  wanting  to  finish  the  work  of  fate, 
the  desolation  of  his  native  cottage  would  have  beer 
sufficient.  He  stretched  himself  on  the  pallet  or 
which  his  widowed  mother  harl  passed  many  s 
sleepless  night,  and  he  never  rose  from  it  again 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


28 


The  villagers,  when  they  heard  that  George  Som- 
ers  hail  returned,  crowdecf  to  see  him,  offering  every 
comfort  and  assistance  that  their  humhle  nn-ans  af- 
forded. He  was  too  weak,  however,  to  talk — he 
could  only  look  his  thanks.  His  mother  was  his 
constant  attendant ;  and  he  seemcid  unwilling  to  be 
helped  by  any  other  hand. 

There  is  something  in  sickness  that  breaks  down 
the  pride  of  manhood  ;  that  softens  the  he.irt,  and 
brings  it  back  to  the  feelings  of  infancy.  Who  that 
.las  languished,  even  ir.  atlvanced  life,  in  sickness 
ijid  despondency ;  who  that  has  pined  on  a  weary 
.,td  in  tne  neglect  and  loneliness  of  a  foreign  land  ; 
'wt  has  thought  on  the  mother  "  that  looked  on  his 
childhood,"  mat  smoothed  his  pillow,  and  adminis- 
tered to  his  helplessness  ?  Oh  !  there  is  an  enduring 
tenderness  in  the  love  of  a  mother  to  a  son,  that  tran- 
scends all  other  affections  of  the  heart.  It  is  neither 
to  be  chilled  by  selfishness,  nor  daunted  by  danger, 
nor  weakened  by  worthlessness.  nor  stifled  by  in- 
|rratitude.  She  will  sacrifice  every  comfort  to  his 
convenience  ;  she  will  surrender  every  pleasure  v.- 
his  enjoyment ;  she  will  glory  in  his  fame,  and  exult 
in  his  prosperity ; — and,  if  misfortune  overtake  him, 
'le  will  be  the  dearer  to  her  from  misfortune  ;  and  if 
■iisgrace  settle  upon  his  name,  she  will  still  love  and 
ciierish  him  in  spite  of  his  disgrace ;  and  if  all  the 
world  beside  cast  him  off,  she  will  be  all  the  world 
to  him. 

Poor  George  ■  Somers  had  known  what  it  was  to 
!)(.'  in  sickness,  and  none  to  soothe — lonely  and  in 
prison,  and  none  to  visit  him.  He  could  not  endure 
hir.  mother  from  his  sight;  if  she  moved  away,  his 
eye  would  follow  her.  She  would  sit  for  hours  by 
his  bed,  watching  him  as  he  slept.  Sometimes  he 
■'/ould  start  from  a  feverish  dreain,  and  looking  anx- 
i,ius'7  up  untij  he  saw  her  bending  over  him,  when 
■j'j  would  take  her  hand,  lay  it  on  his  bosom,  and  fall 
ulfep  with  the  tranquillity  of  a  child.  In  this  way 
h'j  died. 

My  first  impulse,  on  hearing  this  hutnble  t.-ile  of 
.affliction,  was  to  visit  the  cottage  of  the  moumt-r, 
and  administer  pecuniary  assist.ince,  and,  if  possi- 
ble, coirifort.  I  found,  however,  on  inquiry,  that  the 
good  feelings  of  the  villagers  had  prompted  them  to 
do  fvory  thing  that  the  case  admitted  ;  and  as  the 
poor  know  best  how  to  console  each  other's  sorrows, 
'  dill  not  venture  to  intrude. 

riie  next  Sunday  I  was  at  the  village  church ; 
alien,  to  my  surpnse,  1  saw  the  poor  old  woman 
tottering  down  the  aisle  to  her  accustomed  seat  on 
the  steps  of  the  altar. 

She  had  made  an  effort  to  put  on  something  like 
inourning  for  her  son  ;  and  nothing  could  be  more 
toiicliing  than  this  struggle  l)etween  pious  affection 
and  utter  poverty:  a  black  riband  or  so — a  failetl 
black  handkerchief — and  one  or  two  mri'e  such 
humble  attempts  to  express  by  outward  signs  that 
grief  which  passes  show. — When  I  looked  round 
M,':on  the  storied  monuments,  the  stately  hatch- 
ments, the  colli  marble  pomp,  with  which  grandeur 
nmirned  magnificently  ovc-  departed  pride,  and 
t'nieil  to  this  poor  widow,  bowed  down  by  age  and 
:•  :row  at  the  altar  of  her  God,  and  ofTering  up  the 
;.ra)ers  and  praises  of  a  pious,  though  a  broken 
•  ".rt,  I  felt  that  this  living  monument  of  real  grief 
'  i;  worth  them  all. 

I  related  her  story  to  some  of  the  wealthy  mem- 
1WS  of  the  congregation,  and  they  were  moved  by 
.t  They  exerted  themselves  to  render  her  situation 
mote  comfortable,  and  to  lighten  her  afflictions.  It 
waa.  however,  but  smoothing  a  few  steps  to  the 
ifrr.ve,  In  the  course  of  a  Sunday  or  two  after,  she 
'.v.^s  missed  from  her  usual  seat  at  church,  and  be- 
ne I  left  the  neighbourhood,  I  heard,  with  a  feeling 


of  satisfaction,  that  she  had  quietly  bf*athcd  hei 
last,  and  had  gone  to  rejoin  those  she  loved,  in  thai 
world  where  sorrow  is  never  known,  and  friends  arf 
never  parted. 


THE  BOAR'S  HEAD  TAVERN,  EASTCHEAP. 


A  SHAKSPERIAN    -tESKARCH. 


"A  tavern  is  the  r«ndezvoii>,  the  exchange,  the  utafle  of  gaol! 
fellows.  I  hare  heaid  my  great-grandfather  >«!!,  how  his  great- 
great-grandfather  should  say,  that  it  was  an  old  proverb  when  hii 
great-grandfather  w.is  i.  child,  that  'it  was  a  good  viizA  that  blew  a 
man  to  the  wine,'  " 

MOTHIR   BOHBIB. 

It  is  a  pious  custom,  in  some  Catholic  countries, 
to  honour  the  memory  of  saints  by  votive  lights 
burnt  before  their  pictures.  The  popularity  of  a 
saint,  therefore,  may  be  known  by  the  number  of 
these  offerings.  One,  perhaps,  is  left  to  moulder  in 
the  darkness  of  his  little  chapel ;  another  may  h.ive 
a  solitary  lamp  to  throw  its  blinking  rays  athwart 
his  effigy ;  while  the  whole  blaze  of  adoration  is 
lavished  at  the  shrine  of  some  beatified  father  of  re- 
nown. The  wealthy  devotee  brings  his  huge  lumi- 
narj'  of  wax ;  the  e.iger  zealot,  his  seven-branched 
candlestick ;  and  even  the  mendicant  pilj^rim  is  by 
no  means  satisfied  thpt  sufficient  light  is  thrown 
upon  the  deceased,  unless  he  hangs  up  his  little  lamp 
of  smoking  oil.  The  consequence  is,  in  t!ie  eager- 
ness to  enlighten,  they  are  often  apt  to  ob&:ure ;  and 
I  have  occasionally  seen  an  unlucky  saint  almosi 
smoked  out  of  countenance  by  the  officiotis.iess  ci 
his  followers. 

In  like  manner  has  it  fared  with  the  immortal 
Shakspeare.  Every  writer  considers  it  his  boundea 
duty,  to  light  up  some  portion  of  his  character  oi 
works,  and  to  rescue  some  merit  from  oblivion.  The 
coinmentator,  opulent  in  words,  produces  vast  tomes 
of  dissertations  ;  the  common  nerd  of  editors  send 
up  mists  of  obscurity  from  their  notes  at  the  bottt)rn 
of  each  page ;  and  every  casual  scribbler  brings  his 
farthing  rush-light  of  eulogy  or  research,  to  swell 
the  cloud  of  incense  and  of  smoke. 

As  I  honour  all  established  usages  of  my  brethren 
of  the  quill,  I  thought  it  but  proper  to  contp.lute  my 
mite  of  hom.ige  to  the  memory  of  the  illustrious 
bard.  I  was  for  some  time,  however,  sorely  puzzled 
in  what  way  I  should  disch.irge  this  duty.  I  found 
myself  anticipated  in  every  attempt  at  a  new  read- 
ing ;  ever)'  doubtful  line  had  been  explained  a  do^cn 
ditierent  ways,  and  perplexed  beyond  the  reach  of 
elucidation  ;  and  as  to  fine  pass.ages,  they  had  all 
been  amply  praised  by  previous  admirers :  nay,  so 
completely  had  the  bard,  of  late,  been  overlarded 
with  panegyric  by  a  gre.at  German  critic,  that  it  was 
difficult  now  to  tin  1  even  a  fault  that  had  not  been 
argued  into  a  beauty. 

In  this  perplexity,  I  was  one  morning  turning  ovei 
his  pages,  when  I  casually  opened  upon  'he  comic 
scenes  of  Henry  IV.,  and  was,  m  a  moment,  i:cm 
pletely  lost  in  the  madcap  revelry  of  the  Boar's  Uvw) 
Tavern.  So  vividly  and  naturally  are  these  scltim 
of  humour  depicted,  and  with  such  force  and  ton- 
sistency  are  the  characters  sustained,  that  they  be- 
come mingled  up  in  the  mind  with  the  facts  and 
personages  of  real  life.  To  few  readers  does  it  oc- 
cur, that  these  are  all  ideal  creations  of  a  poet's 
brain,  and  that,  in  sober  truth,  no  such  knot  cA 
merry  roysfcrs  ever  enlivened  the  dull  nrighbcAir- 
hood  of  Eastcheap. 

For  rr  y  part,  I  love  to  give  myself  up  to  the  iUusjoni 


00 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


m 


m 


IW.,,  «"• 


m'. 


01  poetry.  A  hero  of  fiction  that  never  existed,  is 
just  as  v.ilii,il)l(;  to  me  ?•«  a  hero  uf  history  that  ex- 
isted :\  thoiir..-uul  years  since;  and,  if  I  may  be  ex- 
cused such  m  insensibility  to  the  common  ties  of 
human  nature,  I  would  not  give  up  fat  Jack  fot  half 
the  greiit  men  .jf  ancient  chronicle.  What  have  the 
heroi^'j  of  yore  done  lor  me,  or  men  like  me?  They 
iave  conquered  countries  of  which  1  do  not  enjoy  an 
acre ;  or  thoy  have  gained  laurels  of  which  I  do  not 
inh^-nt  a  leaf;  or  they  have  furnished  examples  of 
hiii! -brained  prowess,  which  I  have  neither  the  op- 
•>;Mlunity  nor  the  inclination  to  follow.  But  old  Jack 
l-'alstaff ! — kind  Jack  Falstatf! — sweet  Jack  Falstaff ! 
has  enlarged  the  boundaries  of  human  enjoyment ; 
he  has  added  vast  regions  of  wit  and  good-humour, 
in  v/hich  the  poorest  man  may  revel ;  and  has  be- 
queathed a  never-failing  inheritance  of  jolly  laughter, 
to  make  mankind  merrier  and  better  to  the  latest 
posterity. 

A  thought  suddenly  struck  me :  "  I  will  make  a 
pilgrimage  to  Kastchea]),"  said  1,  closing  the  book, 
"  and  see  if  the  old  Boar's  Head  Tavern  still  exists. 
Who  knows  but  I  may  light  upon  some  legendary 
traces  of  Dame  Q"ickly  and  her  guests  :  at  any  rate, 
there  will  be  a  kmdred  pleasure,  in  treading  the  halls 
once  vocal  with  their  mirth,  to  that  the  toper  enjoys 
in  smelling  to  the  empty  cask,  once  filled  with  gener- 
ous wine.' 

The  resolution  was  no  sooner  formed  than  put  in 
execution.  I  forbear  to  treat  of  the  various  aclvent- 
iires  and  wonders  I  encountered  in  my  travels,  of 
the  haunted  regions  of  Cock-lane ;  of  the  faded 
^^ories  of  Little  Britain,  and  the  parts  adjacent ; 
what  perils  1  ran  in  Cateaton-street  and  Old  Jewry ; 
of  the  renowned  Guildhall  and  its  two  stunted  giants, 
the  f  ride  and  woniler  of  the  city,  and  the  terror  of 
ail  unlucky  urchins ;  and  how  I  visited  London 
S'.or;,  and  struck  my  staff  upon  it,  in  imitation  of 
ihat  ar:h-rebel,  Jack  Cade. 

L.'t  it  suiTice  to  say,  that  I  at  length  arrived  in 
merry  Eastch'-ap,  that  ancient  region  of  wit  and  was- 
sail, where  the  very  names  of  the  streets  relished  of 
good  cheer,  as  Puilding-lane  bears  testimony  even  at 
the  present  day.  For  E.astcheap,  says  ol<l  btow, 
"was  alwa\s  famous  for  its  convivial  doings.  The 
cookes  crieil  hut  ribbes  of  beef  ro;isted,  pies  well 
baked,  and  other  victuals;  there  was  clattering  of 
pewter  pots,  harpe,  pipe,  and  sawtrie."  Alas  I  now 
sadly  is  the  scene  changed  since  the  roaring  days  of 
Falstaff  and  old  Stow  !  The  madcap  royster  has 
eivcn  place  to  the  piodiling  tradesman  ;  the  clatter- 
ing of  po^s  and  the  sound  of  "  harpe  and  sawtrie," 
to  the  din  of  carts  and  the  accurst  dinging  of  the 
dustman's  bell ;  and  no  song  is  heard,  save,  haply, 
the  strain  of  some  syren  from  Billingsgate,  chaining 
the  eulogy  of  deceased  mackerel. 

I  sought,  in  vain,  for  the  ancient  abode  of  Dame 
Quickly.  The  only  relict  of  it  is  a  boar's  head, 
carved  in  relief  stone,  which  fonnerly  served  as  the 
sign,  but,  at  present,  is  built  into  the  parting  line 
of  two  houses  which  stand  on  the  site  of  the  re^ 
nowned  old  tavern. 

For  the  history  of  this  little  empire  of  good  fellow 
ship,  I  was  referred  to  a  tallow-chandler's  widow, 
opposite,  who  had  been  bom  and  brought  up  on  the 
spot,  and  was  looked  up  to,  as  the  in<lisputable 
ctircnicl'-T  of  the  neighbourhood.  1  found  her  seated 
in  a  little  back  parlour,  the  window  of  which  looked 
out  u[K)n  A  yard  about  ei^ht  feet  square,  laid  out  ;ls  a 
fiowtr-garden  ;  w  liile  a  guiss  door  opposite  afforded 
a  distant  peep  of  the  strett,  througii  a  vista  of  soap 
and  tallow  candles  ;  the  two  views,  which  comprised. 
In  all  probability,  her  prosjjects  in  life,  and  the  little 
world  in  vvhuh  she  nad  lived,  and  moved,  and  had 
hei  beini^,  f.jr  the  jettcr  part  of  a  century. 


To  be  versed  in  the  history  of  Eastcheap,  ereai 
and  lilde,  from  London  Stone  even  unto  the  Nlonu- 
ment,  was,  doubtless,  in  her  opinion,  to  be  acquaint- 
ed with  the  history  of  the  universe.  Yet,  with  all 
this,  she  possessed  the  simplicity  of  true  wirdom,  and 
that  liberal,  communicative  disposition,  which  1 
have  generally  remarked  in  intelligent  old  ladies, 
knowing  in  the  concerns  of  their  neighbourhood. 

Her  information,  however,  did  not  extend  far  back 
into  antiquity.  .She  could  throw  no  light  upon  tlv 
historj'  of  the  Boar's  Head,  from  the  time  that  Dame 
Quickly  espoused  the  valiant  Pistol,  until  the  great 
fire  of  London,  when  it  was  unfortunately  burnt 
down.  It  w.'is  soon  rebuilt,  and  continued  to  flourish 
under  the  old  name  and  sign,  until  a  dying  landlord, 
struck  with  remorse  for  double  scores,  bad  measures, 
and  other  iniquities  which  are  incident  to  the  sinful 
r.ace  of  publicans,  endeavoured  to  make  his  peace 
with  Heaven,  by  bequeathing  the  tavern  to  .St 
Michael's  church.  Crooked-lane,  toward  the  support- 
ing of  a  chaplain.  For  some  time  the  vestry  meet- 
ings were  regularly  held  there  ;  but  it  was  observed 
that  the  old  Boar  never  held  up  his  head  under 
church  government.  He  gradually  declined,  and 
finally  gave  his  last  gasp  about  thirty  years  since. 
The  tavern  was  then  turned  info  shops  ;  but  she  in- 
formed me  that  a  picture  of  it  was  still  preservi-d  in 
St.  Michael's  church,  which  stood  just  in  the  rear. 
To  get  a  sight  of  this  picture  was  now  my  determi- 
nation ;  so,  having  informed  myself  of  the  abode  of 
the  sexton,  I  took  my  leave  of  the  venerable  chroniclet 
of  Eastcheap,  my  visit  having  doubtless  raised  greatly 
her  opinion  of  her  legendary  lore,  and  furnished  an 
important  incident  in  the  history  of  her  life. 

It  cost  me  some  difliculty,  and  much  curious  in- 
quiry, to  ferret  out  the  humble  hanger-on  to  i.h<" 
church.  I  had  to  explore  Crooked-lane,  and  div?;ia 
little  alleys,  and  elbows,  and  dark  passage.''.,  with 
which  this  old  city  is  perforated,  like  an  ancient 
cheese,  or  a  worm-eaten  chest  of  ilrawers.  At  length 
I  traced  him  to  a  corner  of  a  small  court,  siiriound- 
ed  by  lofty  houses,  where  the  inhabitants  enjoy  about 
as  much  of  the  face  of  heaven,  .as  a  community  of 
frogs  at  the  bottom  of  a  well.  The  sexton  was  a 
me»k,  acquiescing  little  m.in,  of  a  bowing,  lowly 
habit  ;  yet  he  had  a  pleasant  twinkling  in  his  eye, 
and  if  encour.aged,  would  now  and  then  venture  a 
sm.all  ple.asantry ;  such  .as  a  man  of  his  low  eslat' 
might  venture  to  make  in  the  company  of  high  churrn 
wardens,  and  other  mighty  men  of  the  earth.  1 
found  him  in  company  with  the  deputy  organ!  U 
seated  apart,  like  Milton's  angels;  discoursing,  lu; 
doubt,  on  high  doctrinal  points,  and  settling  the  af- 
fairs of  the  church  over  a  friendly  pot  of  ;de;  for  the 
lower  classes  of  English  seldom  deliberate  on  any 
weighty  matter,  witfiout  the  assistance  of  a  cool 
tankard  to  clear  their  understandings.  I  arrived  at 
the  moment  when  they  had  finished  their  ale  anil 
their  argument,  and  were  about  to  repair  to  ihs 
church  to  put  it  in  order ;  so,  having  made  knovvn 
my  wishes,  I  received  their  gracious  pernission  to 
•accompany  them. 

The  church  of  St.  Michael's,  Crooked-lane  stand- 
ing a  short  distance  from  Billingsgate,  is  f;  riched 
with  the  tombs  of  many  fishmongers  of  renown ;  and 
as  every  profession  h.as  its  galaxy  of  glory,  and  its 
const(!llation  of  great  men,  I  presume  the  monument 
of  a  mighty  fishmonger  of  the  oWen  time  is  regarded 
with  ,-is  much  reverence  by  succeeding  generations 
of  the  craft,  as  poets  feel  on  contemplating  the  tomb 
of  Virgil,  or  soldiers  the  monument  of  a  Marlbor- 
ough or  Turenne. 

I  caimot  but  turn  aside,  while  thus  .speaking  of  iV 
Uisirkius  men.  to  observe  that  St.  ."Vlichael's,  Crook- 
ed-lane, contains  also  the  ashes  of  that  doughty  cham 


irmg  away 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY  CRAYON,   Geni. 


pion  William  Walworth,  Knight,  who  so  manfully 
cinvc  down  the  snirily  wipht,  Wat  Tyler,  in  Smith- 
field  ;  a  hero  worthy  of  honourahle  blazon,  as  almost 
till-  only  Lord  Mayor  on  record  famous  for  deeds  of 
anus  ;  the  sovereigns  of  Cockney  beinf;  jjenerally  re- 
itouiK'd  as  the  most  |)acific  of  all  iiotentatcs.* 

Adjoining  the  church,  in  a  small  cemetery,  imme- 
,ii  it'ly  under  the  back  windows  of  what  was  once 
;!•;  |{()ar's  Head,  stands  the  tombstone  of  Robert 
r-'=--ton,  whilome  drawer  at  the  tavern.  It  is  now 
rarly  a  century  since  this  trusty  drawer  of  good 
qujrcloscd  his  bustling  career,  and  was  thus  quietly 
dtjvosited  within  call  of  his  customers.  As  1  was 
cK'iring  away  the  weeds  from  his  epitaph,  the  little 
sexton  drew  me  on  one  side  with  a  mysterious  air, 
and  informed  me,  in  a  low  voice,  that  once  upon  a 
tune,  on  a  dark  wintry  night,  when  tlie  wind  was  un- 
ruly, howling  and  whistling,  banging  about  doors  and 
windows,  and  twirling  weathcrcocl<s,  so  that  the  liv- 
ing were  frightened  out  of  their  beds,  and  even  the 
dead  could  not  sleep  quietly  in  their  graves,  the  ghost 
ot  honest  Preston,  which  happened  to  be  airing  itself 
in  the  churchyard,  was  attracted  by  the  well-known 
call  of  "  waiter,"  from  the  lioar's  Head,  and  made 
its  sudden  appearance  in  the  midst  of  a  roaring  club, 
just  as  the  parish  clerk  was  singing  a  stave  from  tlie 
"  mirrie  garland  of  Captain  Death  ;"  to  the  discom- 
fiture of  sundry  train-l)anil  captains,  and  the  conver- 
sion of  an  inhdel  attorney,  who  became  a  zealous 
Christian  on  the  spot,  and  was  never  known  to  twist 
the  truth  afterwards,  excefU  in  the  way  of  business. 

I  beg  it  may  be  retnembered,  that  I  do  not  pledge 
mvself /or  the  auihenticitv  of  this  anecdote;  though 
ii  IS  wt  II  known  that  the  churchyards  and  bye-corners 
of  this  old  mt'lropoiis  are  very  much  infested  with 
T^;rturlKnl  spirits  ;  and  every  one  must  have  heard 
ii  the  Cock-lane  giiost,  and  the  apparition  that  guards 
lie  regalia  in  the  Tower,  which  has  frigtitencd  so 
.;;  my  bold  sentinels  almost  out  of  the-r  wits. 

Mf  all  tliis  as  it  may,  tiiis  Robert  I'reston  seeirs  *.D 
h.ive  been  a  worthy  successor  to  the  nimblo-tongued 
Francis,  who  attendc.'d  upon  the  revels  of  I'rince  I  l.il ; 
to  have  been  ecjualk  prompt  with  his  "anon,  anon, 
sir,"  and  to  have  transcended  his  predecessor  in 
honesty  ;  for  Falstaff,  the  ver.icity  of  whose  taste  no 
man  will  venture  to  impeach,  flatly  accuses  Francis 
ut  putting  lime  in  his  sack;  whereas,  honest  Preston's 
epitaph  Liuds  him  for  the  soI)riety  of  his  conduct,  the 
sounilncss  of  his  wine,  antl  the  fairness  of  his  meas- 
ure, t  'I'he  \\\)rthy  dignitaries  of  the  church,  however. 
did  not  ap|)ear  much  captivated  by  the  sober  virtues 
of  the  tapster  :  the  de|Hity  organist,  who  had  a  moist 
look  out  ol  the  eye,  made  some  shrewd  ri'mark  on 
the  abstemiousness  of  a  in.m  brought  up  among  lull 
hogsheads;  and  the  little  sexton  corroborated  his 
opMiion  by  a  significant  wink,  anil  a  dubious  shake  of 
the  head.  ' 

Thus  far  my  researches,  though  they  threw  much 
light  on  the  histoid  of  tapsters,  tishmongers,  and  Lord 
M.iyors,  yet   disa])pouited  me  in  the  f  real  object  of 

•  7'!*  f.illriwinc  was  the  ancient  inscription  on  the  monument 
<tf  I '-IS  wjnhy,  which,  i^nliappiiy,  was  tlcstruyed  in  (he  great  con- 
t^'^  it  no. 

Hereunder  ivlh  a  man  (if  fame, 
Willtani  Walworth  callyd  hy  name; 
Kishmungcr  he  was  in  lyfTiiinc  here, 
And  twise  I^ufl  Maior.  :i^  in  books  a|  peare  ; 
Who,  with  couiaqe  stont  ami  manly  myi^ht, 
Slew  Jacic  Straw  tn  Kyng  Richard's  si^ht, 
Fur  which  act  done,  and  trew  enient. 
The  Kyng  made  him  knyxlit  incontinent; 
And  ijave  htm  armes,  as  here  you  see, 
To  declare  his  fact  and  chtvalilric  : 
He  left  tins  iyd  the  year  of  our  Liud 
Thtrtecn  hondred  foumcore  and  three  odd. 

Ha  error  in  tbe  foregoing  inscription  has  been  corrected  hy  the 
fenerihlc  Slow :  "  Whereas,"  saith  he,  "  It  hath  tieen  far  spread 
ibiuad  hy  vuleur  opinion,  that  the  re')c'  smitten  down  su  manfully 
jy  bii  SViUiajD  Walworth,  the  iken  woithy  Ixtrd  Maioi   was  uamcKl 


my  quest,  the  picture  of  the  Boar's  lk<ad  Tavern. 
No  such  painting  was  to  be  found  ii  the  i.hurch  ol 
St.  iMichael's.  "  Marry  and  amen  !  "  said  ].  ''  here 
eiideih  my  research  !  "  So  I  was  giving  the  mattci  up, 
with  the  air.of  a  baffled  antiquary,  when  my  friend 
the  sexton,  perceiving  me  to  be  curious  in  every  thing 
relative  to  the  old  tavern,  offered  to  show  me  the 
choice  vessels  of  the  vestry,  whicii  had  been  ha-  i-tl 
down  from  remote  times,  when  the  parish  meetings 
were  held  at  the  lioar's  Head.  These  were  de]iosiicd 
in  the  parish  club-room,  which  had  been  transfei  red, 
on  the  decline  of  the  ancient  establishment,  to  a 
tavern  in  the  neighbourhood. 

A  few  ste[)s  brought  us  to  the  house,  which  stands 
No.  12,  Mile-lane,  bearing  the  title  of  The  Mason's 
Arms,  and  is  kept  by  Master  Edward  Honcyball,  the 
"  liully-rock  "  of  the  establishment.  It  is  one  of  those 
little  lavrns,  which  abound  in  the  heart  of  the  city, 
and  form  the  centre  of  gossip  and  intelligence  of  the 
neighbourhood.  We  entered  the  bar-room,  which 
was  narrow  and  ilarkling;  for  in  these  close  lanes  but 
few  rays  of  rellecled  ight  are  enabh^d  to  struggle 
down  to  the  inhabitants,  whose  broad  d.iy  is  at  best 
but  a  tolerable  twilight.  The  room  was  partitioned 
into  'oxes,  each  containing  a  table  spread  with  a 
I  .  white  cloth,  ready  for  dinner.  This  showed 
tli.it  the  guests  were  of  the  goori  old  stamp,  and  di- 
vided their  day  etjually,  for  it  was  but  just  one  o'clock. 
At  the  lower  end  ol  the  room  was  a  clear  coal  fire, 
before  which  a  breast  of  lamb  was  roasting,  A  row 
of  bright  brass  candlesticks  and  pewter  mugs  glis- 
tened along  tlie  mantelpiece,  and  an  old-fashioned 
clock  ticked  in  one  corner.  There  was  somethiii: 
primitive  in  this  medley  of  kitchen,  parlour,  ami  ha.l  _ 
th.at  carried  me  back  to  earlier  times,  and  pleased 
me.  The  place,  indeed,  was  humble,  but  every  thii:g 
had  that  look  of  order  and  neatness  which  besp>eak5 
the  superintendence  of  a  notable  English  housewife, 
A  group  of  anijihibious-looking  beings,  who  might 
be  either  fishermen  or  sailors,  were  regaling  them- 
selves in  one  of  the  boxes.  As  I  was  a  visitor  ol 
rather  higher  pretensions,  I  was  ushered  into  a  little 
misshaj^en  back  room,  having  at  least  nine  corners. 
It  was  lighted  by  a  sky-light,  furnished  with  anii- 
quatetl  leathern  chairs,  and  ornamented  with  the 
portrait  of  a  fat  pig.  li  was  evidently  appropriated 
to  particular  customers,  and  I  found  a  shabby  gentle- 
m.an,  in  a  reil  nose,  and  oil-cloth  hat,  sealed  in  one 
corner,  meditating  on  a  half-empty  pot  of  porter. 

The  old  sexton  had  t.iken  the  landlady  aside,  and 
with  an  air  of  profound  importance  imparled  lohcr 
my  ernmd.  Uame  Honeyball  was  a  likely,  plump, 
bustling  little  woman,  and  no  b.ad  substitute  lor  that 
paragon  of  hostesses,  Dame  Quickly.  She  seemed 
dclignt<;d  with  an  opportunity  to  oblige  ;  and  hurry- 
ing up  stairs  to  the  archives  of  her  house,  where 
the  precious  vessels  of  the  parish  club  were  deposit- 
ed, she  returned,  smiling  and  courtesyiiig  with  them 
in  her  hands. 

The  first  she  presented  me  wxs  a  japanned  iron 

Jack  Straw,  and  not  Wat  Tyler,  I  thought  grod  to  reconcile  tbii 
ra.sh  conceived  doubt  by  such  testimony  as  1  find  in  anci'-nt  aad 
gouti  records.  The  principal  leaders,  or  captains,  of  the  corcmoai. 
were  Wat  Tylei.  as  tne  first  man;  the  second  was  John,  or  Jack, 
Straw,  «c.,  *c."  Stow's  L,mjcn. 

i  As  this  inscription  is  rife  with  excellent  morality,  I  tranKribc 
it  for  the  admonition  of  delinquent  tapsters.  It  is,  nc  doubt,  the 
production  of  some  choice  spirit,  who  once  fTequentec*  the  £<Mr'& 
Head. 

Bacchus,  In  (five  the  toping  world  suri>rise, 
Produced  one  sober  son,  and  here  he  lies. 
I'huukih  reur'd  ainoufc  full  hogsheads,  he  defied 
The  charms  of  wine,  and  every  one  beside. 
O  reader,  if  to  justice  thou  *rl  inclined. 
Keep  honest  Preston  dally  in  thy  mind. 
He  drew  good  wine,  look  care  to  fill  h;i  pots. 
Had  sundry  virtues  that  eicnied  his  fjnUs. 
You  that  on  Macchus  have  the  tike  dei»endt3At',9, 
Pray  copy  Uob,  in  meajurc  and  alteodukc*. 


<i 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Rii 


ifl^:- 


iot>icco-box  »f  gigantic  size,  out  of  which,  I  was 
to'.d,  the  vestry  had  smoked  at  their  stated  meetings, 
mice  time  immemorial ;  and  whii^h  was  never  suf- 
lered  to  be  profaned  by  vulgar  hands,  or  used  on 
oorrimon  occasions.  1  received  it  with  becoming 
reverence ;  but  what  was  my  delight,  at  beholding 
on  its  cover  the  identical  painting  of  which  I  was  in 
t;:;sst !  There  was  displayed  the  outside  of  the 
loar's  Htail  Tavern,  and  before  the  door  was  to  be 
*:?n  the  whole  convivial  grouj),  at  table,  in  full  revel, 
pictured  with  that  wonderful  fidelity  and  force,  with 
which  the  portraits  of  renowned  generals  and  com- 
modores ,are  illustrated  on  tobacco  boxes,  for  the 
beneiit  of  posterity.  Lest,  however,  there  should 
be  any  mistake,  the  cunning  limner  h.ad  warily  in- 
scribed the  names  of  Prince  Hal  and  Falstaffon  the 
bottoms  of  their  chairs. 

On  the  inside  of  the  cover  was  an  inscription, 
nearly  obliterated,  recording  that  this  bcx  was  the 
gift  of  Sir  Richard  Gore,  for  the  use  of  the  vestry 
meetings  at  the  Boar's  Head  Tavern,  and  that  it 
was  "  repaired  and  beautified  by  his  succes<!or,  Mr. 
John  Packard,  1767."  Such  is  a  faithful  descrip- 
tion of  this  august  and  venerable  relic,  and  I  ques- 
tion whether  the  learned  Scriblerius  contemplated 
his  Roman  shield,  or  the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table 
the  long-sought  sangreal,  with  more  exultation. 

While  1  was  meditating  on  it  with  enraptured  gaze. 
Dame  Honeyball,  who  was  highly  gratified  by  the 
interest  it  excited,  put  in  my  hands  a  drinking  cup  or 
goblet,  which  also  belonged  to  the  vestry,  and  was 
descended  from  the  old  lioar's  Head,  it  bore  the 
inscription  of  having  been  the  gift  of  Francis  Wyihers, 
lCni,:;ht,  and  was  held,  she  told  me,  in  exceeding 
g;rc,at  value,  being  considered  very  "  antyke."  This 
as;  ojiinion  w.is  strengthened  by  the  shabby  genile- 
^ian  with  the  red  nose,  and  oil-cloth  hat,  and  whom 
1  stioiigly  suspected  of  being  a  lineal  descendant 
fcam  the  valiant  Bardolph.  He  suddenly  aroused 
I'lom  his  meditation  on  the  pot  of  porter,  and  cast- 
ing a  knowing  look  at  the  goblet,  exclaimed,  "  Ay, 
ay,  the  head  don't  ache  now  th.it  made  that  there 
article." 

The  great  importance  attached  to  this  memento' of 
ancient  revelry  by  modern  churchwardens,  at  first 
puzzled  me ;  but  there  is  nothing  sharpens  the  appre- 
hension so  much  as  antiquarian  research  ;  for  I  im- 
medi.aely  i>erceived  that  this  could  be  no  other  than 
the  identical  "  parcel-gilt  goblet  "  on  which  Falstaff 
made  his  loving,  but  faithless  vow  to  Dame  Quickly  ; 
and  which  would,  of  course,  be  treasured  up  with 
care  among  the  regalia  of  her  domains,  as  a  testi- 
mony of  that  solemn  contract.* 

Mine  hostess,  indeed,  gave  me  a  long  history  how 
the  goblet  had  been  handed  down  from  generation 
to  generation.  She  also  entertained  me  with  many 
particulars  concerning  the  worthy  vestrymen  who 
nave  seated  themselves  thus  quietly  on  the  stools  jf 
the  ancient  roysters  of  Eastcheap,  and,  like  so  many 
commentators,  utter  clouds  of  smoke  in  honour  of 
Shakspeare.  These  I  forbear  to  relate,  lest  my 
readers  should  not  be  as  curious  in  these  matters  as 
myself.  Sudice  it  to  say,  the  neighbours,  one  and  all, 
abcu:  Eastcheap,  believe  that  P'alstatf  and  his  merry 
crew  actually  lived  and  revelled  there.  Nay,  there 
are  several  legendary  anecdotes  concerning  him  still 
extant  among  the  oldest  frequenters  of  the  Mason's 
AriTis,  which  they  give  as  transmitted  down  from 
their  forefathers     and  Mr.  M'Kash,  an  Irish  hair- 

•  Thou  diHAf  swear  to  me  upon  a /at-ctV-^rV/^^///,  sitting  la 
luy  Dolphin  Chamber,  at  the  round  table,  by  a  sea-coal  fire,  nn 
WeJiiewlay  in  Whitsuu-».^5lt,  wncc  the  Pnnte  broke  thy  head 
for  likening  his  father  to  a  singing  man  of  Windsor  ;  thou  didst 
sweat  to  me  then,  as  I  was  «a.?hing  tity  wound,  to  marry  me,  and 
tnaJce  me  my  Luiy.  thy  wife.     Catist  thou  deny  it^ — 

Htnry  IV.  fart  a. 


dresser,  whose  shop  stands  on  the  site  of  the  oit] 
Boar's  Head,  has  several  dry  jokes  of  Fat  Jack's, 
not  laid  down  in  the  books,  with  which  he  makes 
his  customers  ready  to  die  of  laughter. 

1  now  turned  to  my  friend  the  sexton  to  makd 
some  farther  inquiries,  but  I  found  him  sunk  in  pen- 
sive meditation.  His  head  h.id  declined  a  little  oi 
one  side  ;  a  deep  sigh  he.aved  from  the  very  botfK) 
of  his  stomach,  and,  though  I  could  not  see  a  tcai 
trembling  in  his  eye,  yet  a  moisture  was  eviden'.'., 
stealing  from  a  comer  of  his  mouth.  1  followcil 
the  diuxtion  of  his  eye  through  the  door  which  stood 
open,  an'  found  it  fixed  wistfully  on  the  savoury 
l)reast  of  imb,  roasting  in  dripping  richness  before 
the  'ire, 

.  low  called  to  mind,  that  in  the  eagerness  of  my 
recondite  investigation,  I  was  keeping  the  poor  man 
from  ins  dinner.  My  bowels  yearned  witn  s>mpa- 
thy,  and  putting  in  his  hand  a  small  token  of  my 
gratitude  and  ffood-will,  I  departed  with  a  heart) 
benediction  on  him.  Dame  Honeyball,  and  the  parish 
club  of  Crooked-lane— not  forgetting  my  shabby,  bat 
sententious  friend,  in  the  oil-cloth  hat  and  coppei 
nose. 

Thus  have  I  given  a  "  tedious  brief"  account  of 
this  interesting  research  ;  for  which,  if  it  prove  too 
short  and  unsatisfactory,  I  can  only  plead  my  inex- 
perience in  this  branch  of  literature,  so  deservedly 
popular  at  the  present  day.  1  am  aware  that  a  more 
skilful  illustrator  of  the  immortal  bard  would  havr 
swelled  the  materials  I  have  touched  upon,  to  a  good 
merchantable  bulk,  comprising  the  biographies  of 
William  Walworth,  Jack  Straw,  and  Robert  Pies 
ton  ;  some  notice  of  the  eminent  fishmongers  cf  Si. 
Michael's  ;  the  history  of  Eastcheap,  great  and  littlf  ; 
private  anecdotes  of  Dame  Honeyball  and  her  pi  '"j 
daughter,  whom  I  have  not  even  mentioned  :  to  saj 
nothing  of  a  damsel  tending  the  breast  of  lamb.  {xtx. 
whom,  by  the  way,  I  remarked  to  be  a  comely  lass 
with  a  neat  foot  and  ankle ;)  the  whole  enlivened  by 
•.he  riots  of  W.at  Tyler,  and  illuminated  by  the  great 
tire  of  London. 

All  this  1  leave  as  a  rich  mine,  to  be  worked  \n 
future  commentators  ;  nor  do  I  despair  of  seeing  tht 
tobacco-box,  and  the  "  parcel-gilt  goblet,"  which  1 
have  thus  brought  to  light,  the  subject  of  future  en- 
gravings, and  almost  as  fruitful  of  voluminous  dis- 
sertations and  disputes  as  the  shield  of  Achilles,  o, 
the  far-famed  Portland  vase. 


THE  MUTABILIiy  OF  LITERATURE. 

ACOLLOQUY    IN   WESTMINSTKR  ABBEY. 


I  know  that  all  beneath  the  moon  decays. 
And  what  by  mortals  in  this  world  is  broujiDt, 
In  time's  irreat  periods  shall  return  to  nought. 

1  know  that  all  the  muses'  heavenly  layes, 
With  toil  of  snnte  which  are  s»  dearly  iMUKbt, 
As  idle  sQunas  of  few  or  none  are  so'igbl. 

That  there  is  uothing  lighter  than  mere  praiM. 

Druumom?  op  HAWTHOuaisa. 

Thkre  are  certain  half-dreaming  moods  of  minJ, 
in  which  we  naturally  steal  away  from  noise  and 
glare,  and  seek  some  ciuiet  haunt,  where  we  may  in- 
dul^'e  our  reveries,  and  build  our  air  castles  undi'! 
turbed.  In  such  a  mood,  I  w;is  loitering  aboui  t!x 
old  gray  cloisters  of  Westminster  Al»bey,  enjoying 
that  luxury  of  wandering  thouj^ht  which  oiie  is  api 
to  dignily  with  the  name  of  reflection;  when  sud- 
denly an  irruption  of  madcap  boys  from  Westminstci 
school,  plj'.ying  at  foot-bail,  broke  in  upon  the  rnona.><- 
tic  stillness  of  t:-e  place,  making  the  vaulted  passages 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF   GEOFFREY  CRAYON.  Gent. 


88     ^ 


jatjerness  of  my 


and  mouldering  tombs  echo  with  their  merriment.  I 
sought  to  take  refuge  from  their  noise  by  penetrat- 
\nn  still  deeper  into  the  solitudes  of  the  pile,  and  ap- 
plied to  one  of  the  vergers  for  admission  to  the  libra- 
ry. He  conducted  ine  through  a  portal  rich  with  the 
cruinhlintT  sculpture  of  former  aj^es,  which  opened 
upon  a  glotniy  passage  leading  to  the  Chapter-house, 
au'l  tliu  chamber  in  which  Doomsday  Uuok  is  dcpos- 
i.'td.  Just  within  the  passage  is  a  small  door  on  the 
.;|t.  To  this  the  vurgiT  ap|)lied  a  key  ;  it  was  double 
^xked,  rind  opened  vvitii  sonie  dillicuity,  as  if  seldom 
.'Sfiu.  We  now  ascended  a  dark  narrow  staircase, 
;:ii,l  passing  through  a  second  door,  entered  the 
library. 

I  found  myself  in  a  lofty  antique  hall,  the  roof 
supported  by  massive  joists  of  old  English  oak.  It 
w.is  soberly  lighted  by  a  row  of  (lOthic  windows  at  a 
considerable  height  from  the  floor,  and  which  ap- 
parently opened  upon  the  roofs  of  the  cloisters.  An 
ancient  picture  of  some  reverend  dignitary  of  the 
church  in  his  robes  hung  over  the  tire-place.  Around 
tlie  hall  and  in  a  small  gallery  were  the  books,  ar- 
ranged in  carved  oaken  cases.  They  consisted  princi- 
pally of  old  polemical  writers,  and  were  mucli  more 
worn  by  time  than  use.  In  the  centre  of  the  library 
was  a  solitary  table,  with  two  or  three  hooks  on  it, 
an  inkstand  without  ink.  and  a  few  pens  parched  by 
long  disuse.  The  place  seemed  ritted  for  (juiet  study 
mil  profound  meditation.  It  was  burieil  deep  among 
the  mas.sive  walls  of  the  alibey.  and  shut  up  trom  the 
tumult  of  the  world.  I  could  only  hear  now  and 
then  the  shouts  of  the  schoolboys  faintly  swelling 
from  the  cl(  isters,  and  the  sound  of  a  bell  tolling  for 
pr:iyers,  that  echoed  soberly  along  the  roofs  of  the 
j.bt.ey.  15)  degrees  the  shouts  of  merriment  grew 
;iiriler  and  famter,  and  at  length  died  away.  The 
.<:il  ceased  to  toll,  and  a  prolound  silence  reigned 
l\r  ugh  the  dusky  hall. 

I  had  taken  down  a  little  thick  quarto,  curiously 
iJGiiiid  in  parchment,  with  brass  clasps,  and  seated 
n',>self  at  the  table  in  a  veneral)le  elt)ow  chair.  In- 
ite  id  of  re.iding.  however.  1  w;is  beguiled  by  the 
solemn  n'.cnastic  air  and  lifeless  (piiet  of  the  place, 
into  a  train  of  musing.  As  I  looked  around  upon 
thi'  olfl  volumes  in  their  mouldering  covers,  thus 
ranged  on  tlie  shelves,  and  apparently  never  dis- 
tiirijed  in  their  repose,  1  could  not  but  consider  the 
library  a  kind  of  literar)'  catacomb,  where  authors. 
like  mummies,  are  piously  entombed,  and  left  to 
blacken  and  moid<ler  in  dusty  oliltvion. 

How  much,  thought  1,  has  each  of  these  volumes, 
now  thrust  aside  with  such  indifference,  cost  some 
aclnng  head—how  many  weary  days  I  how  many 
sl;e[:.less  nights!  How  have  their  authors  buried 
themselves  m  the  solitude  of  cells  and  cloisters; 
shin  themselves  up  from  the  face  of  man,  and  the 
still  more  blessed  face  of  nature  ;  and  devoted  them- 
selves to  painful  research  and  intense  reflection  ! 
And  all  for  what  ?  to  occupy  an  inch  of  dusty  shelf 
—to  have  the  titles  of  their  works  read  now  and 
(lien  in  a  future  age,  by  some  drowsy  churchman,  or 
•asual  straggler  like  myself ;  and  in  another  age  to 
■  K  lost  even  to  remembrance.  Such  is  the  amount 
)f  this  boasted  immortality.  A  mere  temporary 
■ui.ioiir,  a  Ux;al  sound ;  like  the  tone  of  that  be'il 
vh.ch  has  just  tolled  among  these  towers,  filling 
'.he  ear  for  a  moment  —  lingering  transiently  in 
ji-.ho — and  then  passing  away,  like  a  thing  that  was 
cot! 

White  I  sat  half-murmuring,  half-meditating  these 
unprofitable  speculations,  with  my  head  resting  on 
:ny  hand,  I  was  thrumming  with  the  other  hand 
upon  the  quarto,  until  1  accidentally  loosened  the 
clasps ;  when,  to  my  utter  astonishment,  the  little 
book  gave  two  or  three  yawns,  like  one  awaking 


from  a  deep  sleep ;  then  a  husky  hem,  and  at  length 
began  to  talk.  At  first  its  voice  was  very  hoarse  and 
broken,  being  much  trouoled  by  a  cobweb  >yhicb 
some  studious  spider  harl  woven  across  it ;  and  hav 
ing  probably  contracted  a  cold  from  long  expos-ire 
to  the  chills  and  damps  of  the  abbey.  In  a  short  time, 
however,  it  became  more  distinct,  and  I  soon  found 
it  an  exceedingly  fluent  conversable  little  tome.  lis 
language,  to  be  sure,  wtts  rather  quaint  and  obsolete, 
and  its  pronunciation  Jvhat  in  the  present  day  would 
be  deemed  b.irbarous ;  but  I  shall  ende.ivour,  as  fai 
as  I  am  able,  to  render  it  in  modern  parlance. 

It  began  with  railings  about  the  neglect  of  the 
world — about  merit  being  suffered  to  languish  in 
obscurity,  and  other  such  commonpl.ace  topics  ol 
literary  repining,  and  complained  bitterly  that  it  had 
not  been  openc  d  for  more  than  two  centuries ; — that 
the  Dean  only  looked  now  and  then  into  the  library, 
sometimes  took  down  a  volume  or  two,  trifled  with 
them  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  returned  them  to 
their  shelves. 

"  What  a  plague  do  they  mean,"  said  the  little 
quarto,  which  1  began  to  perceive  was  somewhat 
choleric,  "  what  a  plague  do  they  mean  by  keeping 
several  thousand  volumes  of  us  shut  up  here,  ana 
watched  by  a  set  of  old  vergers,  like  so  many  beau* 
ties  in  a  harem,  merely  to  be  looked  at  now  and  then 
by  the  Dean  ?  Books  were  written  to  give  pleasure 
and  to  be  enjoyed ;  and  I  would  have  a  rule  passed 
that  the  Dean  should  pay  each  of  us  a  visit  at  least 
once  a  year ;  or  if  he  is  not  equal  to  the  task,  let 
them  once  in  a  while  turn  loose  the  whole  school  of 
Westminster  among  us,  that  at  any  rate  we  niay  now 
and  then  have  an  airing." 

".Softly,  my  worthy  friend,"  replied  I,  '  you  are 
not  aware  how  much  better  you  are  off  tl'.  tn  mo^ll 
books  of  your  generation.  By  being  stored  away  in 
this  ancient  library,  you  are  like  the  tre.isured  re- 
mains of  those  saints  and  monarchs  which  lie  en- 
shrined in  the  adjoining  chapels ;  while  liie  remains 
of  their  cotemporary  mortals,  left  to  the  ordinary 
course  of  nature,  have  long  since  returned  to  dust. ' 

"Sir,"  said  the  little  tome,  ruffling  his  leaves  and 
looking  big,  "  I  was  written  for  all  the  world,  not 
for  the  Iwokwonns  of  an  abbey.  I  was  intended  to 
circulate  from  hand  to  hand,  like  other  great  cotem- 
porary works;  but  here  have  I  been  clasped  up  for 
more  than  two  centuries,  and  might  h.ive  silently 
fallen  a  prey  to  these  worms  thai,  are  playing  the 
very  vengeance  with  my  intestines,  if  you  had  not 
by  chance  given  me  an  opportunity  of  uttering  a  few 
last  words  before  I  go  to  pieces." 

"  My  good  friend,"  rejoined  I,  "  had  you  been  left 
to  the  circulation  of  which  you  speak,  you  would 
long  ere  this  have  been  no  more.  To  judge  from 
your  physiognomy,  you  are  now  well  stricken  in 
years ;  very  few  of  your  contemporaries  can  be  at 
present  in  existence ;  and  those  few  owe  their  lon- 
gevity to  being  immured  like  yourself  in  old  libraries 
which,  suiTer  me  to  add,  instead  of  likening  to  ha- 
rems, you  might  more  properly  and  gratefully  have 
compared  to  those  infirmaries  attached  to  religious 
establishments,  for  the  benefit  of  the  old  and  dc- 
crepid,  and  where,  by  quiet  fostering  and  no  em- 
ployment, they  often  endure  to  an  amajingly  good- 
for-nothing  old  age.  You  talk  of  your  contempo- 
raries as  if  in  circulation — where  do  we  meet  with 
their  works .' — what  do  we  hear  of  Robert  Groteste 
of  Lincoln  ?  No  one  could  have  toiled  harder  than 
he  for  immortality.  He  is  said  to  have  written 
nearly  two  hundred  volumes.  He  built,  as  it  were, 
a  pyramid  of  books  to  perpetu.ate  his  n.'ime :  but, 
alas !  the  pyramid  has  long  since  fallen,  and  onl\  a 
few  fragments  are  scattered  in  various  librines. 
where  they  are  scarcely  disturbed  even  by  the  anti- 


M 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


■Nl 


i:ir 


auarlan.  Wliat  do  we  hear  ofGiraldus  Cambrensis, 
tne  historian,  antiquary,  philosopher,  theologian,  and 
poet  f  He  declined  two  hi.Hhoprtcs,  that  he  might 
Bhiit  hirnsf.lf  up  and  write  lor  posterity  ;  hut  poster- 
ity never  inquires  after  his  labours.  What  of  Henry 
of  Huntingdon,  who,  besiiles  a  learned  history  of 
England,  wrote  a  treatise  on  the  contempt  of  tiie 
world,  which  the  world  has  revenged  by  lorgetting 
him  ?  What  is  quoted  of  Joseph  of  Exeter,  styled 
'he  iniiacle  of  his  age  in  classical  cuinposition  ?  Of 
liis  three  great  heroic  poems,  one  is  lost  for  ever,  ex- 
cepting a  mere  fragment ;  the  others  are  known  only 
to  a  few  of  the  curious  in  literature;  and  as  to  his 
.ove  verses  and  epigrams,  they  have  entirely  disap- 

riared.  What  is  in  current  use  of  John  Wallis,  the 
ranciscan,  who  acquired  the  name  of  the  tree  of 
life? — of  William  of  Malmsbury;  of  Simeon  of 
Durham  ;  of  Benedict  of  Peterborough ;  of  John 
Hanvill  of  St.  Albans  ;  of " 

"Prithee,  friend,"  cried  the  quarto  in  a  testy  tone, 
"how  old  do  you  think  me?  Vou  are  talking  of 
g.'rnhors  that  lived  long  before  my  time,  and  wrote 
ei'her  in  Latin  or  French,  so  that  they  in  a  manner 
ejipatriated  themselves,  and  deserved  to  be  forgot- 
lei;*  but  I,  sir,  was  ushered  into  the  world  from 
tie  press  of  the  renowned  Wynkyn  de  Worde.  1 
WIS  written  in  my  own  native  tongue,  at  a  time 
when  the  language  had  become  fixed  ;  and,  indeed, 
I  was  consiilered  a  model  of  pure  and  elegant  En- 
ghsh." 

[I  should  obsene  that  Ihcsr  remarks  were  couched 
in  such  intolerably  antiquated  tenns,  that  I  have  had 
infinite  dilTiculty  in  rendering  them  into  modem 
phraseology.  J 

"!  C!7  jju  mercy,"  said  I,  "  for  mistaking  your 
age  ;  but  M  matters  little;  almost  all  the  writers  of 
your  time  have  likewise  passed  into  forgeifulness ; 
and  De  Worde's  publications  are  mere  literar>'  rarities 
Mnong  book-collectors.  The  purity  and  stability  of 
language,  too,  on  which  you  found  your  claims  to 
perpetuity,  have  been  the  fallacious  dependence  of 
authors  of  every  age,  even  back  to  the  times  of  the 
worthy  Robert  of  Gloucester,  who  wrote  his  history 
in  rhymes  of  mongrel  .S.ixon.t  Even  now,  many  talk 
of  Spenser's  'well  of  pure  English  undeliled,'  as  if  the 
language  ever  sprang  from  a  well  or  fountain-head, 
ancl  was  not  rather  a  mere  conHuence  of  various 
tongues,  perpetually  subject  to  changes  and  inter- 
mixtures. It  is  this  which  h.as  made  English  liter- 
ature so  extremely  mutable,  and  the  reputation  built 
upon  it  so  lleeting.  Unless  thought  can  be  commit- 
ted to  sometiiiiig  more  permanent  and  unchangeable 
than  such  a  medium,  even  thought  nuist  share  the 
fate  of  every  thing  else,  and  fall  into  decay.  This 
should  ser\'e  as  a  check  upon  the  vanity  and  exulta- 
tion of  the  most  popular  writer.  He  finds  the  lan- 
guage in  which  he  has  embarked  his  fame  gra<lually 
altering,  and  su!)ject  to  the  dilapidations  of  ti(ne  and 
the  caprice  of  fashion.  He  looks  back,  and  beholds 
the  early  arithors  of  his  country,  once  the  favourites 
of  their  day,  supplanted  by  modem  writers  :  a  few 
thort  ages  have  covered  them  with  obscurity,  and 
Seir  merits  can  only  be  relished  by  the  quaint  taste 


*Io  Latin  and  Frencti  hath  many  K)uenine  witter  had  creat 
t*\ytt  tu  endytc,  and  have  many  nuble  things  riiltilde,  but  certes 
kbeT«  ben  &4:nie  that  spcaken  tneir  poisyc  in  French,  uf  which 
•feche  the  Krenchnicu  have  as  good  a  faiita.sve  as  we  have  in 
hcafing  uf  I'Venchmen^^  tlngli.'the. 

Chai'ckr's  Ttttamtnt  0/ Lovi. 

t  Holmshed.  in  his  Ctironicle.  observes.  '* aflcrwiirds,  al»Q,  by 
dUiRen[  travell  of  t  .cfTry  Chaucer  and  Jtjhn  C^iowrie.  in  tlie  time  of 
RicTi.tr<l  tlic  ^«;cut»u,  -ind  after  iheni  of  John  Sixigan  and  John 
Lydft^ate,  iniuike  of  Hrrric,  our  said  toong  was  brought  to  an 
eaceller.t  passe,  notwithstandinji  that  it  never  came  unto  the 
type  of  perte'.tion  until  the  lime  of  (Jueen  Klitabeth,  wherein 
fonn  Jevell,  I^ishop  of  Saruin,  Joh.n  Kcx,  and  ^undiie  learned  and 
nMllei.I  writers,  have  fully  accomplished  the  ornature  of  the 
•■OM.  to  tbeu  great  praise  and  immortal  commcndalioii." 


of  the  bookworm.  And  such,  h:  anticlpites,  will  hf 
the  fate  of  his  own  work,  which,  however  it  may  bf 
admired  in  its  day,  and  held  up  as  a  model  of  purity 
will,  In  the  course  of  years,  grow  antiquated  and  ob- 
solete, until  it  shall  become  almost  as  unintel  igiblr 
in  its  native  land  as  an  Egyptian  obelisk,  or  tne  0! 
those  Runic  inscriptions,  saicl  to  exist  in  the  deserts 
of  Tartary.  I  declare,"  added  1.  with  some  err.c  ".roi , 
"when  I  contemplate  a  modem  library,  filled  will- 
new  works  in  all  the  bravery  of  rich  gilding  an<l 
binding,  I  feel  disposed  to  sit  down  and  weep;  like 
the  good  Xerxes,  when  hr  .urveyed  his  anny,  piAnk 
ed  out  in  all  the  splendoLr  of  military  array,  anJ  re- 
flected that  in  one  hundred  years  net  one  of  theni 
would  be  in  existence,! " 

"  Ah,"  said  the  little  quar*o,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  "  1 
see  how  it  is ;  these  modern  scribblers  have  super- 
seded .all  the  good  old  authors.  I  suppose  nothing  is 
read  now-a-days  but  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  Arcadia, 
S.ackville's  stately  plays  and  Mirror  for  Magistrates, 
or  the  fine-spun  euphuisms  of  the  '  unparalleld  John 
Lyly.'" 

"There  you  are  again  mistaken,"  said  I;  "the 
writers  whom  you  suppose  in  vogue,  because  they 
happened  to  be  so  when  you  were  last  in  circulation, 
have  long  since  had  their  d.ay.  Sir  Philip  Sidney's 
Arcadia,  the  immortality  of  which  was  so  fondly  pre- 
dicted by  his  admirers,*  and  which,  in  truth,  was  full 
of  noble  thoughts,  delicate  images,  and  graceful  turns 
of  language,  is  now  scarcely  ever  mentioned.  Sack- 
ville  h.as  strutted  into  obscurity  ;  and  even  Lyly, 
though  his  writings  were  once  the  delight  of  a  court, 
and  apparently  perpetuated  by  a  proverb,  is  nc* 
scarcely  known  even  by  name.  A  whole  crowd  of 
authors  who  wrote  and  wrangled  at  the  time,  ha\'' 
likewise  gone  down  with  all  their  writings  and  tht  .1 
controversies.  Wave  after  wave  of  succeeding  liter- 
ature has  rolled  over  them,  until  they  are  buried  &o 
deep,  that  it  is  only  now  and  then  that  some  indus- 
trious diver  alter  fragments  of  antiquity  brings  up  a 
specimen  for  the  gratification  of  the  curious. 

"  For  my  part,"  1  continued.  "  I  consider  this  mu- 
tability of  language  a  wise  precaution  of  Provitlence 
for  the  benefit  of  the  world  at  large,  and  of  authors 
in  particular.  To  reason  from  analogy :  we  daily  be- 
hold the  varied  and  beautiful  tribes  of  vegetables 
springing  up,  flourishing,  adorning  the  fields  for  a 
snort  time,  and  then  fading  into  dust,  to  make  way  for 
their  successors.  Were  not  this  the  case,  the  fecundity 
of  nature  would  be  a  griev;tnce  instead  of  a  blessing  : 
the  earth  would  groan  with  rank  and  excessive  vege- 
tation, and  its  surface  become  a  tangled  wilderness. 
In  like  manner,  the  works  of  genius  and  learning  de- 
cline and  make  way  for  subsequent  productions, 
Language  gradually  varies,  and  with  it  fatle  away 
the  writings  of  authors  who  have  flourished  the't 
allotted  lime ;  otherwise  the  creative  powers  ot 
genius  would  overstock  the  worlil,  and  the  mind 
would  be  completely  bewildere<l  in  the  endless  ma/i's 
of  literature.  Formerly  there  were  some  restraints 
on  this  excessive  multiplication  :  works  had  to  be 
transcribed  by  hand,  which  was  a  slow  and  laborioi'i 
operation  ;  they  were  written  either  on  parchmeiU, 
which  was  expensive,  so  th.at  one  work  was  often 
erased  to  make  way  for  another ;  or  on  papyrus, 
which  was  fragile  and  extn-inely  perishable.  Au- 
thorship was  a  limited  and  unprofitable  craft,  pursued 


*  "  I/ive  ever  sweele  booke ;  the  simple  image  of  hit  ccnile  witt 
and  the  iiulden  pillar  of  hit  noble  ccurage;  and  ever  notify  unto 
the  world  that  thy  writer  was  the  secretary  of  eloquence,  thi 
breath  of  the  muses,  the  honey  bee  o'  the  daintyest  flowers  of  witt 
and  arte,  the  pith  of  morale  and  the  intellectual  virtues,  the  arinr 
of  liellrna  in  the  field,  the  tongi  e  o  Suada  in  the  chamber 
the  t;  jit*  of  Practise  in  cue,  and  the  iMn^oir  of  excellency  u 
print 

Hakvi.v's  PUret'i  Suptrtrotutitu. 


SKETCH-BOOK   OF  GEOFFREY    CRAYON,  Gemt. 


U 


chisfly  bj  monks  in  the  leisure  and  solitude  of  their 
cioifltcra.     The  accumulution  ot°  manuscripts  was 
sbw   and   costly,  and  cunlincd   almost  entirely   to 
tnoniistcrit'S.    'lo   these  circumstances  it  m<iy,   in 
some  measure,  be  owing  tiiat  we  have  not  hoen  in- 
undated hy  the  intellect  of  antiquity  ;  that  the  loun- 
Uins  of  thought   have  not  been   broken  up,   and 
modern  g-jnius  drowned  in  the  deluge.    But  the  in- 
rrntions  ^f  paper  and  the  press  have  put  an  end  to 
1,4  t'lese  restraints :  they  have  made   every   one  a 
'*iit«r,  and  enablcJ  every  mind  to  pour  itself  into 
j-iiit.  and  diffuse  itself  over  the  wholt  intellectual 
ivorlil.  The  consequences  are  alarming.  The  stream 
of  literature  has  swolkii  into  a  torrent — augmented 
into  a  river — expanded  into  a  sea.     A  few  centuries 
since,  five  or  six  hundred  manuscripts  constituted  a 
great  library :  but  what  ^ould  you  say  to  libraries, 
such  as  actually  exist,  containing  three  or  four  hun- 
dred thousand  volumes;  legions  of  authors  at  the 
same  time  busy ;  and  a  press  going  on  with  fearfully 
increasing  activity,   to  double   and   quadruple    the 
number  ?     Unless  some  unforeseen  mortality  should 
break  out  among  the  progeny  of  the  Muse,  now  that 
she  h.is  become  so  prolific,  1  tremble  for  posterity.   1 
tear  the  mere  tluctuation  of  language  will  not  be  suf- 
ficient.    Criticism  may  do  much  ;  it  incre.ises  with 
the  increase  of  literature,  and  resembles  one  of  those 
salutary  checks  on  population  spoken  of  iiy  econ- 
omists. All  possible  encour.agement,  therefore,  should 
be  given  to  the  growth  of  critics,  good  or  bad.     But 
I  fear  all  will  be  in  vain  ;  let  criticism  do  what   it 
may,  writers  will  write,  printers  will  print,  and  the 
world  will  inevitably  be  overstocked  with  good  books. 
It  will  soon  be  the  employment  of  a  lifetime  merely 
to  learn  their  names.     Many  a  man  of  passable  in- 
formation  at   the   present  day   reads  scarcely   any 
itinv;  but  reviews,  and  before  long  a  man  of  erudi- 
tion will  be  httle  better  than  a  mere  walking  cata- 
'og'ie." 

'•  My  very  good  sir,"  said  the  little  quarto,  yawn- 
ing most  drearily  in  my  face,  "  excuse  my  interrupt- 
ing you,  but  I  perceive  you  are  rather  given  to  prose. 
I  would  ask  the  fate  ot  an  author  who  was  making 
some  noise  just  as  1  left  ttie  world.     His  reputation, 
however,   was   considered    quite   temporary.      The 
learned  shook  their  heads  at  him,  for  he  was  a  poor, 
halt-educated  varlet,  that  knew  little  of  Latin,  and 
nothing  of  (ire<;k,  and  had  been  obliged  to  run  the 
country   for   deer-stealing.     I  think   his   name  w.is 
Shakspearc.    I  presume  he  soon  sunk  into  oblivion." 
"On  ilie  contrary,"  said  I,  "it  is  owing  to  that 
very  iii.in  thai  the  literature  of  his  period  has  expe- 
rienced a  duration  Iwyond  the  ordinary  term  of  En- 
glish literature.     1  here  arise  authors  now  and  then, 
who  seem  proof  .against  the  mutability  of  language, 
because  tliey  have  rooted  themselves  in  the  unchang- 
ing  principles   of    human    nature.      They   are   lil'e 
gigantic  trees  that  we  sometimes  seo  on  the  banks 
of  a  stream,  which,  by  their  vast  and  deep  roots, 
penetrating  throiij^h  the  m(!re  surface,  nrKl  laying 
nold  on  ilie  very  foundations  of  the  earth,  preserve 
the  soil  around  ilieni  from  being  swejil  away  by  the 
overflowing  current,  and  hold  up  many  a  neighbour- 
ing   plant,   and,   perhaps,   worililess   weed,  to  per- 
^taity.     Such  is  the  case  with  Shakspeare,  whom 
we  behold,  defying  the  encroachments  of  time,  re- 
laming  in  modern  use  the  language  and  literature  of 
liis  day,  and  giving  duration  to  many  an  indifferent 
author  merely  from  having  flourished  in  his  vicinity. 
But  even  h.e,  1   grice  to  say,  is  gradually  assuming 
the  tint  of  age,  and  his  whole  form  is  overrun  by  a 
profusicn   ot   commentators,    who,  like  clambering 
vines  and  creepers,  .almost  bury  the  noble  plant  that 
jpholds  them.  ' 
Here  Uic  little  quarto  began  to  heave  his  sides  and 


chuckle,  until  at  length  he  broke  out  into  a  pltthoric 
fit  of  laughter  that  had  well  nigh  choked  him,  h\ 
reason  of  nis  e.\cessive  corpulency.  "  Mighty  well ! 
cried  he,  as  soon  as  he  could  recover  breath, 
"  mighty  well !  and  so  you  would  persuailc  me  that 
the  literature  of  an  age  is  to  be  perpetuated  by  a 
v.igalwnd  deer-siealer  I  by  a  man  without  learniigl 
by  a  poet !  forsooth— a  poet  I  "  And  here  he  whc«e<' 
forth  another  fit  cf  laughter. 

I  confess  th.it  I  felt  somewh.it  nettled  at  this  nide 
ness,  which,  however,  I  pardoneil  on  account  of  hii 
having  flourished  in  a  less  polishe<l  age,     1  deter- 
minecT,  nevertheless,  not  to  give  up  my  |)oint. 

"  Yes,"  resumed  I  nositively,  "  a  poet ;  for  of  all 
writers  he  has  ti.e  oest  chance  for  immortality. 
Others  may  write  fioin  the  heail,  but  he  writes  from 
the  heart,  and  the  heart  will  always  understand  him. 
He  is  the  faithful  portrajer  of  Nature,  whose  features 
are  alw.ays  the  same,  and  always  interesting.  Prose 
writers  are  voluminous  and  unwieldy  ;  their  pages 
crowded  with  commonplaces,  and  their  thoughts 
expanded  into  tediousness.  But  with  the  true  poet 
every  thing  is  terse,  touching,  or  brilliant.  He  gives 
the  choicest  thoughts  in  the  choicest  language.  He 
illustrates  them  by  every  thing  ih.it  he  sees  most 
striking  in  nature  and  art.  He  enriches  i+iem  by  pict- 
ures of  human  life,  such  as  it  is  passing  before  him. 
His  writings,  therelore,  contain  the  spirit,  the  aroma, 
if  I  may  use  the  phrase,  of  the  age  in  which  he  lives. 
They  are  caskets  which  inclose  within  a  small  com- 
pass the  wealth  of  the  Language — its  family  jewels, 
which  are  thus  transmitted  in  a  portable  form  to  pos- 
terity. The  setting  nuiy  occasionally  be  anticiuaied, 
and  require  now  and  then  to  be  renewed,  as  in  the 
case  of  Chaucer  ;  but  the  brilliancy  and  intrinsic 
value  of  the  gems  continue  unaltrred,  Cast  a  look 
back  over  the  long  reach  of  literary  history.  What 
vast  valleys  of  dulness.  filled  with  monkish  Icgendl 
and  academical  controversies  !  What  bogs  of  theo- 
logical speculations  I  What  dreary  wastes  of  meta- 
physics! Here  and  there  only  do  we  behold  the 
heaven-illumined  bards,  elevated  like  beacons  on 
their  widely-separated  heights,  to  transmit  the  pure 
light  of  poetical  intelligence  from  age  to  age."  * 

1  was  just  about  to  launch  forth  into  eulogiums 
upon  the  poets  of  the  day,  when  the  sud<ten  ojiening 
of  the  door  caused  me  to  turn  my  head.  It  was  the 
verger,  who  came  to  inform  me  that  it  was  time  to 
close  the  library.  1  sougiit  to  have  a  parting  word 
with  the  quarto,  but  the  worthy  little  tome  was  si 
lent ;  the  clasps  were  closed  ;  and  it  looketl  perfectly 
unconscious  of  all  that  had  passed.  I  have  been  to 
the  library  two  or  three  times  since,  and  have  en- 
tleavoureu  to  draw  it  into  further  conversation,  but 
in  vain ;  and  whether  all  this  rambling  colloquy 
actu.ally  took  place,  or  whether  it  was  another  of 
those  odd  day-dreams  to  which  1  am  subject,  I  havi 
never,  to  this  moment,  been  able  to  discover. 


•  Tliorow  earth,  and  waters  deepe, 
The  pen  by  skill  doth  passe : 

And  featly  nyps  the  worldes  abuM, 
And  shoes  us  in  a  glasse, 

The  vertu  and  the  vice 
Of  every  wight  aly  ve  : 

The  honey  combe  that  be 


I 


bee  doth  nuke. 
Is  not  so  sweet  in  hyve, 
As  are  the  golden  leves 

That  drops  from  poet's  head  ; 
Which  doth  surmount  ourcoibmoD  talk*. 
As  farre  u  dross  doth  lead. 

Cu\im.wttMn. 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


RURAL  FUNERALS. 


I* 


Hw*  •  a  few  llow«n  I  bul  about  midnight  mar«  : 
Th«  h«rli«  ^lat  havd  nii  ihom  cold  d«w  o'  lb*  nifhl 

Ar«  %trewiiig«  Au'ri  for  i|ruve« 

Vuu  weic  u«  fln'A'^rt  now  wilhercil :  titn  M 
Th««  haib'lein  iliall,  which  w«  upun  you  •Iruw. 

CvMiiai.iNi. 

AuoNG  the  beautiful  and  simple-hearted  customs 
tff  nir?l  life  which  still  linger  in  some  parts  of  En- 
gland, are  those  of  strewing  llowers  before  the  funerals 
and  planting  ihcm  at  the  graves  of  departed  frierids. 
These,  it  is  said,  are  the  remains  of  some  of  the  riles 
of  the  primitive  church  ;  but  they  are  of  still  higher 
antiquity,  having  been  observed  among  the  (irueks 
and  Romans,  and  frequently  mentioned  Sy  their 
writers,  and  were,  no  doubt,  the  spontaneous  tributes 
of  unlettered  affection,  originating  long  before  art  had 
tasked  itself  to  modulate  sorrow  into  song,  or  story 
it  on  the  monument.  They  are  now  only  to  be  met 
with  in  the  most  distant  and  retired  places  of  the 
kingdom,  where  fashion  and  innovation  have  not 
been  able  to  throng  in,  and  trample  out  all  the  curi- 
ous and  interesting  traces  of  the  olden  time. 

In  Glamorganshire,  we  are  lolil,  the  bed  whereon 
the  corpse  lies  is  covered  with  llowers,  a  custom  al- 
luded to  in  one  of  the  wild  and  plaintive  ditties  of 
Ophelia : 

White  hit  shroud  u  the  mountain  mow, 

l^irileil  all  with  tweel  flowert : 
Which  be-wept  to  the  grave  did  go, 

With  true  love  ihowert. 

There  is  also  a  most  delicate  and  l)eautiful  rite 
observed  in  some  of  the  remote  villages  of  the  south, 
M  the  funeral  of  a  female  who  h.is  died  young  and 
unmarried.  A  chapk:t  of  white  (lowers  is  oonie  bt> 
fore  the  cornse  by  a  young  girl,  nearest  in  age,  size, 
ind  resemblance,  and  is  atterwards  hung  up  in  the 
church  over  the  accustomed  seat  of  the  deceased. 
These  cKaplcts  are  sometimes  ni.ide  of  white  paper, 
in  imitation  of  Howers,  and  inside  of  them  is  generally 
a  pair  of  white  gloves.  They  are  intended  as  em- 
blems of  the  punty  of  the  deceased,  and  the  crown 
of  glory  which  she  has  received  in  heaven. 

In  some  parts  of  the  country,  also,  the  dead  are 
carried  to  the  grave  with  the  singing  of  psalms  .and 
hymns  ;  a  kind  of  triumph,  "  to  siiow,"  says  Bourne, 
"that  they  have  finished  their  course  with  joy,  and 
are  become  conquerors."  This,  1  am  informed,  is 
obsened  in  some  of  the  northern  counties,  particu- 
larly in  Northumberland,  and  it  has  a  pleasing,  though 
melancholy  effect,  to  hear,  of  a  siill  evening,  in  some 
lOnely  country  scene,  the  mournful  melody  of  a  funeral 
dirge  swelling  from  a  distance,  and  to  see  the  train 
•lowly  moving  along  the  landsca{)e. 

Thus,  thus,  and  thus,  we  compass  round 
Thy  harmless  and  uiihaunl*d  ground, 
And  a&  we  sine  thy  dirge,  we  will 

The  UaffudiU 
And  other  flowen  lay  upon 
The  alur  uf  our  love,  thy  stone. 

HaKUOC. 

There  is  also  a  solemn  respect  paid  by  the  travel- 
Mr  to  the  pa.ssing  funeral,  in  these  sequestered 
(laces ;  for  such  spectacles,  occurring  among  the 
auict  abodes  of  Nature,  sink  deep  info  the  soul.  As 
';\ie  nourning  train  approaches,  he  pauses,  uncovered, 
ui  let  it  go  by  ;  he  then  follows  silently  in  the  rear  ; 
tometimes  quite  to  the  grave,  at  other  times  for  a 
few  hundred  yards,  and  having  paid  this  tribute  of 
respect  to  the  deceased,  turns  and  resumes  his 
journey. 

The  rich  vein  of  melancholy  which  runs  through 
the  English  character  and  gives  it  some  of  its  most 


touching  and  ennobling  gracet.  It  finely  evidenced  Ir 
these  pathetic  ru-'oms,  and  in  the  solicitude  Bhowi 
by  the  common  |  iple  fur  an  honoured  and  a  peace- 
ful grave.  The  humbl.  st  peasant,  whatever  may  b« 
his  T  >wly  lot  while  living  is  anxious  that  some  littl.* 
respict  may  In:  paid  to  hit  remains.  Sir  Thcmat 
Overbury,  (lescriliing  the  "  faire  and  happy  miU> 
maid,"  observes,  "  thus  lives  she,  a:.d  all  her  care  if 
that  she  may  die  in  the  sprinf|;  time,  to  have  store  ol 
flowers  stucKC  upon  her  winding-sheet."  The  poetfl, 
too,  who  always  breathe  the  feeling  of  a  nation,  con- 
tinually advert  to  this  fond  solicitude  about  the 
grave.  In  "  The  Maid's  Tr.igedy,"  by  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher,  there  is  a  beautiful  instance  of  the 
kind,  describing  the  capricious  melancholy  of  a 
broken-hearted  girl. 

Wh«n  iht  MM  ■  bank 
Stuck  full  of  flowen,  she,  with  a  ligh,  will  taa* 
Her  servants,  what  a  pretty  place  it  wtra 
To  bury  lovers  in  ;  and  makt  her  raaidi 
Pluck  'am,  and  strew  lier  over  likt  ■  con*. 

The  custom  of  decorating  graves  was  once  univer- 
sally p'evalent :  osiers  were  carefully  bent  o\er  them 
to  keep  the  turf  uninjured,  and  about  them  werr 
planted  evergreens  and  (lowers,  "  We  adorn  theii 
graves,"  says  Evelyn,  in  his  Sylva,  "with  flowers 
and  redolent  plants,  just  emblems  of  the  life  of  man, 
which  has  been  compared  in  Holy  Scrij»tures  to  those 
fading  l)eautics,  whose  roots  being  buried  in  dis- 
honour, rise  again  in  glory."  This  us.ige  has  now 
become  extremely  rare  in  England  ;  but  it  may  still 
be  met  with  in  the  churchyards  of  retired  villages, 
among  the  Welsh  mountains ;  and  I  recolltxt  an  in< 
stance  of  it  at  the  small  town  of  Ruthven,  which  lica 
at  the  head  of  the  beautilul  vale  of  Clewyd.  I  ha>e 
been  told  also  by  a  friend,  who  was  present  at  ths 
funeral  of  a  young  girl  in  Glamorganshire,  that  tb« 
female  attendants  h.ad  their  aprons  full  of  Howers 
which,  .is  soon  as  the  body  was  interred,  tney  stuck 
about  the  grave. 

He  noticetl  several  graves  which  h.ad  been  deco- 
rated in  the  same  manner.  As  the  (lowers  had  been 
merely  stuck  in  the  ground,  and  not  pl.inttil,  they 
h.nl  soon  withered,  and  might  be  seen  in  varioiM 
statfs  of  decay ;  some  drooping,  others  (|uite 
perished.  They  were  afterwards  to  be  siipjilantetl 
by  holly,  rosemary,  and  other  evergreens;  which  on 
some  graves  hatl  grown  to  great  luxuriance,  and 
overshadowed  the  tombstones. 

There  was  formerly  a  melancholy  fancifulness  in 
the  arrangement  of  these  rustic  oderings,  that  had 
something  in  it  truly  poetical.  The  rose  was  some- 
times blended  with  the  lily,  to  form  a  general  em- 
blem of  frail  mortality.  "This  sweet  flowei,"  said 
Evelyn,  "  borne  on  a  branch  set  with  thorns,  and 
accompanied  with  the  lily,  are  natural  hieroglyphics 
of  our  fugitive,  umbratile,  anxious,  and  transitory 
life,  which,  making  so  fair  a  show  for  a  time,  is  not 
yet  without  its  thorns  and  crosses."  The  nature 
and  colour  of  tiie  llowers,  and  of  the  ribands  with 
which  they  were  tied,  had  olten  a  particular  refer- 
ence to  the  qualities  or  story  of  the  deceased  »T 
were  exjjressive  of  the  feelings  of  the  mourner.  lo 
an  old  poem,  entitled  "Corydon's  Doleful  Knell,  • 
lover  specifies  the  decorations  he  intends  to  use . 

A  Karl.-ind  sh.tll  be  framed 

fly  Art  and  Nature's  skill. 
Of  sundry-coloured  flowert) 

In  tiikcii  of  good  will. 

And  Aundr>'-cnloured  ribanih 

Oh  it  I  will  bestow  ; 
But  chiefly  blacke  and  yellow* 

With  her  to  grave  shall  go. 

^  I'll  deck  her  tomb  wtth  flowen 

The  rarest  ever  seen  ; 
:   ,         And  with  rav  tears  as  sfiowfjTS  _, 

I'll  keep  IDem  fresh  and  KiMB. 


THE  SKEICII  BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY   CRWON,  Gixr. 


81 


The  white  rose,  we  are  told,  was  plantetl  At.  the 
irave  of  a  virgin  ;  her  chapli't  was  tied  wiih  w*»ile 
rih;iiKls,  in  t«l<fn  of  hrr  spotless  innoceitcp ;  ihouKh 
soii'.ctimrs  hiack  rit)AiHls  were  intcriiiinglcd,  t(i  hi'- 
jpeal*  the  grief  of  the  survivors.  The  r^^^\  rose  was 
occasionally  used,  in  remeinhrancc  of  such  ns  had 
ixr.u  remarkable  for  benevolence ;  hut  roses  in  ujcn- 
rtiJ  wcic  appropriated  to  the  graves  of  lovers,  fcve- 
lyc  tells  u»  '.nat  the  custom  was  not  alto^rther  ex- 
U  ict  It)  his  time,  near  his  dwelling  in  the  county  of 
'iirriry,  "where  the  maidens  yearly  planted  and 
I'.vked  the  graves  of  their  defunct  sweethearts  with 
icse -bushes.  '  And  Camden  likewise  remarks,  in 
his  Hrittania :  "  Here  is  also  a  certain  custom,  ob- 
served time  out  of  mind,  of  planting  rose-trees  upon 
the  graves,  especially  by  the  young  men  and  ntaids 
who  have  lost  their  loves ;  so  that  this  churchyard  is 
■low  full  of  them," 

When  the  <leceased  had  been  unhappy  in  their 
loves,  emblems  of  a  more  gloomy  character  were 
used,  such  as  the  yew  and  cypress ;  and  if  (lowers 
were  strewn,  they  were  of  the  most  melancholy  col- 
ours. Thus,  in  poems  by  Thom.is  Stanley,  Esq., 
(published  in  1C51,)  is  the  following  stanza : 

Ytl  itrew 
Upon  iny  diimiUI  grave 
Such  offerinna  u  you  have, 

Korsaki^n  cy|ireMe  and  yewe  t 
Vor  kiiider  floweni  can  t.ibe  uo  hirth 
Or  irowth  rroin  kuch  unhappy  earth. 

In  "  The  Maid's  Tragedy,"  a  p.ithetic  little  air  is 
introduced,  illustrative  of  this  mode  of  decorating 
the  funerals  of  females  who  have  been  disappointed 
in  love 

Of  the  dUrn;il  vew, 
Maiden!,  willow  bi 
Say  I  died  true. 


tisy  a  garland  on  my  heart* 
i;il  yew, 
jw  branchei  wear, 


My  love  wan  Talte,  but  I  wa«  firm, 

From  rav  hour  of  birth, 
Upon  my  buried  body  lie 

Ligliily,  Kentle  earth. 

The  natural  effect  of  sorrow  over  the  dead  is  to 
reiine  and  elevate  the  mind ;  and  we  have  a  proof 
c'  It  in  the  purity  of  sentiment,  .ind  the  unatVected 
eiegancf  ol  thought,  which  perv.ided  the  whole  of 
these  funeral  observances.  Thus,  it  was  an  especial 
precaution,  that  none  but  sweet-scented  ever>;reens 
and  tlowers  should  be  employed.  The  intention 
seems  to  have  lu;en  to  soften  the  horrors  of  the  tomb, 
to  beguile  the  mind  from  brooding  over  the  disgraces 
of  pfri^hing  mortality,  and  to  associate  the  memory' 
of  the  dece.'ised  with  the  most  delicate  and  beautiful 
objects  in  Nature.  There  is  a  dismal  process  going 
on  in  the  grave,  ere  dust  can  return  to  its  kin<''-ed 
dust,  which  the  imagination  shrinks  from  contem- 
plating; and  we  seek  still  to  think  of  tlie  form  we 
nave  loved,  with  those  refined  associations  which  it 
awakened  when  blooming  before  us  in  youth  and 
beauty.  "  Lay  her  i'  the  earth,"  says  Laertes  of  his 
virgin  sister, 

And  from  her  fair  and  unpolluted  Besh 
May  violet*  tprinv. 

Herrirk,  also,  in  his '"Dirge  of  Jephtha,"  pours 
forth  a  fragrant  flow  of  poetical  thought  and  image, 
which  in  a  manner  embalms  the  dead  in  the  recol- 
loctiop.s  of  the  living. 

Sleep  in  thy  peace,  thy  bed  of  spice, 

And  make  thix  place  alt  Paradike  : 

May  sweetk  grow  her  J  '  and    inok*?  troio.  nenc« 

*'at  frarikiiicenite. 
I.et  balme  and  castia  send  their  «cent 
Kion  out  thy  maiden  monument. 
•  *  •  •  • 

May  all  shie  maidn  at  wonted  hours 

Come  forth  to  strew  thy  toinlte  with  tlo'vvi  I 

May  virnins,  when  they  come  to  rnciuri 

Male  incense  bxn 
t7pon  thine  altar  I  then  reliirii 
Ar-t  leave  thet  cirep  ni;  in  thy  um 


I  might  crowd  my  pages  with  extracts  fioni  the 
oilier  Hritish  |)oets,  who  wrote  svhen  ttitse  rites  wnre 
more  prevalent,  and  delighted  fre(|ucntly  to  allude 
to  them  ;  but  I  have  already  ((uoti'il  more  than  ii 
necessary.  I  cannot,  however,  refrain  from  giving  • 
passage  from  Shakspeare,  even  though  it  should  ap- 
pear trite,  which  illustrates  the  rmblematical  me.-»n- 
ing  often  conveyed  in  these  tloral  tributes,  anti  a,t 
the  same  time  possesses  that  magic  of  languane 
and  appos;.?ness  of  imagery  for  which  he  itaniii 
pre-eminent. 

With  f.drett  floweri, 
Whi|<il  tiimmer  liniin,  and  I  liv.*  here.  t'ideU, 
I'll  >Weetcn  thy  Mil  grave  '  ihoii  iha.l  not  U.-l 
The  flower  Ihai's  like  thy  face,  ;jlr  (irimroM  ,  aoi 
The  oiiired  harebell  like  thy  vnnn  ;  no.  nor 
The  leaf  of  eglantine  i  whom  not  to  ilandu, 
Ouuwtalcned  not  thy  breath. 

There  is  certainly  something  more  alTecting  in 
these  prompt  and  spontaneous  offerings  of  nature, 
than  in  the  most  costly  irionumcnts  of  art ;  the  hand 
strews  the  Hower  while  the  heart  is  warm,  and  the 
tear  falls  on  the  grave  as  affection  is  binding  the 
osier  round  the  sod ;  but  pathos  expires  under  the 
slow  labour  of  the  chisel,  and  is  chilled  amcng  th'j 
cold  conceits  of  sculptured  marble. 

It  is  greatly  to  be  regrtiteO,  that  -t  cistom  so  'ruly 
elegant  and  t.^uching  n;  •  di«iiippea  .»t  frr,.'.  general 
use,  and  .'xists  onlv  in  th.  most  r  10! e.  'ino  insig- 
niticant  vT.  ijes,  but  it  rt-^.  s  as  li  po.  tic..'  custom 
always  shuns  the  w,,i,(s  jC  cu!liv;n.it  •;.  liety.  In 
profiortion  as  peoiiii  grew'  poli;t.',  tf'.y  cease  to  be 
poetical.  They  talk  ot  jjocuy,  1ji:(  tney  have  learnt 
to  check  its  Ircc  inij  i.lscs  tr.  tlistrusk  its  sally'n^ 
emotions,  and  to  su|ip')'  its  inosf  3».  ..ting  -ind  ,iic«- 
urescjue  u.sages,  by  su:  C.'d  for  11  ;  --id  i  iiviiou,  tc>« 
monial.  Few  p.TKiani*  can  be  moie  strt'c-i^  a»(J 
frigid  than  an  '.'i),'!!'.!' funi.'.'.l  in  towi,  it -.r  ..la.h' 
up  of  show  Pi  >,\  5T;i),,jny  paradi  ;  mo.\'nin;^'  cr.'-nr.iy^. 
mourning  ri.jrst.'S.  nv iu.-?\it)g  plur.  cvi,  uvd  hurling 
mourners,  V  he  i.'iakv,  a  niockep.-  ...:  rrrief.  '  Thcrt  is 
a  grave  digged,"  s.'ys  Jeremy  "  '.ylor,  "  and  .i .».  j'enr, 
mourning,  and  a  i^ea;  tali;  11  tiv.M.  if,li".;jurh.  od, 
and  when  the  daics  are  finished.  (Ley  s>ii,^ll  t;t^.  and 
they  shall  be  rememoTed  no  '.lof^  "  The  .'\ssociatf; 
in  the  gay  Jind  ctowJeil  rily  is  soon  foi;4'jt'iii ;  ihe 
hurrying  iuccession  of  rev;  intiiu.Us  ;.nd  njw  pleas- 
ures effaces  him  from  our  minds,  and  the  'ery  orcnes 
anil  circles  in  which  ho  inovtd  '..j  inces!.i;ulj  flyc- 
tuating.  Uut  funerals  in  the  coitr.tr/  are  Muetnnlji 
impressive.  The  stroke  ft  d.Mth  i  lakvs  a  wic^t-i 
space  in  the  village  ci.'cle.  .'.nd  ii  an  awfu'  event  in 
the  tranquil  unifonnily  of  rural  lite.  T'.,-  paus'ng 
bell  tolls  its  knell  in  every  ear;  it  steals  w.l'^)  ^t;  pir- 
vuding  melancholy  over  hill  and  vale,  and  $add:ns 
all  the  landscape. 

The  fixt  d  and  unch;  nging  ft-af-iT-,  of  the  cou  itry, 
also,  perpetu.i  c  the  memory  of  the  frenc'  with  whorn 
we  once  enjoyed  '.h'-m  ;  who  was  'lie  companion  of 
our  most  retirt  rl  'vaJr. .,  ind  lavi-,  ?,nini.''-'ion  to  every 
lonely  scene.  Mis  ides,  is  .inyOwi.iicd  with  every 
charm  of  Nature :  <ve  hear  his  vt /ii-c  in  the  echo 
which  he  t;i  r"?  ('•;lir,hted  to  aw.akcn  ;  his  spirit  haui.tc 
the  jn-o\(M,hiih  he  once  freiuented ;  we  think  uf 
him  in  •ni;  wild  ujil.nnd  solitude,  or  amidst  the  p;n- 
si'  e  hi  .lu'.y  of  the  valley.  In  the  freshness  of  joyoui 
morning,  we  remember  his  beaming  smiles  and 
b^.uniling  gayety  ;  and  when  sober  evening  returns, 
with  its  gathering  sh;ulows  and  subduing  quiet,  we 
call  to  mind  many  a  twilight  hour  of  gentle  talk  and 
svveet-souled  melancholy. 

Er^h  lonely  place  ihall  him  restore, 

Kor  him  the  tear  be  d.ily  shed. 
Beloved,  till  life  can  charm  no  more. 

And  moum'd  till  pity's  self  be  desd. 

Another  cause  that  perpetuates  the  memory  of 
the  deceased  in  the  country,  is,  that  the  grave  i> 


m 


88 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


i'4 


']  I'.J 


P''*, 


more  immediately  in  sight  of  the  survivors.  They 
pass  it  on  their  way  to  prayer ;  it  meets  their  eyes 
when  their  hearts  are  softened  by  the  exercise  of  de- 
votion ;  they  lintjer  about  it  on  the  Sabbath,  when 
the  mind  is  disengaged  from  wo!;Idly  cares,  and  most 
disposed  fo  turn  aside  from  present  pleasures  and 
present  loves,  and  to  sit  down  among-  the  solemn 
mementos  of  the  past.  In  North  Wales,  the  peas- 
iniry  Itncel  and  pray  over  the  graves  of  their  de- 
mised friends  for  several  Sundays  after  the  inler- 
jriL'nt;  and  where  the  tender  rite  of  strewing  and 
planting  flowers  is  still  practised,  it  is  always  re- 
newed on  Easier,  Whitsuntide,  and  other  festivals, 
when  the  season  brings  the  companion  of  former 
festivity  more  vividly  to  mind.  It  is  also  invariably 
performed  by  the  nearest  r:latives  and  friends;  no 
menials  nor  hirelings  are  e:r.r>!oyed,  and  if  a  neigh- 
bour yields  assistance,  it  would  be  deemed  an  insult 
to  offer  compensation. 

I  have  dwelt  upon  this  beautiful  rural  custom,  be- 
cause, as  it  is  one  of  the  last,  so  is  it  one  of  the  ho- 
liest offices  of  love.  The  grave  is  the  ordeal  of  true 
aiTection.  It  is  there  that  the  divine  passion  of  the 
soul  manifests  its  superiority  to  the  instinctive  im- 
pulse of  mere  animal  .attachment.  The  latter  must 
be  continually  refreshed  and  kept  alive  by  the  pres- 
ence of  its  object ;  but  the  love  that  is  seated  in 
the  soul  can  live  on  long  remembrance.  The  mere 
inclinations  of  sense  languish  and  decline  with  the 
charms  which  excited  them,  and  turn  with  shudder- 
ing and  disgust  from  the  dismal  precincts  of  the 
toHib;  hut  it  is  thence  that  truly  sniritu.al  afFection 
rises  purified  from  every  sensual  desire,  and  returns, 
like  a  holy  tiame,  to  illumine  and  sanctify  the  heart 
af  the  survivor. 

The  sorrow  for  the  dead  is  the  only  sorrow  from 
which  we  refuse  to  be  divorced.  Kvery  other  wound 
ffc  setk  to  heal — every  other  affliction  to  forget;  but 
ihis  wound  we  consider  it  a  duty  to  keep  open — this 
afSictiou  we  cherish  and  brood  over  in  solitude. 
Where  is  the  mother  who  would  willingly  forget  the 
infant  that  i)erished  like  a  blossom  from  her  arms, 
though  every  recollection  is  a  pang  ?  Where  is  the 
child  that  would  willingly  forget  the  most  tender  of 
parents,  though  to  remember  be  but  to  lament? 
Who,  even  in  the  hour  of  agony,  would  forget  the 
iriend  over  whom  he  mourns?  Who,  even  when  the 
toini)  is  closing  upon  the  remains  of  her  he  most 
loved ;  when  he  feels  his  heart,  as  it  were,  crushed 
in  the  closing  of  its  portal;  would  accept  of  conso- 
lation that  must  be  bought  by  forgetfulness  ? — No, 
the  los'e  which  survives  the  tomb  is  one  of  the  no- 
blest attributes  of  the  soul.  If  it  has  its  woes,  it  h.is 
likewise  its  delights;  and  when  the  overwhelming 
burst  of  grief  is  calmed  into  the  gentle  tear  of  recol- 
lection—when  tlie  sudden  anguish  and  the  convul- 
sive agouy  over  the  i)resent  ruins  of  all  that  we  most 
loved,  is  softened  away  into  pensive  meditation  on 
all  that  it  was  in  the  days  of  its  loveliness — who 
woulil  root  out  such  a  sorrow  from  the  heart  ? 
Tho  igh  it  may  sometimes  throw  a  passing  cloud 
orvet  the  bright  hour  of  gayety,  or  spread  a  deeper 
vidiwss  over  'he  hour  of  gloom  ;  yet  who  would  ex- 
:hd.ige  t  eve--;  for  the  song  of  pleasure,  or  the  burst 
jf  revelry?  '/o,  there  is  a  voice  from  the  tomb 
iwceter  than  i-.ng.  There  is  a  remembrance  of  the 
dead,  to  whic  i  >ve  turn  even  from  the  charms  of  the 
living.  (Jh,  t'.e  grave  ! — the  grave  ! — It  buries  every 
error — cov«-rs  every  defect — extinguishes  every  re- 
sentment I  From  its  peaceful  bosom  spring  none 
but  fond  regr  jts  and  tender  recollections.  Who  can 
look  dowTi  upoB  the  grave  even  of  an  enemy  and  not 
feel  a  compur  ctious  throb,  that  he  should  ever  have 
warred  with  the  poor  handful  of  earth  th-at  lies 
nculderiiie:  Liefore  nim  7 


But  the  grave  of  those  we  loved — what  a  place  for 

meditation  !  There  it  is  that  we  call  up  in  long  re- 
view the  whole  history  of  virtue  and  gentleness,  and 
the  thousand  endearments  lavished  upon  us  almost 
unheeded  in  the  daily  intercourse  of  inti.macy  ; — there 
it  is  that  we  dwell  upon  the  tenderness,  the  solemn, 
awful  tenderness  of  the  parting  scene.  The  bed  of 
death,  with  all  its  stifled  griefs — its  noiseless  attend- 
ance— its  iTiute,  watchful  assiduities.  The  last  tev 
timonies  of  expiring  love!  The  feeble,  flutteiinf; 
thrilling,  oh!  how  thrilling  ! — pressure  of  the  hand, 
The  last  fond  look  of  the  glazing  eye,  turning  upon 
us  even  from  the  threshold  of  existence.  The  faint, 
faltering  accents,  struggling  in  death  to  give  one 
more  assurance  of  affection  ! 

Ay,  go  to  the  grave  of  buried  love,  and  meditate  ! 
There  settle  the  account  with  thy  conscience  for 
every  past  benetit  uni'equited,  every  past  endeannent 
unregarded,  of  that  departed  beine,  who  can  never — 
never — never  return  to  t)e  soothed  by  thy  contrition  ! 

If  thou  art  a  child,  and  hast  ever  added  a  sorrow 
to  the  soul,  or  a  furrow  to  the  silvered  brow  of  an 
afTectionate  parent — if  thou  art  a  husband,  and  hast 
ever  caused  the  fond  bosom  that  ventured  its  whole 
happiness  in  thy  arms,  to  doubt  one  moment  of  thy 
kindness  or  thy  truth — if  thou  art  a  friend,  and  hast 
ever  wronged,  in  thought,  or  word,  or  deed,  the  spirit 
that  generously  conti(led  in  thee — if  thou  art  a  lover 
and  hast  ever  given  one  unmerited  pang  to  that  true 
heart  which  now  lies  cold  and  still  beneath  thy  feet ; 
then  be  sure  th.at  every  unkind  look,  every  ungracious 
word,  ever)'  ungentle  action,  will  come  thronging 
back  upon  thy  memory,  and  knocking  dolefully  at  thy 
soul — then  be  sure  that  thou  wilt  lie  down  sorrowin)" 
and  repentant  on  the  grave,  and  utter  the  unheard 
groan,  and  pour  the  unas-ailing  tear— more  deep 
more  bitter,  because  unheard  and  unavailing. 

Then  weave  thy  chaplet  of  (lowers,  and  strew  the 
be.iuties  of  nature  about  the  grave  ;  console  thy 
broken  spirit,  if  thou  canst,  with  these  tender,  yet 
futile  tributes  of  regret ;— but  take  warning  by  the 
bitterness  of  this  thy  contrite  affliction  over  the  dead, 
and  henceforth  be  more  faithful  and  affectionate  iti 
the  discharge  of  thy  duties  to  the  living. 


In  writing  the  preceding  article,  it  was  not  intend- 
ed to  give  a  full  detail  of  the  funer.al  customs  of  the 
English  peasantr>-,  but  merely  to  furnish  a  lew  hints 
and  quotations  illustrative  of  particular  rites,  to  be 
appended,  by  w.ay  of  note,  to  another  paper,  which 
has  been  withheld.  The  article  swelled  insensibly 
into  its  present  form,  and  this  is  mentioned  as  an 
apology  lor  so  brief  and  casual  a  notice  of  these 
usages,  after  they  have  been  amply  and  learnedly  in- 
vestigated in  other  works. 

1  must  observe,  also,  that  I  am  well  aware  that  this 
custom  of  ailorning  graves  with  (lowers,  prevails  in 
other  countries  besides  England.  Indeed,  in  some  it 
is  much  more  general,  and  is  observed  even  by  the 
rich  and  fashionable;  but  it  is  then  apt  to  lose  1(3 
simplicity,  and  to  degenerate  into  affectation.  Bright, 
in  his  travels  in  Lower  Hungary,  tells  of  monuments 
of  marble,  and  recesses  formed  for  retirement,  with 
scats  placetl  among  bowers  of  green-house  plants ; 
and  that  the  graves  generally  are  covered  with  the 
gayest  llowers  of  the  season.  He  gives  a  casual  pict- 
ure of  final  piety,  which  1  cannot  but  describe,  for  I 
trust  it  is  as  uselul  as  it  is  delightful  to  illustrate  the 
amiable  virtues  of  the  sex.  "  When  I  was  at  Berlin,' 
says  he,  "  I  followed  the  celebrated  Itfland  to  tht 
grave.  Mingled  with  some  i)omp,  vou  might  tr.ice 
much  real  feeling.  In  the  midst  of  the  ceremony, 
niv  attention  was  attracted  bv  a  yountc  wjman  wh* 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


89 


itood  on  a  mound  of  earth,  newly  covered  with  turf, 
which  she  anxiously  protected  from  the  feet  of  the 
passing  crowd.  It  was  the  tomb  of  her  parent ;  and 
the  ^gure  of  this  aflectionute  daughter  presented  a 
monument  more  strilcing  than  the  most  costly  work 
of  art." 

I  will  barely  add  an  instance  of  sepulchral  decora- 
lion  that  I  once  met  with  among  the  mountains  of 
Switzerland.  It  was  at  the  village  of  Gersau,  which 
Hands  on  the  borders  of  the  lake  of  Luzerne,  at  the 
foot  of  Mount  Rigi.  It  was  once  the  capital  of  a 
[uiniature  republic,  shut  up  between  the  Alps  and  the 
slice,  and  accessible  on  the  land  side  only  by  foot- 
paths. The  whole  force  of  the  republic  did  not  ex- 
ceed six  hundred  fighting  men  ;  and  a  few  miles  of 
circumference,  scooped  out,  as  it  were,  from  the 
bosom  of  the  mountains,  comprised  its  territory. 
The  village  of  Gersau  seemed  separated  from  the 
rest  of  the  world,  and  retained  the  golden  simplicity 
of  a  purer  age.  It  had  a  small  church,  with  a  bury- 
ing ground  adjoining.  At  the  heads  «f  the  graves 
were  placed  crosses  of  wood  or  iron.  On  some  were 
allixed  miniatures,  rudely  executed,  but  evidently  at- 
tempts at  likenesses  of  the  dece;ised.  On  the  crosses 
were  hung  chaplets  of  (lowers,  some  withering,  others 
fresh,  as  if  occasionally  renewed.  I  paused  with  in- 
terest at  this  scene ;  I  felt  that  I  was  at  the  source 
of  poetical  description,  for  these  were  the  beautiful, 
but  unatfected  offerings  of  the  heart,  which  poets  are 
fain  to  record.  In  a  gayer  and  more  populous  place, 
1  shoulfl  have  suspected  them  to  have  been  suggest- 
ed by  factitious  sentiment,  derived  from  books  ;  but 
the  good  people  of  Gersau  knew  little  of  books ;  there 
w.is  not  a  novel  nor  a  love  poem  in  the  vill.ige ;  and 
I  question  whether  any  peasant  of  the  place  dreamt, 
while  he  was  twining  a  fresh  chaplet  for  the  grave 
3f  his  mistress,  that  he  was  fulfilling  one  of  the  most 
.'liiciful  rites  of  poetical  devotion,  and  that  he  was 
pricUcally  a  poet. 


THE  INN  KITCHEN. 


Shall  1  D*.  ake  mine  ease  io  mint  inn  ? 

During  a  journey  that  I  once  made  through  the 
Netherlands,  I  had  arrived  one  evening  at  the  Pomme 
i'Or,  the  principal  inn  of  a  small  Flemish  village.  It 
was  after  the  hour  of  the  table  d'hote,  so  th.it  I  was 
obliged  to  make  a  solitary  supper  from  the  relics  of 
its  ampler  board.  The  weatner  was  chilly;  I  was 
seated  alone  in  one  end  of  a  great  gloomy  dining - 
loom,  and  my  repast  being  over.  I  had  the  prospect 
before  me  of  a  long  dull  evening,  without  any  visible 
means  of  enlivening  it.  I  summoned  mine  host,  and 
requested  something  to  read;  he  brought  me  the 
whole  liliTary  stock  of  his  household,  a  Dutch  family 
bible,  an  iilmanac  in  the  same  language,  and  a  num- 
ber of  old  Paris  newspapers.  As  I  sat  dozing  over 
oie  of  the  latter,  reauing  old  news  and  stale  criti- 
cisms, my  ear  wis  now  and  then  struck  with  bursts 
of  laughter  which  seemed  to  proceed  from  the  kitchen, 
livery  one  that  has  travelled  on  the  Contip.cnt  must 
know  how  favourite  a  resort  the  kitchen  of  a  country 
inn  is  to  the  middle  and  inferior  order  of  travellers ; 
paiticularly  in  that  equivocal  kind  of  weather  when  a 
fire  becomes  agreeable  toward  evening.  I  threw  asif  i»; 
the  newspaper,  and  explored  my  way  to  the  kitchen, 
to  take  a  peep  at  the  g^oup  that  appeared  to  l)e  so 
merry.  It  was  comj)osed  partly  of  travellers  who 
had  arrived  some  hours  before  in  a  diligence,  and 
oartlv  of  the  usual  attendants  and  hangers-on  of  inns. 
3 


They  were  seated  round  a  great  burnished  stove,  tixat 
might  have  been  mistaken  for  an  altar,  at  whiih 
they  were  worshipping.  It  was  covered  with  varioat 
kitchen  vessels  of  resplendent  brightness;  among 
which  steamed  and  hissed  a  huge  copper  tea-kettle. 
A  large  lamp  threw  a  strong  mass  of  tight  upon  the 
group,  bringing  out  many  odd  features  in  strongi 
relief.  Its  yellow  rays  partially  illumined  the  spacious 
kitchen,  dying  duskily  away  into  lemote  comers 
except  where  they  settled  in  mellow  radiance  on  the 
broad  side  of  a  Hitch  of  bacon,  or  were  reflected 
back  from  well-scoured  utensils  that  gleamed  from 
the  midst  of  obscurity.  A  strapping  Flemish  lass, 
with  long  golden  pendants  in  her  ears,  and  a  neck- 
lace with  a  golden  heart  suspended  to  it,  was  th» 
presiding  priestess  of  the  temple. 

Many  of  the  company  were  furnished  with  pipes, 
and  most  of  them  with  some  kind  of  evening  pota- 
tion. I  found  their  mirth  was  occasioned  by  anec- 
dotes which  a  little  swarthy  Frenchman,  with  a  dry 
weazen  face  and  large  whiskers,  was  giving  of  his 
love  adventures ;  at  the  end  of  each  of  which  there 
was  one  of  those  bursts  of  honest  unceremonious 
laughter,  in  which  a  man  ''ndulges  in  that  temple  o' 
true  liberty,  an  inn. 

As  I  had  no  better  mode  of  getting  through  a 
tedious  blustering  evening,  I  took  my  seat  near 
the  stove,  and  listened  to  a  variety  ot  traveller's 
tales,  some  very  extravagant,  and  most  very  dull. 
All  of  them,  however,  have  faded  from  my  treacher- 
ous memory,  except  one,  which  I  will  endeavour  to 
relate.  I  fear,  however,  it  derived  its  chief  zest  from 
the  manner  in  which  it  was  told,  and  the  peculiar 
air  and  appearance  of  the  narrator.  He  was  a  cor- 
pulent old  Swiss,  who  had  the  look  of  a  veteran 
traveller.  He  was  dressed  in  a  tarnished  green 
travelling-jacket,  with  a  broad  belt  round  his  waist, 
and  a  pair  of  overalls  with  buttons  from  the  hips  to 
the  ankles.  He  Was  of  a  full,  rubicund  countenance, 
with  a  double  chin,  aquiline  nose,  and  a  pleasant 
twinkling  eye.  His  hair  was  light,  and  curled  from 
under  an  old  green  velvet  travelling-cap,  stuck  on 
one  side  ot  his  head.  1  e  was  interrupted  more  than 
once  by  the  arrival  of  guests,  or  the  remarks  of  hit 
auditors;  and  paused,  now  and  then,  to  replenish 
his  pipe  ;  at  which  times  he  had  generally  a  roguish 
leer,  and  a  sly  joke,  for  the  buxom  kitchen  maid. 

I  wish  my  reader  could  imagine  the  old  fellow 
lolling  in  a  huge  arm-chair,  one  arm  a-kimbo,  the 
other  holding  a  curiously  twisted  tobacco-pipe, 
formed  of  genuine  icume  tie  mer,  decorated  with 
silver  chain  and  silken  tassel — his  head  cocked  oc 
one  side,  and  a  whimsical  cut  of  the  eye  occasiona'Jy 
as  he  related  the  following  story  * 


THE  SPECTRE  BRIDEQROP.M. 

A  TRAVSLLEJl'S   TALI.** 


He  that  lunper  for  i<  disht. 

He  lyM  full  cold,  I  trow,  this  night  I 

Vpstreen  to  chiniber  I  him  led, 

Thu  night  Oray->ieel  has  made  his  hed  I 

Sir  Egkr,  Sia  Grahasib,  and  Si*  GiAv-«ntat 

On  the  summit  of  one  of  the  heights  of  the  OdcA- 
wald,  a  wild  and  romantic  tract  of  Upper  Germany, 
that  lies  not  far  from  the  confluence  of  the  Maine 
and  the  Rhine,  there  stood,  many,  many  years  since, 

*  1'he  erudite  reader,  well  vented  in  good-for-nothing  lore,  will 
perceive  that  the  above  Tale  must  have  been  tuKi;ested  to  the  aid 
SwUs  by  a  little  French  anecdote,  of  a  circumstanca  raid  to  kaM 
taken  place  at  Paris. 


tU 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVINU 


I':!' 


^  *■-•., 


lil 


the  Castle  of  the  Baron  Von  Landshort.  It  is  now 
:\u\\e  fallen  to  decay,  and  almost  buried  among 
beech  trees  and  dark  firs;  above  which,  howiiver, 
:ts  old  watch-tower  may  still  be  seen  struggling,  like 
the  former  possessor  I  have  mentioned,  to  carry  a  high 
lead,  and  look  down  upon  a  neighbouring  country. 

The  Baron  was  a  dry  branch  of  the  great  family 
jf  Katzenellenbogen,*  and  inherited  the  relics  of  the 
pn-perty,  and  all  the  pride,  of  his  ancestors.  Though 
ibe  warlike  disposition  of  his  predecessors  had  much 
impaired  the  family  possessions,  yet  the  Baron  still 
tindeavoured  to  keep  up  some  show  of  former  state. 
The  times  were  peaceable,  and  the  German  nobles, 
;n  general,  had  abandoned  their  inconvenient  old 
castles,  perched  like  eagle's  nests  among  the  mount- 
ains, and  h,i(l  built  more  convenient  residences  in 
the  valltys  ;  still  the  Baron  remained  proudly  drawn 
ip  in  his  little  fortress,  cherishing  with  hereditary 
inveteracy  all  the  old  family  feuds ;  so  that  he  was 
on  ill  terms  with  some  of  his  nearest  neighbourj,  on 
i.:count  of  disputes  that  had  happened  between  their 
^"■at-great-grandfathers. 

The  Baron  h.ad  but  one  child,  a  daughter ;  but 
iJature,  when  she  gfrants  but  one  child,  always  com- 
pensates by  making  it  a  prodigy;  and  so  it  was  with 
t.ie  daughter  of  the  Baron.  All  the  nurses,  gossips, 
^nd  country  cousins,  assured  her  father  that  she  had 
not  her  equal  for  be.auty  in  all  Germany ;  and  who 
should  know  better  than  they .'  She  had,  mor"-'>ver, 
been  brought  up  with  great  care,  under  the  superin- 
tendence of  two  maiden  aunts,  who  had  spent  some 
years  of  their  early  life  at  one  of  the  little  German 
courts,  and  were  skilled  in  all  the  branches  of  knowl- 
edge necessary  to  the  edu-ntioii  of  a  fine  lady.  Un- 
der their  instructions,  she  became  a  miracle  of  ac- 
complishments. By  the  lime  she  w.as  eighteen  she 
coild  embroider  to  admiration,  and  had  worked 
whole  histories  of  the  saints  in  tapestry,  with  such 
jtrer.gth  of  expression  in  their  countenances,  that 
tiiey  looked  like  so  many  soiils  in  purgatory.  She 
Tould  read  without  great  ditficulty,  and  had  spelled 
ler  way  through  several  church  legends,  and  almost 
all  the  chivalric  wonders  of  the  HeKlenbuch.  She 
had  even  made  considerable  proficiency  in  writing, 
could  sign  her  own  name  vitnout  missing  a  letter, 
ind  so  kgibly,  that  her  aunts  could  read  it  without 
spectacles.  She  excelled  in  making  little  gooil-for- 
nothing  l.idy-like  knicknacks  of  all  kinds  ;  was  versed 
in  the  most  abstruse  dancing  of  the  day ;  played  a 
number  ot  airs  on  the  harp  and  guitar;  and  knew 
ill  the  tender  ballads  of  the  Minnie-lieders  by  heart. 

Her  aiiius,  too,  having  been  great  flirts  and  co- 
quettes in  their  younger  days,  were  admirably  calcu- 
lated to  be  vigilant  guardians  and  strict  censors  of 
the  conduct  of  their  niece ;  for  there  is  no  duenna  so 
rijidly  pnident,  and  inexorably  decorous,  as  a  super- 
annuated coquette.  .She  was  rarely  suffered  out  of' 
'heir  sight ;  never  went  beyond  the  domains  of  the 
castle,  unless  well  attended,  or  rather  well  watched  ; 
had  coritmu.il  lectures  read  to  hiT  abrut  strict  deco- 
rum and  intplicit  obedience ;  and,  as  to  the  men — 
;>ah  I  she  was  taught  to  holtl  them  at  such  distance 
ind  distrust,  that,  unless  properly  authorized,  she 
.vould  not  have  cast  a  glance  upon  the  handsomest 
:avalier  in  the  world — no,  not  if  he  were  even  dying 
at  her  feet. 

The  good  effects  of  this  system  were  wonderfully 
ippircnt.  The  young  lady  was  a  pattern  of  docility 
tn.l  correctness.  Whde  others  were  wasting  their 
iwcetness  in  the  glare  of  the  world,  and  liable  to  be 
oiucked  and  thrown  aside  by  every  hand,  she  was 

•i.  t.,  Cat's  El»o»'— the  name  of  a  fnmily  of  those  part», 
'Kj  povurful  ID  fonacr  timet.      The  appellulion,  we  are  lotil,  wa« 

g'/ta  ia  (.<.m|;liiucat  10  a  pceilesn  dame  of  the  family,  celebrated 
t  *  ftut  Aim. 


coyly  blooming  into  fresh  and  lovely  womanhood 
under  the  protection  of  those  immaculate  spinsters, 
like  a  rose-bud  blushing  forth  among  griardian  thorns. 
Her  aunts  I(X)ked  upon  her  with  pride  and  exultation, 
and  vaunted  that  though  all  the  other  young  ladies 
in  the  world  might  go  astray,  yet,  thank  Heaven, 
nothing  of  the  kind  could  happen  to  the  heiress  of 
Katzenellenbogen. 

But  however  scantily  the  Baron  Von  Landshon 
might  be  provided  with  children,  his  household  was 
by  no  means  a  small  one,  for  Providence  had  enrich- 
ed him  with  abundance  of  poor  relations.  They,  one 
and  all,  possessed  the  affectionate  disposition  com- 
mon to  humble  relatives;  were  wonderfully  attached 
to  the  Baron,  and  took  every  possible  occasion  to 
come  in  swarms  and  enliven  the  castle.  All  family 
festivals  were  commemorated  by  these  good  people 
at  the  Baron's  ex{)ense ;  and  when  they  were  lillf  d 
with  good  cheer,  they  would  declare  that  there  w  is 
nothing  on  earth  so  delightful  as  these  family  mert 
ings,  these  jubilees  of  the  heart. 

The  Baron,  though  a  small  man,  had  a  large  so  x\, 
and  it  swelled  with  satisfaction  at  the  consciousn'tss 
of  being  the  greatest  man  in  the  little  world  aboul 
him.  He  loved  to  tell  long  stories  about  the  st  irk 
old  warriors  whose  portraits  looked  grimly  di  wn 
from  the  walls  around,  and  he  found  no  liste'iers 
equal  to  those  who  fed  at  his  expense.  He  was 
much  given  to  the  marvellous,  and  a  firm  believer  in 
all  those  supernatural  tales  with  which  every  mount- 
ain and  valley  in  Ge-many  abounds.  The  faith  of 
his  guests  even  exceeded  his  own  :  they  listened  to 
every  tale  of  wonder  with  open  eyes  and  mouth,  and 
never  failed  to  be  astonished,  even  though  repeated 
for  the  hundredth  tin\e.  Thus  lived  the  liaron  Von 
Landshort,  the  oracle  of  his  table,  the  absolute  mon- 
arch of  his  little  territory,  and  happy,  above  all 
things,  in  the  persuasion  that  he  was  the  wisest 
man  of  the  age. 

At  the  time  of  which  my  story  treats,  there  was  a 
great  family-gathering  at  the  castle,  on  an  affair  ol 
the  utmost  importance ; — it  was  to  receive  the  des- 
tined bridegroom  of  the  Baron's  daughter.  A  ne- 
gotiation h.id  been  carried  on  between  tiie  father 
and  an  old  nobleman  of  Bav.iria,  to  unite  the  dignity 
of  their  houses  by  the  marriage  oi  their  children. 
The  preliminaries  had  been  conducted  with  proper 
punctilio.  The  youTig  people  were  betrothed  with- 
out seeing  each  other,  and  the  time  was  appointed 
for  the  marriage  ceremony.  The  young  Count  Vor 
Allenburg  had  been  recalled  from  the  army  for  the 
purpo.se,  and  was  actually  on  his  way  to  the  Baron's 
to  receive  his  bride.  Missives  had  even  been  re- 
ceived from  him,  from  Wurtzburg,  where  he  wa.i 
accidentally  detained,  mentioning  the  day  and  hour 
when  he  might  be  expected  to  arrive. 

The  castle  was  in  a  tumult  of  preparation  to  give 
him  a  suitable  welcome.  The  fair  bride  had  been 
decked  out  with  uncommon  care.  The  two  auntn 
had  sui)erinfended  her  toilet,  and  quarrelled  the 
whole  morning  about  every  article  of  her  dress 
The  young  lady  had  taken  advantage  of  their  con 
test  to  follow  the  bent  of  her  own  ta.ste ;  and  fortU' 
nately  it  was  a  good  one.  hhe  looked  as  lovely  a* 
youthful  bridegroom  could  desire ;  and  the  flutter  oi 
expectation  heightened  the  lustre  of  her  channs. 

The  suffusions  that  mantled  her  face  and  neck  the 
gentle  heaving  of  the  bosom,  the  eye  now  and  then 
lost  in  reverie,  all  betrayed  the  soft  tunnilt  that  was 
going  on  in  her  little  heart.  The  aunts  were  con- 
tinually hovering  around  her ;  for  maiden  aunts  arc 
ap'  to  take  great  interest  in  affairs  of  this  nature 
they  were  giving  her  a  world  of  staid  counsel  how  to 
deport  herself,  what  to  say,  and  in  what  mannei  to 
receive  the  expected  lover. 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  G«mt. 


rhe  Baron  was  no  less  busied  in  preparations, 
^e  had,  in  tnith,  nothing  exactly  to  do ;  but  he  was 
naturally  a  turning,  bustling  little  man,  and  could  not 
remain  passive  when  all  the  world  w;is  in  a  irry. 
He  worried  from  top  to  bottom  of  the  castle,  wiih  an 
tir  of  infinite  anxiety ,  he  continually  called  the  serv- 
tnts  from  their  v/ork  to  exhort  them  to  be  diligent, 
and  buzzed  about  every  hall  and  chamber,  as  idly 
restless  and  importunate  as  a  blue-bottle  fly  of  a 
cvarni  summer's  day. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  fatted  calf  had  been  killed ; 
;i  e  forests  had  rung  with  the  clamour  of  the  hunts- 
,nen  ;  the  kitchen  was  crowded  with  good  cheer;  the 
cellars  had  yielded  up  whole  oceans  of  Khein-wetn 
and  Ferne-Ziietn,  and  even  the  great  Heitlelburgh  tun 
had  been  laid  under  contribution.  Every  thing  was 
ready  to  receive  the  distinguished  guest  with  Sau> 
und  Braus  in  the  true  spirit  of'Germ.in  hospitality — 
but  the  guest  delayed  to  make  his  appearance.  Hour 
rolled  after  Ijour.  The  sun  that  had  poured  his  down- 
ward rays  upon  the  rich  forests  of  the  Oilenwald,  now 
just  gleamed  along  the  summits  of  the  mountains. 
The  Baron  mounted  the  highest  tower,  and  strained 
his  eyes  in  hopes  of  catching  a  distant  sight  of  the 
Count  and  his  attendants.  Once  he  thought  he  be- 
held them ;  the  sound  of  horns  came  floating  from 
the  valley,  prolonged  by  the  mountain  echoes :  a 
number  of  horsemen  were  seen  far  below,  slowly  ad- 
vancing along  the  road  ;  but  when  they  had  nearly 
re.iched  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  they  suddenly 
struck  oiT  in  a  different  direction.  The  last  ray  of 
sunshine  departed — the  bats  began  to  flit  by  in  the 
twilight — the  road  grew  dimmer  and  dimmer  to  the 
VIEW  ;  and  nothing  appeared  stirring  in  it,  but  now 
and  then  a  peasant  lagging  homeward  from  his 
L("jour. 

While  the  old  castle  of  L.indshort  was  in  this  state 
•if  perplexity,  a  very  interesting  scene  was  transacting 
in  a  dilTerent  part  of  the  Odenwald. 

The  young  Count  Von  Altenburg  was  tranquilly 
pjrsuing  his  route  in  that  sober  jog-trot  way  in 
which  a  man  travels  toward  matrin.-^ny  when  his 
friends  have  taken  all  the  trouble  and  uncertainty  of 
courtship  off  his  hands,  and  a  bride  is  waiting  for 
him,  as  certainly  as  a  ilinner,  at  the  end  of  his  jour- 
ney. He  had  encountered  at  Wurtzburg  a  youthful 
companion  in  arms,  with  whom  he  had  seen  some 
service  on  the  frontiers:  Herman  Von  Staikenfaust, 
one  of  the  stoutest'  hands  and  worthiest  hearts  of 
German  chivalry,  who  was  now  returning  from  the 
army.  His  lather's  castle  was  not  far  distant  from 
the  old  fortress  of  Landshort,  although  a  hereditary 
feud  rendered  the  families  hostile,  and  strangers  to 
each  other. 

In  the  warm-hearted  moment  of  recognition,  the 
young  friends  related  all  their  past  adventures  and 
fortunes,  and  the  Count  gave  the  whole  history  of 
his  intended  nuptials  with  a  young  l.uly  whom  he  had 
m-.ver  seen,  but  of  whose  charms  he  had  received  the 
most  enrapturing  descriptions. 

As  the  route  of  the  friends  lay  in  the  same  direc- 
tion, they  agreed  to  perform  the  rest  of  their  jotirney 
together ;  and  that  they  might  do  it  more  leisurely, 
let  off  from  Wurtzburg  at  an  early  hour,  the  Count 
laving  given  directions  for  his  retinue  to  follow  and 
07ertake  him. 

They  begfuiled  their  wayfaring  with  recollections 
3f  their  military  scenes  and  adventures;  but  the 
Count  was  apt  to  be  a  little  tedious,  now  and  then, 
ihout  the  reputed  charms  of  his  bride,  and  the  felicity 
th.it  awaited  him. 

In  this  way  they  had  entered  among  the  mountains 
of  the  Odenwald,  and  were  traversing  one  of  its  most 
kinely  and  thickly  wooded  passes.  It  is  well  known 
that  the  forests  of  Germany  have  always  Decn  a« 


much  infested  with  robbers  as  its  castles  by  s|)eclres 
and,  at  this  time,  the  former  were  panicularly  nu- 
merous, from  the  hordes  of  disbanded  soldiers  wan- 
dering about  the  country.  It  will  not  appear  extra- 
ordinary, therefore,  that  the  cavaliers  were  attacked 
by  a  gang  of  these  stragglers,  in  the  midst  of  the 
forest  They  defended  themselves  with  bravery,  bat 
were  nearly  overpowered  when  the  Count's  retinue 
anived  to  their  assistance.  At  sight  of  them  tlw 
robbers  fled,  but  not  until  the  Count  had  received  a 
mortal  wound.  He  was  slowly  and  carefully  con- 
veyed back  to  the  city  of  Wurtzburg,  and  a  friar 
summoned  from  a  neighbouring  convent,  who  was 
famous  lor  his  skill  in  administering  to  both  soul  and 
body.  But  half  of  his  skill  was  superfluous ;  the 
moments  of  the  unfortunate  Count  were  numbered. 

With  his  dying  breath  he  entreated  his  friend  to 
repair  insl'.n.'y  to  the  castle  of  Landshort,  and  ex- 
pl.ain  the  fuai  cause  of  his  not  keeping  his  appoint- 
ment with  his  Dtide.  Though  not  the  most  .irdent 
of  lovers,  he  .vas  one  of  the  most  punctilious  of  men, 
and  appeared  earnestly  solicitous  that  this  mission 
should  lie  speedily  and  courteously  executed.  "  Un- 
less this  is  done,'  said  he,  "  I  shall  not  sleep  quietly 
in  my  grave  I  "  He  repeated  these  last  worils  with 
peculiar  solemnity.  A  request,  at  a  moment  so  im- 
pressiife,  admitted  no  hesitation.  Starkenfaust  en- 
deavoured to  soothe  him  to  calmness ;  promised 
faithfully  to  execute  his  wish,  and  gave  him  his  hand 
in  solemn  pledge.  The  dying  man  pressed  it  in  ac- 
knowledgment, but  soon  lapsed  into  delirium — raved 
about  his  bride  —  his  engagements  —  his  plighted 
word  ;  ordered  his  horse,  that  he  might  ri<ie  to  the 
castle  of  Landshort,  and  expired  in  the  fancied  act 
of  vaulting  into  the  saddle. 

Starkenfaust  bestowed  a  sigh,  and  a  soldier's  tear 
on  the  untimely  fate  of  his  comrade  ;  and  then  jx)n- 
dered  on  the  awkward  mission  he  had  undertaken, 
His  heart  was  heavy,  and  his  head  perplexed ;  for  he 
was  to  present  himself  an  unbidden  guest  among 
hostile  people,  and  to  damp  their  festinty  with  tid- 
ings fatal  to  their  hopes.  Still  there  were  certain 
whisperings  of  curiosity  in  his  bosom  to  see  this  far- 
famed  beauty  of  Katzenellenbogen,  so  cautiously  shui 
up  from  the  world ;  for  he  was  a  passionate  3(fmirer 
of  the  sex,  and  there  was  a  dash  of  eccentricity  and 
enterprise  in  his  character,  that  made  him  fond  of  all 
singular  adventure. 

Previous  to  his  departure,  he  made  all  due  arrange- 
ments with  the  holy  fraternity  of  the  convent  for  the 
funeral  solemnities  of  his  friend,  who  was  to  be 
buried  in  the  cathedral  of  Wurtzburg,  near  some  of 
his  illustrious  relatives;  and  the  mourning  retinue 
of  the  Count  look  charge  of  his  remains. 

It  is  now  high  time  that  we  should  return  to  the 
ancient  family  of  Katzenellenbogen,  who  were  im- 
patient for  their  guest,  and  still  more  for  their  din- 
ner ;  and  to  the  worthy  little  Baron,  whom  we  left 
airing  himself  on  the  watch-tower. 

Night  closed  in,  but  still  no  guest  arrive.!.  The 
Baron  descended  from  the  tower  in  despair.  The 
banquet,  which  h.id  been  delayed  from  hour  to  hour, 
could  no  longer  lie  postponed.  The  meats  were  al- 
re.idy  overdone ;  the  cook  in  an  agony ;  and  tht 
whole  household  had  the  look  of  a  garri.son  th.it  had 
been  red  r  l)y  famine.  The  Baron  was  obliged 
reluctantly  ,o  give  orders  for  the  feast  without  the 
presence  of  the  guest.  All  were  seated  at  table,  and 
just  on  the  point  of  commencing,  when  the  sound 
of  a  horn  from  without  the  gate  gave  notice  of  the 
approach  of  a  str.inger.  Another  lonj  blast  fdled 
the  old  courts  of  the  castle  with  its  echoes,  and  was 
answered  by  the  warder  from  the  walls.  The  Baror 
hastened  to  receive  his  future  son-in-law. 

The  drr.wbridge  had  been  let  down,  and  the  strau 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


mr  was  before  the  gate.  He  was  a  tall  gallant  cava- 
ner.  mounted  on  a  black  steed.  His  countenance 
was  pale,  but  he  had  a  beaming,  romantic  eye,  and 
an  air  of  stately  melancholy.  The  Baron  was  a  lit- 
tle mortified  that  he  should  have  come  in  this  siinple, 
folitary  style.  His  dignity  for  a  moment  was  rumed, 
and  he  felt  disposed  to  consider  it  a  want  of  proper 
rrspect  for  the  important  occasion,  and  the  important 
(smily  with  which  he  was  to  be  connected.    He 

r:ified  himself,  however,  with  the  conclusion  that 
must  have  been  youthful  impatience  which  had 
induced  him  thus  to  spur  on  sooner  than  his  attend- 
ints. 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  the  stranger,  "to  break  in 
upon  you  thus  unseasonably — " 

Here  the  Baron  interrupted  him  with  a  world  of 
compliments  and  greetings ;  (or,  to  tell  the  tnith,  he 
prided  himself  upon  his  courtesy  and  his  eloquence. 
The  stranger  attempted,  once  or  twice,  to  stem  the 
torrent  of  words,  but  in  vain ;  so  he  bowed  his  head 
and  suffered  it  to  flow  on.  By  the  time  the  Baron 
had  come  to  a  pause,  they  had  reached  the  inner 
court  of  the  castle;  and  the  stranger  was  again 
about  to  speak,  when  he  was  once  more  interrupted 
by  the  appearance  of  the  female  part  of  the  family, 
leading  forth  the  shrinking  and  blushing  bride.  He 
gaxed  on  her  for  a  moment  as  one  entranced ;  it 
seemed  as  if  his  whole  soul  beamed  forth  in  the  gaze, 
and  rested  upon  that  lovely  form.  One  of  the  maiden 
aunts  whispered  something  in  her  ear ;  she  mide 
an  effort  to  speak  ;  her  moist  blue  eye  w.is  timidly 
raised,  gave  a  shy  glance  of  inquiry  on  the  stranger, 
and  was  cast  again  to  the  ground.  The  words  died 
away ;  but  there  was  a  sweet  smile  playing  about 
her  lips,  and  a  soft  dimpling  of  the  cnccK,  that 
showed  her  glance  had  not  been  unsatisfactory.  It 
was  impossible  for  a  girl  of  the  fond  age  ol  eighteen, 
highly  predisposed  for  love  and  matrimony,  not  to 
be  pleased  with  so  gallant  a  cavalier. 

The  late  hour  at  which  the  guest  had  arrived,  left 
no  time  for  parley.  The  iiaron  was  peremptory,  and 
deferred  all  particular  conversation  until  the  morn- 
ing, and  led  the  way  to  the  untasted  bancjuet. 

It  was  ser\'ed  up  in  the  gre,-...  hall  of  the  castle. 
Around  the  walls  hung  the  hard-favoured  portraits 
of  the  heroes  of  the  house  of  Katzenellenbogen,  and 
the  trophies  which  they  had  gained  in  the  held  and 
in  the  chase.  Hacked  crosiets,  splintered  jousting 
spears,  and  tattered  banners,  were  mingled  with  the 
spoils  of  sylvan  warfare :  the  jnws  of  the  wolf,  and 
the  tusks  of  the  boar,  grinned  horribly  among  cross- 
oows  and  battle-axes,  and  a  huge  pair  of  antlers 
oranched  immediately  over  the  head  ol  the  youthful 
bridegroom. 

The  cavalier  took  but  little  notice  of  the  company 
or  the  entertainment.  He  scarcely  tasted  the  ban- 
quet, but  seemed  absorbed  in  admiration  of  his 
bride.  He  conversed  in  a  low  tone,  that  could  not 
be  overheard-  -for  the  language  of  love  is  never 
loud ;  but  where  is  the  female  ear  so  dull  that  it 
cannot  catch  the  softest  whisper  of  the  lover  ?  There 
was  I  mingled  tenderness  and  gravity  in  his  manner, 
that  appeared  to  have  a  powerful  effect  upon  the 
troung  lady.  Her  colour  came  and  went,  as  she 
listened  with  deep  attention.  Now  and  then  she 
made  son  e  blushing  reply,  and  when  his  eye  was 
turned  away,  she  would  steal  a  sidelong  glance  at 
his  romantic  countenance,  and  heiive  a  gentle  sigh 
of  tender  happiness.  It  was  evident  that  the  young 
couple  were  completely  enamoured.  The  aunts,  who 
were  deeply  versed  in  the  mysteries  of  the  heart,  de- 
clared that  they  had  fallen  in  love  with  each  other 
at  first  sight. 

The  feast  went  on  r-'crrily,  or  at  least  noisily,  for 
ibc  fjuests  were  all  blessed  with  those  keen  appetites 


that  attend  upon  light  purses  and  mountain  lur  The 
Baron  told  his  best  and  longest  stories,  and  nevet 
had  he  told  them  so  well,  or  with  such  great  effect. 
If  there  was  any  thing  marvellous,  his  auditors  wer« 
lost  in  astonishment ;  and  if  any  thing  facetious, 
they  were  sure  to  laugh  exactly  in  the  right  place. 
The  Baron,  it  is  true,  like  most  great  men,  was  too 
dignified  to  utter  any  joke  but  a  dull  one :  it  w&a 
always  enforced,  however,  by  a  bumper  of  eKcellent 
Hoch-heimer ;  and  even  a  dull  joke,  at  one's  own 
table,  served  up  with  jolly  old  wine,  is  irresistible. 
Many  good  things  were  said  by  poorer  and  keener 
wits,  that  would  not  bear  repeating,  except  on  simi- 
lar occasions ;  many  sly  speeches  whispered  in 
ladies'  ears,  that  dmost  convulsed  them  with  sup- 
pressed laughter ;  and  a  song  or  two  roared  out  by 
a  poor,  but  merry  and  broad-faced  cousin  of  the 
Baron,  that  absolutely  made  the  maiden  aunts  hold 
up  their  fans. 

Amidst  all  this  revelry,  the  stranger  guest  main 
tained  a  most  singular  and  unseasonable  gravity. 
His  countenance  assumed  a  deeper  cast  of  dejection 
as  the  evening  advanced,  and,  strange  as  it  may  ap 
near,  even  the  Baron's  jokes  seemed  only  to  rendet 
liiin  the  more  melancholy.  At  times  he  was  lost  in 
thought,  and  at  times  there  was  a  perturbed  anc 
restless  wandering  of  the  eye  that  bespoke  a  mind 
but  ill  at  ease.  His  conversation  with  the  bride 
became  more  and  more  e,  r.est  and  mysterious. 
Lowering  clouds  began  to  steal  over  the  fair  serenity 
of  her  brow,  and  tremors  to  run  through  her  tender 
frame. 

All  this  could  not  escape  the  notice  of  the  com- 

Cany.  Their  gayety  was  cnilled  by  the  unaccounta- 
le  gloom  of  the  bridegroom  ;  their  spirits  were  in- 
fected ;  whispers  and  glances  were  interchanged, 
accompanied  by  shrugs  and  dubious  shakes  of  the 
head.  The  song  and  the  laugh  grew  le-  ""nd  less 
frequent :  there  were  dreary  p.auses  in  the  canversa- 
tion,  which  were  at  length  succeeded  by  wild  tales 
and  supernatural  legends.  One  dismal  story  pro- 
duced another  still  more  dismal,  and  the  Baron 
nearly  frightened  some  of  the  l.idies  into  hysterics 
with  the  history  of  the  goblin  horsem.an  that  carried 
away  the  fair  Leonora— a  dreadful,  but  true  story, 
which  has  since  been  put  into  excellent  verse,  and  is 
read  and  believed  by  all  the  world. 

The  bridegroom  listened  to  this  tale  with  profound 
attention.  He  kept  his  eyes  steadily  fixed  on  the 
Baron,  and  as  the  story  drew  to  a  close,  began  grad- 
ually to  rise  from  his  seat,  growing  taller  and  taller, 
until,  in  the  Baron's  entranced  eye,  he  seemed  almost 
to  tower  into  a  giant.  The  moment  the  tale  was 
finished,  he  he.aved  a  deep  sigh,  and  took  a  solemn 
farewell  of  the  company.  They  were  all  amazement. 
The  Baron  was  perfectly  thunderstruck. 

"  What !  going  to  le.ave  the  castle  at  midnight  ? 
why,  every  thing  was  prepared  for  his  reception  ;  a 
chamber  was  ready  for  him  if  he  wished  to  retire." 

The  stranger  shook  his  head  mournfully,  and 
mysteriously;  "I  must  lay  my  head  in  a  diflerenl 
chamber  to-night !  " 

There  was  something  in  this  reply,  and  the  Unt 
in  which  it  was  uttered,  that  made  the  Baron  i 
heart  misgive  him  ;  but  he  rallied  his  forces,  and  re- 
peated his  hospitable  entreaties.  The  stranger 
shook  his  he.td  silently,  but  positively,  at  every  cfler; 
and  w.iving  his  farewell  to  the  company,  stalked 
slowly  out  of  the  hall.  The  maiden  aunts  were  ab- 
solutely petrified — the  bride  hung  her  head,  and  a 
tear  stole  to  her  eye. 

The  Baron  followed  the  stranger  to  the  great 
court  of  the  castle,  where  the  black  charger  stood 
pawing  the  earth,  and  snortiwg  with  impatience. 
When  they  nad  reached  the  portal,  who,w  i'»«» 


ff,A, 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


4! 


archway  was  dimly  lighted  by  a  cresset,  the  stranger 
paused,  and  addressed  the  Haron  in  a  hollow  tone 
of  voice,  which  the  vaulted  roof  rendered  still  more 
lepulchral.  "  Now  that  we  arc  alone,"  said  he,  "  I 
will  impart  to  you  the  reason  of  my  going.  1  have 
a  5>lemn,  an  indispensable  engagement — 

"Why,"  said  the  Baron,  "cannot  you  send  some 
arc  in  your  place  ?  " 

"  It  admits  of  nc  substitute — I  must  attend  it  in 
person — I  must  away  to  Wurtzburg  cathedral — " 

"Ay, 'said  the  Baron,  pluci<ing  up  spirit,  "hut 
nol  until  to-morrow — to-morrow  you  shall  take  your 
bride  there." 

"  No  !  no  !  "  replied  the  stranger,  with  ten-fold 
solemnity,  "  my  engagement  is  with  no  bride — the 
wonns  !  the  worms  expect  me  I  I  am  a  dead  man — 
I  have  been  slain  by  robbers — my  body  lies  at 
Wurtzburg — at  midnight  I  am  to  be  buned — the 
grave  is  waiting  for  me — I  must  keep  my  appoint- 
ment ! " 

He  sprang  on  his  black  charger,  dashed  over  the 
drawbridge,  and  the  clattering  of  his  horse's  hoofs 
was  lost  in  the  whistling  of  the  night-blast. 

The  Baron  returned  to  the  hall  in  the  utmost 
consternation,  and  related  what  had  passed.  Two 
ladies  fainted  outright ;  others  sickened  at  the  idea 
of  having  banqueted  with  a  si)ectre.  It  was  the 
opinion  of  some,  that  this  might  be  the  wild  hunts- 
man famous  in  German  legend.  Some  talked  of 
mountain  sprites,  of  wood-demons,  and  of  other 
supernatural  beings,  with  which  the  good  people  of 
Gennany  have  been  so  grievously  harassed  since 
time  immemorial.  One  of  the  poor  relations  ven- 
tured to  suggest  that  it  might  be  some  sportive 
evasion  of  the  young  cavalier,  and  that  the  very 
f;l3ominess  of  the  caprice  seemed  to  accord  with  so 
melancholy  a  personage.  This,  however,  drew  on 
iiim  the  indignation  of  the  whole  company,  and  es- 
pecially of  the  Baron,  who  looked  upon  him  as  little 
better  than  an  inlidel ;  so  thai  he  was  fain  to  abjure 
his  heresy  as  speedily  as  possible,  and  come  into  the 
faith  of  tne  tiaie  believers. 

But,  whatever  m.-iy  have  been  the  doubts  enter- 
tained, they  were  completely  put  to  an  end  by  the 
arrival,  next  day,  of  regular  missives,  confirming  the 
intelligence  of  the  young  Count's  murder,  and  his 
interment  in  Wurtzburg  cathedral. 

The  dismay  at  the  castle  may  well  be  imagined. 
The  Baron  shut  himself  up  m  his  chamber.  The 
jjuesis  who  had  come  to  rejoice  with  him,  could  not 
tliink  of  al)aniloning  him  in  his  distress.  They  wan- 
dered about  the  courts,  or  collected  in  groups  in  the 
hall,  shaking  their  heads  and  shrugging  their  shoul- 
(it-rs,  at  the  troubles  of  so  good  a  man  ;  and  sat 
longer  than  ever  at  table,  and  ate  and  drank  more 
stoutly  than  ever,  by  way  of  keeping  up  their 
spirits.  But  the  situation  of  the  widowed  bride  was 
tlie  most  pitiable.  To  have  lost  a  husband  before 
she  hafl  even  embraced  him— and  such  a  husband  ! 
if  the  very  spectre  could  be  so  gracious  and  noble, 
what  must  nave  been  the  living  man  ?  She  filled 
the  house  with  lamentations. 

On  the  night  of  the  second  d.ay  of  her  widowhood, 
she  had  retired  to  her  chamber,  Jiccompanied  by  one 
of  'ier  aunts,  who  insisted  on  sleeping  with  her. 
The  aunt,  who  was  one  of  the  best  tellers  of  ghost 
Stories  in  all  Germany,  h.ad  just  been  recounting  one 
of  her  longest,  and  h.id  fallen  asleep  in  the  very 
midst  of  it.  The  chamber  was  remote,  and  over- 
boked  a  small  garden.  The  niece  lay  p<'nsively  gaz- 
ing at  the  beams  of  the  rising  moon,  as  they  trem- 
bled on  the  leaves  of  an  aspen  tree  before  the  lattice. 
The  castle  clock  had  just  told  midnight,  when  a  soft 
§tr.ain  of  music  stole  up  frgm  the  garden.  She  rose 
hastily  from  her  bed,  and  stepped  lightly  to  the  v.in- 


dow.  A  tall  figure  stood  among  the  shadows  of  the 
trees.  As  it  raised  its  head,  a  beam  of  moonlight 
fell  upon  the  countenance.  Heaven  and  earth  !  she 
beheld  the  Spectre  Bridegroom  I  A  loud  shriek  at 
that  moment  burst  upon  her  ear,  and  her  aunt,  whe 
had  been  awakened  by  the  music,  and  had  followed 
her  silently  to  the  window,  fell  into  her  arms.  Wh«  fy 
shi:  looked  again,  the  spectre  had  disappeared. 

Of  the  two  females,  the  aunt  now  required  thf 
most  soothing,  for  she  was  perfectly  beside  herself 
with  terror.  As  to  the  young  lady,  there  was  some^ 
thing,  even  in  the  spectre  of  her  lover,  that  seemed 
endearing.  There  was  still  the  semblance  of  manly 
beauty ;  and  though  the  shadow  of  a  man  is  but  little 
calculated  to  satisfy  the  affections  of  a  love-sick  girl, 
yet,  where  the  substance  is  not  to  l)e  had,  even  that 
IS  consoling.  The  aunt  declared  she  would  never 
sleep  in  that  chamber  again  ;  the  niece,  for  once,  was 
refractory;  and  declared  .as  strongly  tl.at  she  would 
sleep  in  no  other  in  the  castle  :  the  consequence  was, 
that  she  had  to  sleep  in  it  alone;  but  she  drew  a 
promise  from  her  aunt  not  to  relate  the  story  of  the 
spectre,  lest  she  should  be'denied  the  only  melan- 
cnoly  pleasure  left  her  on  earth — that  of  inhabiting 
the  chamber  over  which  the  guardian  shade  of  her 
lover  kept  its  nightly  vigils. 

How  long  the  good  old  lady  would  have  observed 
this  promise  is  uncertain,  for  she  dearly  loved  to  talk 
of  the  marvellous,  and  there  is  a  triumph  in  being 
the  first  to  tell  a  frightful  story ;  it  is,  however,  still 
quoted  in  the  neighbourhood,  as  a  memorable  in- 
stance of  female  secrecy,  that  she  kept  it  to  herself  for 
a  whole  week  ;  when  she  was  suddenly  absolved  from 
all  farther  restraint,  by  intelligence  brought  to  the 
breakfast-t.ible  one  morning  that  the  young  lady  was 
not  to  be  found.  Her  room  was  empty — tht  bed 
had  not  been  slept  in — the  window  was  open — and 
the  bird  had  flown  ! 

The  astonishment  and  concern  with  which  the 
intelligence  was  received,  can  only  be  imagined  by 
those  who  have  witnessed  the  agitation  which  the 
mishaps  of  a  great  man  cause  among  his  friends. 
Even  the  poor  relations  paused  for  a  moment  from 
the  indefatigable  labours  of  the  trencher  ;  when  the 
aunt,  who  had  at  first  been  struck  speechless,  wrung 
her  hands  and  shrieked  out,  "  the  goblin  !  the 
goblin  !  she's  carried  away  by  the  goblin  !  " 

In  a  few  words  she  related  the  fearful  scene  of  the 
garden,  and  concluded  th.at  the  spectre  must  have 
carried  off  his  bride.  Two  of  the  domestics  corrob- 
orated the  opinion,  for  they  had  heard  the  clatter- 
ing of  a  horse's  hoofs  down  the  mountain  about  mid- 
night, and  hiul  no  doubt  that  it  was  the  spectre  on 
his  black  charger,  bearing  her  away  to  the  tomb. 
All  present  were  struck  with  the  direful  probabil- 
ity ;  for  events  of  the  kind  are  extremely  common 
in  Germany,  as  many  well-authenticated  histories 
bear  witness. 

Wluat  a  lamentable  situation  was  that  of  the  pooi 
Baron  !  What  a  heart-rending  dilemma  for  a  fond 
father,  and  a  member  of  the  great  family  of  KatzeneU 
'enbogen  !  His  only  daughter  had  either  been  wrapt 
away  to  the  grave,  or  he  was  to  have  some  wood* 
demon  for  a  son-in-law,  and,  perchance,  a  troop  of 
goblin  grand-chi^lren.  As  usual,  he  w.as  completely 
bewildered,  and  all  the  castle  in  an  uproar.  The 
men  were  ordered  to  take  horse,  and  scour  evers 
road  and  path  and  glen  of  the  Odenwald.  The  Baron 
himself  had  just  drawn  on  his  jack-boots,  girded  on 
his  sword,  and  was  about  to  mount  his  steed  to  sally 
forth  on  the  doubtful  quest,  when  he  w.as  brought  to 
a  pause  by  a  new  apparition.  A  lady  was  seen  ap- 
proaching the  castle,  mounted  on  a  palfrev  attended 
by  a  cavalier  on  horseback.  She  galloped  up  to  the 
gate,  sprang  from  her  horse  trd  Silling  at  the  Baror'i 


ti 


44 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


jhHi. 


ii: 


I 


■'U|i.   L 


feet,  embraced  his  knees.  It  was  his  lost  daughter, 
aiiiJ  her  companion— the  Spectre  HridcKroom!  The 
Baron  was  astounded.  He  lool;ed  at  liis  daughter, 
then  at  the  Spectre,  and  almost  doubted  the  evidence 
of  his  senses.  The  latter,  too,  was  wonderfully  im- 
piovcd  in  his  appearance,  since  his  visit  to  the  world 
',:(  spirits.  His  dress  was  splendid,  and  set  off  a 
fvobic  liijiire  of  manly  symmetry.    He  was  no  lonjjer 

S.iie  anil   melancholy.     His  hne  countenance  was 
v.sIieJ  with  tlie  glow  of  youth,  and  joy  rioted  in 
h.-«  laige  dark  eye. 

Ti)e  mystery  w;is  soon  cleared  up.  The  cavalier 
(lor  in  truth,  as  you  must  have  known  all  the  while, 
he  was  no  goblin)  announced  himself  as  Sir  Herman 
Vou  StarUcnl'aust.  He  rel.ited  his  adventure  with 
the  young  Count.  He  told  how  he  had  hastened 
to  the  castle  to  tleliver  the  unwelcome  tidings,  but 
that  the  eloquence  ol  the  Uaron  had  interrupted  him 
in  every  attempt  to  tell  his  tale.  How  the  sight  of 
the  bride  had  completely  captivated  him,  and  that  to 
pass  a  few  hours  near  her,  he  hafl  tacitly  suffered 
the  mistake  to  continue.  How  he  had  been  sorely 
perplexed  in  what  way  to  make  a  decent  retreat, 
until  the  Baron's  goblin  stories  had  suggested  his 
eccentric  exit.  How,  fearing  the  feudal  hostility 
of  the  family,  he  had  repeated  his  visits  by 
stealth— had  haunted  the  garden  beneath  the  young 
lady's  window — h.id  wooed — had  won — had  borne 
avvay  in  triumph — and,  in  a  word;  liad  wedded  the 
fair. 

Under  any  other  circi'.mstances,  the  Baron  would 
have  been  inflexible,  for  he  was  tenacious  of  paternal 
ai;thority,  and  devoutly  obstinate  in  ail  family  feuds  ; 
but  he  loved  his  daughter;  he  had  lamented  her  as 
loat ;  he  rejoiced  to  find  her  still  alive  ;  and,  though 
b<r  husband  was  of  a  hostile  house,  yet,  thank 
Heaven,  he  was  not  a  goblin.  Tliere  was  some- 
thir.'j,  it  must  be  acknowledged,  that  did  not  ex- 
actl;'  accord  vvitii  his  notions  of  strict  veracity,  in 
the  joke  the  knight  had  passed  upon  him  of  his  be- 
ir.g  a  dead  man  ;  but  several  old  friends  present, 
who  had  served  in  the  wars,  assured  him  titat  every 
Stratagem  was  excusable  in  love,  and  that  the  cava- 
lier was  entitlid  .  especial  privilege,  having  lately 
served  as  a  trooper. 

Matters,  therefore,  were  happily  arranged.  The 
Baron  pardoned  the  young  couple  on  the  spot.  The 
revels  at  the  casile  were  n^sumed.  The  poor  rela- 
tions o\erwhelined  this  new  member  of  the  family 
with  loving  kindness  ;  he  was  so  gallant,  so  gener- 
ous—and so  rich.  The  aunts,  it  is  true,  were  some- 
what teandalized  that  their  ssstem  of  strict  seclusion, 
and  passive  o'oeilicnce,  should  be  so  tadly  exem))li- 
tied,  but  attributed  it  all  to  their  negligence  in  not 
having  the  windows  grated.  One  of  iheni  was  par- 
ticularly mortitied  at  having  her  marvellous  story 
marred,  and  that  the  only  spectre  she  had  ever  seen 
should  turn  out  a  counterfeit ;  but  the  niece  seemed 
pcificily  happy  at  having  found  him  substantial  flesh 
Bcd  bk)C<l— and  so  the  story  ends. 


WESTMINSTER  ABBEY 


When  I  behold,  with  deep  aMoni»hm«nt, 
To  famoiin  WenlmiDster  how  there  retort*, 
Living  ill  brMKse  or  stony  munumeot, 
The  princes  .tnil  the  worthies  of  all  iorto  ; 
rine  not  1  see  reformde  nobilitie,  ^ 

Without  contempt,  or  pride,  or  ottentalica, 
And  looke  upon  oflcnseless  majesty, 
Naked  of  pomp  or  earthly  domination  } 
And  hnw  a  play-K*ime  nf  a  painted  stcne 
Conientt  the  i|iiiet  now  and  silent  spritet, 
Whome  all  the  world  which  late  they  ktr.od  upol 
Could  not  cnnicnt  nor  quench  their  appetitei. 
Life  is  a  frost  of  cold  lelicitie, 
And  death  the  thaw  of  all  our  vanitie. 

CAritto.frc't  Epigram*,  by  T.  B.  ijgl. 

On  one  of  th  «e  sober  and  rather  melancholy 
days,  in  the  latter  part  of  autumn,  when  the  shad- 
ows  of  morning  and  evening  almost  mingle  to- 
gether, and  throw  a  gloom  over  the  decline  of  the 
year,  I  passed  several  hours  in  rambling  about  West- 
minster Abbey.  There  was  something  congenial  to 
the  season  in  the  mournful  magnificence  of  the  old 
pile ;  and  as  I  passed  its  threshold,  it  seemed  like 
stepping  back  into  the  regions  of  antiquity,  and  los- 
ing myself  among  the  sharies  of  former  ages. 

I  entered  from  the  inner  court  of  Westminster 
school,  through  a  lung,  low,  vaulted  passage,  that 
h;id  an  almost  subterranean  look,  being  dimly  lighted 
in  one  part  by  circular  perlor.ations  in  the  massive 
walls.  Through  this  dark  avenu»;  I  had  a  distant 
view  of  the  cloisters,  with  the  figure  of  an  fid  verger, 
in  his  bl.ick  gown,  moving  along  their  shadowy 
v.iults.  and  seeming  like  a  spectre  from  one  of  the 
neighbouring  tombs. 

The  approach  to  the  abbey  through  these  gloonr«j 
monastic  remains,  prepares  the  mind  for  .ts  solcrrJ 
contemplation.  The  cloister  still  retains  someihinj 
of  the  quiet  and  seclusion  of  fonrier  ilays.  The  gray 
walls  are  discoloured  by  damps,  anil  crumbling  with 
age  ;  a  coat  of  hoary  moss  has  gathered  over  the 
inscriptions  of  the  mural  monuments,  and  obscured 
the  death's  heads,  and  other  funeral  emblems.  The 
sharp  touches  of  the  chisel  are  gone  from  the  rich 
tracery  of  the  arches  ;  the  roses  which  adorned  the 
key-stones  have  lost  their  leafy  beauty  ;  every  thing 
bears  marks  of  the  gradual  dilapidations  of  time, 
which  yet  has  something  touching  and  pleasing  in 
its  veiy  decay. 

The  sun  was  pouring  down  a  yellow  autumn.il  ray 
into  the  square  of  the  cloisters ;  beaming  upon  a 
scanty  plot  of  grass  in  the  centre,  and  lighting  up  an 
angle  of  the  vaulted  passsige  with  a  kind  of  dusty 
splendour.  From  between  the  arcades,  the  eye 
glanced  up  to  a  bit  of  blue  sky,  or  a  p.issing  cloud  ; 
and  beheld  the  sun-gilt  pinnacles  of  the  abbey  tow- 
ering into  the  azure  heaven. 

As  1  paced  the  cloisters,  sometimes  confempl.tting 
this  minglcti  picture  of  glory  and  decay,  and  some- 
times endeavouring  to  decipher  the  inscriptions  on  the 
tombstones,  which  fonned  the  pavenient  beneath  my 
feet,  my  eyes  were  attracted  to  three  figures,  rudely 
carved  in  relief,  but  nearly  worn  away  by  the  foot- 
steps of  many  generations.  They  were  tlie  tfiigiei 
of  three  of  the  early  abbots  ;  the  epitaphs  were  en- 
tirely effaced  ;  the  names  alone  remained,  having  no 
doubt  been  renewed  in  later  times  ;  (Vitalis.  Abbas. 
io£2,  and  Gislebertus  Crispinus.  Abtws.  1114,  and 
Laurenlius.  Abbas.  1176.)  I  remamed  some  little 
while,  musing  over  these  casual  relics  of  antiquity, 
thus  left  like  wrecks  upon  this  distant  shore  of  time, 
telling  no  tale  but  that  such  beings  had  been  and 
had  pe-ished  ;  teaching  no  moral  but  the  futility  of 
that  pnde  which  hopes  still  to  exact  homage  in  iti 
ashes,  and  to  live  in  an  inscripton.  A  little  longer, 
and  even  these  faint  records  wiil  be  obliterated  and 


THE  SltETCH-BOOK  OF   GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


the  .monument  will  cease  to  be  a  memorial.  Whilst 
i  was  yet  looking  down  upon  the  gravestones,  I  was 
reused  by  the  sound  of  the  abbey  clock,  reverberat- 
ing from  buttress  to  buttress,  and  echoing  among 
the  cloisters.  It  is  almost  startling  to  hear  this 
warning  of  departed  time  sounding  among  the 
tombs,  and  telling  the  lapse  of  the  hour,  which,  like 
i,  billow,  has  rolled  us  onward  towards  the  grave. 

I  pursued  my  walk  to  an  arched  door  opening  to 
the  interior  of  the  abbey.  On  entering  here,  the  mag- 
nitude of  the  building  breaks  fully  upon  the  mind, 
contrasted  with  tlie  vaults  of  the  cloisters  The  eye 
jjazes  with  wonder  at  clustered  columns  of  gigantic 
dimensions,  with  arches  springing  from  them  to  such 
in  amazing  height ;  and  man  wandering  about  their 
bases,  shrunk  into  insignificance  in  comparison  with 
his  own  handy-work.  The  Spaciousness  and  gloom 
of  this  vast  edifice  produce  a  profound  and  mysteri- 
ous awe.  We  step  cautiously  and  sot'tly  about,  as  if 
fi-arful  of  disturbing  the  hallowed  silence  of  the  tomb ; 
v/hile  every  footfall  whispers  along  the  walls,  and 
chatters  among  the  sepulchres,  mai<ing  us  more  sen- 
sible of  tlie  quiet  we  have  interrupted. 

It  seems  as  if  the  awful  nature  of  the  place  presses 
down  upon  the  soul,  and  hushes  the  beholder  into 
noiseless  reverence.  We  feel  that  we  are  surrounded 
by  thi'  congregated  bones  of  the  great  men  of  past 
times,  who  have  tilled  history  with  their  deeds,  and 
the  earth  with  their  renown.  And  yet  it  almost  pro- 
vokes a  smile  at  the  vanity  of  human  ambition,  to  see 
how  thev  are  crowded  together,  and  justled  in  the 
dust;  what  parsimony  is  observed  in  doling  out  a 
scan'.y  nook — a  gloomy  corner — a  little  portion  of 
earth,  *o  those  whom,  when  alive,  kingdoms  could 
not  satisfy  :  and  how  many  shnpes,  and  forms,  and 
art.f.ces,  are  devised  to  catch  the  casual  notice  of  the 
passenger,  and  save  from  forgetfulness,  for  a  few 
ihort  years,  a  name  which  once  aspired  to  occupy 
uji;cs  of  the  world's  thought  ami  admiration. 

1  passe<l  some  time  in  Poet's  Corner,  which  oc- 
rupies  an  end  of  one  of  the  transepts  or  cross  aisles 
of  the  abbey.  The  monuments  are  generally  simple ; 
tor  the  lives  of  literarj'  men  alTonl  no  strikin'.j  themes 
for  the  sculptor.  .Shakspeare  anil  Addison  have  stat- 
ues erect:.-d  to  their  memories  ;  but  the  greater  part 
have  busts.  mcd.T.llions,  and  sometimes  mere  inscri])- 
tions.  Notwithstanding  the  simplicity  of  these  me- 
morials, 1  have  always  observed  that  the  visitors  to 
ihe  :tbliey  remain  longest  about  them.  A  kinder  and 
louder  toeling  takes  place  of  that  cold  curiosity  or 
v.Tj^ue  admiration  with  which  they  gaze  on  the  splen- 
liui  monuments  of  the  great  and  the  heroic.  "They 
linger  about  these  .as  about  the  tombs  of  friends  and 
CDinp.uuons ;  for  indeed  there  is  something  of  com- 
panionship between  the  author  and  the  reader.  Other 
men  are  known  to  ]X)sterity  only  through  the  medium 
ol  history,  which  is  continually  growing  faint  and  ob- 
scure ;  but  the  intercourse  between  the  author  and 
his  lellow-men  is  ever  new,  active,  and  immediate. 
He  has  lived  for  them  more  than  for  himself;  he  has 
sacrificed  surrounding  enjo)meiits,  and  shut  himself 
up  from  the  delights  of  S(x:ial  life,  that  he  might  the 
more  intimately  commune  with  distant  minds  anil 
distant  ages.  Well  m.ay  the  world  cherish  his  re- 
nown ;  for  it  has  been  purchased,  not  by  deeds  of 
riolence  and  bhwd,  but  by  the  diligent  dispensation 
if  pleasure.  Well  may  posterity  be  gratetui  to  his 
memory ;  for  he  has  left  it  an  inheritance,  not  of  empty 
aames  and  sounding  actions,  but  whole  treasures  of 
wisdom,  brigbut  gems  of  thought,  and  golden  veins  of 
language. 

From  Poet's  Corner  I  continued  mv  stroll  towards 
that  p,art  of  the  abbey  which  contains  the  sepulchres 
of  the  kings.  I  wandered  among  what  once  were 
(hapels,  but  which  are  now  occupied  by  tne  tombs 


and  monuments  of  the  great.  At  every  turn,  I  met 
with  some  illustrious  name,  or  the  cognizance  ot  some 
powerful  house  renowned  in  history.  As  tl  e  eye 
darts  into  these  dusi<y  chambers  of  death,  it  catches 
glimpses  of  quaint  emgies :  some  kneeling  in  niches, 
as  if  in  devotion  ;  others  stretched  up-'n  the  tombs, 
with  hands  piously  pressed  together .  wariiors  in 
armour,  as  if  reposing  afte:  battle ;  pielates,  witl' 
crosiersand  mitres;  and  nobkiin  robes  and  corot'.eti, 
lying  as  it  were  in  state.  In  glancing  over  this  scene, 
so  strangely  populous,  yet  where  every  form  is  so  still 
and  silent,  it  seems  almost  as  if  we  were  treading  a 
mansion  of  that  fabled  city,  where  every  being  had 
been  suddenly  transmuted  into  stone. 

I  paused  to  contemplate  a  tomb  on  which  lay  the 
elTigy  df  a  knight  in  complete  armour.  A  large  buck- 
ler was  on  one  arm ;  the  hands  were  pressed  togethei 
in  supplication  upon  the  breast ;  the  lace  was  almost 
covered  by  the  morion ;  the  legs  were  crossed  in  token 
of  the  warrior's  having  been  engaged  in  the  holy  war. 
It  was  the  tomb  of  a  crusader ;  of  one  of  those  mili- 
tary enthusiasts,  who  so  strangely  mingled  religion 
and  romance,  and  whose  exploits  form  the  connect- 
ing link  between  fact  and  tiction — between  the  his 
tory  and  the  fairy  tale.  There  is  something  extremely 
picturesque  in  the  tombs  of  these  adventurers,  deco- 
rated as  they  are  with  rude  armorial  bearings  and 
Gothic  scidpture.  They  comport  with  the  antiquated 
chapels  in  which  they  are  generally  found  ;  and  in 
considering  them,  the  iinagination  is  apt  to  kindle 
with  the  legendary  associations,  the  romantic  fictions, 
the  chivalrous  pomp  and  pageantry,  which  poetry  ha-i 
spread  over  the  wars  for  the  Sepulchre  of  Chris:. 
They  are  the  relics  of  times  utterly  gone  by ;  of  beings 
passed  from  recollection ;  of  customs  and  manner  j 
with  which  ours  have  no  affinity.  They  are  like 
objects  from  some  strange  and  distant  Land,  of  which 
we  have  no  certain  knowledge,  and  about  whicli  .lU 
our  conceptions  are  vague  and  visionary.  There  is 
something  extremely  solemn  and  awful  in  those 
etfigies  on  Gothic  tombs,  extended  as  if  in  the  sleep 
of  death,  or  in  the  supplication  of  the  dying  hour, 
rhey  have  an  effect  infinitely  more  impressive  on 
my  feelings  th.in  the  fanciful  attitudes,  tiie  over- 
wrougiit  conceits,  and  allegorical  groups,  which 
abound  on  modern  monuments.  1  have  been  struck, 
also,  with  the  superiority  of  many  of  the  old  sepulchr.d 
inscriptions.  There  was  a  noble  way,  in  former 
times,  of  saying  things  simply,  and  yet  saying  them 
proudly :  and  I  do  not  know  an  epitaph  that  breathes 
a  loftier  consciousness  of  family  worth  and  honour- 
able Uneage,  than  one  which  athrins,  of  a  noble 
house,  that  "all  the  brothers  were  brave,  and  all  the 
sisters  virtuous." 

In  the  opposite  tr.insept  to  Poet's  Comer,  stands 
a  monument  wiiich  is  among  the  most  renowned 
achievements  of  modem  art ;  but  which,  to  me,  a[v 
pears  horrible  rather  than  sublime.  It  is  the  tomb 
of  Mrs.  Nightingale,  by  Roubillac.  The  bottom  of 
the  monument  is  represented  as  throwing  open  it* 
marble  doors,  and  a  sheeted  skeleton  is  staniiig 
forth.  The  shroud  is  falling  from  his  Heshless  frame 
as  he  l.inclies  his  dart  at  his  victim.  She  is  sinking 
into  her  alTrighted  husband's  amis,  who  stri\es,  w.ih 
vain  and  frantic  effort,  to  avert  the  blow.  The  whuk 
is  executed  with  terrible  truth  and  spirit ;  we  almtist 
fancy  we  hear  the  gibbering  yell  of  triumph,  bursting 
from  the  di.steiuied  jaws  of  the  spectre. — But  \v4iy 
should  we  thus  seek  to  clothe  death  with  unneces- 
sary terrors,  and  to  spread  horrors  round  the  tomb 
of  those  we  love  ?  The  grave  should  be  surrounded 
by  every  thing  that  might  inspire  tenderness  and 
veneration  for  the  dead  ;  or  that  might  win  the  living 
to  virtue.  It  is  the  place,  not  of  lisgust  and  dismay, 
but  of  sorrow  and  meditation. 


i 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Wliile  wandering  about  these  gloomy  vaults  and  I 
silent  aisles,  studying  the  records  of  the  dead,  the 
sound  o(  busy  existence  from  without  occ.isionaily  | 
reaches  the  ear : — the  rumjjling  of  the  passing  equi- 1 
page;  the  murmur  of  the  muiiuude  ;  or  perhaps  the 
light   laugh   ol  pleasure.     The  contrast  is  striking 
with  the   deathlike   repose  around ;   and   it    has   a 
Unmge  effect  upon  the  feelings,  thus  to  hear  the 
lurges  of  active   life  hurrying   along   and   beating 
Igamst  the  very  walls  of  the  sepulchre. 

1  continued  in  this  way  to  move  from  tomb  tc 
'onr'.h,  and  from  chapel  to  chapel.  The  day  was 
gradually  wearing  away  ;  the  distant  tread  of  loiter- 
ers about  the  abbey  grew  less  and  less  frequent ; 
the  sweet-tongued  bell  was  summoning  to  evening 
prayers ;  and  1  saw  at  a  distance  the  chnristers,  in 
their  white  surplices,  crossing  the  aisle  and  entering 
the  choir.  I  stood  before  the  entrance  to  Henry  the 
Seventh's  chapel.  A  Hight  of  steps  leads  up  to  it, 
through  a  deep  and  gloomy,  but  mngniticent  arch. 
Great  gates  of  brass,  richly  and  delicately  wrought, 
turn  heavily  upon  their  hinges,  as  if  proudly  reluc- 
tant to  admit  the  feet  of  common  mortals  into  this 
most  gorgeous  of  sepulchres. 

On  entering,  the  eye  is  astonished  by  the  pomp  of 
architecture,  and  the  elaborate  beauty  of  sculptured 
detail.  The  very  walls  are  wrought  into  universal 
ornament,  encrusted  with  tracery,  and  scooped  into 
niches,  crowded  with  the  statues  of  saints  and  mar- 
tyrs. Stone  seems,  by  the  cunning  labour  of  the 
chisel,  to  have  been  robbed  of  its  weight  and  density, 
suspended  aloft,  as  if  by  magic,  and  the  fretted  roof 
achieved  with  the  wcnderful  minuteness  and  airy 
security  of  a  cobweb. 

Along  the  sides  of  the  chapel  are  the  lofty  stalls 
of  the  Knights  of  the  Hath,  riclily  carved  of  oak, 
{hwigh  with  the  grotesque  decorations  of  Gothic  ar- 
dtiitecture.  On  the  pinnacles  of  the  stalls  are  affixed 
the  helmets  and  crests  of  the  knights,  with  their 
scarfs  and  swords;  and  ahove  them  are  suspended 
their  banners,  emblazoned  with  armorial  bearings, 
and  contrasting  the  splendour  of  gold  and  purple 
and  crimson,  with  the  cold  gray  fretwork  of  the  roof. 
In  the  midst  of  this  grand  mausoleum  stands  the 
sepulchre  of  its  founder, — his  efligy,  with  that  of  his 
Hueen,  extended  on  a  sumptuous  tomb,  and  the  whole 
surrounded  by  a  superbly  wrought  brazen  railing. 

There  is  a  sad  dreariness  in  this  magnificence ; 
this  strange  mixture  of  tombs  and  trophies;  these 
emblems  of  living  and  aspiring  ambition,  close  be- 
side mementos  which  show  the  dust  and  oblivion  in 
which  all  must  sooner  or  later  terminate.  Nothing 
impresses  the  mind  with  a  deeper  feeling  of  loneli- 
ness, than  to  tread  the  silent  and  deserted  scene  of 
former  throng  and  pageant.  On  looking  round  on 
the  vacant  stalls  of  the  knights  and  their  es<|uires, 
and  on  the  rows  of  dusty  but  gorgeous  banners  that 
were  once  borne  before  them,  my  imagination  con- 
jured up  the  scene  when  this  hall  was  bright  with 
the  valour  and  beauty  of  the  land  ;  glittering  with 
the  splendour  of  jewelled  rank  and  military  array  ; 
alive  with  the  trea<l  of  many  feet,  and  the  hum  of 
an  admiring  multitude.  All  had  passed  away ;  the 
iiicnce  of  death  had  settled  again  upon  the  place; 
interrupted  only  by  the  casual  chirping  of  birds, 
which  had  found  their  way  into  the  chapel,  and  built 
their  nests  among  its  friezes  and  pendants — sure 
signs  of  solitariness  and  desertion.  When  1  read  the 
names  inscnl)ed  on  the  banners,  they  were  those  of 
men  scattered  far  and  wide  about  the  world ;  some 
tossing  upon  distant  seas ;  some  uniler  anns  in  dis- 
tant lands  ;  some  mingling  in  the  busy  intrigues  of 
courts  and  cabinets :  all  seeking  to  deserve  one 
more  distinction  in  this  mansion  of  shadowy  honours 
—the  melancholy  reward  of  a  monument. 


Two  small  aisles  on  each  side  of  this  chapel  pro 
sent  a  touching  inst  .nee  of  the  equality  of  the  grave 
which  brings  (Town  the  oppressor  to  a  level  with  the 
oppressed,  and  mingles  the  tlusi  of  the  bitterest  ene- 
mies together.  In  one  is  the  sepulchre  of  the  haugh- 
ty Elizabeth;  in  the  other  is  that  of  her  victim,  the 
lovely  and  unfortunate  Mary.  Not  an  hour  in  the 
day,  but  some  ejaculation  of  pity  is  uttered  over  the 
fate  of  the  litter,  mingled  with  indignation  at  hei 
oppressor.  The  walls  of  Elizabeth's  sepulchre  con- 
tinually echo  with  the  sighs  of  sympathy  heaved  at 
the  grave  ot  her  rival. 

A  peculiar  melancholy  reigns  over  the  aisle  where 
Mary  lies  buried.  The  light  struggles  dimly  through 
windows  darkened  by  dust.  The  greater  part  of  the 
l)lace  is  in  deep  shadow,  and  the  walls  are  stained 
and  tinted  by  time  and  weather.  A  marble  (i^'ure 
of  Mary  is  stretched  upon  the  tomb,  round  which  is 
an  iron  railing,  much  corroded,  bearing  her  national 
emblem — the  thistle.  I  was  weary  with  wandering 
and  sat  down  to  rest  myseif  by  the  monument,  re- 
volving in  my  mind  the  chequered  and  disastrous 
story  of  poor  Mary. 

The  sound  of  casual  footsteps  had  leased  from  the 
abbey.  I  could  only  hear,  now  and  then,  the  dis'.ant 
voice  of  the  priest  repeating  the  evening  servire.  and 
the  faint  responses  of  the  choir;  these  paustd  for  a 
time,  and  all  was  hushed.  The  stiilness,  the  deser- 
tion and  obscurity  that  were  gradu.illy  prevailing 
around,  gave  a  deeper  and  more  solemn  interest  to 
the  place : 

Fnr  in  the  silent  Rrave  no  convenalior.. 
No  joyful  tread  of  frienda.  no  voice  of  lr»en. 
No  careful  fkthcr's  counsel— notl.Ag's  hearti, 
Fut  uuthin^  is,  but  all  oblivion 
Dunt,  and  an  endlesi  darkneu. 

Suddenly  the  notes  of  the  deep-lalwurii^jj  organ 
burst  upon  the  ear,  falling  witli  doubled  and  re- 
doubled intensity,  and  rolling,  as  it  were,  huge  bil- 
lows of  sound.  How  well  do  their  volume  and 
grandeur  accord  with  this  mighty  building  I  With 
what  pomp  do  they  swell  through  its  vast  vaults,  and 
breathe  their  awful  harmony  through  these  caves  ot 
death,  and  make  the  silent  sepulchre  voc.il  I — Am! 
now  they  rise  in  triumphant  acclamation,  heaving 
higher  and  higher  their  accordant  notes,  and  piling 
sound  on  sound. — And  now  they  pause,  and  the  sott 
voices  of  the  choir  break  out  into  sweet  gushes  of 
melody ;  they  soar  aloft,  and  warble  along  the  roof, 
and  seem  to  play  about  these  lofty  vaults  like  the 
pure  airs  of  neaven.  Again  the  pealing  organ 
heaves  its  thrilling  thunders,  compressing  air  into 
music,  and  rolling  it  forth  upon  the  soul.  What 
long-drawn  cadences  !  Wh:U  solemn  sweeping  ciin- 
cords  !  It  grows  more  and  more  dense  and  power- 
ful— it  fills  the  vast  pile,  and  seems  to  jar  the  very 
w.alls — the  ear  is  stunned — the  senses  are  over- 
whelmed. And  now  it  is  winding  up  in  full  jubilee 
— it  is  rising  from  the  earth  to  heaven — the  very  soul 
seems  rapt  away,  and  floated  upwards  on  this  swell- 
ing tide  of  harmony ! 

I  sat  for  some  time  lost  in  that  kind  Dt  reverie 
which  a  strain  of  music  is  apt  sometimes  to  inspire : 
the  shadows  of  evening  were  gradually  thickening 
around  me ;  the  monuments  began  to  c.ist  deepei 
and  deeper  gloom  ;  and  the  distant  clock  again  gave 
token  of^  the  slowly  waning  day. 

I  arose,  and  prepared  to  leave  the  abbey.  As  I 
descended  the  flight  of  steps  which  leatl  into  the 
body  of  the  building,  my  eye  was  caught  by  the 
shrine  of  Edward  tne  Confessor,  and  1  ascended 
the  small  siairaise  that  conducts  to  it,  to  take  from 
thence  a  general  survey  of  this  wilderness  of  tombs, 
The  shrine  is  elevated  upon  a  kind  of  platform,  and 
close  around  it  are  the  sepulchies  of  various  king* 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY   CRAYON.  Giwr 


41 


■rd  tjucens.  From  this  eminence  the  eye  looks 
clown  between  pillars  and  funfral  trophies  to  the 
chapeU  and  chamhers  below,  crowded  with  tombs  ; 
where  warriors,  prelates,  courtiers,  and  statesmen, 
He  mouldering  in  "  their  beds  of  darkness."  Close 
by  me  stood  the  preat  chair  of  coronation,  nidely 
cirved  of  oak,  in  the  barbarous  taste  of  a  remote 
snd  Gothic  a)^e.  The  scene  seemed  almost  as  if 
cciitrive<l,  with  theatrical  artifice,  to  prorluce  an  ef- 
i>ct  ui>on  the  beholder.  Here  was  a  type  of  the  be- 
jC'i'ining  anil  the  end  of  human  pomp  and  power; 
IcTC  it  was  literally  but  a  step  from  the  throne  tc 
the  sepulchre.  Would  not  one  think  that  these  in- 
congruous mementos  had  been  gathered  together 
as  a  lesson  to  living  greatness  ? — to  show  it,  even  in 
the  moment  of  its  proudest  exaltation,  the  neglect 
and  dishonour  to  which  it  must  soon  arrive  ?  how 
soon  that  crown  which  encircles  its  brow  must  pass 
away;  and  it  must  lie  down  in  the  dust  and  dis- 
graces of  the  tomb,  and  be  trampled  upon  by  the 
feet  of  the  meanest  of  the  multitude  ?  F"or,  strange 
to  tell,  even  the  grave  is  here  no  longer  a  sanctuary. 
There  is  a  shockmg  levity  in  some  natures,  which 
leads  them  to  sjjort  with  awtul  and  hallowed  things; 
and  there  are  base  minds,  which  delight  to  revenge 
on  the  illustrious  dead  the  abject  homage  and  grovel- 
ling servility  which  they  pay  to  the  living.  The  cof- 
fin of  Eilward  the  Conl'essor  has  been  broken  open, 
ar.d  his  remains  despoiled  of  their  funeral  oma- 
m«!iits ;  the  sceptre  has  been  stolen  from  the  hand 
ot  the  imperious  Elizabeth,  and  the  cflTigy  of  Henry 
the  Fifth  lies  headless.  Not  a  royal  monument  but 
bears  some  proof  how  false  and  fugitive  is  the  hom- 
age of  mankind.  Some  are  plundered ;  some  muti- 
Lited ;  some  covered  with  ribaldry  ami  insult — all 
inore  or  less  outraged  and  dishonoured  I 

The  last  beams  of  dajrwere  now  faintly  streaming 
;hroiigh  the  painted  windows  in  the  high  vaults 
vlTOve  me  :  the  lower  parts  of  the  abbey  were  al- 
itfuly  wrapped  in  the  obscurity  of  twilight.  The 
chipels  and  aisles  grew  darker  and  darker.  The 
elfigies  of  the  kings  faded  into  shadows ;  the  mar- 
ble figures  of  the  monuments  assumed  strange 
sliajies  in  the  uncertain  light ;  the  evening  breeze 
crept  through  the  aisles  like  the  cold  breath  of  the 
i;rave;  and  even  the  distant  footfall  of  a  verger, 
traversing  the  Foct's  Comer,  had  something  strange 
and  dreary  in  its  sound.  I  slowly  retraced  my  morn- 
ing's walk,  and  as  I  passed  out  at  the  portal  of  the 
iloibters,  the  door,  closing  with  a  jarring  noise  lie- 
hind  me,  tilled  the  whole  uuilding  with  echoes. 

I  endeavoured  to  form  some  arrangement  in  my 
mind  of  the  objects  1  had  been  contemplating,  but 
found  they  were  already  falling  into  indistinctness 
and  confusion.     Names,  inscriptions,  trophies,  had 

1  become  confounded  in  my  recollection,  though  I 
nad  scarcely  taken  my  foot  from  off  the  threshold. 
What,  thought  I,  is  this  vast  assemblage  of  sepul- 
chres but  a  treasury  of  humiliation;  a  huge  pile  of 
reiteratetl  homilies  on  the  emptiness  of  renown,  and 
the  certainty  of  oblivion?  It  is,  indeed,  the  empire 
of  Death;  his  great  shado-Ary  palace;  where  he  sits 
ill  state,  mocking  at  the  relics  of  human  glory,  anil 
3freading  dust  and  forgetfulness  on  the  monuments 
0,'  prnccs.  How  idle  a  boast,  after  all,  is  the  im- 
1  .c;t.'.I:ty  of  a  namcl  Time  is  ever  silently  turning 
ever  his  pages ;  we  are  too  much  engrossed  by  the 
5 lory  of  tne  present,  to  think  of  the  characters  and 
.'Liiecdotes  that  gave  interest  to  the  past ;  and  each 
age  is  a  volume  thrown  .aside  to  be  speedily  forgot- 
ten.   The  idol  of  to-day  pushes  the  hero  of  yester- 

iay  out  of  our  recollection ;  and  will,  in  turn,  be 
iupplanted  b/  his  successor  of  to-morrow.  "Our 
''ailiers,"  sayi  Sir  Thomas  Brown,  "find  their 
graves  in  our  short  memories,  and  sadly  tell  us  how 


we  may  be  buried  In  our  survlvcn."  History  fade* 
into  fable ;  fact  becomes  clouded  with  doubt  and 
controversy;  the  inscription  moulders  from  the  tab- 
let;  the  statue  falls  (rom  the  pedestal.  Columns, 
arches,  pyramids,  what  are  they  but  heaps  of  sand 
— and  their  epitaphs,  but  characters  wnllcn  in  the 
dust  ?  What  is  the  security  of  the  tomb,  or  thr 
perpetuity  of  an  embalmment  ?  The  remains  ol 
Alexander  the  Great  have  been  scattered  to  the 
wind,  and  his  empty  sarcophagus  is  now  the  ii  en 
curiosity  of  a  museum.  "The  Egyptian  mummies 
which  Cambyses  or  time  hath  spared,  avarice  now 
consumeth  ;  Mi/raim  cures  wounds,  and  Pharaoh  it 
sold  for  balsams."  ♦ 

What  then  is  to  insure  this  pile,  which  now  tow- 
ers  aboTe  me,  from  sharing  the  fate  of  mightier 
mausoleums  ?  The  time  must  come  when  its  gilded 
vaults,  which  now  spring  so  loftily,  shall  lie  in  rub- 
bish beneath  the  feet;  when,  instead  of  the  sound 
of  melody  and  praise,  the  wind  shall  whistle  through 
the  broken  arches,  and  the  owl  hoot  from  the  shat- 
tered tower — when  the  garish  sunbeam  shall  break 
into  these  gloomy  mansions  of  death  ;  and  the  ivy 
twine  round  the  fallen  column;  and  the  fox-glove 
hang  iu  blossoms  about  the  nameless  urn,  as  if  in 
moclcer*of  the  dead.  Thus  m.in  passes  away;  his 
name  perishes  from  record  and  recollection  ;  his  his- 
tory is  as  a  tale  that  is  told,  and  his  very  monument 
becomes  a  ruin. 


CHRISTMAS. 


hnir  of  hit  i;nod,  Kray,  old  head  «nd  beard  left?    Well,  Twill  luiTt 
that,  seeing  I  cannot  have  more  of  him. 

Hu>  AND  Cry  aftbc  Chwstmai. 

A  man  miithl  then  behold 

At  Christmas,  in  each  hall. 
Good  firefi  to  curb  the  cold. 

And  meat  for  great  and  small. 
The  nci^hhotirs  were  friendly  bidden, 

And  all  had  welcome  true, 
The  poor  from  the  gatet  were  not  chidden. 

When  this  old  cap  was  new. 

Old  Song, 

There  is  nothing  in  England  that  exercises  :•  more 
delightful  spell  over  my  imagination  than  the  linger- 
ings  of  the  holyday  customs  and  rural  games  of  former 
times.  They  recall  the  pictures  my  fancy  used  to 
dravv  in  the  .M.ay  morning  of  life,  when  as  yet  I  only 
knew  the  world  through  hooks,  and  believed  it  to  be 
all  that  poets  had  painted  it ;  and  they  bring  with 
them  the  Havour  of  those  honest  days  of  yore,  in 
which,  perhaps  with  eaual  fallacy,  I  am  apt  to  think 
the  world  was  more  homebred,  social,  and  joyous 
than  at  present.  I  regret  to  say  that  they  are  daily 
growing  more  and  more  faint,  being  gradu.ally  worn 
away  by  time,  but  still  more  obliterated  by  modem 
fashion.  They  resemble  those  picturesque  morsels 
of  Gothic  architecture,  which  we  see  crumbling  in 
various  parts  of  the  coun'ry,  partly  dilapidated  by 
the  waste  of  ages,  and  partly  lost  in  the  additions 
and  alterations  of  latter  days.  Poetry,  however 
clings  with  cherishing  fondness  about  the  rural  game 
and  holyday  revel,  from  which  it  has  derived  so  man^ 
of  its  themes — as  the  ivy  winds  its  rich  foliage  about 
the  Gothic  arch  and  mouldering  tower,  gratefully 
repaying  their  support,  by  clasping  together  their 
tottering  remains,  and,  as  it  were,  embalming  them 
in  verdure. 

Of  all  the  old  festivals,  however,  that  of  Christmas 
awakens  the  strongest  and  most  heartfelt  associationii 

•  Sir  Thomas  Btvwn. 


m 


¥\ 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


'r 


,1. ,'.: " 


f-'.  ^ 


There  is  a  tone  of  solemn  and  sacred  feeling  that 
blends  with  our  conviviality,  and  lifts  the  spirit  to  a 
state  of  hallowed  and  elevated  enjoyment.  The  ser- 
vices of  the  church  about  this  se.ison  are  extremely 
lender  and  inspiring :  they  dwell  on  the  beautiful  story 
of  the  ori^rin  of  our  faiih,  .and  the  pastoral  scenes  that 
accunipaniud  its  announcement :  they  t^raduaily  in- 
crease in  fervour  and  pathos  during  the  season  of 
Advent,  until  they  break  forth  in  full  jubilee  on  the 
:\iorning  that  brought  pe.ice  and  good-will  to  men. 
i  do  not  know  a  grander  effect  of  music  on  the  moral 
^.eliiigs  than  to  hear  the  full  choir  and  the  pealing 
organ  performing  a  Christmas  anthem  in  a  cathedral, 
and  filling  every  part  of  the  vast  pile  with  triumphant 
harmony. 

It  is  a  beautiful  arrangement,  also,  (derived  from 
days  of  yore,  that  this  festival,  which  cotnmemorates 
the  announcement  of  the  religion  of  peace  and  love, 
has  been  made  the  season  for  gathering  together  of 
family  connexions,  and  drawing  closer  again  those 
bunds  of  kindred  hearts,  which  the  cares  and  pleas- 
ures and  sorrows  of  the  world  are  continually  operat- 
ing to  c>ist  loose  ;  of  calling  back  the  children  of  a 
family,  who  have  launched  fortSi  in  life,  .and  wandered 
WKiely  asunder,  once  more  to  assemble  ^out  the 
paternal  hearth,  that  rallying-pl.ace  of  the  affections, 
there  to  grow  young  and  lovmg  again  among  the 
endearing  mementos  of  childhood. 

There  is  something  in  the  very  season  of  the  year, 
that  gives  a  charm  to  the  festivity  of  Christmas.  At 
othei  times,  we  derive  a  gre.it  portion  of  our  pleasures 
from  Lhe  mere  beauties  of  Nature.  Our  feelings  sally 
forth  and  dissipate  themselves  over  the  sunny  land- 
scape, and  we  "  live  abroad  and  every  where."  The 
song  of  the  bird,  the  murmur  of  the  stream,  the  breath- 
ing fragrance  of  spring,  the  soft  voluptuousness  of 
H'.mmer,  the  golden  pomp  of  autumn  ;  earth  with  its 
r..inile  of  refreshing  green,  and  heaven  with  its  deep 
.ielicious  blue  and  its  cloudy  magnilicence, — .ill  fill 
us  with  mute  but  exquisite  delight,  and  we  revel  in 
the  luxury  of  mere  sensation.  But  in  the  depth  of 
winter,  when  Nature  lies  despoiled  of  every  charm, 
^nd  wrap|)ed  in  her  shroud  of  sheeted  snow,  we  turn 
(or  our  gratifications  to  moral  sources.  The  dreari- 
ness and  desolation  of  the  landscape,  the  short 
gloomy  days  and  darksome  nights,  while  they  cir- 
cumscribe our  wanderings,  shut  in  our  feelings  also 
from  rumbling  abroad,  and  make  us  more  keenly 
disposed  for  the  pleasures  of  the  social  circle.  Our 
thoughts  are  more  concentrated  ;  our  friendly  sympa- 
thies more  aroused.  We  feel  more  sensibly  the  charm 
of  each  other's  society,  and  are  brought  more  closely 
together  by  dependence  on  each  other  for  enjoyment. 
Heart  c.alleth  unto  heart,  and  we  draw  our  pleasures 
from  the  deep  wells  of  living  kindness  which  lie  in 
the  quiet  recesses  of  our  bosoms  ;  and  which,  when 
resorted  to,  furnish  forth  the  pure  element  of  do- 
mesiic  fcUcity. 

The  piichy  gloom  without  makes  the  heart  dilate 
jn  entering  the  room  filled  with  the  glow  and  warmth 
3t  the  evening  fire.  The  ruddy  blaze  diffuses  an  arti- 
fi:ial  summer  and  sunshine  through  the  room,  and 
i^hts  up  each  countenance  into  a  kindlier  welcome. 
-V  hire  does  the  honest  face  of  hospitality  expand  into 
I  broader  and  more  cordial  smile — where  is  the  shy 
glance  of  love  more  sweetly  eloquent  —than  by  the 
v/inter  fireside  ?  and  as  the  hollow  blast  of  wintry 
wind  rushes  through  the  hall,  claps  the  <listant  door, 
whistles  about  the  c.isement,  and  rumbles  down  the 
chimney,  what  can  be  more  gratekil  than  that  feeling 
of  sober  and  sheltered  security,  witli  which  we  look 
round  upon  the  comfortable  chamber,  and  the  scene 
3l  domestic  hilarity? 

The  English,  from  the  gjreat  prevalence  of  rural 
nabits  throughout  every  class  o!  societ'/,  hp. /e  always 


been  fond  ot  those  festivals  and  holyilays  whica 
agreeably  interrupt  the  stillness  of  country  life  ;  and 
they  wore  in  former  days  particularly  observant  ot 
the  religious  and  social  rights  of  Chmtm.as.  It  i» 
inspiring  to  read  even  the  dry  details  which  some 
antiquaries  have  given  of  the  quaint  humours,  the 
burlesque  p.igoanis,  the  complete  abandonment  to 
mirth  and  good  fellowship,  with  which  this  festival 
w.as  celebrated.  It  seenr.ed  to  throw  open  every  door, 
and  unlock  every  he.irt.  It  brought  tne  peasant  and 
the  peer  together,  and  blended  allranks  in  one  warm 
generous  flow  of  joy  and  kindness.  The  old  halls 
of  castles  and  manor-houses  resounded  with  the 
harp  and  the  Christmas  carol,  and  their  ample 
boards  gro.aned  under  the  weight  of  hospitality. 
Even  the  poorest  cottage  welcomed  the  festive  sea- 
son with  green  decorations  of  bay  and  holly — the 
cheerful  fire  glanced  its  rays  through  the  lattice,  in- 
viting the  passenger  to  raise  the  latch,  and  join  the 
gossip  knot  huddled  round  the  hearth,  begu  ling  the 
K>ng.  evening  with  legendary  jokes,  and  oft-told 
Christmas  tales. 

One  of  the  least  pleasing  effects  of  modern  refine- 
ment, is  the  havoc  it  h.is  m.ide  among  the  heariy  old 
holyday  customs.  It  has  completely  taken  off  the 
sharp  touchings  and  spirited  reliefs  cf  these  em- 
bellishments of  life,  and  has  worn  down  society  into 
a  more  smooth  and  polished,  but  certainly  a  less 
characteristic  surface.  Many  of  the  ^ames  and  cere- 
moni.als  of  Christmas  have  entirely  disappeared,  and, 
like  the  sherris  sack  of  old  F.alstaff,  are  lx;come 
matters  of  speculation  and  dispute  among  commen- 
tators. They  flourished  in  times  full  of  spirit  and 
liistihood,  when  men  enjoyed  life  rough'-,  but 
heartily  and  vigoroiisly :  times  wild  and  picturesque, 
which  have  furnished  poetry  with  its  richest  mate- 
rials, and  the  tlrama  with  its  most  attractive  v.iriety 
of  characters  ami  manners.  The  world  has  become 
more  woil<lly.  There  is  more  of  dissipation  and  less 
of  enjoyment.  Pleasure  has  expanded  into  a  broad- 
er, but  a  sh.allower  stream,  antl  has  forsaken  many 
of  those  deep  and  quiet  ch.annels,  where  it  flowed 
sweetly  through  the  calm  bosom  of  domestic  life. 
Society  has  acquired  a  more  enlightened  and  elegant 
tone ;  but  it  h.as  lost  many  of  its  strong  local  peculi- 
arities, its  homebred  feelings,  its  honest  fireside  de- 
lights. The  traditionary  customs  of  golden-hearted 
antiquity,  its  feudal  hospitalities,  and  lordly  w.assail- 
ings,  have  p.issed  away  with  the  biironi.il  castles  and 
stately  manor-houses  m  which  they  were  celebrated. 
They  comported  with  the  shadowy  hall,  the  great 
oaken  gallery,  and  the  tapestried  parlour,  but  are 
unfitted  for  the  light  showy  saloons  and  gay  draw- 
ing-rooms of  the  modern  villa. 

.Shorn,  however,  as  it  is,  of  its  ancient  and  festive 
honours,  Christm.is  is  still  a  period  of  delighttul  ex- 
citement in  England.  It  is  gratifymg  to  see  that 
home  feeling  completely  aroused  which  holds  so 
powerful  a  place  in  every  English  bosom.  The 
preparations  making  on  everj'  side  for  the  social 
board  that  is  again  to  unite  fnends  and  In  died — the 
presents  of  go<xl  cheer  passing  and  re|>assing,  those 
tokens  of  regard  and  quickeners  of  kind  feelings 
the  evergreens  distributed  about  houses  and  churcne?, 
emblems  of  peace  and  gladness — all  these  have  tin- 
most  pleasing  effect  in  producin^^  fond  associations, 
and  kindling  benevolent  sytnpathies.  Even  the  sounJ 
of  the  waits,  rude  as  may  be  their  minstrelsy,  hrtiiki 
upon  the  midw.itchcs  of  a  winter  night  with  the 
effect  of  perfect  harmony.  As  I  have  been  awaken 
d)  by  them  in  that  stili  and  solemn  hour  "whm 
deep  sleep  falleth  upon  man,"  I  h.ivc  listened  with  a 
hushed  delight,  and  connecting  them  with  the  sacre. 
and  joyous  occasion,  have  almost  fancied  them  ir.t) 
anoilier  celestial  choir,  announcing  peace  and  goo.i 


THE  SKETCH-bOOK  OF  GEviFFREY  CRAYON.  Gknt. 


will  to  mankind.  How  delif;;htrii11y  the  imagination, 
when  wrouj;ht  upon  by  these  moral  influencts,  turns 
rvL-rything  to  melody  and  lit-auty  !  The  very  crow- 
ing; of  the  cock,  heard  sonu-tirnes  in  the  profound 
repose  of  the  country,  "  tellin)^  the  nightwatches  to 
hi»  feathery  dames, '  was  thought  by  the  common 
people  to  announce  the  approach  of  the  sacred 
ttitival: 

"  Snme  iay  (h«t  ever  '|[iiin«t  that  u.-uon  comu 
Wherein  riiir  Saviour  •  biith  wat  ci-lebrated, 
Thit  bird  of  dawniiiK  viin^eth  all  night  long: 
And  than,  ihey  say,  no  ii|iiril  dares  •ilir  al  road  ; 
The  niRhts  are  whulesr>nie--theo  no  planets  tirika, 
Nj  fairy  taken,  no  witch  hath  power  to  charm, 
So  hallowed  and  to  graciuni  i>  lh«  time." 

Amidst  the  general  call  to  happiness,  the  bustle  of 
the  spirits,  and  stir  of  the  art'cctions,  which  prevail  at 
this  period,  what  bosom  can  remain  insensible  ?  It 
is,  indeed,  the  season  of  regenerated  feeling — the 
season  for  kindling  not  merely  the  lire  of  hospitality 
in  the  hall,  but  the  genial  Hame  of  charity  in  the 
heart  The  scene  of  early  love  again  rises  green  to 
memory  beyond  the  stenl  waste  of  years,  and  the 
idea  of  home,  fraught  with  the  fragrance  of  home- 
dwelling  joys,  reanimates  the  drooping  5[/irit— as 
the  Arabian  breeze  will  sometimes  waft  the  fresh- 
nessriof  the  distant  fields  to  the  weary  pilgrim  of  tlie 
desert. 

Stranger  and  sojourner  as  I  am  in  the  land — 
though  for  me  no  social  hearth  may  blaze,  no  hos- 
pitable roof  throw  0|)en  its  iloors,  nor  tne  warm 
grasp  of  friendship  welcome  me  at  the  threshold — 
yet  I  feel  the  influence  of  «he  season  beaming  into 
my  soul  from  the  happy  looks  of  those  around  me. 
Surely  h.ippiness  is  reflective,  like  the  light  of  heaven  ; 
and  every  countenance  bright  with  smiles,  and  glow- 
mg  with  innocent  enjoyment,  is  a  mirror  transmit- 
ting tt}  others  the  rays  of  a  supreme  and  ever-shining 
Ninevolcnce.  He  who  can  turn  churlishly  away 
■Tom  contemplating  the  felicity  of  his  fellow  beings, 
nnd  can  sit  down  darkling  and  repining  in  his  lone- 
liness when  all  around  is  joyful,  may  have  his  mo- 
ments of  strong  excitement  and  seltish  gratification, 
but  he  wants  the  genial  and  social  sympathies  which 
constitute  the  charm  of  a  merry  Chnstinas. 


THE  STAGE-COACH. 


Dmne  bent 

Sine  pceiii 
Ttmiiut  e>t  ludendi 

Venit  hora 

Absque  mort 
Ubf<oi  deponendt. 

Old  Holvoav  SaiooL  Sons. 

In  the  preceding  paper,  I  have  made  some  general 
observations  on  the  Christmas  festivities  of  England, 
and  am  tempted  to  illustrate  them  by  some  anecdotes 
of  a  Christmas  passed  in  the  country;  in  penjsing 
which,  I  would  most  courteously  inWte  my  reader  to 
lay  aside  the  austerity  of  wisdom,  and  to  put  on  that 
jjenuine  holyday  spirit,  which  is  tolerant  of  fofly  and 
envious  only  for  amusement. 

In  the  course  of  a  December  tour  in  Yorkshire,  I 
'XfAe  for  a  long  distance  in  one  of  the  public  coaches, 
on  the  day  preceding  Christmas.  The  coach  was 
.crowdec",  hiotn  inside  and  out,  with  passengers,  who, 
by  their  talk,  sc-med  principally  bound  to  the  man- 
sions of  relations  or  friends,  to  eat  the  Christmas 
dinner.  It  was  loaded  also  with  hampers  of  game, 
and  baskets  and  boxes  of  delicacies ;  and  hares  hung 
dangling  their  long  ears  about  the  coachman's  box, 


presents  from  distant  mends  for  the  impending  feast 
I  had  three  tine  rosy-cheeked  school-boys  lOr  m\ 
fellow-pjissfngers  inside,  full  of  the  buxon\  hialtn 
nn<l  ninly  pint  which  I  have  oliser\e<l  in  lb'*  thiU 
dren  o(  this  rounlry.  They  were  rt'turiiii'g  home  for 
the  holydays,  in  high  glee,  and  proirising  theniselvri 
a  world  of  enjoyment.  It  was  delightlii  t:  hear  the 
gigantic  plans  of  pleasure  of  the  little  rofv/^^  and 
the  impracticable  feats  they  were  to  perform  durini 
their  six  weeks'  emancipation  from  the  ahhorieO 
thraldom  of  book,  birch,  and  pedagogue.  They 
were  full  of  the  anticipations  of  the  meeting  with  the 
family  and  hcuijehold,  down  to  the  very  cat  and  clog; 
and  of  the  joy  they  were  to  give  their  little  sisters, 
by  the  presents  witn  which  their  pockets  were  cram- 
med :  but  the  meeting  to  which  tney  seemed  to  look 
forward  with  the  greatest  impatience  was  with  Ban- 
tam, which  I  found  td  be  a  pony,  and,  according  to 
their  talk,  possessed  of  more  virtues  than  any  steed 
since  the  days  of  Bucephalus.  Kow  he  coultj  trot ! 
how  he  could  run  !  and  then  such  leaps  as  he  would 
take — there  was  not  a  hedge  in  the  whole  country 
that  he  could  not  clear. 

They  were  urder  the  particular  guardianship  o. 
the  coachman,  to  whom,  whenever  an  opportunit) 
presented,  they  addressed  a  host  of  questions,  and 
pronounced  him  one  of  the  best  fellows  in  the  whole 
world.  In<leed,  I  could  not  but  notice  the  more  than 
ordinary  air  of  bustle  and  importance  of  the  coach- 
man, who  wore  his  hat  a  little  on  one  side,  and  had 
a  large  bimch  of  Christmas  greens  stuck  in  the  but- 
ton-hole of  his  co.1t.  He  is  always  a  personage  full 
of  mighty  care  and  business  ;  but  he  is  particularly 
so  during  this  season,  having  so  m.iny  commissions 
to  execute  in  consequence  of  the  gre.it  interchange 
of  presents.  And  here,  perhaps,  it  may  not  be  un- 
acceptable to  my  iMitravell(;d  readers,  to  have  s 
sketch  that  may  serve  as  a  general  representation  of 
this  very  numerous  and  important  class  of  function- 
aries, who  have  a  dress,  a  manner,  a  langu.ige,  an 
air,  peculiar  to  themselves,  and  prevalent  throughout 
the  fraternity ;  so  ttiat,  wherever  an  English  stage- 
co.ichman  may  be  seen,  he  cannot  be  mistaken  lor 
one  of  any  other  craft  or  mystery. 

He  has  commonly  a  broad  full  face,  curiously  mot- 
tled with  red,  a?  if  the  blood  h.id  been  forced  by 
hard  feeding  into  every  vessel  of  the  skin  ;  he  is 
swelled  into  jolly  dimensions  by  frequent  potations 
of  malt  liquors,  and  his  bulk  is  still  farther  increased 
by  a  multiplicity  of  coats,  in  which  he  is  buried  like 
a  cauliflower,  the  upper  one  reaching  to  his  heels. 
He  wears  a  broad-brimmed  low-crowned  hat,  a 
huge  roll  of  coloured  handkerchief  about  his  neck, 
knowingly  knotted  and  tucked  in  at  the  liosom ; 
and  has  in  summer-time  a  large  boutjuet  of  flowers 
in  his  button-hole,  the  present,  most  probably,  of 
some  enamoured  country  lass.  His  waistcoat  is 
commonly  of  some  bright  colour,  striped,  and  his 
small-clothes  extend  far  below  the  knees,  to  meet  a 
pair  of  jockey  boots  which  reach  about  half-way  up 
his  legs. 

All  this  costume  is  maintained  with  much  pre- 
cision ;  he  has  a  pride  in  having  his  clothes  of  ex- 
cellent materials,  and,  notwithst.inding  the  seeming 
grossnc-s  of  his  appearance,  there  is  .still  discernib.le 
that  neatness  and  propriety  of  person,  which  is  al- 
most inherent  in  an  Englishman.  He  enjoys  gre^ 
consequence  and  consideration  along  the  road ;  has 
frequent  conferences  with  the  village  housewives, 
who  lock  upon  him  as  a  man  of  great  trust  and  de- 
pendence ;  and  he  seems  to  have  a  good  understand- 
ing with  every  bright-eyed  country  lass.  The  mo 
ment  he  arrives  where  tne  horses  are  tc  oe  changed, 
he  throws  down  the  reins  with  something  of  an  ail 
and  abandons  the  cattle  to  the  care  of  the  hostlflr 


I 


<l| 


u 


00 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


m\. 


fi  <'^y- 


hit  duty  Mnc  merely  to  drive  them  from  one  stage 
to  mother.  Whrn  otF  the  box,  hia  hands  are  thru»t 
h)  the  pockets  of  his  |{reat-coat,  and  he  rolls  about 
the  inn-yard  with  an  air  of  tiie  most  absolute  lurdli- 
ness.  Here  he  is  generally  surrounded  by  an  ad- 
miring throng  of  hostlers,  stable-boys,  shoeblacks, 
and  those  naincless  han>;ers-on,  that  infest  inns  and 
taverns,  and  nin  errands,  and  do  all  kind  of  odd  jobs, 
for  the  privilege  of  battening  on  the  dri|)pinj,'s  of  the 
kitchen  and  lite  k'ak.'t>;u  of  the  tap-room,  rhcsc  all 
took  up  to  him  as  to  an  oracle;  treasure  up  his  cant 
phrases  ;  echo  his  opinions  about  horses  and  other 
topics  of  jockey  lore ;  and,  above  all.  endeavour  to 
imitate  his  air  and  carriage.  Every  nigatnuffin  that 
has  a  coat  to  his  back,  thrusts  iiis  hands  in  the 
pockets,  rolls  in  his  gait,  talks  slang,  and  is  an 
embryo  Coachey. 

I'erhaps  it  mijiht  be  owing  to  the  plc.-isinfj  serenity 
that  reigned  in  my  own  mind,  that  I  fancied  I  saw 
cheerfulness  in  every  countenance  throughout  the 
journey.  A  St.igc-Coach,  however,  carries  anima- 
tion always  with  it,  and  puts  the  world  in  motion  as 
it  whirls  along.  The  liorn,  sounded  at  the  entrance 
of  a  village,  produces  a  general  bustle.  Some  hasten 
forth  to  meet  friciuls ;  some  with  bundles  and  band- 
boxes to  secure  places,  and  in  the  hurry  of  the  mo- 
ment can  hardly  take  leave  of  the  group  that  accom- 
panies them.  In  the  mean  time,  tlie  coachman  has 
a  world  of  small  commissions  to  execute ;  sometimes 
he  delivers  a  hare  or  pheasant ;  sometimes  jerks  a 
imall  parcel  or  newspajjcr  to  the  door  of  a  public 
house ;  and  sometimes,  with  knowing  leer  and 
words  of  sly  im|)ort,  hands  to  some  half-blushing, 
half-laughing  housemaid,  an  odd-shaped  billetdoux 
from  some  rustic  admirer.  As  the  coach  rattles 
through  the  village,  every  one  runs  to  the  window, 
•iid  you  have  glances  on  every  side  of  fresh  country 
f;jces,  and  blooming  g'g);ling  girls.  At  the  corners 
ai"5  assembled  juntos  o(  village  idlers  and  wise  men, 
who  take  their  stations  there  for  the  important  pur- 
pose of  seeing  company  pass :  but  the  sagest  knot  is 
generally  at  the  blacksmith's,  to  whom  the  passing 
of  the  coach  is  an  event  fruitful  of  much  speculation. 
The  smith,  with  the  horse's  heel  in  his  lap,  pauses 
as  the  vehicle  whirls  by ;  the  Cyclops  round  the 
anvil  suspend  their  ringing  hammers,  and  suffer  the 
Iron  to  grow  cool ;  and  the  sooty  spectre  in  brown 
paper  cap,  labouring  at  the  bellows,  leans  on  the 
handle  for  a  moment,  and  permits  the  asthmatic 
engine  to  heave  a  long-drawn  sigh,  while  he  glares 
through  the  murky  smoke  and  sulphureous  gleams 
of  the  smithy. 

Perhaps  the  impending  holyday  might  have  given 
a  more  than  usual  animation  to  the  country,  lor  it 
seemed  to  me  as  if  every  body  was  in  good  looks  and 
good  spirits.  Game,  (wultry,  and  other  luxuries  of 
the  table,  were  in  brisk  circulation  in  the  villages ; 
the  grocers,  butchers,  and  Imilerers'  shops  were 
thronged  with  customers.  The  housewives  were 
Stirring  briskly  about,  putting  their  dwellings  in  or- 
der; and  the  glossy  branches  of  holly,  with  their 
bright  red  berries,  began  to  appear  at  the  windows. 
The  scene  brought  to  mind  an  old  writer's  account 
»f  Christmas  preparations.  "  Now  capons  and  hens, 
besides  turkeys,  geese,  and  ducks,  with  beef  and 
oiutton — must  all  die — for  in  twelve  days  a  multi- 
tude of  people  will  not  be  fed  with  a  little.  Now 
plun  3  and  spice,  sugar  and  honey,  square  it  among 
pies  and  broth.  Now  or  never  must  music  be  in 
tune,  for  the  youth  must  dance  and  sing  to  get  them 
a  heat,  while  the  aged  sit  by  the  lire.  The  country 
maid  leaves  half  her  market,  and  must  be  sent  again, 
if  she  forgets  a  pair  of  cards  on  Christmas  eve.  Great 
it  the  contention  of  Holly  and  Ivy,  whether  master 
or  dame  wears  the  breeches.    Dice  and  cards  bene- 


fit the  butler ;  and  if  the  co^k  do  not  lack  wit.  M 
will  sweetly  lick  his  fingers." 

I  was  roused  from  this  fit  of  luxurious  mrditalion 
by  a  shout  from  my  little  travelling  companions. 
They  had  been  looking  out  of  the  coich-windows 
lor  the  last  (ew  mili-s,  recognising  every  tree  and 
cottage  as  they  appro.ichetf  home,  an>  now  theft 
was  a  general  burst  of  joy — "  There's  John  I  and 
there's  old  Cario  !  and  there's  Dant.im  !  cried  thf 
happy  little  rogues,  clapping  their  hands. 

At  the  end  of  a  lane,  there  was  an  old  sober-look' 
ing  servant  in  livery,  waiting  for  them  ;  he  was  ac- 
companied by  a  superannuated  pointei,  and  by  the 
redoubtable  Uantam,  a  little  old  rat  of  a  puny,  with 
a  sh.iggy  mane  and  long  rusty  tail,  who  stood  dozing 
ouietly  by  the  road-side,  little  dreaming  of  the  bus- 
tling times  that  awaited  him. 

I  was  ple.ised  to  see  the  fondness  with  which  the 
little  fellows  leaped  about  the  steady  old  footman, 
and  huggred  the  pointer,  who  wriggled  his  whole 
body  for  joy.  Hut  Uantam  was  the  great  object  of 
interest ;  all  wantetl  to  mount  at  once,  and  it  was 
with  some  difficulty  that  John  .arranged  that  they 
shoidd  ri<le  by  turns,  and  the  eldest  should  ride  fust. 

Off  they  set  at  last ;  one  on  the  pony,  with  the  dog 
bounding  and  barking  before  him,  and  t'le  others 
holding  John's  hantis ;  both  talking  at  once  and 
overpowering  him  with  questions  about  home,  and 
with  school  anecdotes.  I  looked  after  them  with  a 
feeling  in  which  1  do  not  know  whether  pleasure  or 
melancholy  predominated ;  for  I  was  reminded  of 
those  days  when,  like  them,  I  had  neither  known 
care  nor  sorrow,  and  a  holyd.ay  was  the  summit  of 
e.irthly  felicity.  We  stopped  a  few  moments  after- 
wards, to  wafer  the  horses;  and  on  resuming  our  route, 
a  turn  of  the  road  brou^jht  us  in  sight  of  a  neat  coun- 
try-seat. I  could  just  distinguish  the  forms  of  a  lad) 
and  two  young  girls  in  the  portico,  and  I  saw  my 
little  comr-iiles,  with  Uantam,  Carlo,  and  old  Jol.n, 
trooping  along  the  carri.ige  road.  I  leancu  c*.t  t»f 
the  coach-window,  in  hopes  of  witnessing  the  happy 
meeting,  but  a  grove  of  trees  shut  it  from  my  signt. 

In  the  evening  we  teached  a  village  where  I  had 
determined  to  pass  the  night.  As  we  drove  into  the 
great  gateway  of  the  inn,  I  saw,  on  one  side,  the 
light  of  a  rousing  kitchen  fire  be.iming  through  a 
window.  1  enteicfl,  and  admired,  for  the  hundredth 
time,  that  picture  of  convenience,  neatness,  and 
broad  honest  enjoyment,  the  kitchen  of  an  English 
inn.  It  was  of  spacious  dimensions,  hung  round 
with  copper  and  tin  vessels  highly  polished,  and  dec- 
orated here  and  there  with  a  Christmas  green. 
Hams,  tongues,  and  flitches  of  bacon  were  suspend- 
ed from  the  ceiling;  a  smoke-jack  made  its  ceaseless 
clanking  beside  the  fire-place,  and  a  clock  ticked  in 
one  corner.  A  well  -  scoured  deal  table  extended 
along  one  side  of  the  kitchen,  with  a  cold  round  of 
beef,  and  other  hearty  viands,  upon  it,  over  which 
two  foaming  tankards  of  ale  seemed  mounting  guard. 
Travellers  of  infenor  order  were  preparing  to  attack 
this  stout  repast,  whilst  others  sat  smoking  and  gos- 
siping over  their  ale  on  two  high-backed  oaken  set- 
tles beside  the  fire.  Trim  housemaids  were  hurry- 
ing backwards  and  forwards,  under  the  directions 
of  a  fresh  bustling  landlady ;  but  still  seizing  an  oc- 
casional moment  to  exchange  a  flippant  word,  snd 
have  a  rallying  laugh,  with  the  group  round  the  fire. 
The  sci'ne  completely  realized  I'oor  Robin's  b^im!)U 
idea  of  the  comforts  of  mid-winter : 

Now  trees  their  leafy  liats  do  ban 
To  revetence  Winter'i  %i\yr  haii ; 
A  handsome  hofttr^s,  merry  boat, 
A  pot  of  ale  and  now  a  toast, 
Tonacco  and  h  good  coal  6t«. 
Are  things  ihu  season  doih  raqtiira  • 

*  ?oor  Robis's  Almanack,  1694 


*  Peachim't  Complet 


THB  SKBTCH-DOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  GtNT. 


■I 


I  had  not  been  long  at  the  inn,  when  a  poit-chaiie 
irove  up  to  the  door,  A  younf{  gentleman  xtcpped 
out,  and  by  the  li^ht  of  the  lamps  T  caught  a  glimpse 
ol  a  cDuntenunce  which  I  thought  I  knew.  1  moved 
forwanl  to  get  a  nearr:  view,  wh«*iv  his  eye  caught 
niino.  1  WAn  not  mistaken ;  it  was  Frank  Urace- 
i-r  lk(f  a  sprightly  good-humoured  young  fellow,  with 
ivtoin  I  had  unce  travelled  on  the  continent.  Our 
•r.e-f-ting  w.w  extremely  conlial,  for  the  countenance 
3f  .in  iild  fellow-traveller  alw.iys  brings  up  the  rcc- 
fjlcct'on  of  a  thousand  plexsant  scenes,  odd  .kdvent- 
jicA,  and  excellent  jokes.  To  discuss  all  these  in  a 
transient  interview  at  an  inn,  was  impossible ;  and 
tindiiig  th.1t  I  was  not  pressed  fur  tmie,  and  was 
iiiereiy  making  a  tour  of  observation,  he  insisted  that 
I  should  give  him  a  day  or  two  at  his  lather's  coun- 
try-seat, to  which  he  was  going  to  p.-iss  the  holydays, 
ind  which  lay  at  a  few  miles'  distance.  "It  is  bet- 
ter than  ealmg  a  solitary  (.hrlstm.is  dinner  at  an 
inn,"  said  he,  "and  I  can  assure  you  of  a  hearty 
welcome,  in  something  of  tlie  old-l.ishioned  style." 
His  reasoning  was  cogent,  and  I  nnist  confess  the 
preparailion  1  had  seen  for  universal  festivity  and  so- 
■•lal  enjoyment,  had  made  ino  feel  a  little  impatient 
it  my  loneliness.  1  closed,  therefore,  at  once,  with 
his  invitation  ;  the  chaise  drove  up  to  the  door,  and 
in  a  few  moments  1  w.ts  on  my  way  to  the  family 
n/nsion  of  the  Uracebridges, 


CHRISTMAS  EVE. 


n*lnl  Franc!*  and  Saint  nencHiftht 

Pleuc  thi<  hou»  froni  wicked  wiaht  ;  i 

Fium  the  nigtit-inare  and  the  |[ouliQ, 

Thai  it  hight  aooit  fellow  Kntiin  ; 

Keep  il  froin  all  eril  apiriti, 

Fainu,  weailei.  rait,  and  ftrreU : 

Frnm  curfew-limn 

To  the  next  prime.  CaiTwiiGHT. 

It  was  a  brilliant  moonlight  night,  but  extremely 
cold  ;  our  chaise  whirled  ranidly  over  the  frozen 
ground  ;  the  post-hoy  sm.tckcd  his  whip  incessantly, 
and  a  part  of  the  time  his  horses  were  on  a  gallop. 
"  He  knows  where  he  is  going,"  said  my  companion, 
l.iut,'hing,  "  and  is  e.ager  to  arrive  in  time  for  some  of 
the  merriment  and  gooil  cheer  of  the  servants'  hall. 
My  father,  you  must  know,  is  a  bigoted  devotee  of 
the  old  school,  and  prides  himself  upon  keeping  up 
soinething  of  old  English  hospitality.  He  is  a  toler- 
able specimen  of  what  you  will  rarely  meet  with  now- 
a-(l.iys  in  its  purity,— the  old  English  country  gentle- 
in.-in  ;  for  our  men  of  fortune  spend  so  much  of  their 
time  in  town,  and  fashion  is  carried  so  much  into  the 
country,  that  the  strong  rich  peculiarities  of  ancient 
njr.l  life  are  almost  polished  away.  My  father,  how- 
ever, from  early  years,  took  honest  Peacham  ♦  for  his 
text-book,  instead  of  Chesterfield  ;  he  determined  in 
•lis  own  mind,  that  there  was  no  condition  more 
tn  'v  honourable  and  enviable  than  that  of  a  coun- 
tr)  >,'enllem.-in  on.  his  patern.al  lands,  and,  therefore, 
passes  the  whole  of  his  time  on  his  estate.  He  is  a 
Jirenuous  advocate  for  the  revival  of  the  old  rural 
jcnies  and  holyday  observances,  and  is  deeply  read 
a  the  writers,  ancient  and  modern,  who  have  treated 

I  mi  th?  subject.  Indeetl,  his  favourite  range  of  read- 
ing; is  among  the  authors  who  flourished  at  least  two 

I  centuries  since  ;  who,  he  insists,  wrote  and  thought 
more  like  true  Englishmen  than  .iny  of  their  succes- 
sors. H  >  even  regrets  sometimes  that  he  had  not 
been   l>om  a  few  centuries  earlier,  when   England 

I  was  itself,  and  had  its  peculiar  mimners  and  ctistoms. 

*  Peach  la't  CompleU  GcbUcuuui.  iCm, 


At  he  Uvea  at  some  distance  from  the  main  re»J,  ii 
rather  a  lonely  part  of  the  country,  without  any  nva 
gentry  near  nim,  he  has  that  most  enviable  of  a> 
blessings  to  an  Englishman,  an  opportunity  of  in 
dulging  the  bent  of  his  own  humour  without  moleata- 
tion.  licing  representative  o(  the  oldest  family  in  th« 
neighbourhouif,  and  a  great  part  of  the  pcoMntry 
bcmg  his  tenants,  he  is  much  looked  up  to,  and.  in 
gener.il,  is  known  limply  by  the  appellation  of '  11m 
S(|uire ; '  a  title  vhich  has  been  accorded  to  the 
head  of  the  family  since  time  immemorial.  I  think 
it  best  to  give  you  '.hese  hints  about  my  worthy  old 
father,  to  prepare  you  for  any  little  eccentricities  that 
might  otherwise  appear  absurd." 

VVe  had  piissed  for  some  time  along  the  wall  oi  a 
n.ark,  and  at  length  the  chaise  stopped  at  the  gate. 
It  was  in  a  heavy  m.igniticcnt  old  style,  of  iron  ban, 
fancifully  wrouglit  at  lop  into  flourisnes  and  tlowert. 
The  huge  square  columns  that  supported  the  gate 
were  surmounted  by  the  family  crest.  Close  adjoin- 
ing was  the  porter's  lodge,  sheltered  under  dark  fir 
trees,  and  almost  buried  in  shrubbery. 

The  post-boy  rang  a  large  porter's  bell,  which  re- 
sounded through  the  still  frosty  air,  and  was  an- 
swered by  the  distant  barking  of  dogs,  with  which 
the  mansion-house  seemed  garrisoned.  An  old 
woman  immediately  appeared  .it  the  gate.  As  the 
moonlij^ht  fell  strongly  upon  her,  1  had  a  full  view  ol  a 
little  primitive  dame,  dressed  very  much  in  antiaue 
taste,  with  a  neat  kerchief  and  stomacher,  and  net 
silver  hair  peeping  from  under  a  cap  of  snowy  white- 
ness. She  came  curtseying  forth  with  many  exprev 
sions  of  simple  joy  at  seeing  her  young  m<ister.  Her 
husband,  it  seemed,  was  up  at  the  house,  keeping 
Christmas  eve  in  the  servants'  hall ;  they  could  nc4 
do  without  him,  as  he  was  the  best  hanu  at  a  scng 
and  story  in  the  household. 

My  friend  proposed  that  we  should  alight,  and 
walk  through  the  nark  tn  the  Hall,  which  w.is  at  nc 
great  distance,  wnile  the  chaise  should  follow  on. 
Our  road  wound  through  a  noble  avenue  of  trees, 
among  the  naked  branches  of  which  the  moon  glit- 
tered .as  she  rolled  through  the  deep  vault  of  a  cloud- 
less sky.  The  lawn  beyond  was  sheeted  with  a 
slight  covering  of  snow,  which  here  and  there  spark- 
led as  the  moonbeams  caught  a  frosty  crystal ;  and 
at  a  distance  might  be  seen  a  thin  transparent  va- 
pour, stealing  up  from  the  low  grounds,  and  threat- 
ening gradually  to  shroud  the  landscape. 

My  companion  looked  round  him  with  transport . 
— "  How  otten,"  said  he,  "  have  I  scampered  up  thii 
•ivenue,  on  returning  home  on  school  vacations  ! 
How  often  have  I  played  under  these  trees  when  a 
l)oy  !  I  feel  a  degree  of  filial  reverence  for  them,  as 
we  look  up  to  those  who  have  cherished  us  in  child- 
hood. My  father  was  always  scrupulous  in  ex.acting 
our  holydays,  and  h.aving  us  around  him  on  family 
festivals.  He  used  to  direct  and  superintend  our 
g.ames  with  the  strictness  that  some  parents  do  the 
studies  of  their  children.  He  was  very  particular  that 
we  should  play  the  old  English  games  according  to 
their  original  form ;  and  consulted  eld  books  foi 
precedent  and  authority  for  every  '  merrie  disport ; ' 
yet,  I  assure  you,  there  never  was  pedantry  so  de 
(ightful.  It  was  the  policy  of  the  good  old  gcctle 
man  to  make  his  children  feel  that  home  w.ts  the 
happiest  place  in  the  world,  and  I  value  this  deli- 
cious home-feehng  .is  one  of  the  choicest  gifts  a  par- 
ent could  bestow. ' 

We  were  interrupted  by  the  clamout  of  a  troop  ol 
dogs  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  "  mongrel,  puppy,  whelp 
and  hound,  and  curs  of  low  degree,"  that,  disturbed 
by  the  ringing  of  the  porter's  bell  and  the  rattling  oi 
the  chaise,  came  bounding  open-mouthed  across  the 
lawn. 


■ 


»M 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


-The  little  duKi  anti  nil, 


ft';:.: 


i    -'* 


;P 


>f-.: 


x:     ■'' 


,1  -~. . 


Tray.  Blanche,  *ad  Sweetheart,  >ee,  they  bark  at  me  I " 

cneti  Bracebriiige,  laughing.  At  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  the  bark  was  changetl  into  a  yelp  of  delight, 
\nd  in  a  moment  he  was  surrounded  and  almost 
OveqK)wered  by  the  caresses  of  the  faithful  animals. 

We  had  now  come  in  full  view  of  the  old  family 
mansion,  partly  thrown  in  deep  shadow,  and  partly 
lit  up  by  the  cold  moonshine.  It  was  an  irregular 
'juihiin?:  of  some  magnitude,  and  seemed  to  be  of 
j:e  architecture  of  tlilferent  perio<ls.  One  wing  was  i 
Rvidsntly  ver)'  ancient,  with  heavy  stone-shafied  bow 
windows  jutting  out  and  overrui)  with  ivy,  from 
imong  the  foliage  of  which  the  small  diamond- 
shap/cd  panes  of  glass  glittered  with  the  moon-beams. 
The  rest  of  the  house  was  in  the  PVench  taste  of 
Chailes  the  Second's  time,  having  been  repaired  and 
altered,  as  my  friend  told  me,  by  one  of  his  ancestors, 
who  retiirned  with  that  monarchal  the  Restoration. 
The  grounds  about  the  house  were  laid  out  in  the 
old  formal  manner  of  artificial  flower-beds,  clipped 
shrubberies,  raised  terraces,  and  heavy  stone  ballus- 
trades,  ornamented  with  urns,  a  leaden  statue  or 
two,  and  a  jet  of  water.  The  oM  gentleman,  I  was 
toid,  was  extre^nely  careful  to  preserve  this  obsolete 
linery  in  all  its  original  stale.  H<;  aihnired  this  fash- 
ion in  gardening;  it  had  an  air  of  magnificence,  was 
I'ouitly  and  noble,  and  befitting  good  old  family 
style.  The  boasted  imitation  of  nature  and  modern 
cjardening  h.ad  sprung  up  with  modern  republican 
potions,  l)ut  did  not  suit  amonarchial  government — 
it  smacked  of  the  levelling  system.  I  could  not  help 
smiling  at  this  introduction  of  politics  into  garden- 
ng,  though  1  expressed  some  )prehension  that  I 
■.hould  find  the  old  gentlem  rather  intolerant  in 
:iis  creed.  Frank  .issured  me,  however,  that  it  was 
ilmost  the  only  instance  in  which  he  had  ever  heard 
ais  father  meildle  with  politics ;  and  he  believed  he 
Tad  got  this  notion  from  a  member  of  Parliament, 
who  once  passed  a  few  weeks  with  him.  The  '.Squire 
was  glad  of  any  argument  to  defend  his  clipped  yew 
trees  and  formal  terraces,  which  had  been  occision- 
.illy  ait.ickeil  jv  modern  laniiscape  gardeners. 

As  we  appt  .ached  the  house,  we  heard  the  sound 
ot  music,  and  now  and  then  a  burst  of  laughter, 
from  one  end  of  the  building.  This,  Bracebridge 
said,  must  proceed  from  the  servants'  hall,  where  a 
great  deal  of  revelry  was  permitted,  and  even  en- 
couraged, by  the  'Stjuire,  throughout  the  twelve  days 
of  Chi-istir  ;,  provided  every  thing  was  done  con- 
lonnably  to  ancient  usage.  Here  were  kept  up  the 
old  gar"ts  of  hoodman  blind,  shoe  the  wild  mare, 
hot  cockk-s,  steal  the  white  loaf,  bob-apple,  and 
sni|>-dragon  ;  the  V'ule  clog,  and  Christmas  candle, 
were  regul.irly  burnt,  and  the  mistletoe,  with  its 
white  berries,  hung  up,  to  the  imminent  peril  of  all 
ihe  pretty  hous;;-maids.* 

So  intent  were  the  servants  upon  their  sports,  that 
we  had  to  ring  repeatetlly  befbre  we  could  make  our- 
■U'tvt-,  1.  ^-ird.  On  our  arrival  being  announteil,  the 
Jy.iv.i.-e  came  out  to  receive  us,  accompanied  by  his 
iwo  other  sons ;  one  a  young  officer  in  the  army, 
'icnic  on  leave  of  absence;  the  other  an  Oxonian, 
'.:st  fiom  the  university.  -The  'Squire  w.as  a  fine 
healthy-looking  old  gentleman,  with  silver  hair  curl- 
,ng  lightly  round  an  open  florid  countenance;  in 
which  a  physiognomist,  with  the  advantage,  like 
myself,  of  a  prf-vious  hint  or  two,  might  discover  a 
singular  miiiTufe  ol  whim  and  benevolence. 

The  family  meeting  was  wann  and  affectionate ; 
as  the  evening  was  far  advanced,  the  'Squire  would 

*  The  inu:letoe  ii  still  hung  up  ia  rarm-hoiMrs  and  kitcbeni,  at 
Chrittinu  ;  and  the  yuung  uicn  have  the  privilege  ol  kistina  the 

Sirlft  under  it,  plurkina  each  time  a  berry  from  the  bu»h.     When 
>•  bcrrie»  at*  all  plMclied,  the  privilege  ceatei. 


not  permit  us  to  change  our  travelling  drcMCS,  bu; 
ushered  us  at  once  to  the  company,  which  was  as 
semblcd  in  a  large  old-fashioned  hall.  It  was  com- 
po.sed  of  diflerent  branches  of  a  numerous  famil) 
connexion,  where  there  were  the  usual  propoi^tioni 
of  olil  uncles  and  aunts,  c  jmfortable  married  dames, 
superannualetl  spinsters  blooming  country  coustt.\s, 
half-Hedged  stri])lings,  and  bright-eyed  boarding, 
school  hoyder.s.  They  were  variously  occupied  ;  sc ; . ; 
at  a  round  game  of  cards  ;  others  conversing  romu: 
the  tire-place ;  at  one  end  of  the  hall  was  a  grouj 
of  the  young  folks,  some  nearly  grown  up,  othfi; 
of  a^more  temler  and  budding  age,  fully  engrossici' 
by  a  merry  game  ;  and  a  profusion  of  woodei  horses, 
penny  trumpets,  and  tattered  dolls  about  :he  floor, 
showed  traces  of  a  troop  of  little  fairy  beii  gs,  who 
having  frolicked  through  a  happy  day,  had  been  car- 
ried off  to  slumber  through  a  peaceful  night. 

While  the  mutual  greetings  were  going  on  be- 
tween young  llracebridge  and  his  relatives,  i  had 
time  to  scan  the  apartment.  1  have  called  it  a  hall, 
for  so  it  had  certainly  been  in  old  times,  and  the 
'Squire  had  evidently  endeavoured  to  restore  It  to 
something  of  its  primitive  state.  Over  the  heavy 
projecting  fire-place  was  suspended  a  picture  of  a 
warrior  in  armour,  standing  by  a  white  horse,  and 
on  the  opposite  wall  hung  a  helmet,  buckler,  and 
lance.  At  one  end  an  enormous  pair  of  antlers  were 
inserted  in  the  wall,  the  branches  serving  as  hooks 
on  which  to  suspend  hats,  whips,  and  spurs;  and  in 
the  corners  of  the  apartment  were  fowling-pieces, 
fishing-rods,  and  other  sporting  implements.  The 
furniture  was  of  the  cumbrous  workmanship  ol 
fonner  days,  though  some  articles  of  modern  con- 
venience nad  been  atlded.  and  the  oaken  floor  h  ..' 
been  carpeted  ;  so  that  the  whole  presented  an  c!:, 
mixture  of  parlour  and  hall. 

The  grate  hatl  been  removed  from  the  wide  om. 
whelming  fire-|)lace,  to  make  way  for  a  fire  of  wo'u 
in  the  midst  of  which  was  an  enonnous  log,  glowi:;; 
and  blazing,  and  sending  forth  a  vast  volume  ol  lit,!; 
and  heal ;  this  1  understood  was  the  yule  clog,  whi'  I; 
the  'Squire  was  particular  in  having  brought  in  am 
illumined  on  a  Christmas  eve,  according  to  ancieiii 
custom.* 

It  was  really  delightful  to  sec  the  old  'Squire,  sealed 
in  his  hereditary  elbow-chair,  by  the  hospitable  liri^- 
side  of  his  ancestors,  and  looking  around  him  lii;i: 
the  sun  of  a  system,  beaming  warmth  and  glatintss 
to  every  heart.  Lven  tht  very  dog  that  lay  strctcht'. 
at  his  feet,  as  he  lazily  slutted  his  position  ai  <! 
yawned,  would  look  fondly  up  in  his  master's  face, 
wag  his  tail  against  the  floor,  and  stretch  himseii 
at;ain  to  sleep,  confident  of  kindness  and  proteciii/n. 
There  is  an  emanation  from  the  heart  in  getiuine 
hospitality,  which  cannot  be  tlescribed.  but  is  imme- 
diately felt,  and  puts  the  stranger  at  once  at  his  ease. 

•  The  yuie  clog  is  a  great  lo(»  nf  wood,  lotnetimet  the  root  ^^  i 
tree,  brought  iiiio  the  liuu^e  wiiti  n'e-'^t  ccreiuoiiy .  on  ChriatmrJ 
eve,  laid  in  the  fire-|<lace,  and  lixhtrd  wiih  the  bnind  oflaat  yc.u  i 
clo|{.  While  it  la..ited,  there  was  Kri^;ii  ilrinking^ singing,  acd  i-.li 
ing  of  tAlen.  Suraeiiiuea  it  wai  acrompiiiied  liyLlinitnuu  cand'n 
but  in  the  coltaRei,  Ihe  only  liuht  iv.ii  t;  mi  he  ru.  djr  blaie  rf  'V- 
great  wood  fire.  The  yule  clig  was  i>>  imrn  all  iignt  i  if  it  «Mi 
out,  it  was  conudered  a  iign  of  ill  lui;k. 

Heirick  mentioni  it  in  one  of  hit  uingt : 

Come  bring  with  a  ncise, 

My  mcme,  nierric  boy*. 
The  ChrKlinu  I/og  w  the  Ering; 

While  my  good  tfjrae  the 

Uidiye  all  be  fier. 
And  dnnk  to  youi  hearti  desiring. 

The  yule  clog  ii  itill  bum'  in  many  farra-hoiueii  and  Ulchcar  ii 
F.ufjlaad,  punicularly  in  the  nuith'  tod  there  are  icver>l  ttt-t? 
■titiont  connected  with  it  among  tne  peasantry.  Ii  a  aquinMi) 
pcnoa  come  to  the  hoiu''  while  it  it  bumiug.  or  a  penon  hue 
footed,  it  it  contidered  aj>  ill  omen.  Tbe  brand  rtmaiains  liua 
the  yule  c!o|  it  c«.i«f<:iiy  put  away  to  light  the  oeat  ywr't  CkiM 
■M&re. 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


U 


I  had  not  been  seated  many  minutes  by  the  com- 
fortable hearth  of  the  worthy  old  cavalier,  before  I 
found  myself  as  much  at  home  as  if  I  had  been  one 
of  the  family. 

Supper  was  announced  shortly  af^er  our  arrival, 
l!  was  Strved  up  in  a  spacious  oaken  chamber,  the 
panels  of  wl-.ich  shone  with  wax,  and  around  which 
vfire  several  family  portraits  decorated  with  holly 
md  ivy.  Beside  the  accustomed  lights,  two  great 
\  ai  tapers,  called  Christmas  candles,  wreathed  with 
{^eens,  were  placed  on  a  highly  polished  beaufet 
'jnong  the  family  plate.  The  table  was  abundantly 
?]iiea(l  with  substantial  fare;  but  the  'Squire  made 
his  supper  of  frumenty,  a  dish  made  of  wheat  cakes 
boiled  in  milk  with  rich  spices,  being  a  standing  dish 
itj  old  times  for  Christmas  eve.  I  was  happy  to  find 
my  old  frieml,  minced  pie,  in  the  retinue  of  the  feast ; 
and  finding  him  to  he  perfectly  orthodox,  and  that  I 
need  ""♦  be  ashamed  of  my  predilection,  I  greeted 
him  .  '  .  dU  the  warmth  wherewith  we  usually  greet 
an  old  and  very  genteel  acquaintance. 

The  mirth  of  the  company  was  greatly  promoted 
by  the  humours  of  an  eccentric  personage,  whom 
Mr.  Bracebridge  always  atldressed  with  the  quaint 
appellation  of  Master  Simon.  He  was  a  tight  brisk 
little  man,  with  the  air  of  an  arrant  old  bachelor. 
His  nose  was  shaped  like  the  hill  of  a  parrot ;  his 
face  slightly  pitted  with  the  small-pox,  with  a  dry 
perpetual  bloom  on  it,  like  a  frost-bitten  leaf  in 
autumn.  He  had  an  eye  of  great  quickness  and 
viv.icity,  with  a  drollery  and  lurking  waggery  of  ex- 
pression that  was  irresistible.  He  was  evidently  the 
wit  of  the  family,  dealing  very  much  in  sly  jokes  and 
irnuendoes  with  the  ladies,  and  making  infinite  mer- 
riinent  by  ha-pings  upon  old  themes ;  which,  unfor- 
iiiiatcly,  my  ignorance  of  the  family  chronicles  did 
'to',  penjut  me  to  enjoy.  It  seemed  to  be  his  great 
.':Hght,  during  supper,  to  keep  a  young  girl  next  him 
;n  I  continual  agony  of  stifled  laughter,  in  spite  of 
her  awe  of  the  reproving  looks  of  her  mother,  who 
Eat  opposite.  Indeed,  he  was  the  idol  of  the  younger 
part  of  the  company,  who  laughed  at  every  thing  he 
said  or  did,  and  at  every  turn  of  his  countenance.  I 
could  not  wonder  at  it ;  for  he  must  have  been  a 
miracle  of  accomplishments  in  their  eves.  He  could 
imitate  Punch  and  Judy  ;  make  an  old  woman  of  his 
hand,  with  the  assistance  of  a  burnt  cork  and  pocket- 
handkerchief;  and  cut  an  orange  into  sucfi  a  lu- 
dicrous caricature,  that  the  young  folks  were  ready 
10  die  with  laughing. 

I  was  let  briefly  into  his  history  by  Frank  Brace- 
nridge.  He  was  an  old  bachelor,  of  a  small  inde- 
pendent income,  which,  by  careful  management,  was 
sutticient  for  all  his  wants.  He  revolved  'hrough  the 
family  system  like  a  vagrant  comet  in  its  ori)it,  some- 
times visiting  one  branch,  and  sometimes  another 
quite  remote,  as  is  often  the  cas(*  with  gentlemen  of 
extensive  connexions  and  small  fortimes  in  England. 
He  had  a  chiri>ing.  buoyant  disnosition,  always  en- 
joying the  present  moment ;  and  liis  frequent  change 
of  scene  and  company  prevented  his  acquiring  those 
nisty,  unaccommodating  habits,  with  which  old 
bachelors  are  so  uncharital)ly  charged.  He  was 
A  complete  family  chronicle,  being  versed  in  the 
?r.nra]og;y,  history,  and  intennarriages  of  the  whole 
'lousc  of  Bracebridge,  which  matle  him  a  great 
'.■\'/ourite  with  the  olil  folks  ;  he  was  a  beau  of  all  the 
tfder  ladies  and  superannuated  spinsters,  among 
Ahum  he  was  habitually  considered  rather  a  young 
fellow,  and  he  was  master  of  the  revels  among  the 
children  ;  so  that  there  w.xs  iiot  a  more  popular  being 
in  the  sphere  in  which  he  moved,  than  Mr.  Simon 
[<racebridge.  Of  late  years,  he  had  resided  almost 
en'in-ly  with  the  'Squire,  to  whom  he  had  become  a 
'1  totum,  and  whom  he  particularly  delii{ht<£d  by 


jumping  with  his  humour  in  respect  to  old  tiaiea 
and  by  harving  a  scrap  of  an  old  son^  to  suit  ever> 
occasion.  We  had  presently  a  specimen  of  his  last- 
mentioned  talent ;  for  no  sooner  w.is  supper  removed, 
and  spiced  wines  and  other  beverages  peculiar  tc 
the  season  introduced,  than  Master  Simon  was  callciJ 
on  for  a  good  old  Christmas  song.  He  bethought 
himself  for  a  moment,  and  then,  with  a  sparkle  of 
the  eye,  and  a  voice  that  was  by  no  means  b.nl,  ex- 
cepting that  It  r.an  occasionally  intc  a  falsetto,  likt 
the  notes  of  a  split  reed,  he  quavered  forth  a  auaim 
old  ditty : 

Now  Chmtmai  U  come, 

Let  us  beat  up  the  drum. 
And  call  all  our  neiKhboun  together  ; 

And  when  they  appear, 

Let  UA  make  «ucK  a  cheer, 
As  will  keep  out  the  wind  and  the  weather  te. 

The  supper  had  disposed  ever>'  one  to  gayety,  and 
an  old  harper  was  summoned  from  the  servants'  hall, 
where  he  had  been  strumming  all  the  evening,  an<J 
to  all  appearance  comforting  himself  with  .some  o( 
the  'Squire's  home-breWed.  He  was  a  kind  of  hang- 
er-on, I  was  told,  of  the  establishment,  and  though 
ostensibly  a  resident  of  the  village,  was  oltenei 
to  be  found  in  the  'Squire's  kitchen  than  his  own 
home ;  the  old  gentleman  being  fond  of  th*  sound 
of  "  Harp  in  hall." 

The  dance,  like  most  dances  after  supper,  w.«  8 
merry  one :  some  of  the  older  folks  Joined  in  it,  and 
the  '.Scjuire  himself  figured  down  several  couple  with 
a  partner  with  whom  he  affirmed  he  had  danced  Ht 
every  Christmas  for  nearly  half  a  century.  Master 
Simon,  who  seemed  to  be  a  kind  of  connecting  link 
between  the  old  times  and  the  new,  and  to  be  withal 
a  little  antiquated  in  the  taste  of  his  accomplish- 
ments, evitlently  piqued  himself  on  his  dancing,  and 
w.as  endeavouring  to  gain  credit  by  the  heel  and  tof 
rigadoon.  and  other  gr.aces  of  the  ancient  schoo! 
but  he  had  unluckily  assorted  himself  with  a  little 
romping  girl  from  boarding-school,  who,  bv  her  wi'd 
vivacity,  kept  him  continually  on  the  stretch,  and  de- 
feated all  his  sober  attempts  at  elegance  : — such  ar* 
the  ill-sorted  matches  to  which  antique  gentlemen, 
are  unfortunately  prone  ! 

The  young  Oxonian,  on  the  contrary,  had  led  out 
one  of  his  maiden  aunts,  on  whom  the  rogue  played 
a  thousand  little  knaveries  with  impunity ;  he  w.as 
full  of  practical  jokes,  and  his  delight  was  to  tease 
his  aunts  and  cousins ;  yet,  like  all  madcap  young- 
sters, he  was  a  univers.al  favourite  among  the  women 
The  most  interesting  couple  in  the  dance  was  the 
young  officer,  and  a  ward  of  the  'Squire's,  a  beaiit;- 
fid  blushing  girl  of  seventeen.  From  several  sliy 
glances  which  I  had  noticed  in  the  course  of  the 
evening,  I  suspected  there  was  a  little  kindness  grow- 
ing up  between  them ;  and,  indeed,  the  young  sol- 
dier was  just  the  hero  to  captivate  a  romantic  girl. 
He  was  tall,  slender,  and  handsome  ;  and,  like  most 
young  British  othce;s  of  late  years,  had  picked  up 
various  small  accomplishments  on  the  continent — he 
could  talk  French  and  Italian — dr<aw  landscapes — 
sing  vei7  tolerably — dance  divinely  ;  hut,  above  all. 
he  h.ad  been  woimded  at  Waterloo ; — what  girl  of 
seventeen,  well  read  in  poetry  and  rom.anr:  could 
resist  such  a  mirror  of  chivalry  and  pertecti(  t.  ? 

The  mofiient  the  dance  was  over,  he  caught  up  a 
guitar,  and  lolling  .against  the  old  marble  tire-place, 
I  in  an  attitude  which  I  am  h;df  inclined  to  suspect 
was  studied,  began  the  little  French  air  of  the  Troub- 
adour. The  'Squire,  however,  exclaimed  against 
having  any  thing  on  Chnstni.as  eve  but  good  eld 
English  ;  upon  which  the  young  minstrel,  casting  up 
his  eye  for  a  moment,  as  if  in  an  effort  of  memory 
s'nuk  into  .mother  .Viain,  anrl  vsTth  a  ciiarming  a^ 
of  gali mtry,  gave  ilerrick's  "  Night-l'iece  to  Julia. 


i 


M 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


,;?'"! 


m 


'"-if. 


H«r  tytt  the  glow-wom  lend  the*, 
The  snantinK  ttars  attend  thee, 

And  the  elves  also. 

Whose  little  eves  glow 
Like  the  spaiks  ol  fire,  befriend  thee. 

No  Wil|..o'-th'-Wisp  misliijht  thee ; 
Nor  tnalte  or  slow-worm  bile  thee ; 

Hut  on,  un  thy  way,  * 

Not  making  a  stay. 
Since  ghost  there  is  none  to  affright  the*. 

Then  let  not  the  dark  thee  cumber ; 
MThat  though  (he  moon  does  slumber, 

The  stars  of  the  night 

Will  lend  thee  their  light, 
like  tapers  clear  without  number. 

Then,  Julia,  'jt  me  woo  thee, 
Thus,  thus  to  come  unto  me: 

And  when  I  shall  meet 

Thy  siWery  feet, 
Mv  soul  I'll  pour  into  thee. 

The  song  might  or  might  not  have  been  intended 
u»  compliment  to  the  fair  Julia,  for  so  I  found  his 
partner  was  called ;  she,  however,  was  certainly  un- 
conscious of  any  such  application  ;  for  she  never 
looked  at  the  singer,  but  kept  her  eyes  cast  upon  the 
floor ;  her  face  was  suffused,  it  is  true,  with  a  beau- 
tiful blush,  and  there  was  a  gentle  heaving  of  the 
bosom,  but  .ill  that  was  doubtless  caused  by  the  ex- 
ercise of  the  dance  :  indeed,  so  great  was  her  indif- 
ference, that  she  was  amusing  herself  with  |)lucking 
to  pieces  a  choice  bouquet  of  hot-house  flowers,  and 
by  the  time  the  song  was  Concluded  the  nosegay  lay 
in  tuins  on  the  floor. 

The  party  now  broke  up  for  the  night,  with  the 
kind-hearted  old  custom  of  shaking  hands.  As  I 
passed  througn  the  hall  on  my  way  to  my  chamber, 
the  dying  embers  of  the  yule  clog  still  sent  forth  a 
dusky  glow ;  and  had  it  not  been  the  season  when 
"no  spirit  dares  stir  abroad,"  1  should  have  been 
half  tempted  to  steal  from  my  room  at  midnight,  and 
peep  whether  the  fairies  might  not  be  at  their  revels 
•'.Irout  the  hearth. 

My  chamber  w.as  in  the  old  part  of  the  mansion, 
'he  ponderous  furniture  of  which  might  have  been 
fabricated  in  the  days  of  the  giants.  The  room  was 
panelled,  with  cornices  of  heav-y  carved  work,  in 
which  flowers  and  grotesque  fac^s  were  strangely 
intenningled,  and  a  row  of  bir.ck-looking  portraits 
stared  mournfully  at  me  from  the  walls.  The  bed 
was  of  rich,  though  faded  damask,  with  a  lofty  tester, 
and  stootl  in  a  niche  opposite  a  bow-window.  I  had 
scarcely  got  into  bed  when  a  str.iin  of  music  seemed 
to  break  forth  in  the  air  just  below  the  window :  1 
listened,  and  found  it  proceeded  from  a  band,  which 
I  concluded  to  be  the  waits  t>om  some  neighliournig 
vdlage.  They  went  round  the  house,  playing  under 
the  windows,  I  drew  .aside  the  curt.iins,  to  hear 
them  more  distinctly.  The  moonbeams  f'-ll  through 
the  upper  part  of  the  casement,  partially  lighting  up 
the  antiquated  apartment.  The  sounds,  as  they 
receded,  l)ecame  more  soft  and  aerial,  and  eejiied 
to  accord  with  quiet  and  moonlight.  I  listened  and 
listened — they  became  more  and  more  tender  and 
remote,  and,  as  they  gradually  died  away,  my  head 
nmk  upon  the  pillow,  and  I  fell  asleep. 


CHRISTMAS  DAY. 


Dark  and  dull  night  Aie  hence  away 
And  give  (he  honour  lo  this  obv 
That  sees  December  tura'd  to  May. 
•        •••••* 

VHiy  does  the  chilling  wiater'i  mom*  <' 

Smile  like  a  field  beset  with  com  ? 
Or  smell  like  to  a  meade  new-shorn*, 
Thus  on  a  sudden  f — come  and  see 
The  cause,  why  things  thus  fragrant  b«. 

HnwucK. 

When  I  woke  the  next  morning,  it  seemed  aa  i 
all  the  events  of  the  preceding  evening  had  bten  t 
dream,  and  nothing  but  the  identity  of  the  ancient 
chamber  convinceil  me  of  their  reality.  While  1  lay 
musing  on  my  pillow,  I  heard  the  sound  of  little  feel 
pattering  outsitle  of  the  door,  and  a  whispering  con- 
sultation. Presently  a  choir  of  small  voices  chanted 
forth  an  old  Christmas  carol,  the  burden  of  which 


wasT 


Rejoire,  our  Saviour  he  was  bom 
Ou  Chnstmas  day  in  the  morning. 


I  rose  softly,  slipt  on  my  clothes,  opened  the  door 
suddenly,  and  beheld  one  of  the  most  beautiful  little 
fairy  groups  that  a  painter  could  imagine.  It  con- 
sisted of  a  boy  and  two  girls,  the  eldest  not  more 
than  six,  and  lovely  as  seraphs.  They  were  going 
the  rounds  of  the  house,  singing  at  every  chamber 
door,  but  my  sudden  appearance  frightened  them  into 
mute  bashfulness.  They  remained  for  a  moment 
playing  on  their  lips  with  their  fingers,  and  now  and 
then  stealing  a  shy  glance  from  under  their  eyebrovs, 
until,  as  if  by  one  impulse,  they  scampered  away,  and 
as  they  turned  an  angle  of  the  gallery,  1  heard  then; 
laughing  in  triumph  at  their  escape. 

Every  thing  conspired  to  produce  kind  and  happy 
feelings,  in  this  strong-hold  of  old-fashioned  hospi- 
tality. The  window  of  my  chamber  looked  out  upon 
what  in  summer  would  have  been  a  beautiful  land- 
scape. There  was  a  sloping  lawn,  a  tine  stream 
winding  at  the  foot  of  it,  and  a  tract  of  park  beyond, 
with  noble  clumps  of  trees,  and  herds  of  deer.  At  a 
distance  w.as  a  neat  hamlet,  with  the  smoke  from  the 
cottage  chimneys  hanging  over  it ;  and  a  church, 
with  its  dark  spire  in  strong  relief  against  the  cle.ir 
cold  sky.  The  house  was  surroundecl  with  evergreens, 
according  to  the  English  custom,  which  would  have 
given  almost  an  appearance  of  summer;  but  the 
morning  was  extremely  frosty;  the  lii;lit  vapour  of 
the  preceding  evening  h.id  been  precipitated  by  the 
colli,  and  covered  all  the  trees  and  evi  »y  blade  ol 
grass  with  its  fine  rrysialli?:ations.  The  rays  of  ii 
bright  morning  sun  h.id  a  dazzling  effect  among  the 
glittering  foliage.  A  robin  pfrched  upon  the  top  v\ 
a  mountain  ash,  that  hung  it  clusters  of  red  berries 
just  before  my  window,  w.is  basking  himself  in  tiie 
sunshine,  and  piping  a  few  querulous  notes ;  and  a 
peacock  was  displaying  all  the  glories  of  his  train 
and  strutting  with  the  priile  and  giavity  of  a  Spanish 
grandee  on  the  terrace-walk  below. 

I  had  scarcely  dressed  myself,  when  a  servant  ap 
poared  to  invite  me  to  family  pniyers.  He  showed 
me  the  w.iy  to  a  small  chapel  in  the  old  wing  ol  O- 
house,  where  1  found  the  principal  part  of  the  fair.'  \ 
already  asseiMhIed  in  a  kind  of  gal'eiy,  furnished  with 
cushions,  hassocks,  and  large  prayer-books ,  tir 
servants  were  seated  on  benches  below.  The  oM 
gentleman  read  prayers  from  ?.  desk  in  front  of  the 
gallery,  and  Ma? ter  .Simon  acted  as  clerk  and  mailt 
the  responses ;  and  1  must  do  him  the  justice  to  Siiy 
that  he  acquitted  himself  with  great  gravity  and  rie 
coram. 

The  service  was  followed  by  a  Chnstmas  caroi 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON.  Gent 


61 


istmas  carol 


wnich  Mr.  Bracebndge  himself  had  constructed  from 
a  poem  of  his  favorite  author,  Herricic ;  and  it  had 
bt.en  adapted  to  a  church  melody  by  Master  Simon. 
As  there  were  several  good  voices  among  the  house- 
hold, the  effect  was  extremely  pleasing ;  but  1  was 
particularly  gratified  by  the  exaltation  of  heart,  and 
juclden  sally  of  grateful  feeling,  with  which  the 
worthy  'Squire  delivered  one  stanza  ;  his  eye  glisten- 
ir.f[,  and  his  voice  rambling  out  of  all  the  bounds  of 
.'i'.-ne  and  tune : 

"  Til  thoii  that  crown'jt  mv  glittering  hcauth 
With  guiltless  mirtn, 
And  fpv'tt  me  Wassaile  bowles  to  drink 
Spic'd  to  tb^  briiik : 

Ix>rd,  *ti>  thy  plenty-dropping  hand 

That  soiles  my  land : 
And  giv'st  me  for  my  bushell  towiia, 

Twice  ten  for  one," 

I  afterwards  understood  that  early  morning  setricc 
was  read  on  every  Sunday  and  saint's  day  through- 
out the  year,  either  by  Mr.  Hracebridge  or  some 
member  of  the  family.  It  was  once  almost  univer- 
sally the  case  at  the  seats  of  the  nobility  and  gentry 
ol  England,  and  it  is  much  to  be  regretted  th;it  the 
custom  is  falling  into  neglect ;  for  the  dullest  ob- 
server must  be  sensible  of  the  order  and  s«-reiiity 
prevalent  in  those  households,  where  the  occasion.il 
exercise  of  a  beautiful  form  of  worship  in  the  morn- 
ing gives,  as  it  were,  the  key-note  to  every  temper 
for  the  day,  and  attunes  every  spirit  to  harmony. 

Our  breakfast  consisted  of  what  the  Stjuirp  de- 
nominated tnie  old  English  fare.  He  indulged  in 
some  bitter  lamentations  over  modern  brcikf.ists  ot' 
tea  and  toast,  which  he  censured  as  among  the  causes 
of  modern  effeminacy  and  weak  nerves,  and  the  de- 
cline of  old  English  heartiness :  and  though  he  ad- 
Tiitted  them  to  his  table  to  suit  the  palates  of  his 
guests,  yet  there  was  a  brave  displ.iy  of  cold  meats, 
*iiie,  and  ale.  on  the  sideljoard. 

After  breakfast,  I  walked  about  the  grounds  with 
Frank  Hracebridge  and  Master  Simon,  or  Mr.  Simon, 
as  he  was  called  by  every  body  but  the  'Squire.  We 
were  escorte<l  by  a  number  of  gentlemen-like  dogs, 
fhit  seemed  loungers  about  the  establishment  ;  htxn 
the  frisking  s[).'iniel  to  the  steady  old  stag-hound  —the 
last  of  which  was  of  a  race  that  had  been  in  the 
f;unily  tune  out  of  mind — they  were  all  obedient  to  a 
dog-whistle  which  hung  to  Master  Simon's  button- 
hole, and  in  the  midst  of  their  gambols  would  glance 
an  eye  occasionally  ujion  a  small  switch  he  carried 
in  his  hand. 

The  rid  mansion  had  a  still  more  venerable  look 
in  the  yellow  sunshiite  than  by  p  lie  moonlight ;  and 
1  could  not  but  feel  the  force  of  the  'S(juire's  idea, 
that  the  fnrm.il  terraces,  heavily  moulded  ballus- 
trades,  and  clipped  yew  trees,  carried  with  them  an 
air  of  proud  aristocracy. 

There  appeared  to  be  an  unusu.d  number  of  pea- 
cocks alout  the  place,  and  I  was  making  some  re- 
inarks  upon  what  I  tenned  a  flock  of  them  that  were 
l);<.';l'ing  under  a  sunny  wall,  when  I  w.as  gently  cor- 
rcrrled  in  my  phraseology  by  Master  Simon,  who 
'  )ld  me  that  according  to  the  most  ancient  and 
'pproved  treatise  on  hunting,  1  must  say  a  muster 

f  peacocks,  "  In  the  same  way,"  added  he,  with  a 
slight  air  of  pedantry,  "we  say  a  flight  of  doves  or 
(wallows,  a  bev7  of  quails,  a  herd  of  deer,  of  wrens. 
or  cranes,  a  skulk  of  foxes  or  a  building  of  rooks." 
Ha  went  on  to  inform  me  that,  according  to  Sir 
Anthony  Fitzherbert,  we  ought  to  ascrilw  to  this 
hiid  "both  understanding  and  glory;  for,  being 
praised,  he  will  presently  set  up  his  tail,  chieHy 
•against  the  sun,  to  the  intent  you  may  the  better 
behold  the  beautv  thereof.  But  at  the  fall  of  the 
••^af,  when  his  taii  falltth,  he  will  mourn  and  hide 


himself  in  comers,  till  his  tail  come  again  as  It 
was." 

I  could  not  help  smiling  at  this  display  of  small 
erudition  or  so  whimsical  a  subject ;  but  I  foimd 
that  the  peacocks  were  birds  of  some  consequence 
at  the  Hall ;  for  Frank  Bracebridge  informed  mti 
that  they  were  great  ftivourites  with  his  father,  who 
was  extremely  careful  to  keep  up  the  breed,  partly 
because  they  belonged  to  chivalry,  and  were  in 
great  request  at  the  stately  ban(|uets  of  the  olden 
time ;  and  partly  because  they  had  a  pomp  and 
magnificence  about  them  highly  becoming  an  old 
family  mansion.  Nothing,  he  was  accustomed  to 
say,  had  an  air  o*"  greater  state  and  dignity,  than  a 
peacock  ])erched  jpon  an  antique  stone  ballustrade. 

Master  Simon  had  now  to  hurry  off,  having  an 
appointment  at  the  parish  church  with  the  village 
choristers,  who  were  to  perform  some  music  of  his 
selection.  There  was  something  extremely  agree- 
able in  the  cheerful  flow  of  animal  spirits  of  the 
little  man  ;  and  I  confess  I  nad  been  somewhat  sur- 
prised at  his  apt  quotations  from  authors  who  cer- 
tainly were  not  in  the  range  of  everyday  reading. 
I  mentioned  this  l.ist  circumstance  to  Frank  Braes 
bi  idge,  who  lold  me  with  a  smile  that  Master  Simon's 
whole  stock  of  enjdition  was  contmed  to  some  half- 
a-dozen  old  authors,  which  the  'Squire  had  put  into 
his  hands,  and  which  he  read  over  and  over,  when- 
ever he  liad  a  studious  fit ;  as  he  sometimes  had  on 
a  rainy  day,  or  a  long  winter  evening.  Sir  Anthony 
Fitzherberi's  Book  of  Husbandry ;  Markham's 
Country  Contentments;  the  Tretyse  of  Hunting, 
by  Sir  Thomas  Cockayne,  Knight ;  Isaac  Walton  s 
Angler,  and  two  or  three  more  such  ancient  wor 
thies  of  the  pen,  were  his  standard  authorities  ;  an'i, 
like  all  men  who  know  but  a  few  books,  he  looked 
up  to  them  with  a  kind  of  idolati7,  and  quoted  thcra 
on  all  occasions.  As  to  his  songs,  they  were  chiefl* 
picked  out  of  old  books  in  the  'Sejuire's  library,  and 
adapted  to  tunes  that  were  popular  among  the 
choice  spirits  of  the  last  century.  His  practical  ap- 
plication of  scraps  of  literature,  however,  had  caused 
him  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  prodigy  of  book-knowl- 
edge by  all  the  grooms,  huntsmen,  and  small  sports- 
men ol  the  neiijhbourhood. 

Willi-.'  we  were  talking,  we  heard  the  distant  toll 
of  the  vdlage  bell,  and  I  was  told  that  the  'Sciuire 
w.as  a  little  particiil  ir  \\\  having  his  household  at 
church  on  a  Christm.as  morning;  considering  it  a 
dav  of  pouring  out  of  thanks  and  rejoicing;  for,  as 
old  Tusser  observeil, — 

**  At  Chrisimas  be  merry,  and  thnnk/ul  withal^ 

And  fe.v>t  thy  tK)or  itPit(hbours,  the  great  with  the  imail.** 

"  If  you  tre  disposed  to  go  to  ci  .arch,"  said  Frank 
Bracebridge,  "  1  can  promise  you  a  specimen  of  my 
cousin  Simon's  musical  achievements.  As  the  church 
is  destitute  of  an  organ  he  h.as  fonr.ed  a  band  from 
the  village  amateurs,  and  established  a  musical  club 
for  their  improvement ;  he  has  alio  sorted  a  c.ioir,  as 
he  sorted  my  father's  pack  of  hounds,  according  to 
the  directions  of  jervaise  Markhain,  in  his  Country 
Contentments  ;  for  the  bass  he  has  siught  out  all  the 
'deep,  solemn  mouths,'  anc  for  the  tenor  the  'loud 
ringing  mouth,'  among  the  country  bumpkins;  and 
for  '  sweet  mouths,'  he  has  culled  with  curious  tastf 
among  the  prettiest  lasses  in  the  neighbotirhootl ; 
though  these  last,  he  aHirms,  are  the  most  duhcult  to 
keep  in  tune;  your  pretty  female  smgcr  being  es- 
ceedingly  wayward  afnd  capricious,  and  very  hable  to 
accident." 

As  the  morning,  though  frosty,  wis  remark.-ibly 
fine  and  clear,  the  most  of  the  family  walked  to  the 
church,  which  was  a  very  old  building  of  gray  stone, 
and  stood  near  a  village,  about  half  a  mile  frotr,  thr 


66 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVINU 


■iiv  ■•¥ 


1        ■ 


ru 


■p-),' 


r  t... 


park  gate.  Adjoining  it  was  a  low  snug  parsonage, 
which  seemed  coeval  with  the  church.  The  front  of 
it  was  perfectly  matted  with  a  yew  tree,  that  had 
oeen  trained  against  its  walls,  through  the  dense 
foliage  of  which,  apertures  had  been  formed  to  admit 
light  into  the  small  antique  lattices.  As  we  passed 
this  sheltered  nest,  the  parson  issued  forth  and  pre- 
ceded us. 

1  had  expected  to  see  a  sleek  well-conditioned 
pastor,  such  as  is  often  found  in  a  snug  living  in  the 
vicinity  of  a  rich  patron's  table,  but  I  was  disap- 
w)inted.  The  parson  was  a  little,  meagre,  black- 
looking  man,  with  a  grizzled  wig  that  was  too  wide, 
ard  stood  off  from  each  ear ;  so  that  his  head  seem- 
ed to  have  shrunk  away  within  it,  like  a  dried  filbert 
in  its  shell.  He  wore  a  rusty  coat,  with  great  skirts, 
and  pockets  tliat  would  have  held  the  church  bible 
and  prayer-book:  and  his  small  lees  seemed  still 
smaller,  from  being  planted  in  large  shoes,  decorated 
with  enormous  buckles. 

I  was  informed  by  Frank  Bracebridge  th-at  the 
parson  had  been  a  chum  of  his  lather's  at  Oxford, 
and  had  received  this  living  shortly  after  the  latter 
hdd  come  to  his  estate.  He  was  a  complete  black- 
letter  hunter,  and  would  scarcely  re.ad  a  work  printed 
in  the  Roman  character.  Tiie  editions  of  Caxton 
and  Wynkin  de  Wurde  were  his  delight ;  and  he 
was  indefatigaljle  in  his  rcsc-arches  after  such  old 
English  writers  as  have  fallen  into  oblivion  Irom 
their  worthkssness.  In  deference,  perhaps,  to  the 
notions  of  Mr.  Bracehridge.  he  had  made  diligent 
investigations  into  the  lifsiive  riles  and  holyday  cus- 
toms of  former  limes ;  and  nad  been  as  zealous  in 
the  inquiry,  as  if  he  h.id  been  a  boon  companion ; 
but  it  w:is  merely  with  that  pliiddinj;  spirit  with 
which  men  of  adust  tempcraiiienl  fuiiow  up  any 
track  of  study,  merely  because  it  is  denominated 
learning;  indifferent  to  its  intrinsic  nature,  whether 
it  be  the  illustration  of  the  wisdom,  or  of  the  ribaldry 
and  obscenity  of  antiquity.  He  liad  port-d  over  these 
old  volumes  so  intensely,  that  they  seemed  to  have 
been  reilocted  into  his  countenance;  which,  if  the 
f  ice  be  indeed  an  index  of  the  mind,  might  be  com- 
pared to  a  tiile-page  of  black-letter. 

On  re.iching  the  cliurch-porch,  we  found  the  par- 
son rebuking  the  gray-headed  sexton  for  having  used 
mistletoe  among  the  greens  with  which  the  church 
was  decorated.  It  was,  he  obser\ed,  an  unholy  plant 
profaned  by  having  been  used  by  the  Druids  in  their 
mystic  ceremonies  ;  and  though  it  might  be  inno- 
cently employed  in  the  festi\e  ornamenting  of  halls 
and  kitchens,  yet  it  had  l>een  deemed  by  the  Fathers 
of  the  Church  as  unhallowed,  and  totally  until  tor 
sacred  purposes.  So  tenacious  vv.as  he  on  this  point, 
th.Tt  tiie  poor  sexton  was  obhgeil  to  strip  down  a 
great  part  of  the  humble  trophies  of  his  taste,  bef'are 
the  parson  would  consent  to  enter  upon  the  service 
jf  the  day. 

Tlie  interior  of  the  church  was  venerable,  but 
simple  ;  on  the  v,-alls  were  sever.il  mural  monuments 
of  the  Bracebridges,  and  just  l.esidc  the  altar,  w.as  a 
fjmb  of  ancient  workmanship,  on  wi>i<h  lay  the  effi- 
gy of  a  warriur  m  armour,  with  his  legs  crossed,  a 
vigT  of  his  having  been  a  crusader.  1  was  told  it 
n.\s  one  of  the  family  who  had  signalized  himself  in 
he  Hoi)  I.r.nd,  and  the  same  whose  picture  hung 
;.'er  the  lire-place  in  the  hall. 

During  service.  Master  Simon  stood  up  in  the  pew, 
and  re|)eated  the  responses  very  audiM',  ;  evincing 
thixt  kind  of  ceremonious  devotion  punciually  observ- 
ed by  a  gentleman  of  the  old  schocl,  and  a  man  of 
old  family  connexions.  1  observed,  too,  that  he 
turned  over  the  leaves  of  a  folio  pr.ayer-booU  with 
something  of  a  flourish,  pnssil.ly  to  show  off  an 
enomious  seal-ring  which  enriched  one  of  his  lingers. 


and  which  had  the  look  of  a  Tamily  rehc.  But  he  wat 
evidently  most  solicitous  about  the  musical  part  c  f 
the  service,  keeping  his  eye  fixed  intently  on  the 
choir,  and  beating  time  with  much  gesticulation  and 
emphasis. 

"The  orchestra  was  in  a  small  gallery,  and  presented 
a  most  whimsical  grouping  of  heads,  piled  one  abov; 
the  other,  among  which  I  particular!/ noticed  thtl 
of  the  vill.age  tailor,  a  pale  fellow  with  a  retreatinr 
forehead  and  chin,  who  played  on  the  clarionet,  and 
seemed  to  have  blown  his  face  to  a  point ;  and  there 
was  another,  a  short  pursy  man,  stooping  and  labour- 
ing at  a  bass  viol,  so  as  to  show  nothing  but  the 
top  of  a  round  bald  head,  like  the  egg  of  an  ostrich. 
Thfere  were  two  or  three  pretty  faces  among  the 
female  singers,  to  whici  th  keen  air  of  a  frosty 
morning  had  given  a  bright  rosy  tint :  but  the  gentle- 
men choristers  had  evidently  been  chosen,  like  old 
Cremona  fiddles,  more  for  tone  than  looks ;  and  as 
several  had  to  sing  from  the  same  book,  there  were 
clusterings  of  odd  physiognomies,  not  unlike  those 
groups  of  cherubs  we  sometimes  see  on  country 
tombstones. 

The  usual  services  of  the  choir  were  manage?] 
tolerably  well,  the  vocal  parts  generally  lagging  a 
Uttle  behind  the  instrumental,  and  some  loitering  fid- 
dler now  and  then  making  up  for  lost  time  by  travel- 
ling over  a  passage  with  prodigious  celerity,  and  clear- 
ing more  bars  than  the  keenest  fox-hunter,  to  be  in 
at  the  death.  But  the  great  trial  was  an  anthem  tV'at 
had  been  prepared  and  arranged  by  Master  Simon, 
and  on  which  he  had  founded  great  expectation.  Ur- 
luckily  there  w.is  a  b'under  at  the  very  outset — the 
musicians  became  flutried  ;  Master  Simon  was  in  ^ 
fever ;  every  thing  went  on  iamely  and  irrcgulariy 
until  ihey  came  to  a  chorus  beginning,  '  Now  let  \:: 
sing  with  one  accord,"  which  seem'- '.  to  be  a  siguid 
for  parting  company:  all  became  discord  and  confu- 
sion ;  each  shifted  for  himself,  and  got  to  the  end  ;.s 
well,  or,  rather,  as  soon  as  he  could  ;  excepting  onr 
old  chorister,  in  a  pair  of  horn  spectacles,  ber.indint; 
and  pinching  a  long  sonorous  nose  ;  who,  hapj)enin^ 
to  stand  a  little  apart,  and  being  wiapjied  up  in  his 
own  melody,  kept  on  a  Quavering  course,  wnggling 
his  head,  ogling  his  book,  and  winding  all  up  by  a 
nasal  solo  of  at  least  three  bars'  duration. 

The  parson  gave  us  a  most  erudite  sermon  on  tho 
rites  and  ceremonies  of  Christm.as,  and  the  nroprieiy 
of  observing  it,  not  merely  as  a  d.iy  of  thanksgiving, 
but  of  rejoicing ;  supporting  the  correctness  of  his 
opinions  by  the  earliest  usages  of  the  church,  and  en- 
forcing them  by  the  authorities  ot  Theophilus  ot 
Cesarea,  St.  Cyprian,  St.  Chrjsosiom,  .St.  Augustine, 
and  a  cloud  more  of  Saints  and  Fathers,  Irom  whom 
he  made  copious  quotations.  I  was  a  little  at  a  loss  to 
perceive  the  necessity  of  such  a  miglity  array  of  forces 
to  maintain  a  point  which  no  one  present  seenievl 
inclined  to  dispute  ;  but  I  soon  li"in(l  t^^at  the  goo<J 
man  had  a  legion  of  idea,!  advrrsaries  *.o  conten  1 
with  ;  having,  in  the  course  •  (  his  ■eser'che.i  on  tY' 
subject  of  Chn-ifmas,  got  complC'-ly  crilToiIe<l  . 
the  sectarian  controversies  of  the  f'^volition,  vih": 
the  I'uritans  madr  such  a  fierce  ^vs<iuit  upon  ~i<< 
ceren'onies  of  the  church  and  jKior  old  Christ. •^a- 
was  driven  out  of  the  land  by  prvx.  la.Tation  of  Vai';,i 
ment.*  The  worthy  parson  heed  !>ut  with  tinift 
p.ist,  and  knew  but  little  of  the  prevnt. 

Shut  up  among  worm-eaten  tomes  in  the  retin 


•  From  the"  nying  Kaglc,  '  a  «ni»ll  Ciiette,  publiihod  !)• 
brr  a^th,  if'sa — '*  i'he  House  ipeni  luuch  iiuii:  thu  (Uy  About  il.' 
bus!nr'.^  of  th«  Navy,  fur  seltlin](  the  a(7airt  ai  ^ca,  aAd  bcfure  th*v 
ro^R,  were  presented  with  a  terrible  reraonKtrAOLe  ^.^mntx  Chiui 
mas  .'by,  (rr>nnitlcd  upon  divine  Scrtplure^,  3  C\ir.  v.  16.  1  Cvr.  n 
14.  17  :  and  iM  htinnur  of  the  lytm'i  I.Uy,  uround^d  upon  !)•.■•.• 
Scrip:,i;-.S|  Jc'in  xx  i.  Kev.  i,  i-i,  Viwl^n.  <;»vi;i  J4.  Lov.  <x.  u 
7,  1 1.  .ViaiK  XV.  8.  I'K4l.<nj,  liziiv.  13 ;  m  '«hicSi  Ckiittmai  u  c<l.1lv' 


thropy.       No 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


67 


on   country 


.nent  ot  his  antiquated  little  study,  the  pages  of  old 
tim«?s  were  to  him  as  the  gazettes  of  the  day ;  while 
the  era  of  the  Revolution  was  mere  modem  history. 
He  forgot  that  nearly  two  centuries  had  elapsed 
since  the  fiery  persecution  of  poor  mince-pie  through- 
out the  land  ;  wheii  plum  porridge  was  denounced  as 
'mere  p.ipery,"  and  roast  beef  as  anti-christian ; 
and  that  l.hristmas  had  been  brought  in  again  tri- 
smphanlly  with  the  merry  court  cf  King  Charles  at 
i}!."  Restoration.  He  kindled  into  warmth  with  the 
jj.-lour  of  his  contest,  and  the  host  of  imaginary  foes 
-,r  th  wiiom  he  had  to  combat ;  he  had  a  stubtioni 
c  mflict  with  old  Prynne  and  two  or  three  other  for- 
gotten champions  of  the  Round  Heads,  on  the  subject 
ol  Christmas  festivity ;  and  concluded  by  urging  his 
hearers,  in  the  mosi  solemn  and  affecting  manner, 
to  stand  to  the  traditional  customs  of  their  fathers, 
and  feast  and  make  merry  on  this  joyful  anniversary 
cf  the  church. 

1  have  seldom  known  a  sermon  attended  appar- 
ently with  more  immediate  effects ;  for  on  leaving 
the  church,  the  congregation  seemed  one  and  all 
possessed  with  the  gayety  of  spirit  so  earnestly  en- 
joined by  their  pastor.  The  elder  folks  gathered  in 
knots  in  the  cliurchyard,  greeting  and  shaking 
hands:  and  the  children  ran  about  cr)'ing,  "  Ule ! 
Ule  !  "  and  repeating  some  uncouth  rhymes,*  which 
(he  parson,  who  had  joined  us,  informed  me,  had 
lieen  handed  down  from  days  of  yore.  The  vil- 
lagers doffed  their  hats  to  the  "Squire  as  he 
passed,  giving  him  the  good  wishes  of  the  season 
with  every  apf)earance  of  heartfelt  sincerity,  and 
were  invited  by  him  to  the  hall,  to  take  something 
10  keep  out  the  cold  of  the  weather ;  and  1  heard 
blessings  uttered  by  several  of  the  poor,  v;hich  con- 
V  n^'d  me  that,  in  the  midst  of  his  enjoyments,  the 
v.nrttiy  old  cavalier  had  not  forgotten  the  true 
l^lin'.tmas  virtue  of  charity. 

On  our  way  homewaid,  his  heart  seemed  over- 
!!r.wing  with  generous  and  happy  feelings.  As  we 
pA.ised  over  a  rising  ground  which  commanded 
something  of  a  prospect,  the  sounds  of  rustic  mer- 
riment now  and  then  reached  our  ears  ;  the  'Squire 
p.iiised  for  a  few  moments,  and  looked  around  wi:h 
an  air  of  inexpressible  benignity.  The  beauty  of 
ttie  day  was,  of  itself,  sufficient  to  inspire  plulan- 
thropy.  Notwithstanding  the  frostiness  of  the 
morning,  the  sun  in  his  cloudless  journey  had  ac- 
quired sutficienl  power  to  melt  away  the  thin  cover- 
ing of  snow  from  every  southern  declivity,  and  to 
bring  out  the  living  green  which  adorns  an  English 
landscape  even  in  mid-winter.  Large  tracts  of  smil- 
ing verdure,  contrasted  with  the  dazzling  whiteness 
of  the  shaded  sloi>es  and  hollows.  Every  sheltered 
bank,  on  which  the  broad  rays  rested,  yielded  its  sil- 
ver rill  of  cold  and  limpid  water,  glittering  through 
the  dripping  grass;  and  sent  ui)  slight  exhalations 
to  contnbute  to  the  thin  haze  that  hung  just  above 
the  surface  of  the  earth.  Tiiere  w.-J.i  something  truly 
chei'ring  in  this  triumph  of  warm'Ji  and  verdure  over 
he  frosty  tr.rahlom  of  winter  ;  it  was,  as  the  'Squire 
j')srrved,  an  emblem  of  Christmas  hospitality,  break- 
ing thriiugh  'he  chills  of  ceremony  and  selfishness, 
md  tliawing  every  heart  into  a  flow.  He  pointed 
kvith  pleasuf  to  the  indications  of  good  cheer  reek- 
i'lg  from  die  chimneys  of  the  comfortable  fann- 
.ijuses,  and  »<rr/ thatched  cottages.  "I  love,"  said 
h-^,  "  to  see  rlus  <Uy  well  kept  by  rich  and  poor ;  it 

Anti-chriiT**  mtA%e^  Kud  c&ofe  MaU£~raoRgers  and  Papisu  *'lio  ol>- 
AAY€  Lt  Ac.  In  coQseqtmKC  of  which  ParUaipcnt  spent  some 
time  ID  T^niiiltation  abojt  tue  abolition  of  Christmas  ^/.y.  pa&sed 
9r<i«»*  t<^  ih»(  vffcct  anil  rawilved  to  sit  en  the  following  day  which 
na  oaMBODlv  callmi  ^:hn>tmu  day." 

•  ••  tJle  !  Ult  I 

I'hrec  paidiaf,..  in  a  nuts  ; 
Crack  una  ^nd  cry  ule  1 " 


is  a  great  thing  to  have  one  day  in  the  year,  it  least, 
when  you  are  sure  of  being  welcome  wherever  yor 
go,  and  of  having,  as  it  were,  the  world  all  throwu 
open  to  you ;  and  I  am  almost  disposed  to  join  witfc 
poor  Robin,  in  his  malediction  on  every  churlish 
enemy  to  this  honest  festival : 

" '  Thoae  who  at  Christmas  do  rrpine. 
And  wonid  fain  hence  despatch  him, 
May  they  with  old  Duke  Humphry  dine. 
Or  else  may  'Squire  Ketch  catch  him. 

The  'Squire  went  on  to  lament  the  deplorable  de- 
cay of  '.he  games  and  amusements  which  were  once 
prevalent  at  this  season  among  the  lower  orders,  and 
countenanced  by  the  higher ;  when  the  old  halls  of 
castles  and  manor-houses  were  thrown  open  at  day- 
light ;  when  the  tables  were  cove reil  with  brawn, 
and  beef,  .and  humming  ale ;  when  the  harp  and  the 
carol  resounded  all  d.ay  long,  and  when  rich  and 
poor  were  alike  welcome  to  enter  and  make  merry.* 
"  Our  old  ^ames  and  local  customs,"  said  he,  "  had 
a  great  efiect  in  making  the  peasant  fond  of  his 
home,  and  the  promotion  of  them  by  the  gentry 
made  him  fond  of  his  lord.  They  made  the  times 
merrier,  and  kinder,  and  better,  and  I  can  truly  say 
with  one  of  our  old  poets, 

**  I  like  them  welt— the  curious  preciteneu 
And  all-pretended  gravity  of  thobe 
That  seek  to  banish  hence  the»e  haiinleu  iporti, 
Have  thrust  away  much  ancient  bouekty." 

"  The  nation,"  continued  he,  "  is  altered ;  we 
have  almost  lost  our  simple  tnie-hearted  peasantry 
They  have  broken  asunder  from  the  higher  classes, 
and  seem  to  tliink  their  interests  are  separate.  Thc;j 
have  become  loo  knowing,  and  begin  tc,  read  r'-wi 
papers,  li.sien  to  alehouse  politicians,  and  ta'ik  of  re- 
form. 1  think  one  mode  to  keep  them  in  ^ood 
humour  in  these  hard  times,  would  be  for  the  nobil- 
ity and  gentry  to  pass  more  time  o'  their  estates, 
mingle  more  among  the  country  people,  and  set  the 
merry  old  English  games  going  again." 

Such  was  tiie  good  'Squire's  project  for  mitigating 
public  discontent :  and,  indeed,  he  had  once  at- 
tempted to  put  his  doctrine  in  practice,  and  a  few 
years  before  had  kept  open  house  during  the  holy- 
days  in  the  okl  style.  Th.e  country  people,  however, 
did  not  understand  how  to  jilay  their  parts  in  the 
scene  of  huspitality ;  many  uncouth  circumstances 
occurred  ;  tlie  manor  was  overrun  by  all  the  v.agrants 
of  the  country,  and  more  beggars  drawn  into  the 
neighbourhood  in  one  week  »Iian  tlie  parish  officers 
couKl  get  rid  of  in  a  year.  Since  then,  he  had  con- 
tented himself  with  inviting  the  decent  part  of  the 
neighbouring  peasantry  to  call  at  the  Hall  on  Christ- 
mas day,  and  with  distributing  beef  and  bread,  and 
ale,  among  the  poor,  that  they  might  make  merry  in 
their  own  dwellings. 

We  liad  no^  been  long  home,  when  the  sound  of 
music  was  heard  from  a  distance.  A  band  of  coun- 
try lads,  without  coats,  their  shirt-sleeves  fancifully 
tied  with  ribands,  their  hats  decorated  wiih  greens, 
and  clut)s  in  their  hands,  were  seen  advancing  u]E 
the  avenue,  followed  by  a  large  number  cf  viliageii 
and  peasantry.  They  stopjied  before  the  hall  door, 
where  the  music  struck  up  a  peculiar  air,  and  the 
lads  performed  a  curious  and  intricate  dance,  ad 
vancing,  retreating,  and  striking  their  clubs  together 

*  "An  Knglish  gentleman  at  the  openinc  of  the  ([reat  day,  i.  t. 
on  Chiisimas  day  lu  the  mominK,  had  all  hi*  tenants  and  oei^.b- 
huun  entered  his  hall  by  day-oreak.  The  iMimK  beer  was 
broached,  and  the  black  jacks  went  plentifully  abovit  with  toast, 
su|^^  and  nutmeg,  and  ^wtA  Cheshire  cheese.  The  Hackin  (ihi 
great  sausage^  must  be  boiled  by  ,lay-break,  or  else  two  young  men 
must  take  the  maidea  (».  e.  the  cook)  by  the  arms  and  run  hei 
round  the  market  place  till  she  ia  sb^mcd  of  UeT  laiiuMui."- 
Scund  about  o»r  Sta-Cettl  t'irt. 


WORKS   OF  WASHING  rON   IRVING. 


^^ 


it  %.. 


I    I 


4-... 

,   »  ■  <■ 


•t-... 


keeping  exact  time  to  the  music ;  while  one,  wljim- 
sically  crowned  with  a  fox's  sl<in,  the  tail  of  which 
flaunted  down  his  back,  Itept  capering  round  the 
skirts  of  the  dance,  and  rattling  a  Christmas-box 
with  many  antic  gesticulations. 

The  'Squire  eyed  this  fanciful  exhibition  with 
great  interest  and  delight,  and  gave  me  a  full  ac- 
count of  its  origin,  wliich  he  traced  to  the  times 
when  the  Romans  held  possession  of  the  island  ; 
plainly  proving  that  this  was  a  lineal  cltsccndant  of 
the  sword-dance  of  the  ancients.  "  It  was  now,"  he 
said,  "  nearly  extinct,  but  he  had  accidentally  met 
Vitli  traces  of  it  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  had  en- 
couraged its  revival ;  though,  to  tell  the  truth,  it  wis 
too  apt  to  be  followed  up  by  rough  cudgel-play,  and 
broken  heads,  in  the  evening." 

After  the  dance  was  concluded,  the  whole  party 
was  entertained  with  brawn  and  beef,  and  stout 
home-trewed.  The  'Squire  himself  mingled  among 
the  rustics,  and  was  n.ceived  with  awkward  demon- 
strations oi  deference  and  regard.  It  is  true,  1  pfrr- 
ceived  two  or  three  of  the  younger  pcasa/its,  as  they 
were  raising  their  tankarcls  to  their  mouths,  when 
the  'Squire's  back  was  turned,  making  something  of 
a  giimace,  and  giving  each  other  the  wink  ;  but  the 
moment  they  caii<;ht  my  eye  they  pulled  grave  faces, 
and  were  exceedingly  demure.  With  Master  Simon, 
however,  they  all  seemed  more  at  their  ease.  His 
varied  occupations  and  amusements  hud  made  him 
well  known  throughout  the  neighbourhood.  He  was 
a  visitor  at  every  fanii-house  and  cottage  ;  gossiped 
with  the  farmers  and  their  wives ;  romped  with  (heir 
dauKhters  ;  and,  like  that  type  of  a  vagrant  bachelor 
the  humble-bee,  tolled  the  sweets  from  all  the  rosy 
l.'ps  of  the  country  round. 

The  bashlulncss  of  the  guests  soon  gave  way  be- 
fore good  ciieer  and  alTabiliiy.  There  is  soinethinij 
"genuine  and  affectionate  in  tiie  gayety  of  the  lower 
orders,  when  it  is  excited  by  the  bounty  and  tamiliar- 
ity  of  those  above  them  ;  the  vv:irm  glow  of  gratitude 
enters  into  their  mirth,  and  a  kind  word  or  a  small 
pleasantry  frankly  uttered  by  a  patron,  gladdens  the' 
hrart  of  the  dependant  more  than  oil  and  wine. 
When  the  'Squire  had  retired,  the  merriment  in- 
creased, and  there  was  much  joking  and  laughter, 
particularly  hetvv-een  Master  Simon  and  a  hale, 
ruddy-faced,  white-headed  fanner,  who  appeared  to 
be  the  wit  of  the  village  ;  for  1  observed  all  his  com- 
panions to  wait  with  open  mouths  for  i.is  retorts, 
and  burst  into  a  gratuitous  laugh  before  they  could 
well  understand  them. 

The  whole  house  indeed  seemed  abandoned  to 
merriment :  As  I  passed  to  my  room  to  dress  for 
dinner,  I  heard  the  sound  of  music  in  a  small  court, 
anil  looking  thrr.)u;;h  a  window  that  coinmandcd  it,  I 
perceived  a  bind  of  wandering  musicians,  with  pan- 
dean  pipes  and  tambourine ;  a  pretty  coquettish 
housem;i.id  was  dancing  a  jig  with  a  smart  country 
ls.d,  while  several  of  the  othiT  servants  were  Iimkinj; 
on.  In  th;;  midst  of  her  sport,  the  girl  cmght  a 
glimpse  of  iViy  lace  at  the  window,  and  colouring  u[). 
ran  off  with  an  air  ol  ros'iish  atTected  confusion. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  DiNNER. 


Lo,  now  is  come  our  jovful  tt  feut  I 

l.et  every  man  be  jolly, 
Each  roonie  wiih  yvie  leaves  is  dnst. 

And  every  post  with  holljr.  y 

Now  all  our  iiei|;hb<jur«'  chimncyt  cmak« 

And  Christinas  blockfl  are  buriung; 
Their  ovens  they  with  bak't  meals  cnoka. 
And  all  their  spitk  are  turning. 
Without  the  door  let  sorrow  lie,  ^ 

And  if,  for  cold,  it  hap  to  die. 
Wee  'I  bury  't  in  a  Christmas  pye. 
And  evermore  be  merry. 

Withers'  ynttailia. 

I  HAD  finished  my  toilet,  and  was  loitering  witt 
Frank  Bracebridge  in  the  library,  when  we  heard  a 
distant  thwacking  soui.d,  which  he  informed  mc  was 
a  signal  for  the  serving  up  of  the  dinner.  The  'Squire 
kept  'jp  old  customs  in  kitchen  as  well  as  hall ;  and 
the  "jUing-pin  struck  upon  the  dresser  by  the  cock, 
sunuDoned  the  servants  to  carry  in  the  meats. 

Just  in  this  nick  the  cook  knock'd  thrice, 
Aud  all  the  waiters  in  a  trice, 

Hi.s  summons  did  obey  ; 
Each  serving  man,  with  dish  in  hand, 
M.iiched  bndly  up,  like  out  train  band, 

Presented,  and  away.* 

The  dinner  was  served  up  in  the  great  hall,  where 
the  'Squire  always  held  his  Christmas  banquet.  A 
blazing  crackling  fire  of  logs  had  been  heaped  on  to 
warm  the  spacious  apartment,  and  the  flame  went 
sparkling  and  wreathing  up  the  witle-mouthed  chim- 
ney. The  great  picture  of  the  crusader  and  his  white 
hoise  had  been  profusely  decorated  with  greens  for 
the  occasion ;  and  holly  and  ivy  had  likewise  been 
wreathed  round  the  helmet  and  weapons  on  the  o\> 
posite  wall,  which  I  understood  were  the  aruiS  of  the 
same  warrior.  I  must  own,  by-the-by,  I  had  strong 
doubts  about  the  authenticity  of  the  painting  and 
armour  as  having  belonged  to  the  crusader,  they  cer- 
tainly having  the  stamp  of  more  recent  days  ;  but  I 
was  told  that  the  painting  had  been  so  considered 
time  out  of  mind  ;  and  that,  as  to  the  armour,  it  had 
been  found  in  a  lumlier-room,  and  elevated  to  its 
present  situation  by  the  'Stjuire,  who  at  once  deter- 
mined it  to  be  tne  armour  of  the  family  hero  ;  and  as 
he  was  absolute  authority  on  all  such  subjects  in  his 
own  household,  the  matter  had  passed  into  current 
acceptation.  A  sideboard  was  set  out  just  under 
this  chivalric  trophy,  on  which  w.ts  a  display  of  plate 
that  might  have  vied  (at  least  in  variety)  with  IJel- 
shazzar's  parade  ot  the  vessels  of  the  temple;  "fla- 
gons, cans,  cups,  beakers,  goblets,  basins,  and  ew- 
ers ;  "  the  gorj^'-ous  utensils  of  good  companionship 
ih.'it  had  gr.idiMlly  atcumulatc'l  throiigti  many  gen- 
er.itioiis  ol  jovial  hoii'.ekeepers.  Before  these  stood 
t!  e  two  yule  candles,  beaming  like  two  stars  of  tha 
til  St  iiM^iiitude ;  other  lights  were  distributed  in 
br.inches,  an<l  the  whole  array  glittered  like  a  firma- 
mtnt  ot  silver. 

V.'e  w'.-ie  uihered  into  this  banquetinc  scene  with 
the  sound  of  minstrelsy  ;  the  old  harp<,r  L^-ing  srated 
on  a  siool  beside  the  tire-place,  and  twangm).'  his  iu- 
strument  with  a  vast  deal  more  power  thati  ::eiodv. 
Never  did  iThristmas  board  display  a  more  gf>')d!f 
and  gracious  assemblage  of  countenanc-s  ;  t^oii 
who  we;  not  handsome,  were,  at  least,  happy ;  and 
happiness  is  a  rare  improver  of  vour  hard-.avour.i' 
visage.  I  always  ci-nsider  an  oitf  English  family  ai 
well  worth  studying  as  a  c.'bection  of  Holtwinj  por- 
traits, or  Altiert  Durer's  prints.  There  is  mucti  aii 
tiquarian  lore  to  be  acquired  ;  much  knowledge  o> 
the  phys:ognomies  ot  former  limes.     Pcrhapi  it  ma« 


p!e<cf(l  me,  until 


iiig  in  itsrlf,  but 


•  Sit  lohn  Suckiine. 


n 


U. 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  GiNT. 


61 


9e  trom  having  continually  before  their  eyes  those 
rows  of  old  family  portraits,  with  which  the  man- 
rjons  of  this  country  are  stocked ;  certain  it  is,  that 
the  quaint  features  of  antiquity  are  often  most  faith- 
fully perpetuated  in  these  ancient  lines ;  and  I  have 
traced  an  old  family  nose  tiirough  a  vhole  picture- 
gallery,  legitimately  handed  down  from  generation 
'D  generation  almost  from  the  time  of  the  Conquest. 
y.,niething  of  the  kind  was  to  be  obse^^ed  in  the 
s&rthy  company  around  me.  Many  of  their  faces 
';jr!  evidently  originated  in  a  Gothic  age,  and  been 
Merely  copied  by  succeeding  generations  ;  and  there 
vas  one  Kttle  girl,  in  particular,  of  staid  demeanour, 
v/itli  a  high  Roman  nose,  and  an  antique  vinegar  as- 
pct,  who  was  a  great  favourite  of  the  'Squire's,  be- 
in,'j,  as  he  said,  a  Bracebridge  all  over,  and  the  very 
coiinierpart  of  one  of  his  ancestors  who  figured  in 
the  court  of  Henry  VIII. 

The  parson  said  grace,  which  was  not  a  short  fa- 
miliar one,  such  as  is  commonly  addressed  to  the 
Dtity  in  these  unceremonious  days ;  but  a  long, 
courtly,  well  -  worded  one  of  the  ancient  school. 
There  was  now  a  pause,  as  if  something  was  ex- 
pected ;  when  suddenly  the  butler  entered  the  hall 
with  some  degree  of  bustle  :  he  was  attended  by  a 
servant  on  each  side  with  a  large  wax-light,  and  bore 
a  silver  dish,  on  which  was  an  enormous  pig's  head, 
decorated  with  rosemary,  with  a  lemon  in  its  mouth, 
which  was  placed  with  great  formality  at  the  head 
of  thr  table.  The  moment  this  pageant  made  its 
ippeariiice,  the  harper  struck  up  a  flourish ;  at  the 
conclusion  of  which  the  young  Oxonian,  on  receiving 
a  hint  froin'the  'Squire,  gave,  with  an  air  of  the  most 
con-ic  gravity,  an  old  carol,  the  first  verse  of  which 
vii  as  follows : 

Caput  apri  defero 

UrcM»ns  i.imles  Domino. 
The  b(i;ir's  hcaJ  iu  hand  brinu  I. 
With  garlaiiils  tiay  and  rosemary. 
*l  pray  you  all  synjjc  rnerity 

Qui  cstis  ill  cuiivivio. 

Thnr.srh  prepared  to  witriess  many  of  these  little 
ti-:i-utricitii\s,  from  being  apprized  of  the  peculiar 
liohby  of  mine  host  ;  yet,  I  confess,  the  pirade  with 
wluch  so  odd  a  dish  was  introduced  somewhat  per- 
plesvd  nte,  until  I  f;atiiered  from  the  conversation  of 
the  'Sijiiire  and  the  parson,  that  it  was  meant  to  rep- 
resent the  bringing  in  of  the  boar's  head — a  dish 
foniicrly  served  up  with  inuch  ceremony,  and  the 
sc'.ind  of  minstrelsy  and  song,  at  great  tables  on 
Christmas  d.iy.  "  1  like  the  old  custom,"  said  the 
'.Scjuirf,  •■  not  merely  because  it  is  stately  and  pleas- 
ing \n  itsrlf.  but  because  it  was  observed  at  the  col- 
lege at  Oxford,  at  which  I  w;is  educated.  When  I 
iie.ir  the  old  song  chanted,  it  brinj.;s  to  mind  the  time 
whtn  1  was  young  and  gamesome— ^and  the  noble 
ciii  collegt-  hall  -and  my  fellow-stuilents  loitering 
ahovit  in  their  black  gowns  ;  many  of  whom,  poor 
lads,  are  now  in  tln'ir  graves!  " 

I'he  parson,  however,  whose  ir.ind  was  not  haunt- 
ed by  such  associations,  and  wlio  w.is  always  mere 
taken  u])  with  the  text  than  the  seiitii'ient,  objected 
to  the  '.)\oriian's  version  of  il^e  carol ;  which  he  af- 
firmed I  as  diiferfnt  from  that  sung  at  college.  He 
nj'at  on,  with  the  dry  perseverance  of  a  coinment.a- 
tCT.  fo  give  the  college  readin.j,  accompanied  by 
5'jn  1  y  annotations;  addressing  hiniself  at  I'ust  to 
til';  company  at  large;  but  finding  their  attention 
graduaily  diverted  to  oilier  talk,  and  otiier  o'ljocls, 
lie  lowertx!  his  tone  .is  his  number  of  auditors  di- 
ininislied,  until  he  loiicludetl  his  remaiks  in  an  under 
voire,  to  a  fat-hcadcd  old  geatli.-m.in  next  hiin.  who 
was  silently  engi^-eil  m  the  discussioH  of  a  hii^'e 
pla'e-fuU  of  tuikey.* 

•The  rid  ceremony  ol  ^em/inj  up  We  boar'i  head  on  Chr  t'.miu 
Jav,  ia  itiU  obiovcd  m  ihr  haU  of  Quccu'i'  CoUm*,  Oxford.    1  tn* 


The  tabic  was  literally  loaded  with  good  cheer 
and  presented  an  epitome  of  country  abundance,  io 
this  season  of  overflowing  larders.  A  distinguished 
post  was  allotted  to  "  ancient  sirloin,"  as  mine  host 
termed  it ;  being,  as  he  added,  "  the  standard  ol  old 
English  hospitality,  and  a  joint  of  goodly  presence, 
ancl  full  of  expectation."  There  were  several  dishe: 
quaintly  decorated,  and  which  h.ad  evidently  soma- 
thing  traditional  in  their  embellishments  ;  but  about 
whicn,  as  I  did  not  like  to  appear  over-curious,  ^ 
asked  no  q'lestions. 

I  could  not,  however,  but  notice  a  pie,  magnificent- 
ly decor.ated  with  peacocks'  feathers,  in  imitation  ol 
the  t.ail  of  that  bird,  which  overshadowed  a  con- 
siderable tract  of  the  ta^ie.  This,  the  Squire  con- 
fessed, with  some  little  hesitation,  was  a  pheasant 
pie,  though  a  peacock  pie  was  certainly  the  most  au- 
thentical ;  but  there  had  been  such  a  mortality  among 
the  peacocks  this  season,  that  he  could  not  prevail 
upon  himself  to  have  one  killed.* 

It  would  be  tedious,  perhaps,  to  my  wiser  readers, 
who  may  not  have  that  foolisn  fondness  for  odd  and 
obsolete  things  to  which  I  am  a  little  given,  were  I 
to  mention  the  other  mjike-sliifts  of  this  worthy  old 
humorist,  by  which  he  was  endeavouring  to  follow 
up,  though  at  humble  distance,  the  quaiiit  customs 
of  antit]uity.  I  was  pleased,  however,  to  see  the  re- 
spect shown  to  his  whims  by  his  children  and  rela- 
tives ;  who,  indeed,  entered  readily  into  the  full  spirit 
of  them,  and  seemed  all  well  versed  in  their  parts ; 
having  doubtless  been  present  at  many  a  rehearsal. 
I  was  amused,  too,  at  the  air  of  profound  gravity 
with  which  the  butler  and  other  servants  executed 
the  duties  assigned  them,  however  eccentric.  They 
had  an  old-fashioned  look  ;  having,  for  the  most  part, 
been  brought  up  in  the  household,  and  grown  into 
keeping  with  the  antiquated  mansion,  and  the 
hutnours  of  its  lord  ;  and  most  probably  looked  upon 
all  his  whimsical  regulations  as  the  established  laws 
of  honourable  housekeeping. 

When  the  cloth  was  removed,  the  butler  brought 
in  a  huge  silver  vessel,  of  rare  and  curious  workman- 
ship, which  he  placed  before  the  'Squire.  Its  appear- 
ance was  hailed  with  acclamation  ;  being  the  Was- 
sail Bowl,  so  renowned  in  Christmas  festivity.  The 
contents  had  been  prepared  by  the  'Squire  himself ; 

favoured  by  the  parson  with  a  copy  of  the  carol  as  now  sung,  and 
as  it  may  be  acceutable  to  such  of  my  readers  as  are  curious  in  ibeac 
grave  and  learned  matters,  1  give  it  entire  : 

The  boar's  head  in  hand  bear  I, 
Bedeck'd  witli  bays  and  rosemary; 
And  I  pray  you,  my  masters,  be  merry, 
Quot  cstis  in  convivio. 
Caput  apri  defero. 
Reddens  laudes  Domino. 

The  boar's  head,  as  I  understand. 
Is  the  tarrst  dish  in  all  this  land. 
Which  thus  bedeck'd  with  a  gay  g&rUad 
Let  us  scrvire  cantico. 
Caput  apri  defero,  Ac. 

Our  steward  hath  provided  this 
In  honour  of  the  King  of  Bliss. 
Which  on  this  day  to  oe  servec  ii 
111  K?i{iiieiiM  Atrio. 
Caput  apn  defero, 
&c..  Ac,  iLC 

*  The  peacock  was  anciently  in  peat  demand  for  anitelT  onier. 
tainments.  Sometimes  it  was  made  into  a  pie,  at  one  end  i»f  whic.': 
the  head  appeared  above  the  crust  in  all  its  plum.igc,  with  the  betli 
riihly  t;iU  ;  at  the  other  end  the  tail  was  displayed.  Such  pirs  wcr* 
served  up  at  the  ioleinn  banquets  of  chivalry,  when  Kninhtscrranl 
pirdged  ihcmsefves  to  undertake  any  perilous  enterprise,  whence 
rame  the  ancient  oath,  used  by  Justice  hhallow,  "  by  cock  and  ^nt." 

The  peacock  was  also  an  important  dish  for  the  ChrLssmas  fem, 
and  Massinj;er,  in  his  City  Madam,  gives  some  idea  of  the  cKiraTft. 
gance  with  which  this,  as  well  a.s  other  dishes,  was  prepared  for  iJu 
gnr^c.'Ut  revels  of  the  oKlcii  tunes  : 

Men  may  talk  .if  Country  Chnstmasses. 

Their  thirty  pound  buttcr'd  esgi.  their  pies  of  carp*'  longncs : 

Their  pheasants  drench  d  with  anbergiu  ;  /*/  ■.-arto.wi  ti/  liru 
/.il  wtlhiit  trnUdii /)r  gravy  If  mnkt  iittm  /»  4i  iim^iit  fta 
ckH 


i 


au 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


r:.%. 


I 


I  ! 


Tor  it  was  a  beverage,  in  the  skilful  mixture  of  which 
he  particularly  prdetl  himself:  alleging  that  it  was 
too  abstruse  ami  complex  for  the  comprehension  of 
an  ordinary  servant.  It  was  a  potation,  indeed,  that 
might  W(!ll  riiril^e  the  heart  of  a  toper  leap  within 
him ;  beiii);  composed  of  the  richest  and  raciest 
wines,  highly  spiced  and  sweetened,  with  roasted 
apples  bobhinjT  about  the  siirfnce.* 

I'he  old  gentleman's  whole  countenance  beamed 
J>afh  a  serene  look  of  indwelling  delight,  as  he  stirnni 
Uii  mighty  bowl.  Having  raised  it  to  his  lips,  with 
*  hearty  wish  of  a  merry  (."hristmas  to  all  piesent,  he 
sent  it  brimming  round  the  board,  for  eve'y  one  to 
follow  his  ex.imple  .-iccording  to  the  primitive  style ; 
pronouncing  it  "  the  ancient  fountain  of  gojd  feeling, 
where  all  he.irts  met  together."! 

There  was  much  laughmg  and  rallying,  as  the 
honest  emblem  of  Christinas  jo"i,iiity  circulated,  and 
was  kisseil  rather  coyly  by  tlie  ladies.  IJut  when  it 
reached  Maatcr  Simon,  he  'aised  it  in  both  hands, 
and  with  the  air  ol  a  boon  companion,  struck  up  an 
old  Wassail  C.'ianson : 

The  brown  bowle, 

IHc  mriry  hrnwn  bowie, 

Ak  it  KocM  ruuiid  alxjul-a, 

riti 

Slill, 
l>e(  iht  world  iiy  whal  it  will. 
And  drink  your  fill  all  oiit-A. 

Tile  drep  canne, 

'I'he  nierr>  deep  canne, 

At  tluiu  Uutl  fiecly  iiuafT-*, 

Fling, 
He  ru  merry  u  a  1iui]{, 
And  sound  a  lii^iy  l.)a>;h>a.$ 

Much  of  the  conversation  during  dinner  turned 
ttf>on  taiiiily  topics,  to  which  I  was  a  stranger.  There 
was,  howcvf-r,  a  great  deal  of  rallying  of  Master  Si- 
fnon  about  some  gay  widow,  with  whom  he  was  ac- 
fjused  (it  tuiving  a  flirtation.  This  attack  was  com- 
'iienoed  t)V  the  ladies  ;  but  it  was  continued  through- 
out the  limner  by  the  t,u-liead<:d  old  gentleman  next 
tiie  pars'. n,  with  the  piTsevering  assiduity  of  a  slow 
hound  ;  heiiig  one  of  those  long-winded  jokers,  who, 
though  rather  dull  at  starting  game,  are  unrivalled 
for  tiieir  talents  in  hunting  it  flown.  At  every  pause 
in  the  general  conversation,  he  renewed  his  banter- 
ing in  pntiv  much  the  same  terms;  winking  hard  at 
me  with  l.oth  eyes,  whenever  he  gave  Master  Simjn 
what  he  coiisldcred  a  home  thnist.  The  latter,  in- 
deed, scenii-d  tond  of  i)eiiig  te.ised  on  the  subject, 
as  old  bach'  lors  are  apt  to  be  ;  and  he  took  occ.ision 
to  iniorm  me,  in  an  under-tone,  that  the  lady  in 
question  w,is  a  prodigiously  fine  woman  and  drove 
her  own  curricle. 

The  dinncT-time  passed  away  in  this  flow  of  inno- 
cent hdariiy,  and  though  the  old  hall  may  have  re- 
sounded in  Its  time  with  many  a  scene  of  broader 
rout  and  revel,  \et  I  doulit  whether  it  ever  witnessed 
more  honest  and  genuine  enjoyment.  How  easy  it 
is   for   one   benevolent    l»eing    to   diffuse    pleasure 


•  Tha  W*A'.:,it  Bowl  wns  snoietimrs  composi?d  of  ate  instead  of 
i»c!  *  ;  with  niUroei^.  »ij.7ar.  t.)ast,ginf;er.  and  roa..ted  orahx  ■  ii,  ihi» 
v^vj  iVic  i\-j! -brow^n  neveia^e  is  srill  Dreparcd  in  *oiii«  old  families, 
>l;i  round  the  |.^.VTlh  of  .idif (.-intial  fainiers  i,t  Chns'.mas.  It  is 
ai^o  called  l^imb's  Wool,  and  it  a  celeliratcd  by  Herrick  in  his 
fnat.'lh  Nigbt : 

'  Next  crowne  the  bowIe  full 

With  gentle  I.anib\  Wool,         ' 
Add  ^uf;a.-,  nutmcf^,  and  ginger. 
With  store  of  alo  t'-o  ; 
And  thus  ve  mu'it  doe 
To  maire  the  ^Va.^iailc  a  ttwinger. 

+  "  The  cuftom  of  drinlcing  out  of  the  same  cup  gave  place  to 
«acii  htvivjj  hiccup.     When  the  steward  came  to  the  doore  with  i 
U»«  V."fi.i.sel,  he  vnw  to  cry  three  liaes,  K-oar//,  Wiitttl ,  IKuir/.  and 
thm    the  chr.ppell    (chapLam)    <raa    to    answer  with   a  song."— 

t  Prom  Pi>o-  Kobin'c  Aiauinwk. 


around  him ;  and  how  truly  is  a  kind  heart  a  fount 
ain  of  gladness,  making  every  thing  in  its  vicinity  tq 
freshen  into  smiles  !  The  joyous  disposition  of  tht 
worthy  'Squire  was  perfectly  contagious ,  he  w.i\ 
happy  himself,  and  disposed  to  make  all  thewoild 
happy  ;  and  the  little  eccentricities  of  his  h<imo-.ir 
did  but  se.ison,  in  a  manner,  the  sweetness  of  'ms 
philanihropy. 

When  tllb  l.idies  h.ad  retired,  the  conversatiot\  .• 
U'ual,  became  still  more  animated  :  many  guoti  ihi 
were  broached  which  h<ad  been  thought  of  ilur  | 
dinner,  but  which  would  i  ct  ex.ictly  do  lor  a  laiKs 
ear;  ami  though  1  cannot  positively  affirm  that  tluie 
was  much  wit  uttered,  yet  I  h,ave  certainly  he.ini 
many  contests  of  rare  wit  produce  much  less  lau^,'ii. 
ter.  Wit,  a''tcr  all,  is  a  mighty  tart,  pungent  in. 
gredient,  and  much  too  acid  for  some  siom.tchs, 
but  honest  good-humour  is  the  oil  and  wine  ot  a 
merry  meeting,  and  there  is  no  jovial  com])ani<)nsl  ip 
equal  to  that,  where  the  jokes  are  rather  sm.all,  .ind 
the  laughter  abundant. 

The  'Scjuire  told  sever.al  long  stories  of  early  rol 
lege  pranks  and  adventures,  in  some  of  which  the 
oarson  ha<l  been  a  sii.irer ;  though  in  looking  at  i!,- 
latter,  it  re(|uired  some  effort  of  imagination  to  fig  re 
such  a  little  dark  anatomy  of  a  man,  into  the  pet;  •■- 
traiorof  a  m.idcap  gambol.  Indeed,  the  two  colli  ^'t 
chums  presented  jiictures  of  what  men  may  be  m.ilc 
by  their  difftTeiit  lots  in  life:  the '.Squire  h;!d  left  tiie 
university  to  live  lustily  on  his  paternal  domains,  in 
the  vigorous  enjoyment  of  prosperity  and  sunshine 
and  had  llourisheil  on  to  a  hearty  and  tloiidold  .i;c, 
whilst  the  [)oi)r  jiarson,  on  the  contrary,  had  th''' 
anil  withered  away,  among  dusty  tomes,  in  th;'  siiui  ,' 
and  shadows  of  his  study.  Still  there  seemed  t(>  '/. 
a  spark  of  almost  extinguished  lire,  fielily  glimm'  i 
iiig  in  the  bottom  of  his  soul ;  and,  as  the  'S'  n  r- 
hinted  at  a  sly  story  of  the  parson  and  a  pieity  m  ik- 
maid  whom  they  once  met  on  the  banks  of  the  U  ■ 
the  old  gentleman  made  an  "alphalx^t  of  laccv' 
which,  as  far  as  1  could  decipher  nis  physio(.;noui\ 
I  very  believe  w.is  indicative  of  laughter  ;— indeeii.  i 
have  rarely  met  with  an  old  gentleman  th.ii  \V'k\ 
absolute  otlence  at  the  imputed  gallantries  of  I 
youth. 

I  found  the  tide  of  wine  and  wassail  fast  gairiiig  i 
on  the  dry  land  of  sober  judgment.    The  conii).ir\ 
grew  merrier  and  louder,  as  their  jokes  grew  dul  ci. 
Master  Simtin  was  in  as  chirping  a  humour  as  a[ 
grassho[>per  hlled  with  tlew  ;  iiis  old  songs  grew  n! 
a  wanner  complexion,  and  he  began  ti  talk  mauillin  I 
.about  the  widow.     He  even  gave  a  long  song  ahmi; 
the  wooing  of  a  widow,  which  he  informed  me  )\t  i 
had  gathered  trotn  an  excellent   black-letter   worU 
entitled  '•  Cupid's  Solicitor  lor   Love  ; "  containir.i; 
store  of  good  advice  for   bachelors,  and  which  he 
promised  to  lend  me;  the   hrsi  verse  was   to   ihi!  | 
fjClect : 

He  that  will  woo  a  widow  must  not  dally, 
He  m.ut  m^e  hay  while  the  »im  Jolh  shin  ; 

He  mull  not  (land  with  her,  •h.ill  I,  shall  I, 
But  boldly  say,  Widow,  thou  must  be  atine. 

This  song  inspired  the  fat-headed  old  gcnllemjin 
who  made  sever.d  attempts  to  tell  a  rather  bto.ip  I 
story  of  Joe  Miller,  that  was  pat  to  the  purpose  ;  :;!ii  [ 
he  always  stuck  in  the  middle,  every  body  recolifct. 
ing  the  latter  part  excepting  himself.     Theparro,i,| 
too,  began  to  show  the  effects  of  good  cheer,  hasin|;[ 
gradually  settled  down  into  a  doze,  and  his  wig  sit- 
ting most  suspiciously  on  one  side.    Just  at  thiil 
juncture,  we  were  summoned  to  the  drawing-room, 
and  I  suspect,  at  the  private  instigation  of  mine  h  -r. 
whose  joviality   seemed    always  tempered   with  i\ 
proper  love  of  decorum. 

After  the  dinner-table  was  removed,  the  hall  v.tj 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent; 


a 


pven  up  to  the  younger  members  of  the  family, 
who,  prompted  to  all  kmtl  of  noisy  mirth  by  the  Ox- 
rnian  and  Master  Simon,  made  its  old  walls  ring 
with  their  nierrinieni,  as  they  played  <<t  romping 
games.  I  delight  in  witnessing  the  gambols  of  chil- 
dren, and  particularly  at  this  happy  nolyday  season, 
and  could  not  help  stealing  out  of  the  <lrawmg-room 
jii  hearing  one  of  their  peals  of  l.iughter.  I  found 
ihem  at  the  game  of  l)lind-man's-butf.  Master 
Simon,  who  was  the  leader  of  their  revels,  and 
icemed  on  all  occasions  to  fulfil  the  ofTice  of  that 
»nc*!*nt  potcniate,  the  Lord  of  Misrule,*  was  blinded 
!n  the  midst  of  the  hall.  The  little  beings  were  as 
busy  about  him  as  the  mock  fairies  about  FalstafT; 
pinching  him,  plucking  at  the  skirts  of  his  coal,  and 
tickling  him  with  straws.  One  fine  blue-eyed  girl  of 
al)0ut  thirteen,  with  her  flaxen  hair  all  in  beautiful 
confusion,  hi  r  frolic  face  in  a  glow,  her  frock  half 
lorn  off  her  shoulders,  a  compltte  picture  of  a  romp, 
was  the  chit-f  tormentor ;  and  trom  the  slyness  wiih 
which  Masti-r  Simon  avoiiled  the  smaller  game,  and 
hciiuned  this  wild  little  nymph  in  corners,  and 
obli;;e;d  her  U)  jump  shrieking  over  chairs,  I  suspected 
ilie  rogiif  of  bemg  not  a  whit  more  blinded  than  was 
convenient. 

When  I  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  I  found 
the  coiiipnny  seated  round  the  fire,  listening  to  the 
parson,  who  was  <leeuly  ensconced  in  a  high-backed 
oaken  chair,  the  worlc  of  some  cunning  artificer  of 
yore,  which  had  been  brought  from  the  library  for 
(lis  particular  rircomtnodation.  From  this  venerable 
p;sre  of  furniture,  wiih  which  his  shadowy  figure 
and  dark  weazen  face  so  admirably  accorded,  he 
was  dealing  forth  str.mge  accounts  of  the  jjopular 
:u!perstitions  anil  le^^ends  of  the  surrounding  country, 
v.ith  \shich  he  hail  heconie  aciiuainled  in  the  course 
:i  his  ar.tiijiiarian  researches.  I  am  half  inclined  to 
hink  that  ihe  old  gentleman  was  himself  somewhat 
:-.ncfured  with  superstition,  as  men  are  very  apt  to 
b'.-,  who  live  a  recluse  and  studious  lite  in  a  seiiues- 
leied  part  of  the  country,  and  pore  over  black-letter 
t'.ACts,  so  often  lilkd  with  the  marvellous  and  super- 
natural. He  gave  us  several  anecdotes  of  the  fancies 
ol  the  neighbouring  peasantry,  concerning  the  efhgy 
of  the  crusader,  which  lay  on  the  tomb  by  the  church 
altar.  As  it  was  the  only  monument  of  the  kind  in 
that  part  of  the  country,  it  had  always  been  regard- 
ed with  feelings  of  superstition  by  the  good  wives  of 
the  village.  It  was  said  to  get  up  from  the  tomb 
and  walk  the  rounds  of  the  churchyard  in  stormy 
ni^,'hts,  particularly  when  it  thundered  ;  and  one  old 
woman  whose  cottage  bordered  on  the  churchyard, 
UmI  seen  it  through  the  windows  of  the  church, 
when  the  moon  shone,  slowly  pacing  up  and  down 
the  aisles.  It  w.xs  the  belief  that  some  wrong  had 
been  left  unrediessed  by  the  deceased,  or  some 
irtas'ire  hidden,  which  kept  the  spirit  in  a  state  of  j 
trouble  and  restlessness.  Some  talked  of  gold  and  | 
.(•wels  buried  in  the  tomb,  over  which  the  spectre  i 
Kept  watch  ;  and  there  was  a  story  current  of  a  I 
Sixton,  in  old  times,  who  ende.avoured  to  break  hisi 
T/ay  to  the  coffin  at  night ;  but  just  as  he  reached 
'.i,  received  a  violent  blow  from  the  marble  hand  of 
Le  effigy,  which  stretched  him  senseless  en  the 
j-iveinent.  These  tales  were  often  laughed  ai  by 
iome  of  the  sturdier  among  the  rustics  ;  yet,  when 
"ight  came  on,  there  were  many  of  the  stoutest  un- 
believers that  were  shy  of  venturing  .alone  in  the 
footpath  that  led  across  the  churchyard. 

From  these  and  other  anecdotes  that  followed,  the 
crusader  appeared  to  be  the  favourite  hero  of  ghost 


:d,  the  hall  was 


•  Al  Chrttt:na*Me  there  was  in  the  Kinges  home,  whprewevcr 
ht9  vzs  lo.t>;eil,  ik  lordc  of  misrule,  or  inayKter  of  merie  disportes, 
tad  the  like  had  ye  in  the  house  of  every  nublein.-tn  of  haaoi ;  or 
nod  wonhippe,  wer«  he  ipirituall  or  temporall.— Stow. 


stories  throughout  the  vicinity.  His  picture,  whicb 
hungr  up  in  the  hall,  was  thought  by  the  servients  to 
have  something  supernatural  about  it :  for  they  re- 
marked that,  in  whatever  part  of  the  hall  you  went, 
the  eyes  of  the  warrior  were  still  fixed  on  you  The 
old  porter's  wife,  too,  at  the  lotlge,  who  had  been 
born  and  brought  up  in  the  family,  and  was  a  gteaJ 
gossip  among  the  maid-&er\'ants,  affirmed,  that  in 
her  young  days  she  had  often  heard  say,  that  OD 
Midsummer  eve,  when  it  w.as  mcW  known  all  kind* 
of  ghosts,  goblins,  and  fairies,  become  visible  anrf 
walk  abroad,  the  cr  js.ider  used  to  mount  his  horse, 
come  down  fiom  his  picture,  ride  about  the  house, 
down  the  avenue,  anil  so  to  the  church  to  visit  the 
tomb;  on  which  occasion  the  church  door  most 
civilly  swung  open  of  itself;  not  that  he  needed  it— 
for  he  rode  through  closed  gates  and  even  stone 
walls,  and  h.ad  been  seen  by  one  of  the  dairy-maidi 
to  pass  between  two  bars  of  the  great  p.irk  gate, 
making  himself  as  thin  as  a  sheet  of  paper. 

All  these  superstitions  1  lound  had  been  very 
much  countenanced  by  the  'Squire,  who,  though  not 
superstitious  himseif,  was  very  fond  of  seeing  others 
so.  He  listened  to  every  goblin  tale  of  the  neigh- 
bouring gossips  with  infinite  gravity,  and  held  the 
porter's  wife  in  high  favour  on  account  of  her  talent 
for  the  marvellous.  He  was  himself  a  great  reader 
of  old  legends  and  romanc(;s,  and  often  lamented 
that  he  could  not  believe  in  them  ;  for  a  superstitious 
person,  he  thought,  must  live  in  a  kind  ot  fairy  land. 

Whilst  we  were  all  attention  to  the  parson's 
stories,  our  ears  were  sudilenly  assaili^d  by  a  burst 
of  heterogeneous  sounds  from  the  hall,  in  which 
were  mingled  something  like  the  clang  of  rude  min- 
strelsy, with  the  uproar  of  many  small  voices  and 
girlish  laughter.  The  door  suddenly  flew  oj^en,  and 
a  train  came  trooping  into  the  room,  that  might  al- 
most have  been  mistaken  for  the  breaking  up  of  the 
court  of  Fairy.  That  indefatigable  spirit.  Master 
Simon,  in  the  faithful  discharge  of  his  duties  as  lord 
of  misrule,  had  conceived  the  idea  of  a  Christmas 
mummery,  or  mastjuing ;  and  having  called  in  to  his 
assistance  the  O.xonian  and  the  young  officer,  who 
were  equally  ripe  for  any  thing  that  should  occasion 
romping  and  merriment,  they  had  carried  it  into  in- 
stant effect.  The  old  housekeeper  had  been  con- 
sulted ;  the  antique  clothes-presses  and  wardrobes 
rummaged,  and  made  to  yield  up  the  relics  of  finery 
that  had  not  seen  the  light  for  several  generations ; 
the  younger  part  of  the  company  hau  been  privately 
convened  from  parlour  and  hall,  and  the  whole  had 
been  bedizened  out,  into  a  burlesque  imitation  of 
an  antique  m.astiue.* 

Master  Simon  led  the  van  as  "  Ancient  Christ- 
mas," quaintly  apparelled  in  a  ruff,  a  short  cloak, 
which  had  very  much  the  aspect  of  one  of  the  old 
housekeeper's  petticoats,  and  a  hat  that  might  have 
served  for  a  vill.age  steeple,  and  must  indubitably 
have  figured  in  the  days  of  the  Covenanters.  From 
under  this,  his  nose  curved  boldly  forth.  Hi  sherl  with 
a  frost-bitten  bloom  that  seemed  the  very  trophy  of 
a  December  blast.  He  was  .accompf  niinl  by  the 
blue-e>ed  romp,  dished  up  as  "  Dame  Mince  Pie," 
in  the  venerable  magnificence  of  faded  brocide,  long 
stomacher,  peaked  heart,  and  high-heeled  shoes. 

The  young  oliicer  appeared  .as  Robin  Hood,  in  a 
sporting  dress  of  Kendal  green,  and  a  foraging  rap 
with  a  gold  tassel. 

The  costume,  to  be  sure,  did  not  bear  testimony  to 
deep  research,  and  there  was  an  evident  eye  to  the 
picturesque,  natural  to  a  young  gallant  in  presence  ot 

•  Nfaitfiuin^  or  miimmches.  were  favourite  sports  at  ChrittJKM. 

in  o'd  times  ;  jnd  the  wardroue*  »t  h«'!«  and  manor- houaet  »«« 

nften  li'id  iiiuier  cuiitributiun  to  furnish  dresses  and  tantaslic  dil- 

t;uisin;;s.     1  -.ii-ongiy  suspect  Matter  Stn;no  to  have  tuken  tht  idv 

I  of  his  from  lien  |oasou'>  MaM{ue  of  Cbnsunts. 


i 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


I  ^■.-  i! 


ffl'V 


1^ 


bm  mistms.  The  fair  Julia  huiiK  on  his  arm  in  a 
pretty  rustic  dress,  as  "  Maid  Marian."  Tlie  rest 
of  the  train  liad  hctn  metamorphosed  in  various 
arays;  the  girls  trussed  up  in  tiie  linery  of  the  an- 
cient hellcs  of  the  Bracel>ri<lKe  line,  and  the  strip- 
lings bewhisi<ere(l  with  burnt  r.orl<,  and  gravely  clad 
in  l)-oad  skirts,  hanging  sleeves,  and  fiill-hottomed 
wijjs,  to  represent  tlie  characters  of  Roast  Heef, 
Piur.t  I'lidiling,  and  other  worthies  celel)rated  in 
incient  mas(]uings.  The  whole  was  under  the  con- 
trol of  the  Oxonian,  in  the  appropriate  character  of 
Misivle  ;  and  I  observed  that  he  exercised  rather  a 
mischievous  sway  with  his  wand  over  the  smaller 
personages  of  the  pageant. 

The  irniption  of  this  motley  crew,  with  beat  of 
drutn,  .according  to  ancient  custom,  was  the  con- 
suiitmatiun  of  uproar  and  merriment.  M.aster  Simon 
covered  himself  with  glory  by  the  stateliness  with 
which,  .IS  Ancient  Chnstmas.  he  wallvcd  a  minuet 
with  the  peerless,  though  giggling,  IJame  Mince  I'ie. 
It  was  followed  by  a  dance  from  all  the  characters, 
which,  from  its  medley  of  costumes,  seemed  as 
though  the  old  family  portraits  had  sivipped  down 
from  their  frantts  to  join  in  the  sport.  UitTerent 
centuries  were  liguring  at  cross-hands  and  right 
and  left ;  the  dark  ages  were  culling  pirouettes  and 
rigadoons ;  and  the  days  of  Ijuecn  Bess,  jigging 
merrily  tlown  the  middle,  through  a  line  of  succeed- 
ing generations. 

The  worthy  '.Squire  contemplated  these  fantastic 
sports,  and  this  resurrection  of  his  old  wardrobe, 
with  the  simple  relish  of  childish  delight.  He  stood 
chuckling  and  nibbing  his  hands,  and  scarcely  hear- 
ing a  word  the  parson  said,  notwithstanding  that 
the  latter  was  discoursing  most  authentic.iliy  on  the 
ancient  and  stately  dance  of  the  I'avon,  or  peacock, 
from  wliicli  he  conceived  the  minuet  to  be  derived.* 
For  my  p  irl,  I  was  in  a  continual  excitement  from 
ihe  varied  '-tenesof  whim  and  innocent  gayety  pass- 
ing belore  me.  It  was  inspiring  to  see  wild-eyed 
fiolic  and  wami-hearted  hos|)itality  breaking  out 
from  among  the  chills  and  glooms  ol  winter,  and  olu 
age  throwing  otT  his  apathy,  and  catching  once  more 
the  freshness  of  youthful  enjoyment.  I  felt  also  an 
interest  in  the  scene,  front  tlie  consi('cralion  that 
these  tlfeling  customs  were  posting  fast  into  oi)liv- 
ion,  and  that  this  was,  perhaps,  the  only  family  in  En- 
gland in  which  the  whole  ol  them  were  still  punctili- 
ously observed.  There  was  a  quainlness,  too, 
.mingled  with  all  this  revelry,  th.it  gave  it  a  iieculiar 
zest :  it  was  suited  to  the  time  and  place ;  .and 
as  the  old  Manjr-house  almost  reeled  with  mirth 
and  wassad,  it  seetned  echoing  back  the  joviality  of 
long-departed  years. 


sure  that  my  sagest  deductions  may  b«  safe  galdt 
for  the  opinions  of  others  ?  But  in  writing  to  .amuse 
if  I  fail,  the  only  evil  is  my  own  disappointment.  If. 
however,  1  cm  by  any  lucky  chance,  in  these  da\< 
of  evil,  nib  out  one  wrinkle  from  the  brow  of  care, 
or  beguile  the  heavy  heart  of  one  n  ,/ment  of  sorrow 
— if  I  can  now  and  then  penetrate  through  i\v 
gathering  fdm  of  misanthropy,  prompt  a  hcnevolfr  i 
view  of  human  nature,  and  make  my  reader  more  ,; 
good  humour  with  his  fellow  beings  and  him«<li 
surely,  surely,  I  shall  not  then  have  written  entiH; 
in  vain. 


But  enough  of  Christmas  and  its  gambols :  it  is 
time  for  me  to  pause  in  this  garrulity.  Methinks  I 
hear  the  question  asked  i)y  my  graver  readers,  "  To 
what  purpose  is  all  this — how  is  the  world  to  l)e 
n-ade  wiser  by  this  talk  ?  "  Alas !  is  there  not  wisdom 
mough  extant  for  the  instruction  of  the  world  ?  And 

not,  are  there  not  thousands  of  abler  pens  labour- 
ng  for  its  improvement  ? — It  is  so  mucn  pleasanter 
lo  please  than  to  instruct — to  play  the  companion 
'Ainer  than  the  preceptor. 

What,  after  all,  is  tne  mite  of  wisdom  that  I  could 
throw  into  the  mass  of  knowledge ;  or  how  am  I 

*  Sir  John  Hawkini,  (pealcins  of  the  dince  called  the  Pavon, 
from  pavn,  a  peacock,  sayi,  "  1 1  M  *  K^ave  and  majnstic  dance: 
the  method  of  dancing  it  anciently  was  by  tfentltnien  dreKsea 
*i(h  caps  and  Awords,  by  those  of  tne  long  robe  in  their  gowns, 
by  the  peera  in  their  mantlet,  and  by  the  ladies  in  Kowns  with 
bug  tnuu'  the  motion  whereof,  ii.  dancing,  rescnkUd  that  of  a 
peacock.       Hittcy  0/ Mtuie. 


[The  following  modicum  of  local  history  was  lately 
put  into  my  hands  by  an  odd-looking  old  gentleman 
in  a  small  brown  wig  and  snuff-colourcl  coat,  with 
whom  I  b  -came  acquainted  in  the  course  of  one  of  my 
tours  of  observation  through  the  centre  ot  that  great 
wilderness,  the  City.  I  confess  that  I  was  a  Tittle 
dubi'ous  at  first,  whether  it  was  not  one  of  those  apoc 
i^'phal  talcs  often  passed  off  upon  inauiring  travel- 
lers like  myself;  and  which  have  brought  our  general 
1  liaracier  for  veracity  into  such  unmerited  reproach. 
On  making  proper  inquiries,  however,  I  have  re- 
ceived the  most  .satisfartory  assurances  of  the  author's 
probity  ;  and,  indeed,  have  been  told  that  he  Is  actu- 
;^lly  engaged  in  a  full  and  particular  account  of  the 
very  inieresting  region  in  which  he  resides,  of  which 
the  following  may  be  considered  merely  us  a  fore- 
taste,] 

LITTLE  BRITAIN. 


What  I  write  ia  ino>l  Irje  •  •  •  •  |  have  a  whole  hooka  uf  cwc* 
tyins  l>y  me,  which  if  1  should  sette  foorth,  ftomc  grave  ajnticuti 
(within  the  hearinK  of  Huw  Leill  would  be  out  of  cnarily  with  ■.«. 
— Nasmb. 

In  the  centre  of  the  great  City  of  London  lies  a 
sm.all  neighbourhood,  consisting  of  a  cluster  of  nar- 
row streets  and  courts,  of  very  venerable  and  debili- 
t.ited  houses,  which  goes  by  the  nan>e  of  Ll  I'l  LF. 
Briiain.  Christ  Church  school  and  St.  Bartholo- 
mew's hospital  bound  it  on  the  west ;  Smithticld  and 
Long  lane  on  the  north  ;  Aldersgate-street,  like  an 
arm  of  the  sea,  divides  it  from  the  eastern  p  rt  of 
the  city ;  whilst  the  yawning  gulf  of  Bull-aiid-Mouth- 
street  separates  it  from  Butcher  lane,  and  the  regions 
of  New-Gate.  Over  this  little  territory,  thus  bounded 
and  designated,  the  great  dome  of  St.  Paul's,  swell- 
ing above  the  intervening  hou.s'is  of  I'atemoster 
Row,  Amen  Corner,  and  Ave-Maria  lane,  looks 
down  with  an  air  of  motherly  protection. 

This  quarter  derives  its  appellation  from  having 
been,  in  ancient  times,  the  resilience  of  the  Dukes  ol 
Brittany.  As  London'increased,  however,  rank  and 
fashion  rolled  off  to  the  west,  and  trade  cretping  on 
at  their  heels,  took  possession  of  their  deserted 
abodes.  For  some  time.  Little  Brit.ain  became  the 
great  mart  of  learning,  and  was  peopled  by  ihe  bu.iy 
and  prolific  r.ice  of  booksellers :  these  also  graduallj 
deserted  it,  and  emigrating  beyond  the  great  slraii 
of  New-Gate-Street,  settled  down  in  Patcmostci 
Row  and  St.  Paul's  Church-yard  ;  where  they  con- 
tiriue  to  increase  and  multiply,  even  at  the  present 
d.ay. 

But  though  thus  fallen  into  decline,  Little  Britain 
still  l)ears  traces  of  it.s  former  splendour.  There  are 
several  houses,  re.ady  to  tumble  down,  the  fronts  of 
which  are  m.agnificently  enriched  with  old  oaken 
can'ings  of  hideous  faces,  unknown  birds,  beasts,  and 
fishes ;  and  fruits  and  flowers,  w'  ich  it  would  perplex 
a  naturalist  to  classify.    There  are  also,  in  Alders- 


THB  SKETCH-BOOK  OF   GEOFFREY  CRAYON,   Oent. 


^te-strcet,  certain  remains  of  what  were  once 
s|jucious  and  lordly  tainily  inaiiitii)iis.  but  which  havtj 
iri  latter  days  bten  subdivided  into  st-veral  tr-iifinenls. 
Here  may  oltcn  be  '.ound  the  family  ol  a  pet '  trades- 
nian.  svith  its  trumpery  furniture,  l)urrowiii>;  among 
llie  ri'lics  of  anti(ju;vied  finery,  in  great  rambling;  tiinc- 
st.iined  apart mcnrs,  with  fretted  ceilings,  gil'leil  cor- 
nices, and  enormous  marble  tire-plates.  The  lanes 
5jid  courts  alic  contain  many  smaller  houses,  not  on 
ir  ifrand  a  scale  ;  but,  like  your  small  ancient  jjcntr)-, 

jVrlily  maintaining  their  claims  to  equal  anli(|uity. 
lh;3e  have  their  gable-ends  to  the  street;  great 
j-jow-  windows,  with  diamond  panes  set  in  lead  ;  gro- 
tesque carvings;  and  low-arched  doorways.* 

la  this  must  venerable  and  sheltered  little  nest 
h.ne  1  passed  several  quiet  years  of  existence,  com 
fotiably  lodgeil  in  the  second  lloor  of  one  of  the 
sin.iii('St,  but  oiliest  edifices.  My  sittinii-room  is  an 
old  wainscoted  chamber,  with  small  panels,  and  set 
olf  with  a  miscellaneous  array  of  furniture.  I  have 
a  particular  respect  for  three  or  lour  high-backed, 
cl.iw-fooied  chairs,  covered  with  tarnished  brocade, 
which  bear  the  marks  of  having  seen  better  days, 
and  have  doubtless  figured  in  some  ol  the  old  palaces 
(it  Little  Hritain.  They  seem  lo  me  to  keep  together, 
and  to  look  dpwn  with  sovereign  contempt  upon 
tluir  li^thern-bottomed  neighbours;  as  1  have  seen 
decayed  geiKry  carry  a  high  head  among  the  plebeian 
society  with  which  they  were  reduced  to  associate. 
I  he  whole  front  of  my  sitting-room  is  taken  up  with 
a  licv-window ;  on  the  panes  of  which  are  recorded 
the  names  of  previous  occu|)aiUs  for  many  genera- 
tion:; ;  mingled  with  scraps  of  very  indifferent  gentle- 
n^iii-like  poetry,  written  in  characters  which  I  can 
1..-  ircely  decipher ;  and  which  extol  the  charms  of 
auTiy  a  beauty  of  Little  Uritain,  who  has  long,  long 
1  ice  bloomed,  faded,  and  passed  away.  As  1  am 
VA  idle  person, ige,  with  no  apparent  occui)ation,  and 
i>iy  my  bill  regularly  every  week,  1  am  looked  upon 
oS  the  only  independent  gentleman  of  the  neigh- 
U'urhood ;  and  being  curious  to  learn  the  internal 
stale  of  a  community  so  apparently  shut  up  within 
its'if,  I  have  manaj>(;d  to  work  my  way  into  all  the 
concerns  and  secrets  of  the  place. 

Little  Liritain  may  truly  be  called  the  heart's-core 
of  the  city  ;  the  strong-hold  of  true  John  Buliism.  It 
is  a  fragment  ol  London  ,is  it  was  in  its  better  days, 
with  its  antii|uate<l  folks  and  f.ashions.  Here  flourish 
in  great  preservation  many  of  the  holyilay  games 
ami  customs  of  yore.  'I'he  inhabitants  most  re- 
ligiously eat  pancakes  on  Shrove-Tuesday  ;  hot-cross- 
biins  on  Good-Friday,  and  roast  goose  at  Michael- 
mas;  they  send  love-letters  on  Valentine's  Day; 
burn  the  Pope  on  the  Filth  of  November,  and  kiss 
all  the  girls  under  the  mistletoe  at  Christmas. 
Roast  beef  and  plum-pudding  arc  also  held  in 
superstitious  veneration,  and  port  and  sherry  main- 
tain their  grounds  as  the  only  true  K.nglish  wines — 
all  others  being  considered  vile  outlandish  beverages. 

Little  Hritain  has  its  long  catalogue  ^f  city 
wonders,  which  its  inhabitants  consider  the  wonders 
ot  the  world:  such  as  the  great  bell  of  St.  Paul's, 
tvhich  sours  all  the  beer  when  it  tolls ;  the  figures 
Jitt  strike  the  hours  at  St.  Dunstan's  clock;  the 
M  jnument ;  the  lions  in  the  Tower;  and  the  wooden 
^'i^nts  in  Guildhall.  They  still  believe  in  dreams  and 
iiirtune-telling ;  and  an  old  woman  that  lives  in 
Hall-and-Mouth-street  makes  a  tolerable  subsistence 
uv  detecting  stolen  goods,  and  promising  the  girls 
goiKl  husbands.  They  are  apt  t<.  be  rendered  un- 
tcjiufortable  by  comets  and  eclipses ;  and  if  a  dog 
buwis  dolefully  at  night,  it  is  looked  upon  as  a  sure 

*  I:  ii  evident  thai  tise  auttior  of  thu  interesting  communitaiinn 
bu  iaclttded  in  tiis  general  title  of  Li  .le  Hritain,  inuiiv  of  ihute 
:ltl«  Uaet  and  coiut*  thai  belong  imraadiatclT  to  Clotii  Vait. 


sign  of  a  death  in  the  place.  Thtne  are  «»r»n  Tnair» 
gluiit  stories  current.  particiil;irly  conrni.ing  tbi 
old  miiisitin-houM-s ;  in  several  of  which  it  is  luitl 
strange  si^jhts  arc  sometimes  setMi.  Lonls  jind 
ladies,  the  liirmrr  in  hill-bottomet!  wigs,  hangi/jg 
sleeves,  and  swords,  the  l.itter  in  lappets,  sl.i)i>, 
hoops,  and  brocade,  have  been  seen  wal-king  op  and 
ilown  the  great  w.iste  chambers,  on  moonlig^  i 
nights;  and  are  supposed  to  be  the  shades  of  tlK 
ancient  proprietors  in  their  court-<lresses. 

Little  llnt.iin  h.is  likewise  its  s.iges  and  (Meat  ,\\r.n. 
One  of  the  most  inipcirt.int  of  thi'  lormer  is  a  tall  tiry 
olil  gentlem.iri,  of  the  ii.une  of  .Skryme,  wl.o  keeps  a 
small  apoihci  .iry's  shop,  I  le  has  a  cadaverous  coun- 
tenance, full  of  cavities  and  projections;  with  a 
brown  circle  round  each  eye,  like  a  p.iir  of  horn 
spect.'icles.  He  is  much  tl. ought  of  by  the  old  wom- 
en, who  consider  him  as  a  itind  of  conjuror,  burause 
he  has  two  or  '.hree  stuffed  alligators  hanging  up  In 
his  shop,  and  sever.al  snakes  in  bottles.  He  is  a 
great  reader  of  alman.acs  anil  newspapers,  and  is 
much  given  to  pore  over  alarming  accoimis  of  plots, 
conspiracies,  fires,  earthquakes,  and  volc.mic  erup- 
tions; which  last  phenomena  he  considers  as  signs 
of  the  times.  He  has  always  some  di.sm;d  tale  of 
the  kind  to  deal  out  to  his  customers,  with  their 
doses  ;  and  thus  at  the  same  time  puis  both  soul  and 
body  into  an  uproar.  He  is  a  gieai  believer  in 
omens  and  predictions;  and  has  the  prophecies  of 
Robert  Nixon  and  Mother  Shipton  by  heart.  No 
man  can  make  so  much  out  of  an  eclipse,  or  even  an 
unusually  dark  d.ay  ;  and  he  shook  the  t,iii  of  the  last 
comet  over  the  heads  of  his  customers  and  disciples 
until  they  were  nearly  frightened  oul  of  their  wits. 
He  has  lately  got  hold  of  a  popular  legend  or  j)roph- 
ecy,  on  which  he  h.is  been  unusually  eloiiuent.  Thcrn 
has  been  a  saying  current  among  the  ancient  Sybils, 
who  treasure  up  these  thinf^s,  that  when  the  grass- 
hopper on  the  top  of  the  E.\cTiange  shook  hands  with 
the  dragon  on  the  top  of  Bow  Church  steeple,  fearful 
events  would  tak..*  place.  This  strange  conjunction, 
it  scents,  has  .is  strangely  come  to  pass.  The  same 
architect  has  been  eng.aged  lately  on  the  repairs  of 
the  cupola  of  the  E.xchange,  and  the  steeple  of  Bow 
Church ;  and,  fearful  to  relate,  the  dr.igon  and  the 
grasshopper  actually  lie,  cheek  by  jole,  in  the  yard  of 
his  workshop. 

"Others,'  ."is  Mr.  Skrymo  is  accustomed  to  say, 
"may  go  star-gazing,  and  look  for  conjunctions  in 
the  heavens,  but  here  is  a  conjunction  on  the  earth, 
near  at  home,  and  under  our  own  eyes,  which  sur- 
passes  all  the  signs  and  calculations  of  astrologers.' 
Since  these  portentous  weathercocks  have  thus  laid 
their  heads  together,  wonderful  events  had  already 
occurred.  The  good  old  king,  notwithstanding  that 
he  had  lived  eighiy-two  years,  had  all  at  once  given 
up  the  ghost ;  another  king  had  mounted  the  throne; 
a  royal  duke  had  died  suddenly — another,  in  P" ranee, 
had  .'en  murdered  ;  there  had  been  radical  meet- 
ings in  all  parts  of  the  kingdom  ;  the  bloody  scenes 
at  Manchester — the  great  plot  in  Cato-street . — and, 
above  all,  the  Queen  had  returned  to  England  !  All 
these  sinister  events  are  recounted  by  Mr.  Skryme 
with  a  mysterious  look,  and  a  dismal  shake  of  tb« 
head  ;  anil  being  taken  with  his  drugs,  and  associ- 
ated in  the  minds  of  his  auditors  with  stutfed  sea* 
monsters,  bottled  serpent.s,  and  his  own  visage, 
which  is  a  title-page  ol  tribulation,  tliey  have  spiead 
great  gloom  through  the  minds  of  the  people  in  Lit 
tie  liritain.  They  shake  their  heads  whenever  they 
go  by  Bow  Church,  and  observe,  that  they  never  ex- 
pected any  good  to  come  of  taking  down  that  stee- 
ple, which,  in  old  times,  told  nothing  but  glad  tid- 
ings, as  the  history  of  Whittingtoii  aitd  his  cat  bean 
witness. 


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WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


The  rival  oracie  of  Little  Britain  is  a  substantial 
cheesemonger,  who  lives  in  a  fragment  of  one  of  the 
old  family  mansions,  and  is  as  magnificently  lodged 
as  a  round-bellied  mite  in  the  midst  of  one  of  his 
own  Cheshires.  Indeed,  he  is  a  man  of  no  little 
standing  and  importance ;  and  his  renown  extends 
through  Huggin  lane,  and  Lad  lane,  and  even  unto 
Aldermanbury.  His  opinion  is  very  much  taken  in 
the  affairs  of  state,  liaving  read  the  Sunday  papers 
for  the  last  half  century,  tojjether  with  the  Gentle- 
man's Magazine,  Rapin's  History  of  England,  and 
the  Naval  Chronicle.  His  head  is  stored  with  in- 
raluable  maxims,  which  have  borne  the  test  of  time 
and  use  for  centuries.  It  is  his  firm  opinion  that 
"it  is  a  moral  impossible,"  so  long  as  England  is 
true  to  herself,  that  any  thing  can  shake  her :  and 
he  has  much  to  say  on  the  subject  of  the  national 
debt ;  which,  some  how  or  other,  he  proves  to  be  a 
great  national  bulwark  and  blessing.  He  passed 
the  greater  part  of  his  lil»'  in  the  purlieus  of  Little 
Britain,  until  of  late  years,  when,  having  become 
rich,  and  grown  into  the  dignity  of  a  Sunday  cane, 
he  begins  to  take  his  pleasure  and  see  the  world. 
He  has  therefore  made  several  excursions  to  Hamp- 
stead,  Highgate,  and  other  neighbouring  towns, 
where  he  has  .passed  whole  afternoons  in  looking 
back  upon  the  metropolis  through  a  telescope,  and 
endeavouring  to  descry  the  steeple  of  St.  Bartholo- 
mew's. Not  a  stage-coachman  of  BuIl-and-Mouth- 
strcet  but  touches  his  hat  as  he  passes ;  and  he  is 
considered  quite  a  patron  at  the  coach-office  of  the 
Goo.se  and  Gridiron,  St.  Paul's  Churchyard.  His 
family  have  been  very  urgent  for  hjm  to  make  an  ex- 
pedition to  Margate,  but  he  has  great  doubts  of  these 
new  gimcracks  the  steam-boats,  and  indeed  thinks 
himself  too  advanced  in  life  to  imdertake  sea- 
voyages. 

Little  Britain  has  occasionally  its  factions  and  di- 
rlsions,  and  party  spirit  ran  very  high  at  one  time, 
in  consequence  of  two  rival  "  Burial  Societies"  being 
set  up  in  the  place.  One  held  its  meeting  at  the 
Swan  and  Horse-Shoe,  and  was  patronized  by  the 
cheesemonger ;  the  other  at  tlie  Cock  and  Crown, 
under  ihe  auspices  of  the  apothecary :  it  is  needless 
to  say,  that  the  latter  was  the  most  flourishing.  I 
have  passed  an  evening  or  two  at  each,  and  have 
acquired  much  valuable  information  as  to  the  best 
mode  of  being  buried ;  the  comparative  merits  of 
churchyards ;  together  with  divers  hints  on  the  sub- 
ject of  patent  iron  coffins.  I  have  heard  the  ques- 
tion discussed  in  all  its  bearings,  as  to  the  legality 
of  prohibiting  the  latter  on  account  of  their  dura- 
bility. The  feuds  occasioned  by  these  societies  have 
happily  died  away  of  late ;  but  they  were  for  a  long 
time  prevailing  themes  of  controversy,  the  people  of 
Little  Britain  being  extremely  solicitous  of  funeral 
tonours,  and  of  lying  comfortably  in  their  graves. 

Besides  these  two  funeral  societies,  there  is  a  third 
of  quite  a  different  cast,  which  tends  to  throw  the 
sunshine  of  good-humour  over  the  whole  neighbour- 
hood. It  meets  once  a  week  at  a  little  old-fashioned 
house,  kept  by  a  jolly  publican  of  the  name  of  Wag- 
staff,  and  bearing  for  insignia  a  resplendent  half- 
moon,  with  a  most  seductive  bunch  of  grapes.  The 
whole  edifice  is  covered  with  inscriptions  to  catch 
the  eye  of  the  thirsty  wayfarer ;  such  as  "  Truman, 
Hanbur>-  and  Co.'s  Entire,"  "  Wine,  Rum,  and 
Brandy  Vaults,"  "  Old  Tom,  Rum,  and  Conipounds, 
Ac."  This,  indeed,  has  been  a  temple  of  Bacchus 
and  Momcs,  from  time  immemorial.  It  has  always 
lieen  in  the  family  of  the  Wagstaffs,  so  that  its  his- 
tory is  tolerably  preserved  by  the  i)resent  landlord. 
It  was  much  frequented  by  the  gallants  and  cava- 
lieros  of  the  rei?ii  of  Elizatieth,  and  was  looked  into 
now  and  then  by  the  wits  of  Charles  the  Second's 


day.  But  what  WagstalT  principally  pndes  himadl 
upon,  is,  that  Henry  the  Eighth,  in  one  of  his  noc- 
turnal rambles,  brolce  the  head  of  one  of  his  ances- 
tors with  his  famous  walking-staff.  This,  howevet 
is  considered  as  rather  a  dubious  and  vain-glorious 
boast  of  the  landlord. 

The  club  which  now  holds  its  weekly  sessioni 
here,  goes  by  the  name  of  "  the  Roaring  L^s  o.' 
Little  Britain."  They  abound  in  all  catcnes,  glees 
and  choice  stories,  that  are  traditional  in  the  place 
and  not  to  be  met  with  in  any  other  part  of  the 
metropolis.  There  is  a  m;.dcap  undertalser,  who  is 
inimitable  at  a  merry  song ;  but  the  life  of  the  club, 
and  indeed  the  prime  wit  of  Little  Britain,  is  bully 
Wagstatf  himself.  His  ancestors  were  all  wags  be- 
fore him,  and  he  has  inherited  with  the  inn  a  large 
stock  of  songs  and  jokes,  which  go  with  it  from 
veneration  to  generation  as  heir-looms.  He  is  a 
dapper  little  fellow,  with  bandy  legs  and  pot  belly,  a 
red  face  with  a  moist  merry  eye,  and  a  little  shock 
of  gray  hair  behind.  At  the  opening  of  every  club 
night,  he  is  called  in  to  sing  his  "  Confession  of 
Faith,"  which  is  the  famous  old  drinking  trowl  from 
Gammer  Gurton's  needle.  He  sings  it,  to  be  sure, 
with  many  variations,  as  he  received  it  from  his 
father's  lips ;  for  it  had  been  a  standing  favourite  at 
the  Half-Moon  and  Bunch  of  Grapes  ever  since  it 
was  written ;  nay,  he  affirms  that  his  predecessors 
have  often  had  the  honour  of  singing  it  before  thr 
nobility  and  gentry  at  Christmas  mummeries,  when 
Little  Britain  was  in  all  its  glory.'*' 

It  would  do  one's  heart  good  to  hear  on  a  club- 
night  the  shouts  of  merriment,  the  snatches  of  song., 
and  now  and  then  the  choral  bursts  of  half-a-do;.en 
discordant  voices,  which  issue  from  this  jovial  man« 
sion.  At  such  times  the  street  is  lined  with  listea 
ers,  who  enjoy  a  delight  equal  to  that  of  gazing  into 
a  confectioner's  window,  or  snuffing  up  the  steanir 
of  a  cook-shop. 


*  As  mine  host  of  the  Half-Moon's  Confession  of  Faith  may  col 
be  familiar  to  the  majority  of  readers,  and  as  ii  is  a  specimen  of  thi: 
current  son^s  of  Little  Britain,  I  subjoin  it  in  its  original  orthot' 
raphy.  1  would  observe,  that  the  whole  club  always  join  in  th< 
chorus  with  a  feaful  thumping  on  the  uble  and  clattering  of  pcvls 
pots. 

I  cannot  eate  but  lytle  meate. 

My  slomacke  is  not  good. 
But  sure  I  thiulce  that!  can  drinke 

With  him  that  weares  a  hood. 
Though  1  go  bare  tnke  ye  no  care, 

1  nothing  am  a  colde, 
I  stuff  my  skyn  so  full  within, 
Of  joly  good  ale  and  olde. 

Ckcrmt.  Bark  and  syde  go  bare,  go  ktre. 
Both  foot  and  hand  go  colde. 
But  belly,  God  send  thee  good  ale  ynoufh*. 
Whether  it  be  new  or  olde. 

I  have  no  lost,  but  a  nut  brown  tosi* 

And  a  crab  laid  in  the  fyte  ; 
A  little  breade  shall  do  me  steade. 

Much  breade  I  not  desyre. 
No  frost  nor  snow,  nor  winde  I  trow*. 

Can  btut  me  if  I  wolde. 
I  am  so  wrapt  and  throwlv  lapt 

Of  joty  good  ale  and  oloe. 

Atrut.  Back  and  syde  go  bare,  go  bare,  Ac. 

And  Tyb  my  wife,  that,  as  her  lyb, 

Loveth  well  good  ale  to  secke, 
Full  oft  drynkes  she,  tyll  ye  may  IM 

The  teares  run  down  her  cheeke. 
Then  doth  she*  trowie  to  me  the  bowta. 

Even  as  a  maulte-wotme  sholde, 
And  sayth,  sweete  harte,  I  tooke  my  piHU 

Of  thu  joly  good  ale  and  olde. 
Cktrui.  Back  and  syde  go  tiare,  go  bare,  Ac. 

Now  :^t  them  drynke,  tyll  they  nod  asd  «ialc«, 

Even  as  goode  fellowes  shulde  doe, 
They  shall  not  mysse  to  have  the  "bliss* 

Good  ale  duth  bring  men  to. 
And  all  poor  soules  that  have  scowrad  bowlw> 

Or  have  them  lustily  trolde, 
God  save  the  lyves  of  them  and  their  wiva, 

Whether  they  be  yonge  or  olde. 

Cktrus.  Back  and  syde  go  l>are,  go  bare,  *c 


of  earthly  pagt 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON.  GiUT. 


66 


There  are  two  annual  events  which  produce  great 
stir  and  sensatiOh  in  Little  Britain ;  these  are  St. 
Banholomew's  Fair,  and  the  Lord  Mayor's  day. 
During  the  time  of  the  Fair,  which  is  held  in  the 
adjoining  regions  of  Sinithfield,  there  is  nothing 
going  on  but  gossiping  and  gadding  about.  The 
,ate  quiet  streets  of  Little  Britain  are  overrun  with 
«ui  irruption  of  strange  figures  and  faces; — every 
tavern  is  a  scene  of  rout  and  revel.  The  fiddle  and 
the  a^ng  are  heard  from  the  taprroom,  morning, 
aoon,  and  night ;  and  at  each  window  may  be  seen 
tome  group  of  boon  companions,  with  half-shut  eyes, 
hats  on  one  side,  pipe  in  moutli,  and  tankarcl  in 
hand,  fondling  ana  proving,  and  singing  maudlin 
songs  over  their  liquor.  Even  the  sober  decorum  of 
private  families,  which  I  must  say  is  rigidly  kept  up 
at  other  times  among  my  neighbours,  is  no  proof 
against  this  Saturnalia.  There  is  no  such  thing  as 
keeping  maid  servants  within  doors.  Tlieir  brains 
are  absolutely  set  madding  with  I'unch  and  the 
Pupjiet  Show;  the  Flying  Horses;  Signior  Polito; 
the  Fire-Eater ;  the  celebrated  Mr.  Paap ;  and  the 
Irish  (iiant.  The  children,  too,  lavish  all  their  holy- 
day  money  in  toys  and  gilt  gingerbread,  and  fill  tne 
house  with  the  Lilliputian  din  of  drums,  trumpets, 
and  penny  whistles. 

But  the  Lord'Mayor's  day  is  the  great  anniversary. 
The  Lord  Mayor  is  looked  up  to  by  the  inhabitants 
of  Little  Britain,  as  the  greatest  potentate  upon  earth; 
his  gilt  coach  with  six  horses,  as  the  summit  of  hu- 
man splendour;  and  his  procession,  with  all  the 
Sheriffs  and  Ahlermen  in  his  train,  as  the  grandest 
r(  earthly  pagefints.  How  they  exult  in  the  idea, 
that  the  King  himself  dare  not  enter  the  city  without 
Crst  knocking  at  the  gate  of  Temple  Bar,  and  ask- 
ing permission  of  the  Lord  Mayor ;  for  if  he  did, 
heaven  and  earth  I  there  is  no  knowing  what  might 
'je  the  consequence.  The  man  in  armour  who  rides 
btlbre  the  Lord  Mayor,  and  is  the  city  champion,  has 
orJers  to  cut  down  every  body  that  offends  against 
the  dignity  of  the  city ;  and  then  there  is  the  little 
man  with  a  velvet  porringer  on  his  head,  who  sits 
at  the  window  of  the  state  coach  and  holds  the  city 
sword,  as  long  as  a  pike-staff— Od's  blood  I  if  he 
once  draws  that  sword.  Majesty  itself  is  not  sate  ! 

Under  the  protection  of  this  mighty  potentate, 
therefore,  the  good  people  of  Little  Britain  sleep  in 
peace.  Temple  Bar  is  an  effectual  barrier  against  all 
iniemal  foes ;  and  as  to  foreign  invasion,  the  Lord 
Mayor  has  but  to  throw  himself  into  the  Tower, 
call  in  the  train  bands,  and  put  the  standing  army  of 
Buef-eaters  under  arms,  and  he  may  bid  defiance  to 
the  world  I 

Thus  wrapped  up  in  its  own  concerns,  its  own 
habits,  and  its  own  opinions,  Litde  Britain  has  long 
flourished  as  a  sound  heart  to  this  great  fungus  me- 
tropolis. I  have  pleased  myself  with  considering  it  as 
a  chosen  spot,  where  the  principles  of  sturdy  John 
OuUism  were  garnered  up,  like  seed-corn,  to  renew 
the  national  character,  when  it  had  run  to  waste  and 
dejjeneracy.  1  have  rejoiced  also  in  the  ^"eneral  spirit 
of  haiTOony  that  prevailed  throughout  it ;  for  though 
diere  might  now  and  then  be  a  few  clashes  of  opinion 
>2tween  the  adherents  of  the  cheesemonger  and  the 
a,!f^tliecary,  and  an  occasional  feuil  between  the 
■urial  societies,  yet  these  were  but  transient  clouds, 
ind  soon  passied  awa\ .  The  neighbours  met  with 
good-will,  parted  with  a  shake  of  the  hand,  and 
never  abused  each  other  except  behind  their  backs. 

I  ^oiiid  give  rare  descriptions  of  snug  junketing 
parties  at  which  I  have  been  present ;  where  we 
played  at  All-Fours,  Pope-Joan,  Tom-come-tickle- 
nie,  and  other  choice  old  games :  and  where  we 
sometimes  had  a  good  old  English  country  dance,  to 
the  tune  of  Sir  Roger  de  Coverly.    Once  a  year  also 


the  neighbours  would  gather  together,  and  go  on  a 
gypsy  party  to  Epping  Forest.  It  would  have  done 
any  man's  heart  good  to  see  the  merriment  that  tooK 
place  here,  as  we  banqueted  on  the  grass  under  the 
trees.  How  we  made  the  woods  ring  with  bursts  oi 
laughter  at  the  songs  of  little  Wagstaff  and  the 
merry  undertaker !  After  dinner,  too,  the  young 
folks  would  play  at  blindman's-bulT  and  hide-and 
seek ;  and  it  was  amusing  to  see  them  tangled  amon& 
the  briers,  and  to  hear  a  tine  romping  girl  now  ana 
then  squeak  from  among  the  bushes.  The  elder  folks 
would  gather  round  the  cheesemonger  and  the 
apothecary,  to  hear  them  talk  politics ;  for  they  gen- 
erally brought  out  a  newspaper  in  their  pockets,  to 
pass  away  tim':  in  the  ccantry.  They  would  now 
and  then,  to  be  siire,  get  a  little  warm  in  argument ; 
but  their  disputes  were  always  adjusted  by  reference 
to  a  worthy  old  umbrella-maker  in  a  double  chin, 
who,  never  exactly  comprehending  the  subject,  man- 
aged, some  how  or  other,  to  decide  in  favour  of  both 
parties. 

All  empires,  howevei:,  says  some  philosopher  or 
historian,  are  doomed  to  changes  and  revolutions. 
Luxury  and  innovation  creep  in ;  factions  arise ;  and 
families  now  and  then  spring  up,  whose  ambitic^a  and 
intrigues  throw  the  whole  system  into  conf  jsion. 
Thus  in  latter  days  has  the  tranquillity  of  Little 
Britain  been  grievously  disturbed,  and  its  f  olden 
simplicity  of  manners  threatened  with  total  si  bver- 
sion,  by  the  aspiring  family  of  a  retired  butcht  r. 

The  family  of  the  Lanr.bs  had  long  been  a  nong 
the  most  thriving  and  popular  in  the  neighbour;  lood  : 
the  Miss  Lambs  were  the  belles  of  Little  Britaii ,  and 
every  body  was  pleased  when  old  Lamb  had  nade 
money  enough  to  shut  up  shop,  and  put  his  nai  ie  on 
a  brass  plate  on  his  door.  In  an  evil  hour,  hovcver, 
one  of  the  Miss  Lambs  had  the  honour  of  being  .1  lady 
in  attendance  on  the  Lady  Mayoress,  at  her  (jrand 
annual  ball,  on  which  occasion  she  wore  three  t>ver- 
ing  ostrich  feathers  on  her  head.  The  family  never 
got  over  it ;  they  were  immediately  smitten  vvith  a 
passion  for  high  life ;  set  up  a  one-liorse  carriage,  put 
a  bit  of  gold  lace  round  the  errand-boy's  hat,  md 
have  'been  the  talk  and  detestation  of  the  whole 
neighbourhood  ever  since.  They  could  no  longer  be 
induced  to  play  at  Pope-Joan  or  blindman's-buff ; 
they  could  endure  no  dances  but  quadrilles,  which 
nobody  had  ever  heard  of  in  Little  Britain ;  and 
they  took  to  reading  novels,  talking  bad  French,  and 
playing  ui)on  the  piano.  Their  brother,  too,  who 
had  been  articled  to  an  attorney,  set  up  for  a  dandy 
and  a  critic,  characters  hitherto  unknown  in  these 
parts ;  and  he  confounded  the  worthy  folks  exceed- 
ingly by  talking  about  Kean,  the  Opera,  and  the 
Edinbro'  Review. 

What  was  still  worse,  the  Lambs  gave  a  grand 
ball,  to  which  they  neglected  to  invite  any  of  their 
old  neighbours ;  but  they  had  a  great  deal  of  genteel 
company  from  Theobald's  Road,  Red-lion  Square, 
and  other  parts  toward  the  west.  There  were  seve- 
ral beaux  of  their  brother's  acquaintance  from  Gray's- 
Inn  lane  and  Hatton  Garden ;  and  not  less  than  three 
Aldermen's  ladies  with  their  daughters.  This  was 
not  to  be  forgotten  or  forgiven.  All  Little  Britain 
was 'in  an  uproar  with  the  smacking  of  whips,  the 
lashing  of  miserable  horses,  and  the  rattling  and  jing* 
ling  of  hackney-coaches.  The  gossips  of  the  ncig& 
bourhood  might  be  seen  popping  their  night-caps  out 
at  every  window,  watching  the  crazy  vehicles  rumble 
by  ;  and  there  was  a  knot  of  virulent  old  cronies,  that 
kept  a  look-out  from  a  house  just  opposite  the  retired 
butcher's,  and  scanned  and  criticized  eveiy  one  that 
knocked  at  the  door. 

This  dance  was  a  cause  of  almost  open  war,  and 
the  whole  neighbourhood  declared  they  would  hava 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


M 


nothing  more  to  sav  to  the  Lambs.  It  is  true  that 
Mrs.  Lamb,  when  she  had  no  engagements  with  her 
quality  acquaintance,  would  give  little  humdrum  tea 
junketings  to  some  of  her  old  cronies. "  quite,"  as  she 
would  say,  "  in  a  friendly  way ; "  and  it  is  equally  true 
that  her  invitations  were  always  accepted,  in  spite  of 
all  previous  vows  to  the  contrary.  Nay,  the  good 
ladies  would  sit  and  be  delighted  with  the  music  of 
llic  Miss  Lambs,  who  would  condescend  to  thrum  an 
Irish  melody  for  them  on  the  piano  ;  and  they  would 
listen  with  wonderful  interest  to  Mrs.  Lamb  s  anec- 
dotes of  Alderman  Plunket's  family  of  Portsoken- 
ward,  and  the  Miss  Timberlakes,  the  rich  heiresses 
of  Cnitched-Friars ;  but  then  they  relieved  their  con- 
sciences, and  averted  the  reproaches  of  their  confed- 
erates, by  canvassing  at  the  next  gossiping  convoca- 
tion every  thing  that  had  passed,  and  pulling  the 
Lambs  and  their  rout  all  to  pifxes. 

The  only  one  of  the  family  that  could  not  be 
made  fashionable,  was  the  retired  butcher  himself. 
Honest  Lamb,  in  spite  of  the  meekness  of  his  name, 
was  a  rough  hearty  old  fellow,  with  the  voice  of  a 
lion,  a  head  of  bKack  hair  like  a  shoe-brush,  and  a 
broad  face  mottled  like  his  own  beef.  It  was  in  vain 
that  the  daughters  always  spoke  of  him  as  the  "  old 
P^entleman,"  addressed  him  as  "  papa,"  in  tones  of 
mfinite  softness,  and  endeavoured  to  coax  him  into  a 
dressing-gown  and  slippers,  and  other  gentlemanly 
habits.  Do  what  they  might,  there  was  no  keeping 
down  the  butcher.  His  sturdy  nature  would  break 
through  all  their  glozings.  He  had  a  hearty  vulgar 
good-numour,  that  was  irrepressible.  His  very  jokes 
made  his  sensitive  daughters  shudder;  and  he  per- 
•isted  in  wearing  his  blue  cotton  coat  of  a  morning, 
dininc  at  two  o'clock,  and  having  a  "  bit  of  sausage 
w'th  Bis  tea." 

He  was  doomed,  however,  to  share  the  unpopu- 
liuity  of  his  family.  He  found  his  old  comrades 
ariilually  growing  cold  and  civil  to  him  ;  no  longer 
laughing  at  his  jokes  ;  and  now  and  then  throwing 
out  a  ning  at  "  some  people,"  and  a  hint  about 
"quality  binding."  This  both  nettled  and- perplexed 
the  honest  butcher;  and  his  wife  and  daughters, 
with  the  consummate  policy  of  the  shrewder  sex, 
taking  advantage  of  the  circumstances,  at  length 
prevailed  upion  him  to  give  up  his  afternoon  pipe 
and  tankard  at  Wagstaff 's ;  to  sit  after  dinner  by  him- 
self, and  take  his  pint  of  port — a  liquor  he  detested — 
and  to  nod  in  his  chair,  in  solitary  and  dismal  gen- 
tility. 

The  Miss  Lambs  might  now  be  seen  flaunting 
along  the  streets  in  French  bonnets,  with  unknown 
beaux  ;  and  talking  and  laughing  so  loud,  that  it 
distressed  the  nerves  of  every  good  lady  within  hear- 
ing. They  even  went  so  far  as  to  attempt  patron- 
age, and  actually  induced  a  French  dancing-master 
to  set  up  in  the  neighbourhood ;  but  the  worthy  folks 
of  Little  Britain  took  fire  at  it,  and  did  so  persecute 
the  poor  Gaul,  that  he  was  fain  to  pack  up  hddle  and 
dancing-pumps,  and  decamp  with  such  precipitation, 
that  he  absolutely  forgot  to  pay  for  his  lodgings. 

I  had  flattered  myself,  at  first,  with  the  idea  that 
All  tliis  fierj  indignation  on  the  part  of  the  commu- 
aitv  was  meiely  the  overflowing  of  their  zeal  for  good 
old  English  manners,  and  their  horror  of  innovation ; 
and  I  applauded  the  silent  contempt  they  were  so 
vociferous  in  expressing,  for  upstart  pride,  French 
fiLshions,  and  the  Miss  Lambs.  Bui  1  r^ieve  to  say, 
that  I  soon  perceived  the  infection  had  aken  hold  ; 
and  that  my  neiglibours,  after  condemning,  were  be- 

Ennin?  to  follow  their  example.  I  overheard  my 
ndlady  importuning  her  husl)and  to  let  their  daugh- 
ters have  one  quarter  at  French  and  music,  and  that 
they  msght  take  a  few  lessons  in  quadrille ;  I  even 
law  m  the  course  of  a  few  Sundays,  no  less  than 


five  French  bonnets,  precisely  like  those  oi  the  Misi 
Lambs,  parading  about  Little  Britain. 

I  still  nad  my  nopes  ihat  alt  this  folly  would  grad< 
ually  die  away ;  that  the  Lambs  might  move  oit  of 
the  neighbourhood ;  might  die,  or  might  run  iway 
with  attorneys'  apprentices  ;  and  that  quiet  and  sim 
p'icity  might  be  again  restored  to  the  comm«nity. 
But  unluckily  a  rival  power  arose.  An  opulent  cu- 
man  died,  and  left  a  widow  with  a  large  jointure,  and 
a  family  of  buxom  daughters.  The  young  ladies  had 
long  been  repining  in  secret  at  the  parsimony  of  a 
prudent  father,  which  kept  down  ill  their  elegant 
aspirings.  Their  ambition  being  n»w  no  longer  re- 
strained broke  out  into  a  blaze,  and  they  openly  took 
the  field  against  the  family  of  the  butcher.  It  is  true 
that  the  Lambs,  having  had  the  first  start,  had  nat- 
urally an  advantage  of  them  in  the  fashionable 
career.  They  could  speak  a  little  bad  French, 
play  the  piano,  dance  quad:. lies,  and  had  formed 
nign  acquaintances,  but  the  Trotters  were  not  to  be 
distanced.  When  the  Lambs  appeared  with  two 
feathers  in  their  hats,  the  Miss  Trotters  mounted 
four,  and  of  twice  as  fine  colours.  If  the  Lambs 
gave  a  dance,  the  Trotters  were  sure  not  to  be  be- 
hindhand ;  and  though  they  might  not  boast  of  hs 
good  company,  yet  they  had  double  the  numlier,  an  1 
were  twice  as  merry. 

The  whole  community  has  at  length  divided  itseli 
into  fashionable  factions,  under  the  banners  of  these 
two  families.  The  old  games  of  Pope-Joan  and 
Tom-come-ticklc-me  are  entirely  discarded  ;  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  getting  up  an  honest  country-dance  • 
and  on  my  attempting  to  kiss  a  young  lady  unci' r 
the  misMetoe  last  Christmas,  I  was  indignantly  re- 
pulsed; the  Miss  Lambs  having  pronounced  i' 
"  shocking  vulgar."  Bitter  rivalry  has  also  broker, 
out  as  to  the  most  fashionable  part  of  Little  Britain ; 
the  Lambs  standing  up  for  tne  dignity  of  Cross- 
Keys  Square,  and  the  Trotters  for  the  vicinity  of 
St.  Bartholomew's. 

Thus  is  this  little  territory  torn  by  factions  and 
intemil  dissensions,  like  the  great  empire  whose 
name  it  bears ;  and  what  will  be  the  result  would 
puzzle  the  apothecary  himself,  with  all  his  talent  nt 
prognostics,  to  determine;  though  I  apprehend  that 
It  will  terminate  in  the  total  downfall  of  genuine 
John  Bullism. 

The  immediate  eflfects  are  extremely  unpleasani 
to  me.  Being  a  single  man,  and,  as  I  observed  be- 
fore, rather  an  idle  good-for-nothing  ,  ^rsonage,  1 
have  been  considered  the  only  gentleman  by  profes- 
sion in  the  place.  I  stand  therefore  in  high  favoui 
with  both  parties,  and  have  to  hear  all  their  cabinet 
councils  and  mutual  backbitings.  As  I  am  too  civil 
not  to  agree  with  the  ladies  on  all  occasions,  I  have 
committed  myself  most  horribly  with  both  parties,  by 
abusing  their  opponents.  I  might  manage  to  recon- 
cile this  to  my  conscience,  which  is  a  truly  accom- 
modating one,  but  I  cannot  to  my  apprehensions— 
if  the  Lambs  and  Trotters  ever  come  to  a  reconcilia- 
tion, and  compare  notes,  I  am  ruined  ! 

I  have  determined,  therefore,  to  beat  a  retreat  in 
time,  and  am  actually  looking  out  for  some  othei 
nest  in  this  great  city,  where  old  English  manners 
are  still  kept  up;  where  French  is  neither  eaten, 
drank,  danced,  nor  spoken ;  and  where  there  are  no 
fashionable  families  of  retired  tradesmen.  Tliis 
found,  1  will,  like  a  veteran  rat,  hasten  away  before 
I  have  an  old  house  about  my  ears — bid  a  long, 
though  a  sorrowful  adieu  to  my  present  abode — and 
leave  the  rival  factions  of  the  Lambs  and  the  Trot- 
ters, to  divide  the  distracted  empire  of  Littlv 
Britain. 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


67 


STRATFORO-ON'AVON. 


factions  and 


Tb  «u  loft  flowing  Avon,  by  thy  silver  stream 
Of  Ihin^  more  tnan  mortal  iwect  Shalcspeare  would  dream  ; 
The  feinct  by  moonlight  dance  round  hit  Kreen  bed. 
For  ballowea  the  titriu  which  pillowed  hit  head. 

Gamicx. 

'l"3  a  homeless  man,  who  has  no  spot  on  this  wide 
Korld  which  he  can  truly  call  his  own,  there  is  a 
inomentary  feelinjj  of  something  like  indepeiuleiice 
and  territorial  consequence,  wnen,  after  a  weary 
flay's  travel,  he  kicks  off  his  boots,  thrusts  his  feet 
into  slippers,  and  stretches  himself  before  an  inn  fire. 
Let  the  world  without  go  as  it  may ;  let  kingdoms 
rise  or  fall,  so  long  as  he  has  the  wherewithal  to  pay 
his  bill,  he  is,  for  the  time  l)eing,  the  very  monarch 
of  all  he  surveys.  The  arm-chair  is  his  throne,  the 
poker  his  sceptre,  and  the  little  parlour,  of  some 
twelve  feet  square,  his  undisputed  empire.  It  is  a 
morsel  of  certainty,  snatched  from  the  midst  of  the 
ur.Lertainties  of  life ;  it  is  a  sunny  moment  gleaming 
out  kindly  on  a  cloudy  day ;  and  he  who  has  ad- 
vanced some  way  on  the  pilgrimage  of  existence, 
knows  the  importance  of  husbanding  even  morsels 
and  moments  of  enjoyment.  "  Shall  I  not  take  mine 
ease  in  mine  inn?"  thought  I,  as  I  gave  the  fire  a 
stir,  lolled  back  in  my  ellmw-chair,  and  cast  a  com- 
placent look  about  the  little  parlour  of  the  Red 
Horse,  at  Stratford-on-Avon. 

The  words  of  sweet  Shakspeare  were  just  passing 
through  my  mind  as  the  cIock  struck  midnight  from 
the  tower  of  the  church  in  which  he  lies  buried. 
There  was  a  gentle  tap  at  the  door,  and  a  pretty 
chambermaid,  putting  in  her  smiling  face,  inquired, 
'vith  a  hesitating  air,  whether  1  had  rung.  I  under- 
9f  jod  it  as  a  modest  hint  that  it  was  time  to  retire. 
My  dream  of  absolute  dominion  was  at  an  end  ;  so 
abdicating  my  throne,  like  a  prudent  potentate,  to 
»void  being  deposed,  and  putting  the  Stratford 
Guide- Book  under  my  arm,  as  a  pillow  companion, 
I  went  to  bed,  and  dreamt  all  night  of  Shakspeare, 
the  Jubilee,  and  David  Garrick. 

1  he  next  morning  was  one  of  those  quickening 
mornings  which  we  sometimes  have  in  early  spring ; 
tor  it  was  about  the  middle  of  March.  The  chills  of 
a  long  winter  had  suddenly  given  way ;  the  north 
wind  h.-id  spent  its  last  gasp ;  and  a  mild  air  came 
stealing  from  the  west,  breathing  the  breath  of  life 
into  nature,  and  wooing  every  bud  and  llower  to 
burst  forth  into  fragrance  and  beauty. 

I  had  come  to  Stratford  on  a  poetical  pilgrimage. 
My  first  visit  was  to  the  house  where  Shakspeare 
was  bom,  and  where,  according  to  tnulition,  he  was 
biought  up  to  his  father's  craft  of  wool-cotnbing.  It 
is  a  small  mean-looking  edifice  of  wood  and  plaster, 
a  true  nestling-place  of  genius,  which  seems  to  de- 
light in  hatching  its  offspring  in  by-corners.  The 
walls  of  iis  squalid  chambers  are  covered  with  names 
and  inscriptions  in  every  language,  by  pilgrims  of 
all  nations,  ranks,  and  conditions,  from  the  prince  to 
thr  peasant ;  and  present  a  simple,  but  striking  in- 
stance of  the  spontaneous  and  universal  homage  of 
mankind  to  the  great  poet  of  nature. 

The  house  is  shown  by  a  garrulous  old  lady,  in  a 
frosty  red  face,  lighted  up  by  a  cold  blue  anxious  eye, 
ani  garnished  with  artificial  locks  of  flaxen  hair, 
curling  from  under  an  exceedingly  dirty  cap.  She 
W.1S  neculiarly  assiduous  in  exhibiting  the  relics  with 
which  this,  like  all  other  celebrated  shrines,  abounds. 
There  was  the  shattered  stock  of  the  very  matchlock 
with  which  Shakspeare  shot  the  deer,  on  his  poach- 
ing exploits.  There,  too,  was  his  tobacco-box ; 
which  proves  that  he  was  a  rival  smoker  of  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh ;  the  sword  also  with  w*-  cl    .e 


played  Hamlet ;  and  the  identical  lantern  with  which 
Friar  Laurence  discovered  Romeo  a:id  Juliet  at  tht 
tomb !  There  was  an  ample  supply  also  of  Shak- 
speare's  mulberry-tree,  which  seems  to  have  as 
extraordinary  powers  of  self-multiplication  as  ihc 
wood  of  the  true  cross ;  of  which  there  is  enongh 
extant  to  build  a  ship  of  the  line. 

The  most  favourite  object  of  curiosity,  however,  l» 
Shakspeare's  chair.  It  stands  in  the  chimncy-ncoV 
of  a  small  gloomy  chamber.  Just  behind  what  w»s 
his  father's  shop.  Here  he  may  many  a  time  huve 
sat  when  a  boy,  watching  the  slowly-revolving  spit, 
with  all  the  longing  of  an  urchin ;  or  of  an  evening, 
listening  to  the  crones  and  gossips  of  Stratford, 
dealing  forth  churchyard  tales  and  lecendary  anec- 
dotes of  the  troublesom;  times  of  England.  In  this 
chair  it  is  the  custom  of  every  one  who  visits  the 
house  to  sit :  whether  this  lie  done  with  the  hope  of 
imbibing  any  of  the  inspiration  of  the  bard,  I  am  at 
a  loss  to  say  ;  I  merely  mention  the  fact ;  and  mine 
hostess  privately  assured  me,  that,  though  built  of 
solid  oak,  such  was  the  fervent  zeal  of  devotees,  that 
the  chair  had  to  be  new-bottomed  at  least  once  in 
three  years.  It  is  worthy  of  notice  also,  in  the  his- 
tory of  this  extraordinary  chair,  that  it  partakes 
something  of  the  volatile  nature  of  the  SanU  Casa 
of  Loretto,  or  the  flying  chair  of  the  Arabian  en- 
chanter ;  for  though  sold  some  few  years  since  to  a 
northern  princess,  yet,  strange  to  tell,  it  has  found 
its  way  back  again  to  the  old  chimney-corner. 

I  am  always  of  easy  faith  in  such  rnatters,  and  am 
very  willing  to  be  deceived,  where  the  deceit  is 
pleasant  and  costs  nothing.  I  am  therefore  a  ready 
Deliever  in  relics,  legends,  and  local  anecdotes  of 
goblins  and  great  men  ;  and  would  advise  all  travel- 
lers who  travel  for  their  gratification  to  be  the  same. 
What  is  it  to  us  whether  these  stories  be  true  OT 
false  so  long  as  we  can  persuade  ourselves  into  the 
belief  of  them,  and  enjoy  all  the  charm  of  the  reality  ? 
There  is  nothing  like  resolute  good-humoured  credu- 
lity in  these  matters ;  and  on  this  occasion  I  went 
even  so  far  as  willingly  to  believe  the  claims  of  mine 
hostess  to  a  line.il  descent  from  the  poet,  when,  un- 
luckily for  my  faith,  she  put  into  my  hands  a  play  of 
her  own  composition,  which  set  all  belief  in  her  con- 
sanguinity at  defiance. 

From  the  birth-place  of  Shakspeare  a  few  paces 
brought  me  to  his  grave.  He  lies  buried  in  the 
chancel  of  the  parish  church,  a  large  and  venerable 
pile,  mouldering  with  age,  but  richly  ornamented. 
It  stands  on  the  banks  of  the  Avon,  on  an  embow- 
ered point,  and  separated  by  adjoining  gardens  from 
the  suburbs  of  the  town.  Its  situation  is  quiet  and 
retired  :  the  river  runs  murmuring  at  the  foot  of  the 
churchyard,  and  the  elms  which  grow  upon  its  banks 
droop  their  branches  into  its  clear  bosom.  An  avenue 
of  limes,  the  boughs  of  which  are  curiously  inter- 
laced, so  as  to  form  in  summer  .in  arched  way  of 
foliage,  lead*  up  from  the  gate  of  the  yard  to  the 
church  porch.  The  graves  are  overgrown  with 
grass;  the  gray  tombstones,  some  of  them  nearly 
sunk  into  tne  earth,  are  half-covered  with  moss, 
which  has  likewise  tinted  the  reverend  old  building, 
Small  birds  have  built  their  nests  among  the  cor* 
nices  and  fissures  of  the  walls,  and  keep  up  a  coik 
tinual  flutter  and  chirping ;  and  rooks  are  sailing  aad 
cawing  about  its  lofty  gray  spire. 

In  the  course  of  my  rambles  I  met  with  the  graj^ 
headed  sexton,  and  accompanied  him  home  to  get 
the  key  of  the  church.  He  had  lived  m  Stratford, 
man  and  boy,  for  eighty  years,  and  seemed  still  to 
consider  himself  a  vigorous  man,  with  the  trivial  ex- 
ception that  he  had  nearly  lost  the  use  of  his  legs  for 
a  few  years  past.  His  dwelling  was  a  cottage,  look- 
ing out  upon  the  Avon  and  iu  Lordehng  r  -ea^ws; 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGION  IRVING. 


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f5in 


and  was  a  picture  of  that  neatness,  order,  and  com- 
fort,  which  p<^rvacie  the  humblest  dwellings  in  this 
country.  A  low  white-washed  room,  with  a  stone 
floor  carefully  scrubbed,  served  for  parlour,  Icitchen, 
and  hall.  Rows  of  pewter  and  earthen  dishes  elit- 
tered  along  the  dresser.  On  an  old  oaken  table, 
well  rubbed  and  polished,  lay  the  family  bible  and 

erayer-book,  and  the  drawer  contained  the  family 
brary,  composed  of  about  half  a  score  of  well- 
ihurabed  volumes.  Aii  ancient  clock,  that  impor- 
anl  article  of  cottage  furniture,  ticked  on  the  oppo- 
i'ltii  side  of  the  room ;  with  a  bright  warming-pan 
hangine  on  one  side  of  it,  and  the  old  man's  horn- 
handled  Sunday  cane  on  the  other.  The  fire-place, 
as  usual,  was  wide  and  deep  enough  to  admit  a  gos- 
sip knot  within  its  iambs.  In  one  comer  sat  the  old 
man's  grand-<Iaughter  sewing,  a  pretty  blue-eyed 
gill, — and  in  the  opposite  corner  was  a  superannu- 
at  jd  crony,  whom  he  addressed  by  the  name  of  John 
Ange,  and  who,  I  found,  had  been  his  companion 
from  childhood.  They  had  played  together  in  in- 
fancy ;  they  had  worked  together  in  manhood ;  they 
were  now  tottering  about  and  gossiping  away  the 
evening  of  life  ;  and  in  a  short  time  they  will  prob- 
ably be  buried  together  in  the  neighbouring  church- 
yara.  It  is  not  often  that  we  see  two  streams  of  ex- 
istence running  ^hus  evenly  and  tranquilly  side  by 
side;  it  is  only  m  such  quiet  "bosom  scenes"  of 
life  that  they  are  to  be  met  with 

I  had  hoped  to  gather  some  traditionary  anecdotes 
of  the  bard  from  these  ancient  chroniclers ;  but  they 
had  nothing  new  to  impart.  The  long  interval,  dur- 
ing which  Shakspeare's  writings  lay  in  comparative 
neglect,  has  spread  its  sh.idow  over  history ;  and 
it  IS  his  good  or  evil  lot,  that  scarcely  any  thing  re- 
oaains  to  his  biographers  but  a  scanty  handful!  of 
W>njectures. 

The  sexton  and  his  companion  had  been  employed 
u  carpenters,  on  the  preparations  for  the  celebrated 
Stratford  jubilee,  and  they  remembered  Garrick,  the 
prime  n  over  of  the  fete,  who  superintended  the  ar- 
rangements, and  who,  according  to  the  sexton,  was 
"  a  short  punch  man,  very  lively  and  bustling."  John 
Ange  had  assisted  also  in  cutting  down  Siiakspeare's 
mulberry-tree,  of  which  he  had  a  morsel  in  his  pocket 
for  sale ;  no  doubt  a  sovereign  quickener  of  literary 
conception. 

I  was  grieved  to  hear  these  two  worthy  wights 
speak  very  dubiously  of  the  eloquent  dame  who 
shews  the  Shakspeare  house.  John  Ange  shook  his 
head  when  I  mentioned  her  valuable  and  inexhaust- 
ible collection  of  relics,  particularly  her  remains  of 
the  mulberry-tree;  and  the  old  sexton  even  ex- 
pressed a  doubt  as  to  Shikspeare  having  been  born 
in  her  house.  I  soon  discovered  that  he  looked 
upon  her  mansion  with  an  evil  eye,  as  a  rival  to  the 
poet's  tomb ;  the  latter  having  comparatively  but 
few  visitors.  Thus  it  is  that  historians  differ  at  the 
very  outset,  and  mere  pebbles  make  the  stream  of 
truth  diverge  into  different  channels,  even  at  the 
fountain-head. 

We  approached  the  church  through  the  avenue  of 
limes,  and  entered  by  a  Gothic  porch,  highly  oma- 
nented  with  carved  doors  of  massive  oak.  The  in- 
te»ior  is  spacious,  and  the  archikccture  and  einbel- 
I'shments  superior  to  those  of  most  country  churches. 
There  are  several  ancient  monuments  of  nobility 
snd  gentry,  over  some  of  which  hang  funeral  es- 
cutcheons, and  banners  dropping  piecemeal  from 
the  walls.  The  tomb  of  Shakspeare  is  in  the  chan- 
cel. The  place  is  solemn  and  sepulchral.  Tall 
elms  wave  before  the  pointed  windows,  and  the 
Avon,  which  runs  at  a  short  distance  from  the 
walls,  keeps  up  a  low  perpetual  murmur.  A  flat 
»tone  marks  the  spot  where  the  bard  is  buned. 


There  are  four  lines  inscribed  on  it,  said  to  have 
been  written  by  himself,  and  which  have  in  them 
something  extremely  awful.  If  they  are  indeed  his 
own,  they  show  that  solicitude  about  the  quiet  ot  the 
grave,  which  seems  vatural  to  fine  sensibilities  and 
thoughtful  minds : 

Good  rriend,  for  Tain'  fake,  forbMN 
To  di^  the  o.ut  incloacd  her*. 
BletsM  be  he  that  iparet  Ihete  tlonei,  ( 
And  curst  be  he  that  movca  my  bouei, 

Just  over  the  grave,  in  a  niche  of  the  wall,  is  a 
bust  of  Shakspeare,  put  up  shortly  after  his  death, 
and  considered  as  a  resemblance.  The  aspect  is 
pleasant  and  serene,  with  a  finely  arched  forehead ; 
and  I  thought  I  could  read  in  it  clear  indications  of 
that  cheerful,  social  disposition,  by  which  he  was  as 
much  characterized  among  his  contemporaries  as  by 
the  vastness  of  his  genius.  The  inscription  mentions 
his  age  at  the  time  of  his  decease — fifty-three  years ; 
an  untimely  death  for  the  world:  for  what  fruit 
might  not  nave  been  expected  from  the  golden  au- 
tumn of  such  a  mind,  sheltered  as  it  was  from  the 
stormy  vicissitudes  of  life,  and  flourishing  in  the 
sunshine  of  popular  and  royal  favour  1 

The  inscription  on  the  tombstone  has  not  been 
without  its  effect.  It  has  prevented  theremoval  ot 
his  remains  from  the  bosom  of  his  native  place  to 
Westminster  Abbey,  which  was  at  one  time  contem- 
plated. A  few  years  since  also,  as  some  labourers 
were  digging  to  make  an  adjoining  vault,  the  earth 
caved  in,  so  as  to  leave  a  vacant  space  almost  like  an 
arch,  through  which  one  might  have  reached  into  his 
grave.  No  one,  however,  presumed  to  meddle  wi'.h 
the  remains  so  awfully  guarded  by  a  malediction , 
and  lest  any  of  the  idle  or  the  curious,  or  any  collect- 
or of  relics,  should  be  tempted  to  commit  depreda- 
tions, the  old  sexton  kept  watch  over  the  place  foj 
two  days,  until  the  vault  was  finished,  and  the  aper- 
ture closed  again.  He  told  me  that  he  had  made 
bold  to  look  in  at  the  hole,  but  could  <iet  neithei 
cofTm  nor  bones;  nothing  but  dust.  It  was  some- 
thing, I  thought,  to  have  seen  the  dust  of  Shak- 
speare. 

Next  to  this  grave  are  those  of  his  wife,  his  favour- 
ite daughter  Mrs.  Hall,  and  others  of  his  family.  On 
a  tomb  close  by,  also,  is  a  full-length  elFigy  of  his  old 
friend  John  Coml>e,  of  usurious  memory ;  on  whom 
he  is  said  to  have  written  a  ludicrous  epitaph.  There 
are  other  monuments  around,  but  the  mind  refuses 
to  dwell  on  any  thing  that  is  not  connected  witii 
Shakspeare.  His  idea  pervades  the  place — the  whole 
pile  seems  but  as  his  mausoleum.  The  feelings,'  no 
longer  checked  and  thwarted  by  doubt,  here  indulge 
in  perfect  confidence:  other  traces  of  him  may  \x 
false  or  dubious,  but  here  is  pal|)able  evidence  and 
absolute  certainty.  As  I  trod  the  sounding  pave- 
ment, there  was  something  intense  and  thrilling  in 
the  idea,  that,  in  very  truth,  the  remains  of  Shak- 
speare were  mouldering  beneath  my  feet.  It  was  a 
long  time  before  I  could  prevail  upon  myself  to  leave 
the  place ;  and  as  I  passed  through  the  churchyar:!, 
I  plucked  a  branch  from  one  of  the  yew-trees,  th: 
only  relic  that  I  have  brought  from  Stratford. 

I  had  now  visited  the  usual  objects  of  a  pilgrir-i')i 
devotion,  but  1  had  a  desire  to  see  the  old  fan  ily  ser.i 
of  the  Lucys  at  Charlecot,  and  to  ramble  through  ihz 
park  where  Shakspeare,  in  company  with  lome  of 
the  roysters  of  Stnittbrd,  committed  his  youthful  ol- 
fence  of  deer-stealing.  In  this  hairbrained  exploit 
we  are  told  that  he  was  taken  prisoner,  and  carried 
to  the  keeper's  lodge,  where  he  remained  all  night  in 
doleful  captivity.  When  brought  into  the  piesencc 
of  Sit  Thomas  Lucy,  his  treatment  must  have  uecn 
galling  and  humiliating ;  for  it  so  wrought  upon  hii 


fpmt  as  to  pn 
(ffixcd  to  the  I 
This  flagitii 
Knif-ht  so  ince 
at  Warwick  to 
against  the  rli 
ni)i  wait  to  bra 
01  the  .Shire  ai 
abandoned  the 
pternal  trade ; 
1  hanger-on  t 
titially,  wrote  fi 
jisrsecution  of 
imlilfcrent  woe 
immortal  poet. 
t!ine,  a  sense  ol 
Charlecot,  and 
in  the  sportive 
Thomas  is  said 
and  the  satire  ii 
irinorial  bearir 
hati  white  luces 
Various  attei 
pliers  to  soften 
gression  of  the 
those  thoughtle 
turn  of  mind 
less  all  the  wildr 
(liijciplined,  and 
peniment  has  ns 
bond.  When  le 
and  delights  in  < 
li  is  often  a  tun 
of  fate,  whether 
great  rogue  or  a  ( 
lund  fortunately 
;j  daringly  tram 
iTialic  laws. 

I  have  little  do 
I'ke  an  unbrokeii 
S;ratfoid,  he  wa 
ki.ids  of  odd  anc 
sociated  with  all 
one  of  those  un. 
old  men  shake  tl 
one  (l.iy  come  to 
in  .Sir  Thonijis  L 
to  a  Scottish  Kn 
yi't  untamed,  im 
adventurous.^ 

The  old  mansi 
pirk  still  remain 
and  are  peculiarl 
with  this  whimsi 
scanty  history  of 

•  The  following  is  t 
A  pariiamei 
At  home  a 
If  lowftie  11 
Then  Lucy 
He  ihii 
„,  Yet  an 
We  allow  b 
If  Lucy  is  l( 
Then  UDg  I 

+  The  luce  ia  a  pili 
Charlecot. 

X  A  proof  of  Shakfi 
youthful  days  may  be 
u  Stratford  by  the  el 
•Kjue  Views  on  the  A 

About  seven  miles 
loiirn  of  Bedford,  famo 
•eomanry  used  to  meei 
ud  lo  challenge  the  l( 
to  »  contest  of  drinki 
»«re  called  out  to  pro 
autr.Ser  of  the  cham 
provftb,  that  "they  w 
li»  -Ic  ts  Kalstaff  to  h 
'unl  at  the  first  onse 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  3E(>FFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


99 


ipmt  as  to  produce  a  rough  pasquinade,  which  was 
tfiizcd  to  the  park  gate  at  Charlecot.* 

Tl)is  flagitious  attacic  upon  the  diKnity  or  the 
Knight  so  incensed  him,  that  he  applied  to  a  lawyer 
at  Warwick  to  put  the  severity  of  the  laws  in  force 
ai^uinst  the  rhyming  deer-stalker.  Shakspeare  did 
not  wait  to  brave  the  united  puissance  of  a  Knight 
01  the  Shire  and  a  country  attorney.  He  forthwith 
abandoned  the  pleasant  banks  of  the  Avon,  and  his 
;^"iternal  trade ;  wandered  away  to  London  ;  became 
1  hanger-on  to  the  theatres ;  then  an  actor ;  and, 
finally,  wrote  for  the  stage;  and  thus,  through  the 
persfcution  of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  Stratford  lost  an 
inililfcrent  wool-comber,  and  the  world  gained  an 
ini  mortal  poet.  He  retained,  however,  for  a  lone 
time,  a  sense  of  the  harsh  treatment  of  the  Lord  of 
Charlecot,  and  revenged  himself  in  his  writings ;  but 
in  the  sportive  way  of  a  ^ood-n.^tured  mind.  Sir 
Thomas  is  said  to  be  the  original  of  Justice  Shallow, 
and  the  satire  is  slily  fixed  upon  him  by  the  Justice's 
irniorial  bearings,  which,  like  those  of  the  Knight, 
had  white  lucesf  in  the  quarterings. 

Various  attempts  have  been  made  by  his  biogra- 
phers to  soften  and  explain  away  this  early  trans- 
gression of  the  poet ;  but  I  look  upon  it  as  one  of 
those  thoughtless  exploits  natural  to  his  situation  and 
turn  of  mind  Shakspeare,  when  young,  had  doubt- 
less ail  the  wildness  and  irregularity  of  an  ardent,  un- 
disciplined, and  undirected  gt-nius.  The  poetic  tem- 
perament has  naturally  something  in  it  of  the  vaga- 
bond. When  left  to  itself,  it  runs  loosely  and  wilclly, 
and  delights  in  every  thing  eccentric  and  licentious, 
li  is  often  a  turn-up  of  a  die,  in  the  gambling  freaks 
of  fate,  whether  a  natural  genius  shall  turn  out  a 
great  rogue  or  a  great  poet ;  and  h.id  not  Shakspeare's 
mind  fortunately  taken  a  literary  bias,  he  might  have 
;j  daringly  transcended  all  civil,  as  he  has  all  dra- 
nr.alic  laws. 

I  have  little  doubt  that,  in  early  life,  when  running, 
like  an  unbroken  colt,  about  the  neighbourhood  of 
Stratford,  he  was  to  be  found  in  the  company  of  all 
ki:ids  of  odd  and  anomalous  chamcters ;  that  he  as- 
sociated with  all  the  madcaps  of  the  place,  and  was 
one  of  those  unlucky  urchins,  at  mention  of  whom 
old  men  shake  their  neads,  and  predict  that  they  will 
one  (lay  come  to  the  gallows.  To  him  the  poaching 
in  Sir  Thoiufis  Lucy's  park  was  doubtless  like  a  foray 
to  a  Scottish  Knight,  and  struck  his  eager,  and  as 
yt:i  untamed,  imagination,  as  something  delightfully 
adventurous.^ 

The  old  mansion  of  Charlecot  and  its  surrounding 
park  still  remain  in  the  possession  of  the  Lucy  family, 
and  are  peculiarly  interesting  from  being  connected 
with  this  whimsical  but  eventful  circumstance  in  the 
scanty  history  of  the  bard.    As  the  house  stood  at 

*  The  following  is  the  only  itana  raunt  of  IhU  UmpooD : 
A  parliament  member,  a  justice  of  peace, 
At  home  a  poor  scarecrow,  at  London  an  tue. 
If  lowsie  is  Lucy,  as  some  volke  miKalle  it. 
Then  Lucy  is  loWsie,  whatever  beiall  it.  / 

He  thinks  himself  great ; 
Vet  an  assa  in  his  state, 
We  allow  by  his  cars  with  hut  asses  to  mate. 
If  Lucy  is  lowsie,  as  some  volke  miscalle  it. 
Then  sing  lowsie  Lucy,  whatever  belall  it. 

t  The  luca  i«  a  pike  or  Jack,  and  abounds  in  the  Avon,  about 
Charlecot. 

t  A  proof  of  Shakspeare'i  random  Kabits  and  associates  in  his 
fouibrul  days  may  be  found  in  a  Iradi  ionary  anecdote,  picked  up 
u  Suaifbrd  by  the  elder  Ireland,  and  mentioned  in  his  "  Pictur- 
oque  Views  on  the  Avon." 

About  seven  miles  from  Stratford  lies  the  thinty  little  market 
town  of  Bedford,  famous  for  its  ale.  Two  societies  of  the  village 
•eomanry  used  to  meet,  under  the  appellation  of  the  Kedford  topers, 
■lid  ici  challenge  the  lovers  of  good  ale  of  the  neighbouring  vilUges, 
to  a  contest  of  drinking.  Among  others,  the  people  of  Strattord 
were  called  out  to  prove  the  streneth  of  their  heads  ;  and  in  the 
sutr.ber  of  the  champions  was  Shakspeare,  who,  in  spite  of  the 
provnb,  Ihat  "  they  who  drink  beer  will  think  beer,"  was  as  true  to 
bit  ^ic  a«  FalstalF  to  his  sack.  The  chivalry  of  Stratford  was  stag- 
rernl  at  the  first  onset,  and  sounded  a  retreat  while  they  had  yet 


little  more  than  three  miles'  distance  fr  jxi  Stratford. 
I  resolved  to  pay  it  a  pedestrian  visit,  that  I  mi^ht 
stroll  leisurely  through  some  3f  those  seen*  a  from 
which  Shakspeare  must  ha\e  derived  his  earliest 
ideas  of  rural  imagery. 

The  country  was  yet  naked  and  le?.f!ess  ;  )3\xt  En 
gtish  scenery  is  always  verdant,  aral  the  suddc. 
dmnge  in  the  temperature  of  the  weather  was  our 
prising  in  its  quickening  effects  upon  the  landscaf  e 
It  was  inspiring  and  animati-ig  to  witness  this  first 
awakening  of  spring ;  to  feel  its  warm  breath  steal- 
ing over  the  senses  ;  to  see  the  moist  mellow  earth 
beginning  to  put  forth  the  green  sprout  and  the 
tender  blade ;  and  the  trees  and  shnios,  in  their  re- 
viving tints  and  bursting  buds,  giving  the  promise  of 
returning  foliage  and  flower.  The  cold  snow-drop, 
that  little  borderer  on  the  skirts  of  winter,  was  to 
be  seen  with  its  chaste  white  blossoms  in  the  small 
gardens  before  the  cottages.  The  bleating  of  the 
new-dropt  lambs  was  faintly  heard  from  tlie  fields 
The  sparrow  twittered  about  the  thatched  eaves  and 
budding  hedges ;  the  robin  threw  a  livelier  note 
into  his  late  querulous  wintry  strain  ;  and  the  lark, 
springing  up  from  the  reeking  bosom  of  the  meadow, 
towered  away  into  the  bright  fleecy  cloud,  pouring 
forth  torrents  of  melody.  As  I  watched  the  little 
songster,  mounting  up  higher  and  higher,  until  his 
body  was  a  mere  speck  on  the  white  bosom  of  the 
cloud,  while  the  e.ir  was  still  filled  with  his  music,  it 
called  to  mind  Shakspeare 's  exquisite  little  song  in 
Cymbehne : 

Hark  I  hark  I  the  lark  at  heav'n's  Kate  liagt, 

And  Phcebus  'gins  arise, 
HIm  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs, 

On  chaliced  flowers  that  lies. 

And  winking  mary-buds  begin 

To  ope  their  golden  eyes  ; 
With  ivery  thing  that  pretty  bin, 

My  .ady  sweet,  arise  t 

Indeed,  the  whole  country  about  here  is  poetic 
ground ;  every  thing  is  associated  with  the  ioea  of 
Shakspeare.  Every  old  cottage  thap  I  saw,  I  fancied 
into  some  resort  of  his  boyhood,  where  he  had  ac- 
quired his  intimate  knowledge  of  nistic  life  and  man- 
ners, and  heard  those  legendary  tales  and  wild  super- 
stitions which  he  has  woven  like  witchcraft  into  his 
dramas.  For  in  his  time,  we  are  told,  it  was  a  popu- 
lar amusement  in  winter  evenings  "  to  sit  round  the 
fire,  and  tell  merry  tales  of  errant  knights,  queens, 
lovers,  lords,  ladies,  giants,  dwarfs,  thieves,  cheaters, 
witches,  fairies,  goblins,  and  friars."* 

My  route  for  a  part  of  the  way  lay  in  sight  of  the 
Avon,  which  made  a  variety  of  the  most  fanciful 
doublings  and  windings  through  a  wide  and  fertile 
valley:  sometimes  glittering  from  among  willow*. 


lees  to  carry  them  off  the  field.  They  had  scarcely  marched  a  mile, 
when,  their  legs  failing  them,  they  were  forced  to  lie  down_  under  ■ 
crab-tree,  where  they  passed  the  night.  It  is  still  skiuding,  and 
goes  by  the  name  of  ahakspeare's  tree. 

In  the  morning  his  companions  awaked  the  bard,  and  pfDjioiad 
returning  to  Bedford,  but  he  declined,  saying  he  had  had  eaouch, 
having  orunk  with 

Piping  Pebworth,  Dancing  Marstoa, 
Haunted  Hilbro',  Hungry  Urafton, 
Drudging  Eahall,  Papist  Wicksford, 
Beggarly  Broom,  and  drunken  Bedford. 

"The  villages  here  alluded  to,"  says  Ireland.  "sUU  bear  lh« 
epithets  thus  given  them :  the  people  of  Pebworth  are  il  ill  Csael 
for  their  skill  on  the  pipe  and  tabor ;  Hillbotough  is  now  called 
Haunted  Hillborough ;  and  Gtaitoa  is  fiimous  for  tne  poverty  of  iM 
soil." 

*Scot,  in  his  "Discoverie  of  Witchcraft,"  coameratet  a  hoM 
of  these  fire-side  fancies.  "And  they  have  so  fraid  ni  witk 
bull  •  teggars,  spirits,  witches,  urchins,  elves,  hius,  birica, 
satyrs,  pans,  faunes,  syrens,  kit  with  the  can  sticks,  tritona, 
centaurs,  dwarfe*,  giantc*,  imps,  calcan,  conjurors,  nymphcf, 
changelini^,  incubus,  Kobin-good-fellow,  the  spoine,  the  nuf*, 
the  man  is  the  oke,  the  hcUwaioe,  the  iier  drake,  the  puckla, 
Tom  Thombe,  hoDgoblins,  Tout  Tumbler,  boneless,  aad  tacb 
other  bogs,  that  we  were  aiiaid  of  our  own  ihadawet." 


T 


10 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


kJ^  ' 


,?,!• 


I' I*".: 


which  fringed  its  borders ;  sometimes  disappearing 
among  grovus,  or  beneaih  rreen  banks ;  and  some- 
times rHmhling  out  into  full  view,  and  malting  an 
Mure  sweep  round  a  slope  of  meadow  land.  Tills 
beautiful  bosom  of  country  is  called  the  Vale  of  the 
Red  Horse.  A  distant  line  of  undulating  blue  hills 
seems  to  be  its  boundary,  whilst  all  the  soft  interven- 
ing Lindscape  lies  in  a  manner  enchained  in  the 
s  wcT  links  of  the  Avon. 

Alter  pursuing  the  road  for  about  three  n>iles,  1 
Vjmed  off  into  a  foot-path,  which  led  along,  the  bor- 
cirs  of  fields  and  under  hedfje-rows  to  a  private  gate 
of  the  park ;  there  was  a  stile,  however,  lor  the  ben- 
efit of  the  pedestrian  ;  there  beine  a  public  right  of 
way  through  the  grounds.  1  delight  in  these  hospita- 
ble estates,  in  which  every  one  hiis  a  kind  of  property 
— at  least  as  far  as  the  foot-path  is  concerned.  It  in 
some  measure  reconciles  a  poor  man  to  his  lot,  and 
what  is  more,  to  the  belter  lot  of  his  neighbour, 
thus  to  have  parks  and  plecisure-grounds  thrown 
open  for  his  recreation.  He  breathes  the  pure  air 
as  freely,  and  lolls  as  luxuriously  under  the  shade,  as 
the  lord  of  the  soil ;  and  if  he  has  not  the  privilege 
of  calling  all  that  he  sees  his  own,  he  has  not,  at  the 
s.')me  time,  the  trouble  of  paying  for  it,  and  keeping 
it  in  order. 

1  now  found  myself  among  noble  avenues  of  oaks 
and  elms,  whose  vast  size  bespoke  the  growth  of 
O^nturies.  The  wind  sounded  solemnly  among  their 
branches,  and  the  rooks  cawed  from  their  hereditary 
nests  in  the  tree  tops.  The  eye  ranged  through  a 
long  lessening  vista,  with  nothmg  to  interrupt  the 
view  but  a  distant  statue ;  and  a  vagrant  deer  stalk- 
ing like  a  shadow  across  the  opening. 

There  is  something  about  these  stately  old  avenues 
lh.at  has  the  elTect  of  Gothic  architecture,  not  merely 
■^om  the  pretended  similarity  of  form,  but  from  their 
iiearing  the  evidence  of  long  duration,  and  of  having 
n.vd  their  origin  in  a  period  of  time  with  which  we 
associate  ideiis  of  romantic  grandeur.  They  be- 
tok':n  also  the  long-settled  dignity,  and  proudly  con- 
centrated independence  of  an  ancient  family  ;  and  I 
have  heard  a  worthy  but  aristocratic  old  friend  ob- 
serve, when  speaking  of  the  sumptuous  palaces  of 
modem  gentry,  that  "  money  could  do  much  with 
stone  and  mortar,  hut,  thank  Heaven,  there  was  no 
such  thing  as  suddenly  building  up  an  avenue  of 
oaks." 

It  was  from  wandering  in  early  life  among  this  rich 
scenery,  and  about  the  romantic  solitudes  of  the  ad- 
joining park  of  Fullbroke,  which  then  formed  a  part 
of  the  Lucy  estate,  that  some  of  Shakspeare's  com- 
mentators have  supposed  he  derived  his  noble  for- 
est meditations  of  Jacques,  and  the  enchanting  wood- 
land pictures  in  "As  you  like  it."  It  is  in  lonely 
windcrings  through  such  scenes,  that  the  mind 
drinks  deep  but  quiet  draughts  of  inspiration,  and 
becomes  intensely  sensible  ofthe  beauty  and  majesty 
of  nature.  The  imagination  kindles  into  reverie  and 
rapture ;  vague  but  exquisite  images  and  ideas  keep 
breaking  upon  it ;  and  we  revel  in  a  mute  and  almost 
incommunicable  luxury  of  thought.  It  was  in  some 
such  mood,  and  perhaps  under  one  of  those  very 
trees  before  me,  wiiich  threw  their  broad  shades  over 
the  grassy  hanks  and  quivering  waters  of  the  Avon, 
that  the  poet's  fancy  may  have  sallied  forth  into 
that  little  song  which  breathes  the  very  soul  of  a 
rural  voluptuary  * 


Under  the  g^een-wood  tree, 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me. 
And  *.une  his  merry  thraat 
*Jnto  the  sweet  bir<i*s  note, 
Come  hither,  come  hiiLor,  coai 

Here  shall  he  t«« 

No  enctnf 
Nut  wiotet  and  rough  waatkar. 


hithar. 


I  had  now  come  in  %\^H  of  the  hooM.  it  If  & 
large  building  of  brick,  with  stone  quoins,  and  is  iu 
the  Gothic  style  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  day,  having 
been  built  in  the  first  year  of  her  lei^.  The  exte- 
rior remains  very  nearly  in  its  original  state,  and 
may  be  considered  a  fair  siiccimcn  of  the  residence 
of  a  wealthy  country  gentleman  of  those  days.  A 
great  gateway  o|)ens  from  the  park  into  a  kind  c! 
court-yard  in  front  of  the  house,  ornamented  with  a 
grass-plot,  shrubs,  and  flower-beds.  The  gatew&y 
is  in  imitation  of  the  ancient  barbican  ;  being  a  kind 
of  outpost,  and  flanked  by  towers;  though  evidently 
for  mere  ornament,  instead  of  defence.  The  front 
ofthe  hou.se  is  completely  in  the  old  style ;  with  stone 
shafted  casements,  a  great  bow-window  of  heavy 
stonework,  and  a  portal  with  armorial  bearings  over 
it,  carved  in  stone.  At  each  comer  of  the  building 
is  an  octagon  tower,  surmounted  by  a  gilt  ball  ami 
weathercock. 

The  Avon,  which  winds  through  the  park,  makes 
a  bend  just  at  the  foot  of  a  gently  sloping  bank,  which 
sweeps  down  from  the  rear  of  the  house.  Large 
herds  of  deer  were  feeding  or  reposing  uixm  its  bor- 
ders ;  and  swans  were  sailing  majestically  upon  iu 
bosom.  As  I  contemplated  the  venerable  old  man- 
sion, I  called  to  mind  Falstaff's  encomium  on  Justice 
Shallow's  abode,  and  the  affected  indifference  and 
real  vanity  of  the  latter : 

"FaMajf,  You  have  here  a  goodly  dwelling  and  a  rich. 
".S'Ais//(n«.  Barren,  barren,  barren;  beggars  all,  beggars  all,  Sii 
John:— marry,  good  air." 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  joviality  of  the  old 
mansion  in  the  days  of  .Shakspcare,  it  had  now  ac 
air  uf  stillness  and  solitude.  The  great  iron  eateway 
that  opened  into  the  court-yard  was  locked;  theci 
was  no  show  of  servants  bustling  almut  the  pl.ice 
the  deer  gazed  quietly  at  me  as  I  passed,  being  n« 
longer  harried  by  the  moss-troopers  of  Stratford. 
The  only  sign  of  uoiiiestic  life  that  1  met  with,  was  a 
white  cat,  stealing  with  w.ary  look  and  stealthy  pace 
towards  the  stables,  as  if  on  some  nefarious  expedi- 
tion. I  must  not  omit  to  mention  the  carcass  of  a 
scoundrel  crow  which  I  saw  suspended  against  the 
bam  wall,  as  it  shows  that  the  Lucys  still  inherit  thit 
lordly  abhorrence  of  poachers,  and  maintain  th.it 
rigorous  exercise  of  territorial  power  which  was  sc 
strenuously  manifested  in  the  case  of  the  bard. 

Alter  prowling  about  for  some  time,  I  at  length 
found  my  way  to  a  lateral  portal,  which  was  tiic 
every-day  entrance  to  the  mansion.  I  was  courte- 
ously received  by  a  worthy  old  housekeepier,  who 
with  the  civility  and  communicativeness  of  ner  order, 
showed  me  the  interior  of  the  house.  The  greater 
part  has  undergone  alterations,  and  been  adapted  ta 
modern  tastes  and  modes  of  living :  there  is  a  fine 
ole  oaken  staircase  ;  and  the  great  hall,  that  noMe 
feature  in  an  ancient  manor-house,  still  retains  much 
of  ihe  appearance  it  must  have  had  in  the  days  of 
Shakspeare.  The  ceiling  is  arched  and  lofty ;  and 
at  one  end  is  a  gallery,  in  which  stands  an  organ. 
The  weapons  and  trophies  of  the  chase,  which  for- 
merly adorned  the  hall  of  a  country  eentleman,  ha\  c 
made  way  for  family  portraits.  There  is  a  wiJe 
hospitable  fire-place,  calculated  for  an,  ample  old- 
fashioned  wood  fire,  formerly  the  rallying  place  cl 
winter  festivity.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall  is 
the  huge  Gothic  bow-window,  with  stone  shafts, 
which  looks  out  upon  the  court-yard.  Here  are  em- 
blazoned in  stained  glass  the  armorial  bearings  oi 
the  Lucy  family  for  many  generations,  some  bein^ 
dated  in  1558.  I  was  delighted  to  observe  in  the 
quarterings  the  three  luAi'/e  luces  by  which  the  char- 
acter of  Sir  Thomas  was  first  identified  with  that  oi 
justice  Shallow.    They  are  mentioned  in  the  firei 


icene  of  the  M 
tice  is  in  a  rag 
men,  killed  hi 
Tne  poet  had 
his  comrades  ii 
pose  the  famil 
puissant  Shallc 
indignation  of 

•Skalbm.   Sir  1 

CbimLer  matter  o 

tliall  nut  abuse  Rol 

'Slindtr.  In  the 

*'.>/i(i//*«/.  Ay,  c 

'^Slrmirr.  Ay,  ai 

tei  parson ;   wno  \ 

qiiiltanc*.  or  obliga 

*'Skitlhn,  Ay,  tl 

bundled  yean. 

".SUmitr.  All  his 

til  his  ancestors  th;i 

vkilt  lucti  in  theii 

"Shallttui.  The  c 

"Kvani,  It  is  not 

»f  Got  in  a  riot:  th 

af  Cot,  and  not  to  h 

".SA.iA'««ti.  Ha  I  o' 

snd  it  I " 

Near  the  wine 
by  Sir  Feter  Le! 
beauty  of  the  ti 
housekeeper  shi 
picture,  and  inf 
sadly  addicted  i 
preat  portion  of 
that  part  of  the 
fades  had  killed 
not  been  cntirel] 
present  day.  It 
to  confess  that  s 
arm. 

The  picture  wl 
X  great  painting 
nesses  of  Sir  TTi 
habited  the  hall 
lifetime.     I  at  fii 
Icnight  himself,  I 
It  was  his  son  ;  t 
being  an  elligy  i 
nei);hl)ouriiig  ha 
a  lively  idea  of  th 
Sir  Thomas  is  t 
shi  es  with  roses 
or,  is  Master  Si 
iKi.rd."   Hisl.-KJ) 
picture  in  wide 
children  have  a  n 
of  dress.     Houn 
family  group;  a 
foreground,  and 
all  intimating  thi 
and  archery — so 
gentleman  m  the 
I  regretted  to 
hall  had  disappe 
the  stately  elbov 
country  'Squire  c 
iceptre  of  empii 
which  it  might  be 
VA  enthroned  in ; 

•  Bishop  Earle.  an 
observes,  •'  his  house! 
SI  iloR^,  and  serving 
o«pnes5  of  their  thi 
Be  esteems  the  true  bu 
to  seem  delighted  wit 
iesses."  And  Oilpin, 
■  he  kept  all  sorts  of 
iadKer  ;  and  had  hai 
His  great  hall  was  coi 
of  hawk  (wtches.  h( 
he.irth,  paved  wih  br 
•lid  spaniel! 

4 


THB  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gemt. 


71 


icene  of  the  Merry  Wives  of  Windso'.  where  the  Jus- 
tice is  in  a  rage  with  FalstnfT  for  having  "  beaten  his 
men,  killed  his  deer,  and  broken  into  his  lodge." 
Tne  poet  had  no  doubt  the  offences  of  himself  and 
his  comrades  in  mind  at  the  lime,  and  we  may  sup- 
pose the  family  pride  and  vindictive  threats  of  tlie 
puissant  Shallow  to  be  a  caricature  of  the  pompous 
imlignation  of  Sir  Thomas. 

'SkitlUn.  Sir  HuKh,  penu^ule  m*  not:  I  will  mak*  •  Star- 
C.bimhei  mailer  of  il ;  If  he  were  twenty  Sir  John  FalttaSt,  ha 
ihall  not  abuse  Robert  Shallow,  Enq. 

'Slindtr.  In  the  county  of  (lloiler,  justice  of  peace,  and  ctram. 

".■iltiilhtu.  Ay,  cuuiin  Slemler,  and  CHilnlerum, 

"Slrniirr.  Av,  and  r,ttalor»m  loo,  and  a  gentleinnn  born,  mas- 
lei  parton  ;  who  wrilea  himielf  Armigtro  in  any  bill,  warrant, 
qiiiltance,  or  obligation,  Armi/pra, 

".V/kriZ/oiv.  Ay,  that  I  do  •  and  have  done  any  time  Iheie  three 
hundred  year*. 

"Sltiutfr,  All  hit  nucceskon  gone  before  him  have  done  't,  and 
til  his  ancett'jrt  that  come  after  niin  may  ;  they  may  give  the  doien 
vhilt  luctt  in  their  coat. 

"Mal/aui.  The  council  thall  hear  it ;  il  it  a  riot. 

"Kvant,  Il  it  not  meet  the  council  hear  uf  a  riui;  there  u  no  fear 
^f  Oulinariot:  the  council,  hear  you,  sh.dl  dirtire  to  hear  the  fear 
af  (lot,  and  not  to  hear  a  riot ;  take  your  vitameiut  in  that. 

".VjI.i/><  w.  Ma  I  o'  my  life,  if  I  were  young  again,  the  tword  should 
tnd  ill" 

Ne.nr  the  window  thus  emblazoned  hung  a  portrait 
by  Sir  Peter  Leiy  of  one  of  the  Lucy  family,  a  great 
beauty  of  the  time  of  Charles  the  Second  :  the  old 
housel<eepcr  shook  her  head  as  she  pointed  to  the 
picture,  and  informed  me  that  this  lady  had  bt.cn 
sadly  addicted  to  cards,  and  had  gamblt;d  away  a. 
irrt-at  portion  of  the  family  estate,  among  which  was 
that  part  of  the  park  where  .Shakspe.ire  and  his  com- 
r.iiles  had  killed  the  deer.  The  lands  thus  lost  have 
not  been  entirely  rejjained  by  the  family,  even  at  the 
present  day.  It  is  but  justice  to  this  recreant  dame 
to  confess  thai  she  had  a  surpassingly  line  hand  and 
arm. 

The  picture  which  most  attracted  my  attention  was 
»  great  painting  over  the  fire-place,  containing  like- 
nesses of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  and  his  family,  who  in- 
habited the  hall  in  the  latter  part  of  Shakspeare's 
lifetime.  I  at  first  thought  that  it  was  the  vindictive 
knight  liimsull,  but  the  housekeeper  assured  me  that 
It  was  his  son  ;  the  only  likeness  extant  of  the  former 
being  an  eihgy  upon  his  tomb  in  the  church  of  the 
nei>jht)ouring  hamlet  of  Charlecot.  T)ie  picture  gives 
a  lively  idea  of  the  costume  and  manners  of  the  time. 
Sir  Tlioinas  is  dressed  in  ruff  and  doublet ;  white 
shi  es  with  roses  in  them  ;  and  has  a  peaked  yellow, 
or,  IS  Ma.ster  Slender  would  say,  "  a  cane-coloured 
tKiiPl."  His  l.idy  is  sealed  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
picture  in  wide  rulT  and  long  stomacher,  and  the 
children  have  a  most  venerable  stiffness  and  form.ality 
of  dress.  Hounds  and  sp:iniels  are  mingled  in  the 
family  group;  a  hawk  is  seated  on  his  perch  in  the 
foreground,  and  one  of  the  children  holds  a  bow  ; — 
all  intimating  the  knight's  skill  in  hunting,  hawking, 
and  archery — so  indispensatjle  to  an  accomplished 
gentleman  in  those  tlays.* 

1  regretted  to  find  that  the  ancient  furniture  of  the 
hall  had  disappeared ;  for  1  had  hoped  to  meet  with 
the  stately  elbow-chair  of  carved  oak,  in  which  the 
country  'Squire  of  former  days  was  wont  to  sway  the 
iceptre  of  empire  over  his  rural  dom.ains ;  and  in 
which  it  might  be  presumed  the  redoubted  Sir  Thomas 
jat  enthroned  in  awful  state,  when  the  recreant  Shak- 

'  *  Bishop  Earle.  speaking  of  the  country  gentleman  of  his  time, 
observes,  '^  his  housekeeping  is  seen  much  in  the  different  families 
of  docs,  and  serving-men  attendant  on  their  kennelt ;  and  the 
deepness  of  their  throats  is  the  depth  of  his  discourse.  A  h.iwk 
be  esteems  the  true  burden  of  nobility,  and  is  exceedingly  ambitious 
to  seem  delighted  with  the  sport,  and  have  his  fist  gloved  with  his 
jesses."  Ana  Ciilpin,  in  hisdescnption  of  a.Mr.  Hastings,  remaiks, 
'*  he  kept  all  sorts  of  hounds  that  run,  buck,  fox,  hare,  otter,  .md 
badi;er ;  and  had  hawks  of  all  kinds  both  long  and  short  winged. 
His  great  hall  was  commonly  strewed  with  marrow-bones,  and  full 
of  hawk  (wiches.  hounds,  spaniels,  and  terriers.  On  a  hruad 
he.irth,  paved  wrh  brick,  lay  some  01  the  choicest  lerrien,  hounds, 
•nd  sponieli 


speare  wa.s  brought  before  him.  As  I  like  to  deck 
out  pictures  for  my  own  entertainment,  I  pleased  my- 
self with  the  idea  that  this  very  hall  had  been'  the 
scene  of  the  unlucky  bard's  examination  on  the 
morning  afier  his  captivity  in  the  lodge.  I  fancier) 
to  myself  the  rural  potentate,  surrounded  by  hif 
body-guard  of  but!i  r,  pages,  and  blue-coated  serving 
men  with  their  badges ;  while  the  lucklfss  culpnl 
was  brought  in,  forlorn  and  chapfallen,  in  tl  t  custody 
of  game-Keejjers,  huntsmen,  and  whippers-in,  and 
followed  by  a  rabble  rout  of  country  clowns.  I 
fancied  bright  faces  of  curious  house-maids  peeping 
from  the  half-opened  doors ;  while  from  the  gallery 
the  fair  daugluers  of  the  Knight  leaned  gracefully 
forward,  eyeing  the  youthful  prisoner  with  th.it  pity 
"  that  dwells  in  womanhootl." — Who  would  have 
thought  that  this  poor  varlet,  thus  trembling  befort 
the  brief  authority  of  a  country  'Squire,  and  the 
sport  of  rustic  boors,  was  soon  to  become  the  tie- 
light  of  princes ;  the  theme  ol  all  tongues  ana  ages ; 
the  dictator  to  the  hum.in  mind  ;  amilw-is  to  confer 
immortality  on  his  oppressor  by  a  caricature  and  a 
lampoon  1 

I  was  now  invited  by  the  butler  to  w.ilk  into  the 
garden,  and  I  felt  inclined  to  visit  the  orchard  and  ar- 
bour where  the  Justice  treated  Sir  John  Falstaff  and 
Cousin  Silence  "  to  a  last  year's  pippen  of  his  own 
gralfing,  with  a  dish  of  carraways ;  '  but  I  had  a\- 
re.uly  spent  so  much  of  the  day  in  my  rambling,  that 
I  was  obliged  to  give  up  any  farther  investigations. 
When  about  to  take  my  leave,  I  was  gratified  bv  the 
civil  entreaties  of  the  housekeeper  and  butler,  that  I 
would  take  some  refreshment — an  instance  of  good 
old  hospitality,  which  I  grieve  to  say  we  castle-hunlcrs 
seldom  meet  with  in  modern  days.  I  make  no  doubt 
it  is  a  virtue  which  the  present  representative  of  the 
Lucys  inherits  from  his  ancestors ;  for  Shakspeare, 
even  in  his  caricature,  makes  Justice  Shallow  impor- 
tunate in  this  respect,  as  witness  his  pressing  instances 
to  Falstaff. 

"  By  cock  and  pye.  Sir,  you  shall  not  awav  to-nigh't  •  •  •  ♦.  I 
will  not  excuse  you;  you  shall  not  be  excused;  excuses  shall  not  be 
admitted;  there  is  no  excuse  shall  serve;  you  shall  ndt  be  excused 
•  *  •  •.  Some  pigeons,  Davy  ;  a  couple  of  short-legged  hens ;  a 
joint  of  mutton ;  and  any  pretty  little  iiny  kickshaws,  tell '  Wdliam 
Cook.' " 

I  now  bade  a  reluctant  farewell  to  the  old  h.ill. 
My  mind  had  become  so  completely  possessed  by  the 
im.agiiiary  scenes  and  characters  connected  with  it, 
that  1  seemed  to  be  actually  living  among  them. 
Every  thing  brought  them  as  it  were  before  my  eyes  ; 
and  as  the  door  of  the  dining-room  opened,  I  almost 
exper;.?(l  to  hear  the  feeble  voice  of  Master  Silence 
qua     .'i.g  forth  his  favourite  ditty  : 

"  'Tit  merry  in  hall,  when  beards  wag  all. 
And  welcome  merry  Shrove-tide  I  " 

On  returning  to  my  inn,  I  could  not  but  reflect 
on  the  singular  gift  of  the  poet ;  to  be  able  thus  to 
spread  the  magic  of  his  mind  over  the  very  face  of 
nature;  to  give  to  things  and  places  a  charm  and 
character  not  their  own,  and  to  turn  tJiis  "  working- 
day  world  "  into  a  perfect  fairy  land.  He  is  indc«d 
the  true  enchanter,  whose  spell  operates,  not  uix)» 
the  senses,  but  upon  the  imagination  and  the  hear. 
Under  the  wizard  influence  of  Shakspeare  I  liad 
been  walking  all  day  in  a  complete  delusion.  I  had 
surveyed  the  landscape  through  the  prism  of  poetry, 
which  tinged  every  object  with  the  hues  of  the  rain- 
bow. 1  had  been  surrounded  with  fancied  beings; 
with  mere  airy  nothings,  conjured  up  by  poetic 
power ;  yet  which,  to  me,  had  all  the  charm  of  real- 
ity. I  had  heard  Jacques  soliloquize  beneath  his 
oak ;  had  beheld  the  fair  Rosalind  and  her  companion 
.idventuring  through  the  woodlands;  and,  above  aU, 


Vfl 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVINU. 


bad  been  once  more  present  in  spirit  with  fat  Jack 
Falstaff,  ami  his  coiucinpor;irie!i,  from  the  augunt 
Justice  Shallow,  down  to  the  Rf^ntle  Master  Slender, 
and  the  sweet  Anne  Pa^e.  Ten  thousand  honours 
and  blessings  on  the  bard  who  has  thus  gilded  the 
dull  realities  of  life  with  innocent  illusions ;  who  has 
spread  exquisite  and  unhuuf^ht  pleasures  in  my  cheq- 
uered path ;  and  bcijuilcd  luy  spirit  in  many  a  lonely 
ho  ir,  with  all  the  cordial  anu  cheerful  sympathies  of 
%;Kiallire! 

As  I  crossed  the  brid^'e  over  the  Avon  on  my  re- 
turn, 1  paused  to  contemplate  the  distant  church  in 
which  ttie  poet  lies  buried,  and  could  not  but  exult 
n  the  inaledirtion  which  has  kept  his  ashes  undis- 
turbed in  its  quiet  and  hallowed  vaults.  What 
honour  could  his  name  have  derived  from  being 
mingled  in  dusty  cnmpanionshin  with  the  epitaphs 
and  escutcheons  and  venal  eulogiums  of  a  titled 
multitude  ?  What  would  a  crowded  comer  in  West- 
minster Abbey  have  been,  compared  with  this  rev- 
erend pile,  which  seems  to  stand  in  beautiful  loneli- 
ness as  his  sole  mausoleum  !  The  solicitude  about 
the  grave  may  be  but  the  otTspring  of  an  overwrought 
sensibility ;  but  human  nature  is  made  up  of  foibles 
anW  prejudices ;  and  its  b*st  and  tenderest  afTections 
are  mingled  with  these  factitious  feelings.  He  who 
has  sought  renoWn  about  the  world,  and  has  reaped 
a  full  harvest  of  worldly  favour,  will  find,  after  all, 
that  there  is  no  love,  no  admiration,  no  applause,  so 
sweet  to  the  soul  as  that  which  springs  up  in  his 
native  place.  It  is  there  that  he  seeks  to  be  gathered 
in  poace  and  honour,  among  his  kindred  and  his 
early  friends.  And  when  the  weary  heart  and  fail- 
ing hc'id  begin  to  warn  him  that  the  evening  of  life 
is  drawing  on,  he  turns  as  fondly  as  does  the  in- 
fant to  the  mother's  arms,  to  sink  to  sleep  in  the 
'»som  of  the  scene  of  his  childhood. 

How  wculd  it  have  cheered  the  spirit  of  the  youth- 
ikii  bard,  when,  wandering  forth  in  disgrace  upon  a 
doubtful  world,  he  cast  back  a  heavy  look  upon  his 
patei  nal  home,  could  he  have  foreseen  i  hat,  before 
many  years,  he  should  return  to  it  covered  with  re- 
nown ;  that  his  name  should  become  the  boast  and 
glory  of  his  native  place ;  that  his  ashes  should  be 
religiously  guarded  as  its  most  precious  treasure ; 
and  that  its  lessening  spire,  on  which  his  eyes  were 
lixed  in  tearful  contemplation,  should  one  day  be- 
come the  beacon,  towenng  amidst  the  gentle  land- 
scape, to  guide  the  hterary  pilgrim  of  every  nation 
to  his  tomb  I 


TRAITS  OF  INDIAN  CHARACTER. 


'  I  appeal  to  any  while  man  if  ever  he  entered  Lonan't  cabin 
auoKT,  aiid  he  gave  him  not  to  eat ;  if  ever  he  came  cold  and 
naked,  and  he  clothed  him  not."—S/ttcA  of  an  Indian  Chuf, 

There  is  something  in  the  character  and  habits 
of  the  North  American  savage,  taken  in  connexion 
with  the  scenery  over  which  he  is  accustomed  to 
range,  its  vast  lakes,  boundless  forests,  majestic 
rivers,  and  trackless  plains,  that  is,  to  my  mind, 
wonderfully  striking  and  sublime.  He  is  formed  for 
the  wilderness,  as  the  Arab  is  for  the  desert.  His 
nature  is  stem,  simple,  and  enduring ;  fitted  to  grap- 
ple with  difTiculties,  and  to  support  privations. 
There  seems  but  little  soil  in  his  heart  for  the  growth 
of  the  kindly  virtues ;  and  yet,  if  we  would  but  take 
the  trouble  to  penetrate  through  that  proud  stoicism 
and  habitual  taciturnity,  which  look  up  his  character 
from  casual  observation,  we  should  find  him  linked 
to  his  fellow  man  of  civilized  Ufe  by  more  of  those 


•ympathlea  and  affectioni  than  are  usually  ascribed 
to  him. 

It  has  been  the  lot  of  the  unfortunate  alx>riginet 
of  America,  in  the  early  periods  of  coloni^.ition,  to  br 
iloubly  wronged  by  the  white  men.  They  have  been 
dispossessed  of  their  hereditary  possessions,  by  mer- 
cenary and  frequently  wanton  warfare;  an(l  iheii 
characters  have  been  traduced  by  bigoted  and  inf ' 
ested  writers.  The  colonist  has  often  tre.ated  thc>k 
like  beasts  of  the  forest  ,*  and  the  authci  has  cndcT 
voure<I  to  Justify  him  in  his  outrages.  The  lormei 
found  it  easier  to  exterminate  than  to  civilize-thc 
latter  to  vilify  than  to  discriminate.  The  a|)|iclla- 
tions  of  savage  and  pagan  A^ere  deemed  suHicient  to 
sanction  tl'^nostilities  of  Lioth;  and  thus  the  poor 
wanderers  of  the  forest  wcie  persecuted  and  del.imed 
not  because  they  were  guilty,  but  because  they  were 
ignorant. 

The  rights  of  the  savage  have  seldom  been  proiv 
eriy  appreciated  or  resjiccted  by  the  while  man.  Ir. 
peace,  he  has  too  often  been  tl  e  dupe  of  artful  traffic ; 
in  war,  he  ha?,  been  regarded  »s  a  ferocious  animal 
whose  life  or  death  was  a  question  of  mere  precau- 
tion and  convenience.  Man  is  cruelly  wasteful  ot 
life  when  his  own  safety  is  endangered,  and  he  \i 
sheltered  by  impunity ;  and  little  mercy  is  to  be  ex- 
pected from  him  when  he  feels  the  sting  of  the  rep- 
tile, and  is  conscious  of  the  power  to  destroy. 

The  same  prejudices  which  were  indulged  thus 
early,  exist  in  common  circulation  at  the  present  day. 
Certain  learned  societies  have,  it  is  true,  with  lauda- 
ble dili^^ence,  endeavoured  to  investigate  and  record 
the  real  characters  and  manners  of  the  Indian  tribes ; 
the  Ame'ican  government,  loo,  has  wisely  and  hu- 
manely exerted  itself  to  inculcate  a  friendly  and  I'oi 
bearing  spirit  towards  them,  and  to  protect  then 
from  frau<l  and  injustice.*  The  current  opinion  ol 
the  Indian  character,  however,  is  too  apt  to  hi 
formed  from  the  miserable  hordes  which  infest  ilie 
frontiers,  and  hang  on  the  .skirts  of  the  seltlcmcnis. 
These  are  loo  commonly  comjwsed  of  degenerate 
beings,  corrupted  and  enfeebled  by  the  vices  of 
society,  without  beine  benefited  by  its  civilizaticjn. 
That  proud  independence,  which  formed  the  main 
pillar  of  savage  virtue,  has  been  shaken  down,  and 
the  whole  moral  fabric  lies  in  ruins.  Their  spirits 
are  humiliated  and  del>ascd  by  a  sense  of  inferiority, 
and  their  native  courage  cowed  and  daunted  by  the 
superior  knowledge  and  power  of  their  enlightcntil 
neighbours.  Society  hiis  advanced  upon  them  like 
one  of  those  withering  airs  that  will  sometimes 
breathe  desolation  over  a  whole  region  of  fertility. 
It  has  enervated  their  strength,  multiplied  their  dis- 
eases, and  superinduced  upon  their  original  barbarity 
the  low  vices  of  artificial  life.  It  has  given  them  a 
thousand  superfluous  wants,  whilst  it  has  diminished 
their  means  of  mere  existence.  It  has  driven  IxilDie 
it  the  animals  of  the  chase,  who  fly  from  the  sound 
of  the  axe  and  the  smoke  of  the  settlement,  and  seek 
refuge  in  the  depths  of  remoter  forests  ana  yet  un- 
trodden wilds.  Thus  do  we  too  often  find  the  Indians 
on  our  frontiers  to  be  mere  wrecks  and  remnants  of 
once  powerful  tribes,  who  have  lingered  in  the  vi- 
cinity of  the  settlements,  and  sunk  into  precarious  and 
vagatwnd  existence.  Poverty,  repining  and  hopeless 
poverty,  a  canker  of  the  mind  unknown  in  savage 
fife,  corrodes  their  spirits  and  blights  every  free  and 
noble  quality  of  their  natures.  They  become  dmnkeii, 


Rovi 

tions  to  meliorate  the  tltiiaiioa  of  the  Indians,  and  to  introdiict 
among  them  the  art*  of  civili/atioii,  and  civil  and  religioiu  knowl- 
edge. To  protect  them  ftom  the  fraudt  of  the  white  traders,  no 
purchaie  oilanii  from  them  liy  iiidiviiluals  it  pcrmitml ;  nur  is  an; 
penon  allowed  to  receive  lands  from  tLem  w  a  present,  without 
the  npresi  kanctioc  of  govenimenl.  The«e  pcecauUOBi  are 
strictly  enforced. 


THB  SKBTCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gbnt. 


IB 


Indolent,  feeble,  thievish,  and  putillanimoui.  They 
IciitMr  like  vai;iants  about  the  settlementa  among 
spacious  dwellings,  replete  \'  ith  elaborate  comlorts, 
which  only  render  them  ssn.-^  !)le  of  the  comparative 
wrstchedness  uf  their  own  condition.  Luxury  Hprcails 
its  4ni|)le  board  before  iheir  eyes ;  but  they  are  ex- 
rJMjcd  from  the  ban  tet.  Plenty  revels  over  the 
fici'ls;  but  they  are  starving  in  the  midst  of  its 
ihundancd :  the  whole  wilderness  has  blossomed 
rto  a  garden  ;  but  thev  feel  as  reptiles  that  infest  it. 

flow  (lifTerent  was  tneir  state,  while  yet  the  un- 
lispuied  lords  of  the  soil  I  Their  wants  were  few, 
ainJ  the  means  of  gratification  within  their  retch. 
They  saw  every  one  round  them  sharing  the  same 
lot,  enduim^  the  same  hardships,  feeding  on  the 
same  alimtnls,  arrayed  in  the  same  rude  earments. 
No  roof  then  rose,  but  was  open  to  the  nomeless 
stranger ;  no  smoke  curled  among  the  trees,  but  he 
was  welcome  to  sit  down  by  its  lire  and  join  the 
liunter  in  Ids  rcp.ist.  "  For,  says  an  old  historian 
of  New-Ene'land,  "their  life  is  so  void  of  care,  and 
they  are  so  loving  also,  that  they  make  use  of  those 
things  they  enjoy  as  common  goods,  and  are  therein 
to  compas.sionate,  th.at  rather  tlinn  one  should  starve 
through  want,  they  would  starve  ."xll ;  thus  do  they 
pa«s  tneir  time  merrily,  not  regarding  our  pomp,  but 
are  better  content  with  their  own.  which  some  men 
esteem  so  meanly  of."  Such  were  the  Indians, 
wnilst  in  the  pride  and  energy  of  their  primitive 
natures ;  they  resemble  those  wild  plants  which 
thrive  best  in  the  shactcs  of  the  forest,  but  shrink 
from  the  hand  of  cultivation,  and  perish  beneath  the 
influence  of  the  sun.  ^ 

In  discussing  the  savage  character,  writers  have 
been  too  prone  to  indulge  in  vulgar  prejudice  and 
rsiss'onate  exaggeration,  instead  of  the  candid  tein- 
•cr  of  true  philosophy.  They  have  not  sufficiently 
::!injidered  the  jHculiar  circumstances  in  which  the 
Indians  have  bien  pi.iced,  and  the  peculiar  princi- 
pJes  iinilcr  which  they  have  been  educated.  No 
bcii  g  acts  mori'  rigidly  from  rule  than  the  Indian. 
His  whole  conduct  is  regulated  according  to  some 
general  maxims  early  implanted  in  his  mind.  The 
moral  laws  that  govern  him  are,  to  be  sure,  but  few ; 
out  then  he  conforms  to  them  all ; — the  white  man 
abounds  in  laws  of  religion,  morals,  and  manners, 
but  how  m;my  iloes  he  violate ! 

A  frequent  ground  of  accusation  against  the  In- 
dians is  their  disregard  of  treaties,  and  the  treachery 
and  wantonness  with  which,  in  time  of  api)arent 
peace,  they  will  suddenly  fly  to  hostilities.  The  in- 
tercourse of  the  white  men  with  the  Indians,  how- 
ever, is  too  apt  to  be  cold,  distrustful,  oppressive, 
ami  insulting.  They  sttldom  treat  them  with  that 
confidence  and  fr<inkness  which  are  indispensable  to 
real  friendship ;  nor  is  sufficient  caution  observed 
not  to  offend  .against  those  feelings  of  pri<le  or  super- 
stition, which  often  prompt  the  Indian  to  hostility 
quicker  than  mere  consi^r.itions  of  interest.  The 
solitary  savage  feels  silently,  but  acutely.  His  sen- 
sibilities are  not  dilTused  over  so  wide  a  surface  as 
those  of  the  white  man ;  but  they  run  in  steadier 
»nd  deeper  channels.  His  pride,  his  affections,  his 
ijperstitions.  .are  all  directed  towards  fewer  objects ; 
Dat  the  wounds  inflicted  on  them  are  proportiona- 
aly  severe,  ami  furnish  motives  of  hostility  which 
we  cannot  sutticiently  appreciate.  Where  a  com- 
munity is  also  limited  m  number,  and  forms  one 
preat  p.atriarchal  family,  as  in  an  Indian  tribe,  the 
injury  o*"  an  indindual  is  the  injury  of  the  whole , 
and  the  sentiment  of  vengeance  is  almost  instan- 
taneously aiiTused.  One  council-tire  is  sufficient  for 
the  discussion  and  arrangement  cf  a  plan  of  hostili- 
ties. Here  all  the  fighting  men  and  sages  assemble. 
Eloquence  and  superstition  combine  to  intlame  the 


minds  of  the  warriors.  The  orator  awkkeiii  Ineli 
m.artial  ardour,  and  they  are  wrought  up  to  a  kind 
uf  religious  desperation,  by  the  visions  of  the  prcphei 
and  the  dreamer. 

An  instance  of  one  of  those  sudden  exasperations, 
arising  from  a  motive  peculiar  to  the  Indian  charac- 
ter, is  extant  in  an  old  record  of  the  early  settle 
ment  of  Massachusetts.  The  planters  of  IMymouDi 
had  defaced  the  monuments  of  the  dead  at  Faskar»- 
agessit,  ami  had  plundered  the  grave  of  the  Sa> 
chem's  mother  of  some  skins  with  which  vt  had 
been  decorated.  The  Indians  are  remarkable  for 
the  reverence  which  they  entertain  for  the  sepulchres 
of  their  kindred.  Tribes  that  have  p.assed  genera- 
tions exiled  from  the  abodes  of  their  ancestors,  when 
by  chance  they  have  lieen  travelling  in  the  vicinity, 
have  been  known  to  turn  aside  from  the  highway, 
and,  guided  by  wonderfully  accurate  tradition,  h.ave 
crossed  the  country  for  miles  to  some  tumulus, 
buried  perhaps  in  woods,  where  the  hones  of  tlieii 
tribe  were  anciently  deposited ;  anil  there  have 
passed  hours  in  silent  meditation.  Influenced  by 
this  sublime  and  holy  feeling,  the  Sachem,  whose 
mother's  tomb  h.id  been  violated,  gathered  his  men 
together,  and  addressed  them  in  the  following  beau- 
tifully simple  and  pathetic  harangue ;  a  curious  speci- 
men of  Indian  eloquence,  and  an  affecting  instance 
of  filial  piety  in  a  sav.ige. 

"  When  last  the  glorious  light  of  all  the  sky  was 
underneath  this  glolte,  <and  birds  grew  silent,  I  began 
to  settle,  as  my  custom  is,  to  take  repose.  Before 
mine  eyes  were  fast  closed,  mcthought  I  saw  a  vis- 
ion, at  which  my  spirit  was  much  troubled ;  and 
trembling  at  that  doleful  sight,  a  spirit  cried  aloud, 
•  Behold,  my  son,  whom  I  have  cherished,  see  the 
breasts  that  gave  thee  suck,  the  hands  that  lapi)ed 
thee  warm,  and  fed  thee  oft.  Canst  thou  forget  to 
take  revenge  of  those  wild  people,  who  have  defaced 
my  monument  in  a  despiteful  manner,  disdaining 
our  antiquities  and  honourable  customs  ?  See,  now, 
the  Sachem's  grave  lies  like  the  common  people,  de- 
faced by  an  ignoble  race.  Thy  mother  doln  com- 
plain, and  implores  thy  aid  against  this  thievish  peo- 
ple, who  have  newly  intruded  on  our  land.  If  this 
be  suffered,  I  shall  not  rest  quiet  in  my  everlasting 
habitation.'  This  said,  the  spirit  vanished,  and  I, 
all  in  a  sweat,  not  able  scarce  to  speak,  began  to 
get  some  strength,  and  recollected  my  spirits  thai 
were  fled,  and  determined  to  demand  your  counsel 
and  assistance." 

1  have  adduced  this  anecdote  at  some  length,  as 
it  tends  to  show  how  these  sudden  acts  of  hostility, 
which  have  been  attributed  to  caprice  and  perfidy, 
may  often  arise  from  deep  and  generous  motives, 
which  our  inattention  to  Indian  character  and  cus- 
toms prevents  our  properly  appreciating. 

Another  ground  of  violent  outcry  against  the  In- 
dians, is  their  barbarity  to  the  vanquished.  This 
had  its  origin  partly  in  policy  and  partly  in  supersti- 
tion. The  trioes,  though  sometimes  called  nations, 
were  never  so  formidable  in  their  numbers,  but  that 
the  loss  of  several  warriors  was  sensibly  felt ;  this 
was  particularly  the  case  when  they  had  been  fre- 
quently engaged  in  w  irfare  :  and  many  an  instanct 
occurs  in  Indian  hittory,  where  a  tribe,  that  ha^ 
long  been  formid.ab!;  to  its  neighbours,  has  been 
broken  up  and  drivm  awxy,  by  the  capture  and 
mass.acre  of  its  prir  cipal  fighting  men.  There  was 
a  strong  temptation,  therefore,  to  the  victor  to  be 
merciless ;  not  so  much  to' gratify  any  cruel  revenge, 
as  to  provide  for  future  security.  "The  Indians  lud 
also  the  superstitious  belief,  frequent  among  bar- 
barous nations,  and  prevalent  also  among  the  an- 
cients, that  the  manes  of  tneir  friends  who  had 
alien  in  battle,  were  soothed  oy  the  blood  oi  tbi 


WORKSOP  WASHINGTON  IRVINU 


m 


K'l 


afe^. 


5,*.^ 


S^t:' 


Mptivet.  Ths  pritoneri,  however,  who  are  not  tbut 
Mcrificrd,  arc  adopted  into  their  familitft  in  the  place 
of  the  slain,  nnci  are  treated  with  the  confidence 
am)  alfectiun  of  relatives  and  friends ;  nay,  so  hos- 
pitable atid  tender  is  their  entertainment,  that  when 
the  alternative  is  offered  them,  they  will  often  prefer 
to  remain  with  their  ad()[)ted  brethren,  rather  than 
leturn  to  the  home  and  the  friends  of  tlieir  youth. 

The  criit'lty  of  the  Indians  towards  their  prisoners 
Vas  been  hei^fhtemd  since  the  coloniraiion  of  the 
whites.  What  was  tornurly  a  compliance  with  policy 
and  superxiiiion,  has  l)een  exasperated  into  a  f^r.ititi- 
cation  of  ven(;eance.  They  cannot  but  be  sensible 
that  the  white  men  are  the  usurpers  of  their  ancient 
dominion,  the  cause  of  their  degradation,  and  the 

fradual  destroyers  of  their  race.  They  go  forth  to 
attie,  smarting  with  injuries  and  indignities  which 
they  have  intlividually  sulTcred,  and  they  are  driven 
to  madness  and  despair  by  the  wide-spreading  deso- 
lation,  and  the  overwhelnung  ruin  of  European  war- 
fare.  The  whites  have  too  frecjuently  set  them  an 
example  of  violence,  by  burniifg  their  villages  and 
laying  w.iste  their  slender  means  of  subsistence  ;  and 
yet  they  wonder  that  sav.-iges  do  not  show  moder.i- 
tion  and  magnanimity  towards  those  who  have  left 
them  nothing  but  mere  existence  and  wretchedness. 
We  stigmatise  the  Indians,  also,  as  cowardly  and 
treacherous,  because  they  use  stratagem  in  warfare, 
in  preference  to  open  force  ;  but  In  this  they  are  fully 
justitied  by  their  rude  code  of  honour.  They  are 
early  taught  that  stratagem  is  praiseworthy :  the 
bravest  warrior  thinks  it  no  disgrace  to  lurk  in 
•ilence,  and  take  every  advantage  of  his  foe :  he 
triumphs  in  the  superior  craft  and  sagacity  by  which 
he  has  been  cnal)led  to  surprise  and  destroy  an 
en'smy.  Indeed,  man  is  naturally  more  prone  to 
lubtilty  than  open  valour,  owing  to  his  physical 
iveakness  in  comparison  with  other  animals.  They 
ire  endowed  with  natural  weapons  of  defence :  with 
lioms,  with  t jsks,  with  hoofs,  and  talons ;  but  man 
has  to  depend  on  his  superior  sagacity.  In  all  his 
encounters  with  these,  his  proper  enemies,  he  resorts 
to  stratagem ;  and  when  he  perversely  turns  his 
Hostility  against  his  fellow  man,  he  at  first  continues 
the  same  subtle  mode  of  warfare. 

The  natural  principle  of  war  is  to  do  the  most 
harm  to  our  enemy,  with  the  least  harm  to  ourselves ; 
and  this  of  course  is  to  i>e  effected  by  stratagem. 
That  chivalrous  courage  which  induces  us  to  despise 
the  suggestions  of  prudence,  and  to  rush  in  the  face 
of  certain  danger,  is  the  offspring  of  society,  and 
produced  by  education.  It  is  honourable,  because 
It  is  in  fact  the  triumph  of  lofty  sentiment  over  an 
instinctive  repugnance  to  pain,  and  over  those  yearn- 
ings after  personal  ease  and  security,  which  society 
has  condemned  as  ignoble.  It  is  kept  alive  by  pride 
and  the  fear  of  shame :  and  thus  the  dread  ol  real 
eWI  is  overcome  by  the  superior  dread  of  an  evil 
which  exists  but  in  the  imagination.  It  h.is  been 
cherished  and  stimulated  also  by  various  means.  It 
has  been  the  theme  of  spirit-stirring  song  and 
chivalrous  story.  The  poet  and  minstrel  have  de- 
lighted to  shed  round  it  the  splendours  of  tiction  ; 
and  even  the  historian  has  forgotten  the  sober  gravity 
«(' narration,  and  broken  forth  into  enthusiasm  and 
rhapsod)  in  its  praise.  Triumphs  and  gorgeous 
pageants  have  been  its  reward :  monuments,  on 
which  art  has  exhausted  its  skill,  and  opulence  its 
treasures,  have  been  erected  to  perpetuate  a  nation's 
gratitude  and  admiration.  Thus  artificially  excited, 
courage  has  risen  to  an  extraordinary  and  factitious 
degree  of  heroism  :  and,  arraved  in  all  the  glorious 
"pomp  and  citcunistance  ot  war,"  this  turbulent 
quality  has  even  beer  able  to  eclipse  many  of  those 
quiet,  but  invaluable  virtues,  which  silently  ennoble 


the  human  character,  and  swell  the  tde  ct  kumtc 

h.ippinesa. 

but  if  courage  Intriniically  consists  in  ti.e  defiance 
of  danger  and  p.iin,  the  lilt  cf  the  Indian  is  a  con- 
tinual exhibition  of  it.  He  lives  in  a  state  of  l>er- 
petual  hostility  and  risk.  Peril  and  adventure  are 
congenial  to  his  nature;  or  rather  seem  necessary  to 
arouse  his  faculties  iind  to  give  an  interest  to  hin 
existence.  Surrounded  by  hostile  trilies,  whose  moils 
of  warfare  is  by  ambL:ih  and  surprisal.  he  is  always 

f)  re  pa  red  for  fight,  and  lives  with  his  weapons  in  hi!i 
uinds.  As  the  ship  careers  in  fearful  singlenes; 
through  the  solitudes  of  ocean, — its  the  bird  mingle<i 
among  clouds  and  storms,  .vid  wings  its  w.'iy,  a  merv 
speck,  across  the  pathle.ss  fields  of  air ;  so  tne  Indian 
holds  his  course,  silent,  solitary,  but  undaunted, 
through  the  boundless  bosom  of  the  wilderness 
His  expeditions  m.iy  vie  m  distance  and  danger  with 
the  pilgrimage  of  the  devotee,  or  the  crusade  of  t^e 
knight-errant.  He  traverses  vast  forests,  exposed 
to  tne  hazards  of  lonelv  sickness,  of  lurking  enemies, 
and  pining  famine.  Stormy  lakes,  those  great  in- 
land seas,  are  no  olratacles  to  his  wanderings:  in 
his  light  canoe  of  bark,  he  sports  like  a  feather  on 
their  waves,  and  darts  with  the  swiftness  of  an  arrow 
down  the  roaring  rapitis  of  the  rivrs.  His  verv 
subsistence  is  snatcheil  from  the  midst  ot  toil  and 
peril.  He  gains  his  food  by  the  hardships  aixl 
dangers  of  tne  chase  ;  he  wraps  him.self  in  the  spoiN 
of  the  bear,  the  panther,  and  tne  buffaloe ;  and  sleep, 
among  the  thunders  of  the  catar.tct. 

No  hero  of  ancient  or  modem  days  can  surpa.19 
the  Indian  in  his  lofty  contempt  cf  death,  and  the 
fortitude  with  which  he  sustains  its  crudest  afflic- 
tion. Indeed,  we  here  behold  him  rising  superior 
to  the  white  man,  in  consequence  of  his  peculiar 
education.  The  latter  rushes  to  glorious  ticath  al 
the  cannon's  mouth  ;  the  former  calmly  contemplaiKi 
its  approach,  and  triumphantly  endures  it,  amidst 
the  varied  torments  of  surrounding  foes,  and  the 
protracted  agonies  of  fire.  He  even  takes  a  pride 
in  taunting  nis  persecutors,  and  provoking  their 
ingenuity  of  torture ;  and  as  the  devouring  flames 
prey  on  his  very  vitals,  and  the  flesh  shrinks  from 
the  sinews,  he  raises  his  last  song  of  triumph,  breath 
ing  the  defiance  of  an  unconcjuered  heart,  an«l  in- 
voking the  spirits  of  his  fathers  to  witness  that  he 
die^  without  a  groan. 

Notwithstanding  the  obloquy  with  which  the  earl> 
historians  have  oversh.adowed  the  characters  of  tht 
unfortunate  natives,  some  bright  gleams  occasionally 
break  through,  which  throw  a  degree  of  melancholy 
lustre  on  their  memories.  Facts  are  occasionally  10 
be  met  with  in  the  rude  annals  of  the  eastern  prov- 
inces, which,  though  recorded  with  the  colouring  ot 
prejudice  and  bigotry,  yet  sjieak  for  themselves  ;  and 
will  )>e  dwelt  on  with  applause  and  sympathy,  when 
prejudice  shall  have  passed  away 

In  one  of  the  homely  nilratives  of  the  Indian  wars 
in  New-England,  there  is  a  touching  account  of  the 
desolation  carried  into  the  tribe  of  the  Pequo<i  In- 
dians. Humanity  shrinks  from  the  cold-blooded  :k- 
tail  of  indiscriminate  butchery.  In  one  place  wc 
read  of  the  surprisal  of  an  Indian  fort  in  the  night, 
when  the  wigwams  were  wrapped  in  flames,  ariJ 
the  miserable  inhabitants  shot  down  and  slain  in 
attempting  to  escape,  "all  being  despatched  and 
encled  in  the  course  of  an  hour."  After  a  series  of 
similar  transactions,  "  our  soldiers,"  as  the  histoiian 
piously  observes,  "  being  resolved  by  God's  assist- 
ance to  make  a  final  destruction  of  them,"  the  un 
happy  savages  being  hunted  from  their  homes  and  fort- 
resses, and  pursued  with  fire  and  sword,  a  scanty  but 
gallant  bano,  the  sad  remn.int  of  the  Pequod  warriors, 
with  their  wives  and  ihildren,  took  refuge  in  a  swamp 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEC?PREY  CRAYON.  Omit. 


Tl 


Burning  with  indignation,  and  rendered  tiiUen  by 
impair ,  witii  lieartii  l)urstin{{  with  uriuf  at  the  de- 
ttrurtion  or  tiieir  trilie,  nnil  !«pirit^  Sillied  nnd  sore  at 
(hi*  t:kncied  igiiuniiny  of  their  defeat,  thry  rdtiHrd  to 
a«k  their  lives  .it  the  hands  of  an  inbulting  foe,  and 
prrtrrred  death  to  sul)inission. 

A»  the  night  drew  on,  tliuy  were  siirroundeci  in 
their  dismal  retreat,  so  as  to  render  cscapn  intpracil- 
L'llile.  Thus  situated,  their  enemy  "  plied  then>  wiih 
ihot  all  the  time,  by  which  means  many  were  Idiled 
^n<i  buried  in  the  mire."  In  the  darl<ncss  and  (og 
!.£'.  preceded  the  dawn  of  day,  some  tew  hrotce 
thrcLgh  the  besiegers  and  escap«-d  into  the  woods  : 
"  thr  rsit  were  lelt  to  the  concmerors,  of  which  many 
f::i  idiled  in  the  swamp.  Iil<e  sullen  dogi  who 
would  ralht-r,  in  their  self-willcdness  and  madness, 
cii  Niill  and  Ije  shot  through,  or  cut  to  pieces,"  than 
implore  for  mercy.  When  the  day  broke  upon  this 
handfull  of  forlorn  but  d.iundess  spirits,  the  soldiers, 
we  arc  told,  entering  the  swamp,  "saw  several  heaps 
ol  ilu-m  sitting  close  toi'elher,  uiwn  whom  they  dis- 
charged their  pieces,  laden  with  ten  or  twelve  pistol- 
bullets  at  a  time  ;  puttmg  the  muizles  of  the  pieces 
under  the  boughs,  within  a  few  yards  of  them  ;  so 
as,  l>esides  those  that  were  found  dead,  many  more 
were  killed  and  sunk  into  the  mire,  and  never  were 
minded  more  by  friend  or  foe." 

Can  any  one  read  this  plain  unvarnished  tale, 
without  aumiring  the  stern  resolution,  the  unbend- 
ing pride,  the  loUiness  of  spirit,  that  seemed  to  nerve 
th(  hearts  of  these  self-taught  heroes,  and  to  raise 
thi  m  above  the  instinctive  leelings  of  human  nature  ? 
When  the  (iauls  laid  waste  the  city  of  Rome,  they 
fuuad  the  senators  clothed  in  their  rolKS  and  se.ated 
with  stern  tranquillity  in  their  curule  chairs;  in  this 
manner  they  suffered  death  without  resistance  or 
even  supplication.  Such  conduct  was,  in  them,  ap- 
tUuded  as  noble  ami  magnanimous — in  the  hantcss 
ladians,  it  was  reviled  as  obstinate  and  sullen.  How 
(loly  are  we  the  du|)es  of  show  and  circumstance  I 
Haw  different  is  virtue,  clothed  in  puq)le  and  en- 
throned in  stale,  from  virtue  naked  and  destitute,  and 
perishing  obscurely  in  a  wilderness  I 

liui  1  forbear  to  dwell  on  these  gloomy  pictures. 
The  eastern  tribes  have  long  since  disappeared  ;  the 
foiests  that  sheltered  them  have  been  laid  low, 
and  scarce  any  traces  remain  of  them  in  the 
thickly-sciiled  states  01  New-England,  excepting 
here  and  there  the  ln''.;an  name  of  a  village  or  a 
stream.  And  such  must  sooner  or  later  lie  the  fate 
ol  those  other  tribes  which  skirt  the  fronurrs,  and 
liave  occasionally  been  inveigled  from  their  forests  to 
mingle  in  the  wars  of  white  men.  In  a  little  while, 
and  they  will  go  the  way  that  their  brethren  have 
gone  before.  The  few  hordes  which  still  linger 
about  the  shores  of  Huron  and  Superior,  and  the 
triiiutary  streams  of  the  Mississippi,  will  share  the 
fate  of  those  tribes  that  once  spread  over  Massachu- 
setts and  Connecticut,  and  lorded  it  along  the  proud 
banks  of  the  Hudson;  of  that  gig.intic  race  said  to 
have  existed  on  the  Iwrders  of  the  Sus(|uehanna ; 
and  of  those  various  nations  that  flourished  about 
the  Potowm.ic  and  the  Kappahanoc,  and  that  peo- 
pit^d  the  forests  of  the  vast  valley  of  Shenandoah. 
Ti.f>  will  vanish  like  a  vapour  from  the  face  of  the 
siith ;  iheir  very  history  will  be  lost  in  forgetful- 
itis  ;  and  "  the  places  that  now  know  them  will 
bit  4  them  nc  more  for  ever."  Or  if,  perchance, 
some  dubious  menicrial  of  them  should  survive,  it 
may  jc  in  the  romantic  dreams  of  the  poet,  to  people 
in  imagination  his  glades  and  groves,  like  the  launs 
and  satyrs  and  sylvan  deities  of  antiquity.  But 
should  he  venture  upon  the  dark  story  of  their 
wrongs  and  wretchedness  ;  should  he  tell  how  they 
viiit  mvaded,  corrupted,   despoiled ;    driven  from 


their  native  abodes  and  the  lepidchres  of  theli 
fathers ;  hunted  like  wild  beasts  about  ti.e  earth 
and  sent  down  with  violence  and  butchery  lo  th< 
grave— posterity  will  either  turn  with  horror  and 
mcreduliiy  from  the  tale,  or  blush  with  ind'unation 
at  the  inluimanity  of  their  forefathers. --"  VVe  are 
driven  back."  said  an  old  warrior,  "  until  vc  can 
retreat  no  farther— cir  hatchets  are  broken,  otif 
bows  are  snappt;d,  oui  fires  are  nearly  rxtinguiihed 
— a  little  longer  and  'he  white  man  will  cease  U 
persecute  us— ior  we  tihall  cease  to  exist." 


PHILIP  OF  POKANOKET. 


AN    INDIAN    MEMOIR. 


At  KOD'jmtntol  hronr*  unehiniad  hit  look  i 
A  \ou\  that  pity  touch'il,  but  n«vn  ihoolc : 
TrtinM,  from  hi<  Irn-riick'd  cr.i<lla  tu  hi»  oiw, 
Tlie  fierce  extreme*  of  i'-^'oi  .ind  ill  to  brook 
Impuiiv* — (earing  but  the  thjnie  of  fea  — 
A  tloic  of  th*  wootl*— •  iDiin  without  a    »r, 

CAxriiu.. 

It  is  to  be  regrrrtted  that  those  early  writers  who 
treated  of  the  discovery  and  settlement  of  America, 
have  not  given  us  more  particular  and  candid  ac- 
counts of  the  remarkable  characters  that  flourished 
in  sav.ige  life.  The  scanty  anecdotes  which  have 
re.iched  us  are  full  of  peculiarity  ami  interest ;  they 
furnish  us  with  nearer  glimpses  of  Immiin  nature, 
and  show  what  man  is  in  a  comparatively  primitive 
state,  and  what  he  owes  to  civilization.  There  is 
something  of  the  ch.irm  of  discovery  in  lighting  upon 
these  wild  and  unexplored  tr.acts  of  human  nature; 
in  witnessing,  as  it  were,  the  native  growth  of  moral 
sentiment ;  and  perceiving  those  generous  and  ro- 
mantic qualities  which  have  been  artificially  culti- 
vated by  society,  vegetating  in  spontaneous  hardihood 
and  rude  m.ignificcnce. 

In  civilized  life,  where  the  happiness,  and  indeed 
almost  the  existence,  of  man  depends  so  much  upon 
the  opinion  of  his  fellow  men,  he  is  constantly  acting 
a  studied  part.  The  bold  and  jieculiar  traits  of  native 
character  are  refined  away,  or  softened  down  by  the 
levelling  influence  of  what  is  termed  good  breeding ; 
and  he  practises  so  many  petty  deceptions,  and  af- 
fects so  many  generous  sentiments,  for  the  purposes 
of  popularity,  that  it  is  difKcult  to  distinguish  his 
real,  from  his  artificial  character.  The  Indian,  on 
the  contrary,  free  from  the  restr.iints  and  retine- 
mcnts  of  polished  life,  and,  in  a  great  degree,  a  soli- 
tary and  independent  being,  obeys  the  impulses  of 
his  inclination  or  the  dictates  of  his  judgment ;  and 
thus  the  attributes  of  his  nature,  t)«iiig  freely  in- 
dulged, grow  singly  great  and  striking.  Society  is 
like  a  lawn,  where  every  roughness  is  smootlted, 
ev!;ry  bramble  er.'idicated,  and  where  the  eye  is  de- 
lighted by  the  smiling  verdure  of  a  velvet  surface; 
lie,  however,  who  would  study  Nature  in  its  wildneti 
and  variety,  must  plunge  into  the  forest,  must  e* 
plore  the  glen,  must  stem  the  torrent,  and  dare  the 
precipice. 

These  reflections  arose  on  casually  looking  througb 
a  volume  of  early  colonial  history,  wherein  are  re- 
corded, with  great  bitterness,  the  outrages  of  the  In- 
tlians,  and  their  wars  with  the  settlers  of  New-En- 
gland. It  is  painful  to  perceive,  even  from  these  par- 
tial narratives,  how  the  footsteps  of  civilization  may 
be  traced  in  the  blood  of  the  aborigines  ;  how  easily 
the  colonists  were  moved  to  hostHiiy  by  the  lust  of 
conquest ;  how  merciless  and  exterminating  was 
their  warfare.     The  imagination  shrinks  at  the  idea 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Z^ 


k'S-'' 


bow  many  intellectual  beings  were  hunted  from  the 
earth— how  many  brave  and  noble  liearts,  of  Nat- 
are's  sterling  coinage,  were  broken  down  and  tram- 
pled in  the  dust ! 

Such  was  the  fate  of  Philip  ok  Pokanoket, 
an  Indian  warrior,  whose  name  was  once  a  terror 
throughout  Massachusetts  and  ConnL-cticut.  lie 
was  the  most  distinguished  of  a  number  of  cotem- 
Borary  Sachems,  who  reigned  over  the  Pequods,  the 
MarrhagSBsets,  the  Wampanoags,  and  the  other 
^4.stcrn  tribes,  at  the  time  of  the  first  settlement  of 
■jv'o w-England :  a  band  of  native  untaught  heroes; 
who  made  the  most  generous  struggle  of  which  hu- 
nuiu  nature  is  capable ;  fighting  to  the  last  gasp  in 
the  cause  of  their  country,  without  a  hope  of  victory 
or  a  thought  of  renown.  Worthy  of  an  age  of  po- 
etry, and  fit  subjects  for  local  story  and  romantic 
fiction,  they  have  left  scarcely  any  authentic  traces 
on  the  page  of  history,  bu'  ..talk,  like  gigantic  shad- 
ows, in  the  dim  twilight  of  tradition.* 

When  the  pilgrims,  as  the  Plymouth  settlers  are 
calie<l  liy  their  descendants,  first  tO'ik  refuge  on  the 
shores  of  the  New  World,  from  the  religiotis  persecu- 
tions of  the  Old,  their  situation  was  to  the  Lost  de- 
gree gloomy  and  dish";artening.  Few  in  number, 
and  that  number  rapidly  perishing  away  through 
sickntss  and  hardsliips  ;  surrounded  by  a  howling 
wilderness  and  savage  tribes  ;  exposed  to  the  rigours 
of  an  al.nost  arctic  winter,  and  the  vicissitudes  of  an 
ever-shifting  climate;  their  minds  were  filled  with 
doleful  forebodings,  and  nothing  preserved  them 
fiom  sinking  into  despondency  but  the  strong  excite- 
ment of  religious  enthusiasm.  In  this  forlorn  situa- 
tion they  were  visited  by  Massasoit,  chief  Sagamore 
Ot  the  Wampanoags,  a  powerful  chief,  who  reigned 
aver  ,h  great  extent  of  country,  Insterid  of  taking 
Stiivantage  o.''  the  scanty  number  of  the  strangers, 
Wid  expelling  them  from  his  territories  into  which 
ihcy  had  intruded,  he  seemed  at  once  to  conceive 
for  tliem  a  generous  friendship,  and  extended  to- 
wards them  the  rites  of  primitive  hospitality.  He 
ca.Tie  early  in  the  spring  to  their  settlement  of  New- 
Plymoiirh,  attended  by  a  mere  handfull  of  followers; 
entered  into  a  solemn  le.igue  of  jHiace  and  amity ;  sold 
them  a  portion  of  the  soil,  and  promised  to  secure 
for  them  the  good -will  of  his  savage  allies.  What- 
ever may  be  said  of  Indian  perfi<ly,  it  is  certain  that 
the  integrity  and  good  faith  of  Massasoit  have  never 
been  impeached.  He  continued  a  firm  and  magnan- 
imous friend  of  the  white  men ;  suffering  them  to 
extend  their  possessions,  and  to  strengthen  them- 
selves in  the  land  ;  and  betr.aying  no  je.'dousy  of  their 
increasing  power  and  prosperity.  Shortly  before  his 
death,  he  came  once  more  to  New-Plymouth,  with 
his  son  Alexander,  for  the  purpose  of  renewing  the 
covenant  of  peace,  and  of  securing  it  to  his  posterity. 

At  this  conlcrence,  he  endeavoured  to  protect  the 
religion  of  his  forefathers  from  the  encroaching  zeal 
of  the  missionaries  ;  and  stipulated  that  no  farther 
attempt  should  be  made  to  dfaw  off  his  people  from 
their  ancient  faith  ,  but,  finding  the  F-nglish  obsti- 
nately opposed  to  any  such  condition,  he  mildly  re- 
linquished the  demand.  Almost  the  last  act  of  his 
fife  was  to  bring  his  two  sons,  Alexander  and  Philip 
,aj  they  had  !)cen  named  by  the  English)  to  the  res- 
iu,-nce  of  a  principal  settler,  recommending  mutual 
icindness  ana  confidence  ;  and  entreating  that  the 
none  love  and  amity  which  had  existed  between  the 
white  men  and  himself,  might  be  continued  after- 
wards with  his  children.  The  good  old  Sachem  died 
in  peace,  and  was  happily  gathered  to  his  fathc-s  be- 
fore sorrow  came  upon  his  tribe ;  his  children  re- 

*  While  correctitiK  (he  pmof-nhecti  of  thi»  aiticle,  the  author  i» 
teionned,  thm  a  cslebraica  EnRli^fa  (xiet  hu  nearly  finiihed  a  b»- 
•QK  poem  UD  the  story  of  Philip  of  Pokaooket. 


mained  behind  to  experience  the  ingratitude  al  whiti 
men. 

His  eldest  son,  Alexander,  succeeded  hiin.  He 
was  of  a  quick  and  impetuous  temper,  and  pirudi) 
tenacious  of  his  hereditary  rights  and  dignity.  Tht 
intrusive  policy  and  di'.:tatorial  conduct  of  Iht 
strangers,  excited  his  indignation;  and  he  bth»!i 
with  uneasiness  their  exterminating  wars  whh  Ih; 
neighbouring  tril)es.  He  was  doomed  soon  to  incui 
their  hostility,  being  accused  of  plotting  with  il:. 
Narrhagansets  to  rise  a,;ainst  the  EngHsh  and  drive 
them  from  the  land.  It  is  impossible  to  say  whethtr 
tli'«  accusation  was  warranted  by  facts  or  w,is 
grounded  on  mere  suspicions.  It  is  evident,  how- 
ever, by  the  violent  .^nd  overbearing  measures  of  the 
settlers,  that  they  had  by  this  time  begun  to  feel  con- 
scious of  the  rapid  increase  of  their  power,  and  to 
grow  harsh  and  inconsiderate  in  their  treatment  of 
the  natives.  They  despatched  an  armed  force  to 
seize  upon  Alexander,  and  to  bring  him  before  their 
court.  He  was  traced  to  his  woodl.ind  haunts,  ami 
surprised  at  a  hunting  house,  where  he  was  reposing 
with  a  band  of  his  followers,  unarmed,  after  the  toils 
of  the  chase.  The  suddenness  of  his  arrest,  and  tht 
outrage  offered  to  his  sovereign  dignity,  so  preyed 
ujmn  the  irascible  feelings  of  this  proud  s-uv-tge.  is 
to  throw  him  into  a  raging  fever;  he  was  permittnl 
to  return  home  on  condition  of  sending  his  son  as  a 
pledge  for  his  re-appearance ;  but  the  blow  he  h.id 
received  was  fatal,  and  before  he  reached  his  home 
he  fell  a  victim  to  the  agonies  of  a  wounded  spirit. 

The  succ^sor  of  Alexantler  was  Metamocet,  ur 
King  Philip,  as  he  was  called  by  the  settlers,  on  ac 
count  of  his  lofty  spirit  and  ambitious  temptr. 
These,  together  with  his  well-known  energy  ar'' 
enterjirise,  had  renilereil  him  an  object  of  great  jc:J 
ousy  and  apprehension,  and  he  was  accused  of  hav 
ing  always  cherished  a  secret  and  implacable  host;!' 
ity  towards  the  whites.  Such  may  very  probably 
and  very  naturally,  have  been  the  case.  He  consiil 
ered  them  as  originally  but  mere  intruders  into  the 
country,  who  had  presuinetl  upon  indulgence,  ami 
were  extending  an  influence  baneful  to  sav.ige  \\\c. 
He  saw  the  whole  race  of  his  countrymen  meltiij; 
l»efore  them  from  the  face  of  the  eartn  ;  their  terri- 
tories slipping  from  their  hands,  and  their  tribes  be- 
coming feeble,  scattered,  and  dependent.  It  may  ti« 
said  that  the  soil  was  originally  purchased  by  tlie 
settlers ;  but  who  does  not  know  the  nature  of  In- 
dian purchases,  in  the  early  periods  of  colonization? 
The  Europeans  always  made  thrifty  bargains, 
through  their  superior  adroitness  in  traffic ;  ami 
they  gained  vast  .iccessions  of  territory,  by  easily- 
provoked  hostilities.  An  uncultivated  sav.age  is 
never  a  nice  inquirer  into  the  refinements  cf  law. 
by  which  an  injury  may  be  gradually  and  legally  ir,- 
flicted.  Leading  facts  arc  all  by  wnich  he  judgi:s , 
and  it  was  enough  for  Philip  to  know,  that  belore 
the  intrusion  of  the  Europeans  his  countrymen  were 
lords  of  the  soil,  and  that  now  they  were  becoming 
vagabonds  in  the  l.ind  of  their  fathers. 

But  whatever  may  have  been  his  feelings  cf  ;^cn- 
eral  hostility,  and  his  particular  indigi.ation  at  tl;c 
treatment  of  his  brother,  he  suppressed  them  for  the 
present ;  renewed  the  contract  with  the  settlers ;  ani 
resided  peaceably  for  many  years  at  Pokanoket,  or, 
as  it  was  calletl  by  the  English,  Mount  Hope,"  the 
ancient  seat  of  dominion  of  his  tribe. ,  Suspicions, 
however,  which  were  at  first  but  vague  and  indeti- 
nite,  began  to  acquire  form  and  substance ;  and  he 
was  at  length  charged  with  attempting  to  instigate 
the  various  eastern  tribes  to  rise  at  once,  and,  by  a 
simultaneous  effort,  to  throw  o^  the  yoke  of  ttieii 

*  Now  Briitol,  Rhodii  Idaad. 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


71 


oppiessors.  It  is  difficult  at  this  distant  period  to 
assijjn  the  proper  credit  due  to  these  early  accusa- 
tions against  the  Indians.  There  was  a  proneness 
»o  suspicion,  and  an  aptness  to  acts  of  violence  on 
thff  part  of  the  whites,  that  gave  weight  and  impor- 
tanr;  to  every  idle  tale.  Informers  abounded,  where 
tale-hearing  met  with  countenance  and  reward  ;  and 
'.he  sword  tvas  readily  unsheathed,  when  its  success 
MS  certaiti,  and  it  carved  out  empireu 

The  only  positive  evidence  on  record  against 
(lal'p  is  the  accusation  of  one  Sausanian,  a  rene- 
j.n!o  Indian,  whose  natural  cunning  had  been  quick- 
ensd  by  a  partial  education  which  he  had  received 
among  the  settlers.  He  chginged  his  faith  and  his 
alliKi'tr'ce  two  or  three  times,  with  a  facility  that 
evinced  the  looseness  of  his  principles.  He  had 
acttnl  for  some  time  as  Philip's  confidential  secre- 
tary' and  counsellor,  and  had  enjoyed  his  bounty  and 
piotection.  Finding,  however,  that  the  clouds  of 
adversity  were  gathering  routui  his  patron,  he  aban- 
doned his  service  and  went  over  to  the  whiles ;  and, 
in  order  to  g.iin  their  favour,  charged  his  former 
jjenefactor  with  plotting  against  their  safety.  A 
rigorous  investigation  took  place.  Philip  and  sev- 
eral of  his  subjects  submitted  to  be  examined,  but 
noti\ing  w.is  proved  against  them.  'I'he  S';tilers, 
however,  had  now  gone  too  far  to  retract ;  they  had 
previously  determined  that  Philip  was  a  dangerous 
iiiijjhbour;  they  had  publicly  evinced  their  di-^trust ; 
and  had  done  enough  to  insure  his  hostilitv:  accord- 
mjj,  therefore,  to  the  usual  mode  of  re  ..-ioniiig  in 
thfse  ca.ses,  his  destruction  hail  become  necessary  to 
their  security.  Sausaman,  the  treacii^rous  informer, 
was  shortly  after  found  deail  in  a  pond,  having  fallen 
i  viciiin  to  the  vengeance  of  his  tribe.  Three  In- 
dians, one  of  whom  was  a  friend  and  counsellor  of 
rinlip,  were  apprehended  and  tried,  and,  on  the  tes- 
r.r.Ji.y  of  one  very  questionat)ie  witness,  were  con- 
.I'liuied  and  executed  as  murderers. 

Tliis  tieatment  of  his  subjects  and  ignominious 
punishmeiit  of  his  friend,  outr.aged  the  pride  and  ex- 
aspcratev  _ne  passions  of  Philip.  The  Iwlt  which  had 
fallen  thus  at  his  very  feet,  awakened  him  to  the 
ga'liering  storm,  and  he  determined  to  trust  himself 
no  longer  in  the  power  of  the  white  men.  The  fate 
of  his  insulted  and  broken-hearted  brother  still 
rankled  in  his  mind  ;  and  he  had  a  farther  warning 
in  the  tragical  story  of  Mi.intoniino,  a  great  Sachem 
o(  the  Narrhagansets,  who,  after  manfully  facing  his 
accusers  before  a  tribunal  of  the  colonists,  exculpat- 
ing hiirself  from  a  charge  of  conspiracy,  and  receiv- 
ing assurances  of  amity,  h.id  been  |K"rti(liou.sly  des- 
patched at  their  in.stigation.  Philip,  therefore,  gath- 
ered his  lighting  men  about  him  ;  persuaded  all 
strangers  that  he  could,  to  join  his  cause ;  sent  the 
women  and  children  to  the  Narrh.agansets  tor  safety  ; 
anil  wherever  he  apjieared,  was  continually  sur- 
rounded by  annetl  warriors. 

When  the  two  parties  were  thus  in  a  state  of  dis- 
trust and  irritation,  the  least  spark  was  sutficient  to 
set  them  in  a  flame.  The  Indi,ans,  having  weapons 
in  their  hands,  grew  mischievous,  and  committed 
^ariojs  petty  depredations.  In  one  of  their  maraud- 
ings, a  warrior  was  fired  upon  and  killed  by  a  set- 
tler. This  was  the  signal  for  open  hostilities  ;  the 
lf;dians  pressed  to  revenge  the  death  of  their  com- 
I'Je,  and  the  alarm  of  war  resounded  through  the 
liyvnouth  colony. 

In  the  early  chronicles  of  these  dark  and  melan- 
choly times,  we  meet  with  many  indications  of  the 
uiseascd  state  of  the  public  mind.  The  gloom  of  re- 
ligious abstraction,  and  the  wildiiess  of  their  situa- 
tion, among  trackle-ss  forests  and  savage  ttibes,  had 
dL^nosed  the  colonists  to  .superstitious  fancies,  and 
bad    tilled    their    iinai;inattons  with  the    frightful 


chimeras  of  witchcraft  and  spectrology.  They  were 
much  given  also  to  a  belief  in  omens.  The  troubles 
with  niilip  and  his  Indians  were  preceded,  we  are 
told,  by  a  variety  of  those  awful  warnings  which 
forerun  great  and  public  calamities.  The  perfect  ann 
of  an  Indian  bow  appeared  in  the  air  ai  New-Plym- 
outh, which  was  looked  upon  by  the  inhabitants 
as  a  "  prodigious  apparition."  At  Hadlcy,  Noilh- 
ampion,  and  othtM' towns  ir.  their  neighbourhood, "wafi 
heard  the  report  of  a  great  piece  of  ordnance,  with 
the  shaking  •  (  the  earth  and  a  considerable  echo."' 
Others  y^ert  alarmed  on  a  still  sunshiny  moniing, 
by  the  discharge  of  guns  and  muskets ;  bullets 
seemed  to  whistle  past  them  and  the  noise  of  drums 
resounded  in  the  air,  seeming  to  pass  aw.  *y  to  the 
westward ;  others  fancietl  that  they  heard  ihe  gal- 
loping of  horses  over  their  heads ;  and  certain  mon- 
strous births  which  took  place  about  the  time,  tilled 
the  superstitious  in  some  towns  with  doleful  forebod- 
ings. Many  of  these  portentous  sights  and  sounds 
may  be  ascribed  to  natural  phen<jme'ia ;  to  the 
northern  lights  which  (Kciir  vividly  in  tnose  latitudes ; 
the  meteors  which  explode  in  the  air ;  the  casual 
rushing  of  a  blast  through  the  top  branches  of  the  for- 
est ;  the  crash  of  tailing  trees  or  disrupted  rocks ; 
and  to  those  other  uncouth  sounds  and  echoes, 
which  will  sometimes  strike  the  ear  so  strangely 
amidst  the  profound  stillness  of  woodland  solitudes. 
These  may  havo  startled  some  melancholy  imag- 
inations, may  have  been  exaggerated  by  the  love  for 
the  marvellous,  and  listened  to  with  that  avidity  with 
which  we  devour  wfiatever  is  fearful  and  "mysterious. 
The  universal  currency  of  these  superstitious  fancies 
and  the  grave  record  made  of  them  by  one  of  thi? 
learned  men  of  tne  day,  are  strongly  characteristic 
of  the  times. 

The  nature  of  the  contest  that  ensued  was  such  ai 
too  often  distinguishes  the  warfare  between  civilized 
men  and  savages.  On  the  pan  of  the  whites,  it  was 
conducted  with  sujjerior  skill  and  success;  but  w:th 
a  wastefulness  of  the  blood,  and  a  disregard  of  the 
n.'ituial  lights  of  their  .antagonists :  on  the  part  of  the 
Indians  it  was  waged  with  the  desperation  of  men 
fearless  of  death,  and  who  had  nothing  to  expect  from 
peace,  but  humiliation,  dependence,  and  decay. 

The  events  of  the  war  are  transmitted  to  us  by  a 
worthy  clergyman  of  the  time ;  who  dwells  with 
horror  and  indignation  on  every  hostile  act  of  the 
Indians,  however  justifiable,  whilst  he  mentions  with 
applause  the  most  sanguinary  atrocities  of  the  whites, 
Philip  is  reviled  as  a  murderer  and  a  traitor ;  without 
considering  that  he  whs  a  true-born  prince,  g.allantly 
fighting  at  the  head  of  his  subjects  to  avenge  the 
wrongs  of  his  tamily ;  to  retrieve  the  tottering  power 
of  his  line  ;  and  to  deliver  his  native  land  from  the 
oppression  of  usurping  strangers. 

The  project  of  a  wide  and  simuU.aneous  revolt,  it 
such  had  really  been  formed,  was  worthy  of  a  capa- 
cious mind,  and,  had  it  not  been  prematurely  discov- 
ered, might  have  been  overwhelming  in  its  conse- 
quences. The  war  th.at  actually  broke  out  was  but 
a  war  of  <!  lil ;  a  mere  succession  of  casual  exploits 
and  uncoiuiected  enterprises.  Still  it  sets  forth  the 
military  genius  and  daring  prowess  of  Philip;  and 
wherever,  in  the  prejudiced  and  passionate  narrations 
that  have  been  given  of  it,  we  can  arrive  at  simple 
tacts,  we  find  him  displaying  a  vigorous  mind  ;  a  ter- 
tiliiy  in  expedients ;  a  contempt  of  suffering  and  hard- 
ship ;  and  an  unconquerable  resolution,  that  com- 
mand our  sympathy  and  applause. 

Driven  from  his  paternal  domains  at  Mount  Hope, 
he  threw  himself  into  the  depths  of  those  vast  and 
trackless  forests  that  skirted    the  settlements,  and 


*  Th«  R«v.  lacratmi  Matlier't  HUlonr, 


n 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


»• 


';   n* 


fcfii-it 


were  almost  impervious  to  any  thing  but  a  wild  beast 
or  an  Indian.  Here  lie  gathered  together  his  forces, 
like  the  storm  accumulating  its  stores  of  mischief  in 
the  bosom  of  the  thunder-cloud,  and  would  suddenly 
emerge  at  a  time  and  place  least  expected,  carrying 
havoc  and  dismay  into  the  villages.  There  were 
now  and  then  mdicat<ons  of  these  impending  ravages, 
that  filled  the  minds  of  the  colonists  with  awe  and 
apprehension.  The  report  of  a  distant  gun  would 
(Mtrhaps  be  heard  from  the  solitary  woodland,  where 
there  was  known  to  be  no  white  man ;  the  cattle 
which  had  been  wandering  in  the  woods,  would 
sometimes  return  home  wounded;  or  an  Indi.an  or 
two  would  be  seen  lurking  about  the  skirts  of  the 
forest;.,  and  suddenly  disappearing  ;  as  the  lightning 
*ill  S3metimes  be  seen  playing  silently  about  the 
edge  of  the  cloud  that  is  brewing  up  the  tempest. 

Though  sometimes  pursued,  and  even  surrounded 
oy  the  settlers,  yet  Pliilip  as  often  escaped  almost 
miraculously  from  their  toils  t  and  plunging  into  the 
wilderness,  would  be  lost  to  all  search  or  inquiry 
until  he  again  emerged  at  some  far  distant  quarter, 
laying  the  country  desolate.  Among  his  strong-holds 
were  the  great  swamps  or  morasses,  which  extend 
in  some  parts  of  New-England  ;  composed  of  loose 
bogs  of  deep  black  mud  ;  perplexed  with  thickets, 
brambles,  rank  weeds,  the  snattcred  and  moulflering 
trunks  of  fillen  trees,  overshadowed  by  lugiihrious 
hemlocks.  The  uncertain  footing  and  the  tangled 
mazes  of  these  shaggy  wilds,  rendered  them  almost 
impracticable  to  the  white  man,  though  the  Indian 
could  thread  their  labyrinths  with  the  agility  of  a 
deer.  Into  one  of  these,  the  great  swamp  of  Pocas- 
set  Neck,  was  Philip  once  driven  with  a  band  of  his 
followers.  The  English  did  not  dare  to  pursue  him, 
Jiaring  to  venture  into  these  dark  and  frightful  re- 
leases, where  they  might  perish  in  fens  and  miry  pits, 
jr  he  shot  down  by  lurking  foes.  They  therefore 
Invested  the  entrance  to  the  neck,  and  began  to  build 
a  fort,  with  the  thought  of  starving  out  the  toe  ;  but 
Philip  and  his  warriors  waited  themselves  on  a  raft 
aver  an  arm  of  the  sea,  in  the  dead  of  night,  leaving 
the  women  and  children  hehind  ;  and  escaped  away 
to  the  westward,  kindling  the  flames  of  war  among 
the  tribes  of  Massachusetts  and  theNipmuckcountry, 
and  threatening  the  colony  of  Connecticut. 

In  this  way  Philip  became  a  theme  of  universal 
apprehension.  The  mystery  in  which  he  was  envel- 
oped exaggerated  his  real  terrors.  He  was  an  evil 
that  walked  in  darkness  ;  whose  coming  none  could 
foresee,  and  against  which  none  knew  when  to  be  on 
the  alert.  The  whole  country  abounded  with  ru- 
mours and  alarms.  Philip  seemed  almost  possessed 
of  ubiquity ;  lor,  in  whatever  part  of  the  widely  ex- 
tended frontier  an  irruption  from  the  forest  took 
place,  Philip  was  said  to  be  its  leader.  Many  super- 
stitious notions  also  were  circulated  concerning  him. 
He  was  said  to  deal  in  necromancy,  and  to  be  attend- 
ed by  an  old  Indian  witch  or  prophetess,  whom  he 
consulted,  and  who  assisted  him  by  her  charms  and 
incai.tations.  This  indeed  w.as  frequently  the  case 
with  Indian  chiefs  ;  either  through  their  own  credu- 
lity, or  to  act  upon  that  of  their  followers :  and  the 
biiluence  of  the  prophet  and  the  dreamer  over  Indian 
sujierstiiion  has  been  fully  evidenced  in  recent  in- 
stances of  savage  warfare. 

At  the  time  that  Philip  effected  his  escape  from 
Pi)casset,  his  fortunes  were  in  a  desperate  condition. 
His  forces  had  been  thinned  by  repeated  fights,  and 
he  had  lost  almost  the  whole  of  his  resources.  In 
this  time  of  adversity  he  found  a  faithful  friend  in 
Canonchet,  Chief  Sachem  of  all  the  Narrhagansets. 
He  svas  the  son  and  heir  of  Miantonimo,  the  great 
Sachem,  who,  as  already  mentioned,  after  an  honour- 
able acquittal  cf  the  charge  of  conspiracy,  had  been 


privately  put  to  death  at  the  perfidious  instigation; 
of  the  settlers.  "He  was  the  lieir,"  says  the  oW 
chronicler,  "  of  all  his  father's  pride  and  insolence, 
as  well  as  of  his  malice  towards  the  English ; "  he 
certainly  was  the  heir  of  his  insults  and  injuries,  and 
the  legitimate  avenger  of  his  murder.  Though  he 
had  forborne  to  take  an  active  part  in  this  hopelcsi 
war,  yet  he  received  Philip  and  his  broken  forces  v.-ith 
open  arms ;  and  gave  them  the  most  generous  coun 
tenance  and  support.  This  at  once  drew  upon  him 
the  hostility  of  tne  English  ;  and  it  was  determined 
to  strike  a  signal  blow,  thvit  should  involve  both  the 
Sachems  in  one  common  ruin.  A  great  force  was, 
therefoie,  gathered  together  from  Massachusetts, 
Plymouth,  .and  Connecticut,  and  was  sent  into  tlie 
Narrhaganset  country  in  the  depth  of  winter,  when 
the  swamps,  being  fro/en  and  leafless,  could  be  trav- 
ersed with  comparative  facility,  and  would  no  longer 
afford  dark  and  impenetrable  fastnesses  to  the 
Indi.ans. 

Apprehensive  of  attack,  Canonchet  had  conveyed 
the  greater  part  of  his  stores,  together  with  the  old, 
the  infirm,  the  women  and  children  of  his  tribe,  to  a 
strong  fortress ;  where  he  and  Philip  had  likewise 
drawn  up  the  flower  of  their  forces.  This  fortress, 
deetned  by  the  Indians  impregnable,  was  situated 
upon  a  rismg  mound  or  kinu  of  island,  of  five  or  six 
acres,  in  the  midst  of  a  swamp;  it  was  constructed 
with  a  degree  of  judgment  and  skill  vastly  superior 
to  what  is  usually  displayed  in  Indian  fortificaimu, 
and  indicative  of  the  martial  genius  of  these  two 
chieftains. 

Guided  by  a  renegado  Indian,  the  English  pene- 
trated, through  December  snows,  to  this  strong-nold, 
and  came  upon  the  garrison  by  surprise.  The  tij;ht 
W.15  fierce  and  tumultuous.  The  assailants  weie 
repulsed  in  their  first  attack,  and  several  of  theit 
bravest  officers  were  shot  down  in  the  act  of  storir- 
ing  the  fortress,  sword  in  hand.  The  assault  w.i5 
renewed  with  greater  success.  A  lodgement  w.is 
effected.  The  Indians  were  driven  from  one  post  to 
another.  They  disputed  their  ground  inch  by  inch, 
f.gliting  with  the  fury  of  despair.  Most  of  their  vete- 
rans were  cut  to  pieces ;  and  after  a  long  .and  bloody 
battle,  Philip  and  Canonchet,  with  a  handful!  of  sur- 
viving warriors,  retreated  from  the  fort,  and  took 
refuge  in  the  thickets  of  the  surrounding  forest. 

The  victors  set  fire  to  the  wigwams  and  the  fori ; 
the  whole  was  soon  in  a  blaze  ;  many  of  the  old  men, 
the  women  and  the  children,  perished  in  the  flames. 
This  last  outrage  overcame  even  the  stoicism  of  the 
savage.  The  neighbouring  woods  resounded  with 
the  yells  of  rage  and  desnair,  uttered  by  the  fugitive 
warriors  as  they  beheld  the  destruction  of  their 
dwellings,  and  heard  the  agonizing  cries  of  their 
wives  and  offspring.  "  The  burning  of  the  wigwams," 
says  a  cotemporary  writer,  "  the  shrieks  and  cries  of 
the  vv'omen  and  children,  and  the  yelling  of  the  war- 
riors, exhibited  a  most  horrible  and  affecting  scene, 
so  that  it  greatly  moved  some  of  the  soldiers."  The 
same  writer  cautiously  adds,  "they  were  in  mitih 
doubt  then,  and  afterwards  seriously  inquired,  whether 
burning  their  enemies  alive  could  be  consistent  with 
hum.anity,  and  the  benevolent  principles  of  the  gos- 
pel."* 

The  fate  of  the  brave  and  generous  Canonchet  is 
worthy  of  particular  mention  :  the  last  scene  of  his 
lite  is  one  of  the  noblest  instances  on  rccoril-  of 
Indi.an  magnanimity. 

Hroken  down  in  his  power  and  resources  by  il.is 
signal  defeat,  yet  faithful  to  his  ally  and  to  the  hair- 
less cause  which  he  had  espoused,  he  rejected  all 
overtures  of  peace,  oflered  on  conditior.  of  bettayirig 

•  m.  of  111*  R(v.  W.  Ruuiw. 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


71 


Fhilip  and  his  followers,  and  declared  that  "he 
gv(}iil(J  fight  it  out  to  the  last  man,  rather  than  be- 
:ome  a  servant  to  the  English."  His  home  being 
destroyed ;  his  country  harassed  and  laid  waste  by 
)he  incursions  of  the  conquerors ;  he  was  obliged  to 
wander  away  to  the  banks  of  the  Connecticut ;  where 
he  formed  a  rallying  point  to  the  whole  body  of 
ive:>tent  Indians,  and  laid  waste  several  of  the  En- 
glish settlements. 

Early  in  the  spring,  he  departed  on  a  hazardous 
fxpcdition,  with  only  tiiirly  chosen  men,  to  pene- 
trate to  Seaconck,  in  the  vicinity  of  Mount  Hope, 
and  to  procure  seed-coni  to  plant  for  the  sustenance 
of  1  is  troops.  This  little  band  of  adventurers  had 
passed  safciy  through  the  l*ec|uo<l  country,  and  were 
in  thi;  centre  of  the  Narrhaganset,  resting  at  some 
wigwams  near  Pautucket  river,  when  an  alarm'was 
given  of  an  approaching  ene?ny.  Having  but  seven 
men  by  him  at  the  time,  Canonchet  despatched  two 
of  them  to  the  top  of  a  neighbouring  hill,  to  bring 
intelligence  of  the  fo8.i 

I'anic  struck  by  the  appearance  of  a  troop  of  En- 
glish and  Indians  rapidly  advancing,  they  fled  in 
br'-athless  terror  past  their  chieftain,  without  stop- 
ping to  inform  him  ol  'he  danger.  Canonchet  sent 
another  scout,  who  di.'  the  same.  He  then  sent  two 
tnore,  one  of  whom,  bi.rrying  back  in  confusion  and 
iitThght,  told  him  t'lit  the  whole  British  army  was  .at 
hind.  Canonchft  yaw  there  was  no  choice  but  im- 
mediate flight.  He  attempted  to  escape  round  the 
lii!l,  but  was  perceived  and  hotly  pursued  by  the  hos- 
tile Indians,  and  a  few  of  the  fleetest  of  the  English. 
Finding  the  swiftest  pursuer  close  upon  his  heels,  he 
threw  off,  first  his  blanket,  then  his  silver-laced  coat 
and  belt  of  pcag,  by  which  his  enemies  knew  him  to 
l><;  Canonchet,  and  redoubled  the  eagerness  of 
pursuit. 

A  length,  in  dashing  through  the  river,  his  foot 
*V;i  pt.  upon  a  stone,  and  he  tell  so  deep  as  to  wet 
h;s  gun.  This  accident  so  struck  him  with  despair, 
th.i*,  as  he  afterwards  confessed,  "  his  heart  and  his 
bowels  turned  within  him,  and  he  became  like  a 
rotten  stick,  void  of  strength." 

To  such  a  degree  was  he  unnerved,  that,  being 
seized  by  a  Pequod  Indian  within  a  short  distance 
of  the  nver,  he  made  no  resistance,  though  a  man 
of  great  vigour  of  body  and  boldness  of  heart.  But 
on  being  made  prisoner,  the  whole  pride  of  his  spirit 
arose  within  him ;  and  from  that  moment,  we  tind, 
in  the  anecdotes  given  by  his  enemies,  nothing  but 
repeated  flashes  of  elevated  and  prince-like  heroism. 
Heing  questioned  by  one  of  the  English  who  tirst 
came  up  with  him,  and  who  had  not  attained  his 
twentjf-second  year,  the  proud-hearted  warrior,  look- 
ing with  lofty  contempt  upon  his  youthful  counte- 
nance, rcpliecl,  "  You  are  a  child — you  cannot  under- 
stand matters  of  war — let  your  brother  or  your  chief 
cuine — him  wdl  I  answer. ' 

Though  repeated  offers  were  made  to  him  of  his 
life,  on  condition  of  submitting  with  his  nation  to  the 
Engr?h,  yet  he  ejected  them  with  disdain,  and  re- 
fused to  send  a,  "  proposals  of  the  kind  to  the  great 
:x)dy  of  his  subjects ;  saying,  tlial  he  knew  none  of 
ihem  would  comply.  Being  reproached  with  his 
breach  of  faith  towards  the  whiles ;  his  bo.ist  that 
li:  would  not  deliver  up  a  Wampanoag,  nor  the  par- 
ngs  of  a  Wampanoag's  nail ;  and  his  threat  that 
h"  would  burn  the  English  alive  in  their  houses  ;  he 
disdained  to  justify  himself,  haughtily  answering  that 
others  were  as  forward  for  the  war  as  himself,  "and 
he  desired  to  hear  no  more  thereof" 

So  noble  and  unshaken  a  spirit,  so  true  a  fidelity 
to  his  cause  and  his  friend,  might  have  touched  the 
feelings  of  the  generous  and  the  brave  ;  but  Canon- 
:het  was  an  Indian ;  a  being  towards  whom  war  had 


no  courtesy,  humanity  no  law,  religion  no  compas- 
sion—he was  condemned  to  die.  The  last  words 
of  his  that  are  recorded,  are  worthy  the  greatnesf 
of  his  soul.  When  sentence  of  death  was  passed 
upon  him,  he  observed,  "  that  he  liked  it  well,  for  he 
should  die  before  his  heart  was  soft,  or  he  had  spoken 
any  thing  unworthy  of  himself."  His  enemies  gave 
him  the  death  of  a  soldier,  for  he  was  shot  4t  Ston 
ingham,  by  three  young  Sachems  of  his  own  rank. 

The  defeat  of  the  Narrhaganset  fortress,  and  the 
death  of  Canonchet,  were  fatal  blows  to  the  fortunes 
of  King  Philip.  He  ma<le  an  ineffectual  attempt  to 
raise  a  head  of  var,  by  stirring  up  the  Mohawks  to 
take  arms ;  but  though  possessed  of  the  native  tal- 
ents of  a  statesman,  his  arts  were  co«mteractctl  by 
the  superior  arts  of  his  enlightened  enemies,  and  the 
terror  of  their  warlike  skill  began  to  subdue  the  res- 
olution of  the  neighbouring  tribes.  The  unfortu- 
nate chieftain  saw  himself  daily  stripped  of  power, 
and,  his  ranks  rapidly  thinning  around  Itim.  Some 
were  suborned  by  the  whites  ;  others  fell  victims  to 
hunger  and  fatigue,  and  to  the  frequent  attacks  by 
which  they  were  harassed.  His  stores  were  all  cap- 
tured ;  his  chosen  friends  were  swept  away  from  be- 
fore his  eyes ;  his  uncle  was  shot  down  by  his  side ; 
his  sister  was  carried  into  captivity ;  and  in  one  of 
his  narrow  escapes  he  was  compelled  to  leave  his 
beloved  wife  and  only  son  to  the  mercy  of  the  enemy, 
"  His  ruin,"  says  the  historian,  "  being  thus  gradu- 
ually  carried  on,  his  misery  was  not  prevented,  but 
augmented  thereby ;  being  himself  made  aci^u.iinted 
with  the  sense  and  experimental  feeling  of  the  cap- 
tivity of  his  children,  loss  of  friends,  slaughter  of  his 
subjects,  bereavement  of  all  family  relations,  and 
being  stripped  of  all  outward  comforts,  before  hit 
own  life  should  be  taken  away." 

To  fill  up  the  measure  of  his  misfbrtuncs,  his  own 
followers  beg.in  to  plot  against  his  life,  th.it  by  sacrw 
ficing  him  they  might  purchase  dishonourable  safety. 
Through  treachery,  a  number  of  his  faithful  adher- 
ents, the  subjects  of  Wetamoe,  an  Indian  princess 
of  Pocasset,  a  near  kinswoman  and  confederate  of 
Philip,  were  betrayed  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy, 
Wetamoe  was  among  them  at  the  time,  and  attempt- 
ed to  make  her  escape  by  crossing  a  neighbouring 
river :  either  exhausted  by  swimming,  or  starved 
with  cold  and  hunger,  she  was  found  dead  and 
naked  near  the  water  side.  But  persecution  ceased 
not  at  the  grave;  even  death,  the  refuge  of  the 
wretched,  where  the  wicked  \;ommonly  cease  from 
troubling,  was  no  protection  to  this  outcast  female, 
whose  great  crime  was  affectionate  fidelity  to  her 
kinsman  and  her  friend.  Her  corpse  was  the  object 
of  unmanly  and  dastardly  vengeance ;  the  head  was 
severed  from  the  body  and  set  upon  a  pole,  and  was 
thus  exposed,  at  Taunton,  to  the  view  of  her  captive 
subjects.  They  immediately  recognised  the  features 
of  their  unfortunate  queen,  and  were  so  affected  at 
this  barbarous  spectacle,  that  we  are  told  they  broke 
forth  into  the  "  most  horrid  and  diabolical  lamenta- 
tions.' 

However  Philip  had  borne  up  against  the  compli- 
cated miseries  and  misfortunes  that  surrounded  him, 
the  treachery  of  his  followers  seeme«l  to  wring  his 
heart  and  reduce  him  to  despondency.  It  is  said  that 
"  he  never  rejoiced  afterwards,  nor  had  success  in 
any  of  his  designs."  The  spring  of  hope  was  broken 
— the  ardour  of  enterprise  was  extinguished:  he 
looked  around,  and  all  was  danger  and  darkness ; 
there  was  no  eye  to  pity,  nor  any  arm  that  could 
bring  deliverance.  With  a  scanty  b:  nd  of  followers, 
who  still  remained  true  to  his  desperate  fortunes, 
the  unhappy  Philip  wandered  back  to  the  vicinity  of 
Mount  Hope,  the  ancient  dwelling  of  his  fathers. 
Here  le  lurked  about,  like  a  spectre,  among  the 


dU 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


A', 
if' 


iJth 


scenes  of  former  power  and  prosperity,  now  bereft  of 
home,  of  family,  and  friend.  There  needs  no  better 
picture  of  his  destitute  and  piteous  situation,  than 
that  furnished  by  the  homely  pen  of  the  chronicler, 
who  is  unwarily  enlisting  the  feelings  of  the  reader 
in  favour  of  the  hapless  warrior  whom  he  reviles. 
"  Philip,"  he  says,  "  like  a  Kivage  wild  beast,  having 
been  h'lnted  by  the  English  forces  through  the  woods 
abiive  a  hundred  miles  backward  and  forward,  at 
List  was  driven  to  his  own  den  upon  Mount  Hope, 
where  he  retired,  with  a  few  of  his  best  friends,  into 
a  swamp,  which  proved  but  a  prison  to  keep  him  fast 
till  the  messengers  of  death  came  by  divine  permis- 
sion to  execute  vengeance  upon  him." 

Even  at  this  last  refuge  of  desperation  and  despair 
a  sullen  grandeur  gathers  round  his  memory.  We 
picture  him  to  ourselves  seated  among  bis  care-worn 
followers,  brooding  in  silence  over  his  blasted  for- 
tunes, and  acquiring  a  sav.ige  sublimity  from  the 
wildness  and  dreariness  of  his  lurking-place.  De- 
feated, but  not  dismayed — crushed  to  the  earth,  but 
not  humiliated — he  seemed  to  grow  more  haughty 
beneath  disaster,  and  to  experience  a  fierce  satisfac- 
tion in  draining  the  last  dregs  of  bitterness.  Little 
minds  are  lamed  and  subdued  by  misfortune ;  but 
great  minds  rise  above  it.  The  very  idea  of 'sub- 
mission awakcrled  the  fury  of  Philip,  and  he  smote 
to  death  one  of  his  followers,  who  proposed  an  ex- 
pedient of  peace.  The  brother  of  the  victim  made 
nis  escape,  and  in  revenge  betrayed  the  retreat  of 
his  chieftain.  A  body  of  white  men  and  IndLins 
were  immediately  despatched  to  the  swamp  where 
Philip  lay  crouched,  glaring  with  fury  and  despair. 
Before  he  w.is  aware  of  their  approach,  they  hnd 
begun  to  surround  him.  In  a  little  while  he  saw 
five  of  his  trustiest  followers  laid  dead  at  his  feet; 
%\\  resistance  was  vain;  he  rushed  forth  from  his 
covert,  and  made  a  headlong  attempt  at  escape,  but 
was  shot  through  the  heart  by  a  renegado  Indian 
of  his  own  nation. 

Such  is  the  scanty  story  of  the  brave,  but  unfortu- 
i:ate  King  Philip ;  persecuted  while  living,  slandered 
and  dishonoured  when  dead.  If,  however,  we  con- 
sider even  the  prejudiced  anecdotes  furnished  us  by 
his  enemies,  we  may  perceive  in  them  traces  of 
amiable  and  lofty  character,  sufficient  to  awaken 
sympathy  for  his  fate  and  respect  for  his  memory. 
We  tind,  that  amidst  all  the  harassing  cares  and 
ferocious  passions  of  constant  warfare,  he  was  alive 
to  the  softer  feelings  of  connubial  love  and  paternal 
tenderness,  and  to  the  generous  sentiment  of  friend- 
ship. The  captivity  of  his  "beloved  wife  and  only 
son  "  is  mentioned  with  exultation,  as  causing  hirii 
poignant  misery:  the  death  of  any  near  friend  is 
triumphantly  recorded  as  a  new  blow  on  his  sensi- 
bilities ;  but  the  treachery  and  desertion  of  many  of 
his  followers,  in  whose  affections  he  had  confided,  is 
said  to  have  desolated  his  heart,  and  to  have  be- 
reaved him  of  all  farther  comfort.  He  was  a  patnot, 
attached  to  his  native  soil — a  prince  true  to  his  sub- 
jects, and  indignant  of  their  wrongs — a  soldier, 
daring  in  battle,  firm  in  adversity,  patient  of  fatigue, 
of  hunger,  of  every  variety  of  bodily  suffering,  an(l 
r«dy  to  perish  in  the  cause  he  had  espoused.  Proud 
of  heart,  and  with  an  untameable  love  of  natural 
liberty,  he  preferred  to  enjoy  it  among  the  beasts  of 
the  forests,  or  in  the  dismal  and  famished  recesses 
of  swamps  and  morasses,  rather  than  bow  his 
liaughty  spirit  to  submission,  and  live  dependent 
and  despised  in  the  ease  and  luxury  of  the  settle- 
ments. With  heroic  qualities  and  bold  achievements 
that  would  have  graced  a  civilized  warrior,  and  have 
rendered  him  the  theme  of  the  poet  and  the  histo- 
lian ;  he  lived  a  wanderer  and  a  fugitive  in  his  native 
land,  and  went  down,  like  a  lonely  bark,  '-.undcring 


amid  darkness  and  temiKSt — w  thoul  a  pitying  cyt 
to  weep  his  fall,  oi  a  friendly  haiuJ  to  record  hn 
struggle. 


JOHN  BULL. 


An  old  <onK.  made  by  an  aged  old  pate, , 
or  an  eld  wnnihipfu!  gentleman  who  had  a  (raet  (ittt*. 
That  kept  a  brave  old  house  at  a  bountiful  nte, 
And  an  old  porter  In  relieve  the  poor  at  hit  i»tt. 

With  an  old  itudy  fill'd  full  of  learned  old  book*. 
With  an  old  revererj  chaplain,  you  mi/(ht  know  him  by  hit  tooki 
With  an  old  butieryhatcK  worn  quite  ofTihe  hopk>, 
And  an  old  kitchen  that  maintained  half-a-doren  old  cookt. 
Like  an  old  courtier,  Ac. 

OU  Stmt. 

There  is  no  species  of  humour  in  which  the  F.n 
glish  more  excel,  than  that  which  consists  in  carica 
turirrg  and  giving  ludicrous  appellations  or  nick 
names.  In  this  way  they  have  whimsically  desig 
nated,  not  merely  individuals,  but  nations ;  and  ii 
their  fondness  (or  pushing  a  joke,  they  have  nm 
sp:ired  even  themselves.  One  would  think  that,  ii; 
personifying  itself,  a  nation  would  be  apt  to  picture 
satnjyning  grand,  heroic,  and  imposing ;  but  it  ir 
characteristic  of  the  peculiar  humour  of  the  Engli<-,h 
and  of  their  love  for  what  is  blunt,  comic,  and  famil- 
iar, that  they  have  embodied  their  n.itional  odditiej 
in  the  figure  of  a  sturdy,  corpulent  old  fellow,  with  a 
three-cornere<l  hat,  red  waistcoat,  leather  breechtr, 
anfl  stout  oaken  cudgel.  Thus  they  have  taken  >, 
singular  delight  in  exhibiting  their  most  prvite  fci 
bles  in  a  laughable  point  of  view ;  and  have  bctn  r. 
successful  in  their  delineation,  th.it  there  is  scare:'; 
a  being  in  actual  existence  more  absolutely  prcser 
to  the  public  mind,  than  that  eccentric  personag 
John  Rull. 

Perhaps  the  continual  contemplation  of  the  char- 
acter thus  drawn  of  them,  has  contributed  to  fix  i! 
upon  the  nation ;  and  thus  to  give  reality  to  what  it 
first  may  have  been  painted  in  a  great  measure  from 
the  imagination.  Men  are  apt  to  .acquire  peculi.iri- 
ties  that  are  continually  ascribed  to  them.  The 
common  orders  of  English  seem  wonderfully  capti- 
vated with  the  beau  ideal  which  they  have  fonned  of 
John  Bull,  and  endeavour  to  act  up  to  the  broad  car- 
icature that  is  perpetually  before  their  eyes.  Unlurl.- 
ily,  they  sometimes  make  their  bo.asted  Bull-'sm  r. 
apology  for  their  prejudice  or  grossness  ;  and  this  I 
have  espt!cially  noticed  among  those  truly  honu-- 
hrei'  hI  genuine  sons  of  the  soil  who  have  never 
migi.iii d  beyond  the  sound  of  Bow-bells.  Jf  one  of 
these  should  be  a  little  uncouth  in  speech,  and  apt 
to  utter  impertinent  truths,  he  confesses  that  he  is  a 
real  John  Bull,  and  always  speaks  his  mind.  If  he 
now  and  then  flies  into  an  unreasonable  burst  of  p;it- 
sion  about  trifles,  he  observes  that  John  Bull  is  a 
choleric  old  blade,  but  then  his  passion  is  over  ir  a 
moment,  and  he  bears  no  malice.  If  he  hetrayls  .- 
coarseness  of  taste,  and  an  insensibility  to  forii;;r 
refinements,  he  thanks  Heaven  for  his  ignorauce-  h/ 
is  a  plain  John  Bull,  and  h.as  no  reli.sh  for  frippery  .in 
knicKnncks.  His  very  proneness  to  be  gulled  t  ■ 
strangers,  and  to  pay  extravagantly  for  absurditifs 
is  excused  under  the  plea  of  munificence — for  Joh; 
is  always  more  generous  than  wise. 

Thus,  under  the  name  of  John  Bull,  he  will  con 
trive  to  argue  every  fault  into  a  merit,  and  will  fntr.k 
ly  convict  himself  of  being  the  hon«iest  fellow  i. 
existence. 

However  little,  therefore,  the  character  may  hf.vf 
suited  in  the  first  instance,  it  has  gradually  adapt^Mi 
itself  to  the  nation,  or  rather  they  have  adaptec 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  G»nt. 


81 


'  omselves  to  each  other :  and  a  strang^er  who  wishes 
10  study  English  peculiarities,  may  gather  much  val- 
uable information  from  the  innumerable  p(3rtraits  of 
John  Bull,  as  exhibited  in  the  windows  of  the  carica- 
ture-shops. Still,  however,  he  is  one  of  those  fertile 
humorists,  that  are   continually  throwing  out  new 


bravely  about  at  boxing-matches,  horse-races,  cock 
fights,  and  carrying  a  high  head  among  "  gentlemen 
of  the  fancy ; "  but  immediately  after  one  of  these 
lits  of  extravagance,  he  will  be  taken  with  violent 
(|ualms  of  economy ;  stop  short  at  the  most  trivial 
expenditure;  talk  desperately  cf  being  ruined  and 


portraits,  and  presenting  different  aspects  from  dif-  "brought  upon  the  parish;  and  in  such  moods  wiU 

jjrent  points  ot  view;  and,  often  as  he  has  l)een  de-   —  —  *'■ "— *  '"-' '-   "•"  ■■'' — '  ---'--• 

Kribed,  1  cannot  resist  the  temptation  to  g^ve  a  slight 
sketch  of  him,  such  as  he  has  met  my  eye, 

John  Bull,  to  all  appearance,  is  a  plam  downright 
.r.itter-of-fact  fellow,  with  njuch  less  of  poetry  about 
iiin  than  rich  prose.  There  is  little  of  romance  in 
hii  nature,  but  a  vast  deal  of  strong  natural  feeling. 
He  excels  in  humour  more  than  ,n  wit ;  is  jolly  rather 
than  gay ;  melancholy  rather  than  morose ;  can  easi- 
ly be  moved  to  a  sudden  tear,  or  surprised  into  a 
broad  laugh ;  bu.  .jc  loathes  sentiment,  and  has  no 
turn  for  light  pleasantry.  He  is  a  boon  companion, 
if  you  allow  him  to  have  his  humour,  and  to  talk 
about  himself;  and  he  will  stand  by  a  friend  in>a 
qu.irrel,  with  life  and  purse,  however  soundly  he  may 
be  cudgelled. 

In  this  last  respect,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  has  a  pro- 
pensity to  be  somewhat  too  ready.  He  is  a  busy- 
minded  personage,  who  thinks  not  merely  for  him- 
S'^lf  .inri  family,  but  for  all  the  country  round,  and  is 
must  generally  disposed  to  be  every  body's  cham- 
pion. He  is  continually  volunteering  his  services  to 
seitle  his  neighbours'  affairs,  and  takes  it  in  great 
dudgeon  if  they  engage  in  any  matter  of  consequence 
witiiout  asking  his  advice;  though  he  seldom  en- 
g.ijjes  in  any  Iriendly  office  of  the  kind  without  fin- 
ishing by  getting  into  a  squabble  with  all  parties, 
and  then  railing  bitterly  at  their  ingratitude.  He 
unluckily  took  lessons  in  his  youth  in  the  noble  sci- 
rncc  of  defence,  and  having  accomplished  himself  in 
i.'ie  use  of  his  limbs  and  his  weapons,  and  become  a 
[lerfect  master  at  boxing  and  cudgel-play,  he  has  had 
".  troublesome  life  of  it  ever  since.  He  cannot  hear 
of  a  quarrel  between  the  most  <listant  of  his  neigh- 
bours, but  he  begins  incontinently  to  fumble  with  the 
head  of  his  cudgel,  and  consider  whether  his  interest 
or  honour  does  not  require  th.at  he  should  meddle  in 
the  broil.  Indeed,  he  has  extended  his  relations  of 
pride  and  policy  so  completely  over  the  whole  coun 


try,  that  no  event  can  take  place,  without  infringintj 
some  of  his  finely-spun  rights  and  dignities.  Couched 
in  his  little  doma'n.  with  these  filaments  stretching 
forth  in  every  iirection,  he  is  like  some  choleric, 
bottle-bellied  olo  spider,  who  has  woven  his  web 
over  a  whole  chamber,  so  that  a  fly  cannot  buzz,  nor 
r\  breeze  blow,  without  startling  his  repose,  and  caus- 
ing him  to  sally  forth  wrathfulTy  from  his  den. 

Though  re.illy  a  good-hearted,  good-tempered  old 
fellow  at  bottom,  yet  he  is  singularly  fond  of  being 
in  the  midst  of  contention.  It  is  one  of  his  peculiari- 
ties, however,  th.-it  he  only  relishes  the  beginning  of 
an  affr.iy ;  he  always  goes  into  a  tight  with  alacrity. 
hut  comes  out  of  <x  grumbling  even  when  victorious  ; 
and  though  no  juc  tights  with  more  obstin.acy  to 
carr)'  a  contested:  point,  yet,  when  the  battle  is  over, 
snd  he  comes  to  the  reconciliation,  he  is  so  much 
'wiken  up  with  the  mere  shaking  of  hands,  that  he  is 
-tit  to  let  his  antagonist  pocket  .ill  that  they  have 
!)cen  quarrelling  about.  It  is  not,  therefore,  fighting 
'•?t  he  ought  so  much  to  be  on  his  guard  against, 
\?  m.iking  friends.  It  is  difficult  to  cudgel  him  out 
".f  a  farthing ;  but  put  him  in  a  goo<l  humouri  and  you 
may  bargain  him  out  of  all  the  money  in  his  pocket. 
He  is  like  a  stout  ship,  which  will  weather  the  rough- 
f;t  storm  uninjured,  but  roll  its  m.asts  overboard  in 
the  succeeding  calm. 

He  is  a  little  fond  of  playing  the  m.agriifjco  abroad  ; 
ot  Dulling  out  a  long  purse ;  fiinging  his  money 
6 


not  pay  the  smallest  tradesman's  hill  without  violent 
altercation.  He  is,  in  fact,  the  most  punctuii?  !\r:d 
discontented  p.iymaster  in  the  world  ;  drawing  his 
coin  out  of  his  breeches  pocket  with  infinite  reluc- 
tance ;  paying  to  the  uttermost  farthing,  but  acconi 
panying  every  guinea  with  a  growl. 

With  all  his  talk  of  economy,  however,  he  is  a 
bountiful  provider,  and  a  hospitable  house-keeper. 
His  economy  is  o"a  whimsical  kind,  its  chief  object 
being  to  devise  Low  he  may  afford  to  be  extrava- 
gant ;  for  he  will  begrudge  himself  a  beef-steak  and 
Cint  of  port  one  day,  that  he  may  roast  an  ox  whole, 
roach  a  hogsheatl  of  ale,  and  treat  all  his  neigh- 
bours on  the  next. 

His  domestic  establishment  is  enormously  expen- 
sive :  not  so  much  from  any  great  outward  parade, 
as  from  the  great  consumption  of  solid  beef  and 
pudding  ;  the  vast  number  of  followers  he  feeds  and 
clothes  ;  and  his  singular  disposition  to  pay  hugely 
for  small  services.  He  is  a  most  kind  and  indulgent 
master,  and,  provided  his  servants  humour  his  pecul- 
iarities, flatter  his  vanity  a  little  now  and  then,  and 
do  not  peculate  grossly  on  him  before  his  face,  they 
may  manage  him  to  perfection.  Every  thing  that 
lives  on  him  seems  to  thrive  and  grow  fat.  His 
house  servants  are  well  paid,  and  pampered,  and 
have  little  to  <lo.  His  horses  are  sleek  and  lazy, 
and  prance  slowly  before  his  state  carriage  ;  and  his 
house-dogs  sleep  tjuietly  about  the  door,  and  will 
hardly  bark  at  a  house-breaker. 

His  family  m.msion  is  an  old  castellated  manor- 
house,  gray  with  age,  and  of  a  most  venerable, 
though  we.ither-beaten,  appearance.  It  has  been 
built  upon  no  regular  plan,  but  is  a  v,ast  accumula- 
tion of  parts,  erected  in  various  tastes  and  ages. 
The  centre  bears  evident  traces  of  .Saxon  architect- 
uie,  and  is  as  solid  as  ponderous  stone  and  old  En- 
glish oak  can  make  it.  Like  all  the  relics  of  that 
stjle,  it  is  full  of  obscure  passages,  intricate  mazes, 
and  dusky  ch.ambers  ;  anil  though  these  have  been 
partially  lighted  up  in  modem  days,  yet  there  are 
m.iny  places  where  you  must  still  grope  in  the  dark. 
Additions  have  l)een  made  to  the  original  edifice 
from  time  to  time,  and  great  alterations  have  taken 
pl.'tce ;  towers  and  battlements  have  been  erected 
during  wars  and  tumults ;  wings  built  in  time  of 
peace  ;  and  out-houses,  lodges,  and  offices,  run  up 
according  to  the  whim  or  convenience  of  different 
generations,  until  it  has  become  one  of  the  most 
spacious,  rambling  tenements  imngin.able.  An  en- 
tire wing  is  taken  up  with  the  family  chapel ;  a 
reverend  pile,  that  must  once  have  been  exceedingly 
sumptuous,  and,  indeed,  in  spite  of  having  been  al- 
tered and  simplified  at  v.nrious  periods,  n.is  still  a 
look  of  solemn  religious  iJonip.  Its  walls  within  ara 
storied  with  the  monuments  of  John's  ancestors; 
and  it  is  snugly  fitted  up  with  soft  cushims  a:n1 
well-lined  chairs,  where  sich  of  his  family  &&  <Jre 
inclined  to  church  services,  may  doze  comfortably  in 
the  discharge  of  their  duties. 

To  keep  up  this  chapel,  h.as  cost  John  much 
money  ;  but  he  is  staunch  in  his  religion,  and  piqued 
in  his  zeal,  from  the  circumstance  that  many  dissent- 
ing chapels  have  been  erected  in  his  vicinity,  and 
several  of  his  neighbours,  with  whom  he  has  had 
quarrels,  are  strong  Papists. 

To  do  tlie  duties  of  the  chapel,  he  maintains,  at  a 
large  expense,  a  pious  and  [>only  family  chaplain. 


i 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


W'^ 


Wi 


U 


fr. 


■*■♦ 


He  li  a  most  teamed  and  decorous  personag^e,  and  a 
truly  well-bred  Christisn,  who  always  backs  the  old 
^entleinan  in  his  opinions,  winks  discreetly  at  his 
little  peccadilloes,  rebukes  the  children  when  refrac- 
tory, and  is  of  ereat  use  in  exhorting  the  tenants  to 
read  their  bibles,  say  their  prayers,  and,  above  all, 
to  pay  their  rents  punctually,  and  without  grum- 
blinz. 

The  family  apartments  are  in  a  very  antiquated 
iaste,  somewhat  hcav7,  and  often  inconvenient,  but 
tVill  of  the  solemn  magnificence  of  former  times ; 
fitted  up  with  rich,  though  faded  tapestry,  unwieldy 
furniture,  and  loads  of  massy,  gorgeous  old  plate. 
The  vast  fire-places,  ample  kitchens,  extensive  cel- 
lars, and  sumptuous  banqueting  halls, — all  speak  of 
the  roaring  hospitality  of  days  of  yore,  of  which  the 
modem  festivity  at  the  manor-house  is  but  a  shadow. 
There  are,  however,  complete  suites  of  rooms  ap- 
parently deserted  and  time-worn ;  and  towers  r.nd 
turrets  that  are  tottering  to  decay ;  so  that  in  high 
winds  there  is  danger  of  their  tumbling  abou*  the 
ears  of  the  household. 

John  has  frequently  been  advised  to  have  the  old 
edifice  thoroughly  overhauled,  and  to  have  some  of 
the  useless  parts  pulled  down,  and  the  others  strenj/th- 
ened  with  their  materials ;  but  the  old  gentleman 
always  grows  testy  on  this  subject.  He  swears  the 
house  is  an  excellent  house— that  it  is  tight  and 
weather-proof,  and  not  to  be  shaken  by  tempests — 
that  it  has  stood  for  several  hunrlred  years,  and 
therefore,  is  not  likely  to  tumble  down  now — that  as 
to  its  being  inconvenient,  his  family  is  accustomed  to 
the  inconveniences,  and  would  not  be  comfortable 
without  them — that  as  to  its  unwieldy  size  and  ir- 
regular construction,  these  result  from  its  being  the 
growth  of  centuries,  and  being  improved  by  the 
visdom  of  every  generation — that  an  old  family,  like 
(lis,  requires  a  large  house  to  dwell  in ;  new,  upstart 
'amilies  may  live  in  modem  cottages  and  snug 
iwxes,  but  an  old  English  family  should  inhabit  an 
old  English  manor-house.  If  you  point  out  any  part 
of  the  building  as  superfluous,  he  insists  that  it  is 
material  to  the  strength  or  decoration  of  the  rest, 
and  the  harmony  of  the  whole  ;  and  swears  that  the 
parts  are  so  built  into  each  other,  that,  if  you  pull 
down  one  you  run  the  risk  of  having  the  whole  about 
your  ears. 

The  secret  of  the  matter  is,  that  John  has  a  great 
disposition  to  protect  and  patronize.  He  thinks  it 
indispensable  to  the  dignity  of  an  ancient  and  hon- 
ourable family,  to  be  bounteous  in  its  appointments, 
and  to  be  eaten  up  by  dependants ;  and  so,  partly 
from  pride,  and  partly  from  kind-heartedness,  he 
makes  it  a  rule  always  to  give  shelter  and  mainte- 
nance to  his  superannuated  servants. 

The  consequence  is,  that,  like  many  other  venera- 
ble family  establishments,  his  manor  is  encumi)ered 
by  old  retainers  whom  he  cannot  turn  off,  and  an  old 
style  which  he  cannot  lay  down.  His  mansion  is 
like  a  great  hospital  of  invalids,  and,  with  .ill  its 
magnitude,  is  not  a  whit  too  large  for  its  inhabitants. 
Not  a  nook  or  comer  but  is  of  use  in  housintj  some 
useless  personage.  Groups  of  veteran  beef-eaters, 
gouty  pensioners,  and  retired  heroes  of  the  buttery 
and  the  larder,  are  seen  lolling  about  its  walls, 
crawling  over  its  lawns,  dozing  under  its  trees,  or 
•i.mning  themselves  upon  the  benches  at  its  doors. 
Every  ofhce  and  out-house  is  garrisoned  by  these 
superi:unieranes  and  their  families;  for  they  are 
amazinj;ly  prolific,  and  when  they  die  olT,  are  sure 
to  leave  John  a  leg.acy  of  hungry  mouths  to  be  pro- 
vided for,  A  mattock  cannot  be  struck  aijainst  the 
most  mouldenng  tumble-down  tower,  but  out  pops, 
from  some  cranny  or  loophole^  the  gray  pate  of  some 
superannuated  hanger-on,  who  has  lived  at  John's 


expense  all  his  life,  and  makes  the  mcs'  gnei-ixa 
outcry,  at  their  pulling  down  the  roof  fror.i  over  the 
head  of  a  worn-out  servant  of  the  family.  This  n 
an  appeal  that  John's  honest  heart  never  can  with- 
stand ;  so  that  a  man,  who  has  'nithfully  eaten  his 
beef  and  pudding  all  his  life,  is  sure  to  b«  reward*  1 
with  a  pipe  and  tankard  in  his  old  days. 

A  great  part  of  his  park,  also,  is  turned  into  pari, 
docks,  where  his  bn)ken-down  chargers  are  turne:) 
loose  to  graze  undisturbed  for  the  remainder  of  thcii 
existence — a  worthy  example  of  grateful  recollec 
tion,  which  if  rome  of  his  neighbours  were  to  im- 
tate,  would  no:  be  to  their  discredit.  Iiuleed,  it  is 
one  of  his  great  pleasures  to  point  out  these  cild 
steeds  to  his  visitors,  to  dwell  on  their  good  quali- 
ties, extol  their  past  services,  and  boast,  with  soim: 
little  v.-.in-glory,  of  the  perilous  adventures  and 
hardy  exploits  through  which  they  have  carrietl  him. 

He  is  given,  however,  to  indulge  his  veneration 
for  family  usages,  and  family  encumbrances,  to  a 
whimsical  extent.  His  manor  is  infested  by  gant^s 
of  gipsies ;  yet  he  will  not  suffer  them  to  be  driver, 
off,  l«;cause  they  have  infested  the  place  time  out  ot 
mind,  and  been  regular  poachers  upon  every  gener- 
ation of  the  family.  He  will  scarcely  permit  a  dry 
branch  to  be  lopped  from  the  great  trees  that  sur- 
round the  house,  lest  it  should  molest  the  rooks, 
that  have  bred  there  for  centuries.  Owls  have  taker, 
possession  of  the  dovecote ;  but  they  are  herediur>' 
owls,  and  must  not  be  disturbed.  Swallows  have 
nearly  choked  up  every  chimney  with  their  nests ; 
martins  build  in  every  frieze  and  cornice;  crows 
flutter  about  the  towers,  and  perch  on  every  weather 
cock;  and  old  gray-headed  rats  may  be  seen  in 
every  quarter  of  the  house,  running  in  and  out  of 
their  holes  undauntedly  in  broad  daylight.  In  short, 
John  has  such  a  reverence  for  every  thing  that  ha.s 
been  long  in  the  family,  that  he  will  not  hear  even 
of  abuses  being  reformed,  because  they  are  good  old 
family  abuses. 

All  these  whims  and  habits  have  concurred  wo- 
fully  to  drain  the  old  gentleman's  purse ;  and  as  he 
prides  himself  on  punctuality  in  money  matters,  and 
wishes  to  maintain  his  creclit  in  the  neighbourhood, 
they  have  caused  him  great  perplexity  in  meeting 
his  engagements.  This,  too,  has  been  increased  hy 
the  altercations  and  heartburnings  which  are  con- 
tinually taking  place  in  his  family.  His  childrm 
have  been  brought  up  to  different  callings,  and 
are  of  different  ways  of  thinking;  and  as  they  havp 
always  been  allowed  to  speak  their  minds  freely. 
they  do  not  fail  to  exercise  the  privilege  most  clam- 
orously in  the  present  posture  of  his  affairs.  Sonic 
stand  up  for  the  honour  of  the  race,  and  are  clear 
that  the  old  establishment  should  be  kept  up  in  all 
its  state,  whatever  may  be  the  cost;  others,  who 
are  more  prudent  and  considerate,  entreat  the  old 
gentleman  to  retrench  his  expenses,  and  to  put  his 
whole  system  of  housekeeping  on  a  more  moder.iic 
footing.  He  has,  indeed,  at  times,  seemed  inclimtl 
to  listen  to  their  opinions,  but  their  wholesome  ad- 
vice has  been  completely  defeated  by  the  obstreper- 
ous conduct  of  one  of  his  sons.  This  is  a  noisy  ratth 
pated  lellow,  of  rather  low  habits,  who  neglects  hi- 
business  to  frequent  ale-houses — is  the  orator  of  vil- 
lage clubs,  and  a  complete  oracle  among  the  poorest 
of  his  father's  tenants.  No  sooner  does  he  hear  ap> 
of  his  brothers  mention  reform  or  retrenchment, 
than  up  he  jumps,  takes  the  words  out  of  theii 
mouths,  and  roars  out  for  an  overturn.  When  hi- 
tongiie  is  once  going,  nothing  can  stop  it.  He  rant' 
about  the  room ;  hectors  the  old  man  about  his  spend- 
thrift practices;  ridicules  his  tastes  and  pursuits 
insists  th.at  he  shall  turn  the  eld  servants  out  o 
doors ;  give  the  broken-down  horses  to  the  hounds 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Giht. 


lend  the  Tat  chaplain  packing  and  take  a  field- 
preacher  in  his  place— nay,  that  the  whole  family 
mansion  shall  he  levelled  with  the  ground,  and  a 
plain  one  of  brick  and  mortar  built  in  its  place.  He 
rails  at  every  social  entertainment  and  family  festiv- 
ity, and  skulks  away  growling  to  the  ale-house 
whenever  an  e()uipage  drives  up  to  the  door.  Though 
constantly  complaining  of  the  emptiness  of  his 
purse,  yet  he  scruples  not  to  spend  all  his  pocket- 
money  in  these  tavern  convocations,  and  even  runs 
,i|)  scores  for  the  liquor  over  which  he  preaches 
about  his  father's  extravagance. 

It  may  readily  be  imagined  how  little  such  thwart- 
ing agrees  with  the  old  cavalier's  fierj-  temperament. 
He  has  become  so  irritable,  from  repeated  crossings, 
that  the  mere  mention  of  retrenchment  or  reform  is 
a  signal  for  a  brawl  between  him  and  the  tavern 
oracle.  As  the  latter  is  too  sturdy  and  refractory 
for  paternal  discipline,  having  grown  out  of  all  fear 
of  the  cudfjel,  they  h.ive  frequent  scenes  of  wordy 
warfare,  which  at  times  run  so  high,  that  John  is 
fain  to  call  in  the  aid  of  his  son  Tom,  an  officer  who 
has  served  abroad,  but  is  at  present  living  at  home, 
on  half-pay.  This  last  is  sure  to  stand  Dy  the  old 
gentleman,  right  or  wrong ;  likes  nothing  so  much 
as  a  racketing  roistering  life  ;  and  is  ready,  at  a  wink 
or  nod,  to  out  sabre,  and  tlourish  it  over  the  orator's 
head,  if  he  dares  to  array  himself  against  paternal 
.luthority. 

These  family  dissensions,  as  usual,  have  got 
abroad,  and  are  rare  food  for  scand.al  in  John's 
neighbourhood.  People  begin  to  look  wise,  and 
shalce  their  heads,  whenever  his  affairs  are  men- 
tioned. They  all  "hope  that  matters  are  not  so  bad 
with  him  as  represented;  but  when  a  man's  own 
children  begin  to  rail  at  his  extravagance,  things 
must  be  badly  managed.  They  understand  he  is 
mortgaged  over  head  and  ears,  and  is  continually 
'Ubbling  with  money-lenders.  He  is  certainly  an 
cpen-handed  old  gentleman,  but  they  fear  he  has 
lived  too  fast ;  indeed,  they  never  knew  any  good 
come  of  this  fondness  for  hunting,  racing,  revelling, 
and  prizc-tlghting.  In  short,  Mr.  Bull's  estate  is  a 
very  fine  one,  and  has  been  in  the  family  a  long 
while;  but  for  all  that,  they  have  known  many  finer 
estates  come  to  the  hammer." 

What  is  worst  of  all,  is  the  effect  which  these 
pecuniary  embarrassments  and  domestic  feuds  have 
had  on  the  poor  man  himself.  Instead  of  that  jolly 
rountl  corporation,  and  smug  rosy  face,  which  he 
used  to  present,  he  has  of  late  become  as  shrivelled 
and  shrunk  .as  a  frostbitten  apple.  His  scarlet  gold- 
laced  waistcoat,  -which  bellied  out  so  bravely  in 
those  pros|)crous  days  when  he  sailed  l>efore  the 
wind,  now  hangs  loosely  about  him  like  a  mainsail 
in  a  calm.  His  leather  breeches  are  all  in  folds  and 
wrinkles ;  and  apparently  have  much  ado  to  hold  up 
the  boots  that  yawn  on  both  sides  of  his  once  sturdy 
legs. 

Insteao  of  strutting  about,  as  fonnerly,  with  his 
three-cornered  hat  on  one  side  ;  flourishing  his  cud- 
gel, and  bringing  it  down  every  moment  with  a 
hearty  thump  upon  the  ground ;  looking  every  one 
Jturdily  in  the  face,  and  trolling  out  a  stave  of  a 
:atch  or  a  drinking  song ;  he  now  goes  about  whis- 
'Jing  thoughtfully  to  himself,  with  his  head  drooping 
down,  his  cudgel  tucked  under  his  arm,  and  his 
hands  thrust  to  the  bottom  of  his  breeches  pockets, 
which  are  evidently  empty. 

Such  is  the  plight  of  lionest  John  Bull  at  present ; 
yet  tor  all  this,  the  old  fellow's  spirit  is  as  tall  and  as 
gallant  as  ever.  If  you  drop  the  least  expression  of 
sympathy  or  concern,  he  takes  fire  in  an  instant ; 
swears  tnat  he  is  the  richest  and  stoutest  fellow  in 
the  countr>-    talks  of  laying  out  large  sums  to  adorn 


his  house  or  to  buy  another  estate ;  and.  with  a  vali- 
ant swagger  and  grasping  of  his  cudgel,  longs  ex- 
ceedingly to  have  another  bout  at  quarterstatT. 

Though  there  maybe  something  rather  whimsical 
in  all  this,  yet  I  confess  I  cannot  look  upon  John's 
situation,  without  strong  feelings  of  interest.  Wittt 
all  his  odd  humours  and  obstinate  prejudices  he  Is  a 
sterling-hearted  old  blade.  He  m.ay  not  be  so  a'OD- 
dcrfully  fine  a  fellow  as  he  thinks  himself,  but  h«  ii 
at  least  twice  as  good  as  his  neighbours  represent 
him.  His  virtues  are  all  his  own  ;  all  plain,  home- 
bred, and  unaffected.  His  very  faults  smack  of  the 
raciness  of  his  good  qualities.  His  extravagance 
savours  of  his  generosity ;  his  quarrelsomeness,  ol 
his  courage ;  his  credulity,  of  his  open  faith ;  his 
vanity,  of  his  pride ;  and  his  bluntness,  of  his  sin- 
cerity. They  are  all  the  redundancies  of  a  rich  and 
liberal  character.  He  is  like  his  own  oak ;  rouf^h 
without,  but  sound  and  solid  within  ;  whose  bark 
abounds  with  excrescences  in  proportion  to  fac 
growth  and  grandeur  of  the  timber ;  and  wht  se 
branches  make  a  fearful  groaning  and  murmur ng 
in  the  least  storm,  from  their  very  magnitude  and 
luxuriance.  There  is  something,  too,  in  the  app«  ar- 
ance  of  his  old  family  mansion,  that  is  extren.ely 
poetical  and  picturesque ;  and,  as  long  as  it  can  be 
rendered  comfortably  habitable,  I  should  almost 
tremble  to  see  it  meddled  with  during  the  pn.sent 
conflict  of  tastes  and  opinions.  Some  of  his  ad\  isers 
are  no  doubt  good  arcnitects,  that  might  be  of  serv- 
ice ;  but  many,  I  fear,  are  mere  levellers,  who,  when 
they  had  once  got  to  work  with  their  mattocks  on 
the  venerable  edifice,  would  never  stop  until  they 
had  brought  it  to  the  ground,  and  perhaps  buried 
themselves  among  the  ruins.  All  that  1  wish,  is, 
that  John's  present  troubles  may  teach  him  more 
prudence  in  future;  that  he  may  cease  to  distress 
his  mind  about  other  people's  affairs ;  that  he  may 

five  up  the  fruitless  attempt  to  promote  the  good  of 
Is  neighbours,  and  the  peace  and  happiness  of  the 
world,  by  dint  of  the  ctulgel ;  that  he  may  remain 
quietly  cat  home  ;  gradually  get  his  house  into  repair 
cultivate  his  rich  estate  according  to  his  fancy;  hus- 
band his  income — if  he  thinks  proper ;  bring  his  un- 
ruly children  into  order — if  he  can  ;  renew  the  jovial 
scenes  of  ancient  prosperity  ;  and  long  enjoy,  on  his 
paternal  lands,  a  green,  an  honourable,  and  a  merry 
old  age. 


THE  PRIDE  OF  THE  VILLAGE. 


Miy  no  wolf  howle :  no  scrnch-owle  itir 

A  wing  about  thy  sepulchre  ! 

No  boysterous  winds  or  stormei  ooine  hither, 

To  starve  or  wither 
Thy  soft  sweet  earth  !  but,  like  a  spring, 
Love  keep  it  twn  Sourishing, 

Heiikick. 

In  the  course  of  an  excursion  through  cne  of  thi 
remote  counties  of  England.  I  had  struck  into  onf 
of  those  cross-roads  that  lead  through  the  more  se- 
cluded parts  of  the  country,  and  stopped  one  after- 
noon at  a  village,  the  situation  of  which  was  beauti- 
fully rural  and  retired.  There  was  an  air  of  primitive 
simplicity  about  its  inhabitants,  not  to  be  found  in 
the  villages  which  lie  on  the  great  coach-roads-  I 
determined  to  pass  the  night  there,  and  having  taken 
an  early  dinner,  strolled  out  to  enjoy  the  neighbour- 
ing scenery. 

My  ramble,  as  is  usually  the  case  with  travellers, 
soon  led  me  to  the  church,  which  stood  at  a  little 
distance  from  the  village.     Indeed,  it  was  fi  cbjec* 


04 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


Of  sa.ie  curiosity,  its  old  tower  being  completely 
overrun  with  ivy.  so  that  only  here  and  there  a  jut- 
lirg  buttress,  an  angle  of  gray  wall,  or  a  fantastically 
carved  ornament,  peered  through  the  verdant  cover- 
irg.  It  was  a  lovely  evening.  The  early  part  of 
the  day  had  been  dark  and  showery,  but  in  the  after- 
noon It  had  cleared  up;  and  though  sullen  clouds 
3till  hung  over  head,  yet  thi-re  was  a  broad  tract  of 
golden  sky  in  the  west,  from  which  the  setting  sun 
Tfltauied  through  the  dripping  leaves,  and  lit  up  all 
nature  into  a  melancholy  smile.  It  seemed  like  the 
p^rtmg  hour  of  a  good  Christian,  smiling  on  the 
Si'ns  and  sorrows  of  the  world,  and  giving,  in  the 
serenity  of  his  decline,'  an  assurance  that  he  will  rise 
agai.'i  in  glory. 

1  had  seated  myself  on  a  half-sunken  tombstone 
»nd  was  musing,  as  one  is  apt  to  do  at  this  sober- 
lhou|(hted  hour,  on  past  scenes,  and  early  friends — 
on  those  who  were  distant,  and  those  who  were  dead 
— ar»d  nululguig  in  that  kind  of  melancholy  fancying, 
which  has  in  it  something  sweeter  even  than  pleasure. 
Ever)-  now  and  then,  the  stroke  of  a  bell  from  the 
neighbouring  tower  fell  on  my  ear ;  its  tones  were  in 
uniion  with  the  scene,  and  instead  of  jarring,  chimed 
in  v.ith  my  feelings  ;  and  it  was  some  time  before  I 
recollected,  that  it  must  he  tolling  the  knell  of  some 
new  tenant  of  the,  tomb. 

Presently  1  saw  a  funeral  train  moving  across  the 
village  green  ;  it  wound  slowly  along  a  lane ;  was 
lost,  and  re-appeared  through  the  breaks  of  the 
hedges,  until  it  passed  the  place  where  I  was  sitting. 
The  pall  was  supported  by  young  girls,  dressed  in 
white ;  and  another,  about  the  ajje  of  seventeen, 
walked  before,  bearing  a  chaplct  of  white  flowers  ; 
a  token  that  the  deceased  w.is  a  young  and  unmar- 
rifd  female.  The  corpse  was  followed  by  the  parents. 
They  were  a  venerable  couple,  of  the  better  order 
of  peasantry.  The  father  seemed  to  repress  his 
leehngs ;  but  his  fixed  eye.  contracted  brow,  and 
deeply-furrowed  face,  sliowed  the  struggle  that  was 
p;i£sing  within.  His  wife  hung  on  his  arm.  and 
wept  aloud  with  the  convulsive  bursts  of  a  mother's 
sc'rrow. 

I  followed  the  funeral  into  the  church.  The  bier 
was  placed  in  the  centre  aisle,  and  the  chaplet  of 
white  tlowers,  with  a  pair  of  white  gloves,  were 
hung  over  the  scat  which  the  deceased  had  occupied. 

Every  one  knows  the  soul-subduing  pathos  of  the 
funeral  service  :  for  who  is  so  fortunate  as  never  to 
have  followed  some  one  he  has  loved  to  the  tomb  ? 
but  when  perforujed  over  the  remains  of  innocence 
nnd  beauty,  thus  laid  low  in  the  bloom  of  existence 
— what  can  be  more  affecting  ?  At  that  rimple,  but 
most  solemn  consignn^tnt  of  the  Iwdy  to  the  grave — 
"  Earth  to  earth— juhes  to  ashes — dust  to  dust !  "  the 
tears  of  the  youthful  companions  of  the  deceased 
flowed  unrestrained.  The  father  still  seemed  to 
struggle  with  his  feelings,  and  to  comfort  himself 
with  the  assurance,  that  the  dead  are  blessed  which 
ilie  in  the  Lord  ;  but  the  mother  only  thought  of  her 
child  as  a  flower  of  the  field,  cut  down  and  withered 
in  the  midst  of  its  sweettiess :  she  was  like  Rachel, 
"mourning  over  her  children,  and  would  not  be 
comforted. ' 

On  returning  to  the  inn,  I  learnt  the  whole  story 
ef  the  deceaseil.  It  was  a  simple  one,  and  such  as 
bas  often  been  told.  .She  had  been  the  beauty  and 
pride  of  the  village.  Her  father  h.id  once  been  an 
opulent  farmer,  but  was  reduced  in  circumstances. 
This  was  an  only  child,  and  brought  up  entirely  at 
home,  in  the  simplicity  of  rural  Hie.  She  had  been 
the  pupil  of  the  village  pastor,  the  favourite  lamb  of 
bis  little  tiock.  The  good  man  watched  over  her  edu- 
cation v/ith  p.itemal  care  ;  it  was  lin>ited,  and  suita- 
bit  to  the  sohere  in  which  she  was  to  move :  for  he 


onlv  sought  to  make  her  an  ornament  to  her  itatloi 
in  life,  not  to  raise  her  above  it.  The  tendemesi 
and  indulgence  of  her  parents,  and  the  exemption 
from  all  nntinary  occupations,  had  fostered  a  natural 
grace  and  di^licacy  of  character  that  accordec* 
with  the  fragile  loveliness  of  her  form.  She  ap 
peared  like  some  tender  plant  of  the  gairlen,  bloora 
ing  accidentally  amid  tht  hardier  natives  of  tbf 
fields. 

The  superiority  of  her  ch.irms  wis  felt  and  »c 
knowledged  by  her  companions,  but  without  envy 
for  it  was  surp.isscd  by  the  unassuming  gentleness 
and  winning  kindness  of  her  manners.    It  might  be 
truly  said  ot  her, — 

"  Thii  U  the  prettieit  low-  korn  lui,  that  ev«r 
Kan  on  Ihe  grceiMward :  acthinR  the  doe>  or  •••■(, 
Rut  umacliii  of  something  jTMter  tbui  hcncif; 
T*o  noble  for  thii  placa. 

The  village  was  one  of  those  sequestered  spots, 
which  still  retains  some  vestiges  of  old  English  cus- 
toms. It  had  its  rural  festivals  and  holyd.iy  pastimes, 
and  still  kept  up  so.ne  faint  observance  of  the  onci: 
popular  rites  of  M.iy.  These,  indeed,  h.id  been  pro- 
moted by  its  present  pastor;  who  w.is  a  lover  of^old 
customs,  and  one  of  those  simple  Christians  that 
think  their  mission  fulfilled  by  promoting  joy  on 
earth  and  good  will  among  mankind.  Under  his 
auspices  the  May-pole  stood  from  year  to  year  in  the 
centre  of  the  village  green  ;  on  May-day  it  w.is  dec- 
orated with  garlands  and  streamers ;  and  a  queen 
or  l.idy  of  the  May  was  appointed,  as  in  former 
tiihes,  to  preside  at  the  sports,  and  distribute  the 
prizes  and  rewards.  The  picturesque  situation  c' 
the  village,  and  the  fancifulness  of  its  rustic  fetes, 
would  often  attract  the  notice  of  casual  visitori, 
Among  these,  on  one  May-day,  was  a  young  olTicct. 
whose  regiment  had  been  recently  quartered  in  the 
neighbourhood.  He  was  charmed  with  the  native 
taste  that  pervaded  this  village  pageant ;  but,  ab(we 
all,  with  the  dawning  loveliness  of  the  queen  of  May. 
It  was  the  village  favourite,  who  was  crowned  with 
flowers,  and  blushing  and  smiling  in  all  the  beauti- 
ful confusion  of  girlish  diffidence  and  delight.  The 
artlessness  of  rural  habits  enabled  him  readily  to 
make  her  acquaintance ;  he  gradually  won  his  way 
into  her  intimacy  ;  and  paid  his  court  to  her  in  that 
unthinking  way  in  which  young  officers  are  too  apt 
to  trifle  with  rustic  simplicity. 

There  was  nothing  in  his  advances  to  startle  oi 
alarm.  He  never  even  talked  of  love  ;  but  there  are 
modes  of  making  it,  more  eloquent  than  language, 
and  which  convey  it  subtilely  and. irresistibly  to  the 
heart.  The  beam  of  the  eye,  the  tone  of  the  voice, 
the  thousand  tendernesses  which  emanate  from 
every  word,  and  look,  and  action — these  form  the 
true  eloquence  of  love,  and  can  always  be  felt  and 
understood,  but  never  described.  Can  we  wonder 
that  they  should  readily  win  a  heart,  young,  guile- 
less, and  susceptible  ?  As  to  her,  she  loved  almost 
unconsciously ;  she  scarcely  inquired  what  was  the 
growing  passion  that  was  absorbing  every  thought 
and  feeling,  or  what  were  to  be  its  consequences. 
She,  indeed,  looked  not  to  the  futiue.  When  prcs 
ent,  his  looks  and  words  occupied  her  whole  atten- 
tion ;  when  absent,  she  thought  but  of  what  had 
p.-issed  at  their  recent  interview.  She  would  wan- 
der with  him  through  the  green  lanes  and  njral 
scenes  of  the  vicinity.  He  taught  her  to  see  new 
beauties  in  nature ;  he  talked  in  the  language  of  po- 
lite and  cultivated  life,  and  breathed  into  her  ear  the 
witcheries  of  romance  and  poetry. 

Perhaps  there  could  not  have  been  a  passion,  be- 
tween the  sexes,  more  pure  than  this  innocent  giri's. 
The  gallant  figure  of  ner  youthful  admirer,  and  the 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Oikt. 


U 


tplendour  ol  his  military  attire,  might  at  first  have 
cnarmed  her  e/e ;  but  it  was  not  these  that  had  cap- 
tivated her  heart.  Her  attnchment  had  something 
in  it  of  idolatry ;  she  loolced  up  to  him  as  to  a  being 
of  a  superior  order.  She  felt  in  his  society  the  en- 
thusiasm of  a  mind  naturally  delicate  and  poetical, 
and  now  first  awakened  to  a  keen  perception  of  the 
V;autiful  and  grand.  Of  the  sonfid  distinctions  of 
rank  and  fortune,  she  thought  nothing ;  it  was  the 
diffeiwce  of  intc-llfct,  of  clcmeanour,  of  manners, 
ircm  those  of  the  rustic  society  to  which  she  had 
Iffxn  accustomed,  that  elevated  him  in  her  opinion. 
She  would  listen  to  him  with  charmed  e-^r  and  down- 
last  look  of  mute  delight,  and  her  cheek  would  man- 
tle with  enthusiasm  ;  or  if  ever  she  ventured  a  shy 
glince  of  timid  admiration,  it  was  as  quickly  with- 
drawn, and  she  would  sigh  and  blush  at  the  idea  of 
her  comparative  un worthiness. 

Her  lover  was  equally  impassioned ;  but  his  pas- 
sion was  mingled  with  feelings  of  a  coarser  nat- 
uie.  He  had  begun  the  connexion  in  levity  ;  for  he 
had  often  heard  his  brother  officers  boast  of  thiir 
vill.i^je  conquests,  and  thought  some  triumph  of  the 
kinil  necessary  to  his  reputation  as  a  man  of  spirit. 
Hut  he  was  too  full  of  youthful  fervour.  His  heart 
had  not  yet  lieen  rendered  sufficienily  cold  and  self- 
ish by  a  w.indering  and  a  dissipated  life:  it  caught 
tiie  from  the  very  flame  it  sought  to  kindle;  and  be- 
lt re  he  was  aware  of  the  nature  of  his  situation,  he 
became  really  in  love. 

What  was  he  to  do?  There  were  the  old  ol)sta- 
des  which  so  incessantly  occur  in  these  heedless  at- 
tachments. His  rank  in  life — the  prejudices  of  titled 
connexions — his  depcndt.-nce  upon  a  proud  and  un- 
yielding father — all  lorhul  him  to  think  of  matri- 
rr.ony: — but  when  he  looked  down  upon  this  inno- 
rint  being,  so  tender  and  confiding,  there  was  a 
/'jrlty  in  her  manners,  a  blainelessness  in  her  life, 
iD'l  a  bewitching  modesty  in  her  looks,  that  awed 
iown  every  licentious  feeling.  In  vain  did  he  try  to 
i.Trtify  himself,  by  a  thousand  heartless  examples  of 
men  of  fashion,  and  to  chill  the  glow  of  generous 
sentiment,  with  th.it  cold  derisive  levity  with  which 
he  had  heard  them  talk  of  female  virtue  ;  whenever 
he  came  into  her  presence,  she  was  still  surrounded 
by  that  mysterious,  but  impassive  charm  of  virgm 
purity,  in  whose  hallowed  sphere  no  guilty  thought 
can  live. 

The  sudden  arrival  of  orders  for  the  regiment  to 
repair  to  the  continent,  completed  the  confusion  of 
Ins  mind.  He  remained  for  a  short  time  in  a  state 
of  the  most  painful  irresolution ;  he  hesitated  to 
communicate  the  tidings,  until  the  day  for  marching 
was  at  hand  :  when  he  gave  her  the  intelligence  in 
the  course  of  an  evening  ramble. 

The  idea  of  jiarting  had  never  before  occurred  to 
her.  It  broke  in  at  once  upon  her  dream  of  felicity  ; 
the  looked  upon  it  as  a  sudden  and  insurmountable 
evil  and  wept  with  the  guileless  simplicity  of  a 
chil.l.  He  drew  her  to  his  bosom  and  kissed  the 
tears  from  her  soft  cheek,  nor  did  he  meet  with  a 
repulse,  for  there  are  moments  of  mingled  sorrow 
a\d  tenderness,  which  hallow  the  caresses  of  affec- 
(ior.  He  was  naturally  impetuous,  and  the  sight  of 
beauty  apparently  yiehling  in  his  arms,  the  confidence 
of  his  power  over  her,  and  the  dread  of  losing  her 
'or  ever,  all  conspired  to  overwhelm  his  belter 
feelings — he  ventured  to  propose  that  she  should 
leave  her  home,  and  be  tnc  companion  of  his  for- 
tunes. 

He  was  ouite  a  no\-ice  in  seduction,  and  blushed 
and  faltered  at  his  own  baseness ;  but,  so  innocer.t 
of  V  ind  was  his  intended  victim,  that  she  w?s  at 
Br^t  at  a  loss  to  comprehend  his  meaning ; — and  why 
$hr.  ibould  leave  her  native  village,  and  the  humble 


roof  of  her  parents.  When  at  last  the  nature  of  hit 
protiosals  fl.ished  upon  her  pure  mind,  the  effect  wai 
withering.  She  did  not  weep — she  did  not  break 
forth  into  reproaches — she  said  not  a  word  — but  shf 
shrunk  bi^^ck  .aghast  as  from  a  viper,  gave  him  a  look 
of  anguish  that  pierced  to  his  very  soul,  and  clasp- 
ing her  hands  in  agony,  fled,  as  if  for  refuge,  to  I'.ei 
fatner's  cott.tge. 

The  officer  retired,  confounded,  htimiliatcd.  an* 
repentant.  It  is  uncertain  what  might  have  been 
the  result  of  the  conflict  of  his  feelings,  had  not  hi> 
thoughts  been  diverted  by  the  bustle  of  departure. 
New  scenes,  new  pleasures,  and  new  comp.'inions, 
soon  dissipated  his  self-reproach,  and  stifled  his  ten- 
derness. Yet,  amidst  the  stir  of  camps,  the  revelries 
of  garrisons,  the  array  of  armies,  and  even  the  din  o' 
battles,  his  thoughts  would  sometimes  .steal  back  tc 
the  scenes  of  rural  quiet  and  village  simplicity — the 
white  cottage — the  footpath  along  the  silver  brook 
and  up  the  hawthorn  hedge,  and  the  little  village 
maid  loitering  along  it,  leaning  on  his  arm  and  lis- 
tening to  him  with  eyes  beaming  with  unc  inscious 
affection. 

The  shock  which  the  poor  girl  had  received,  in 
the  destruction  of  all  her  ide.-il  world,  h.id  indeed 
been  cruel.  Paintings  and  hysterics  had  at  first 
shaken  her  tender  frame,  and  were  succeeded  by  a 
settled  and  pining  melancholy.  She  had  beheld  from 
her  window  the  march  of  the  departing  troops.  She 
h.id  seen  her  faithless  lover  borne  off,  as  if  in  tri- 
umph, amidst  the  sound  of  drum  ami  trumpet,  and 
the  pomp  of  arms.  She  strained  a  last  aching  gaze 
after  him,  as  the  morning  sun  glittered  about  his 
figtire,  and  his  plume  waved  in  the  breeze  ;  he  passeci 
away  like  a  bright  vision  from  her  sight,  and  left  her 
all  in  darknes.s. 

It  woulil  be  trite  to  dwell  on  the  particulais  of  her 
after-story.  It  was,  like  other  tales  of  love,  melan- 
choly. She  avoided  society,  and  wandered  out  alone 
in  the  walks  she  had  most  frequenteil  with  her  lover. 
She  sought,  like  the  stricken  deer,  to  weep  in  silence 
and  loneliness,  and  brood  over  the  barbed  sorrow 
that  rankled  in  her  soul.  Sometimes  she  would  be 
seen  late  of  an  evening  sitting  in  the  porch  of  the 
village  church  ;  and  the  milk-maids,  returning  from 
the  fields,  would  now  and  then  overhi-ar  her,  singing 
some  plaintive  ditty  in  the  hawthorn  walk.  She 
became  fervent  in  her  devotions  at  church  ;  and  as 
the  old  people  saw  her  approach,  so  wasted  away, 
yet  with  a  hectic  bloom,  and  that  hallowed  air 
which  melancholy  difl'uses  round  the  form,  they 
would  make  way  for  her,  as  for  something  spiritual 
and,  looking  after  her,  would  shake  their  heads 
in  gloomy  foreboding. 

She  .''elt  a  conviction  that  she  was  hastening  to 
the  tomb,  but  looked  forward  to  it  as  a  place  of  rest. 
The  silver  cord  th.at  had  bound  her  to  existence  was 
loosed,  nnd  there  seemed  to  be  no  more  pleasure 
under  the  sun.  If  ever  her  gentle  bosom  had  enter- 
tained resentment  against  her  lover,  it  was  extin- 
guished. She  was  incapable  of  angry  passions,  and 
in  a  moment  of  saddened  tenderness  she  pennet 
him  a  farewell  letter.  It  was  couched  in  the  smiplest 
language,  but  touching  from  its  very  simplicity 
She  told  him  that  she  was  dying,  and  did  not  con- 
ceal from  him  that  his  conduct  was  the  cause. 
She  evt-n  depicted  the  sufferings  which  she  had  ex. 
perienccd ;  but  concluded  with  saying,  that  sht 
could  not  die  in  peace,  until  she  had  sent  him  hct 
forgiveness  and  her  Messing. 

Ky  degrees  her  strength  declined,  and  she  could 
no  hunger  leave  the  cottage.  She  could  only  tottei 
to  the  window,  where,  propped  up  in  her  chair,  il 
was  her  enjoyment  to  sit  all  ilay  and  look  out  upon 
the  landscape.    Still  she  ult>.ied  no  complaint,  noi 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IR\INO. 


(mparted  to  any  one  the  m<i)ady  that  was  preying  on 
her  heart.  She  ntrver  even  mentioned  her  lover'i 
name:  but  would  lay  her  head  on  her  mothc's 
(wsom  and  weep  in  ailence.  Her  poor  parentji  hung, 
in  mute  anxiety,  over  this  fading  blosnom  of  their 
hopes,  still  flattering  themselves  th.it  it  mij;ht  ag.iin 
revive  to  freshness,  and  th.it  the  briRht  une.-irthly 
bloom  which  sometimes  flushed  her  cheek,  might  bt 
tJie  promise  of  returning  hcilth. 

In  this  way  she  was  seated  between  them  one 
Sunday  afternoon ;  her  hands  were  cl.wpcd  in  theirs, 
the  lattice  w.-»s  thrown  open,  and  the  soft  air  that 
itolc  in,  brought  with  it  the  fragrance  of  the  clusler- 
mg  honeysucl<le,  wluch  her  own  hands  had  trained 
round  the  window. 

Her  father  had  just  been  reading  a  chapter  in  the 
Bible ;  it  spoke  of  the  vanity  of  worldly  tnings.  and 
the  joys  of  heaven ;  it  seemed  to  have  diffused  com- 
fort and  serenity  through  her  bosom.  Her  eye  was 
fixed  on  the  distant  village  church — the  bell  h-id 
tolled  for  the  evening  service— the  last  vill.nger  was 
lagging  into  the  porch — and  every  thing  hatl  sunk 
into  that  hallowed  stillness  prculiar  to  the  d.iy  of 
rest.  Her  parents  were  gazing  on  her  with  yearning 
hearts.  Sickness  and  sorrow,  which  pass  so  roughly 
ov  sr  some  faces,  had  giv«-n  to  hers  the  expression  of 
a  SLiaph's.  A  t^ar  trembled  in  her  «oft  blue  eye. — 
Was  she  thinking  of  her  faithless  lover  ?^-or  were 
her  ihcvghts  wandering  to  that  distant  churchyard, 
into  whtse  bosom  she  might  soon  be  gathere<l  ? 

Suddenly  the  clang  of  hoofs  was.  heard — a  horse- 
man galloped  to  the  col  tape— he  dismounted  before 
the  window— the  poor  girl  gave  a  faint  exclamation, 
and  sunk  back  in  her  chair : — it  was  her  repentant 
lover  I  He  rushed  into  the  house,  and  flew  to  clasp 
her  to  his  bosom  ;  but  her  w.isted  form — her  death- 
like countenance — so  wan,  yet  so  lovely  in  its  deso- 
bution — smote  him  to  the  soul,  and  he  threw  himself 
In  an  agony  at  her  feet.  She  was  too  faint  to  rise — 
she  attempted  to  extend  her  trembling  hand— her 
lips  moved  as  if  she  spoke,  but  no  word  was  articu- 
lated— she  looked  down  upon  him  with  a  smile  of 
unutterable  tenderness,  and  closed  her  eyes  for 
ever  I 

Such  are  the  particulars  which  I  gathered  of  this 
village  story.  They  are  but  scanty,  and  I  am  con- 
scious have  but  little  novelty  to  recommend  them. 
In  the  present  rage  also  for  strange  incident  and 
high-seasoned  narr.itive,  they  may  appear  trite  and 
insignilicant,  but  they  interested  me  strongly  at  the 
lime ;  and,  taken  in  connection  with  the  affecting 
ceremony  which  I  had  just  witnessed,  left  a  deeper 
impression  on  my  mind  than  many  circumstances  of 
a  more  striking  nature.  I  have  passed  through  the 
place  since,  and  visited  the  church  again  from  a  bet- 
ter motive  than  mere  curiosity.  It  was  a  wintry 
evening ;  the  trees  were  stripped  of  their  foliage ;  the 
churchyard  looked  naked  and  mournful,  and  the 
wind  rustled  coldly  through  the  drj'  gmss.  Ever- 
greens, however,  had  been  planted  about  the  grave 
Gt  the  village  favourite,  and  osiers  were  bent  over  it 
to  keep  the  turf  uninjured.  The  church  door  was 
open,  and  I  stepped  in. — There  hung  the  chaplet  of 
fiowers  and  the  gloves,  as  on  the  day  of  the  funeral : 
the  flowers  were  withered,  it  is  true,  but  care  seemed 
to  have  been  taken  that  no  dust  should  soil  their 
whiteness.  I  have  seen  many  monuments,  where 
art  has  exhausted  its  powers  to  awaken  the  sym- 
pathy of  the  s[)ectator ;  but  I  have  met  with  none 
that  spoke  more  touchingly  to  my  heart,  than  this 
■unple,  but  delicate  memento  of  departed  innocence. 


THE  ANBLEU 


Thit  day  <>«■•  Naiun  lata'd  ia  !•«•, 

Tb«  lutlv  up  b«[(aii  to  nova, 

trnh  liifc*  aid  itir  ill'  cmbraciaa  vlav, 

And  birUt  had  drawn  ihaii  valtolwaa. 

Th<  jaaloiM  iroul  ihal  low  did  lia, 

Rou  ai  a  wall  diMcmbUd  fly. 

Thar*  •lood  my  friend,  with  pailtal  ikill, 

Aliauding  of  hit  trcubliog  quill. 

Sn  H.  WotiOB. 

It  is  said  that  many  an  unlucky  urchin  is  induced 
to  run  away  from  his  family,  and  oetake  himself  to  ;. 
seafaring  life,  from  reading  the  histoiy  of  Robinson 
Crusoe ;  and  I  suspect  th.-it,  in  like  manner,  many  of 
those  worthy  gentlemen,  who  are  given  to  haunt  the 
sides  of  pastoral  streams  with  angle-rods  in  hand, 
may  tr.ice  the  origin  of  their  passion  to  the  seductive 
pages  of  honest  Izaak  Walton,  I  recollect  studying 
ius  "Complete  Angler"  several  years  since,  in  com- 
pany with  a  knot  of  friends  in  America,  and,  more- 
over, that  we  were  all  completely  bitten  with  the 
angling  mania.  It  was  early  in  the  year,  but  as 
soon  as  the  weather  was  auspicious,  and  th«t  the 
spring  l)egan  to  melt  into  the  verge  of  summer  we 
took  rod  in  hand,  and  sallied  into  the  countr)  \s 
stark  mad  as  was  ever  Uon  Quixote  from  rcadiuj 
books  of  chivalry. 

One  of  our  party  had  equalled  the  Don  in  the  ful- 
ness of  his  equipments ;  being  attired  cap-a-pie  foi 
the  fnterprise.  He  wore  a  broad -skirted  fustian 
coat,  perplexed  with  half  a  hundred  pockets  ;  a  pair 
of  stout  shoes,  and  leatliern  gaiters  ;  a  basket  slung 
on  one  side  for  iish ;  a  p.itent  rod  ;  a  landing  net. 
and  a  score  of  other  inconveniences  only  to  be  founJ 
in  the  true  angler's  armory.  Thus  harnessed  for  the 
field,  he  was  as  great  a  matter  of  stare  ind  wonder* 
ment  among  the  country  folk,  who  had  never  seen  a 
regular  angler,  as  was  the  steel-clad  hero  of  La 
Mancha  among  the  goatherds  of  the  Sierra  Morena. 

Our  first  ess<ny  was  along  a  mountain  brook,  among 
the  highlands  of  the  Hudson — a  most  unfortunate 
place  for  the  execution  of  those  piscatory  tactics 
which  had  been  invented  along  the  velvet  margins 
of  quiet  English  rivulets.  It  was  one  of  those  wild 
streams  that  lavish,  among  our  romintic  solitudes, 
unheeded  beauties,  enough  to  fill  the  sketch-book  of 
a  himter  of  the  picturesque.  Sometimes  it  would 
leap  down  rocky  shelves,  making  small  cascades, 
over  which  the  trees  threw  their  broad  balancing 
sprays;  and  long  nameless  weeds  hung  in  fringes 
from  the  impending  b.inks,  dripping  with  diamond 
drops.  Sometimes  it  would  brawl  and  fret  along  a 
ravine  in  the  matted  shade  of  a  forest,  tilling  it  with 
murmurs ;  and  after  this  termagant  career,  would 
steal  forth  into  open  day  with  the  most  phcid  de- 
mure face  imaginable  ;  as  I  have  seen  some  pestilent 
shrew  of  a  housewife,  after  filling  her  home  with 
uproar  and  ill-humour,  come  dimpling  out  of  doors, 
swimming,  and  curtsying,  and  smiling  upon  all  the 
world. 

How  smoothly  would  this  vagrant  brook  glide,  at 
such  times,  through  some  bosom  of  green  meadow 
land,  among  the  mountains;  where  the  quiet  was 
only  interrupted  by  the  occasional  tinkling  of  a  bcl! 
from  the  lazy  cattle  among  the  clover,  or  the  souixl 
of  a  wood-cutter's  axe  from  the  neighbouring  forest ! 

For  my  part,  I  was  always  a  bungler  at  all  kinds 
of  sport  that  required  either  patience  or  adroitness, 
and  had  not  angled  above  half  an  hour,  before  1  had 
completely  "satisfied  the  sentiment,"  and  convinced 
myself  of  the  truth  of  Izaak  Walton's  opinion,  that 
angling  is  something  fike  poetry — a  man  must  b« 
bom  to  it.  I  hooked  myself  instead  of  the  fish 
tangled  my  line  in  ever)'  tree ,  lost  mv  bait ;  brokf 


tactics 


m*i 


THE  KAATKKSKIl  I.  IHVIM 


III  l»M   1.1    1  Ui.l..\l,l'  A.   110SI», 


THE   PRIDE  OF   THE  VILLAGE, 


a\)  rod ;  until  I 
pn^fk^d  the  day  i 
»,iii5irit!(l  thm  it 
simplicity  and  n 
nml  not  the  pa 
however,  were  i 
I  have  them  at  I 


UIM) 

fi;.hi'r  watcniiij» 

Ih.ii  overhangs  t 

ol  (he  hills  i  the 

from  off  the  8l( 

hiinscir;   and   tl 

hciillong  as  the 

Ihroughout  the  \ 

I  recollect,  als 

.tnd  creeping  al 

will)  scarcely  an< 

l)lc  apparatus,  a 

lioin  ine  hills,  w 

trie ;  a  few  yar 

help  me  I  1  belie 

with  a  vile  earth- 

more  tish  than  w 

lUit   above  all 

wholesome,  hun^ 

II  l)c.ich-trce  just 

that  stole  out  of  i 

wiii  over,  one  of 

Kcnc  with  the  in 

and  built  castles 

uleop.    All  this 

I  cannot  refrain 

which  are  passir 

mind,  and  have  li 

which  I  witnessci 

In  a  morning's 

a  beautiful  little  s 

Welsh  hills  anil  t 

'.ion  was  attractec 

On  approaching, 

an^'lcr  and  two  i 

an  old  fellow  witi: 

much,  but  very  ca 

ty,  honestjy  conie 

face  bore  the  ma 

f-ir   weather;    its 

h.il)itu.il  smile;  li 

ears,  and  he  had  ; 

of  .1  constitutiona 

take  the  world  as 

w.i'i  a  ragged  wi 

arrant  jKiacher,  a 

to  any  gentleman' 

in  tile  darkest  nif 

wanl,  country  lad 

entiy  somewhat  o 

busied  examining 

just  'tilled,  to  disc 

»:rc  seasonable  fi 

aubiect  to  his  coi 

«!tli  ititinitc  dcfe 

Aird  all  '•  brother 

Izaak  Walton.     ' 

"mild,  sweet, and 

for  them  has  been 

"  Trctyse  of  fishin 

Kt  forth  many  o 

fraternity.    "  Taki 

little  tretyse,  "  tha 

o|)cn  no  man's  ga 

Also  ye  shall  not 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Omt. 


m 


tn>  rod :  untfl  I  fpive  up  the  attempt  in  deipnlr,  and 
p.i'is.^d  the  day  undnr  tne  inn,  reading  old  Uank  ; 
s;iii:»tie(l  that  it  was  his  fascinating  vein  of  honrst 
simplicity  and  rural  fMling  that  had  liewitched  me, 
:m>l  not  the  passion  for  an|;lin)(.  My  cumnanions, 
however,  were  more  ixrrsevcrinK  in  their  rlulu«ion. 
I  have  them  at  this  moment  before  my  eyes,  stealing 
ilo'itj  thi  border  of  the  hrook,  where  it  lay  o|M;n  to 
the  day,  or  was  m«Tffv  fiinjjcd  by  shrubs  and  liushes. 
1  see  the  bilttrn  rising  vMih  hollow  scrram,  as  they 
iJK.ik  in  uiion  his  rarcly-invii'letl  haunt;  the  kinjf- 
(i;,hcr  watching  them  suspiciousj/  from  Ins  dry  trre 
;h.u  overhangs  the  deep  lil.ck  niill-po/i'l,  in  he  Rorffe 
(il  the  hills  ;  the  tortoise  Ictti'jj  himself  slip  <>j'|eways 
friiin  otT  the  stoh'*  or  loj^  on  whitl)  he  is  sunfting 
himself;  and  the  p.i;  o-struck  I'i0|f  plumping  in 
hiMillong  as  they  approu  It,  anil  spreading  ait  alarm 
lliriiugliout  the  watery  world   iromirl. 

1  recollect,  also,  that,  after  id'llng  and  watching 
and  creeping  about  for  the  greater  part  of  a  day, 
Willi  scarcely  any  success,  in  spite  of  all  our  admir.a- 
blr  apparatus,  a  lubberly  countr)'  urchin  came  down 
lioin  the  hills,  wit|i  a  rod  made  from  a  branch  of  a 
trie;  a  few  yards  of  twine;  and,  as  heaven  shall 
hilp  me!  1  believe  a  crooked  pin  for  a  hook,  baiteil 
witli  a  vile  earth-worm — and  in  half  an  hour  caught 
iiioie  tish  than  we  had  nibbles  throughout  the  day. 

lUii  above  all,  1  recollect  the  "  good,  honest, 
wholesome,  hungry  "  re()ast,  which  we  made  under 
a  l)c  ich-tree  just  by  a  spring  of  pure  sweet  water, 
that  stole  out  of  the  side  of  a  hill ;  and  huw,  when  it 
wa&  over,  one  of  the  |)arty  read  old  Izaak  Walton's 
iccne  with  the  milk-m.iid,  while  I  lay  on  the  grass 
and  built  castles  in  a  bright  pile  of  clouds,  until  I  fell 
luleip.  All  this  may  appe.ir  like  mere  egotism  ;  yet 
I  cannot  refrain  from  uttering  these  recollections 
which  arc  passing  like  a  strain  of  music  over  my 
mind,  and  have  been  called  up  by  an  agreeable  scene 
which  I  witnessed  not  long  since. 

In  a  morning's  stroll  along  the  banks  of  the  Alun, 
a  beautiful  little  stream  which  Hows  down  from  the 
Wchh  hills  anil  throws  itself  into  the  Dee,  my  atten- 
tion was  attracted  to  a  group  seated  on  the  margin. 
On  approaching,  I  found  it  to  consist  of  a  veteran 
an^der  and  two  rustic  disciples.  The  former  w:is 
an  old  fellow  with  a  wooden  leg,  with  clothes  very 
nnich,  but  very  carefully  patched,  betokening  novcr- 
ly,  lionestjy  come  by,  and  decently  m.untained.  His 
f.icc  l)ore  the  marks  of  forincr  storms,  but  present 
l^ir  weather;  its  furrows  had  been  worn  into  a 
h.ibitual  smile ;  his  iron-gray  locks  hung  about  his 
ears,  and  he  had  altogether  the  good-humoured  air 
of  .1  constitutional  philosopher,  Nvho  was  disposed  to 
lake  the  world  as  it  went.  One  of  his  companions 
wii'^  a  ragged  wight,  with  the  skulking  look  of  an 
arr.tiit  |X)acher,  and  I'll  warrant  could  tind  his  way 
tu  any  gentleman's  fish-pond  in  the  neighbourhood 
in  the  darkest  night.  The  other  was  a  tall,  aw'K- 
ward,  country  lad,  with  a  lounging  gait,  and  appar- 
ently somewhat  of  a  rustic  beau,  'fna  old  man  was 
busied  examining  the  maw  of  a  trout  which  he  had 
just  'tilled,  to  discover  by  its  contents  what  insects 
%:rc  seasonable  for  bait  ;  and  was  lecturing  on  the 
3iibiect  to  his  companions,  who  appeared  to  listen 
iMtli  inlinitc  deference.  1  have  a  kind  feeling  to- 
ATird  all  "brothers  of  the  angle,"  ever  since  I  read 
Izaak  Walton.  They  are  men,  he  affinns,  of  a 
"  mild,  sweet,  and  peaceable  spirit ; "  and  my  esteem 
for  them  has  been  increased  since  I  met  with  an  old 
"  Trctyse  of  fishing  with  the  Angle,"  in  which  are 
let  forth  many  ofthe  maxims  of  their  inoffensive 
fraternity.  "  'fake  goode  hede,"  sayth  this  honest 
little  tretyse,  "  that  in  going  about  your  dispones  ye 
ojicn  no  man's  gates  but  lliat  ye  shet  them  ag.ain 
Also  ye  shall  not  u.^e  :his  foresaid  crafti  disport  for 


no  covetousnesi  to  the  Increuing  and  iparing  iW 
your  money  only,  but  principally  for  your  solace  and 
to  cauoe  the  helth  of  your  l>ody  and  specyally  of  yow 
soule,"* 

I  thought  that  I  could  perceive  In  the  veteran  an 
gler  before  me  an  exenipliticatlon  of  what  I  hid  read  ; 
and  there  w.as  a  cheerful  contentednrss  in  his  ioolct, 
that  (luite  <lrew  mc  towards  him,  I  could  not  b;i4 
remark  the  gallant  manner  in  which  he  stumped 
from  one  part  of  the  brook  to  another  ;  waving  hli 
rod  in  the  air,  to  keep  the  line  from  dragging  on  the 
ground,  or  catching  among  the  bushes;  and  the 
adroitness  with  which  he  would  throw  his  fly  to  any 
particular  place ;  sometimes  skimming  it  lightly  along 
a  little  rapid  ;  sometimes  casting  it  into  one  ot  those 
dark  holes  made  by  a  twisted  root  or  overhanging 
bank,  in  which  the  large  trout  are  apt  to  lurk.  In 
the  meanwhile,  he  was  giving  instructions  to  his  two 
discip'f's  ;  showing  them  the  manner  in  which  they 
should  handle  their  tods,  fix  their  Hies,  and  play  them 
along  the  surface  of  the  stream.  The  scene  brought 
to  my  mind  the  instructions  of  the  sage  l'l?triior  to 
111  j  sihol.ar.  The  country  around  w;is  of  th.it  pas- 
toral kind  which  Walton  is  fond  of  describing.  It 
w.as  a  part  of  the  great  plain  of  Cheshire,  close  by 
the  beautiful  vale  oft  lessford,  and  just  where  the  in- 
ferior Welsh  hills  begin  to  swell  up  from  among 
fresh-smelling  meadows.  The  day,  too.  like  that 
recorded  in  his  work,  was  mild  anci  sunshiny  ;  with 
now  and  then  a  soft  dropping  shn-ver.  that  sowed 
the  whole  earth  with  diamonds. 

I  soon  fell  into  conversation  with  the  old  angler, 
and  w.as  so  much  entertained,  that,  under  pretext  ot 
receiving  instructions  in  his  art,  I  kept  rom|>any  with 
him  almost  the  who'e  day ;  wandering  il(?"g  the 
banks  of  the  stream,  and  listening  to  his  talk.  Hb* 
was  very  communicative,  having  all  the  easy  gar- 
rulity of  cheerful  old  age ;  and  1  fancy  was  a  litth; 
flattered  by  having  an  opportunity  of  displaying  hir 
piscatory  lore ;  for  who  <ioes  not  like  now  and  then 
to  pl.ay  the  sage  ? 

He  had  been  much  of  a  rambler  in  his  day ;  and 
had  p.assed  some  years  of  his  youth  in  America,  par- 
ticularly in  Savannah,  where  he  had  entered  into 
trade,  and  had  been  ruined  by  the  indiscretion  of  a 
partner.  He  had  afterwards  experienced  many  ups 
and  downs  in  life,  until  he  got  into  the  navy,  where 
his  leg  was  carried  away  by  a  cannon-ball,  at  the 
battle  of  Camperdown.  This  w.as  the  only  stroke 
of  real  good  fortune  he  had  ever  experienced,  for  it 
got  him  a  pension,  which,  together  with  some  small 
paternal  property,  brought  him  in  a  revenue  of  nearly 
forty  pounds.  On  this  he  retired  to  his  native  village, 
where  he  lived  ouietly  and  independently,  and  de- 
voted the  remainder  of  his  life  to  the  '•  noble  art  of 
angling." 

I  found  that  he  had  read  Izaak  Walton  attentively, 
and  he  seemed  to  have  imbibed  all  his  simple  frank- 
ness and  prevalent  good-humour.  Though  he  had 
been  sorely  buffeted  about  the  world,  he  w.as  satisfied 
that  the  world,  in  itself,  was  good  and  beautiful 
Though  he  had  been  as  roughly  used  in  different 
countries  as  a  poor  sheep  that  is  fleeced  by  every 
hedge  and  thicket,  yet  he  spoke  of  every  nation  witn 
candour  and  kindness,  appearing  to  look  only  on  the 
good  side  of  things :  and  above  all,  he  was  almcst  the 
only  man  I  had  ever  met  with,  who  h.ad  been  an 
unfortunate  adventurer  in  America,  and  had  h jnestv 


*  From  this  same  trenlise,  it  would  appear  th»i  anftlioE  ■*  *  more 
indiiitrious  and  devout  employment  than  it  is  generally  cuntidered. 
"  For  when  ye  purpose  to  go  on  youi  dispones  in  lishynse,  ye  will 
not  desyre  greatlyc  many  persons  with  you.  which  miglit  let  you 
of  your  same.  And  that  ye  may  serve  O  /d  devoutly  in  sayinse 
effcctu^tlly  your  customable  prayen.  A'.d  thus  doying,  ye  shall 
escnew  and  also  avoyde  many  vices,  as  ydleiiess.  which  is  a  priaci- 
pall  cause  to  induct  man  to  many  other  vie**,  aa  it  ii  liaht  mtll 
known." 


88 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


,.■'■  "i^T  * 


■if  *" 


and  mafpianimity  enough,  to  take  the  fault  to  his  own 
ioor,  and  not  to  curse  the  country. 

The  lad  that  was  receiving  his  instructions  I  learnt 
was  the  son  and  heir  apparent  of  a  fat  old  widow, 
who  kept  the  village  inn,  and  of  course  a  youth  of 
some  expectation,  and  much  courted  by  the  idle, 
een'!eman-like  personages  of  the  place.  In  taking 
Eiir.  'inder  his  care,  therefore,  the  old  man  had  prob- 
a.b!j  an  eye  to  a  privileged  comer  in  the  tap-room, 
sum  an  occasional  cup  of  cheerful  ale  free  of  ex- 
pense. 

There  is  certafnly  something  in  angling,  if  we  could 
forget,  which  anglers  are  apt  to  do,  the  cruelties  and 
tortures  inflicted  on  worms  and  insects,  that  tends  to 
produce  a  gentleness  of  spirit,  and  a  pure  serenity  of 
mind.  As  the  English  are  methodical  even  in  their 
recreations,  and  are  the  most  scientific  of  sportsmen, 
it  has  been  reduced  among  them  to  perfect  rule  and 
system.  Indeed,  it  is  an  amusement  peculiarly  adapt- 
ed to  the  mild  and  cultivated  scenery  of  Kngland, 
where  every  roughness  has  been  softened  away  from 
the  landscape.  It  is  delightful  to  saunter  along  those 
limpid  streams  which  wander,  like  veins  of  silver, 
through  the  bosom  of  this  beautiful  country' ;  leading 
one  through  a  diversity  of  small  home  scenery ;  some- 
times winding  throiijjn  ornamented  grounds ;  some- 
times brimming  along  through  rich  pasturage,  where 
the  fresh  green  is  mingled  with  swcet-sr.ielling  flow- 
ers ;  sometimes  venturing  in  sight  of  villages  and  ham- 
lets ;  and  then  running  capriciously  away  into  shady 
retirements.  The  sweetness  and  serenity  of  nature, 
and  the  quiet  watcht'iilness  of  the  sport,  gradually 
bring  on  pleasant  fits  of  musing ;  which  are  now  "ind 
then  agreeably  interrupted  by  the  song  of  a  bird  ;  the 
distant  whistle  of  the  peasant ;  or  perhaps  the  vagary 
►  "jf  some  fish,  leaping  out  of  the  still  water,  and  skim- 
'Tiir?  transiently  about  its  glassy  surface.  "  When  I 
waulJ  beget  content,"  says  Iraak  W.-ilton,  "and  in- 
':.:«'.i'5e  confidence  in  the  power  and  wisdom  and 
providence  of  Almighty  God,  I  will  walk  the  mead- 
ows by  some  gliding  stream,  and  there  contemplate 
the  lilies  that  take  no  care,  and  those  very  many 
Other  little  living  creatures  that  are  not  only  created, 
but  fed,  (man  knows  not  how)  by  the  goodness  of 
the  God  of  n.ature,  and  therefore  trust  in  him." 

I  cannot  forbe.-ir  to  give  another  quotation  from 
one  of  those  ancient  champions  of  angling,  which 
breathes  the  same  innocent  and  happy  spirit : 

I.ct  me  live  harmlensty.  and  near  the  brink 

Of  Trent  or  Avon  nnve  a  dwellinfj-place; 
Where  1  may  see  my  nuill,  or  cork  down  sink. 

With  eager  bite  of  Hike,  or  Bleak,  or  Dace. 
And  on  the  world  and  my  crrutor  think; 

While  some  men  strive  ill-gotten  goods  t'  embrace  ; 
And  others  spend  their  lime  in  base  excess 

Of  wine,  or  worse,  in  war  or  wantonness. 

Let  thetn  ihrit  wilt,  these  pastimes  still  pursue. 

.And  on  such  ulea<iin){  fancies  feed  their  fill, 
So  I  the  fields  anu  meadows  green  may  view. 

And  daily  hy  fresh  rivers  walk  at  will 
Aciong  the  daisies  and  the  violets  blue, 

Kcd  hyacinth  and  yellow  daffodil.* 

l)n  parting  with  the  old  angler,  1  inquired  .after  his 
place  of  abode,  and  h.ippening  to  be  in  the  neighbour- 
liood  of  the  village  a  few  evenii;gs  afterwards,  I  had 
the  c  iriosity  to  seek  him  out.  I  found  him  living  in 
a  small  cottage,  containing  only  one  room,  but  a  per- 
f-»-t  curiosity  in  its  method  and  arrangement.  It  was 
fn  the  skirts  of  the  village,  on  a  green  bank,  a  little 
lack  Ircm  the  road,  with  a  small  g.arden  in  front, 
stocked  wi'h  kitchen-herbs,  and  adorned  with  a  few 
(lowers.  The  whole  front  of  the  cott.ige  w.as  over- 
ran with  a  hon(!ysuckle.  On  the  top  was  a  ship  for 
»  weathercock.  The  interior  was  fitted  up  in  a  truly 
nautical  stj  '.e,  his  ideas  of  comfort  and  convenience 

•  I.  Davon. 


having  been  acquired  on  the  berth-deck  of  a  man-cf 
w.ar.  A  hammock  was  slung  from  the  ceiling,  which 
in  the  day-time  was  lashed  up  so  as  to  take  but  lit»l? 
rpom.  From  the  centre  of  the  chamber  hung  a  mode; 
of  a  ship,  of  his  own  workmanship.  Two  or  threr 
chairs,  a  table,  and  a  large  sea-chest,  formed  the  prin- 
cipal moveables.  About  the  wall  were  stuck  "f 
nav.al  ballads,  such  as  Admiral  Hosier's  Ghost,  All  ir 
the  Downs,  and  Tom  Bowling,  intermineled  v,jii 
pictures  of  sea-fights,  among  which  the  battle  o( 
Camperdown  held  a  distinguished  place.  The  m.in. 
telpiece  was  decorated  with  seashells;  over  whirh 
hung  a  quadrant,  flanked  by  two  wood-cuts  of  mosi 
bitter-looking  naval  commanders.  His  implements  fot 
angling  were  carefully  disposed  on  nails  and  ht)ok? 
about  the  room.  On  a  shelf  was  arranged  his  libran. 
containing  a  work  on  angling,  much  worn ;  a  bihic 
covereti  with  c.inv.as ;  an  odd  volume  or  two  of  voy- 
ages ;  a  nautical  alm.an.ic  ;  and  a  hook  of  songs. 

His  fami  y  consisted  of  a  large  bl.-ick  cat  with  one 
eye,  and  a  parrot  which  he  h.ad  caught  and  tami' ', 
and  educated  himself,  in  the  course  of  one  of  his 
voyages  ;  and  which  uttered  a  variety  of  sea  phrases, 
with  the  hoarse  rattling  tone  of  a  veter.an  boatswain. 
The  establishment  reminded  me  of  that  of  the  rp- 
nowned  Robinson  Crusoe  ;  it  was  kept  in  neat  order, 
every  thing  being  "stowed  away  "  with  the  rei;T.- 
larity  of  a  ship  of  war ;  and  he  informed  me  that  lir 
"  scoured  the  deck  every  morning,  and  swept  it  be- 
tween meals." 

I  found  him  seated  on  a  bench  before  the  donr. 
smoking  his  pipe  in  the  soft  evening  sunshine.  H"; 
cat  w.as  purring  soberly  on  the  threshold,  and  h,:. 
parrot  describing  some  strange  evolutions  in  an  iror 
ring,  that  swung  in  the  centre  of  his  caj;e.  He  h-A 
been  angling  all  day,  and  gave  me  a  histoiy  of  I,  s 
sport  with  as  much  minuteness  as  a  general  wc.I;! 
talk  over  a  camp.aign  ;  being  particularly  animalH 
in  relating  the  manner  in  which  he  hatl  taken  a  lar;^» 
trout,  which  had  completely  tasked  all  his  skill  am) 
wariness,  and  which  he  had  sent  as  a  trophy  to  tti'i.f. 
hostess  of  the  inn. 

How  comforting  it  is  to  see  a  cheerful  and  content- 
ed old  age  ;  and  to  behold  a  poor  fellow,  like  thi'), 
after  i)eing  tempest-tost  through  life,  saiely  mooted 
in  a  snug  and  quiet  h.arbour  in  the  evening  of  'm 
days!  His  happiness,  however,  sprung  from  witmr. 
himself,  and  was  independent  ol^  extenval  'Cirnuii- 
stances  ;  for  he  had  that  inexhaustible  good-nature, 
which  is  the  most  precious  gift  of  Heaven  ;  spreailine 
itself  like  oil  over  the  troubled  sea  of  thought,  .iiu! 
keeping  the  mind  smooth  and  equable  in  the  rouglie.r.i 
we.ather. 

On  inquiring  farther  about  him,  I  learnt  that  hj 
was  a  universal  favourite  in  the  village,  and  the. 
oracle  of  the  tap-room  ;  where  he  delighted  the  ray 
tics  with  his  songs,  and,  like  Sinbad,  astonished  ih-vn 
with  his  stories  of  strange  lands,  an<l  shipwrecks,  lii-I 
sea-fights.  He  w.as  much  noticed  too  by  gcntlcniM 
sportsmen  of  the  neighi)ourhoo<l ;  had  taight  »<  vci :; 
of  them  the  art  of  angling;  and  w.as  a  priviie,-,ul 
visitor  to  their  kitchens.  The  whole  tenor  of  h^r 
life  was  quiet  and  inotTensive,  being  principally  p.-.vi 
ed  about  the  neighhouring  streams,  when  the  wc.itl.:si 
and  season  wtre  favourable  ;  and  at  other  times  ft 
employed  hi ir self  at  home,  preparing  his  fishing 
tackle  for  the  next  campaign,  or  manufacturing  roJs, 
nets,  and  Hies,  for  i  's  patrons  and  pupils  among  the 
gentry. 

He  was  a  regular  attendant  at  church  on  Sund.iys, 
though  he  generally  (ell  asleep  during  the  sf.mniT,. 
He  had  made  it  his  particular  request  that  when  he 
died  he  should  be  buried  in  a  ereen  spot,  which  hf 
could  see  from  his  seat  in  churtHi,  and  which  he  li ad 
marked  out  ever  sini:e  he  was  a  boy,  and  had  thcuj;H 


tr^'.    A  drowsy,  di 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  G«nt. 


n> 


ot  when  far  from  home  on  the  raging  sea.  in  danger 
of  being  food  for  the  hshes— it  was  the  spot  where 
his  father  and  mother  had  been  buried. 

1  have  done,  for  I  fear  that  my  reader  is  growing 
weary  ;  Ijut  I  could  not  refrain  from  drawing  the  pict- 
ure of  this  worthy  "  brother  of  the  angle  ;'  who  has 
made  me  more  than  ever  in  love  with  the  theory, 
though  1  fear  I  shall  never  he  adroit  in  the  practice 
nf  hi  >  art ;  and  I  will  conclude  this  rambling  sketch 
in  the  words  of  honest  Iz.iak  Walton,  by  craving 
.he  blessing  of  St.  Peter's  master  upon  my  reader, 

aad  upon  all  that  arc  true  lovers  of  virtue  ;  and 
lare  trust  in  his  providence ;  and  be  quiet ;  and  go 
i  angling." 


THE  LEGEND  OF  SLEEPY  HOLLOW. 

(FOUND    AMONG     THE    PAPERS  OF  THE    LA".  E 
DIEDRICH    KNICKERBOCKER). 


A  plea^tDX  land  of  drowiy  head  it  wan. 
Of  drejms  that  wave  before  the  half-shut  eye  ; 
And  of  Kay  ca^tle%  la  fhe  cloiid>  that  paas. 
For  aver  Hushing  round  a  «untiner  sky. 

CatUt  of  tnJaUme*. 

In  the  bosom  of  one  of  those  spacious  coves  which 
indent  the  eastern  shore  of  the  Hudson,  at  that  broad 
expansion  of  the  river  denominated  by  the  ancient 
Dutch  navigators  the  Tappaan  Zee,  and  where  they 
always  prudently  shortened  sail,  and  implored  the 
protection  of  St.  Nicholas  when  they  crossed,  there 
lies  a  Sfnall  market  town  or  rural  port,  which  by 
some  IS  called  Greensbiirgh,  but  which  is  more  gen- 
irilly  and  properly  known  by  the  name  of  Tarry 
Town.  This  name  was  given  it.  we  are  told,  in 
bmier  days,  by  the  good  housewives  of  the  adjacent 
'.ci'jntry,  from  the  inveterate  propensity  of  their  hus- 
bands to  linger  about  the  village  tavern  on  market 
days.  Be  that  as  it  may,  1  do  not  vouch  for  the  fact, 
but  merely  advert  to  it,  for  the  sake  of  being  precise 
and  authentic.  Not  far  from  this  village,  perhaps 
about  three  miles,  there  is  a  little  valley  or  rather  lap 
ol  land  amoni;  high  hills,  which  is  one  of  the  quiet- 
est places  in  the  whole  world.  A  small  brook 
glides  through  it,  with  just  murniur  enough  to  lull 
one  to  repose ;  and  the  occasional  whistle  of  a  quail, 
or  ti'»ping  of  a  wood()ecker,  is  almost  the  only 
sounii  that  ever  breaks  in  up<5n  the  unifomi  tran- 
quillity. 

I  recollect  that,  when  a  stripling,  my  first  exploit 
in  "^niiirrel-shooting  was  in  a  grove  ol  t.ill  walnut- 
tr;rs  that  shades  one  siile  of  the  valley.  1  had 
u.indcred  into  it  at  noon-time,  when  all  nature  is 
ptculiarly  quiet,  and  was  startled  by  the  roar  of  my 
own  gun,  as  it  broke  the  sabbath  stillness  around, 
and  was  prolonged  and  reverberated  by  the  angry 
ecliocs.  If  ever  1  should  wish  for  a  retreat  whither 
I  mi^^ht  steal  from  the  world  and  its  distractions, 
i;id  dream  quietly  away  the  remnant  of  a  troubled 
life,  1  know  of  none  more  promising  than  this  little 
valley. 

Kio.';i  the  listless  repose  of  the  place,  and  the  pe- 
:uli.M  character  of  its  inhabitants,  who  are  descend- 
ii 's  Irotn  the  original  Dutch  settlers,  this  sequestered 
ei:.n  has  long  been  known  by  the  name  of  Sleepy 
Hollow,  and  its  rustic  lads  are  called  the  Sleepy 
Hullow  Hoys  throughout  all  the  neiglihouring  coun- 
try'. A  drowsy,  dreamy  influ«;nce  seems  to  hang 
over  the  land,  and  to  pervade  the  very  atmosphere. 
S'Jine  say  that  the  pbce  was  bewitched  by  a  hii^h 
(ierman  doctor,  duiing  the  early  days  of  the  settle- 


ment :  others,  that  an  old  Indian  ch1».  the  prophet 
or  wizard  of  his  tribe,  held  his  powwows  there  bclore 
the  country  was  discovered  by  Master  Hcntlrick  Hud- 
son. Certain  it  is,  the  place  still  continues  under 
the  sway  of  some  witching  power,  that  holds  a  spell 
over  the  minds  of  the  good  people,  causing  them  to 
walk  in  a  continual  reverie.  They  are  given  n  »U 
kinds  of  marvellous  beliefs ;  are  subject  to  tranceii 
and  vi.9!ons.  and  frequently  see  strange  sights,  aivr! 
hear  music  and  voices  in  the  air.  The  whole  neigh 
bourhood  abounds  with  local  tales,  haunted  s|>ots, 
and  twilight  superstitions ;  stars  shoot  and  meteor? 
glare  oftener  across  the  valley  than  in  any  other  part 
of  the  country,  and  the  night-mare,  with  her  whole 
nine  fold,  seems  to  make  it  the  favourite  scene  of  hei 
gambols. 

The  dominant  spirit,  however,  that  haunts  this 
enchanted  regpon,  and  seems  to  be  commander-in- 
chief  of  all  the  powers  cf  the  air,  is  the  kpparition 
of  a  figure  on  horseback  without  a  head.  It  is  said 
by  some  to  be  the  ghost  of  a  Hessian  trooper,  whose 
head  had  been  carried  away  by  a  cannon-ball,  in 
some  nameless  battle  during  the  revolutionary  war, 
and  who  is  ever  and  anon  seen  by  the  country  folk, 
hurrying  along  in  the  gloom  of  night,  as  if  on  the 
wings  of  the  wind.  His  haunts  are  not  confined  to 
the  valley,  but  e.xtend  at  times  to  the  adjacent  roads, 
and  especially  to  the  vicinity  of  a  church  that  is  at 
no  great  distance.  Indeed,  certain  of  the  most  au- 
thentic historians  of  those  parts,  who  h.ave  been 
careful  in  collecting  and  collating  the  floating  facts 
concerning  this  spectre,  allege,  that  the  body  of  the 
trooper  having  been  buried  in  the  churchyard,  the 
ghost  rifles  forth  to  the  scene  of  battle  in  nightly 
quest  of  his  head,  and  that  the  rushing  speed  with 
which  he  sometimes  passes  along  the  hollow,  like  8 
midnight  blast,  is  owing  to  his  being  belated,  and  in 
a  hurry  to  get  back  to  the  churchyard  before  day 
break. 

Such  is  the  general  purport  of  this  legendary  su- 
perstition, which  has  furnished  materials  for  many 
a  wild  story  in  that  region  of  shadows;  and  the 
spectre  is  known  at  all  tne  country  firesides,  by  the 
name  of  The  Headless  Horseman  of  Sleepy  Hollow. 

It  is  remarkable,  that  the  visionary  propensity  I 
have  mentioned  is  not  confined  to  the  native  inhabit- 
ants of  the  valley,  but  is  unconsciously  imbibed  by 
every  one  who  resides  there  for  a  time.  However 
wide  awake  they  may  have  been  before  they  entered 
thit  sleepy  region,  they  are  sure,  in  a  little  time,  to 
inhale  the  witching  influence  of  the  air,  and  begin 
to  grow  imaginative— to  dream  dreams,  .and  see  ap- 
paritions. 

1  mention  this  peaceful  spot  with  all  possible  laud ; 
for  it  is  in  such  little  retired  Dutch  valleys,  found 
here  and  there  embosomed  in  the  great  State  of 
New- York,  that  population,  manners,  and  customs 
remain  fixed,  while  the  great  torrent  of  migration 
and  improvement,  which  is  making  such  incessant 
changes  in  other  parts  of  this  restless  country, 
sweeps  by  tl.em  unobserved.  They  are  like  those 
little  nooks  of  still  water,  which  border  a  rapid 
stream,  where  we  may  see  the  straw  and  bubble  rid- 
ing quietly  .at  anchor,  or  slowly  revolving  in  theii 
mimic  harbour,  undisturbed  by  the  "ush  of  the  pa-i* 
ing  current  Though  many  years  have  elapsed  since 
I  trod  the  drowsy  shades  of  Sleepy  Hollow,  yet  1 
question  whether  I  should  not  still  find  the  same 
trees  and  the  same  families  vegetating  in  its  shel- 
tered bosom. 

In  this  by-place  of  nature  there  .abode,  in  a  re- 
mote period  of  American  history,  that  is  to  say, 
some  thirty  years  since,  a  worthy  wight  of  the  name 
of  IchalKxl  Crane,  who  sojourned,  or,  as  he  eo- 
pressed  it,  ••  tarried,"  in  Sle«.py  Hollow,  for  the  pu» 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


IrV--- 


r^k 


pose  of  instructing  ti.e  children  of  the  vicinity.  He 
was  a  native  of  Connectictit,  a  State  which  supplies 
the  Union  with  pioneers  for  the  mind  as  well  as  for 
the  forest,  and  sends  forth  yearly  its  legions  of  fron- 
tier woodmen  and  country  schoolmasters.  The  cog- 
nomen of  Crane  was  not  inapplic.ible  to  his  person. 
He  was  tall,  but  exceedingly  lank,  with  narrow 
shoulders,  long  arms  and  legs,  hands  that  dangled  a 
mile  out  of  his  sleeves,  feet  that  might  have  served 
fhr  shovels,  and  his  whole  frame  most  loosely  hung 
icgether.  His  head  was  small,  and  flat  at  top,  with 
huge  ears,  large  green  glassy  eyes,  and  a  long  snipe 
nose,  so  that  it  looked  like  a  weathercock  perched 
upon  his  spindle  neck,  to  tell  which  way  tne  wind 
blew.  To  see  him  striding  along  the  profile  of  a 
hill  on  a  windy  <lay,  witK  his  clothes  bagging  and 
fluttering  about  him,  one  might  have  mistaken  him 
for  the  genius  of  famine  descending  upon  the  earth, 
or  some  scarecrow  eloped  from  a  cornfield 

His  school-house  was  a  low  building  of  one  large 
room,  rudely  constructed  of  logs ;  the  windows  partly 
glazed,  and  partly  patched  with  leaves  of  copy- 
books. It  was  most  ingeniously  secured  at  vacant 
hours,  by  a  withe  twisted  in  the  handle  of  the  door, 
and  stakes  set  against  the  window-shutters;  so  that 
though  a  thief  jnight  get  in  with  perfect  ease,  he 
would  find  some  embarrassment  in  getting  out ; — 
an  idea  most-  probably  borrowed  by  the  architect, 
Yost  Van  Houten,  from  the  mystery  of  an  eelpot 
Tne  school-house  stood  in  a  rather  lonely  but  pleas- 
ant situation,  just  at  the  foot  of  a  woody  hill,  with  a 
brook  running  close  by,  and  a  formidable  birch-tree 
growing  at  one  end  of  it.  From  hence  the  low 
murmur  of  his  pupils'  voices,  conning  over  their  les- 
sons, might  be  heard  of  a  drowsy  summer's  day, 
like  the  hum  of  a  beehive ;  interrupted  now  and 
then  by  the  authoritative  voice  of  the  master,  in  the 
ton;  of  menace  or  command  ;  or,  peradventure,  by 
the  app.illing  sound  of  the  birch,  as  he  urged  some 
tardy  loiterer  along  the  flowery  path  of  knowledge. 
Truth  to  say,  he  was  a  conscientious  m.an,  that  ever 
iKire  in  mind  the  golden  maxim,  "spare  the  rod  and 
spoil  the  child." — Ichabod  Crane's  scholars  certainly 
were  not  spoiled. 

I  would  not  have  it  imagined,  however,  that  he 
WAS  one  of  those  cniel  potentates  of  the  school,  who 
joy  in  the  smart  of  their  subjects;  on  the  contrary, 
he  .■idministered  justice  with  discrimination  rather 
than  severity  ;  taking  the  burthen  off  the  backs  of 
the  weak,  and  laying  it  on  those  of  the  strong.  Your 
mere  puny  stripling,  that  winced  at  the  least  flourish 
of  the  rod,  was  passed  by  with  indulgence ;  but  the 
claims  ol  justice  were  satisfied  by  inflicting  a  double 
portion  on  some  little,  tough,  wrong-headed,  broad- 
skirted  Dutch  urchin,  who  sulked  and  swelled  and 
grew  dogged  and  sullen  beneath  the  birch.  All  this 
ne  called  "  doing  his  duty  by  their  parents  ;  "  and  he 
never  inflicted  a  chastisement  without  following  it  by 
the  assurance,  so  consolatory  to  the  smarting  urchin, 
that  "  he  would  remember  it  and  thank  him  for  it 
♦he  longest  day  he  had  to  live." 

When  school  hours  were  over,  he  w.is  even  the 
U-'iOpanion  and  playmate  of  the  larger  boys  ;  and  on 
;>clvday  afternoons  would  convoy  some  of  the  smaller 
anes  home,  who  happened  to  have  pretty  sisters,  or 
good  houMwives  for  mothers,  noted  for  the  comforts 
of  the  cupboard.  Indeed,  it  behoved  him  to  keep 
en  good  terms  with  his  pupils  The  revenue  arising 
iiom  his  school  was  small,  and  would  have  been 
scarcely  sufficient  to  furnish  him  with  daily  bread, 
for  he  wij  a  huge  feetler,  and  though  lank,  hail  the 
dilating  powers  of  an  anaconda  ;  but  to  help  out  his 
maintenance,  he  was,  according  to  country  custom 
in  those  parts,  boarded  and  lodged  at  the  houses  of 
tbs  farmers,  whose  children    he  instructed.     With 


these  he  lived  successivelyr  :  week  at  a  time,  this 
going  the  rounds  of  the  neighbourhood,  with  all  hij 
worldly  effects  tied  up  in  a  cotton  handkerchief. 

That  all  this  mignt  not  be  too  onerous  or.  ihc 
purses  of  his  rustic  patrons,  who  are  apt  to  con- 
sider the  costs  of  schooling  a  grievous  burthen,  ano 
schoolmasters  as  mere  drones,  he  had  various  ways 
of  rendering  himself  both  useful  and  agreeable.  Hi 
assisted  the  farmers  occasionally  in  the  lighter  la- 
bours of  their  farms  ;  helped  to  make  hay  ;  mendcc' 
the  fences  ;  took  the  horses  to  water ;  clrove  the 
cows  from  pasture  ;  and  cut  wood  for  the  winter 
fire.  He  laid  aside,  too,  all  the  dominant  dignity 
and  absolute  sway,  "/ith  which  he  lorded  it  in  his 
little  empire,  the  school,  and  became  wonderfully 
gentle  and  ingratiating.  He  found  favour  in  the 
eyes  of  the  mothers,  by  petting  the  chiUlren,  particu- 
larly the  youngest ;  and  like  the  lion  bold,  which 
whilome  so  magnanimously  the  lamb  did  hold,  he 
would  sit  with  a  child  on  one  knee,  and  rock  a  cradle 
with  his  foot  for  whole  hours  together. 

In  addition  to  his  other  vocations,  he  was  'he 
singing-master  of  the  neighbourhood,  and  picked  ;ip 
many  bright  shillings  by  instructing  the  young  folos 
in  psalm.ody.  It  was  a  matter  of  no  little  vanity  to 
him  on  Sundays,  to  take  his  station  in  front  of  the 
church  gallery,  with  a  band  of  chosen  singers; 
where,  in  his  own  mind,  he  completely  carried  away 
the  palm  from  the  parson.  Certain  it  is,  his  voict 
resounded  far  above  all  the  rest  of  the  congregtition, 
and  there  are  peculiar  quavers  still  to  be  heard  ir 
that  church,  and  which  may  even  be  heard  half  b 
mile  off,  quite  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  mill-pond 
on  a  still  Sunday  morning,  which  are  said  to  bt 
legitimately  descended  from  the  nose  of  Ichs^'  'I 
Cr.ine.  Thus,  by  divers  little  make-shifts,  in  thai 
ingenious  way  which  is  commonly  ilenominated  "  \i) 
hook  and  by  crook,"  the  worthy  ped.agogue  got  on 
tolerably  enough,  and  was  thought,  by  all  who  un- 
derstood nothing  of  the  labour  of  head-work,  to  h:vn 
a  wonderful  easy  life  of  it. 

The  schoolmaster  is  generally  a  man  of  some  im- 
portance in  the  female  circle  of  a  rural  neighbour- 
hood ;  being  considered  a  kind  of  idle  gentleman- 
like personage,  of  vastly  superior  taste  and  accom- 
plishments to  the  rough  country  swains,  and,  indeed, 
inferior  in  learning  only  to  the  parson.  His  appear- 
ance, therefore,  is  apt  to  occasion  some  little  stir  at 
the  tea-table  of  a  farm-house,  and  the  addition  of  a 
supernumerary  dish  of  cakes  or  sweetmeats,  or,  p'-r- 
adventure,  the  parade  of  a  silver  tea-pot.  Our  man 
of  letters,  therefore,  was  peculiarly  happy  in  the 
smiles  of  all  the  country  damsels.  How  he  would 
figure  among  them  in  the  churchyard,  between 
serv'ices  on  Sundays !  gathering  grapes  for  them 
from  the  wild  vines  th.at  overrun  the  surrounding 
trees  ;  reciting  for  their  amusement  all  the  epitaphs 
on  the  tombstones;  or  sauntering,  with  a  whole 
bevy  of  them,  along  the  banks  of  the  adjacent  mil! 
pond ;  while  the  more  bashful  country  bumpkins 
liung  sheepishly  back,  envying  his  supcnor  clegan« 
and  address. 

From  his  half  itinerant  life,  also,  he  was  a  kmd  ol 
travelling  gazette,  carrying  the  whole  budget  of  local 
gossip  from  house  to  house  ;  so  that  his  appcaranct 
was  always  greeted  with  satisfaction.  He  was,  more- 
over, esteemed  by  the  women  as  a  man  of  great 
erudition,  ior  he  h.id  read  several  books  quite 
through,  and  was  a  perfect  master  of  Cotton  Math- 
er's History  of  New-England  Witchcraft,  in  which, 
by  the  way,  he  most  firmly  and  potently  believed. 

He  was,  in  fact,  an  odd  mixture  of  small  shrewd- 
ness and  simple  credulity.  His  appetite  for  the  mar- 
vellous, and  his  powers  of  digesting  it,  were  equally 
extraordrarv:  and  joth  had  been  increased  bv  his 


ant'  of  the  dire 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK  OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   G«nt. 


91 


residence  in  this  spell-bound  region.  No  tale  was 
loo  gross  or  monstrous  for  his  capacious  swallow. 
It  was  often  his  delight,  after  his  school  was  dismiss- 
ed in  the  afternoon,  to  stretch  himself  on  the  rich 
bed  of  clover,  bordering  the  little  brook  that  whim- 
pered by  his  school-house,  and  there  con  over  old 
Mather's  direful  tales,  until  the  gathering  dusk  of 
evei.ing  nuide  the  printed  page  a  mere  mist  Ixifore 
■lis  'jycs.  Then,  as  he  wended  his  way,  by  swamp 
■\"J  s'ream  and  awful  woodland,  to  the  farm-house 
■^':.•re  he  happened  to  be  quartered,  every  sound  of 
mature,  at  that  witching  hour,  fluttered  his  excited 
i.nigination  :  the  r.ioan  of  the  whip-poor-will*  from 
ihi-  nill  side  ;  the  boding  cry  of  the  tree-f o.id,  that 
nariiinger  of  storm ;  the  dri;ary  hooting  of  the 
5Cteecli-owl ;  or  the  sudden  rustling  in  the  thicket, 
of  i)ir(ls  frightened  from  their  roost.  The  fire-flies, 
too,  which  sparkled  most  vividly  in  the  darkest 
places,  now  and  then  startled  him,  as  one  of  uncom- 
mon brightness  would  stream  across  his  path  ;  and 
if,  by  chance,  a  huge  blockhead  of  a  beetle  came 
winging  his  blundering  flight  against  him,  the  poor 
varlet  was  ready  to  give  up  the  ghost,  with  the  idea 
that  he  was  struck  with  a  witch's  token.  His  only 
resource  on  such  occasions,  either  to  drown  thought, 
or  drive  away  evil  spirits,  was  to  sing  psalm  tunes ; — 
and  the  good  people  of  Sleepy  Hollow,  as  they  sat 
by  thrir  doors  of  an  eveninsj,  were  often  filled  with 
»we.  It  hearing  his  nas.al  nnjodv,  "in  linked  sweet- 
ness long  drawn  out,"  floating  from  the  distant  hill, 
or  along  the  dusky  road. 

Another  of  his  sources  of  fearful  pleasure  was,  to 
pass  long  winter  evenings  with  the  old  Dutch  wives, 
IS  tbey  s-it  spinning  by  the  fire,  with  a  row  of  apples 
•oasfing  an<(  sputtering  along  the  hearth,  and  listen 
to  their  marvellous  tales  of  enosts,  and  goblins,  and 
iaunted  fields  and  haunted  brooks,  and  haunted 
br.Js-s  '^"'1  haunted  houses,  and  particularly  of  the 
hs.-i'llew  horseman,  or  galloping  Hessian  of  the  Hol- 
k-*,  as  they  sometimes  called  him.  He  would  de- 
light them  equ.al'y  by  his  anecdotes  of  witchcraft, 
am'  of  the  direful  omens  and  [wrtentous  sights  and 
sounds  in  the  air,  which  prevailed  in  the  earlier  times 
of  Connecticut;  and  would  frighten  them  wofully 
with  speculations  upon  comets  and  shooting  stars, 
and  with  the  alarming  fact  that  the  world  did  abso- 
lutely turn  round,  and  th.at  they  were  half  the  time 
topsy-tur\7  I 

Hut  if  there  was  a  pleasure  in  all  this,  while  snugly 
cuddling  in  the  chimney  comer  of  a  chamber  that 
was  all  of  a  ruddy  glow  from  the  crackling  wood 
fire,  and  where,  of  course,  no  spectre  dared  to  show 
its  face,  it  was  dearly  ])urch.ised  bv  the  terrors  of  his 
subsequent  w.ilk  homewards.  What  fearful  shapes 
and  shadows  beset  his  path,  amidst  the  dim  and 
gh.istly  glare  of  a  snowy  night ! — With  what  wistful 
look  did  he  eye  every  trembling  ray  of  light  stream- 
ing across  the  waste  fields  from  some  distant  win- 
dow ! — How  often  was  he  appalled  by  some  shrub  cov- 
ered with  snow,  which  like  a  sheeted  spectre  beset  his 
very  pa\h  I — How  often  did  he  shrink  with  curdling 
awe  at  the  sound  of  his  own%teps  on  the  frosty  crust 
!)eTipath  his  feet;  and  dread  to  look  over  his  shoulder, 
!st  he  should  behold  some  uncouth  being  tramping 
rjoic  l)ehind  him  f — and  how  often  was  he  thrown 
rto  complete  dismay  by  some  rushing  bl.ast,  howl- 
ttg.  among  the  trees,  in  the  idea  that  it  was  the  gal- 
cpins;  Hessian  on  one  of  his  nightly  scourings  ! 

All  these,  however,  were  mere  terrors  of  the 
r.:<;ht,  phantoms  of  the  mind,  that  walk  in  darkness  : 
»nd  though  he  had  seen  many  spectres  in  his  time, 
and  been  more  than  once  beset  by  Satan  in  divers 

*Th«  whip-poor-will  is  a  bird  which  is  only  heard  at  night.  It 
tacMvrs  its  nun«  frocn  its  ncte,  which  is  thought  to  meinbT«  thost 
words. 


shapes,  in  his  lonely  perambulations,  yet  daylight 
put  an  end  to  all  these  evils ;  and  he  would  have 
passed  a  pleasant  life  of  it,  in  despite  of  the  Devil 
and  all  his  works,  if  his  path  had  not  been  crossed 
by  a  being  that  causes  more  perplexity  to  mortal 
man,  than  ghosts,  goblins,  and  the  whole  race  ct 
witches  put  together ;  and  that  was — a  woman, 

Among  the  musical  disciples  who  assembled,  one 
evening  in  each  week,  to  receive  his  instructions  ii? 
psalmody,  was  Katrina  Van  Tassel,  the  daughlct 
and  only  child  of  a  substantial  Dutch  farmer.  She 
was  a  blooming  lass  of  fresh  eighteen  plump  as  a 
j»anridge;  ripe  and  !n  siting  and  rosy-cheeked  as  on« 
of  her  father's  peaches,  f.nd  universally  famed,  not 
merely  for  her  beauty,  but  her  vast  expectations. 
.She  was  withal  a  little  of  a  coquette,  as  might  be 
perceived  even  in  her  dress,  which  was  a  mixture  of 
ancient  and  modem  fashions,  as  most  suited  to  set 
off  her  charms.  She  wore  the  omaments  of  pure 
yellow  gold,  which  her  great-great-grandmother  had 
brought  over  from  Saardam  ;  the  tempting  stomacher 
of  the  olden  time,  and  withal  a  provokingly  short 
petticoat,  to  tlisplay  the  prettiest  foot  and  ankle  in 
the  countr)'  round. 

Ichabod  Crane  had  a  soft  and  foolish  heart  toward 
the  sex ;  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  that  so 
tempting  a  morsel  soon  found   favour  in  his  eyes, 
more  especially  after  he  had  \'isited  her  in  her  pa- 
ternal mansion.    Old  Baltus  Van  Tassel  was  a  per- 
fect picture  of  a  thriving,  contented,  liberTl-hearted 
farmer.     He  seldom,  it  is  true,  sent  either  his  eyes 
or  his  thoughts  beyond  the  boundaries  of  his  owr. 
farm  ;  but  within  these,  every  thing  was  snug,  happy 
and  well-conditioned.      He  was  satisfied  with   iiis 
we.alth,  but   not  proud  of  it ;   and  piqued   hinnelf 
upon  the  hearty  abund.ance,  rather  tn.an  the  style  iii 
which  he  lived.    His  strong-hold  was  situated  on  th? 
banks  of  the  Hudson,  in  one  of  those  green,  s!  el- 
tered,  fertile  nooks,  in  which  the  Dutch  fanners  :tre 
so  fond  of  nestling.    A  great  elm-tree  spread  its 
broad  branches  over  it ;  at  the  foot  of  which  bubbled 
up  a  spring  of  the  softest  and  sweetest  water,  in  a 
little  well,  formed  of  a  barrel ;  and  then  stole  spark- 
ling away  through  the  grass,  to  a   neighbourin| 
brook,  that  babbled  along  among  alders  and  dwarf 
willows.    Hard  by  the  farm-house  was  a  vast  barn, 
that  might  have  served  for  a  church  ;  every  window 
and  crevice  of  which  seemed  bursting  forth  with  the 
treasures  of  the  farm;  the  flail  was  busily  resound- 
ing within  it  from  morning  to  night ;  swallows  and 
martins  skimmed  twittering  about  the  eaves;  and 
rows  of  pigeons,  some  with  one  eye  turned  up,  as  if 
watching  the  weather,  some  with  their  heads  under 
their  wings,  or  buried  in  their  bosoms,  and  others, 
swc-lling,  and  cooing,  and  bowing  about  their  dames, 
were  enjoying  the  sunshine  on  the  roof.     Sleek,  un- 
wieldy porkers  were  gmnting   in   the   repose  and 
abundance  of  their  pens,  from  whence  sallied  forth, 
now  and  then,  troops  of  sucking  pigs,  as  if  to  snufi" 
the  air.    A  stately  squadron  of  snowy  geese  were 
riding  in  an  .adjoining  pond,  convoying  whole  fleets 
of   ducks;    regiments    of   turkeys   were    gobbling 
through  the    farm-yard,  and    guinea-fowls   frettii.g 
about   it   like   ill-tempered    housewives,   with   their 
peevish,   discontented   cry.     Before  the   bam   door 
strutted  the  gallant  cock,  that  pattern  of  a  husband, 
a  warrior,  and  a  fine  gentleman ;  clapping  his  bur- 
nished wings  and  crowing  in  the  pride  and  gladness 
of  his  heart — sometimes  tearing  up  the  earth  with 
his  feet,  and  then  generously  calling  his  ever-hungry 
family  of  wives  and  children  to  enjoy  the  rich  morsel 
which  he  had  tliscovered. 

The  pedagogue's  mouth  watered,  as  he  Ic  )ked 
upon  this  sumptuous  promise  of  luxurious  wint« 
fare.    In  his  devouring  mind's  eye,  he  pictured  U 


n 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


m4 


Hi*H.'. 


himself  every  roasting  pig  running  about,  with  a 
pudding  in  its  belly,  and  an  apple  in  its  mouth  ;  the 
pigeons  were  snugly  put  to  be<l  in  a  comfortable  pie, 
iuid  tucked  in  with  a  coverlet  of  crust ;  the  geese 
were  swimming  in  their  ovvi.  gravy ;  and  the  (Tucks 
pairing  cosily  in  dishes,  like  snug  married  couples, 
wi'.h  a  decent  com|>eteiicy  of  onion  sauce.  In  the 
parkcrs  he  saw  carved  out  the  future  sleek  side  of 
b.i<cc>n,  and  juicy  relishing  ham ;  not  a  turkey,  but 
Jc  beheld  daintily  trussed  up,  with  its  gizzard  under 
ita  wing,  and,  peradventure,  a  necklace  of  savoury 
anusages ;  and  even  bright  chanticleer  himself  lay 
sprawling  on  his  back,  in  a  side  dish,  with  uplifted 
claws,  as  if  craving  that  quarter  which  his  chivalrous 
spirit  disdained  to  ask  while  living. 

As  the  enraptured  Ichabod  fancied  all  this,  and  as 
he  rolled  his  great  green  eyes  over  the  fat  meadow 
lands,  the  rich  fields  of  wheat,  of  rye,  of  buckwheat, 
and  Indian  com,  and  the  orchards  burthened  with 
ruddy  fruit,  which  surrounded  the  warm  tenement 
of  Van  Tassel,  his  heart  yearned  after  the  damsel 
who  was  to  inherit  these  domains,  and  his  imagin.a- 
tion  expanded  with  the  idea,  how  they  might  be 
readily  turned  into  cash,  and  the  money  invested  in 
immense  tracts  of  wild  land,  and  shingle  palaces  in 
the  wilderness.  <  Nay,  his  busy  fancy  already  realized 
his  hop>es,  and  presented  to  him  the  blooming  Katrina, 
with  a  whole  family  of  children,  mounted  on  the  top 
of  a  wagon  loaded  with  household  trumpery,  with 
pots  and  kettles  dangling  beneath  ;  and  he  beheld 
himself  bestriding  a  pacing  mare,  with  a  colt  at  her 
heels,  setting  out  for  Kentucky,  Tennessee — or  the 
Lord  knows  where ! 

When  he  entered  the  house,  the  conquest  of  his 
h-'tart  was  complete.  It  was  one  of  those  spacious 
'as  11  houses,  with  high-ridged,  but  lowly-sloping 
"Oofs,  buiit  in  the  style  handed  down  from  the  first 
Dutch  settlers.  The  low  projecting  eaves  forming  a 
piazza  along  the  front,  capable  of  being  closed  up  in 
cad  weather.  Under  this  were  hung  flails,  harness, 
various  utensils  of  husbandry,  and  nt-ts  for  fishing  in 
the  neighbouring  river.  Benches  were  built  along 
the  siiles  for  summer  use ;  and  a  great  spinn'ng- 
whrel  at  one  end,  and  a  churn  at  the  other,  showed 
the  various  uses  to  which  this  important  porch 
might  be  devoted.  From  this  piazza  the  wonderful 
Iclialwd  ei.'ered  the  hall,  which  formed  the  centre 
of  the  mansion,  and  the  place  of  usual  residence. 
Here,  rows  of  resplendent  pewter,  ranged  on  a  long 
dresser,  dazzled  his  eyes.  In  one  corner  stood  z 
huge  bag  of  wool,  ready  to  be  spun  ;  in  another,  a 
quantity  of  linsey-woolsey  just  from  the  loom  ;  ears 
of  Indian  corn,  and  strings  of  dried  apples  and 
peaches,  hung  in  gay  festoons  along  the  walls, 
mingled  with  the  gaud  of  red  peppers ;  and  a  door 
left  .ijar,  g.ave  him  a  peep  into  the  best  parlour, 
where  the  claw-footed  chairs,  and  dark  mahogany 
tables,  shone  like  mirrors ;  andirons,  with  their  ac- 
companying shovel  and  tongs,  glistened  from  their 
covert  of  asparagus  tops ;  mock-oranges  and  conch 
shflls  decorated  the  mantelpiece  ;  strings  of  various 
coloi  red  birds'  eggs  were  suspended  above  it;  a 
|TC2t  ostrich  egg  was  hung  from  the  centre  of  the 
roc.li,  and  a  comer  Cjupboard,  knowingly  left  open, 
ilsplayed  immense  treasures  of  old  silver  and  well- 
;?icnded  china. 

Froai  the  moment  Ichabod  laid  his  eyes  upon  these 
regions  of  delight,  the  pe.ace  of  his  mind  w.'is  at  .an 
end,  and  his  only  study  was  how  to  gain  the  affec- 
tions of  the  peerless  ffaughter  of  Van  Tassel.  In 
this  enterprise,  however,  he  had  more  real  difficulties 
than  generally  fell  to  the  lot  of  a  knight-errant  of 
yore,  who  seldom  had  any  thing  but  giants,  en- 
ch.anters,  t'lery  dragons,  and  sucn  like  easily  ccn- 
quered  aJversaiies,  to  contend  with;   and  had  to 


make  his  way  merely  through  gates  of  lion  ane 
brass,  and  walls  of  adamant  to  the  castle-keep 
where  the  lady  of  his  heart  was  confined  ;  alt  which 
he  achieved  as  easily  as  a  man  would  carve  his  way 
to  the  centre  of  a  Cnristm.is  pie,  and  then  the  ladv 
gave  him  her  hand  as  a  matter  of  course.  Ichabo(l, 
on  the  contrary,  had  to  win  his  way  to  the  heart  of 
a  country  coquette,  beset  with  a  labyrinth  of  wliini: 
and  caprices,  which  were  for  ever  presenting  nev, 
dilTiculties  and  impediments,  and  he  tiad  to  encoun- 
ter a  host  of  fearful  c.dversaries  of  real  flesh  ani; 
blood,  the  numerous  rustic  admirers,  who  beset  everj 
portal  to  her  heart ;  keeping  a  watchful  and  angr) 
eye  upon  each  other,  but  ready  to  fly  out  in  the  com- 
mon cause  against  any  new  competitor. 

Among  these,  the  most  formidable  vas  a  burly, 
roaring,  roystering  blade,  of  the  name  of  Abraham, 
or,  according  to  the  Dutch  abbreviation,  Brom  Van 
Brunt,  the  hero  of  the  country  round,  which  runs; 
with  his  feats  of  strength  and  hardihood.  He  w:i.s 
broad-shouldered  and  double-jointed,  with  short 
curly  black  hair,  and  a  bluff,  but  not  unpleas.uit 
countenance,  having  a  mingled  air  of  fun  and  arro- 
gance. From  his  Herculean  frame  and  great  powers 
of  limb,  he  had  received  the  nickname  of  Brum 
Bones,  by  which  he  was  universally  known.  He 
was  famed  for  great  knowledge  and  skill  in  horse- 
manship, being  as  dexterous  on  horseback  as  a  Tar- 
tar. He  was  foremost  at  all  races  and  cock-fights, 
and  with  the  .ascendancy  which  bodily  strength  al- 
ways acquires  in  rustic  life,  was  the  umpire  in  all 
disputes,  setting  his  hat  on  one  side,  and  giving  hi.i 
decisions  with  an  air  and  tone  th.at  admitted  of  no 
gains.ay  or  appeal.  He  was  alw.iys  ready  for  eiti^i-r 
a  fight  or  a  frolic  ;  h.ad  more  mischief  than  ill-will  in 
his  composition  ;  and  with  all  his  overbearing  rocg'i- 
ness,  there  was  a  strong  dash  of  waggish  good- 
humour  at  bottom.  He  had  three  or  four  boon  com- 
panions of  his  own  stamp,  who  regarded  him  as 
their  model,  and  at  the  head  of  whom  he  scour'-il 
the  country,  attending  every  scene  ot  feud  or  merri- 
ment for  miles  round,  in  cold  we.ather,  he  w.as  i!is- 
tineuished  by  a  fur  cap,  sunnounted  with  a  flauntinj,; 
fox  s  tail ;  anil  when  the  folks  at  a  country  gathering 
descried  this  well-known  crest  at  a  distance,  whisk- 
ing about  among  a  squ.ad  of  hard  riders,  they  always 
stood  by  for  a  s(|uall.  Sometimes  his  crew  would 
be  heard  dashing  along  past  the  farmhouses  at  iiiid- 
night,  with  whoop  and  halloo,  like  a  troop  of  Dmi 
Co5.sacks,  and  the  old  dames,  startled  out  of  tluii 
sleep,  would  listen  for  a  moment  till  the  hurry-si.urry 
had  clattered  by,  and  then  exclaim,  "  Ay,  there  gvcs 
Brom  Bones  and  his  gang ! "  The  neighbours 
'ooked  upon  him  with  a  mixture  of  awe,  admiration, 
and  good-will ;  and  when  any  madcap  prank,  or 
rustic  brawl  occurred  in  the  vicinity,  .always  shook 
their  heads,  and  warranted  Brom  Bones  was  at  the 
bottom  of  it. 

This  rantipole  hero  had  for  some  time  singled  out 
the  blooming  Katrina  for  the  object  of  his  uncouth 
gallantries,  and  though  his  amorous  toyings  wcrr 
something  like  the  genfle  caresses  and  rndcarmeni; 
of  a  bear,  yet  it  was  whispered  thra  she  did  not  alto- 
gether discourage  his  hopes.  Certain  it  is,  his  .  d- 
vances  were  signals  for  rival  candidates  to  retire 
who  felt  no  inclination  to  cross  a  lion  in  his  amours 
insomuch,  that  when  his  horse  was  seen  tied  t5  V.iii 
Tassel's  paling,  on  a  Sunday  night,  a  sure  sign  th.it 
hin  m.aster  was  courting,  or,  as  't  is  termed,  "  spark- 
ing," within,  all  other  suitors  passed  by  in  despair 
and  carried  the  war  into  other  quarters. 

.Such  was  the  formidable  rival  with  whom  Ichabod 

Crane  had  to  contend,  and  considering  all  things,  i 

stouter  man  than  he  would  have  shrunk  from  the 

1  competition,  and  a  wiser  mar  would  have  despaired 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


Hr  had,  howcier,  a  happy  mixture  of  pliability  and 
perseverance  in  his  nature ;  he  was  in  form  and 
spirit  like  a  supple-jack— yielding,  but  tough  ;  though 
he  bent,  he  never  broke ;  and  though  he  bowed  be- 
iie.ith  the  slightest  pressure,  yet,  the  moment  it  was 
AW  ly— jerk  ! — he  was  as  erect,  and  carried  his  head 
■i«  high  aa  ever. 

To  have  taken  the  field  openly  against  his  rival. 
.^Ouli  have  been  madness;  for  he  was  not  a  man  to 
3S  thwarted  in  his  amours,  any  more  than  that 
jJirr.'.y  lover,  Achilles.  Ichalwd,  therefore,  made 
'..J  advances  in  a  quii;i  and  geniiy-iiisinuatmg  man- 
V  iY.  Under  cover  of  hi-,  character  of  singing-master, 
lie  made  frequent  visits  at  the  farm-house ;  not  that 
he  had  any  thing  to  apprehend  from  the  meddlesome 
interlerence  of  parents,  which  is  so  often  a  stumbling- 
block  in  the  path  of  lovers.  Halt  Van  Tassel  was 
an  easy  indulgent^oul ;  he  loved  his  daughter  better 
even  than  his  pipe,  and  like  a  reasonable  man,  and 
an  excellent  father,  let  her  have  her  w.iy  in  every 
tiling.  His  notable  little  wife,  too,  had  enough  to  do 
to  attend  to  her  housekeeping  and  manage  the  poul- 
trj-;  for,  as  she  sagely  observed,  ducks  and  geese 
are  foolish  things,  and  must  be  looked  after,  but  girls 
can  take  care  of  themselves.  Thus,  while  the  busy 
(lame  bustled  about  the  housi;,  or  plied  her  spinning- 
wheel  at  one  end  of  the  pi.^zza,  honest  Bait  would 
sit  smoking  his  evening  pipe  at  the  other,  watching 
the  achievements  of  a  little  wooden  warrior,  who, 
armeil  with  a  sword  in  each  hand,  was  most  valiantly 
fighting  the  wind  on  the  j)iiinacle  of  the  bam.  In 
the  mean  time,  Ichabod  would  carry  on  his  suit  with 
the  daughter  by  the  side  of  the  spring  under  the 
^reat  elm,  or  sauntering  along  in  the  twilight,  that 
uour  so  favourable  to  the  lover's  elotiuence. 

I  profess  not  to  know  how  women's  hearts  are 
BTOced  and  won.  To  me  they  h.ave  always  been  mat- 
virs  of  riddle  and  admiration.  Some  seem  to  have 
,;,it  one  vulnerable  point,  or  door  of  access;  while 
ethers  have  a  thousand  avenues,  and  may  be  cap- 
tured in  a  thousand  different  w.tys.  It  is  a  great  tri- 
umph of  skill  to  gain  the  fonner,  but  a  still  greater 
prnof  of  generalship  to  m.aintain  possession  of  the 
liter,  for  a  man  must  battle  for  his  fortress  at  every 
door  and  window.  He  that  wins  a  thousand  com- 
mon hearts,  is  therefore  entitled  to  some  renown ; 
but  he  who  keeps  undisputed  sway  over  the  heart 
of  a  coquette,  is  indeed  a  hero.  Certain  it  is,  this 
was  not  the  case  with  the  redoubtable  Brom  Bones ; 
anil  from  the  moment  Ichabod  Crane  made  his  ad- 
vances, the  interests  of  the  former  evidently  de- 
clined :  his  horse  was  no  longer  seen  tied  at  the  pal- 
ings on  Sund.ay  nights,  and  a  deadly  feud  gradually 
arose  between  him  and  the  perceptor  of  Sleepy 
Hollow. 

Brom,  who  had  a  degree  of  rough  chivalry  in  his 
nature,  would  fain  have  carried  matters  to  open 
w.irfare.  and  settled  their  pretensions  to  the  lady,  ac- 
cording to  the  mode  of  those  most  concise  and  sim- 
ple reasoners,  the  knights  errant  of  yore — by  single 
combat ;  but  Ichabod  was  too  conscious  of  the  supe- 
lor  might  of  his  adversary  to  enter  the  lists  against 
:.i;n ;  he  had  overheard  the  boast  of  Bones,  that  he 
ffjuld  "double  the  schoolmaster  up, and  nut  him  on 
i  siielf;"  ;nd  he  was  too  war\'  to  give  liim  an  op- 
jjitunity.  There  was  something  extremely  nrovoK- 
'r-f;  in  this  obstinately  p.acific  system  ;  it  left  Brom 
r.'.)  aliemativfi  but  to  draw  ujwn  the  funds  of  rustic 
•A-aggery  in  h;s  disposition,  and  to  play  off  boorish 
pr.\:Mcal  jokes  upon  his  rival.  Ichabod  became  the 
ol>je:t  of  whimsical  persecution  to  Bones,  and  his 
gang  of  rough  riders.  They  harried  his  hitherto 
pe.aceful  domains  ;  smoked  out  his  singincf -school,  by 
unpptng  up  tne  chimney;  broke  into  the  school- 
house  at  night,  in  .spitt  of  its  ♦onnida^'e  fastenings 


of  withe  and  window  stakes,  and  tuned  every  tMnj 
topsv-turvy  ;  so  that  the  poor  schoolmas'cr  began  to 
thinfc  all  the  witches  in  the  country  held  their  meet- 
ings there.  But  what  was  still  more  annoying,  Broin 
took  all  opportunities  of  turning  him  into  ridicule  in 
presence  of  his  mistress,  and  had  a  scoundrel  dog 
whom  he  taught  to  whine  ir,  the  most  ludicniut 
manner,  and  introduced  as  a  rival  of  Ichabod's,  tc 
instruct  her  in  psalmody. 

In  this  way,  matters  went  on  for  some  time,  wlh- 
out  producing  any  materal  effect  on  the  relativa 
situations  of  the  contendir.g  powers.  On  a  fine  au- 
tumnal afternoon,  Ichabod,  in  pensive  mood,  sat  en- 
throned on  the  lofty  stool  from  wht  nee  he  usually 
watched  all  the  concerns  of  his  little  literar>'  realm. 
In  his  hand  he  swayed  s.  ferule,  that  sceptre  of  des- 
potic power ;  the  birch  of  justice  reposed  on  three 
nails,  behind  the  throne,  a  constant  terror  to  evil 
doers ;  while  on  the  desk  before  him  might  be  seen 
sundry  contraband  articles  and  prohibited  weapons, 
delected  upon  the  persons  of  idle  urchins ;  such  as 
half-munched  apples,  popguns,  whirligigs,  fly-cages, 
and  whole  legions  of  rampant  little  paper  game-cocks. 
Apparently  there  had  been  some  appalling  act  of 
justice  recently  inflicte<l,  for  his  scholars  were  all 
busily  intent  upon  their  books,  or  slyly  whispering 
behind  them  with  one  eye  kept  upon^  the  master ; 
and  a  kind  of  buzzing  stillness  reigned  throughout 
the  school-room.  It  was  suddenly  intcrnipted  by 
the  appearance  of  a  negro  in  tow-cloth  jacket  and 
trowsers,  a  round  crowned  fragment  of  a  hat,  like 
the  cap  of  Mercury,  and  mounted  on  thr  back  of  a 
ragged,  wild,  half-broken  colt,  which  he  managed 
with  a  rope  by  way  of  halter.  He  came  chattering 
up  to  the  school-door  with  an  invitation  to  Ichabrd 
to  attend  a  merry-m.aking,  or  "  quilting  frolic,"  to  be 
held  that  evening  at  Mynheer  Van  "Tassel's ;  and 
having  delivered  his  message  with  that  air  of  itn- 
portance,  and  etTort  at  fine  language,  which  a  ncgrc 
is  a[)t  to  displav  on  petty  embassies  of  the  kind,  ht 
dashed  over  the  brook,  and  was  seen  scampering 
away  up  the  hollow,  full  of  the  importance  and  hurry 
of  his  mission. 

All  was  now  bustle  and  hubbub  in  the  late  quiet 
school-room.  The  scholars  were  hurried  through 
their  lessons,  without  stopping  at  trifles;  those  who 
were  nimble,  skipped  over  half  with  impunity,  and 
those  who  were  tardy,  had  a  smart  application  now 
and  then  in  the  rear,  to  quicken  their  speed,  or  help 
them  over  a  tall  word.  Books  were  flung  asidf ,  with- 
out being  put  away  on  the  shelves;  inkst.'-.ids  were 
overturned,  benches  thrown  down,  and  the  whole 
school  was  turned  loose  an  hour  beiore  the  usu:J 
time ;  bursting  forth  like  a  legion  of  young  imps 
yelping  and  racketing  about  the  green,  in  joy  at 
their  early  emancipation. 

The  gallant  Ichattod  now  spent  at  least  an  extra 
half-hour  at  his  toilet,  brushing  and  furbishing  up 
his  best,  and  indeed  only  suit  of  rusty  black,  and  ar- 
ranging his  looks  by  a  bit  of  broken  looking-glass, 
that  hung  up  in  the  school-house.  That  he  might 
make  his  appearance  before  his  mistress  in  the  true 
style  of  a  cav.alier,  he  l)orrowed  a  horse  from  the 
i  farmer  with  whom  he  was  domiciliated,  a  choleric 
j  old  Dutchman,  of  the  name  of  Hans  Van  Ripper, 
I  and  thus  L;allantly  mounted,  issued  forth  like  s 
i  knight-errant  in  quest  of  adventures.  But  it  is  meet 
I  should,  in  the  true  spirit  of  romantic  storj",  give 
some  account  of  the  looks  and  equipments  of  my 
hero  and  his  steed.  The  animal  he  bestrode  was  a 
broken-down  plough-horse,  that  had  outlived  almost 
ever,'  thing  but  his  viciousness.  He  was  gaunt  and 
shagged,  with  a  ewe  neck  and  a  head  like  a  hauimer ; 
his  rusty  mane  and  t.ail  were  tangled  and  knotted 
v/illi  burrs ;  one  eye  had  lost  its  pi^il,  and  was 


t 


M 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING 


glarinjr  and  spectral,  but  the  other  had  the  gleam  of 
a  G[enuinc  devil  in  it.  Still  he  must  have  had  fire 
and  muttle  in  his  day,  if  we  may  judge  from  his 
name,  which  was  Gunpowder.  He  had,  in  fact, 
^ecn  a  favourite  steed  oj  his  master's,  the  choleric 
Van  Ripper,  who  was  a  furious  rider,  and  had 
infused,  very  probably,  some  of  his  own  spirit  into 
(he  animal;  for,  old  and  broken-down  as  he  looked, 
iheiu  was  more  of  the  lurking  devil  in  him  than  in 
any  young  fdly  in  the  country. 

Inabod  was  a  suitable  hgure  for  stich  a  steed. 
(Ir  rode  with  short  stirrups,  which  brought  his  knees 
Hcvifly  up  to  the  pommel  of  the  saddle  ;  his  sharp 
elbows  stuck  out  like  grasshoppers' ;  he  carried  his 
whip  peq^endicularly  in  his  hand,  like  a  sceptre, 
ami  as  the  horse  jogged  on,  the  motion  of  his  arms 
was  not  unlike  the  tlapping  of  a  pair  of  wings.  A 
small  wool  hat  rested  on  the  ton  of  his  nose,  for  so 
his  scanty  strip  of  forehead  might  be  called,  and  the 
skirts  of  his  black  coat  fluttered  out  almost  to  the 
horse's  tail.  Such  was  the  appearance  of  Ichabod 
and  his  steed  as  they  shambled  out  of  the  gate  of 
Hans  Van  Ripper,  and  it  was  altogether  such  an 
j,T     ,'  apparition  as  is  seldom  to  be  met  with  in  broad  day- 

Ul,;".;.  :-  light. 

.i»>i      "  It  was,  as  I  have  said,  a  fine  autumnal  day;  the 

sky  was  clear  and  serene,  and  nature  wore  that  rich 
and  golden  livery  which  we  always  associate  with 
the  idea  of  abumlance.  The  forests  had  put  on  their 
sober  brown  and  yellow,  while  some  trees  of  the  ten- 
derer kind  had  been  nipped  by  the  frosts  into  bril- 
liant dyes  of  orange,  purple,  and  scarlet.  Streaming 
\  filcj  of  wild  ducks  began  to  make  their  appearance 

high  in  the  air;  the  bark  of  the  squirrel  might 
be  heard  from  the  groves  of  beech  and  hickory-nuts, 
»rd  the  pensive  whistle  of  the  quail  at  intervals 
ffvVn  the  neijrhbouring  stubble  field. 

The  small  birds  were  taking  their  farewell  ban- 
quets. In  the  fulness  of  their  revelry,  they  fluttered, 
chirping  and  frolicking,  from  bush  to  bush,  and  tree 
to  ttee,  capricious  from  the  very  profusion  and 
variety  around  them.  There  was  the  honest  cock- 
robin,  the  favourite  game  of  stripling  sportsmen, 
with  its  loud  querulous  noie,  and  the  twittering 
blackbirds  flying  in  sable  clouds;  and  the  golden- 
winged  woodpecker,  with  his  crimson  crest,  his 
broad  black  gorget,  and  splendid  plumage  ;  and  the 
cedar-bird,  with  its  red-tipt  wings  and  yellow-tipt 
tail,  and  its  little  monteiro  cap  of  feathers;  and  the 
blue  jay,  that  noisy  coxcomb,  in  his  gay  light  blue 
coat  and  white  underclothes,  screaming  and  chat- 
tering, notlding,  anil  bobbing,  and  bowing,  and  pre- 
tending to  be  on  good  tenns  with  every  songster  of 
the  grove. 

As  Ichabo<l  jogged  slowly  on  his  way,  his  eye, 
ever  open  to  every  symptom  of  culinary  almndance, 
ranged  with  delight  over  the  treasures  of  jolly  autumn. 
On  all  sides  he  beheld  va.st  store  of  apples,  some 
hanging  in  oppressive  opulence  on  the  trees  ;  some 
gathered  into  baskets  and  barrels  for  the  market; 
others  heaped  up  in  rich  piles  for  the  cider-press. 
Farther  on  he  beheld  great  fields  of  Indian  com, 
with  its  golden  ears  peeping  from  their  leafy  co- 
verts, and  holding  out  the  promise  of  cakes  and 
haity-pudding ;  and  the  yellow  pumpkins  lying  be- 
!  I     .*.i.  lieath   them,    turning   up   their   fair   round    bellies 

":|:   >=  *■■  ia  the  sun,  and  giving  ample  prosiects  of  the  most 

iiisiuious  of  pies  ;  and  anon  he  passed  the  fragrant 
buckwheat  fields,  breathing  the  odour  of  the  bee- 
hive, and  as  he  beheld  them,  .soft  anticipations  stole 
over  iiis  mind  of  dainty  slap-j.icks,  well  buttered, 
and  gariiishi-d  with  honey  or  treacle,  by  the  delicate 
little  dimpled  hand  of  Katrina  Van  Tassel. 

Thus  feeding  his  mind  with  many  sweet  thoughts 
and  ■  sugarcc  suppositions."  he  jo  meyed  along  the 


sides  of  a  range  of  hills  which  look  out  upo;  some  ol 
the  goodliest  scenes  of  the  mighty  Hudson.  The  sun 
graiRially  wheeled  his  bro.ad  disk  down  into  the  west 
The  wide  bosom  of  the  Tappaan  Zee  lay  motionlr.si 
and  glassy,  excepting  that  nere  and  there  a  genils 
undulation  waved  and  prolonged  the  blue  shadow  ol 
the  distant  mountain.  A  few  amber  clouds  floaf'l 
in  the  sky,  without  a  breath  of  air  to  move  the:n, 
The  horizon  was  of  a  fine  golden  tint,  changinp 
gradually  into  a  pure  apple  green,  and  from  that  iiitc. 
the  deep  blue  of  the  mid-heaven.  A  slanting  ia\ 
lingered  on  the  woody  crests  of  the  precipices  th;.i 
overhung  some  parts  of  the  river,  giving  greater  depth 
to  the  dark  gray  and  purple  of  their  rocky  sides.  A 
sloop  w.as  loitering  in  the  dist.ance,  dropping  slowK 
down  with  the  tide,  her  sail  hanging  uselessly  against 
the  m.ast ;  and  as  the  reflection  of  the  sky  gleanin] 
along  the  still  water,  it  seemed  as  if  the  vessel  w.is 
susjiended  in  the  air. 

It  was  toward  evening  that  Ichabod  arrived  at  the 
castle  ot  the  Heer  Van  Tassel,  which  he  found  thron.;- 
ed  with  the  pride  ami  flower  of  the  adjacent  country. 
Old  farmers,  a  spare  leathern-faced  race,  in  home- 
spun coats  and  breeches,  blue  stockings,  huge  shoes 
and  magnificent  pewter  buckles.  Their  brisk,  with- 
<;red  little  dames,  in  close  crimped  caps,  long-waisti'd 
gowns,  hoinespun  petticoats,  with  scissors  and  i)m- 
cushions,  and  gay  calico  pockets  hanging  on  the  out- 
side. Huxom  lasses,  almost  as  anti()uated  as  their 
mothers,  excepting  where  a  straw  hat,  a  fine  ribanil, 
or  perhaps  a  white  frock,  gave  symptoms  of  city  in 
novations.  The  sons,  ir.  short  s(|uare-skirted  coats, 
with  rows  of  stupendous  brass  buttons,  and  their 
hair  generally  r|ueued  in  the  fashion  of  the  timei, 
especially  if  they  could  procure  an  eclskin  for  tl-.f 
purpose,  it  being  esteemed  throughout  the  country 
as  a  |)otent  nourisher  and  strengthener  of  the  hair 

Brom  Hones,  however,  was  tiie  hero  of  the  scene, 
having  come  to  the  gathering  on  his  favourite  stec(! 
Daredevil,  a  creature,  like  himself,  full  of  mettle 
and  mischief,  and  which  no  one  but  himself  coulil 
manage.  He  was,  in  fact,  noted  for  preferring 
Wcious  animals,  given  to  all  kinds  of  tricks  which 
kept  the  rider  in  constant  risk  of  his  neck,  for  he  ht  Id 
a  tractable  well-broken  horse  as  unworthy  of  a  lad 
of  spirit. 

Fain  would  I  pause  to  dwell  upon  the  world  of 
charms  that  burst  upon  the  enraptured  gaze  of  my 
hero,  ;is  he  entered  the  state  parlour  of  Van  Tassels 
mansion.  Not  those  of  the  bevy  of  buxom  lasses, 
with  their  luxurious  display  of  red  and  white  ;  hut 
the  ample  chamis  of  a  genuine  Dutch  country  te.i- 
tabie,  in  the  sumptuous  time  of  autumn.  Such  heap- 
ed-u[;  platters  of  cakes  of  various  and  almost  inde- 
scribable kinds,  known  only  to  exjxiri^nced  Dutch 
housev/ives  !  There  w.as  the  doughty  dough-nut,  the 
tender  oly-koek,  and  the  crisp  and  crumbling  cniller ; 
sweet  cakes  and  short  cakes,  ginger  cakes  and  honey 
cakes,  and  the  whole  fanuly  of  cakes,  And  then 
there  were  apple  pies,  and  pe.ach  pies,  and  pumpkin 
pies  ;  besides  slices  of  ham  and  smoked  beef ;  and 
mon^'iver  delectable  dishes  of  preser\x'd  plums,  ar.d 
peaches,  and  pears,  and  quinces ;  not  to  mention 
broiled  shad  and  roasted  chickens;  together  wii.'i 
bowls  of  milk  and  creatn,  all  .ningled  higgledy- 
piggledy,  pretty  much  as  1  have  enomerated  then.. 
with  the  motherly  tea-pot  sending  up  its  cl'juds 
of  vapour  frr' ..  i.t  midst — Heaven  blcjs  the  mark  1 
I  want  breat!'  and  time  to  discuss  this  banquet 
as  it  deserves,  and  am  too  eager  to  get  on  with  niv 
story.  Happily,  Ichaind  Crane  was  not  in  so  gre.it 
a  hurry  as  his  historian,  but  did  ample  justice  to 
every  tlainty. 

He  was  a  kind  ar.d  thankful  creature,  whose  heart 
dilated  in  proportion  as  his  skin  'vas  filled  wii  h  good 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK   OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON.  Gent. 


enttf,  and  whose  spirits  rose  with  eatine,  as  some 
men's  do  with  dnnic.  He  could  not  ncip,  too, 
rolling  his  larRC  eyffs  round  him  as  he  ate,  and 
chuckiint;  with  the  possibility  that  he  mij^ht  one  day 
be  lord  of  all  this  scen«  of  almost  unimaginable 
lu'Jry  and  splendour.  Then,  he  thought,  how  soon 
hc'J  turn  his  back  upon  the  old  school-house ;  snap 
his  fingers  in  the  face  of  Hans  Van  Ripper,  and 
cvr  ;  other  nigg  irdly  patron,  and  kick  any  itinerant 
!.>.:, lagoguc  out  of  doors  that  should  dare  to  call  him 
iX'i;ir;tde  '. 

Old  Baltus  Van  Tassel  moved  about  among  his 
quests  with  a  face  dilated  with  content  and  good- 
himiour,  round  and  jolly  .as  the  harvest  moon.  His 
hospitable  .attentions  were  brief,  but  expressive, 
being  confined  to  a  shake  of  the  hand,  a  slap  on  the 
shoulder,  a  loud  laugh,  and  a  pressing  invitation  to 
"  tall  to,  and  help  themselves." 

And  now  the  sound  of  the  music  from  the  com- 
mon room,  or  hall,  summoned  to  the  d.ance.  The 
.T.usician  was  an  old  gray-headed  negto,  who  had 
been  the  itnerant  orchestra  of  the  neighbourhood 
lor  more  than  h.alf  a  century.  His  instrument  was 
as  old  .anil  battered  .as  himself.  The  greater  part  of 
the  time  he  scraped  away  on  two  or  three  strings, 
accompanying  every  movement  of  the  bow  with  a 
niotion  of  the  head  ;  bowing  almost  to  the  ground, 
and  stam|)ing  with  his  foot  whenever  a  fresh  couple 
were  lo  start. 

Ichabod  prided  himself  upon  his  dancing  .as  much 
as  upon  his  vocal  powers.  Not  a  limb,  not  a  fibre 
about  him  was  idle ;  and  to  have  seen  his  loosely 
h'-.r.g  frame  in  full  motion,  and  cl.ittering  about  the 
room  you  would  h.ave  thought  St.  Vitus  himself,  that 
bhssel  patron  of  the  dance,  w.as  figuring  before  you 
',r.  person,  lie  was  the  admiration  of  all  the  negroes; 
>vho,  having  gathered,  of  all  ages  and  sizes,  from  the 
."^rm  and  the  neighbourhood,  stood  forming  a  pyramid 
Df  shining  bl.ick  faces  at  every  door  and  window  ; 
gazing  with  delight  at  the  scene ;  rolling  their  white 
eye-balls,  and  showing  grinning  rows  of  ivory  from 
ear  to  ear.  How  could  the  llogger  of  urchins  be 
otherwise  than  animated  and  joyous  ?  the  lady  of 
his  he.irt  w.as  his  |)artnfr  in  the  dance,  and  smiling 
graciously  in  reply  to  all  his  amorous  oglings  ;  while 
Brom  Hones,  sorely  smitten  with  love  and  jealousy, 
sat  brooding  by  himself  in  one  corner. 

When  the  dance  w.as  at  an  end,  Ichabod  was  at- 
tr.icted  to  a  knot  of  the  s.ager  folks,  who,  with  Old 
Van  Tassel,  sal  smoking  at  one  end  of  the  pi,azza, 
gossiping  over  former  times,  and  dr.awling  out  long 
slorifs  about  the  war. 

This  nei^;hbourhood,  at  the  time  of  which  I  am 
speaking,  was  one  of  those  highly  favoured  places 
which  abound  with  chronicle  and  gn;at  men.  The 
liritish  and  American  line  had  run  near  it  during  the 
war;  it  h.ad,  therefore,  been  the  scene  of  marauding, 
and  infested  with  refugees,  cow-boys,  .and  all  kind 
of  border  chiv.alry.  Just  sufficient  time  had  elapsed 
to  enable  each  story-teller  to  dress  up  his  tale  with  a 
Lttle  becoming  fiction,  and,  in  the  indistinctness  of 
his  recollection,  to  make  himself  the  hero  of  every 
:iplott. 

There  was  the  story  of  DoflTue  Martling,  a  Large 
1  e-bearded  Dutchman,  who  had  nearly  taken  a 
Hiiiish  frigate  with  an  old  iron  nine-pounder  from  a 
r[\w\  bre:istwork,  only  that  his  gim  burst  .at  the  sixth 
ilischarge.  And  there  was  an  old  gentleman  who 
iliall  he  nameless,  being  too  rich  a  mynheer  to  be 
lightly  mentioned,  who,  in  the  battle  of  Whiteplains, 
^)eing  an  excellent  master  of  defence,  parried  a 
:i;usket-ball  with  a  small-sword,  insomuch  that  he 
■.bsolutely  felt  it  whiz  rpuiid  the  blade,  and  glance 
■jtf  at  the  hilt;  in  proof  of  which  he  was  readv  at 
any  tune  to  show  the  sword,  with  the  hilt  a  little 


bent.  There  were  several  more  that  had  beet 
equa'ly  great  in  the  field,  not  one  ol  whom  but  wat 
persuaded  that  he  had  a  considerable  hand  in  bring- 
ing the  war  to  a  happy  termination. 

But  all  these  were  nothing  to  the  tales  of  ghosti 
ind  apparitions  th.at  succeeded.  The  neighbourhood 
is  rich  in  legendary  treasures  of  the  kind.  Loca 
tales  and  superstitiois  thrive  best  in  these  sheltered, 
long-settled  retreats ,  but  are  trampled  under  frol 
by  the  shifting  throng  that  forms  the  pcpulation  ol 
most  of  our  counfry  places.  Besides,  there  is  no 
encour.igement  for  ghosts  in  most  of  our  vill.nges, 
for  they  ha-  e  scarcely  had  time  to  finish  their  first 
nap,  and  turn  themselves  in  their  graves,  before 
their  sun'iving  friends  have«travelled  away  from  the 
neighbourhood  :  so  th.at  when  they  turn  out  at  night 
to  w.alk  their  rounds,  they  have  no  acquaintance  left 
to  call  upon.  This  is  perhaps  the  reason  why  we  so 
seldom  hear  of  ghosts  except  in  our  long-established 
Dutch  communities. 

The  immediate  cause,  however,  of  the  prevalence 
of  supernatural  stories  in  these  parts,  w.as  doubtless 
owing  to  the  vicinity  of  Sleepy  Hollow.  There  was 
a  contagion  in  the  very  a'.r  that  blew  from  that 
h.aunted  region  ;  it  breatheil  forth  an  atmosphere  of 
dreams  and  fancies  infecting  all  the  land.  Several 
of  the  Sleepy  Hollow  people  were  present  at  Van 
Tassel's,  and,  as  usual,  were  doling  out  their  wild 
and  wonderful  legends.  Many  dismal  talcs  were 
tolil  .about  funer.al  trains,  and  mourning  cries  and 
wailings  heard  and  seen  about  the  great  tree  where 
the  unfortunate  M.ajor  Andre  was  taken,  and  which 
stood  in  the  neighbourhood.  Some  mention  was 
m.ade  also  of  the  woman  in  white,  that  haunted  the 
dark  glen  at  Raven  Rock,  and  w.as  often  heard  to 
shriek  on  winter  nights  before  a  stonn,  having  per- 
ished  there  in  the  snow.  The  chief  part  of  the  stories, 
however,  turned  upon  the  favourite  spectre  of  Sleepj 
Hollow,  the  headless  horseman,  who  had  been  heard 
several  times  of  late,  patroling  the  country;  and  it 
is  said,  tethered  his  horse  nightly  among  the  graves 
in  the  churchyard. 

The  se(|uestered  situation  of  this  church  seems 
always  to  have  made  it  a  favourite  haunt  of  troubled 
spirits.  It  stands  on  a  knoll,  surrounded  by  locust- 
trees  and  lofty  elms,  from  among  which  its  decent, 
whitewashed  walls  shine  modestly  forth,  like  Chris- 
tian i)urity,  beaming  through  the  shades  of  retire- 
ment. A  gentle  slope  descends  from  it  to  a  silver 
sheet  of  water,  bordered  by  high  trees,  between 
which,  peeps  may  be  caught  at  the  blue  hills  of  the 
Hudson.  To  look  upon  its  grass-grown  yard,  where 
the  sunbeams  seem  to  sleep  so  quietly,  one  would 
think  that  there  at  le.ast  the  dead  might  rest  in 
peace.  On  one  side  of  the  church  extends  a  wide 
woody  dell,  along  which  r.aves  a  large  brook  among 
broken  rocks  and  trunks  of  fallen  trees.  Over  a  deep 
black  part  of  the  streain,  not  far  from  the  church, 
was  formeriy  thrown  a  wooden  bridge ;  the  road 
that  led  to  'it,  and  the  bridge  itself,  were  thickly 
shaded  by  overhanging  trees,  which  cast  a  gloom 
about  it.  even  in  the  day-time ;  but  occasioned  n 
fearful  darkness  at  night.  Such  w.as  one  of  the 
favourite  haunts  of  the  headless  horseman,  and  tho 
place  where  he  was  most  iVequently  encountered. 
The  tale  w.as  told  of  old  Brouwer,  a  most  hetetica] 
disbeliever  in  ghosts,  how  he  met  the  hoiseman  re« 
turning  from  his  tor.ay  into  Sleepy  Hollow,  and  was 
obliged  to  get  up  behind  him ;  now  they  galloped 
over  bush  and  brake,  over  hill  and  swamp,  unt.l  they 
reached  the  bridge  ;  when  the  horseman  suddenly 
turned  into  a  skeleton,  threw  okl  Brouwer  into  the 
brook,  .and  sprang  away  over  the  tree-tops  with  a 
clsip  of  thunder. 
I     This  story  was  immediately  natched  by  a  thric« 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVINO. 


fk 


*r.n 


nnarvellous  adventiiic  of  Brom  Bones,  who  made 
lieht  of  the  gallupiii^  Hessian  as  an  arrant  jockey. 
He  atTirnieil,  that  on  returning;  one  night  from  the 
neighljourinju  village  of  Sinjif-Sing.  he  had  been  over- 
taken by  this  midnight  trooper ;  that  he  had  offered 
to  race  with  hint  for  a  bowl  of  punch,  and  should 
have  won  it  too,  for  Daredevil  beat  the  goblin  horse 
&1I  hollow,  but  just  as  they  came  to  the  church 
liiidge,  the  Hessian  bolted,  and  vanished  in  a  Hash 
'M  fire. 

All  these  tales,  told  in  that  drowsy  under  tone 
*;th  which  men  talk  in  the  dark,  the  countenances 
of  the  listeners  only  now  and  then  receiving  a  casual 
gleam  from  the  glare  of  a  pipe,  sunk  deep  in  the 
mind  of  Ichabod.  Me.  repaid  them  in  kind  with 
large  extracts  from  his  invaluable  author,  Cotton 
Mather,  and  added  many  marvellous  events  that  had 
taken  place  in  his  native  State  of  Connecticut,  and 
fearful  .lights  which  he  had  seen  in  his  nightly  walks 
about  Sleepy  Holluw. 

The  revel  now  gradually  broke  up.  The  old  far- 
mers gathered  together  their  families  in  their  w.igons, 
and  were  heard  lor  some  time  rattling  along  the  hol- 
low roads,  and  over  the  distant  hills.  Some  of  the 
damsels  mounted  on  pillions  behind  their  favourite 
swains,  .and  theij  lieht-hearted  laui;hter,  mingling 
with  the  clatter  of  hoofs,  echoed  along  the  silent 
woodlands,  sounding  fainter  and  lainter,  until  they 
gfradually  died  away — and  the  late  scene  of  ni/ise 
and  frolic  was  all  silent  and  deserted.  Ichabod  oidy 
lingered  behind,  according  to  the  custom  of  country 
lovers,  to  have  a  tete-a-tote  with  the  heiress;  fully 
convinced  that  he  was  now  on  the  high  road  to  suc- 
cess. What  passed  at  this  inteniew  I  will  not  pre- 
tend to  say,  for  in  fact  I  do  not  know.  Something. 
however,  I  fear  me,  must  have  gone  wrong,  for  he 
certainly  sallied  forth,  after  no  very  great  interval, 
with  an  air  quite  desolate  and  chapUllen — Oh,  these 
ATomen  !  these  women  !  Could  thai  girl  h.ive  been 
playing  off  any  of  her  coquettish  tricks? — Was  her 
encouragement  of  the  poor  pedagogue  all  a  mere 
sham  to  secure  her  conquest  of  his  rival  ? — Heaven 
only  knows,  not  I ! — Let  it  suffice  to  say,  Ichabod 
stole  forth  with  the  air  of  one  who  had  been  sacking 
a  henroost,  r.alher  than  a  fair  lady's  heart.  Without 
looking  to  the  right  or  left  to  notice  the  scene  of 
rural  wealth,  on  which  he  had  so  often  gloated,  he 
went  straight  to  the  stable,  and  with  seveial  hearty 
cuffs  and  kicks,  roused  his  steed  most  uncourteously 
from  the  comfortable  quarters  in  which  he  was 
soundly  sleeping,  dreaming  of  mountains  of  corn 
and  oats,  and  whole  valleys  of  timothy  and  clover. 

It  was  the  very  witching  time  of  night  that  Icha- 
bod, heavy-hearted  and  crest-fallen,  pursued  his  travel 
homewards,  along  the  sides  of  the  lofty  hills  which 
rise  above  Tarry  Town,  and  which  he  had  traversed 
so  cheeriiy  in  the  afternoon.  The  hour  was  as  dis- 
mal a.s  hin^.self.  Far  below  him  tiie  Tappaan  Zee 
spread  its  dusky  and  indistinct  waste  of  waters,  with 
here  and  there  the  tall  mast  of  a  sloop,  riding  quietly 
at  anchor  under  tiie  land.  In  the  dead  hush  of  mid- 
night, he  could  even  hear  the  b.irking  of  the  watch- 
dog from  the  op[)osite  shore  of  the  Hudson;  but  it 
was  so  vague  and  faint  as  only  to  give  an  idea  of  his 
dist.ance  from  this  faithful  companion  of  man.  Now 
Uid  then,  too,  the  long-drawn  crowing  of  a  cock,  ac- 
ddentally  awakened,  would  sound  far,  far  off,  frgm 
;-ome  farm-house  away  among  the  hills — but  it  w.as 
Jikc  a  dreaming  sound  in  his  ear.  No  signs  of  life 
cccurred  near  him,  but  occasionally  the  melancholy 
chirp  of  a  cricket,  or  perhaps  the  guttural  twang  of 
a  bull-frog  from  a  neighbouring  marsh,  as  if  sleeping 
ur.com fortably;  and  turning  suddenly  in  his  bed. 

All  the  stories  of  ghosts  .and  goblins  that  he  had 
beard  in  the  afternoon,  now  came  crowding  upon 


his  recollection.  The  night  grew  darker  and  darcer 
the  stars  seemed  to  sink  deeper  in  the  sky,  and 
driving  clouds  occasionally  hid  them  from  his  sight. 
He  had  never  felt  so  lonely  and  dismal.  He  was, 
moreover,  appro.aching  the  very  place  where  many 
of  the  scenes  of  the  ghost  stories  nad  been  laid.  In 
the  centre  of  the  road  stood  an  enormous  tulip-^tree, 
which  towered  like  a  giant  .above  all  the  other  tret? 
of  the  neighbourhood,  aid  formed  a  kind  of  land- 
mark. Its  limbs  were  gnarled  and  fantastic,  largr 
enough  to  form  trunks  for  ordinary  trees,  twisting, 
down  almost  to  the  eat'.h,  and  'Ising  again  intc  thr 
air.  It  was  connected  with  the  tr.agical  story  of  tl.t. 
unfortunate  Andre,  who  had  been  taken  prisoner 
hard  by;  and  was  universally  known  by  the  name  of 
Major  Andre's  tree.  The  common  people  regarded 
it  with  a  mixture  of  respect  and  superstition,  partly 
out  of  sympathy  for  the  fate  of  its  ill-starred  name- 
sake, and  partly  from  the  tales  of  strange  sights,  and 
doleful  lamentation*  told  concerning  it. 

As  Ichabod  approached  this  fearful  tree,  he  began 
to  whistle;  he  thought  his  whistle  was  answered  :  it 
was  but  a  blast  sweeping  sharply  through  the  dry 
branches.  As  he  approached  a  little  ne.irer,  he 
thought  he  saw  something  white,  hanging  in  the 
midst  of  the  tree  :  he  paused,  and  ceased  whistling  ; 
but  on  looking  more  narrowly,  perceived  that  it  w.is 
a  place  where  the  tree  had  l>een  scathed  by  lightning', 
and  the  white  wood  laid  bare.  Suddenly  he  heard  a 
groan — his  teeth  chattered,  .and  his  knees  smoic 
against  the  s<iddle :  it  was  but  the  rubbing  of  one 
huge  bough  upon  another,  as  they  were  swayed  about 
by  the  breeze.  He  passed  the  tree  in  safety,  but  new 
perils  lay  before  him. 

About  two  hundred  yards  from  the  tree,  a  smi!i 
brook  crossed  the  road,  and  ran  into  a  marshy  a'.ii 
thickly-wooded  glen,  known  by  the  name  ol  W'iiey'v 
Swamp.  A  few  rough  logs,  laid  side  by  side,  servt: 
tor  a  bridge  over  this  stream.  On  that  side  of  the  ro.-i.i 
where  the  brook  eniereil  the  wood,  a  group  of  Oid.s 
and  chestnuts,  matted  thick  with  wild  grape-vine■^, 
threw  a  cavernous  gloom  over  it.  To  pass  this  bridge, 
was  the  severest  trial.  It  was  at  this  identical  spcjt 
that  the  unfortunate  Andre  was  captured,  and  under 
the  covert  ofthose  chestnuts  and  vines  were  the  sturdy 
yeomen  concealed  who  surprised  him.  This  has 
ever  since  been  considered  a  haunted  strt-am,  and 
fearful  are  the  feelings  of  a  school-boy  who  has  to 
pass  it  alone  after  dark. 

As  he  approached  the  stream,  his  heart  began  to 
thump;  he  summoned  up,  however,  ail  his  resolu- 
tion, gave  his  horse  half  a  score  of  kicks  in  the  ribs, 
and  attempted  to  dash  briskly  across  the  bridge  ;  but 
instead  of  starting  forward,  the  perverse  old  aniiii.d 
made  a  lateral  movement,  and  ran  broadside  ag.iinst 
the  fence.  Ichabod,  whose  fears  increased  with  the 
delay,  jerked  the  reins  on  the  other  side,  and  kickrd 
lOAiily  with  the  contrary  foot :  it  sv.as  all  in  vain  ;  his 
steed  started,  it  is  true,  but  it  was  only  to  plunge  to 
the  opp(jsite  side  of  the  road  into  a  thicket  of  bram- 
bles and  alder-bushes.  The  schoolmaster  now  lv»- 
stowed  both  whip  and  heel  upon  the  starveling  rilw 
of  old  Gunpowder,  who  dashed  forwards,  snuPlinf 
and  snorting,  but  came  to  a  stand  just  by  the  bridge, 
with  a  suddenness  that  had  nearly  sent  'as  ride) 
sprawling  over  his  head.  Just  at  this  moment  t 
plashy  tramp  by  tlie  side  of  the  bridge  caught  ilif 
sensitive  e.ir  of  Ichalx)d.  In  the  dark  shadow  ol  the 
grove,  on  the  margin  of  the  brook,  he  beheld  some- 
thing huge,  misshapen,  black  and  towering.  It 
stirred  not.  but  seemeii  gathered  up  in  the  gloom, 
like  some  gigantic  monster  ready  to  spring  upon  the 
traveller. 

The  hair  of  the  affrighted  pedagogue  rose  upon 
his  head  with  terror.    VVnai  was  to  be  done  ?    To 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK   01    GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  G«mt. 


97 


tarn  and  fly  was  now  too  late ;  and  besides,  what 
chance  was  there  of  escaping  ghost  or  goblin,  if  such 
it  was,  which  could  ride  upon  the  win^s  of  the 
wind  ?  Summoning  up,  therefore,  a  show  of  courage, 
he  demanded  in  stammering  accents — "Who  are 
you?"  He  received  no  reply.  He  rcptrated  his  de- 
niand  in  a  still  more  agitated  voice.  Still  there  was 
no  answer.  Once  more  he  cudgelled  the  sides  of 
:hc  inflexible  Gunpowder,  and  shutting  his  eyes, 
ur  At  forth  with  involuntary  fervour  into  a  ps.ilm 
li;  ir.  Just  then  the  shadowy  object  of  alarm  put  it- 
Klf  in  motion,  and  with  a  scramble  and  a  bound, 
stood  at  once  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  Though 
the  r.ight  was  dark  and  dismal,  yet  the  form  of  the 
unknown  might  now  in  some  degree  be  ascertained. 
He  appearecTto  be  a  horseman  of  large  dimensions, 
and  mounted  on  a  black  horse  of  powerful  fraine.  He 
made  no  offer  of  molestation  or  sociability,  but  kept 
aloof  on  one  side  of  the  road,  jogging  along  on  tne 
blind  side  of  old  Gunpowder,  who  nad  now  got  over 
his  fright  and  waywardness. 

Ichabod,  who  had  no  relish  for  this  strange  mid- 
night companion,  and  bethought  himself  of  the  ad- 
venture of  Brom  Oones  with  the  gall.)ping  Hessian, 
now  Quickened  his  steed,  in  hopes  of  leaving  him 
bchiiia.  The  stranger,  however,  quickened  his  horse 
to  an  equal  pace.  Ichabod  pulled  up,  and  fell  into  a 
wail<,  thinking  to  lag  behind — the  other  did  the  same. 
His  heart  be^an  to  sink  within  him  :  he  endeavoured 
to  resume  his  psalm  tune,  but  his  parched  tongue 
clove  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth,  and  he  could  not 
utter  a  stave.  There  was  something  in  the  moody 
and  dogged  ftilencc  of  this  pertinacious  companion, 
that  was  mysterious  and  apjialling.  It  was  soon  fear- 
filly  accounted  for.  On  mounting  a  rising  ground, 
;i'hich  brought  the  figure  of  his  lellow-traveller  in 
rsli'jf  agaii'st  the  sky,  gigantic  in  height,  and  muffled 
Ir  n  r'oak,  i.-habod  was  norror-struck,  on  perceiving 
'.[\i\  he  was  hcaill"<is  '  b^i  his  horror  w.as  still  more 
inrr-ased,  on  obser^'ing  th.it  the  head,  which  should 
have  rested  on  his  shoulders,  was  carried  l)efore  him 
on  the  pommel  of  his  saddle !  His  terror  rose  to 
desperation  ;  he  rained  a  shower  of  kicks  and  blows 
ujwn  Gunpowder,  hoping,  by  a  sudden  movement, 
to  give  his  companion  the  slip — but  the  spectre  start- 
ed full  jump  with  him.  Away,  then,  they  dashed 
through  thick  and  thin ;  stones  flying  and  sparks 
flasliing  at  every  bound.  Ichabod's  tlimsy  garments 
llutiered  in  the  air,  as  he  stretched  his  long  lank 
body  away  over  his  horse's  head,  in  the  eagerness  of 
his  flight. 

They  had  now  reached  the  road  which  turns  ofl" 
to  Sleepy  Hollow ;  but  Gunpowder,  who  seemed 
possessed  with  a  demon,  instead  of  keeping  up  it, 
made  an  opposite  turn,  and  plunged  heaciiong  down 
hill  to  the  left.  This  road  leads  through  a  sandy 
hollow,  shaded  by  trees  for  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile, 
where  it  crosses  the  bridge  famous  \n  s"blin  story  ; 
and  just  beyond  swells  the  ^'reen  knoll  on  which 
stands  the  whitewashed  church. 

As  yet  the  panic  of  the  steed  had  given  his  unskil- 
ful rider  an  apparent  advantage  in  the  chase  ;  but 
iust  as  he  hat!  got  half-way  through  the  hollow,  the 
ritlhs  of  the  saddle  gave  way,  and  he  felt  it  slipping 
Iroin  under  him.  He  seized  it  by  the  pommel,  and 
Gideavoured  to  hold  it  firm,  but  in  vain  ;  and  had 
just  tine  to  save  himself  by  cl.aspingold  Gunpowder 
round  the  neck,  when  the  saddle  fell  to  the  earth, 
and  he  heard  it  trampled  under  foot  by  his  pursuer. 
For  a  moment  the  terror  of  Hans  Van  Kipper's  wr.ath 
p:issed  across  his  mind — for  it  was  his  Sunilay  saddle  ; 
rnit  this  was  no  time  for  petty  fears  :  the  goblin  was 
hard  on  his  haunches ;  and,  (unskilful  rider  that  he 
was  !)  he  had  much  ado  to  maintain  his  seat ;  some- 
times slipping  on  one  side,  sometimes  on  another,  and 


sometimes  jolted  on  the  high  ridge  of  his  horse's  back- 
bone, with  a  violence  that  he  verily  feared  would 
cleave  him  asunder. 

An  opening  in  the  trees  now  cheered  him  with  the 
hopes  that  tne  church  bridge  was  at  hand.  The 
wavering  reflection  of  a  silver  star  in  the  bosom  of 
the  brooK  told  him  that  he  was  not  mistaken.  He 
saw  the  walls  of  the  church  dimly  glaring  under  thf 
trees  beyond.  He  -collected  the  place  where  Uror: 
Bones'  ghostly  competitor  had  disappeared.  "  II  1 
can  but  reach  that  bridge,"  thought  Ichabod,  "  I  aui 
safe."  Just  then  he  heard  the  black  steed  panting 
and  blowing  close  behind  him  ;  he  even  fancied  that 
he  felt  his  not  breath.  Another  convulsive  kick  in 
the  ribs,  and  old  Gunpowder  sprung  upon  the  bridge ; 
he  thundered  over  the  resounding  planks ;  he  gained 
the  opposite  side,  and  now  Ichabod  cast  a  look  be- 
hind to  see  if  his  pursuer  should  vanish,  according  to 
rule,  in  a  flash  of^  fire  and  brimstone.  Just  then  he 
saw  the  goblin  rising  in  his  stirrups,  and  in  the  very 
act  of  hurling  his  head  at  him.  Ichabod  endeav- 
oured to  dodge  the  horrible  missile,  but  too  late.  It 
encountered  his  cranium  with  a  tremendous  crash- 
he  was  tumbled  headlong  into  the  dust,  and  Gun- 
powder, the  black  steed,  and  the  goblin  rider,  passed 
by  like  a  whirlwind. 

The  next  morning  the  old  horse  was  found  without 
his  saddle,  and  with  the  bridle  under  his  feet,  soberly 
cropping  the  grass  at  his  master's  gate.  Ichabod  did 
not  make  his  appearance  at  breakfast — dinner-hour 
came,  but  no  Ichabod.  The  boys  assembled  at  the 
school-house,  and  strolled  idly  about  the  banks  of  the 
brook ;  but  no  schoolmaster.  Hans  Van  Ripper  now 
began  to  feel  some  uneasiness  about  the  fate  of  poor 
Ichabod,  and  his  saddle.  An  inquiry  was  set  on  foot, 
and  after  diligent  investigation  they  came  upon  his 
tr.ices.  In  one  part  of  the  road  leading  to  the  church, 
was  found  the  s.addie  trampled  in  the  dirt ;  the  tracks 
of  horses'  hoofs  deeply  dented  in  the  road,  and  ev'. 
dently  at  furious  speed,  were  traced  to  the  bridge, 
beyond  which,  on  the  bank  of  a  broad  part  of  the 
brook,  where  the  water  ran  deep  and  black,  w;is 
found  the  hat  of  the  unfortunate  Ichabod,  and  close 
beside  it  a  shattered  pumpkin. 

The  brook  was  searched,  but  the  body  of  the 
schoolmaster  was  not  to  be  discovered.  Hans  Van 
Ripper,  as  executor  of  his  estate,  examined  the  bun- 
dle which  contained  all  his  worldly  effects.  They 
consisted  of  two  shirts  and  a  half;  two  stocks  for  the 
neck  ;  a  pair  or  two  of  worsted  stockings  ;  an  old  pair 
of  corduroy  small-clothes  ;  a  rusty  razor  ;  a  book  ol 
psalm  tunes  full  of  dog's  ears  ;  and  a  broken  pitch- 
pi|)e.  As  to  the  books  and  furniture  of  the  school- 
house,  they  belonged  to  the  community,  excejpting 
Cotton  Mather's  History  of  Witchcraft,  a  New-En- 
gland Almanac,  and  a  book  of  dreams  and  fortune- 
telling;  in  which  last  w.as  a  sheet  of  foolscap  much 
scribbled  and  blotted,  by  several  fruitless  attempts  tc 
make  a  copy  of  verses  in  honour  of  the  heiress  ot 
Van  Tassel.  These  magic  books  and  the  poetic 
scrawl  were  forthwith  consigned  to  the  llames  by 
Hans  Van  Ripper ;  who,  from  that  time  forward, 
deteriTiined  to  send  his  children  no  more  to  school ; 
observing  that  he  never  knew  any  good  come  of  this 
same  reading  and  writing.  Whatever  money  the 
schoolmaster  possessed,  and  he  l.ad  received  hif 
(juarter's  pay  but  a  day  or  two  before,  he  must  have 
had  about  his  person  at  the  time  if  his  disappear^ 
ance. 

The  mysterious  event  caused  much  speculation  at 
the  church  on  the  following  Sunday.  Knots  of  gazcn 
and  gossips  were  collcctecl  in  the  churchyard,  at  the 
bridge,  and  at  the  spot  where  the  hat  and  pumpkin 
had  Deen  found.  "The  stories  of  Brouwer,  of  Bones, 
and  a  whole  budget  c'  others,  were  called  to  miml 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


n 


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jl 


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i,"  4i 


'■5-H.- 


and  when  they  had  diligently  considered  them  all, 
and  compared  them  with  the  symptoms  of  the  pres- 
ent case,  they  shook  their  hc-ids,  and  came  to  the 
eonclusiim,  liiat  Ichabod  had  been  carried  off  by  the 
galloping  Hessian.  As  he  was  a  bachelor,  and  in 
nobody's  debt,  nobody  troubled  his  head  any  more 
about  him ;  the  school  was  removed  to  a  difTcrent 
quarter  of  the  Hollow,  and  another  pedagogue  reign- 
ed in  his  stead. 

It  ir.  true,  an  old  farmer,  who  had  been  down  to 
Ncv/-York  on  a  visit  several  years  after,  and  from 
whom  this  account  of  the  ghostly  adventure  was  re- 
t'.eived,  brou^jlu  home  the  mtelligence  that  Ichabod 
Crane  was  still  alive;  that  he  had  left  the  neighbour- 
hood partly  throujijh  fear  of  the  goblin  and  Hans  Van 
Ripper,  and  partly  in  mortification  at  having  been 
suddenly  dismissed  by  the  heiress ;  that  he  had 
changed  his  quariers  to  a  distant  part  of  the  country ; 
had  kept  school  and  studied  law  at  the  same  time ;  had 
been  admitted  to  the  bar;  turned  |K>litician ;  elec- 
tioneered ;  written  for  the  newspapers ;  and  finally, 
had  been  m.'ide  a  Justice  of  the  Ten  Pound  Court. 
Brom  Bones,  loo,  who,  shortly  after  his  rival's  disap- 
pearance, conducted  the  blooming  Katrina  in  triumph 
to  the  altar,  was  observed  to  look  exceedingly  know- 
ing whenever  the  story  of  Ichabod  was  related,  and 
always  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh  at  the  mention  of 
the  pumpkin ;  which  led  some  to  suspect  that  he  knew 
more  about  the  matter  than  he  chose  to  tell. 

The  old  country  wives,  however,  who  are  the  best 
judges  of  these  matters,  maintain  to  this  d.iy,  that 
ichabod  was  spirited  asvay  by  supernatural  means ; 
and  it  is  a  favourite  story  often,  told  about  the  neigh- 
bourhood round  the  winter  evening  fire.  The  bridge 
oecame  more  than  ever  an  object  of  superstitious 
awe ;  and  that  may  be  the  reason  why  the  road  has 
been  altered  of  late  years,  so  as  to  approach  the 
church  by  the  border  of  the  mill-pond.  The  school- 
house  being  deserted,  soon  fell  to  decay,  and  was  re- 
ported to  be  h.iunted  by  the  ghost  of  the  unfortunate 
pedagogue ;  and  the  plough-boy,  loitering  homeward 
cf  a  still  summer  evening,  ha»  often  fancied  his  voice 
at  a  distance,  chanting  a  melancholy  psalm  tune 
among  the  tranquil  solitudes  of  Sleepy  HoUow. 


POSTSCRIPT, 

tavm  IN  THE  tIANDWKITINQ  OF  MR.  KNICKKRROCKBR. 


Thk  preceding  Tale  is  given,  almost  in  the  precise 
words  in  which  I  heard  it  related  at  a  Corporation 
meeting  of  the  ancient  city  of  the  Manliaitoe.s,*  at 
which  were  present  many  of  its  sacusi  and  most  illus- 
trious burghers.  The  narrator  was  a  pleasant,  sliatiby, 
gentlemanly  old  fellow  in  pepper-and-salt  clothes,  with 
a  sadly  humorous  face  ;  and  one  whom  I  stron^'ly 
■uspected  of  being  poor — he  made  such  ctforts  to  be 
entertaining.  When  his  story  was  concluded  there 
was  much  laughter  and  approbation,  particularly  from 
two  or  three  deputy  aldermen,  who  had  been  asleep 
the  greater  part  of  the  time.  There  was,  however,  one 
tall,  dry-looking  old  gentleman,  with  beetling  eye- 
brrws,  who  maintained  a  grave  and  rather  severe  face 
thr  JUghout ;  now  and  then  folding  his  arms,  inclining 
h\i  bead,  and  looking  down  upon  the  door,  as  if  turn- 
ing a  doubt  over  in  his  mind.  He  was  one  of  your 
war7  men.  who  never  laugh  but  upon  good  grounds — 
when  thoy  have  reason  and  the  law  on  their  side. 
When  the  mitth  of  the  rest  of  ;he  company  had  sub- 
Bided,  and  silence  was  restored,  he  leaned  one  arm 
oa  the   elbow  oi  his  chair,  and  sticking   the  other 


•  MMr-Yotk. 


a-kimbo,  demanded,  with  a  iilght  tat  eiiaedlngl) 
■ago  motion  of  the  bead,  and  contraction  of  the  brow 
what  was  the  moral  of  the  story,  and  what  it  went  tc 
prove. 

The  story-teller,  who  was  just  pulling  a  glati  of 
wine  to  his  lips,  as  a  refreshment  after  his  toils,  paused 
for  a  moment,  looked  at  his  inquirer  with  an  air  of  in- 
finite deference,  and  lowering  the  glass  slowly  to  iht 
table,  observed  that  the  story  was  intended  most  log 
ically  to  prove  : — 

"Thit  there  is  no  situation  in  life  bit  has  itsadvan 
tages  and  pleasures — pro\  ided  we  will  but  take  a  joke 
as  we  find  it : 

"That,  therefore,  he  that  runs  races  with  goblin 
troopers,  is  likely  to  have  rough  riding  of  it  : 

"  Ergo,  for  a  country  schoolmaster  to  be  refused  the 
hand  of  a  Dutch  lieiress,  is  a  certain  step  to  high  pie- 
ferment  in  the  slate." 

The  cautious  old  gdntleman  knit  his  brows  tenfolJ 
closer  after  this  explanation,  being  sorely  puzzled  h\ 
the  ratiocination  of  ihe  syllogism  ;  while,  methoughi 
the  one  in  pepper-and-salt  eyed  him  with  something 
of  a  triuuiphant  leer.  At  length  he  observed,  that  all 
this  was  very  well,  but  still  he  thought  the  story  a  liitia 
on  the  cxtravaKant  —  there  were  one  or  two  points 
on  which  he  had  his  doubts : 

"  Faith,  sir,"  replied  the  story-teller,  "  as  to  that  mat 
ler,  I  don't  believe  one-half  of  it  myself." 

D    V 


L'ENVOY. 


Oo,  little  boots,  God  iiend  the*  good  ^-...i 
And  ipccinlU  '.ti  Ihit  t>«  thy  piayere. 
IJnto  them  i  It  i.'at  iher  will  reitJ  ui  nt.it. 
When  ihuu  ut  wrong,  after  their  help  to  call, 
Tha«  to  corrr  jt,  in  any  part  or  all. 

Chaucbr  I  BtU  Dam*  latu  M*reit. 

In  concluding  a  second  volume  of  the  Sketch- 
Book,  the  Author  cannot  but  express  his  deep  sense 
of  the  indulgence  with  which  his  first  has  been  re 
ceived,  and  of  the  liberal  disposition  that  hits  been 
evinced  to  treat  him  with  kindness  as  a  stranjjer. 
Even  the  critics,  whatever  inuy  be  said  of  them  by 
( tbers,  he  has  found  to  be  a  singularly  gentle  and 
good-natured  race ;  it  is  true  that  each  nas  in  turn 
objected  to  some  one  or  two  articles,  and  that  these 
individual  exceptions,  taken  in  the  aggregate,  would 
amount  almost  to  a  total  condemnation  of  his  work  ; 
but  then  he  has  l)cen  consoled  by  observing,  that 
what  one  has  particularly  censured,  another  has  as 
particularly  praised  :  and  thus,  the  encomiums  beinj; 
set  off  against  the  objections,  he  finds  his  work,  upc^^ 
the  whole,  commended  far  beyond  its  deserts. 

He  is  aware  that  he  runs  a  risk  of  forfeiting  mm  h 
of  this  kind  favour  by  not  following  the  counsel  th.u 
has  been  liberally  Ixistowed  upon  him  ;  for  where 
abundance  of  valuable  advice  is  given  gratis,  it  mn) 
seem  a  man's  own  fault  if  he  should  go  astr.ay.  He 
only  can  say,  in  his  vindication,  that  he  faithfully 
determined,  for  a  time,  to  govern  himself  in  hi; 
second  volume  by  the  opinions  passed  upon  his  fiisi , 
but  he  was  soon  brought  to  a  stand  by  the  con- 
trariety of  excellent  counsel.  One  kindly  advised 
him  to  avoid  the  ludicrous ;  another,  to  shun  th; 
pathetic  ;  a  third  assured  him  that  he  was  tolenitlct 
at  description,  but  cautioned  him  to  leave  narrative 
alone ;  while  a  fourth  declared  that  he  had  a  very 
pretty  knack  at  turning  a  story,  and  was  really  entt  r- 
taining  when  in  a  (lensive  mood,  but  was  grievoii.sl> 
mistaken  if  he  imagined  himself  to  possess  a  spark 
of  humour. 

Thus  perplexed  by  the  advice  of  his  friends,  whc 
each  in  turn  closed  some  oarticular  path,  but  U^i 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF  OF.OF1  RRY   CRAYON,   G«wT, 


him  M  the  world  beside  to  range  in,  he  fctind  that 
to  lollow  all  their  counnels  would,  in  fact,  be  to 
jtand  still.  He  remained  fur  a  time  sadly  cmbarass- 
•d ,  when,  all  at  once,  the  thought  strucl<  him  to 
ramble  on  as  he  had  b'>giin ,  that  his  worl<  being 
inis<  ellaneous,  and  written  lor  differcni  humours,  it 
could  nut  be  expected  that  any  one  would  be  pleased 
w'h  the  whole;  but  that  if  it  should  contain  some- 
(KiMg  to  suit  e.ich  rea<ler,  his  end  would  be  com- 
ijlcKily  answered.  Few  guests  sit  down  to  a  varied 
nlie  with  an  equ.d  appetite  for  every  dish.  One  Ills 
?.,i  elegant  horror  of  a  roasted  pig ;  another  holds  a 
curry  or  a  devil  in  utter  al)ornination  ;  a  third  cannot 
tdli  rate  the  ancient  flavour  of  venison  and  wild  fowl ; 
and  a  fourth,  of  truly  masculine  stomach,  looks  with 
sovereign  contempt  on  those  knicknacks,  here  and 
til  re  dished  up  for  the  ladies.  Tnus  each  article  is 
cuMileinned  in  its  turn  ;  and  yet,  amidst  this  variety 
ol  ippetites,  seldom  does  a  dish  go  away  from  the 
lalile  without  being  tasted  and  relished  by  some  one 
CI  other  of  the  guests. 

With  these  considerations  he  ventures  to  serve  up 
this  second  volume  in  the  same  heterogeneous  way 
Viih  hia  first ;  simply  requesting  the  reader,  if  he 


shottU  ""  here  and  there  something  to  please  hmi, 
to  Pest  rfd  that  it  was  written  expressly  for  In- 

Irlllj^'cn  rs  lil^e  himxt'll;  but  entreating  mm, 

should  hi  id  an<  Jiiiig  to  dislike,  to  tolerate  it,  ai 
one  of  til  c  aril  its  whii  the  Author  has  been 
obliged  lo  V    ite  I,  h  rf»d''      jf  a  less  refined  taste. 


.hor  is  conscious  o(  the 
'H;ti«ns  of  lii«  wnik  ;  and 
>ih1  Accorn 


To  be  s    lous. — The  , 
numerous  1..  ilts  and  imix 
well  aware  Unw  little  h>f  i    disiif>bii 
plislied  in  the  arts  of  authoi  >liip.     ti  ficiencl> 

are  also  increased  by  a  diflMlciicr  ,g  froiii  ^    . 

peculiar  situation.  He  finds  liinis  Anting  ir 
strange  land,  and  appearing  brfoi  julii.c  whi-  . 
he  has  been  accustomed,  from  cbiM;  I,  to  irnmd 
with  the  highest  feelings  of  awe  anil  .  •  vi-renre.  He 
is  full  of  solicitude  to  deserve  their  approliatiun,  yd 
finds  that  very  solicitude  continually  embarrassing 
his  powers,  and  depriving  him  of  that  ease  and  con- 
fidence which  are  necessary  to  successful  exertion. 
Still  the  kindness  with  which  he  is  treated  en- 
courages him  to  go  on,  hoping  th.ii  in  time  he  ina) 
acquire  a  steadier  footing ;  and  thus  he  proceeds, 
half-venturing,  half-shrinking,  surprised  at  his  owi 
good  fortune,  and  wondering  at  his  own  tenieritv- 


,^-'     umvers/fj^ 


\ 


S'^UOTHECA    ) 
Np^avieniil 


t^ 


Hr 


I 


A   SIRIE 


TO  Oi 


M  '  URAR  SrR  :' 
-1)11  rse  of  ihe  rar 
tiiiiie  of  the  old 
itiil  Seville,  we  fi 
ihr  S.iracenic  wii 
liinr  of  the  Moui 
with  Incidents  an< 
10  mind  paos.ij^ei 
then  ur^ed  me  to 
icculjarilies  ;  "  w 
MvU'."  that  sjioulc 
wliirh  pervade*  e' 
niind  to  ihoMT  yoi 
sp'msible  for  the  (: 
a  lew  "  Arabesque 
life,  ur  founded  or 
dT  during  a  resii 
11 1  Morifico-Span 
I  Inscribe  this 
.'Ifasani  scenes  « 
ind  of  adventure 
or  vour  worth,  w 
ulration  of  yocr  i 


f'-n 


if 


IN  the  spring 
wliotii  curiosity  \ 
r:iiiit)iing   expedit 
coiniMny  with   a 
einli.issji  at   Madr 
^iiher  Irom  distar 
bniy  of  taste  led 
romantic    niounia 
[);i^'e.s  meet  his  ey 
ot  nis  station,  whf 
courts  or  mwliirtti 
ni;iy  tht-y  rccaii  th 
panioMship,  and  vv 
111  whom  neither 
the  recollection  of 

And  here,  be  for 
fw  previous  rer 
,Sp:'.nish  traveling 
i'l  tiieir  iriKiginitio 
out  with  all  the  lu> 
Dn  the  contrary,  tl 
of  the  maritime  pi 
i  IS  a  stem,  rnelan 
t  liiu  and  long,  nj 


The  Alhambra: 


A   SERIES  or  TALES  AND  SKETCHES  OF  THE   MOORS  AND  SPANIARDS. 


DEDICATION. 
TO  OAVIO  WILKIB,   KSg.,  R.A, 


M  1  uKAR  Sir  : — You  may  remember  th.it,  In  the 
■c)ui««  uf  the  rambles  we  once  took  toKVther  aliciut 
tniiie  of  the  old  cities  of  Sp.iin,  particularly  Toledo 
inct  Seville,  we  frequently  icniarked  the  mixture  of 
ihr  Saracenic  with  the  (loihic,  remaining  from  the 
iiirir  of  the  Mours,  and  were  more  than  once  ntrurk 
with  Incidents  and  scenes  in  the  streets,  that  hiuiiKht 
10  iiiuid  pass.iges  in  the  "Arabian  Nights."  You 
ihi'ti  tirxed  nie  to  write  somelhinfj  illustruiive  of  these 
I  Ft  uliarities  ;  "  sninrthiiiK  in  llii-  llaruun  Alraschid 
dvli'."  that  should  have  a  dash  of  that  Arabian  spice 
wliirh  pervades  everv  thiii);  in  Spain.  I  call  this  to 
niiml  lo  show  you  that  you  arc,  in  some  dcj{ri'c,  re- 
spuiisible  for  the  present  work;  in  which  I  have  given 
a  lew  •*  Arabesque"  sketches  and  tales,  taken  from  the 
hfc,  or  founded  on  local  traditions,  and  mostly  struck 
:.fi  during  a  residence  in  one  of  the  must  legendary 
111  MoriHco-Spanish  places  of  the  Peninsula. 
I  inscribe  this  work  to  you,  as  a  memorial  of  the 
Irisant  scenes  we  have  witnessed  togelher,  in  that 
ind  c^f  adventura,  and  as  a  testimony  of  an  esteem 
or  vour  worth,  which  can  only  bn  exceeded  by  ad- 
nlration  of  yot:r  talents. 

Youi  friend  anc  fellow  traveller, 
^  Thb  Author. 


THE  JOURNEY. 


IK  the  spring  of  1829,  the  author  of  this  work, 
wliurii  curiosity  had  brought  into  Spain,  made  a. 
r;iMit)llng  expe<lition  from  Seville  to  Gr.inad.i,  in 
coiiip.iny  with  a  friend,  a  member  of  the  Russian 
embassy  at  .M.idrid.  Accident  had  thrown  us  to- 
et'iher  Irom  distant  regions  of  the  globe,  and  a  siini- 
bnty  of  taste  led  us  to  wan<ler  together  among  the 
rumantic  mountains  of  Anilalusi.i.  Should  these 
pi;es  meet  his  eye,  wherever  thrown  by  the  duties 
ol  nis  station,  whether  mingling  in  the  p.tgeantry  of 
courts  or  meditating  on  the  truer  glories  of  nature, 
may  they  recall  the  scenes  of  our  adventurous  com- 
panionship, and  with  them  the  remembrance  of  one, 
111  whom  neither  time  nor  distance  will  obliterate 
the  recollection  of  his  gentleness  and  worth. 

And  here,  before  setting  forth,  let  me  indulge  in  a 
•f\T  previous  remarks  on  Spanish  scenery  and 
Sp:'.nish  traveling.  Many  are  apt  to  picture  Spain 
in  their  imagin  itions  as  a  soft  southern  region  decked 
out  with  all  the  luxuriant  ch.imis  of  voluptuous  Italy. 
Dn  the  contrary,  though  there  are  exceptions  in  some 
nf  the  maritime  provinces,  yet,  for  the  greater  part, 
i  is  a  stem,  melancholy  country',  with  rugged  moun- 
tiius  and  long,  naked,  sweL-ping  plains,  destitute  of 


^ 


trees,  and  invariably  silent  anil  lonesome,  part&klig 
of  the  sav.ige  and  solitary'  character  of  Afric.i.  Whmi 
adds  10  (his  silence  and  lnnelin«-ss,  is  the  absence  f^l 
singing  birds,  a  natural  conse(|uence  of  (he  want  of 
groves  and  hedges.  The  vulture  and  the  cagli-  are 
seen  wheeling  about  the  mountain  clilTs  and  soaring 
over  the  plains,  and  groups  of  shy  bustards  stalk 
about  the  heaths,  but  tiie  myriads  of  sm.iller  birds, 
whii;h  animate  the  whole  face  of  other  countriet-..  are 
met  with  in  but  few  provinces  of  Spain,  and  in  them 
chielly  among  the  orchards  and  g.irdens  which  8ur> 
rouiul  the  h.'iTiitations  of  man. 

In  the  exterior  provinces,  the  traveller  occasionally 
traverses  great  tracts  cultivated  svith  ^rain  as  far  as 
the  eye  can  re.ich,  waving  at  times  with  vcrdurir,  at 
other  tiiui'S  naked  and  sun-buiut  ;  but  he  looks 
rounrl  in  vain  for  the  h.md  that  has  tilled  the  soil 
at  length  he  perceives  some  village  |)erclitd  on  a 
steep  hill,  or  tugged  crag,  with  inouldersng  bai*'«s 
ments  and  ruined  watch-tower;  a  strong-hold,  in 
oKI  times,  against  civil  war  or  Moorish  inroad  ;  lot 
the  custom  among  the  peasantry  ol  congregating 
together  for  imitu.d  |)rotection,  is  still  kepi  up  in 
most  parts  of  Sp.iin,  in  consequence  of  the  m<iu;U' 
ding  of  roving  freebooters. 

Hut  though  a  great  part  of  Sp.iin  is  deficient  in 
the  garniture  of  groves  and  forests,  and  the  softer 
charms  of  ornaineiit.d  cultivation,  yet  its  scenery  has 
something  of  a  high  and  lolly  character  to  compen- 
sate the  want.  It  partakes  something  of  the  attri- 
butes of  its  people,  and  I  think  that  I  belter  under- 
stand ilie  prouti,  hardy,  frugal  and  abstemious  Span- 
iard, his  manly  defiance  of  hardships,  and  contempt 
of  elTiMiiinate  indulgences,  since  1  have  seen  the  coun- 
try he  inhabits. 

There  is  something,  too,  in  the  sternly  sitnple 
features  of  the  Spanish  landscape,  that  impresses  on 
the  saiil  a  feeling  of  sublimity.  The  immense  plainn 
of  the  Castiles  and  La  Mancha,  exteiuling  as  tar  as 
the  ey<-  can  reach,  derive  an  interest  froiii  their  very 
nakedness  and  immensity,  and  have  something  of  the 
solemn  grandeur  of  the  ocean.  In  ranging  over 
these  boundU'ss  wastes,  the  eye  catches  sight,  here 
and  there,  of  a  str.iggiing  herd  of  cattle  attended  by 
a  lonely  herdsman,  motioiiles.s  as  a  statue,  with  his 
long  slender  pike  ta|M;ring  up  like  a  lance  into  the 
air  ;  or  beholds  a  long  train  of  mules  slov/ly  mo  mg 
along  the  waste  like  a  train  of  camels  in  the  desert, 
or  a  single  herdsmen,  armed  willi  blunderbuss  and 
stiletto,  and  prowling  over  the  [ilain.  Thiis,  the 
coiin'r^',  the  nabits,  the  very  looks  of  the  people, 
have  something  of  the  Ar.abian  character.  The 
general  insecurity  of  the  country  is  evinced  in  the 
universal  use  of  weapons.  The  herd.sman  in  liic 
field,  the  shepherd  in  the  plain  h.as  his  muf.ket  .-xnd 
his  knife.  The  wealthy  villager  rarely  venturer  to 
the  market-town  without  his  trabucho  ;  and,  per- 
haps, a  servant  on  fool  with  a  blunderbiisij  on  ,his 
shoulder  ;  and  the  most  petty  journey  is  undertaken 
vviih-i^  preparttions  ^1  a  warlike  enterprse. 


X 

^ 


m 


102 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


s- 


m-^ 


The  clangers  of  the  road  produce,  also,  a  mode  ol 
travelling,  rcsemliLng,  on  a  diminutive  scale,  the 
caravans  of  the  East.  The  arricros  or  carriers,  con- 
gregate in  troops,  and  set  otT  in  larj^e  and  well- 
armiul  trains  on  appointed  days,  while  indiviiiual 
travellers  swell  ilieir  number  and  contribute  to  their 
strength.  In  this  primitive  way  is  the  commerce  of 
the  courtry  carrit(l  on.  The  muleteer  is  the  general 
n  e'lium  of  iratfic,  and  the  legitimate  wanderer  of 
:hf.  land,  traversing  the  Peninsula  from  ihe  Pyrenees 
ind  the  Asturiaj,  to  the  Alpuxarras,  the  Serrania  de 
ftond.i,  and  even  to  the  gates  of  Gibraltai.  He  lives 
I'rugcJly  and  hardily  ;  his  alforjas  (or  saddle-bags,)  of 
coarse  cloth,  hold  his  scanty  stock  of  provisions  ;  a 
leathern  bottle  hanging  at  his  saddle-bow,  contains 
wine  or  water  for  a  supply  across  barren  mountains 
and  thirsty  plains;  a  mule  cloth  spread  upon  the 
ground  is  his  bed  at  night,  and  his  pack-saddle  is  his 
pillow.  His  low  but  clear-limbed  and  sinewy  form 
betok'^ns  strength  ;  his  complexion  is  dark  and  sun- 
Durnt ;  his  ey^  resolute,  but  (juiet  in  its  expression, 
except  when  kindled  by  sudden  emotion  ;  his  de- 
meanour is  frank,  manly,  and  courteous,  and  he 
never  passes  you  without  a  grave  salutation — "  Dios 
guarda  ;\  usted !  " — "  Vay  usted  con  Dios  cabal- 
lero  !  " — "  God  guard  you  1  " — "  God  be  with  you  ! 
cavalier  !  " 

As  these  men  have  often  their  whole  fortune  at 
stake  u|X)n  the  burden  of  their  mules,  they  have  their 
weapons  at  hand,  slung  to  their  saddles,  and  ready 
to  be  snatched  down  for  desperate  def(;nce.  But 
their  united  numbers  render  them  secur»  against 
petty  bands  of  marauders,  and  the  solitary  banda- 
lero,  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  mounted  on  his  An- 
dalusian  steed,  hovers  about  them,  like  a  pirate 
about  a  merchant  convoy,  without  daring  to  make 
,»n  assault. 

The  Spanish  muleteer  has  an  inexhaustible  stock 
of  songs  and  ballads,  with  which  t'j  beguile  his  in- 
ct-.sant  way-faring.  The  airs  are  rude  and  simple, 
consisting  of  but  few  inflexions.  These  he  chants  forth 
with  a  loud  voice,  and  long  drawling  cadence,  seated 
sideways  on  his  mule,  who  seems  to  listen  with  in- 
finite gravity,  and  to  keep  time  with  his  paces,  to 
the  tune.  The  couplets  thus  chanted  are  often  old 
traditional  romances  about  the  Moors ;  or  some 
legend  of  a  saint  ;  or  some  love  ditty  ;  or,  what  is 
still  more  frequent,  some  ball.ad  about  a  bold  contra- 
bandista,  or  hardy  bandalero  ;  for  the  smuggler  and 
the  robber  are  poetical  heroes  artong  the  commdn 
people  ol  .Spain.  Often  the  song  of  the  muleteer  is 
composed  at  the  instant,  and  relates  to  some  local 
scene,  or  some  incident  of  the  journey.  This  talent 
of  singing  and  improvising  is  frequent  in  Spain,  and 
is  said  to  have  been  inherited  from  the  Moors.  There 
is  something  wildly  pleasing  in  listening  to  these 
ditties  among  the  rude  and  loi  -ily  scenes  they  illus- 
trate, accompanied  as  they  sre,  by  the  occasional 
jingle  of  the  mule-bell, 

it  has  a  most  picturesque  effect,  also,  to  meet  a 
train  of  muleteers  in  some  mountain  pass.  First 
you  hear  the  bells  of  the  leading  mules,  breaking 
with  their  simple  melody  i.hc  stillness  of  the  airy 
teight ;  or,  perhaps,  the  voice  of  the  muleteer  ad- 
monishing some  tardy  or  wandering  animal,  or 
Ihanting,  at  the  full  stretch  of  his  lungs,  some  tra- 
dition.iry  ballad.  At  length  you  see  the  mules  slowly 
v'nding  along  the  craggecl  defile,  sometimes  de- 
scending precipitous  cliffs,  so  as  to  i)rcsent  them- 
•elves  in  full  relief  against  the  sky,  sometimes  toiling 
up  the  deep  .arid  chasms  below  you.  As  they  a|)- 
proivch,  you  descry  their  gay  decorations  o'  worsted 
tofts  tassels,  and  saddle-cloths ;  while,  aj,  they  pass 
by,  the  ever  ready  trabucho,  slung  l)ehind  their  packs 
1  saddles,  gives  a  hint  of  the  insecurity  of  the  road. 


The  ancient  kingdom  of  Granada,  into  which  \v( 
are  abcnit  to  penetrate,  is  one  of  the  most  moun- 
tainous regions  of  Spain.  Vast  sierras  or  chair,; 
of  mountains,  destitute  of  shrub  or  tree,  and  mottlcil 
with  variegated  marbles  and  granites,  elevate  then 
sun-burnt  summits  against  a  tieep  blue  sky,  yet  n 
their  rugged  bosoms  lie  engulfed  the  must  verda:\: 
and  fertile  valley,  where  the  desert  and  the  gsrdin 
strive  tor  mastery,  and  the  very  rock,  as  it  were,  ci ;;. 
pelled  to  yield  the  fig,  the  orange,  and  the  citroi, 
and  to  blossom  with  the  myrtle  and  the  rose. 

In  the  wild  passes  of  these  mountains,  the  sight  ( I 
walled  towns  and  villages  built  like  eagles'  nest; 
among  the  cliffs,  and  surrounded  by  Moorish  battle- 
mei.is,  or  of  ruined  watch-towers  perched  on  lotiy 
peaks,  carry  the  mind  back  to  the  chivalrous  days  (i 
Christian  and  Moslem  warfare,  and  to  the  romanic 
struggle  for  the  conquest  of  Granada.  In  traversi  il; 
their  lofty  Sierras,  the  traveller  is  often  obliged  to 
alight  and  lead  his  horse  up  and  down  the  steep  .mcI 
j.'igged  ascents  and  descents,  resembling  the  broki  n 
steps  of  a  st.urc.ase.  Sometimes  the  road  winds  alon;^ 
dizzy  precipices,  without  parapet  to  guard  him  I'roiii 
the  gulfs  below,  and  then  will  plunge  down  stirp 
and  ilark  and  dangerous  declivities.  Sometimes  it 
struggles  through  rugged  barrancos.  or  ravines,  wora 
by  water  torrents  ;  the  obscure  paths  of  the  Contr  i- 
bandist.a,  while  ever  and  anon,  the  ominous  cross, 
the  memento  of  robbery  and  murder,  erected  on  a 
mound  of  stones  at  some  lonely  part  of  the  nvr.l, 
admonishes  the  traveller  th.it  he  is  among  the  haunts 
of  banditti ;  perhaps,  at  that  very  moment,  under  t'*: 
eye  of  some  lurking  band.ilero.  Sometimes,  in  wir.ci 
ing  through  the  narrow  valleys,  he  is  startled  b;,  :. 
hoarse  bellowing,  and  beholds  above  him,  on  son,; 
green  fold  of  the  mountain  side,  a  herd  of  fierce  An- 
dalusian  bulls,  destined  for  the  combat  of  the  aren.i 
There  is  something  awful  in  the  contempl.ation  c' 
these  terrific  animals,  clothed  with  tremendi  i:? 
strength,  and  ranging  their  native  pastures,  in  un- 
tamed wildness :  strangers  almost  to  the  face  of  in.in. 
Tliey  know  no  one  but  the  solitary  herdsman  wlu 
attends  upon  them,  .and  even  he  at  times  dares  not 
venture  to  approach  them.  The  low  bellowings  ut' 
these  bulls,  and  their  menacing  aspect  .as  they  lo  k 
down  from  their  rocky  height,  give  additional  wiM- 
ness  to  the  savage  scenery  around. 

1  have  been  betrayed  unconsciously  into  a  loni;('r 
disquisition  than  1  had  intended  on  the  several  Iti- 
tures  of  Spanish  travelling  ;  but  there  is  a  romance 
about  all  the  recollections  of  the  Peninsula  that  ,s 
dear  to  the  imagination. 

It  was  on  the  first  of  M.ay  th.at  tny  companidii 
and  myself  srt  forth  from  Seville,  on  our  route  to 
Granada.  We  had  made  all  due  preparations  lot 
the  nature  of  our  journey,  which  Lay  through  moiin- 
t.iinous  regions  where  the  roads  are  little  better  than 
mere  mule  paths,  and  too  frequently  l)eset  by  robbeis 
'i'he  most  valu.ible  part  of  our  luggage  had  been  for- 
warded by  the  arrieros  ;  we  retained  merely  clothing 
and  necessaries  for  the  journey,  anil  money  for  tfie 
expenses  of  the  road,  with  a  sumcient  surplus  of  the 
l.itter  to  satisfy  the  expectations  of  robbers,  should 
we  be  .assailed,  and  to  save  ourselves  from  the  roejjh 
treatment  that  .awaits  the  too  wary  and  emptyhaiuled 
traveller.  A  couple  of  stout  hired  steeds  were  pri> 
vided  tor  ourselves,  and  a  third  for  our  scanty  luggage 
and  for  the  conveyance  of  a  sturdy  lliscayan  Iz  J  ol 
about  twenty  years  of  age,  who  was  to  guide  us 
through  the  jierplexed  mazes  of  the  mountain  roa.ls, 
to  take  care  of  our  horses,  to  act  occasionally  as  on 
valet,  and  at  all  times  as  our  guard ;  for  he  had  a 
formidable  trabucho.  or  carbine,  to  defend  us  trnra 
rateros,  or  solitary  foot  pails,  about  which  weapor.  ne 
made  much  vain-glorious  boast,  tluugh,  to  the  dis- 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


103 


which  v,^ 
St  mo'.'.n- 
or  chair,? 
(1  mottli'"! 
vale  then 
.ky,  y'fi  I'l 
St  venlav,: 
he  gardir, 

\JCM'.,  CI  -.1. 

ihe  cifroi, 
i?e. 

le  siglit  1 1 
;les'    nest; 
oh  hattlr- 
•d  on  Iniiy 
Ills  (lays  ni 
(.-  romantic 
travcrsi  r^ 
obligL'd  10 
;  sleep  .>h1 
the  brokni 
vinds  alon;^ 
d  hiin  iVoiii 
Imvn  stitp 
jinetinies  it 
vines,  worn 
the  Contri- 
nous  cross, 
reeled  on  a 
)f  the  roa.!, 
g  the  hain.ls 
it,  under  l'^; 
u'S,  in  vvir.ii 
.tartied  b\  :> 
ini,  on  soius 
3t  tierce  An- 
)f  the  aren.i 
jnplation  t; 
tremendi  rs 
ures,  in  im- 
face  of  iii.li. 
Irdsnian  wSj 
es  dares  n.)! 
[ellowings  ui 
as  they  lo  k 
.itional  wilil- 


iredit  of  his  generalship,  1  must  say,  that  it  generally 
iuing  unloaded  behind  his  saddle.  He  was,  however, 
■A  laithful,  cheery,  kind-hearted  creature,  full  of  saws 
and  proverb?  as  that  miracle  of  squires,  the  renowned 
Sancho  himself,  whose  name  we  bestowed  upon  him  ; 
and,  like  a  tioie  Spaniard,  though  treated  by  us  with 
c  impanionable  familiarity,  he  never  for  a  moment  in 
11  IS  utmost  hilarity,  outstripped  the  bounds  of  respect- 
'ul  deconim. 
Thus  equipped  and  attended,  we  set  out  on  our 
niTncy  with  a  genuine  disposition  to  be  pleased: 
vii'i  «uch  a  disposition,  what  a  country  is  Spain  for 
1  traveller,  where  the  most  miserable  inn  is  as  full 


of  adventure  as  an  enchanted  castle,  and  every  meal 
is  in  itself  an  achievement !  Let  others  repine  at  the 
lick  of  lampike  roads  and  sumptuous  hotels,  and  all 
the  elaborate  coinforts  of  a  country  cultivated  into 
t:uiieness  and  common-place,  but  give  me  the  rude 
mountain  scramble,  the  ru  ing  hapiiazard  way-faring,, 
tlis  frank,  hospitable,  tlmugh  halfwild  manners,  that 
give  such  a  true  game  flavour  to  romantic  Spain  ! 

Our  first  evening's  entertainment  had  a  relish  of 
the  kind.     We  arrived  after  sunset  at  a  little  town 
among  the  hills,  after  a   fatiguing  journey  over  a 
wide  houseless  plain,  where  we  h.id  been  repeatedly 
drenched  with  showers.     In  the  inn  were  quartered 
a  party  of  Miguelistas,  who  were  patrolling  the  coun- 
try in  pursuit  of  robbers.    The  appearance  of  for- 
eigners  like  ourselves  was  unusual  in  this  remote 
town.     Mine  host  with  two  or  three  old  gossipping 
comrades  in  brown  cloaks  studied  our  passports  in 
a  corner  of  the  posada,  while  an  Alguazil  took  notes 
by  the  dim  light  of  a  lamp.     The  passports  were  in 
foreign    languages,  and   perplexed    them,   but  our 
Squire  Sancho  assisted  tnem  in  their  studies,  and 
Tiagnified  our  importance  with  the  grandiloquence 
i)f  a  Spaniard.     !n  the  mean  time  the  magniticent 
distribution  of  a  few  cigars  had  won  the  hearts  of 
ill  around  us.     In  a  little  while  the  whole  commu- 
lity  seemed  put  in   agitation  to  make  us  welcome. 
Tiie  Corregidor  himself  wailed  upon  us,  and  a  great 
rush-fjottcmed  anned  chair  was  ostentatiously  bol- 
stered into  our  room  by  our  landl.ady,  for  the  accom- 
modation of  that  important  personage.     The  com- 
mander of  the  patrol  took  supper  with  us :  a  surly, 
talking,  laughing,   swaggering   Andaluz,  who    had 
made  a  campaign  in  South  America,  and  recounted 
his  exploits  in  love  anil  war  with  much  pomp  of 
praise  and  veh^  nence  of  gesticulation,  and  myste- 
rious rolling  of  the  eye.     He  told  us  he  had  a  list  of 
all  the  robbers  in  the  country,  and  meant  to  ferret 
Diit  every  mother's  son  of  them ;  he  offered  us  at 
the  same  time  some  of  his  soldiers  as  an  escort. 
"One  is  enough  to  protect  you,  Signors  ;  the  robbers 
know  me,  and  know  my  men ;  the  sight  of  one  is 
enough  to  spread  terror  through  a  whole  sierra." 
Wc  thanked  him   for  his  otTer,  but  assured  him,  in 
his  own  strain,  that  with  the  protection  of  our  re- 
doubtable Squire  S.ancho,  we  were  not  afraid  of  all 
the  ladrones  of  Andalusia. 

While  we  were  supping  with  our  And;dusian 
friend,  we  heard  the  notes  of  a  guitar  and  the  click 
')f  castanets,  and  presently,  a  chorus  of  voices,  sing- 
ng  a  popular  air.  In  fact,  mine  host  had  g.ithered 
:o^;etl~.er  the  amateur  singers  and  musicians  and  the 
;u-tic  belles  of  the  neighbourhood,  and  on  going 
irth,  the  court-yard  of  the  inn  presented  a  scene 
jf  true  Spanish  festivity.  We  took  our  seats  with 
mine  host  and  hostess  and  the  commander  of  the 
patrol,  under  the  archway  of  the  court.  The  guitar 
passed  from  hand  to  hand,  but  a  jovial  shoemaker 
was  the  Orpheus  of  the  place.  He  w;is  a  pleasant 
looking  fellow  with  huge  blacic  whiskers  and  a  rogu- 
ii^  eye.  His  sleeves  were  rolled  up  lo  his  elbows ; 
Qe  touched  the  gititat  with  masterly  skill,  and  sang 
5 


little  amorous  ditties  with  an  expressive  leer  at  tht 
women,  with  whom  he  was  evidently  a  favourite 
He  afterwards  danced  a  fandango  with  a  buxorr 
Andalusian  damsel,  'o  the  great  delight  of  the  spec 
tators.  But  none  of  the  females  present  could  com- 
pare with  mine  host's  pretty  daughter  Josefa,  who 
had  slipped  away  and  made  her  toilette  for  the  occa- 
sion, and  had  adorned  her  head  with  roses ;  and  also 
distinguished  herself  in  a  boleio  with  a  h;.ndsomc 
young  dragoon.  We  had  ordered  our  host  to  let 
wine  and  ri;freslimenis  circulate  freely  among  the 
company,  yet,  though  iherc  was  a  motley  assem- 
blage of  soldiers,  :iiuleteers  and  villagers,  no  one 
exceeded  the  bounds  of  sober  enjoyment.  The 
scene  was  a  study  lor  a  painter :  the  picturesque 
group  of  dancers ;  the  troopers  in  their  half  military 
dresses,  the  peasantry  wrapped  in  their  brown 
cloaks,  nor  must  1  omit  to  mention  the  old  meagre 
Alguazil  in  a  short  black  cloak,  who  took  no  notice 
of  any  thing  going  on,  but  sat  in  a  corner  diligently 
writing  by  the  dim  light  of  a  huge  copper  lamp  that 
might  have  figured  in  the  days  of  Don  (2uixo!e. 

1  am  not  wrilii.g  a  regular  narrathe,  and  do  not 
pretend  to  give  the  varied  events  ol  several  days' 
rambling  over  hill  and  dale,  and  moor  and  motm- 
tam.  We  travelled  in  true  contrahandista  style,  tak- 
ing every  thing,  rough  and  smooth,  as  we  found  it, 
and  mingling  with  .all  classes  and  conditions  in  a 
kind  of  vagabond  companionship.  It  is  the  true 
way  to  travel  in  Spain.  Knowing  the  scanty  larders 
of  the  inns,  and  the  naked  tracts  of  country  the  trar- 
eller  has  often  to  traverse,  we  had  taken  care,  on 
starting,  to  have  the  alforjas,  or  saddle-bags,  of  our 
Squire  well  slocked  with  cold  provisions,  and  his 
beta,  or  leathern  bottle,  which  was  of  portly  dimen- 
sions, tilled  to  the  neck  with  choice  Valdcpeniis  wine. 
As  this  was  a  munition  for  our  campaign  more  im- 
portant than  even  his  trabucho,  we  exhorted  h'm  to 
have  an  eye  to  it,  and  I  will  do  him  the  justice  to  say 
that  his  namesake,  the  trencher-loving  Sancho  him- 
self, could  not  excel  him  as  a  provident  purveyor. 
Though  the  alforjas  and  beta  were  repeatedly  and 
vigorously  assailed  throughout  the  journey,  they  ap- 
peared to  have  a  miraculous  property  of  being  never 
empty;  for  our  vigilant  Squire  took  care  to  sack 
every  thing  that  rem.ained  tVom  our  evening  repasts 
at  the  inns,  to  supply  our  next  day's  luncheon. 

What  luxurious  noontide  repasts  have  we  made  on 
the  green  sward  by  the  side  of  a  brook  or  fountain 
under  a  shady  tree,  and  then  what  delicious  siestas 
on  our  cloaks  spread  out  on  the  herbage  ! 

We  paused  one  day  at  noon,  for  a  repast  of  the 
kind.  It  was  in  a  pleasant  little  green  meadow,  sur- 
rounded by  hills  covered  with  olive  trees.  Our 
cloaks  were  spread  on  the  grass  under  an  elm  (ree, 
by  the  side  of  a  babbling  rivulet:  our  horses  were 
tethered  where  they  might  crop  the  herbage,  and 
Sancho  produced  his  alforjas  witti  an  air  of  triumph. 
They  contained  the  contributions  of  four  days'  jour- 
neying, hut  h.ad  been  signally  enriched  by  the  for- 
aging of  the  previous  evening,  in  a  plenteous  inn  at 
Aiueciuera.  Our  Squire  drew  forth  the  heterogene- 
ous contents  one  by  one,  and  they  seemed  to  have 
no  end.  P'irst  came  forth  a  shoulder  of  ro.asted  kid 
verv  little  the  worse  for  wear,  then  an  entire  par 
trii(ge,  then  a  great  morsel  of  sailed  codfish  wrapper 
in  paper,  then  the  residue  of  a  ham,  then  the  half  Oi 
a  pullet,  together  with  sever.al  rolls  of  bread  and  a 
rabble  route  of  oranges,  figs,  raisins,  and  walnuts. 
His  beta  also  had  been  recruited  with  some  excel- 
lent wine  of  Malaga.  At  every  fresh  apparition  from 
his  larder,  he  could  enjoy  our  ludicrous  surprise, 
throwing  himself  back  on  the  grass  and  shouting 
with  laughter. 

Nothing  pleased  this  simple  hearted  varlet  more 


lit 


i 


•.04 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


«E'" 


Mil,  I  .  ■  «- 


*.    i 


t:^t. 


■-^r^^  ":•••■■ 


'■'^■':  *"^: 


Hun  to  be  compared,  for  his  devotioi.  to  the  trencher, 
to  the  renowned  .^.qiiire  of  Don  Quixote.  He  was 
well  versed  in  the  hibtory  of  the  Don,  and,  like  most 
of  the  common  peojjle  of  Spain,  he  tirmly  believed  it 
to  be  a  true  histoiy. 

"  All  that,  however,  happened  a  long  time  at^o, 
Sipnor,"  said  he  to  me,  one  day,  with  an  inquiring 
look. 

••  A  very  long  time,"  was  the  reply. 

■'  1  dare  say,  more  than  a  thousand  years  f" — sliil 
'oo<ing  dubiously. 

■•  I  clare  say?  not  less." 

The  squire  was  satisfied. 

As  we  were  making  our  repast  above  described, 
And  diverting  ourselves  with  the  simple  drollery  of 
our  squire,  a  solitary  beggar  approached  us.  wiio 
had  almost  the  look  of  a  pilgrim.  He  was  evidently 
very  old,  with  a  gray  beard,  and  sujiported  hiu»seli' 
on  a  staff,  yet  age  had  no'  borne  hmvilown  ;  he  was 
tall  and  erect,  and  had  the  wreck  of  a  tme  form. 
He  wore  a  round  Andalusian  hat,  a  sheepskin  jacket, 
;ind  leathern  breeches,  gaiters,  and  sandals.  His 
dress,  though  old  and  patched,  w.a*^  di'cent,  his  de- 
meanour manly,  and  he  addressed  us  with  that  grave 
courtesy  that  is  to  be  remarkeil  in  the  lowest  Span- 
iard. We  were  in  a  favourable  mood  lor  such  a  vis- 
itor, and  in  a  treak  of  capricious  charity  gave  him 
some  silver,  a  loaf  of  fine  wheaten  bread,  and  a  gob- 
'ct  of  our  choice  wine  of  Malaga.  He  received  them 
•hankluUy,  but  without  any  grovelling  tr'hute  olgr.at- 
itude.  Tasting  the  wine,  he  held  it  up  to  the  light, 
with  a  slitjht  beam  of  surprise  in  his  eye  ;  then  quaff- 
mg  it  off  at  a  draught :  "  It  is  many  years,"  said  he, 
"  since  I  have  tasted  such  wine.  It  is  a  cordial  to 
;in  old  man's  heart."  Then  looking  at  the  beautiful 
vheaten  loaf:  "  ISendita  sea  tal  pan  !"  (blessed  be 
such  bread  !)  So  saying,  he  put  it  in  his  wallet.  We 
'•rged  him  to  eat  it  on  tiie  spot.  "  No,  Signors,"  re- 
plied he,  "  the  wine  1  had  to  drink,  or  leave ;  but  the 
bread  I  must  take  home  to  share  with  my  family." 

Our  man  Sancho  sought  our  eye,  and  reading  per- 
mission there,  g.ive  the  old  man  some  of  the  ample 
Iragmenis  of  our  repast ;  on  condition,  however,  that 
he  should  sit  down  and  make  a  meal.  He  a  jcord- 
ingly  took  his  seat  at  some  little  distance  from  us, 
and  began  to  eat,  slowly,  and  with  a  sobriety  and 
decorum  that  would  have  become  a  hidalgo.  There 
was  altogether  a  measured  manner  and  a  quiet  self- 
possession  about  the  old  man  that  in.ide  me  think 
he  h.id  seen  better  d.iys ;  his  language,  too.  though 
simple,  had  occasionally  something  picturesque  and 
almost  poetical  in  the  phraseology.  I  set  him  down 
for  some  broken-down  cavalier.  I  w.is  mistaken,  it 
was  nothing  but  the  innate  courtesy  of  a  Spaniard, 
and  the  poetical  turn  of  thought  and  language  often 
to  be  found  in  the  lowest  classes  of  this  clear-wilted 
people.  For  fifty  years,  he  told  us,  he  had  been  a 
shepherd,  but  now  he  was  out  of  employ,  and  desti- 
tute. "  When  I  was  a  young  man,"  said  he,  "noth- 
ing could  harm  or  trouble  me.  I  was  always  well, 
always  g.iy  ;  but  now  I  am  seventy-nine  years  of  age, 
and  a  beggar,  and  my  heart  begins  to  fail  me." 

Still  he  was  not  a  regular  mendicant,  it  was  not 
until  recently  that  want  had  driven  him  to  this  de- 
^adatioYt,  and  he  gave  a  touching  picture  of  the 
struggle  between  hunger  and  pride,  when  abject  des- 
titution first  came  upon  him.  He  was  returning 
from  Malaga,  without  money ;  he  had  not  tasted 
(bod  for  some  time,  and  was  crossing  one  of  the 
great  plains  of  Spain,  where  there  were  but  few  hab- 
itati-jns.  When  almost  dead  with  hunger,  he  ap- 
plied at  the  door  of  a  venta,  or  country  inn.  "  I'er- 
dona  listed  per  Uios  hermanol"  (excuse  us,  brother, 
for  God's  sake  I)  was  the  reply  ; — the  usual  mode  in 
Spain  of  refusing  a  beggar.    "I  turned  away,"  said 


he,  "  with  shame  greater  than  my  hunger,  far  mt 
heart  was  yet  too  proud.  I  came  to  a  river  with 
high  banks  and  deep  rapid  current,  and  felt  tempted 
to  throw  myself  in ;  what  should  such  an  old  worth- 
less wretched  man  as  I  live  for !  But,  when  1  w.-is 
on  the  brink  of  the  current,  1  thought  on  the  blessed 
Virgin,  and  turned  away.  I  travi-lled  on  until  I  saw 
a  country-seat,  at  a  little  distance  from  the  road,  ar.d 
entered  the  outer  gate  of  the  court-yard.  The  dopi 
was  shut,  but  there  were  two  young  signor.as  at  -, 
window.  I  approacht'd,  and  begged:  vrerdoni 
usted  per  Dios  liermano ! '  (excuse  us,  brother,  foi 
God's  sake !)  and  the  window  closed,  1  crept  out  of 
the  court-yard ;  but  hunger  overcame  me,  and  nu 
heart  gave  way.  I  thought  my  hour  was  at  hanu. 
So  I  laid  myself  down  at  the  gate,  commended  my- 
self to  the  holy  Virgin,  and  covered  my  head  to  die. 
In  a  little  while  afterwards,  the  master  of  the  house 
came  home.  Seeing  me  lying  at  his  gate,  he  un- 
covered my  head,  had  pity  on  my  gray  hairs,  took 
me  into  his  house  and  gave  me  food.  So,  Signors, 
you  see  that  we  should  alw.iys  put  confidence  in  the 
protection  of  the  Virgin." 

The  old  man  w.is  on  his  way  to  his  native  place 
Archidona,  which  was  close  by  the  summit  of  a 
steep  and  rugged  mountain.  He  pointed  to  the  rj- 
ins  of  its  old  Moorish  castle.  That  castle,  he  said, 
was  inhabited  by  a  Moorish  king  at  the  time  of  the 
wars  of  (iran:ui,->.  Queen  Isabella  invaded  it  with  a 
great  army,  hut  the  king  looked  down  from  his  c.'.s- 
tie  among  the  clouds,  and  laughed  her  to  scorn. 
Upon  this,  the  Virgin  ai)|)eared  to  the  queen,  and 
guided  her  and  her  army  u[)  a  mysterious  path  of  the 
mountain,  which  had  never  before  been  known.. 
When  the  Moor  saw  her  coining,  he  was  astonished 
and  springing  with  his  horse  from  a  precipice,  was 
dashed  to  pieces.  The  marks  of  his  horse's  hoofs, 
said  the  old  man,  are  to  be  .seen  on  the  margin  of  tnc 
rock  to  this  day.  And  see,  Signors,  yonder  is  '.he 
road  by  which  the  queen  and  her  army  mounted, 
you  see  it  like  a  riband  up  the  mountain  side  ;  hut 
the  miracle  is,  that,  though  it  can  be  seen  at  a  dis- 
tance, when  you  come  near,  it  disapjiears.  The  ideal 
road  to  which  he  pointed,  was  evidently  a  sandy  ra- 
vine of  the  mountain,  which  looked  narrow  and  de- 
fined at  a  distance,  but  became  broad  and  indistinct 
on  an  a|)proach.  As  the  old  man's  heart  warmed 
with  wine  and  wassail,  he  went  on  to  tell  us  a  story  ul 
the  buried  treasure  left  under  the  earth  by  the  Moor- 
ish king.  His  own  house  was  next  to  the  found:i- 
tions  of  the  castle.  The  curate  and  notary  dreamt 
three  times  of  the  treasure,  and  went  to  work  at  the 
place  pointed  out  in  their  dreams.  His  own  son-in- 
law  heard  the  sound  of  their  pick-?..xes  and  spades  at 
night.  Wiiat  they  found  nobody  knows ;  they  he- 
came  suddenly  rich,  but  kept  their  own  secret.  Thus 
the  old  man  had  once  been  next  door  to  fortune,  but 
w.is  doomed  never  to  get  under  the  same  roof. 

1  have  remarked  that  the  stories  of  treasure  buried 
by  the  Moors,  which  prevail  throughout  Spain,  ai< 
most  current  among  the  poorest  people.  It  is  thus 
kind  n.'iture  consoles  with  sh.idows  for  the  la<  k  o 
suhstantials.  The  thirsty  man  dreams  of  fountaim 
and  roaring  streams,  the  hungr)'  man  of  ideal  ban- 
quets, iind  the  poor  man  of  heaps  of  hidden  gold . 
nothing  certainly  is  more  magnificent  than  th< 
imagination  of  a  beggar. 

The  last  travelling  sketch  which  I  shall  give  is  a 
curious  scene  at  the  little  city  of  Loxa.  This  was  a 
famous  belligerent  frontier  post,  in  the  time  of  the 
Moors,  and  repulsed  Ferdinand  from  its  walls.  It 
was  the  strong-hold  of  oL  Ali  Atar,  the  father-in-law 
of  Boabdil,  when  that  fiery  veteran  sallied  forth  with 
his  son-in-law,  on  that  disastrous  inroad,  that  einied 
in  the  death  of  the  chief  ain,  and  the  capture  of  the 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


iin 


inona'ch.  Loxa  is  wildly  situated  in  a  broken 
mountain  pass,  on  the  banks  of  the  Xenil,  amon^ 
rocks  and  groves,  and  meadows  and  gardrns. 
The  people  seem  still  to  retair.  the  bold  fiery  spirit 
ol  the  okien  time.  Our  inn  was  suited  to  the  place. 
It  was  kept  by  a  young,  handsome,  Andahisian 
willow,  whose  trim  busquina  of  black  silk  fr  nged 
ivith  bugles,  set  off  the  play  of  a  graceful  tbnn, 
iind  round  pliant  limbs.  Her  step  was  hrm  and 
flastic,  her  dark  eye  was  full  of  fire,  and  the 
;(«|uetry  of  her  air,  and  varied  ornaments  of  her 
person  showed  that  she  was  accustomed  to  be 
idinired. 

She  was  well  matched  by  a  brother,  nearly  about 
her  own  age ;  they  were  perfect  models  of  the  An- 
d^ilusian  majo  and  maja.  He  was  tall,  vigorous,  and 
wull  fcrmed,  with  a  clear,  olive  complexion  a  dark 
beaming:  eye,  and  curling,  chestnut  whiskers,  that 
met  unuer  bis  chin.  He  was  gallantly  dressed  in  a 
short  green  velvet  jacket,  fitted  to  his  shape,  pro- 
fusely decorated  with  silver  buttons,  with  a  white 
handkerchief  in  each  pocket.  He  had  breeches  of 
the  same,  with  rows  of  buttons  from  the  hips  to 
tlic  knees ;  a  pink  silk  handkerchief  round  his  neck, 
g.ithered  through  a  ring,  on  the  bosom  of  a  neatly 
plaited  shirt ;  a  sash  round  the  waist  to  match ;  bot- 
tiiias  or  spatterdashes  of  the  finest  russet  leather, 
eltgantly  worked  and  open  at  the  calves  to  show 
ills  stockings,  and  russet  shoes  setting  off  a  well- 
shaped  foot. 

As  he  was  standing  at  the  door,  a  horseman  rode 
up  and  entered  into  low  and  earnest  conversation 
with  him.  He  wiis  dressed  in  similar  style,  and 
almost  with  equal  finery.  A  man  al)out  thirty, 
K^uare  built,  with  strong  Roman  features,  hand- 
Kine,  though  slightly  pitted  with  the  small-pox, 
A'iih  a  free,  bold  and  somewhat  daring  air.  His 
:H;verful  bl.ick  horse  was  decorated  with  tassels 
M'.l  fanciful  trappings,  and  a  couple  of  broad-mouth- 
:l  blunderbusses  hung  behind  the  saddle.  He  had 
the  air  of  those  contrabandistas  that  I  have  seen  in 
the  mountains  of  Rcnda,  and,  evidently,  bad  a  good 
understanding  with  the  brother  of  mine  hostess; 
nay,  if  I  mistake  not,  he  was  a  favourite  admirer  of 
the  widow.  In  fact,  the  whole  inn  and  its  inmates 
haJ  something  of  a  contrabimdista  aspect,  and  the 
blunderbuss  stoo('  in  a  comer  beside  the  guitar. 
The  horseman  I  have  mentioned,  passed  his  evening 
:n  th;  posada,  and  sang  several  bold  mountain  ro- 
mances with  great  spirit. 

As  we  were  at  supper,  two  poor  Asturians  put  in 
in  distress,  begging  food  and  a  night's  lodging. 
Thty  had  been  waylaiil  by  robbers  as  they  came 
from  a  fair  among  the  mountains,  robbed  of  a  horse, 
which  carried  all  their  stork  in  trade,  stripped  of 
tlitir  money  and  most  of  their  apparel,  beaten  for 
ha.ing  offered  resistance,  and  lett  almost  naked  in 
ihi.-  road.  My  companion,  with  a  prompt  generosity, 
n;.tural  to  him,  onlered  them  a  supper  and  a  bed, 
and  gave  them  a  supply  of  money  to  help  them  for- 
i>  ard  towards  their  home. 

As  the  evening  advanced,  the  dramatis  personae 
hickened.  A  large  man,  about  sixty  ye.ars  of  age, 
■•I'  powerful  frame,  came  strolling  in,  to  gossip  with 
1!  ne  hostess.  He  was  dressed  in  the  onlinary  An- 
Jalusi^n  :ostume,  but  had  a  huge  sabre  tucked 
,11  df-  his  arm,  wore  large  moust.iches  and  had 
vimetring  of  a  lofty  swaggering  air.  Every  one 
jeeniec  to  regard  him  with  great  deference. 

Our  man,  Sancho,  whispered  to  us  that  he  was 
Don  Ventura  Rodriguez,  the  hero  and  chamjiion  of 
Li)xa,  famous  for  his  prowess  and  the  strength  of  his 
inn.  In  the  time  of  the  French  invasion,  he  sur- 
prised six  troopers  who  were  asleep.  He  first 
secured  their  horses,  then  attacked  theni  with  his 


sabre;  killed  some,  and  took  the  rest  prisonenv 
For  this  exploit,  the  king  allows  him  a  pccet.i.  (the 
fifth  of  a  duro,  or  dollar,)  per  day,  and  has  dignified 
him  with  the  title  of  Don. 

I  was  amused  to  notice  his  swelling  language 
and  demeanour.  He  w-as  evitlently  a  thorough 
Andalusian,  boastful  as  he  was  brave.  His  sabre 
was  always  in  I. is  hand,  or  under  his  arm.  He  cai  • 
ries  n  always  about  with  him  as  a  child  does  a 
doll,  calls  it  his  Santa  Teresa  and  says,  that 
when  he  draws  it,  "  temb  a  la  tierra  !  "  (tne  earth 
trembles!) 

I  sat  until  a  late  hour  listening  to  the  varied 
themes  ot  this  motley  grojpe,  who  mingled  toge- 
ther with  the  unre.serve  of  a  Spanish  posada.  We 
had  con'.rabandista  songs,  stories  of  rol>;>ers,  gue- 
rilla exploits,  and  Moorish  legends.  Tie  last  one 
from  our  handsome  landlady,  who  gave  a  poeti- 
cal account  of  the  infiernos,  or  infernal  regions 
of  Loxa  —  dark  caverns,  in  which  subterraneous 
streams  and  waterfalls  make  a  mysterious  sound. 
The  common  people  say  they  are  money  coiners, 
shut  up  there  from  the  time  of  the  Moors,  and  that 
the  Moorish  kings  kept  their  treasures  in  these 
caverns. 

Were  it  the  purport  of  this  work,  I  could  fill  its 
pages  with  the  incidents  and  scenes  of  o.ur  ram- 
bling expedition,  but  other  themes  invite  me.  Jour 
neying  in  this  manner,  we  at  length  emerged  from 
the  mountains,  and  entered  upon  the  beautiful 
Vega  of  Granada.  Here  we  took  our  last  mid- 
day's repast  under  a  grove  of  olive  trees,  on  the 
borders  of  a  rivulet,  with  the  old  Moorish  capital 
in  the  distance,  dominated  by  the  ruddy  towers  of 
the  Alhambra,  while  far  above  it  the  snow^  sum- 
mits of  the  Sierra  Nevada  shone  like  silver.  Th* 
day  was  without  a  cloud,  and  the  heat  of  the  f  v** 
tempered  by  cool  breezes  from  the  mountains ;  al 
ter  our  repast,  we  spread  our  cloaks  and  took  out 
1.1st  siesta,  lulled  by  the  humming  of  bees  among 
the  flowers,  and  the  notes  of  the  ring  doves  fr.im 
the  neighbouring  olive  trees.  When  the  sultr)-  hours 
were  past,  we  resumed  our  journey,  and  after  pass- 
ing between  hedges  of  aloes  and  Indi.in  figs,  jmd 
through  a  wilderness  of  gardens,  arrived  about  sun- 
set at  the  gates  of  Granada, 


GOVERNMENT  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA, 


To  the  traveller  imbued  with  a  fueling  for  the  hi« 
toiical  and  poetical,  the  Alhambra  of  Granada  is  as 
much  an  object  of  veneration  as  is  the  Caaba,  ot 
sa'-ed  house  of  Mecca,  to  all  true  Moslem  pilgriiiis. 
Dow  many  legends  and  tr.iditions,  true  and  fabulous 
how  many  songs  and  romances,  Spanish  and  Ara- 
bian, of  love  and  war  and  chivalry,  are  associated 
with  this  romantic  pile  !  The  reader  may  judge, 
therefore,  of  our  delight,  when,  shortly  after  our  ar- 
rival in  Granada,  the  governor  of  Alhanitra  gave  ns 
permission  to  occupy  his  vacant  apartments  in  lb? 
Moorish  palace.  Sly  companion  was  loon  iiw. 
moned  .aw.iy  by  the  duties  of  his  station  but  )  re- 
mained for  several  months  spell-bound  in  the  old 
enchanted  pile.  The  following  papers  are  the  ra- 
suU  of  my  reveries  and  researches,  during  that  de 
licious  thraldom.  If  they  have  the  power  of  Ita- 
p.-irii>'g  any  of  the  witching  charms  of  the  place  in 
the  iiii.-it;ination  of  the  reader,  he  will  not  re;)ine 
at  lingering  with  1^9  for  a  Mason  in  the  legendary 
halls  of  the  Alhambra. 

The  Alhambra  is  an  ancient  fortress  or  castcl 
lated  palace    of   the   Moorish  Icings  of   Granada 


111 


108 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


:m^'  'M' 


I* 


•Ska 


ilfcHs^'v 


m' 


I  V. 


■-)fT\^ 


I  Li; 


(■ 


wheie  the>  licid  dominion  over  this  tlieir  boasted 
terrestrial  paradise,  and  made  their  last  stand  for 
empire  in  Spain.  The  palace  occupies  but  a  por- 
tion of  the  fortress,  the  walls  of  which,  studded 
with  towers,  stretch  irregularly  round  the  whole 
crcit  of  a  lofty  hill  that  oveiiooixs  the  city,  and 
forms  a  spire  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  or  Snowy 
Mjuntain. 

In  the  time  of  the  Moors,  the  fortress  was  capa- 
ble of  containing  an  army  of  forty  thousand  men 
tvithin  Its  precincts,  and  served  occasion.illy  as  a 
.itrong-hold  of  the  sovereifjns  against  their  rebel- 
Hous  subjects.  After  the  kingdom  had  passed  into 
the  hands  of  the  Christians,  the  Alhambra  ■  con- 
tinued a  roya!  demesne,  and  was  occasionally  in- 
hab'ted  by  the  Castilian  monarchs.  The  Emperor 
Charles  V.  began  a  sumptuous  pahce  within  its 
walls,  but  was  deterred  from  completing  it  by 
repeated  shocks  of  earthquakes.  The  last  royal 
residents  were  Fhiliii  V.  and  his  beautiful  Queen 
Elizabetta,  of  Parma,  early  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury. 

Great  preparations  were  made  for  their  recep- 
tion. The  palace  and  gardens  were  placed  in  a 
state  of  repair  ;  and  a  new  suite  of  apartments 
erected,  and  decorated  by  artists  brought  from 
Italy.  The  sojourn  of  the  sovereigns  was  transient ; 
and,  after  their  dtpr.rture,  the  palace  once  more 
became  desolate.  Still  the  place  was  maintained 
with  some  military  state.  The  governor  held  it 
mimediately  from  the  crown :  its  jurisdiction  fex- 
tended  down  into  the  suburbs  of  the  city,  and  was 
independent  of  the  captain  general  of  Gr.inada,  A 
considerable  garrison  was  kept  up  ;  the  governor 
had  his  apartments  in  the  old  Moorish  palace,  and 
uevcr  descended  into  Granada  without  some  mili- 
taiy  parade.  The  Ibrtrcss,  in  fact,  was  a  little  town 
n  itself,  having  several  streets  of  houses  within  its 
A'alls,  together  with  a  Franciscan  convent  and  a 
parochial  church. 

The  desertion  of  the  court,  however,  was  a  fatal 
blow  to  the  .'Mhanibr.a.  Its  be.uitiful  walls  became 
desolate,  and  son.e  of  them  fell  to  ruin  ;  the  gar- 
dens \vt  re  destroyed,  and  the  fountains  ceased  to 
play,  by  degrees  the  dwellings  became  tilled  up 
with  a  Idose  and  lawless  population  ;  contrabandis- 
tas,  who  availed  themselves  vf  its  indtpi-ndent  ju- 
risdiction, to  carr)'  on  a  wide  and  daring  course  of 
smuggling,  .ind  thieves  and  rogues  of  all  sorts,  who 
made  this  their  place  of  refuge,  from  whence  they 
niiglit  depredate  ujion  Granada  and  its  vicinity. 
The  jtrong  arm  of  government  at  length  interposed. 
The  whole  community  was  thoroughly  siftetl ;  none 
were  suifered  to  remain  but  such  as  wer.e  of  honest 
character  and  h.ad  legitimate  rigiu  to  a  resi<l'.'nce  ; 
tne  greater  part  of  ihe  lioiists  were  demolished, 
and  a  mere  hamlet  leti,  with  the  parochial  church 
and  the  Fnnciscan  convent. 

During  the  recent  troubles  in  .Spain,  when  Gra- 
nada .was  in  the  hands  of  the  French,  the  Alham- 
bra was  garrisoned  by  their  troops,  and  the  palace 
was  occasionally  inhabited  by  the  French  comman- 
der. With  that  enlightened  taste  which  h:is  ever 
dLs'.inguished  the  French  n.ition  in  their  conquests, 
this  monument  ol  Moorish  elegance  and  grandeur 
was  rescued  from  the  absolute  ruin  and  desolation 
that  were  overwhelming  it.  The  roofs  were  re- 
paired, the  saloons  and  galleries  protected  from 
thr  we-'\ther,  the  gardens  cultivated,  the  water- 
ccurscs  restored,  the  fountains  once  more  m.ade  to 
throw  up  their  spark!ir.g  showers  :  and  Spain  may 
thank  her  invaders  for  h.aving  preserved  to  her  the 
most  bea'itiful  and  interesting  of  her  historical  mon- 
uments. 

On  the  departure  of  tlie  French,  they  blew  up 


several  towers  of  '.'le  outer  wall,  and  left  the  fortifc 

cations  scarcely  ttnable.  Since  that  time,  the  mill, 
tary  importance  of  the  post  is  at  aa  end.  The  g.ii. 
rison  is  a  handful  of  invalid  soldiers,  whose  princi 
pal  duty  is  to  guard  seme  of  the  outer  towers 
which  serve,  occasionally,  ns  a  prison  of  state ;  am; 
the  governor,  abandoning  the  lofty  hill  of  the  Alhair, 
bra,  resides  in  the  centre  of  Granada,  for  the  mort 
convenient  despatch  of  his  official  duties.  I  ca: 
not  conclude  this  brief  notice  of  the  stale  of  tl : 
fortress,  without  bearing  testimony  to  the  honour 
able  exertions  of  its  present  coinmander,  Don  Fi.n;- 
Cisco  de  Salis  Serna,  who  is  t.iskii.g  all  the  liiiiit'-d 
resources  at  his  command,  to  put  the  palace  in  ,, 
state  of  repair ;  and  by  his  juilicious  precautioiis 
has  for  some  time  arrested  its  too  certain  decay 
Had  his  predecessors  discrarged  the  duties  of  theu 
station  with  equal  fidelity,  the  Alhambra  might  yd 
have  remained  in  almost  its  pristine  beauty  ;  werf 
gover/iment  to  second  him  with  means  equal  to  his 
real,  this  edifice  might  still  be  preserved  to  adorn  the 
land,  and  to  attract  the  curious  and  enlightened  ol 
every  clime,  for  many  generations. 


INTERIOR  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA. 


tdy 


The  Alhambra  has  been  so  often  and  so  minutd 
described  by  travellers,  that  a  mere  sketch 
probably  be  sufficient  for  the  reader  to  refresh  l.is 
recollection ;  I  will  give,  therefore,  a  brief  acco  t  ; 
of  our  visit  to  it  the  morning  after  our  amval  iii 
Granada, 

Leaving  our  posada  of  La  Espada,  we  traverse! 
the  renowned  stjuare  of  the  Vivarr.-imbla,  once  the 
scene  of  Moorish  jousts  and  tournaments,  now  .i 
crowdi-d  market  place.  From  thence  we  proceeded 
along  the  Zacatin,  the  main  street  of  what  w.as  the 
great  Uazaar,  in  the  time  of  the  Moors,  where  the 
small  shops  and  narrow  alleys  still  retain  their  <  )ri- 
ent.al  character.  Crossing  an  open  place  in  front 
of  the  palace  of  the  captain-general,  we  ascended  a 
confined  and  winding  street,  the  name  of  which 
reminded  us  of  the  chivalric  days  of  (iranad.a.  It 
is  called  the  Calle,  or  street  of  the  Gomeres  :  froni  a 
Moorish  family,  famous  in  chronicle  and  song.  This 
street  led  up  to  a  mansion  gatew.ay  of  Grecian  arcln- 
tectiire,  built  by  Charles  V.,  forming  the  entrance  to 
the  domains  of  the  Alhambra. 

At  the  gate  wei-e  two  or  three  ragged  and  super- 
annuated soldiers  dozing  on  a  stone  bench,  the  sue 
cessors  of  the  Zegris  and  the  Abencerrages  ;  while 
a  tall,  meagre  varlet,  whose  rusty  brown  cloak  was, 
evidently,  intended  to  conceal  the  ragged  state  of 
his  nether  garments,  was  lounging  in  the  sunshine, 
and  gossipping  with  an  ancient  sentinel,  on  duty.  He 
joined  us  as  we  entered  the  gate,  and  offered  his 
services  to  show  us  the  fortress. 

I  have  a  traveller's  dislike  to  officious  ciceroni,  an' 
did  not  altogether  like  the  garb  of  the  applicant : 

"You  are  well  acquainted  with  the  place,  I  \,\t- 
sume  ?  " 

"  Ninguno  mas — pues,  sefior,  soy  hijo  de  la  Al 
hambra. " 

(NolHjdy  better — in  fact,  sir,  I  am  a  son  of  the 
Alhambra.) 

The  common  Spaniards  have  certainly  a  inos^ 
poetical  way  of  expressing  themselves — "  A  son  of 
the  Alhambra  :  "  the  apfwllation  c.iught  me  at  oncu 
the  very  tattered  garb  of  niy  new  acquaintance  as 
sumed  a  dignity  in  my  eyes.     It  was  embiemaiii  oi 


lam'tra  depend.; 
It  was  a  great  mag 
»cl<i  himself  to  th 
fortress  under  a  m; 
.;eti.ained  itandmg 
iante  of  storms  a 
liie  other  buildings 
Hid  disappeared. 


TU/5   ALHAMBRA 


101 


le  fortiK 

the  mili- 
The  sii- 
>c  prni'.i- 
towers 
ate ;  am; 
e  Alham 
the  mor( 
.     I  car 
le  of  ll  f 
:   honour 
)on  Fi.ir,- 
lie  liiiiit''(.l 
ilace  ill  ;. 
recautioiis 
lin  ilecav 
:s  of  thi'.r 
might  yit 
uty  ;  wi-if 
|ual  to  his 
I  adorn  ihe 
rhtened  ot 


\. 


so  mincttW 
sketch  wif. 
refresh  t-is 
rief  accdor  1 
T  arnval  ir. 

we  traver'^ei! 
[la,  once  ihf 
-nts,  now  a 
procceileJ 
hat  was  the 
whtTf  the 
their  I  )ri- 
ice  in  front 
asceniif'l  a 
of   wliith 
ranada.    It 
res :  froni  a 
song.  Th.s 
cian  arclii- 
entrance  to 

and  super- 
ch,  the  sue- 
ages ;  while 
n  cloak  was, 
ged  state  of 
he  sunshine, 
on  duty.  He 
offered  his 

ciceroni,  an' 
applicant : 
place,  I  pie 

ijo  de  la  Al 

son  of  the 

linly  a  mos! 
-"  A  SOI)  of 
rne  at  oiue 
laintance  ;iS' 
nblemaii''  oi 


(tie  features  of  the  place,  and  became  the  progeny 
ot  a  ruin. 

1  pui  some  farther  questions  to  him,  and  found  his 
titlR  was  legitimate.  His  family  had  lived  in  the 
fortress  from  generation  to  generation  ever  since  the 
liine  of  the  conquest.  His  name  was  Mateo  Xini- 
ciies.  "Then,  perhaps,"  sail  '  "you  may  be  a 
(k'cendant  from  the  great  Cardinal  Ximenes." 

"  Dios  sabe !  God  knows,  senor.  It  may  be  so. 
Wc  are  the  oldest  family  in  the  Alhambra.  k'tejos 
'Stislianos,  old  Christians,  without  any  taint  of  Moor 
:r  jew.  I  know  we  belong  to  some  great  family  or 
oiher,  but  I  forget  who.  My  father  knows  all  about 
it.  He  has  the  coat  of  arms  hanging  up  in  his  cot- 
t.ige,  up  in  the  fortress." — There  is  never  a  Spaniard, 
liuwcver  poor,  but  has  sonie  claim  to  high  |)edigree. 
The  first  title  of  this  rag,jed  worthy,  however,  had 
completely  captivated  me,  so  1  glaiily  accepted  the 
services  of  the  "  son  of  the  Alhambra." 

We  now  found  ourselves  in  a  deep  narrow  ravine, 
fiiied  with  beautiful  groves,  with  a  steep  avenue  and 
i.irious  f(X)t-paihs  winding  through  it,  tiordered  with 
sione  seats  and  ornamented  with  fountains.  To 
o;.r  i-ift,  we  beheld  the  towers  of  the  Alhambra 
!)( ciling  above  us ;  to  our  right,  on  the  opposite 
'.ule  of  the  ravine,  we  were  equally  dominated  by 
tiv.il  towers  on  a  rocky  eminence.  These,  we  were 
luifl,  were  the  Torres  Vermejos,  or  Vermilion 
lowers,  so  called  from  their  ruiUly  hue.  No  one 
knows  their  origin.  They  are  of  a  date  much  an- 
terior to  the  Alhambra.  Some  suppose  them  to  have 
been  built  by  the  Romans  ;  others,  by  some  wander- 
iiif,'  colony  of  {'"irniciaiis.  Ascending  the  steep  and 
sillily  avenue,  we  arrived  at  the  foot  of  a  huge  s(|uare 
Miiurish  tower,  forming  a  kind  of  barbican,  through 
Ai'.uh  passed  the  main  entrance  to  the  fortress. 
Aitliin  the  barbican  was  another  groupe  of  veteran 
!nv:di(ls,  one  mounting  guard  at  the  portal,  while 
Ihe  rest.  wiippt-d  in  their  tattered  cloaks,  slept  on 
the  stone  benches'  This  poital  is  called  the  Gate 
01  Justice,  from  the  tribunal  held  within  its  porch 
■luting  the  Moslem  domination,  for  the  immediate 
trill  o*^  potty  causes  ;  a  custom  common  to  the  Ori- 
eiit.d  nations,  and  occasionally  alluded  to  in  the 
■jacied  Scriptures. 

The  great  vestibule,  or  porch  of  the  gate,  is  formed 
oy  an  immense  Aratiian  arch  of  the  horseshoe  form, 
\hich  springs  to  half  the  height  of  the  tower.  On 
me  key-stone  of  this  arch  is  engraven  a  gigantic 
i;,i[ul.  Within  the  vestibule,  on  the  key-stone  of  the 
|ii)rial,  is  engraven,  in  like  manner,  a  gigantic  key. 
Those  who  pretend  to  some  knowledge  of  .Slahometan 
syiiihols,  affirm,  that  the  hand  is  ilie  emblem  of  doc- 
trine, and  the  key,  of  faith  ;  the  latter,  they  add,  was 
emblazoned  on  the  stantfard  of  the  Moslems  when 
.hey  subdued  Andalusia,  in  op,:osition  to  the  Chris- 
tian emblem  of  the  cross.  A  different  explanation, 
however,  was  given  by  the  legitimate  "son  of  the 
.'\ihainbra,"  and  one  more  in  unison  with  the  notions 
ot  the  common  people,  who  attach  something  of 
n;ys;*.;ry  and  magic  to  every  thing  Moorish,  and 
'\:~y<ii'.  .ill  kinds  of  superstitions  connected  with  this 
iid  Moslem  fortress. 

Acccrding  to  Mateo,  it  was  a  tradition  handed 
j.>vn  f:om  the  oldest  inhabitants,  and  which  he  had 
it.iin  hit  father  and  grandfather,  that  the  hand  and 
key  wee  magical  devices  on  which  the  fate  of  the 
Alliain'.ira  depended.  The  Moorish  king  who  built 
It  was  i  great  magician,  and,  as  some  believed,  had 
Kid  himself  to  the  devil,  and  had  laid  the  whole 
fortress  under  a  magic  spell.  By  this  means  it  had 
.eniainid  standing  lor  several  hundred  years,  in  de- 
5aiiLe  of  storms  and  earthquakes,  while  almost  all 
liic  other  buildings  of  the  Moors  had  fallen  to  ruin 
uid  disappeared.    The  spell,  the  tradition  wcp'  on 


to  say,  would  ast  until  the  hand  on  the  cuter  aicb 
should  reach  down  and  grasp  the  key,  when  the 
whole  pile  would  tumble  to  pieces,  and  all  the 
treasures  buried  beneath  it  by  the  Moors  would  be 
revealed. 

Notwithstanding  this  ominous  prediction,  we  ven- 
tured to  pass  through  '.he  spell-bound  gateway,  feel- 
ing some  little  assurarxe  against  magic  art  in  tha 
protection  of  the  Virgin,  a  statue  of  whom  we  ob» 
served  above  the  portal. 

After  passing  through  the  Barbican,  we  ascended 
a  narrow  lane,  winding  totvveen  walls,  and  came  on 
an  open  esplanade  wiih.n  the  fortress,  called  the 
I'la/a  de  los  Algibes,  or  Place  of  the  Cisterns,  fiom 
great  reservoirs  which  undermine  it,  cut  in  the  living 
rock  by  the  Moors,  for  the  supply  of  the  fortress, 
Here,  also,  is  a  well  of  immense  depth,  furnishing 
the  purest  and  coklestof  water, — another  monument 
of  the  celicaie  taste  of  the  ^Ioors,  who  were  inde- 
fatigable in  their  exertions  to  obtain  that  element  in 
its  crystal  purity. 

In  front  of  this  esplanade  is  the  splendid  pile, 
commenced  by  Charles  V.,  intended,  it  is  said,  to 
eclipse  the  residence  of  the  Moslem  kings.  With 
all  its  grandeur  and  architectural  merit,  it  appeared 
to  us  like  an  arrogant  intrusion,  and  passing  by  it 
we  entered  a  simple  unostentatious  portal,  opening 
into  the  interior  of^  the  Moorish  palace. 

The  transition  w-is  almost  magical ;  it  seemed  as 
if  we  were  at  once  transported  into  other  times  and 
another  realm,  and  were  treading  the  scenes  of 
Arabian  story.  We  found  ourselves  in  a  great  court 
paved  with  white  mr>rble  and  decorated  at  each  end 
with  light  .Moorish  peristyles.  It  is  called  the  court 
of  the  Alberca.  In  the  centre  was  an  immense 
basin,  or  tish-pool,  a  •  hundred  and  thirty  feet  in 
length,  by  thirty  in  breadth,  stocked  with  gold-fisVi, 
and  bordered  by  hedges  of  roses.  At  the  upper  «nd 
of  this  court,  rose  the  great  tower  of  Comares. 

From  the  lower  end,  we  passed  through  a  Moor- 
ish arch-way  into  the  renowned  Court  of  Lions. 
There  is  no  part  of  the  edifice  that  gives  us  a  more 
complete  idea  of  its  original  beauty  and  magnifi- 
cence than  this;  for  none  has  suffered  so  little  from 
the  ravages  of  time.  In  the  centre  stands  the  foun- 
tain famous  in  song  and  story.  The  alabaster  ba- 
sins still  shed  their  diamond  drojis,  and  the  twelve 
lions  which  support  them,  cast  forth  their  crystal 
stieiims  as  in  the  days  of  Boabdil.  The  court  is 
laid  out  in  flower  beds,  and  surrouniled  by  light 
Arabian  arcades  of  open  filigree  work,  supported  by 
slender  pillars  of  white  marble.  The  architecture, 
like  that  of  all  the  other  parts  of  the  palace,  is  char- 
acterized by  elegance,  rather  than  grandeur,  be- 
speaking a  delicate  and  graceful  taste,  and  a  dispo- 
sition to  indolent  enjoyment.  When  we  look  upon 
the  fairy  tracery  of  the  peristyles,  and  the  appar- 
ently fragile  fret-work  of  the  walls,  it  is  difficult  i'^ 
believe  that  so  much  has  survived  the  wear  and  teai 
of  penturies,  the  shocks  of  earthquakes,  the  violence 
of  war,  and  the  quiet,  though  no  less  banef.d,  pilfer- 
ings  of  the  ta.steful  traveller.  It  is  almost  sufficient 
to  excuse  the  popular  tradition,  that  the  whole  is 
protected  by  a  magic  charm. 

On  one  side  of  the  court,  a  portal  ncniy  adorned 
opens  into  a  lofty  hall  paved  with  white  marble,  and 
called  the  Hall  of  the  two  Sisters.  A  cupola  or 
lantern  admits  a  tempered  light  from  above,  and  a 
fee  circulation  of  air.  The  lower  part  of  the  walli 
ia  ircrusted  with  beautiful  Moorish  tiles,  on  some  of 
which  are  emblazoned  the  escutcheons  of  the  Moor 
ish  monarchs :  the  upptr  part  is  faced  with  the  hnf 
stucco  work  invented  at  Damxscus,  consisting  ol 
laige  plates  cast  in  moulds  ar.d  artfully  joined,  so  as. 
to  have  the  appearance  jf  having  been  laboricuhl 


..  ■♦'•■• 


IW 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


'J^\ 


'■h"  '■  ^ 


n  ^•■' 


1--    . 


If. 


■■»; 


Kuiptured  by  the  hand  into  light  relievos  and  fanci- 
fiil  arabesques,  intermingled  with  texts  of  the  Koran, 
and  poetical  inscriptions  in  Arabian  and  Celtic  char- 
acters. These  decorations  of  the  walls  and  cupolas 
are  richly  gilded,  and  the  interstices  panelled  with 
lapis  lazuli  and  other  brilliant  and  enduring  colours. 
On  each  side  of  the  wall  are  recesses  for  ottomans 
ind  arches.  Above  an  inner  porch,  is  a  balcony 
whii.h  communicated  with  the  women's  apartment. 
The  latticed  balconies  still  remain,  from  whence  the 
Jark-eycd  beauties  of  the  harem  might  gaze  unseen 
upon  the  entertainments  of  the  hall  below. 

it  is  impossible  to  contemplate  this  once  favourite 
abode  of  Oriental  m.inners,  without  feeling  the  early 
associations  of  Arabian  romance,  and  almost  ex- 
pecting to  see  the  white  arm  of  some  mysterious 
princess  beckoning  from  the  balcony,  or  some  dark 
eye  sparkling  through  the  lattice.  The  abode  of 
beauty  is  here,  as  if  it  had  been  inhabitetl  but  yes- 
terday—  but  where  are  the  Zoraydas  and  Linde- 
raxas  ! 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  court  of  Lions,  is  the 
hall  of  the  Abencerrages,  so  called  from  the  gallant 
cavaliers  of  that  illustrious  line,  who  were  here  per- 
lidiously  massacred.  There  are  some  who  doubt 
the  whole  truth'  of  this  story,  but  our  humble  at- 
tendant, Mateo,  pointed  out  the  very  wicket  of  the 
portal  through  which  they  .are  said  to  have  been  in- 
troduced, ons  by  one,  and  the  white  marble  fountain 
in  the  centre  of  the  hall,  where  they  were  beheaded. 
He  showed  us  also  certain  bro.id  ruddy  stains  in  the 
pavement,  traces  of  their  blood,  which,  according 
to  popular  belief,  can  never  be  effaced.  Finding  we 
listened  to  him  with  easy  faith,  he  added,  that  there 
was  olten  heard  at  night,  in  the  Court  of  the  Lions, 
a  low  confused  sound,  resembling  the  murmurings 
<-ji  a  multitude  ;  with  now  and  then  a  faint  tinkling, 
clke  the  distant  clank  of  chains.  These  noises  are 
if'Vobably  produced  by  the  bubbling  currents  and 
liiikling  falls  of  water,  conducted  under  the  pave- 
ment through  pipes  and  channels  to  supply  the  foun- 
tains ;  but  according  to  the  legend  of  the  son  of  the 
Alhambra,  they  are  made  by  the  spirits  of  the  mur- 
dered Al)encerr.ages,  who  nightly  haunt  the  scene  of 
their  sulTeriiig,  and  invoke  the  vengeance  of  Heaven 
on  their  destroyer. 

From  the  Court  of  Lions,  we  retraced  our  steps 
through  the  court  of  the  Alberca,  or  great  fish-pool, 
crossing  which,  wo  proceeded  to  the  lower  of  Co- 
inares,  so  calletl  from  the  name  of  the  Arabian 
architect.  It  is  of  massive  strength,  and  lofty 
heigiit.  domineering  over  the  rest  of  the  e<lif)ce,  and 
overhanging  the  steep  hill-side,  which  descends  ab- 
ruptly to  the  banks  of  the  Uarro.  A  Moorish  arch- 
v.ay  admitted  us  into  a  vast  and  lofty  hall,  which 
occupies  the  interior  of  the  tower,  and  w.is  the 
grand  audience  chamber  of  the  Moslem  monarchs, 
thence  called  the  hall  of  Amb;issadors.  It  still  bears 
the  traces  of  past  magnificence.  The  walls  are 
richly  stuccoed  and  decorated  with  arabesques,  the 
vf'.ulted  ceilings  of  cedar  wood,  almost  lost  in  ob- 
•Cw.'tv  from  its  height,  still  gleam  with  rich  gilding 
and  rhi  brilliant  tints  of  the  Arabian  pencil.  On 
ihtee  &■.i^^  of  the  saloon,  are  deep  windows,  cut 
Lliroi'gh  the  immense  thickness  of  the  walls,  the 
lialco^ies  of  which,  looking  down  upon  the  verdant 
Jaiii'j  ?!  the  Darro,  the  streets  and  convents  of  the 
Aibiycin,  and  command  a  prospect  of  the  distant 
Vega.  I  might  go  on  to  describe  the  other  delight- 
ful apartments  of  this  side  of  the  palace  ;  the  To- 
cador  or  toilet  of  the  Queen,  an  open  belvedere  on 
the  summit  of  the  tower,  where  the  Moorish  sultanas 
enjoyed  the  pure  breezes  from  the  mountain  and  the 
prospect  of  tne  surrounding  jiaradise.  The  secluded 
attle  patio  or  garden  of  Lindaraxa,  with  its  alabaster 


fountain,  its  thickets  ot  roses  and  m)TtIes,  of  cition> 
and  oranges.  The  cool  hails  and  grcttoes  of  tir 
baths,  where  the  gl.are  and  heat  of  day  are  temperci; 
into  a  self-mysterious  light  and  a  pervading  liesli- 
ness.  But  I  appear  to  dwell  minutely  on  the:-i; 
scenes.  My  object  is  merely  to  give  the  reader  » 
general  introduction  into  an  abode,  where,  if  div 
posed,  he  may  linger  .and  loiter  with  me  throygii 
the  remainder  of  this  work,  gradually  becoming 
familiar  with  all  its  be^^'ities. 

An  abundant  supply  of  water,  brought  from  tlir 
mountains  by  old  Moorish  aqueducts,  circulate! 
throughout  the  palace,  supplying  its  baths  and  fisl.- 
pools,  sparkling  in  jets  within  its  halls,  or  murmnr- 
mg  in  channels  along  the  marble  pavements.  WIkt 
it  has  paid  its  tribute  to  the  royal  pile,  and  visited 
gardens  and  pastures,  it  flows  down  the  long  avttue 
leading  to  the  city,  tinkling  in  rills,  gushing  in  foun- 
tains, and  maintaining  a  perpetual  verdure  in  tho::>e 
groves  that  embower  and  beautify  the  whole  hill  ot 
the  Alhambra. 

Those,  only,  who  have  sojourned  in  the  ardent 
climates  of  the  South,  can  appreciate  the  delighis 
of  an  abode  combining  the  breezy  coolness  of  the 
mountain  with  the  freshness  and  verdure  of  tiie 
valley. 

•  While  the  city  below  pants  with  the  noon-ti'le 
heat,  and  the  parched  Vega  trembles  to  the  eye,  tiic 
delicate  airs  from  the  Sierra  Nev.^da  play  throiit;h 
the  lofty  halls,  bringing  with  them  the  sweetness  ol 
the  surrounding  gardens.  Every  thing  invites  to 
that  indolent  repose,  the  bliss  of  Southern  climes ; 
and  while  the  half-shut  eye  looks  out  from  shaded 
balconies  upon  the  glittering  landscape,  the  ear  it 
lulled  by  the  rustling  of  groves,  and  the  n-.urojur  oi 
running  streams. 


THE  TOWER  OF  COMARES. 


The  reader  has  had  a  sketch  of  the  interior  o!  the 
Alhambra,  and  may  be  desirous  of  a  general  idea 
of  its  vicinity.  The  morning  is  serene  and  lovely; 
the  sun  has  not  gained  sufiicient  power  to  destroy 
the  freshness  of  the  night ;  we  will  mount  to  the 
summit  of  the  tower  of  Comares,  and  take  a  binis- 
eye  view  of  Granada  and  its  environs. 

Come,  then,  worthy  reader  and  comrade,  follnw 
my  steps  into  this  vestibule  ornamented  with  rich 
tracery,  which  opens  to  the  hall  of  Ambassadors. 
We  will  not  enter  the  hall,  however,  but  turn  to  tie 
left,  to  this  small  door,  opening  in  the  wall.  Have  ; 
care  !  here  are  steep  winding  steps  and  but  scant, 
light.  Yet,  up  this  narrow,  obscure  and  windmi; 
staircase,  the  proud  monarchs  of  Granada  and  flicir 
queens  have  often  asceniled  to  the  battlements  of  ttif 
tower  to  watch  the  approach  of  Christian  armies; 
or  to  gaze  on  the  battles  in  the  Vega.  At  length  we 
are  upon  the  terraced  roof,  and  may  take  breath  for 
a  moment,  while  we  cast  a  general  eye  over  tht 
splendid  panorama  of  city  and  country,  of  rocl.y 
mountain,  verdant  valley  and  fertile  plain  ;  of  castle, 
cathedral,  Moorish  towers  and  Gothic  domes,  crum- 
bling ruins  and  blooming  groves. 

Let  us  approach  the  battlements  and  cast  our  eyes 
immediately  below.  See, — on  this  side  we  have  the 
whole  plan  of  the  Alhambra  laid  0|)en  to  us,  and 
can  look  down  into  its  courts  and  gardens.  At  the 
foot  of  the  lower  is  the  Court  of  the  All>erca  with  its 
great  tank  or  fish-pool  bordered  with  flowers ;  iu/ 
yonder  is  the  Court  of  Lions,  with  its  famous  foim- 
uin,  and  its  light  Moorish  arcades;  and  in  the  rcn- 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


101 


tre  of  the  pile  is  the  little  (garden  of  Lindaraxa. 
bi--ied  in  the  heart  of  the  juiiihng,  with  its  loses 
n. ,.  dtrms  and  shnibtiery  of  emerald  green. 

That  iielt  of  battlements  s'udiled  with  square 
to"»t;rs,  straggling  round  the  whole  brow  of  the  hill, 
Is  I  he  outer  boundary  of  the  fortress.  Some  of  the 
tow.ers,  you  may  perceive,  are  in  ruins,  and  their 
ma  ewe  (ragmeiits  are  buried  among  vines,  fig-trees 
iri)  aloes. 

1,1't  us  loots  on  this  northern  side  of  the  tower.  It 
f  a  f-I.idy  height ;  the  vt-ry  touiidalions  of  the  tower 
r.nK'.  above  the  gioves  of  the  steep  hill-side.  And  see, 
J  long  fissure  in  the  massive  walls  shows  that  the 
tower  has  been  rent  by  som'i  of  the  earthquakes, 
which  from  time  to  titne  have  thrown  Granatla  into 
consternation  ;  and  which,  sooner  or  later,  must  re- 
duce this  crumbling  pile  to  a  mere  mass  of  niin. 
The  deep  narrow  glen  below  us,  which  gradually 
widens  as  it  opens  from  the  mountains,  is  the  valley 
of  the  Uarro  ;  you  see  the  little  river  winding  its  way 
under  emfwwered  terraces,  and  among  orchards  and 
flower  gardens.  It  is  a  stream  famous  in  old  times 
for  yielding  gold,  and  its  sands  arc  still  sifted,  occa- 
sionally, in  search  of  the  precious  ore. 

Some  of  those  while  pavilions  which  here  and 
there  gleam  from  among  groves  and  vineyards,  were 
rustic  retreats  of  the  Moors,  to  enjoy  the  refreshment 
of  their  gardens. 

The  airy  palace  with  its  tall  white  towers  and  long 
arcades,  which  breast  yon  mountain,  among  pomp- 
ous groves  ami  hanging  gardens,  is  the  General! tfe,  a 
summer  palace  of  the  Moorish  kings,  to  which  they 
resorted  during  the  sultry  months,  to  enjoy  a  still 
more  breezy  region  than  that  of  the  Alhambra.  The 
luikfri  summit  of  the  height  above  it,  where  you  be- 
hold some  shapeless  ruins,  is  the  Silla  del  Moro,  or 
jeat  of  the  Moor ;  so  called  from  having  been  a  re- 
treat of  the  unfortunate  Boabdil,  during  the  time  of 
in  insurrection,  where  he  seated  himself  and  looked 
down  mournfully  upon  his  rebellious  city. 

A  murmuring  sound  of  water  now  and  then  rises 
from  the  valley.  It  is  from  the  aque<luct  of  yon 
Moorish  mill  nearly  at  the  loot  of  the  hill.  The  ave- 
nde  of  trees  beyond,  is  the  Alameda  along  the  bank 
of  the  Darro,  a  favourite  resort  in  evenings,  and  a 
rendezvous  of  lovers  in  the  summer  nights,  when  the 
guitar  may  be  heard  at  a  late  hour  from  the  benches 
along  its  walks.  At  present  there  are  but  a  few 
loitering  monks  to  be  seen  there,  and  a  group  of 
water  carriers  from  the  fountain  of  Avellanos. 

Vou  start  !  'Tis  nothing  but  a  hawk  we  have 
frightened  from  his  nest.  This  old  tower  is  a  coin- 
plete  brooding-place  for  vagrant  birds.  The  swal- 
low and  martlet  abound  in  every  chink  and  cranny, 
and  circle  about  it  the  whole  ilay  long ;  while  at 
night,  when  all  other  birds  have  gone  to  rest,  the 
mo()ing  owl  comes  out  of  its  lurking  place,  and  ut- 
ters lis  iKjiling  cry  from  the  battlements.  See  how 
the  h.nwk  we  have  dislodged  sweeps  away  below  us, 
skimming  over  the  tops  of  the  trees,  and  sailing  up 
to  ruins  above  the  GeneralifTe. 

Let  us  leave  this  side  of  the  tower  and  turn  our 
eyes  to  the  west.  Here  you  behold  in  the  distance 
'i  r:;iige  of  mountains  bounding  the  Vega,  the  ancient 
t)a:ner  bijt.vean  Moslem  Granada  and  the  land  of 
the  Christians.  Among  the  heights  you  may  still 
ii&<.ern  warrior  towns,  whose  gray  walls  and  battle- 
atents  seem  of  a  piece  with  the  rocks  on  which  they 
ire  built ;  while  here  and  there  is  a  solitary  atalaya 
or  watch-tower,  mounted  on  some  lofty  point,  and 
looking  down  as  ii  it  were  from  the  sky,  into  the  val- 
leys on  either  side.  It  was  down  the  defiles  of  these 
mounuins,  by  the  pass  of  Lope,  that  the  Christian 
armies  descended  into  the  Vega.  It  was  round  the 
base  of  yon  gray  and  naked  mountain,  almost  insu- 


lated from  the  rest,  and  stretchir.x  its  ba.)  rocky  prO' 
montory  into  the  bosom  of  the  plain,  that  the  invad- 
ing squadrons  would  coine  bursting  into  view,  with 
flaunting  banners  and  the  clangour  of  drums  and 
trumpets.  How  changed  is  the  scene  !  Instead  of 
the  glittering  line  of  mailed  warriors,  we  behold  the 
patient  train  of  the  toilful  muleteer,  slowly  moving 
along  the  skirts  of  the  mountain. 

Behind  that  promcntory,  is  the  eventful  bridge  ol 
Pinos,  renowned  for  many  a  bloody  strife  between 
Moors  and  Christians ;  but  still  more  renowned  as 
being  the  pliice  where  Columbus  was  overtaken  and 
called  back  by  the  messenger  of  Queen  Isabella,  just 
as  he  was  departing  in  despair  to  carry  his  project 
of  discovery  to  the  court  of  France. 

Behold  another  place  famous  in  the  history  of  the 
discoverer :  yon  line  of  walls  and  towers,  gfeaming 
in  the  morning  sun  in  the  very  centre  of  the  Vega  ; 
the  city  of  Sanfa  Fe,  built  by  tne  Catholic  sovereigns 
during  the  siege  of  Granada,  after  a  conflagration  '■"  u 
destroyed  their  camp.  It  was  to  these  wnlls  »haf 
Columbus  was  called  back  by  the  heroic  quee-.,  and 
within  them  the  treaty  was  concluded  that  led  to  the 
discovery  of  the  Western  World. 

Here,  towards  the  south,  the  eye  revels  on  the 
luxuriant  beauties  of  the  Vega ;  a  blooming  wilder- 
ness of  grove  and  garden,  and  teeming  oi"hara  , 
with  the  Xenil  winding  through  it  in  silver  links 
and  feeding  innumerable  rills,  conducted  through 
ancient  Moorish  channels,  which  maintain  the  lami- 
scajie  in  perpetual  verdure.  Here  are  the  beloved 
bowers  and  gardens,  and  rural  retreats  for  which  tht 
Moors  fought  with  such  desperate  valour.  The  very 
farm-houses  and  hovels  which  are  now  inhabited  by 
the  boors,  retain  traces  of  arabesques  and  cAhtt 
tasteful  decorations,  which  show  them  to  have  been 
elegant  residences  in  the  days  of  the  Moslems. 

Beyond  the  embowered  region,  of  the  Vega  you 
behold,  to  the  south,  a  line  of  arid  hills  down  whic.M 
a  long  train  of  mules  is  slowly  moving.  It  was  from 
the  summi*  of  one  of  those  hills  that  the  unfoituiiate 
Boabdil  cast  hack  his  last  look  upon  Granada  and 
gave  vent  to  the  agony  of  his  soul.  It  is  the  spot 
famous  in  song  and  story,  "  The  last  sigh  of  the 
Moor." 

Now  raise  your  eyes  to  the  snowy  summit  of  yon 
pile  of  mr-iintains,  shining  like  a  white  summer  cloud 
on  the  blue  sky.  It  is  the  Sierra  Nevada,  the  pride 
and  delight  of  Gr:mada ;  the  source  of  her  cooling 
breezes  and  perpetual  verdure,  of  her  gushing  foun- 
tains and  perennial  streams.  It  is  this  glorious  pile 
of  mountains  that  gives  to  Granada  that  combina- 
tion of  delights  so  rare  in  a  southeni  city.  The 
fresh  vegetation,  and  the  temperate  airs  of  a 
northern  climate,  with  the  vivifying  ardour  of  a 
tropical  sun,  and  the  cloudless  azure  of  a  southern 
sky.  It  is  this  aerial  treasury  of  snow,  which,  melt- 
ing in  proportion  to  the  increase  of  the  summet  heat, 
sends  down  rivulets  and  streams  through  every  gl.in 
and  gorge  of  the  Alpuxarras,  diffusing  emerald  vei- 
dure  and  fertility  throughout  a  chain  of  happy  and 
sequestered  valleys. 

These  mountains  may  well  be  called  the  gloiy  ol 
Granada.  They  ilominate  the  whole  extent  of  An- 
dalusia, and  may  be  seen  from  its  most  distant  parts. 
The  muleteer  hails  them  as  he  views  their  frosty 
peaks  from  the  sultry  level  of  the  plain  ;  and  the 
Spanish  mariner  on  the  deck  of  his  bark,  far,  far  ol( 
on  the  bosom  of  the  blue  Mediterranean,  watches 
them  with  a  pensive  eye,  thinks  of  delightful  Grana- 
da, and  chants  in  low  voice  some  old  romance  about 
the  Moors. 

But  enough,  the  sun  is  high  above  the  mountains, 
and  is  pouring  his  full  fervour  upon  our  he:ids.  Al- 
ready the  terraced  roof  of  the  town  is  hot  beneath 


ll 


liu 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING 


t ''J^?*;. "..- 


).. 

jiV.  V-..' 

1* 

1 

P 

tm- 

1 

^i{-.-- 

• 

ii 

kh'^-' 

^_4,y  ; 

our  feet .  let  us  abandon  it,  and  descer.d  and  refresh 
ourselvts  under  the  arcades  by  the  fountain  of  the 
Lions. 


REFLECTIONS 

OS    TUK  MOSLEM    DOMINATION    IN'    SPAIN. 


ONK  of  my  favourite  resorts  is  the  balcony  of  the 
central  window  of  the  Hall  of  Ambassadors,  in  the 
lotty  tower  of  Comaros.  I  have  just  been  seated 
there,  enjoying  the  close  of  a  long  lirilliant  day. 
The  sun,  as  he  sank  behind  the  purple  mountains 
of  Alhama,  sent  a  stream  of  effulgence  up  the  valley 
of  the  Darro,  that  spread  a  melancholy  pomp  over 
the  ruddy  towers  of  the  Alhambra,  while  tlie  Vega, 
covered  with  a  slight  sultry  vapour  that  caught  the 
setting  ray,  seemed  spread  out  in  the  distance  like  a 
golden  sea.  Not  a  breath  of  air  disturbed  the  still- 
ness of  the  hour,  and  thouj'h  the  faint  sound  of  music 
and  merriment  now  and  then  .licse  from  the  gardens 
of  the  Darro,  it  but  rendered  more  impressive  the 
monumental  silpnce  of  the  pile  which  overshadowed 
me.  It  was  one  of  those  hours  and  scenes  in  which 
memory  asserts  an  almost  magical  power,  and,  like 
ihe  evening  sun  beaming  on  these  mouldering  towers, 
sends  back  her  retrospective  rays  to  light  up  the 
glories  of  tiie  p.ist. 

As  I  sat  watching  the  effect  of  the  declining  day- 
light upon  this  Moorish  pile,  I  was  led  into  a  con- 
iideratioii  of  the  liglit,  elegant  and  voluptuous  char- 
;.<:i<'r  prevalent  tiiroughou'  its  internal  architecture, 
ind  to  contrast  it  with  the  grand  but  gloomy  solem- 
auy  ol  the  Gothic  editices,  reared  by  the  Spanisii 
:oniinerors.  Tlib  very  architecture  thus  bespeaks 
;l;e  opposite  and  irreconcilable  natures  of  the  two 
warlike  people,  who  so  long  batiled  here  for  the 
master)'  of  the  I'eninsula.  By  degrees  I  fell  into  a 
course  of  m'.:sing  upon  the  singular  features  of  the 
Arabian  or  Morisco  Spaniards,  whose  whole  exist- 
ence is  as  a  tale  that  is  told,  and  certainly  forms  one 
of  the  most  anomalous  yet  S])lendid  episodes  in  his- 
tory. Fotent  and  durable  as  was  their  dommion,  we 
tiave  no  one  distinct  title  by  which  to  designate  them. 
They  were  a  nation,  as  it  wc-re,  without  a  legitimate 
country  or  a  name.  A  remote  wave  of  the  great 
Arabian  inundation,  cast  upon  the  sliores  of  Euro|)e, 
they  seemed  to  have  all  the  impetus  of  the  first  rush 
of  the  torrent.  Their  course  of  conquest  from  the 
rock  of  (Gibraltar  to  the  clilfs  of  the  Pyrenees,  was  as 
rapid  and  hrilli.mt  as  the  .Moslem  victories  of  Syria 
and  Egypt.  Nay,  had  they  not  l)een  checked  on  the 
plains  of  Tours,  ail  France,  all  Euroj)e,  might  have 
been  overrun  with  the  same  facility  as  the  empires 
of  the  east  and  the  crescent  might  at  this  day  have 
glittered  c:  the  fanes  of  I'aris  and  of  London. 

RepellcG  within  the  limits  of  the  Pyrenees,  the 
mixed  hordes  of  Asia  and  Africa  that  formed  this 
jpeat  irruption,  gave  up  the  Moslem  principles  of 
cor.qjest,  and  sought  to  establish  in  Spain  a  peace- 
ful and  permanent  dominion.  As  conquerors  their 
iteroisni  was  only  equalled  by  their  moderation ;  and 
in  both,  tor  a  time,  they  excelled  the  nations  with 
wl'.om  they  contended.  Severed  from  their  native 
homes,  they  loved  the  land  given  them,  as  they  su|V 
posed,  by  Allah,  and  strove  to  embellish  it  with 
every  thing  that  cculd  administer  to  the  happiness  of 
nian.  Laying  the  foundations  of  their  jjower  in 
a  system  of  wise  and  equitable  laws,  diligently  cul- 
tivating the  arts  and  sciences,  and  promoting  agri- , 
culture,  manufactures,  and  comnieyce,  they  gradually 


formed  an  empire  unrivalled  for  its  piosperity,  trj 
any  of  the  empires  of  Christendom;  and  diligertl^ 
drawing  round  them  the  graces  and  retinemcnts  tl;  n 
marked  the  Arabi.in  empire  in  the  east  .it  the  tn  ^ 
of  its  greatest  civilization,  they  diffused  the  light  va 
oriental  knowledge  through  the  western  regions  of 
benighted  Europe. 

The  cities  of  Arabi.ir.  Spain  becanne  the  resort  ii 
Christian  artisans,  to  instruct  themselves  in  the  i;  .■; 
ful  arts.  The  universities  of  Toledo,  Cordova,  J.t 
ville,  and  Gr.inada  were  sought  by  the  pale  stud;  nl 
from  other  lands,  to  acquaint  himself  with  the  ci- 
ences  of  the  Arabs,  and  the  treasured  lore  of  ..ii. 
tiquity ;  the  lovers  of  the  gay  sciences  resorted  to 
Cordova  and  Granada,  to  imbibe  the  poetry  .hk] 
music  of  the  east ;  and  the  steel-cl.id  warriors  ol  liit 
north  hastened  thither,  to  accomplish  themselves  in 
the  graceful  exercises  and  courteous  us.ages  of  ciuv 
airy. 

If  the  Moslem  monuments  in  Spain  ;  if  the  Mos(:i:e 
of  Cordova,  the  Alcazar  of  Seville  and  the  AlhaiiKira 
of  Gran.ida,  still  bear  inscriptions  fondly  boastini^  o| 
the  power  and  permanency  of  their  dominion,  i  in 
the  boast  be  derided  as  arrogant  anil  vain  ?  (ieii  t- 
•ation  alter  generation,  century  after  century  lud 
passed  away,  and  still  they  maintained  possession  ui 
the  land.  A  period  had  elapsed  longi-r  thai;  'h.\\ 
which  li.is  passed  since  England  was  subjugated  by 
the  Norman  coiKjueror,  and  the  descemlants  ol 
Musa  and  I'arik  mii^ht  as  little  anticipate  br.ni^ 
driven  into  exile,  across  the  same  straits  tmvti;.eu 
by  their  triuinfihant  ancestors,  as  the  descendants  of 
Rollo  and  VVilli.un  and  their  victorious  peers  n  iy 
ilream  of  being  tlriven  back  tc  the  siiores  of  Not- 
mandy. 

Will,  all  tills,  however,  the  Moslem  empire  it 
Spain  was  but  a  brilliant  exotic  that  took  no  }>eri;.'u. 
nent  root  in  the  soil  it  embellished.  Secured  Uo,a 
all  their  neighbours  of  the  west  by  impiissiibic  h.ir- 
riers  of  faith  and  manners,  and  separated  by  seii 
and  deserts  from  their  kindred  of  the  east,  they  were 
an  isolated  people.  Their  whole  existence  vv;is  a 
prolonged  though  gallant  and  chivalric  strugg'e  loi 
a  foot-hold  in  a  usurped  land.  They  were  the  out- 
posts and  frontiers  of  Islainism.  The  peninsula  was 
the  great  battle  ground  where  the  Gothic  conqueiars 
of  the  north  and  the  Moslem  conquerors  of  the  e;ist, 
met  and  strove  for  m;istery  ;  and  the  fiery  couragt 
of  the  Arab  was  at  length  subdued  by  the  obstinate 
and  pers«:vering  valour  of  the  Goth. 

Never  was  the  annihilation  of  a  peojile  more  com- 
plete than  that  of  the  Morisco  Spaniards.  Where 
are  they  ?  Ask  the  shores  of  Barbary  and  its  desert 
places.  The  exiled  remnant  of  their  once  powfikil 
empire  disappeared  among  the  barbarians  of  Atiica, 
and  ceased  to  be  a  nation.  They  have  not  even  left 
a  distinct  name  lx;hind  them,  though  for  nearly  (•i>;ht 
centuries  they  were  a  distinct  people.  The  home  of 
tlieir  adoption  and  of  their  occupation  lor  ages  r^ 
fuses  to  acknowledge  them  but  as  invaders  and 
usurpers.  A  tevv  bioken  monuments  are  all  that 
remain  to  bear  witness  to  their  power  and  dominion, 
as  solitary  rocks  lel't  far  in  the  interior  bear  testi- 
mony to  the  extent  of  some  vast  inundation.  Sm"^ 
is  the  Alhambra.  A  Moslem  pile  in  the  midst  of  i 
Christian  land  ;  an  oriental  palace  amidst  the  Goihie 
edihces  of  the  west ;  an  elegant  memento  of  a  brave 
intelligent  .and  graceful  people,  who  conquered  roied 
and  passed  away. 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


Ill 


THE   HOUSEHOLD. 


IT  is  time  that  I  give  some  idea  of  my  domestic 
trnngements  in  this  singular  rfisidei.ce.  The  royal 
palace  of  the  Alhambra  is  intrusted  to  the  care  of  a 

gctxl  old  maiden  dame  called  Dofia  Antonia  Molina, 
5ut  vvho,  according  to  Spanish  custom,  goes  by  the 
mort-  neighbourly  appell.-ition  of  Tia  Antonia  (Aunt 
\iif)nia).  She  maintains  the  Moorish  halls  and  gar- 
f)i>ns  111  crier,  and  shows  them  to  strangers;  in  con- 
jii.iation  of  which,  sh::  is  allowed  all  the  perf|ui- 
jiirs  received  from  visitors  and  all  the  produce  of  the 
giii'lens,  excepting  that  she  is  expected  to  pay  an 
oct  •'''lonal  tribute  of  fruits  and  flowers  to  the  gov- 
ernor. Her  residence  is  in  a  corner  of  the  palace, 
anil  her  family  consists  of  a  nephew  and  niece,  the 
chi!i!ren  of  two  different  brothers.  The  nephew, 
M.'iniel  Molina,  is  a  young  man  of  sterling  worth 
anil  S|).uiisli  gravity.  He  has  ser\ed  in  the  armies 
boili  ill  Spain  and  the  West  Indies,  but  is  nowstudy- 
injj  iiu'dicine  in  hopes  of  one  day  or  other  becoming 
physician  to  the  fortress,  a  post  worth  at  least  a  hun- 
drtil  and  forty  doll.irs  a  year.  As  to  the  niece,  she 
;?  ,i  plump  little  black-cye.d  AndaUisian  damsel 
naiiifd  Dolores,  but  who  from  her  bright  looks  and 
chft'liil  disposition  merits  a  merrier  name.     She  is 

'  the  (liclared  heiress  of  all  her  aunt's  possessions, 
consisting  of  certain  ruinous  tenements  in  the  for- 
tress, yielding  a  revenue  of  about  one  hundred  and 
fitly  dollars.  I  had  not  been  long  in  the  Alhambra 
bflore  1  discovered  that  a  ipiiet  courtship  was  going 
on  between  the  discreet  Manuel  and  his  brighi-eyed 
cousin,  and  that  nothing  was  wanting  to  enable  them 
to  join  their  hands  and  expectations,  but  that  he 
iliiHiM  receive  his  doctor's  diploma,  and  purchase 
1  (ii'iliensation  from  the  pope,  on  account  of  their 
cdisanguinity. 

With  the  good  dame  Antonia  I  have  made  a 
trc.ity,  according  to  which,  she  furnishes  me  with 
iw^ird  and  lodging,  while  the  merry-hearted  little 
Dolores  keeps  my  apariinenl  in  order  and  officiates 
as  handmaid  at  me:d  limes.  I  have  also  at  mv  com- 
mand a  tall,  stuttering,  yellow-haired  lad  nameil  I'epe, 
who  works  in  the  garden,  and  would  fain  have  acted 
as  valet,  but  in  this  he  was  forestalled  by  Mateo 
.Xinienes,  "  The  son  of  the  Alhambra."  This  alert 
anii  oflicious  wight  h.as  managed,  somehow  or  other, 
to  stiek  by  me,  ever  since  I  first  eiicouniered  him  at 
the  outer  gate  of  the  fortress,  and  to  weave  himself 
into  all  my  plans,  until  he  has  tairly  apjwinted  ami 
instaileii  himself  my  valet,  cicerone,  guide,  guard,  and 
historio-gniphic  squire ;  and  1  have  been  obliged  to 
improve  the  state  of  his  wardrobe,  that  he  iriay  not 
disgrace  his  various  functions,  so  that  he  has  cast 
otf  his  old  brown  mantle,  as  a  snake  does  his  skin, 
iind  MOW  tigures  about  the  fortress  with  a  smart  An- 
daiusian  hat  and  jacket,  to  his  infinite  satisfaction 
awl  the  great  astonishment  of  his  comrades.     The 

I  chief  fault  of  honest  Mateo  is  an  over-anxiety  to  be 
useful.  Conscious  of  having  foisted  himself  into  my 
cnploy,  and  that  my  simple  and  quiet  habits  render 
his  situation  a  sinecure,  he  is  at  his  wit's  end  to  de- 
risc  modes  of  making  himself  important  to  my  wel- 
(ire.  I  am  in  a  manner  the  victim  of  his  ofticious- 
^Tis ;  I  cannot  put  iny  foot  over  the  threshold  of  the 
SJi.^cc  tc  stroll  about  the  fortress,  but  he  is  at  my 
ilbow  to  explain  ?very  thing  I  see,  and  if  I  venture 
lo  ramble  among  the  surrounding  hills,  he  insists 
upon  atten  'Jng  me  as  a  guard,  though  I  vehemently 
suspect  he  would  be  more  ant  to  trust  to  the  length 
of  Ins  legs  than  the  strength  of  his  arms  in  case  of 
littack.  After  all,  however,  the  poor  fellow  is  at 
limes  an  amusing  companion ;  he  is  simple-minded 


and  of  infinite  good  humour,  with  the  loquacity  ai|d 
gossip  of  a  village  barber,  ai  d  knows  all  the  small 
talk  of  the  place  and  its  environs;  but  what  h« 
cniefiy  values  himself  on  is.  his  stock  of  l(x:al  in- 
formation, having  the  most  Trarvellous  stories  to  re- 
late of  every  tower,  and  vault  and  gateway  of  the 
fortress,  in  all  of  which  he  places  the  most  implicit 
faith. 

Most  of  these  he  has  derived,  according  to  hit 
own  account,  from  his  grandfather,  a  little  legend- 
ary tailor,  who  lived  to  the  age  of  nearly  a  hundred 
years,  during  which  he  made  but  two  migrations  be- 
yond the  precincts  of  the  fortress.  His  shop,  for  the 
greater  part  of  a  century,  was  the  resort  of  a  knot 
of  venerable  gossips,  where  they  would  pass  fialf  the 
night  talking  about  old  times  and  the  wonderful 
events  and  hidden  secrets  of  the  place.  The  whole 
living,  moving,  '.hinkine  and  acting  of  this  little  his- 
torical tailor,  had  thus  been  hounded  by  the  walls  of 
the  Alhambra  ;  within  them  he  had  been  bom,  within 
them  he  livetl,  breathed  and  had  his  being,  within 
them  he  died  and  was  buried.  F"ortunately  for  pos- 
terity his  tr.aditionary  lore  died  not  with  him.  The 
authentic  Mateo,  when  an  urchin,  used  to  be  an  at- 
tentive listener  to  the  narratives  of  his  gfrandtalher 
and  of  the  gossip  group  assembled  round  the  shop 
board,  and  is  thus  possessed  of  a  stock  of  valuible 
knowleilge  concerning  the  Alhambra,  not  to  be 
found  in  the  books,  and  well  worthy  the  attenticn  of 
every  curious  traveller. 

Such  are  the  personages  that  contribute  tj  my 
domestic  comforts  in  the  Alhambra,  and  I  question 
whether  any  of  the  potentates.  Moslem  or  Christian 
who  have  preceded  me  in  the  palace,  have  been 
waited  upon  with  greater  fidelity  or  enjoyed  a  so- 
rener  sway. 

When  I  rise  in  the  morning,  Pepe,  the  sttit;erinB 
lad,  from  the  gardens,  brings  me  a  tribute  of  fresh 
culled  llowers,  which  are  afterwards  arranged  in 
vases  by  the  skillul  hand  of  Dolores,  who  takes  no 
small  pride  in  the  decorations  of  my  chamber.  My 
meals  are  made  wherever  caprice  dictates,  some- 
times in  one  of  the  Moorish  halls,  sometimes  undei 
the  arcades  of  the  Court  of  Lions,  surrounded  by 
dowers  and  fountains ;  and  when  i  walk  out  I  am 
conducted  by  the  assiduous  Mateo  to  the  most  ro- 
in.'intic  retreats  of  the  mountains  and  delicious 
haunts  of  the  adjacent  valleys,  not  one  of  which 
but  is  the  scene  of  some  wonderful  tale. 

Though  fond  of  p.assing  the  greater  part  of  my 
day  alone,  yet  I  occasionally  repair  in  the  evenings 
to  the  little  domestic  circle  of  Dofia  Antonia.  This 
is  generally  held  in  an  old  Moorish  chamber,  that 
serves  for  kitchen  as  well  as  h.all,  a  rude  fire-place 
having  been  made  in  one  corner,  the  smoke  from 
which  has  discoloured  the  walls  and  almost  oblit«i- 
rated  the  ancient  arabesques.  A  window  with  a 
balcony  overhanging  the  balcony  of  the  Darro,  lets 
in  the  cool  evening  breeze,  and  here  1  take  my 
frugal  supper  of  fniit  and  milk,  and  mingle  with 
the  conversation  of  the  family.  There  is  a  natural 
ralent,  or  mother  wit,  as  it  is  called,  about  the 
Spaniards,  which  renders  them  intellectual  and 
agreeable  companions,  whatever  may  be  their  con- 
dition in  life,  or  however  imperfect  may  hav»  been 
their  education  ;  add  to  this,  they  are  tiever  vulgar 
nature  has  endowed  them  with  an  inherent  digr,»rjr 
of  spirit.  The  good  Tia  Antonia  is  a  woman  ot 
strong  and  intelligent,  though  ur.cultivated  mind, 
and  the  bright-eyed  Dolores,  though  she  has  read 
but  three  or  four  books  in  the  whole  course  of  het 
life,  hiis  an  engaging  mixture  of  naivete  and  good 
sense,  and  often  surprises  me  by  the  pungency  ot 
her  artless  sallies.  Sometimes  the  nephew  en^T 
tains  us  by  reading  some  old  comedy  of  Calderow  «» 


^i 


112 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


mt 


'j.'-'i- 


s-f-; 


Lope  fie  Vcjja,  lo  which  he  is  evidently  prompted  by 


Lope  f 


re  lo  improve,  as  well  us  amuse  his  cousin 
[)oloies,  though  to  his  great  mortitication  the  little 
damsel  generally  falls  asleep  before  the  first  act  is 
completed.  Sometimes  Tia  Antonia  has  a  little 
bevy  of  humble  friends  and  dependants,  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  adjacent  hamlet,  or  the  wives  of  the  invalid 
Ktldiets.  These  look  up  to  her  with  great  deference 
as  the  custodian  of  the  palace,  and  pay  their  court 
to  her  by  bringing  the  news  of  the  place,  or  the 
run^ours  that  may  have  straggled  up  from  Granada. 
In  listening  to  the  evening  gossipings,  I  have 
pitlced  up  many  curious  facts,  illustrative  of  the 
manners  of  the  people  and  the  peculiarities  of  the 
neighlKjurhood. 

These  are  simple  details  of  simp'  pleasures ;  it  is 
the  nature  of  the  place  alone  that  g  ,es  them  interest 
and  importance.  1  tread  haunted  ground  and  am 
surrounded  by  romantic  association's.  From  earliest 
boyhood,  when,  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson,  1  first 
pored  over  the  p-iges  of  an  old  Spanish  story  about 
the  wars  of  Granada,  that  city  has  ever  been  a  sub- 
ject of  my  waking  dreams,  and  often  have  1  trod  in 
fanry  the  romantic  halls  of  the  Alhambra.  Ikhold 
for  once  a  day  dream  realized  ;  yet  1  can  scarcely 
credit  my  senses  or  believe  that  1  do  indred  inhabit 
the  palace  of  Uoabdil,  and  look  down  from  its  bal- 
conies upon  chivalric  Granada.  As  I  loiter  through 
the  oriental  chambers,  and  hear  the  murmuring  of 
fountains  and  the  song  of  the  nightingale  :  as  I  in- 
hale the  odour  of  the  rose  and  leel  the  intluence  of 
the  balmy  climate,  I  am  almost  tempted  to  fancy 
myself  in  the  Paradise  of  Mahomet,  and  that  the 
plump  little  Dolores  is  one  of  the  bright-eyed  Houris, 
c<»tined  to  administer  to  the  happiness  of  true  be- 
devers. 


THE   TRUANT. 


MNCE  writing  the  foregoing  pages,  we  have  had 
a  scene  of  petty  tribulation  in  the  Alhambra  which 
has  thrown  a  cloud  over  the  sunny  countenance  of 
Dolores.  This  little  damsel  has  a  fem.ile  passion  for 
pets  of  all  kinds,  from  the  superabundant  kindness 
of  her  disposition.  One  of  the  ruined  courts  of  the 
Alhambra  is  thronged  with  her  favourites.  A  stately 
peacock  and  his  hen  seem  to  hold  regal  sway  here, 
over  pompous  turkeys,  querulous  guinea  fowls,  and 
a  rabble  rout  of  common  cocks  and  hens.  The  great 
delight  of  Dolores,  however,  has  for  some  time  past 
been  centred  in  a  youthful  pair  of  pigeons,  who 
have  lately  entered  into  the  holy  state  of  wedlock, 
and  who  have  even  supplanted  a  tortoise  sliell  cat 
and  kitten  in  her  affections. 

As  a  tenement  for  them  to  commence  housekeep- 
ing she  had  fitted  up  a  small  chamber  adjacent  to 
the  kitchen,  the  window  of  which  looked  into  one  of 
the  quiet  Moorish  courts.  Here  they  lived  in  happy 
Ignorance  of  any  world  beyoi.d  the  court  and  its 
sunny  roofs.  In  vain  they  aspired  to  soar  above  the 
battlemen  J,  ortoniount  to  the  summit  of  the  towers. 
Their  virtuous  union  was  at  length  crowned  by  two 
spotless  a:  d  milk  white  eggs,  to  the  great  joy  of  their 
cnerishing  little  mistress.  Nothing  could  be  rnore 
praiseworthy  than  the  conduct  of  the  young  married 
folks  on  this  interesting  occasion.  Ttiey  took  turns 
to  sit  upon  the  nest  until  the  eggs  were  h.'itched, 
and  while  their  callow  progeny  required  warmth  and 
shelter.  While  one  thus  stayed  at  home,  the  other 
'oraged  abroad  for  food,  and  brought  home  abun- 
jant  supplies. 

This  scene  of  conjugal  felicity  has  suddenly  met 


with  a  reverse.  E.irly  this  morning, .«  Dolores  vk  jj 
feeding  the  male  pigeon,  she  took  a  fancy  to  giv( 
him  a  peep  at  the  great  world.  Opening  a  window, 
therefore,  which  looks  down  upon  the  valley  of  tii 
Darro,  she  launched  him  at  once  beyond  the  wails 
of  the  Alhambra.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  tiic 
astonished  bird  had  to  try  the  full  vigour  of  h'l 
wings.  He  swept  down  into  the  valley,  and  tht  i 
rising  upwards  with  a  surge,  soared  almost  to  th; 
clouds.  Never  before  had  he  risen  to  such  a  hei>;li( 
or  experienced  such  delight  in  flying,  and  like  a 
young  spendthrift,  just  come  to  his  estate,  he  seemi  i' 
giddy  with  excess  of  liberty,  and  with  the  boundliva 
field  of  action  suddenly  opened  to  him.  For  the 
whole  day  he  has  been  circling  about  in  rapricioiu 
flights,  from  tower  to  tower  and  from  tree  to  tru:, 
Every  attempt  has  been  made  in  vain  to  lure  him 
back,  by  scattering  grain  upon  the  roofs  ;  he  seeiiu 
to  have  lost  all  thought  of  hrme,  of  his  tender  hel|)- 
mate  and  his  callow  young.  To  add  to  the  anxicij 
of  Dolores,  he  has  been  joined  by  two  palomas  l.i- 
drones,  or  robber  pigeons,  whose  instinct  it  is  to 
entice  wandering  pigeons  to  their  own  dove<oifs 
The  fugitive,  like  m.iny  other  thoughtless  youths  oi 
their  lirst  launching  upon  the  world,  seems  (|uii" 
fascinated  with  these  knowing,  but  graceless,  coin- 
panions,  who  have  undertaken  to  show  him  life  an.! 
introduce  him  to  society.  He  has  been  soaring  wiili 
them  over  all  the  roofs  and  steeples  of  Granada.  A 
thunder  shower  has  passed  over  the  city,  but  he  h,is 
not  sought  his  home  ;  night  has  closed  in,  and  siill 
he  comes  not.  To  deepen  the  pathos  of  the  affair, 
the  female  pigeon,  after  remaining  several  hours  (  n 
the  nest  without  being  relieved,  at  length  went  lonh 
to  seek  her  recreant  mate ;  but  stayed  away  so  Ion;,; 
that  the  young  ones  jierished  for  want  of  the  warii:th 
and  shelter  of  the  parent  bosom. 

At  a  late  hour  in  the  evening,  word  was  brougl  t 
to  Dolores  that  the  truant  bird  had  been  seen  Uj)3n 
the  towers  of  the  Generaliffe.  Now,  it  so  happens 
that  the  Administrndor  of  that  ancient  palace  h.is 
likewise  a  dove-cote,  among  the  inmates  of  which 
are  said  to  be  two  or  three  of  these  inveigling  birds, 
the  terror  of  all  neighbouring  pigeon  fanciers.  Do- 
loi'es  immediately  concluded  tnat  the  two  feathered 
shari)ers  who  had  been  seen  with  her  fugitive,  were 
these  Bloods  of  the  Generaliffe.  A  council  of  w.ir 
was  forthwith  held  in  the  chamber  of  Tia  Antoni.i, 
The  Generaliffe  is  a  distinct  jurisdiction  from  the 
Alhambra,  and  of  course  some  punctilio,  if  not  je.il- 
ousy,  exists  between  their  custodians.  It  w.is  deter- 
mined, therefore,  to  send  Pepe,  the  stuttering  lad  ol 
the  gardens,  as  ambassador  to  the  Administrador, 
requesting  that  if  such  fugitive  should  be  found  in 
his  dominions,  he  might  be  given  up  as  a  subject  ol 
the  Alhambra.  Pe|)e  departed,  accordingly,  on  his 
diplomatic  expedition,  through  the  moonliglit.groves 
and  avenues,  but  returned  in  an  hour  with  the  af- 
flicting intelligence  that  no  siirh  bird  was  to  be 
found  in  the  dove-cote  of  the  GeneialitTe.  The  Ad- 
ministrador,  however,  pledged  his  sovereign  bird, 
that  if  such  vagrant  should  appear  there,  even  at 
midnight,  he  should  instantly  be  arrested  and  sent 
back  prisoner  to  his  little  black-eyed  mistress. 

Thus  stands  this  melancholy  affair,  which  has  oc- 
casioned much  distress  throughout  the  palace,  and 
has  sent  the  inconsolable  Dolores  to  a  sleepless  pil- 
low. 

"  Sorrow  endureth  for  a  night,"  says  the  proveib, 
"but  joy  ariseth  in  the  morning."  The  first  object 
that  met  my  eyes  on  leaving  my  room  this  morning; 
w.TS  Dolores  with  the  tru.int  pigeon  in  her  hand,  and 
her  eyes  sparkling  with  joy.  He  h.id  appeared  at  an 
early  hour  on  the  battlements,  hovering  shyly  about 
from  roof  to  roof,  but  at  length  entered  the  window 


THB   ALHAMBRA 


111 


inn  surrendered  himself  prironer.  He  gained  little 
I  riilit,  iiowevtir,  oy  his  return,  for  the  ravenous  man- 
ner III  which  he  devoured  the  food  set  before  him, 
sh.iwtyl  that,  lilce  the  prodifjal  son,  he  had  been 
drivrn  home  by  sheer  famine.  Dolf>res  upbraided 
hitii  for  his  faithless  conduct,  callin)^  him  all  manner 
ct  vagrant  names,  thoiij;h  woman-like,  she  fondled 
hm  at  the  same  time  to  her  bosom  and  covered  him 
'-■■aU  kisses.  I  observed,  however,  that  she  had 
i^\ieu  care  to  clip  his  wines  to  prevent  all  future 
iiannfjs;  a  precaution  which  I  mention  fbr  the 
.(Mtrlit  uf  all  those  who  have  truant  wives  or  wan- 
(lrnii(j  husbands.  More  than  one  valuable  moral 
rrij^ht  be  drawn  from  the  story  of  Dolores  and  her 
pigeon. 


THE  AUTHOR'S  CHAMBER. 


On  takmg  up  my  abo<!e  in  the  Alhambra,  one  end 
of  a  suite  of  empty  chambers  oj  modern  architect- 
iirt;,  intfnded  for  the  residence  of  the  governor, 
was  fitted  up  for  my  reception.  It  was  in  front 
ot  the  palace,  lookinjj  forth  upon  the  esplanade. 
Thi!  farther  etid  communicated  with  a  '..aster  of  lit- 
tle chambers,  partly  Moorish,  partly  modem,  in- 
nabited  liy  Tia  Antoriia  and  ner  family.  These 
tenninated  in  a  large  room  which  serves  the  good 
old  dame  tor  parlour,  kitchen,  and  hall  of  audience, 
it  had  boasted  of  some  splendour  in  time  of  the 
Moors,  but  a  hre-place  had  been  built  in  one  corner, 
the  smoke  from  which  had  discoloured  the  walls ; 
Dearly  obliterated  the  ornaments,  and  spread  a  som- 
bre Mrt  over  the  whole,  from  these  gloomy  apart- 
v.cnts,  a  narrow  blind  corridor  and  a  dark  winding 
jtaircase  led  down  an  angle  of  the  tower  of  Co- 
mares;  groping  down  which,  and  o[)ening  a  small 
door  at  the  iKjttom,  you  are  suddenly  d.izzled  by 
emerging  into  the  brilliant  antechantber  of  the  hall 
of  ambassadors,  with  the  fountain  of  the  court  of  the 
Aibcrca  sp.irkling  before  you. 

I  w.as  dissatisfied  with  being  lodged  in  a  mo<!em 
and  frontier  apartment  of  the  palace,  and  longed  to 
ensconce  myself  in  the  very  heart  of  the  building. 

As  I  w;is  rambling  one  d.iy  about  the  Moorish 
halls,  I  found,  in  a  remote  gallery,  a  door  which  1  had 
not  before  noticed,  communicating  apparently  with 
an  extensive  apartinent,  locked  up  from  the  public. 
Here  then  was  a  mystery.  Here  was  the  haunted 
wing  of  the  castle.  I  procured  the  key,  however, 
without  dithculty.  The  door  opened  to  a  range  of 
vacant  climbers  of  European  architecture ;  though 
built  over  a  Moorish  arcade,  along  the  little  garden 
of  Lindaraxa.  There  were  two  lofty  rooms,  the 
ceilings  of  which  were  of  deep  panel-work  of  cedar, 
richly  and  skilfully  carved  with  fruits  and  (lowers, 
intenningleci  with  grotesque  masks  or  faces;  but 
brokea  in  many  places.  I'he  walls  had  evidently, 
in  ancient  times,  been  hung  with  damask,  but  were 
now  naked,  and  scrawled  over  with  the  insignificant 
names  of  aspiring  travellers ;  the  windows,  which 
9.crc  dismantled  and  open  to  wind  and  weather, 
■(ji  Led  into  the  garden  of  Lindaraxa,  and  the  orange 
.1 : ';  citron  trees  flung  their  branches  into  the  cham- 
bers. Deyond  these  rooms  were  two  saloons,  less 
loft'/i  lookinc  ilso  into  the  garden.  In  the  com- 
paitments  of  the  panelled  ceiling  were  baskets  of 
fruit  and  ^rlands  of  flowers,  painted  by  no  mean 
hand,  and  in  tolerable  preservation.  The  walls  had 
also  been  painted  in  fresco  in  the  Italian  style,  but 
the  paintinif*  were  nearly  obliterated.     The  win- 


dows were  ir  he  same  shattered  atate  at  In  the  otAf 
chambers. 

This  fancifijl  suite  of  rooms  terminated  in  an  open 
gallery  with  balustrades,  which  ran  at  right  angles 
along  another  side  of  the  garden.  The  whole  apart- 
ment had  a  delicacy  and  elegance  in  its  de-corations 
and  there  was  something  so  choice  and  se(iuesten"<l 
in  its  situation,  along  this  retired  little  gaiden,  that 
awakened  an  interest  in  its  historv.  i  found,  on  iii> 
quiry,  that  it  was  an  apartment  fitted  up  by  Italian' 
artists,  in  the  early  part  of  the  last  century,  at  the 
time  when  Fhlip  V.  and  th«!  beautiful  Elizabetta  of 
Parma  were  expected  at  t;  e  Alhambra;  and  was 
destined  for  the  queen  and  the  larlies  of  her  train. 
One  of  the  loftiest  chambers  had  been  her  sleeping 
room,  and  a  nairow  staircase  le.vling  from  it,  though 
now  walled  up,  opened  to  the  delightful  belvedere, 
originally  a  mirador  of  the  Moorish  sultanas,  but  fit- 
ted Hip  as  a  boudoir  for  the  fair  Elizabetta,  and  which 
still  retains  the  name  of  the  Tocador,  or  toilette  of 
the  queen.  The  sleeping  room  I  have  mentioned, 
commanded  from  one  window  a  prospect  of  the 
OeneralitTe,  and  its  imbowered  terraces  ;  under  an- 
other window  played  the  ahibaster  fountain  of  the 
garden  of  Lindaraxa.  That  garilen  carried  my 
thoughts  still  farther  back,  to  the  period  of  another 
reign  of  beauty  ;  to  the  days  of  the  Moorish  sultanas. 
"  How  beauteous  is  this  garden  !  "  says  an  Arabic 
inscription,  "  where  the  flowers  of  the  earth  vie  with 
the  stars  of  heaven  !  what  can  compare  with  the  vase 
of  yon  alabaster  fountain  filled  with  crystal  water  ? 
Nothing  but  the  moon  in  her  fulness,  shining  in  thet 
midst  of  an  unclouded  sky  !  " 

Centuries  had  elapsed,  yet  how  much  of  this  scene 
of  apparently  fragile  beauty  remained  I  The  g-»rdei 
of  Lindaraxa  was  still  adorned  with  flowers :  the 
fountain  still  presented  its  crystal  mirror :  it  is  true, 
the  alabaster  had  lost  its  whiteness,  and  the  basin 
beneath,  overrun  with  weeds,  h.id  become  the  nes- 
tling place  of  the  lizard  ;  but  there  was  something  in 
the  very  decay  that  enhanced  the  interest  of  the 
scene,  speaking,  as  it  did,  of  that  mutability  which  is 
the  irrevocable  lot  of  man  and  all  his  works.  The 
desolation,  too,  of  these  chambers,  once  the  abode 
of  the  proud  and  elegant  Elizabetta,  had  a  more 
touching  charm  lor  me  than  if  I  had  beheld  them  in 
their  pristine  splendour,  glittering  with  the  pageant- 
ry of  a  court. — I  determined  at  once  to  take  up  my 
quarters  in  this  apartment. 

My  determination  excited  great  surprise  in  the 
family ;  who  could  not  imagine  any  rational  induce- 
ment for  the  choice  of  so  solitary,  remote  and  for- 
lorn an  apartment.  The  good  Tia  Antonia  consid- 
ered it  highly  dangerous.  The  neighbourhood,  she 
said,  was  infested  by  vagrants ;  the  caverns  of  the 
adjacent  hills  swarmed  with  gipsies ;  the  palace  was 
ruinous  and  easy  to  be  entered  in  many  parts ;  and 
the  rumour  of  a  stranger  quartered  alone  in  one  of 
the  ruined  apartments,  out  of  the  hearing  of  the  rest 
of  the  inhabitants,  might  tempt  unwelcome  visitors 
in  the  night,  especially  as  foreigners  are  always  sup- 
posed to  be  well  stocked  with  money.  Dolores  rejK 
resented  the  frightful  loneliness  of  the  place ;  nothing 
but  bats  and  owls  Hitting  about ;  then  there  were  a 
fox  and  a  wild  cat  that  kept  about  the  vaults  and 
roamed  about  at  night. 

I  was  not  to  be  diverted  from  my  hui  lour,  so  call- 
ing in  the  assistance  of  a  carpenter,  and  the  ever 
officious  Mateo  Ximenes,  the  doors  and  windows 
were  soon  placed  in  a  state  of  tolerable  security. 

With  all  these  precautions,  I  must  confess  the  first 
night  I  passed  in  these  quarters  was  inexpressibly 
dreary.  I  was  escorted  by  the  whole  family  to  my 
chamber,  and  there  taking  leave  of  me,  and  retiring 
aJonK  the  waste  antechamber  and  echoing  galleries 


114 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


;V^- 


remindrd  me  of  those  hobgoblin  stories,  where, the 
hero  is  left  to  accomplish  the  adventure  of  a  haunted 

house. 

Soon  I  he  thoughts  of  thf  f/iir  Elirabetta  and  the 
beniiiifs  ol  her  court,  who  had  once  jp-aced  these 
chaiiil>ct.<,  now  by  a  perversion  ol  fancy  added  to  the 
gloom.  Hfre  was  the  scene  cf  their  transient  fjaiety 
and  loveliness;  here  were  th;  very  traces  of  their 
!;kgance  and  enioynicnt ;  but  what  and  where  were 
Ih.-y  .*— Dust  ami  aslies  !  tenants  of  the  tomb  t  phan- 
loiiis  of  the  memory  ! 

A  vague  and  indescribable  awe  was  creeping  over 
0\e.  1  would  fain  have  ascribed  it  to  the  thoughts 
of  robbers,  awakened  by  the  evening's  conversation. 
Out  1  fell  that  it  was  something  more  unusual  and 
absurd.  In  a  word,  the  long  buried  impressions  of 
the  nursery  were  reviving  and  asserting  their  power 
over  my  imagin.ation.  Kvery  thinu|  beg.an  to  be  af- 
fected by  the  workings  of  my  mind.  Tlie  whisper- 
ing of  the  wind  atnoti^;  the  citron  trees  beneath  my 
wintlow  had  something  sinister.  I  cast  my  eyes  into 
the  garden  of  Lindaraxa;  the  groves  presented  a 
gulf  of  sh.KJows ;  the  thickets  nad  indistinct  and 
ghastly  shapes.  I  w.as  glad  to  close  the  window ; 
out  my  chamlicr  itself  became  infected.  A  b.it  had 
found  its  way  in.  and  flitted  about  my  head  and 
athwart  my  solitary  lamp  ;  the  grotesque  faces  carved 
in  the  cedar  ceiling  seemed  to  mope  and  mow  at  me. 

Rousing  myself,  and  half  smiling  at  this  temjMira- 
ry  weakness,  I  resolved  to  brave  it,  and,  taking  lamp 
in  hand,  sallied  forth  to  make  a  tour  of  the  ancient 
palace.  Notwithstanding  every  ment.al  exertion,  the 
task  was  a  severe  one.  The  rays  of  my  lamp  ex- 
tended to  but  a  limited  distance  around  me ;  I  walked 
9i  it  were  in  a  mere  halo  of  light,  and  all  fieyond  was 
1  hick  darkness.  The  vaulted  corridors  were  as  caverns; 
the  vaults  o.'  the  halls  were  lost  in  gloom  ;  what  un- 
(■?ttn  foe  might  not  be  lurking  before  or  behind  me ; 
my  own  shadow  playing  about  the  walls,  and  the 
ccnoes  of  my  own  footsteps  disturbed  me. 

In  this  excited  state,  as  I  was  traversing  the  great 
Hall  of  Ambassa<iors,  there  were  added  real  sounds  to 
these  conjectural  fancies.  Low  moans  and  indistinct 
ejaculations  seemed  to  rise  as  it  were  from  beneath 
my  feet ;  I  paused  and  listened.  They  then  appe.ar- 
e(l  to  resound  from  without  the  tower.  Sometimes 
they  resembled  the  bowlings  of  an  animal,  at  others 
they  were  stilled  shrieks,  mingled  with  articulate 
ravings.  The  thrilling  effect  of  these  sounds  in  that 
still  hour  and  singular  place,  destroyed  all  inclination 
to  continue  my  lonely  perambulation.  I  returned  to 
my  chamber  with  more  alacrity  than  I  h.ad  sallied 
forth,  and  drew  my  breath  more  freely  when  once 
more  within  its  walls,  and  the  door  bolted  behind 
me. 

When  I  awoke  in  the  morning,  with  the  sun  shin- 
ing in  at  my  window,  and  lighting  up  every  part  of 
the  building  with  its  cheerful  and  truth-telling  iMjams, 
1  could  scarcely  recall  the  shadows  and  fancies  con- 
jured up  by  the  gloom  of  the  preceding  night ;  or 
believe  that  the  scenes  around  me,  so  naked  and  ap- 
parent, could  have  been  clothed  with  such  imaginary 
Terrors. 

Stdl  the  dismal  bowlings  and  ejaculations  I  had 
uard,  were  not  ideal ;  but  they  were  soon  accounted 
for,  by  my  handmaid  Dolores  ;  being  the  ravings  of 
a  poor  maniac,  a  brother  of  her  aunt,  who  was  sub- 
ject to  violent  paroxysms,  during  which  he  was  con- 
nned  in  a  vaulted  •'oom  beneath  the  Hall  of  Ambas- 
ladors. 


ii^V    -■  ' 


THE  ALHAMBRA  BY  MOONLIQHT 


I  HAVR  given  a  picture  of  my  apartment  on  mt 
first  taking  pnsses.Hiun  of  it ;  a  few  evenings  havt 
produced  a  thorough  change  in  the  scene  and  in  mv 
feelings.  The  moon,  which  then  was  invisible,  ha> 
gradually  gained  upon  the  nights,  an<l  now  rolls  in 
full  splendour  above  the  towers,  pouring  a  flood  of 
tempered  light  into  every  court  and  hall.  The  gat- 
den  beneath  my  window  is  (jjcntly  lighted  up;  the 
orange  and  citron  trees  are  tipped  with  silver  j  the 
fountain  sparkles  in  the  moon  beams,  and  even  the 
blush  of  the  rose  is  faintly  visible. 

I  have  sat  for  hours  at  mv  window  inhaling  the 
sweetness  of  the  garden,  anil  musing  on  the  che- 
tiuered  features  of  those  whose  history  ta  dimly 
snadowed  out  in  the  elegant  memorials  aiounil. 
Sometimes  I  have  issued  forth  at  midnight  when 
every  thing  was  <|uiet,  and  have  wandered  over  the 
whole  building.  Who  can  do  justice  to  a  moonlight 
ni;;ht  in  such  a  climate,  and  in  such  a  place  I  The 
temperature  of  an  Andalusian  midnight,  in  summer 
is  perfectly  ethereal.  We  seem  lilted  up  into  a  purer 
atmosphere;  there  is  a  serenity  of  soul,  a  buoyancy 
of  spirits,  an  elasticitv  of  frame  that  render  mere  ex- 
istence enjoyment.  The  effect  of  moonlight,  too,  on 
the  Aihambra  has  something  like  enchantment. 
Kvery  rent  and  chasm  of  time,  every  mouldering 
tint  and  weather  stain  disappears ;  the  marble  re- 
sumes its  original  whiteness;  the  long  colonnades 
brighten  in  the  moon  beams ;  the  halls  are  illumi- 
nated with  a  softened  radiance,  until  the  whole  edi- 
fice reminds  one  of  the  enchanted  palace  ol  an 
Arabian  tale 

At  such  time  I  h.ave  ascen<led  to  the  little  paviliort, 
called  the  Queen's  Toilette,  to  enjoy  its  varied  and 
extensive  prospect.  To  the  right,  the  snowy  sum 
mits  of  the  Sierra  Nevada  wouKl  gle.am  like  .silvci 
clouds  against  the  darker  hmiainent,  and  nil  th< 
outlines  of  the  mountain  would  b9  softened,  yet  deli- 
cately defined.  My  delight,  however,  would  )>e  to 
lean  over  the  parapet  of  the  tocador,  and  ga/e  down 
upon  Gr.anada,  spread  out  like  a  map  below  me :  all 
buried  in  deep  repose,  and  its  white  palaces  and 
convents  sleeping  as  it  were  in  the  moonshine. 

Sometimes  I  would  hear  the  faint  sounds  of  cas- 
tanets from  some  party  of  dancers  lingering  in  the 
Alameda  ;  at  other  times  I  have  heaid  the  dubious 
tones  of  a  guitar,  and  the  notes  of  a  single  voice 
rising  from  some  solitary  street,  and  have  pictured 
to  myself  some  youthful  cavalier  serenading  his  lady's 
window  ;  a  g.'dlant  custom  of  former  days,  but  now 
sadly  on  the  decline  except  in  the  remote  towns  and 
vill.ages  of  Spain.  . 

Such  are  the  scenes  th.at  ha\t:  detained  me  for 
many  an  hour  loitering  about  the  courts  and  bal- 
conies of  the  castle,  enjoying  that  mixture  of  reverir 
and  sensation  which  steal  away  existence  in  a  south- 
ern climate — and  it  has  been  almost  morning  before 
I  have  retired  to  my  bed,  and  been  lulled  to  sleep  by 
the  falling  waters  of  the  fountain  of  Lindaraxa. 


INHABITANTS  OF  THE  A.HAMBRA. 


I  HAVE  often  observed  that  the  more  prcudly  a 
mansion  has  been  tenanted  in  the  day  of  its  proa- 
perity,  the  humbler  arc  its  inhabitants  in  the  day  of 
Its  decline,  and  that  the  palace  of  the  king  commoo 
iv  ends  in  being  the  nestling  place  of  the  beggv. 


The  Alhambi 

iiinsition:  whci 

ari^ed  upon   by 

hfiome  joint  tei 

l(ililrd  halls,  and 

povrrty,  out  of  it 

I  have  amusci 

'!:-  motley  ch.ar; 

iTKisnt  abrKle  of 

;.-•;  to  give  a  I 

(    Saman   pride 

, '  ' kery  cf  a  ro 

n.  lied  Maria  Ai 

i,i('  appellation  o 

ijiitTn.     She  is  s 

fury  she  may  be 

SI  1  ins  to  know  hi 

ol  tjoset  under  th 

she  sits  in  the  coc 

,<iiil  singing  fron 

jcikc  for  every  oi 

ilii-  poorest,  sne  i 

bnathing.     Her 

i)i>; ;  having,  I  ve 

cuninand  as  the 

thousand  and  on 

litirti  her  rel.ate 

Anlonia,  At  whici 

liiiilant 

That  there  mi; 
invsterious  little  o 
extr.iordinary  lucl 
vin  httle,  v.'Ty  ti 
iciiirding  to  her  ( 
h.ill ;  recKoning  a: 
Ji'  .1  during  court; 
A  rival  person; 
p'.'tly  old  lellow  v 
:"  a  rusty  garb,  w 
rt!  cjckaJe.  Hi 
til!  Alliainhra,  an 
v.inous  othces;  si 
the  parochial  chi: 
established  at  the 
as  poor  as  a  rat 
Ixi.isting  of  his  de 
A;ruilar,  from  wh 
the  Grand  capta 
n.uiie  of  Alonzo  d 
tory  of  the  conqui 
'he  fortress  h.ave 
S.:ntci,  or  the  Hoi 
the  pope,  which  I 
o!  true  catholics  i 
is  a  whimsical  ca 
grotesque  person 
and  descendant  oi 
mirror  of  And.ali 
mendicant  existei 
tress,  which  his  a 
ir.ight  have  been  I 
mimnon  and  Act 
Miins  of  Troy. 

Of  this  motley 
jjassiping  squire  i. 
^\"-.bcn  at  le.ist, 
.f  being  a  son  o 
I  .is  (i>n.:!y  hail  it 
•ime  of  the  com 
poverty  from  fath 
ever  been  knowi 
father,  by  trade  a 
the  historical  tailc 
near  seventy  yeai 
xcdi  and  plaster, 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


Ill 


The  Alhimbra  ii  in  a  rapid  state  of  timilar 
itjnsition:  whenever  a  tower  falls  to  ilecay,  it  in 
Ki'cd  upon  by  some  tatterdemalion  family,  who 
hrrome  joint  tenants  with  the  bats  and  owU  of  its 
l^iKIrd  halls,  and  han((  their  ra^s,  those  standards  of 
ix'vrrfy,  out  of  its  windows  and  loop-holes. 

1  have  amused  myself  withiremarkin)^  some  of 
i!:-  motley  characters  that  have  thus  usurped  the 
tuncnt  ahmle  of  royalty,  and  who  seem  as  it  placed 
tr'.  to  Rive  a  farcical  termination  to  the  drama 
t  human  pride.  One  of  these  even  bears  the 
, '  '  krry  cf  a  royal  title.  It  is  a  little  old  woman 
n-.;ncd  Maria  Antonia  S.ibonea,  hut  who  goes  hy 
1,11'  appell.ition  of  la  Rcyna  Cuciuina,  or  the  coclde 
murn.  She  is  small  enough  to  be  a  fairy,  and  a 
(.ury  she  may  be  for  aiij^hl  1  can  find  out,  for  no  one 
SI  I  IDS  to  know  her  ori);m.  Her  h.il)itation  is  a  kind 
oi  iloset  under  the  outer  staircase  of  the  paUce,  and 
she  sits  in  the  cool  stone  corridor  plyinjj  her  needle 
Hill  singing  from  morning  till  night  with  a  ready 
jdkc  for  every  one  that  passes,  for  though  one  of 
till  poorest,  she  is  one  of  the  merriest  liiilc  women 
biMihing.  Her  great  merit  is  a  gift  for  slory-tcll- 
im; ;  having,  I  verily  believe,  as  many  stories  at  her 
c  Miiinand  as  the  inexhaustible  Scheherezade  of  the 
thousand  and  one  nights.  Some  of  these  I  have 
lit  ird  her  relate  in  the  evening  tertulias  of  Dona 
Antonia,  At  which  she  is  occ.isionally  an  bumble  at- 
ttiidanL 

That  there  must  be  some  fairy  gift  about  this 
mvsterious  little  old  woman,  woulif  appear  from  her 
extraordinary  luck,  since,  notwithstanding  her  being 
VI  r\'  little,  v.'Ty  ugly,  and  very  poor,  she  has  had, 
jc(iirilin^  to  her  own  account,  five  husliamls  and  a 
hall';  recKoning  as  a  hall',  one,  a  young  dragoon  who 
Ji  ,1  during  courtship. 

A  rival  personage  to  this  little  fairy  queen  is  a 
pertly  old  lellow  with  a  bottle  nose,  who  goes  about 
:r  a  rusty  garb,  with  a  cocked  hat  of  oil  skin  and  a 
rt !  rockade.  He  is  one  of  the  legitimate  sons  of 
liis  Alliamhr.!,  and  has  lived  here  all  his  life,  filling 
vinous  oltices;  such  as  deputy  Alguazil,  sexton  of 
the  parochial  church,  and  marker  of  a  five's  court 
established  at  the  foot  of  one  of  the  towers.  He  is 
as  poor  as  a  rat.  but  as  proud  as  he  is  ragged, 
Ix)  isting  of  his  descent  from  the  illustrious  house  of 
.\;ruilar,  from  which  sprang  Gonsalvo  of  Cordova, 
the  (irand  captain.  Nay,  he  actually  bears  the 
n.une  of  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  so  renowned  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  conquest,  though  the  graceless  wags  of 
he  (ortress  have  given  hiin  the  title  of  e/  I'adre 
S-tnto,  or  the  Holy  Father,  the  usual  appellation  of 
the  pope,  which  I  had  thought  too  sacred  in  the  eyes 
o!  true  catholics  to  be  thus  ludicrously  applied.  It 
is  a  whimsical  caprice  of  fortune,  to  present  in  the 
grotesque  person  of  this  t.atterdemalion  a  namesake 
and  descendant  of  the  proud  Alonzo  de  Aguilar.  the 
mirror  of  And.-ilusian  chiv.nlry,  leading  an  almost 
inendicant  existence  about  this  once  haughty  lor- 
tress,  which  his  ancestor  ai<led  to  reduce ;  yet  such 
ir.ight  have  been  the  lot  of  the  descendants  of  \g:i- 
mtmnon  and  Achilles,  had  they  lingered  alnnu  the 
(uins  of  Troy. 

Of  this  motley  community  I  find  the  family  of  my 
^ussiping  squire  Mateo  Ximenes  to  fornn,  •'■lun  their 
rMV'.bers  at  le.ast,  a  very  important  part.  Mis  bo.ist 
4  being  a  son  of  the  Alhambra  is  not  unfoumled. 
I'iis  finally  his  inhabited  the  fortress  ever  since  the 
fime  of  the  conrjuest,  handing  down  a  hereditary 
poverty  from  father  to  son,  not  one  of  them  having 
ever  been  known  to  be  ^orth  a  marevedi.  His 
father,  by  trarle  a  riband  weaver,  and  who  succeeded 
tbe  historical  tailor  as  the  head  of  the  family,  is  now 
aear  seventy  years  of  age,  aitd  lives  in  a  hovel  of 
•eeds  and  plaster,  bwlt  by  bis  «wn  Htuids,  just  abov 


the  Iron  gate.  The  fiimiture  consists  wf  a  crai) 
beil,  a  table,  and  two  or  three  chairs :  a  wooder 
chest,  containing  his  clothes,  and  the  ar'-hives  of  Sii 
family;  that  is  to  say,  a  few  papers  ci>rH.eining  old 
law-suits  which  he  c.intiot  read  ;  but  the  prile  of  hi» 
heart  is  a  bl.izon  of  the  arms  ol  the  laimty,  brilliantb 
coloured  and  suspended  in  a  Ir.ime  against  the  wait 
clearly  demonstrating  by  its  (|ii.irteriiigs  the  variouf 
noble  houses  with  which  tb's  poverty-stricken  brood 
claim  at'inity. 

As  to  Mateo  himself,  he  has  done  his  utmost  to 
peqietiiate  his  line  ;  having  a  wile,  and  a  numerous 
progeny  who  inhabit  an  alii.ost  dismantled  hovel  in 
the  namlet.  How  they  manage  to  subsist,  He  only 
who  sees  into  all  mysteries  can  tell — the  subsistence 
of  a  Spanish  family  of  the  kind  is  always  a  riddle  to 
me  ;  yet  they  do  subsist,  and,  what  is  more,  ap|M;ar 
to  enjoy  their  existence.  The  wife  takes  her  holyday 
stroll  in  the  I'aseo  ol  Granada,  with  a  chii>i  m  het 
arms,  and  half  a  do/.en  at  her  heels,  and  the  enlesi 
daughter,  now  veiling  into  womanhood,  dresse-s 
her  hail  with  Howers,  and  dances  gaily  to  the  <.h!»- 
tanets. 

There  are  two  classes  of  people  to  whom  life 
seems  one  long  holyilay,  the  very  rich  and  the  very 
poor;  one  because  they  need  do  nothing,  the  other 
oecause  they  have  nothing  to  <lo  ;  but  there  are  none 
who  understand  the  art  of  doing  nothing  and  living 
upon  nothing  iKJtter  than  the  poor  cl.isses  of  Spain. 
Climate  does  one  h.ili  and  tenijierament  the  rest, 
(live  a  Sp.mi.ird  the  shade  in  summer,  and  the  sun 
in  winter,  a  little  bread,  garlic,  oil  and  garbanics,  an 
old  brown  cloak  and  a  guitar,  and  let  tne  wot  id  roll 
on  .as  it  pleases.  Talk  of  poverty,  with  him  it  ha.1 
no  disgrace.  It  sits  upon  him  with  a  grandiose 
style,  like  his  r.iggcd  cloak.  He  is  a  hidalgo  eve& 
wnen  in  rags. 

The  "Sons  of  the  Alhambra"  are  an  eminent 
illustration  of  this  practicil  philosophy.  As  tb.e 
Moors  imagined  thai  the  celestial  paradise  hung 
over  this  I  tvoured  spot,  so  I  am  inclined,  at  times,  to 
fancy  that  a  gleam  of  the  golden  age  still  lingers 
about  this  ragged  community.  They  possess  noth- 
ing, they  do  nothing,  they  care  lor  nothing.  Yet, 
though  apparently  idle  all  the  week,  they  are  as 
observant  of  all  hol^d.iys  and  saints'  days  as  the 
most  lalwrious  artis.in.  They  attend  all  fetes  and 
dancings  in  Granada  and  its  vicinity,  light  bon-fires 
on  the  nilis  of  St.  John's  eve,  and  have  lately  danced 
awav  the  rrHXvniighl  nights,  on  the  harvest  home  of  a 
small  field  of  wheat  witlun  the  '^recincts  of  the  lof- 
tress. 

Before  concluding  these  remarks  I  must  mention 
one  >.'  the  amusements  of  the  place  which  has  par- 
ticularly struck  me.  I  had  repeatedly  observed  a  long, 
lean  lellow  fx-rciied  on  the  top  of  one  of  the  towers 
maiueuvring  two  or  three  fishing  rods,  as  though  he 
was  angling  for  the  stars.  I  was  for  some  time  per- 
plexed by  the  evolutions  of  this  aerial  fisherman,  and 
my  pcr|)lexity  incre;ised  on  observing  others  cm- 
ployed  in  like  manner,  on  difTerent  p;irts  ol  the  bat 
tlements  and  bastions  ;  it  w.as  not  untd  I  consults' 
Mateo  Ximenes  that  I  solved  the  mystery. 

It  seems  that  the  pure  and  airy  situation  of  tbiS 
fortress  has  rendered  it,  like  the  castle  of  M.icl)eth, 
a  prolific  breeding-place  for  swallows  and  martlets, 
who  sport  about  its  towers  in  m)Tiads,  with  tha 
holyday  glee  of  urchins  just  let  loose  from  school. 
To  entrap  these  birds  in  their  giddy  circlings,  with 
books  baited  with  flies,  is  one  of  the  favourite  amuse* 
ments  of  the  ragged  "  Sons  of  the  Alhambra,"  who 
with  the  good-for-nothing  ingenuity  of  arrant  idlen 
have  thus  invented  the  art  otangling  in  the  sky. 


ft* 


■l-fl 


H' 


m 


116 


WORKS  OF    WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


t'S- 


Br  t  ■ , . 


THE  BALCONY. 


^vS-^ 


fN  the  Hall  of  Ambassador!;,  at  the  central  win- 
ciow,  there  is  a  balcony  of  which  1  have  already  made 
mention.  It  projects  like  a  cage  from  the  face  of 
(i.e  tower,  high  in  mid-air,  above  the  tops  of  the 
trees  that  grow  on  the  steep  hill-side.  It  answers 
me  as  a  kind  of  observatory,  where  I  often  take  my 
.'•eat  to  consider,  not  merely  the  heavens  above,  but 
the  '  earth  beneath."  Beside  the  magnificent  pros- 
pect which  it  commands,  of  mountain,  valley,  and 
Vega,  there  is  a  busy  little  scene  of  human  life  laid 
open  to  inspection  immediately  below.  At  the  foot 
of  the  hill  is  an  alameda  or  public  walk,  which, 
though  not  so  fashionable  as  the  more  modem  and 
splendid  pasco  of  the  Xenil,  still  boasts  a  varied  and 
picturesque  concourse,  es|)ecia!ly  on  holydays  and 
Sundays.  Hither  resort  the  small  gentry  of  the 
suburbs,  together  with  priests  and  friars  who  walk 
for  appetite  and  digestion  ;  majos  and  majas,  the 
beaux  and  belles  of  the  lower  classes  in  their  Anda- 
iusian  dresses;  swaggering  contrabandistas,  and 
»»mrtimw  half-muflled  and  mysterious  loungers  of 
the  higher  ranks,  on  some  sileiit  assignation. 

It  is  a  moving'picture  of  Spanish  life  which  I  de- 
light to  suiily  ;  and  as  the  naturalist  has  his  micro- 
sco|>e  to  assist  him  in  his  curious  investigations,  so  I 
have  a  small  pocket  telescope  which  brings  the 
countenances  of  the  motley  groupes  so  close  as  al- 
most at  times  to  make  me  think  1  can  divine  their 
conversation  by  the  play  and  expression  of  their 
features.  I  am  thus,  in  a  manner,  an  invisible  ob- 
server, and  without  quitting  my  solitude,  can  throw 
mys«:lf  in  an  instant  into  the  midst  of  society — a  rare 
advantage  to  one  of  somewhat  shy  and  quiet  habits. 

Then  there  is  a  considerable  suburb  lying  below 
the  Alhambra,  filling  the  narrow  gorge  of  the  valley, 
and  extending  up  the  opposite  hill  of  the  Albaycin. 
Many  of  the  houses  are  built  in  the  Moorish  style, 
round  p.itios  or  courts  cooled  by  fountains  and  open 
to  the  sk-y  ;  and  as  the  inhabitants  pass  much  of 
their  time  in  these  courts  and  on  the  terraced  roofs 
(luring  the  summer  season,  it  follows  that  many  a 
glance  at  their  domestic  life  may  be  obtained  by  an 
aerial  spectator  like  myself,  who  can  look  down  on 
them  from  the  clouds. 

I  enjoy,  in  some  degree,  the  advantages  of  the 
student  in  the  famous  old  Spanish  story,  who  beheld 
^11  Madrid  unroofed  for  his  inspection  ;  and  my  gos- 
<i|)piiig  .srpiire  Mateo  Ximenes,  officiates  occasionally 
as  my  Astnodeus,  to  give  me  anecdotes  of  the  difTcr- 
w  mansions  and  their  inhabitants. 

1  prefer,  however,  to  form  conjectur.il  histories  for 
myscll';  and  thus  can  sit  up  aloft  for  hours,  weaving 
from  casual  incidents  and  indications  that  pass  under 
•ny  eye,  the  whole  tissue  of  schemes,  intrigues  and 
occupations,  carr>'ing  on  by  certain  of  the  busy 
mortals  below  us.  There  is  scarce  a  pretty  face  or 
Etriking  figure  that  I  daily  see,  about  which  I  have 
not  thus  gradually  framed  a  dramatic  story ;  though 
iome  of  my  characters  will  occasionally  act  in  direct 
,!yposition  to  the  part  assigned  them,  and  disconcert 
:ay  whole  drama. 

A  few  days  since  as  I  was  reconnoitring  with  my 
glass  the  streets  of  the  Albaycin,  I  beheld  the  pro- 
ceaiion  of  a  novice  about  to  take  the  veil ;  and  re- 
marked various  circumstances  that  excited  the 
suongest  sympathy  in  the  fate  of  the  youthful  being 
thus  about  to  be  consigned  to  a  living  tomb.  I  as- 
certained, to  my  satisfaction,  that  she  was  beautiful ; 
and,  by  the  p.ileness  of  her  check,  that  she  w.is  a 
victim,  rather  than  a  votary.  She  was  arrayed  in 
oridal  garments,  and  decked  with  a  chaplet  of^white 


flowers;  but  her  heart  evidently  revolted  at  this 
mockery  of  a  spiritual  union,  and  yearned  after  its 
earthly  loves.  A  tall  stern-looking  man  walked  neai 
her  in  the  procession ;  it  was  evidently  the  tyrannica' 
father,  who,  from  some  bigoted  or  sordid  motive, 
had  compelled  this  sacrifice.  Amidst  the  crowd  wa5 
a  dark,  handsome  youth,  in  Andalusian  garb,  whn 
seemed  to  fix  on  her  an  eye  of  agony.  It  was  doubt- 
less the  secret  lover  from  whom  she  was  for  ever  to 
be  separated.  My  indignaticn  ro.se  as  I  noted  the 
malignant  exultation  painted  in  the  countenances  of 
the  attendant  monks  and  friais.  The  procession 
arrived  at  the  ch.tpel  of  the  convent ;  the  sun 
gleamed  for  the  last  time  upon  the  chaplet  of  tht 
poor  novice  as  she  crossed  the  fatal  threshold  ana 
disappeared  from  sight.  The  throng  poured  in  with 
cowl  and  cross  and  minstrelsy.  The  lover  paused 
for  a  moment  at  the  door ;  I  could  understand  the 
tumult  of  his  feelings,  but  he  mastered  them  and 
entered.  There  was  a  long  interval — I  pictured  to 
myself  the  scene  passing  within. — The  poor  novice 
despoiled  of  her  transient  /inery — clothed  in  the  con- 
ventual garb;  the  bridal  chaplet  taken  from  her 
brow ;  her  beautiful  head  shorn  of  its  long  silken 
tresses — I  heard  her  murmur  the  irrevocable  vow— 1 
saw  her  extenled  on  her  bier;  the  death  pall  spread 
over ;  the  funeral  service  performed  that  proclaimed 
her  de^d  to  the  world  ;  her  sighs  were  drowned  in 
the  wailing  anthem  of  the  nuns  and  the  sepulchral 
tones  of  the  organ — the  father  looked,  unmoved, 
without  a  tear — the  lover — no — my  fancy  refused  to 
portray  the  anguish  of  the  lover — there  the  picture 
remained  a  blank. — The  ceremony  w.is  over ;  the 
crowd  again  issued  forth  to  behold  the  day  and 
mingle  in  the  joyous  stir  of  life— but  the  victim  wi  h 
her  brid.ll  chaplet  was  no  longer  there— the  door  {)f 
the  convent  closed  tnat  secured  her  from  th:  m:\  : 
for  ever.  I  saw  the  father  and  the  lover  issue  fort.^ 
— they  were  in  earnest  conversation — tl'.e  young  mr.t 
was  violent  in  his  gestures,  when  the  wal!  of  ahoc-e 
intervened  and  shut  them  from  my  sight. 

That  evening  I  noticed  a  solitary  light  twinkling 
from  a  remote  lattice  of  the  convent.  There,  said  I, 
the  unhappy  novice  sits  weeping  in  her  cell,  while  ht; 
lover  paces  the  street  below  in  unavailing  anguish. 

— The  officioifs  Mateo  interrupted  my  meditations 
and  destroyed,  in  an  instant,  the  cobweb  tissue  of  my 
fancy.  With  his  usual  zeal  he  had  gathered  facts 
concerning  the  scene  that  had  interested  me.  The 
heroine  of  my  romance  was  neither  young  nor  hand- 
some— she  had  no  love — she  had  entered  the  con- 
vent of  her  own  free  will,  as  a  respectable  asylum, 
and  was  one  of  the  cheerfulest  residents  within  its 
walls ! 

I  felt  at  first  half  vexed  with  the  nun  for  being 
thus  happy  in  her  cell,  in  contradiction  to  all  the  rules 
of  romance  ;  but  diverted  my  spleen  by  watc'iing,  for 
a  day  or  two,  the  pretty  coquetries  of  a  dark-eyed 
brunette,  who,  from  the  covert  of  a  balcony  shrouded 
with  flowering  shrubs  and  a  silken  awning,  was 
carrying  on  a  mysterious  correspondence  with  a 
handsome,  dark,  well-whiskered  cavalier  in  the 
street  beneath  her  window.  Sometimes  I  saw  him, 
at  an  early  hour,  stealing  forth,  wrapped  tc  the  cjei 
in  a  mantle.  Sometimes  he  loitered  at  the  conitr, 
in  various  disguises,  apparently  waiting  for  a  privatt 
signal  to  slip  into  the  bower.  Then  tiiere  w;is  a 
tinkling  of  a  guitar  at  night,  and  a  lantern  shifted 
from  place  to  place  in  the  bidcony.  1  im.igined 
another  romantic  intrigue  like  that  of  Almaviv.i,  but 
was  again  disconcerted  i^  all  my  suppositions  by 
being  informed  that  the  supposed  'over  was  tht 
husband  of  the  lady,  and  a  noted  coiitrabandisf.i 
and  that  all  his  mysterious  signs  and  movements  h&d 
doubtless  some  smuggling  scheme  in  view. 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


in 


Scarce  had  the  gray  dawn  streaked  the  sky  and 
the  earliest  cock  crowed  from  the  cottages  of  the 
hill-side,  when  the  suburbs  gave  sign  of  reviving  ani- 
mation ;  for  the  fresh  hours  o!  dawning  are  precious 
in  the  summer  season  in  a  sultry  climate.  All  are 
anxious  to  get  the  start  of  the  sun  in  the  business  of 
the  day.  The  muleteer  drives  forth  his  loaded  train 
for  the  journey ;  the  traveller  slings  his  carbine  be- 
hind his  saddle  and  mounts  his  steed  at  the  gate  of 
ihe  hostel.  The  brown  peasant  urges  his  loitering 
ionkeys,  laden  with  panniers  of  sunny  fruit  and  fresh 
slewy  vegetables ;  for  already  the  thrifty  housewives 
ire  hastening  to  the  market. 

The  sun  is  up  and  sparkles  along  the  valley, 
topping  the  transparent  foliage  of  the  gloves.  The 
matin  tells  resound  melodiously  through  the  pure 
bright  air,  announcing  the  hour  of  devotion.  The 
muleteer  halts  his  burdened  animals  before  the 
chapel,  thrusts  his  staff  through  his  belt  behind,  and 
enters  with  hat  in  hand,  smoothing  his  coal  black 
hair,  to  hear  a  mass  and  nut  up  a  prayer  for  a  pros- 
perous wayfaring  across  the  Sierra. 

And  now  steals  forth  with  fairy  foot  the  gentle 
Seriora,  in  trim  busquina ;  with  restless  fan  in  hand 
and  dark  eye  flashing  from  beneath  her  gracefully 
folded  mantilla.  She  seeks  some  well  frequented 
church  to  offer  up  her  orisons ;  but  the  nicely  ad- 
justed dress ;  th;  dainty  shoe  and  cobweb  stock- 
mg ;  the  raven  tresses  scrupulously  braideil,  the 
fresh  plucked  rose  that  gleams  among  them  like  a 
gem,  show  that  earth  divides  with  heaven  the  em- 
pire of  her  thoughts. 

As  the  morning  advances,  the  din  of  labour  aug- 
ments on  every  si<le  ;  the  streets  are  thronged  with 
iiian  and  steed,  and  be.'ist  of  burden  ;  the  universal 
iHOvement  produces  a  hum  and  murmur  like  the 
i'lrges  of  the  ocean.  As  the  sim  ascends  to  his 
mtridian  the  hum  and  hustle  gradually  decline ; 
sx  the  height  of  noon  there  is  a  pause  ;  the  panting 
iity  sinks  into  lassitude,  and  for  sevenil  hours  there 
s  a  general  repose.  The  windows  are  closed  ; 
the  curtains  drawn ;  the  inhabitants  retired  into 
tb-  coolest  recesses  of  their  mansions.  The  full- 
fed  monk  snores  in  his  dormitory.  The  brawny  por- 
ter lies  stretched  on  the  pavement  beside  his  bur- 
den. The  peasant  and  the  labourer  sleep  beneath 
the  trees  of  the  Alameda,  lulled  by  the  sultry  chirp- 
ing of  the  locust.  The  streets  are  deserted  except  by 
the  water  carrier,  who  refreshes  the  ear  by  pro- 
claiming the  merits  of  his  sparkling  beverage, — 
"  Colder  than  mountain  snow.' 

As  the  sun  declines  there  is  again  a  gradual  re- 
viving, and  when  the  vesper  bell  rings  out  his  sink- 
ing knell,  all  nature  seems  to  rejoice  that  the  tyrant 
of  the  day  has  fallen. 

Now  begins  the  bustle  of  enjoyment.  The  citi- 
lens  pour  forth  to  breathe  the  evening  air,  and 
revel  away  the  brief  twilight  in  the  walks  and  gar- 
dens of  the  Darro  and  the  Xenil. 

As  the  night  closes,  the  motley  scene  assumes 
new  features.  Light  after  light  gradually  twinkles 
forth ;  here  a  taper  from  a  balconied  window ; 
■here  a  votive  lamp  before  the  image  of  a  saint, 
ti^us  by  degrees  tlie  city  emerges  from  the  per- 
mding  gloom,  and  sparkles  with  scattered  lights 
;lkc  tns  starry  tirm.ament.  Now  break  forth  from 
court,  and  garden,  and  street,  and  lane,  the  tink- 
'ing  of  innumenible  guitars  and  the  clicking  of  cas- 
unets,  blending  at  this  lofty  height,  in  a  faint  and 
general  concert,  "  Enjoy  the  moment,"  is  the 
creed  of  the  gay  and  amorous  Andalusian,  and  at 
no  time  docs  he  practise  it  more  ze<alously  than  in 
the  balmy  nights  of  summer,  wooing  his  mistress 
rnxh  the  dance,  the  love  ditty  and  the  passionate 
lerenade. 


I  was  seated  one  evening  in  fie  balcony  enjoy^ 
ine  the  light  breeze  that  came  rustling  alorig  th< 
side  of  the  hill  among  the  tree-tops,  whnn  my  hum- 
ble historiographer,  Mateo,  who  was  at  my  elbow, 
pointed  out  a  spacious  house  in  an  obscure  street  ot 
the  Albaycin,  about  which  he  related,  as  nearly  aa  I 
can  recollect,  the  following  anecdote  . 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  MASON. 

There  was  once  upon  a  time  a  poor  ma.son,  or 
bricklayer  in  Granada,  who  kept  all  the  saints'  daj-a 
and  holydays,  and  saint  Monday  into  the  bargain, 
and  yet,  with  all  his  devotion,  he  grew  poorer  and 
poorer,  and  could  scarcely  earn  bread  for  his  numer- 
ous family.  One  night  he  was  roused  from  his  first 
sleep  by  a  knocking  at  his  door.  He  opened  it 
and  beheld  before  him  a  tall,  meagre,  cadaverous- 
looking  priest.  "  Hark  ye,  honest  friend,"  sai<l  the 
stranger,  "  1  have  observed  that  you  are  a  good 
Christian,  and  one  to  be  trusted ;  will  you  undertake 
a  job  this  very  night  ?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,  Senor  Padre,  on  condition 
that  I  am  paid  accordingly." 

"  That  you  shall  be,  but  you  must  suffer  yourself 
to  be  blindfolded." 

To  this  the  mason  made  no  objection  ;  so  being 
hoodwinked,  he  was  led  by  the  pnest  through  vari- 
ous rough  lanes  and  winding  passages  until  they 
stopped  before  the  portal  of  a  house.  The  priest 
then  applied  a  key,  turned  a  creaking  lock  and  ^ 
opened  what  sounded  like  a  ponderous  door.  They 
entered,  the  door  was  closed  and  bolted,  and  ths 
m.ason  was  conducted  through  an  echoing  corridct 
and  spacious  hall,  to  an  interior  part  of  the  building 
Here  the  bandage  was  removed  from  his  eyes,  and 
he  found  himself  in  a  patio,  or  court,  dimly  lightci 
by  a  single  lamp. 

In  the  centre  was  a  dry  basin  of  an  old  Moorish 
fountain,  under  which  the  priest  requested  him  to 
form  a  small  vault,  bricks  and  mortar  being  at  hand  for 
the  purpose.  He  accordingly  worked  all  night,  but 
without  finishing  the  job.  Just  before  dav-break 
the  priest  put  a  piece  of  gold  mto  his  hand,  and  hav- 
ing again  blindfolded  hnn,  conducted  him  back  to 
his  dwelling. 

"  Are  you  willing,"  said  he,  "  to  return  and  com- 
plete your  work  ?  " 

"Gladly,  Seuor  Padre,  provided  I  am  as  well 
paid." 

"  Well,  then,  to-morrow  at  midnight  I  will  call 
again." 

He  did  so,  and  the  vault  was  completed.  "  Now," 
said  the  priest,  "  you  must  help  me  to  bring  forth 
the  bodies  that  are  to  be  buried  in  this  vault.  ' 

The  poor  mason's  hair  rose  on  his  head  at  these 
words ;  he  followed  the  priest  with  trembUng  steps, 
into  a  retired  chamber  of  the  mansion,  expecting 
to  behold  some  ghastly  spectacle  of  death,  but  was 
relieved,  on  perceiving  three  or  four  portly  jars 
standing  in  one  corner.  They  were  evidently  fidl  of 
money,  and  it  was  with  great  labour  that  he  and  the 
priest  carried  them  forth  and  consigned  them  to 
their  tomb.  The  vault  w.as  tl  en  closed,  the  pave- 
ment replaced  and  all  traces  of  the  work  obliterated. 

The  mason  was  again  hoodwinked  and  led  forth 
by  a  route  different  from  that  by  which  he  had  come. 
After  they  had  wandered  for  a  long  time  through  a 
perplexed  maze  of  lanes  and  alleys,  they  halted.  The 
priest  then  put  two  pieces  of  gold  into  his  hand. 
"  Wait  here,  '  said  he,  "  until  you  hear  the  cathedral 
b<;ll  toll  for  matins.  If  you  presume  to  uncover  your 
eyes  t>;;fore  that  time,  evil  will  befall  you."  So  »av 
ing  ne  departed. 


m 


118 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVINU 


fe 


<> 


p-". 


^^^'^ 


The  mason  waited  faith  rully,  amusing  himself  by 
weighing  the  gold  pieces  in  his  hand  and  clinking 
.hem  acrainst  each  other.  The  moment  the  cathe- 
dral bell  rung  its  matin  peal,  he  uncovered  his  eyes 
and  found  himself  on  the  banks  of  the  Xenil  ;  from 
whence  he  made  the  best  of  his  way  home,  and  rev- 
elled with  his  fan-.ily  for  a  whole  fortnight  on  the 
profits  of  his  two  nights'  work,  after  which  he  was 
as  poor  as  ever. 

He  continued  to  work  a  little  and  pray  a  good  deal, 
and  keep  holydays  and  saints'  days  from  year  to  year, 
while  his  family  grew  uf  as  gaimt  and  ragged  as  a 
new  of  gipsies. 

As  he  was  seated  onr  morning  at  the  door  of  his 
hovel,  he  was  accosted  by  a  rich  old  curmudgeon 
who  was  noted  for  owning  many  houses  and  being  a 
(piping  landlord. 

"the  man  of  money  eyed  him  for  a  moment,  from 
beneath  a  pair  of  shagged  eyebrows. 

"  I  am  told,  friend,  th.it  you  are  very  poor." 

"  There  is  no  denying  the  fact,  Senor  ;  it  speaks 
for  itself." 

"  I  presume,  then,  you  will  be  glad  of  a  job,  and 
will  work  cheap." 

"  As  cheap,  my  master,  as  any  mason  in  Granada." 

"  That's  what  I  want,  I  have  an  old  house  fallen 
to  decay,  that  costs  me  more  money  than  it  is  worth 
to  keep  it  in  repair,  for  nobody  will  live  in  it ;  so  I 
must  contrive  to  patch  it  up  and  keep  it  together  at 
as  small  expense  as  possible." 

The  mason  was  accordingly  conducted  to  a  huge 
deserted  house  that  seemed  going  to  ruin.  Passing 
through  several  empty  halls  and  chambers,  he  en- 
tered an  inner  court,  where  his  eye  was  caught  by 
an  old  Moorish  fountain. 

He  paused  for  a  moment.  "  It  seems,"  said  he, 
"  as  if  I  had  been  in  this  place  before  ;  but  it  is  like 
a  dream, — Pray  who  occupied  this  house  formerly  ?  " 

"  A  pest  upon  him  I "  cried  the  Landlord,  "  It  was 
an  old  miserly  priest,  who  cared  for  nobody  but  him- 
self. He  was  said  to  be  immensely  rich,  and,  hav- 
ing no  relations,  it  was  thought  he  would  leave  all 
his  treasure  to  the  church.  He  died  suddenly,  and 
the  priests  and  friars  thronged  to  take  possession  of 
his  wealth,  but  nothing  could  they  find  but  a  few 
ducats  in  a  leathern  purse.  The  worst  luck  has 
fallen  on  me ;  for  since  his  death,  the  old  fellow  con- 
tinues to  occupy  my  house  without  paying  rent,  and 
there's  no  taking  the  law  of  a  dead  man.  The 
people  pretend  to  hear  at  night  the  clinking  of  gold 
all  night  long  in  the  chamber  where  the  old  priest 
slept,  as  if  he  were  counting  over  his  money,  and 
sometimes  a  groaning  and  moaning  about  the  court. 
Whether  true  or  fglse  these  stories  have  brought  a  bad 
name  on  my  house,  and  nota  tenant  will  remain  in  it." 

"Znough,"  said  the  mason  sturdily — "Let  me 
live  in  your  house,  rent  free  until  some  better  tenant 
presents,  and  1  will  engage  to  put  it  in  repair  and 
quiet  the  troubled  spiri's  that  disturb  it.  I  am  a 
good  Chr'Ttian  and  a  poor  m;in,  and  am  not  to  be 
daunted  by  the  devil  himself,  evMi  though  he  come 
ii  the  shjipe  of  a  big  b.ag  of  money." 

The  offer  of  the  honest  mason  was  gladly  ac- 
repted ;  he  moved  with  his  family  into  the  house, 
and  fulfilled  all  his  engagenunts.  By  little  and  little 
he  restored  it  to  its  former  state.  The  cliiiki»^g  of 
|<ild  was  no  longer  heard  at  night  in  the  chamber 
of  the  defunct  priest,  but  began  to  be  heard  by  day 
in  the  pocket  of  the  living  mason.  In  a  word,  he 
incrca.sed  rapidly  in  wealth,  to  the  admiration  of  all 
'  his  neighbours,  and  became  one  of  tl.e  richest  men 
in  Granada.  He  gave  large  sums  to  the  church,  by 
way,  no  doubt,  of  satisfying  his  conscience,  and  never 
rev«Jed  the  secret  of  the  wealth  until  on  his  death- 
dcd,  to  his  son  and  heir. 


A  RAMBLE  AM0N8  THE  HILLS. 


I  FREQtjENTLY  amuse  myself  towards  the  dost 
of  the  day,  when  the  heat  has  subsided,  with  taking 
long  rambles  about  the  neighbouring  hills  and  the 
deep  umbrageous  valleys,  accompanied  by  my  his 
toriographer  Scjuire  Mateo,  to  whose  passion  foi 
gossiping,  I,  on  such  occasions,  give  the  most  un 
bounded  license  ;  and  there  is  scarce  a  rock  or  ruin 
or  broken  fotmtain,  or  lonely  glen,  about  which  tu 
has  not  some  marvellous  story ;  or,  above  all,  some 
golden  legend;  for  never  was  poor  devil  so  munifi- 
cent in  dispensing  hidden  treasures. 

A  few  evenings  since  we  took  a  long  siroll  of  the 
kind,  in  which  Mateo  was  more  than  usually  com 
municative.  It  was  towards  sunset  that  we  sallied 
forth  from  the  great  G.ate  of  Justice,  and  ascending; 
an  alley  of  trees,  Mateo  paused  under  a  clump  of  fig 
and  pomegranate  trees  at  the  foot  of  a  huge  ruinei! 
tower,  called  the  Tower  of  the  Seven  Vaults,  (de  los 
siete  suelos.)  Here,  pointing  to  a  low  archway  at 
the  foundation  of  the  lower,  he  informed  me,  in  ar. 
under  tone,  was  the  lurking-place  of  a  monstrous 
sprite  or  hobgoblin  called  the  Belludo,  which  had 
infested  the  tower  ever  since  the  time  of  the  Moors ; 
guarding,  it  is  supposed,  the  treasures  of  a  Moorish 
king.  Sometimes  it  issues  forth  in  the  dead  of  the 
night,  and  scours  the  avenues  of  the  Alhambra  and 
the  streets  of  Granada  in  the  shape  of  a  headless 
horse,  pursued  by  six  dogs,  with  terrific  yells  and 
bowlings. 

'•  But  have  you  ever  met  with  it  yourself,  Matec 
in  any  of  your  rambles  ?  " 

"  No.  sefior;  but  my  grandfather,  the  tailor  knev, 
several  persons  who  had  seen  it;  for  it  went  abou' 
much  more  in  his  time  than  at  present :  sometime.' 
in  one  shap)e,  sometimes  in  another.  Every  hotly  it 
Granada  has  heard  of  the  Belludo,  foi'  the  old  women 
and  nurses  frighten  the  children  with  it  when  they 
cry.  Some  say  it  is  the  spirit  of  a  cruel  Moorish 
king,  who  killed  his  six  sons,  and  buried  them  in 
these  vaults,  and  that  they  hunt  him  at  nights  in 
revenge." 

Mateo  went  on  to  tell  many  particulars  about  this 
redoutable  hobgoblin,  which  has,  in  fact,  been  time 
out  of  mind  a  favourite  theme  of  nurser)'  tale  and 
popular  tradition  in  Granada,  and  is  mentioned  in 
some  of  the  antiquated  guide-books.  When  he  had 
finished,  we  passed  on,  skirting  the  fruitful  orchards 
of  the  Generaliffc ;  among  the  trees  of  which  two 
or  three  nightingales  were  pouring  forth  a  rich  strain 
of  melody.  Behind  these  orchards  we  passed  a 
numl)er  of  Moorish  tanks,  with  a  door  cut  into  the 
rocky  bosom  of  the  hill,  but  closed  up.  These  tanks 
Mateo  informed  me  were  favourite  bathing-places 
of  himself  and  his  comrades  in  boyhood,  until  fright- 
ened away  by  a  story  of  a  hideous  Moor,  who  used 
to  issue  forth  from  the  door  in  the  rock  to  entrap 
unwary  bathers. 

Leaving  these  haunted  tanks  behind  us,  we  pur- 
su'id  our  ramble  up  a  solitary  mule-p.ith  that  wound 
among  the  hills,  and  soon  found  ourselves  amids' 
wild  and  melancholy  mountains,  destitute  of  trees 
and  here  and  there  tinted  with  scanty  verdure 
Every  thing  within  sight  was  severe  and  sterile,  and 
it  was  scarcely  possible  to  realize  the  idea  that  but 
a  short  distance  behind  us  was  the  Generaliffe,  with 
its  blooming  orchards  and  terraced  gardens,  and 
that  we  were  in  the  vicinity  of  delicious  Granada, 
that  city  of  groves  and  fountains.  But  such  is  the 
nature  of  Spain — wdd  and  stern  the  moment  it  esr 
capes  from  cultivation,  the  desert  and  the  garder 
are  ever  side  by  side. 


Si  r 


■IB  .f 


I  III   K  \  \ii-;iiM;ii,i.  ii,-\  IN. 


■  i|.>ni.'lit    ISM    l.>    I'l  il.l.Altli  A    Muss 


THE    KING   AND   PRINCESS   IN   SEARCH   OF   THE   GARDEN   OF    IREM 


T!if  narrow  dt 
jallril.  according 
laui.  or  the  ravine 

'  And  why  so,  I 

■■  Hfcajse,  sefloi 
<!',mil  here  in  old  i 
Ij  continually  ninr 

"Bii*  what  is  th 
^(?r  u;)on  a  heap  o 

"Oh.'  that's  no 
:li:re  some  years  5 
"So  the.i,  Mate 
ers  even  at  the  gal 
"  Not  at  present 
there  used  to  be 
tress ;  out  they've 
that  the  gipsies,  v 
ijst  oit  of  the  fo: 
iny  tl  ing;  but  we 
for  a  ong  time  pas 
nuleeer  was  hang 
Oi  r  path  contin 
ni)(g;il  height  to  ( 
cr  cl  air  of  the  Mc 
lorfi  nate  Boabdil 
virr'Ction,  and  r 
rock,'  summit,  loo 
facti  )iis  city. 

We  at  length  a 
proPKintory  above  ' 
the  .'jiiri.  The  eve 
ling  sun  just  gilde 
ther^i  a  solitary  sh- 
h's  flock  down  th< 
tight,  or  a  muletee 
ii'i;  some  mountair 
ivlore  nightfall. 

Trtsently  the  dc 

uiiie  swelling  up 

ol  Or.icion,  or  praj 

from  the  bellrj'  of  e 

hells  ol  the  conve 

shepl.erd  paused  or 

in  the  midst  of  the 

I  remained  motionles 

injj  prayer.     Thera 

pleasing  in  this  cu 

signal,  ever)'  humar 

cites,  at  the  same 

(ioi!  for  the  niercie 

sieni  sanctity  over  t 

I  sinking  in  all  his  ( 

Ifninity  of  the  seen 

I  {tfpct  was  heighten 

I  of  the  place.     We 

summit  of  the  haun 

mined  tanks  and  ci; 

dntions  of  extensive 

I  k'-^ncss,  but  when; 

As  we  were  want 

I  lines,  Mateo  pointt 

I  ks.iied  to  pcnetral 

J  moiuitain.    It  was  t 

I  Indefatigable  Moors 

I  rent  in  its  greatest 

C  tferent  story,  and 

ivas,  according  to  ti 

Jterranean  caverns  c 

I  (ill  and  his  court  la' 

I  whence  ihey  sallied 

I  io  revisit  their  ancie 

The  deepening  t^ 

I  of  such  short  duiati 

iii'inted  groond.    i 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


US 


T!ie  narrow  defile  up  which  we  were  passing  is 
jalrcl.  according  to  Mateo,  el  Barranco  de  la  Ti- 
la  ,1.  or  tine  ravine  of  the  jar. 

•  And  why  so,  Mateo?  '  inquired  I. 

•  Htca jse,  seftor,  a  jar  ful)  of  Moorish  gold  was 
:<"iTi(l  here  in  old  limes."  The  brain  of  poor  Mateo 
Ij  continually  running  upon  these  golden  legends. 

"  111'  wh.1t  is  the  meaninj^f  of  the  cross  I  see  yon- 
der u;jon  a  heap  of  stones  in  that  narrow  part  of  the 
u'/inar 

"Oh'  that's  nothing — a  rr.uieteer  was  murdered 
li«re  some  years  j'.i:;." 

"  So  the.i,  Mateo,  you  have  robbers  and  murder- 
ers even  at  the  gates  ol  the  Alhambra." 

"  Not  at  present,  sefSor — that  was  formerly,  when 
ihere  used  to  be  many  loose  fellows  about  the  for- 
tress ;  out  they've  all  been  weeded  out.  Not  but 
that  the  gipsies,  who  live  in  caves  in  the  hill-sides 
ust  0  It  of  the  fortress,  are,  many  of  them,  fit  for 
iny  tl  ing;  but  we  have  h"d  no  murder  about  here 
for  a  ong  time  past.  The  man  who  murdered  the 
nulc  cer  was  hanged  in  the  fortress." 

Ol  r  path  continued  up  the  barranco,  with  a  bold, 
nigg  I'll  height  to  our  left,  called  the  Silla  del  Moro, 
fr  cl  air  of  the  Moor  ;  from  a  tradition  that  the  un- 
(orti  nate  Boabdil  fled  thither  during  a  popular  in- 
wrr-ction,  and  remained  all  day  seated  on  the 
rock,'  summit,  looking  mournfully  down  upon  his 
facti  ms  city. 

\\  e  at  length  arrived  on  the  highest  part  of  the 
prni\ontor\'  above  Granada,  called  the  Mountain  of 
the  -JLin.  The  evening  was  approaching;  the  set- 
ting sun  just  gilded  the  loftiest  heights.  Here  and 
there  a  solitary  shepherd  might  be  descried  driving 
iVs  flock  down  the  declivities  to  be  folded  for  the 
tight,  or  a  muleteer  and  his  lagging  anim.ils  tbre.id- 
i>'(^  some  mountain  path,  to  arrive  at  the  city  gates 
tvlore  nightfall. 

J'rtsently  the  deep  tones  of  the  cathedral  bell 
time  swelling  up  the  detiles,  proclaiming  the  hour 
ol  Or.icion,  or  prayer.  The  note  was  responded  to 
Ironi  the  belfrj'  of  every  church,  and  from  the  sweet 
hells  ol'  the  convents  among  the  mountains.  The 
shcplifrd  paused  on  the  fold  of  the  hill,  the  muleteer 
ill  the  nitdst  of  the  road  ;  each  took  off  his  hat,  and 
reniainevl  motionless  for  a  time,  murmuring  his  even- 
m^r  praytT.  There  is  always  something  solemn  and 
pleasing  in  this  custom ;  by  which,  at  a  melodious 
signal,  every  human  being  throughout  the  land,  re- 
I  citi's,  at  the  same  moment,  a  tribute  of  thanks  to 
Goil  for  the  mercies  of  the  d.ay.  It  diffuses  a  tran- 
sient sanctity  over  the  land,  and  the  sight  of  the  sun 
j  sinking  in  all  his  glory,  adds  not  a  little  to  the  so- 
lemnity of  the  scene.  In  the  present  instance,  the 
I  ertcci  was  heightened  by  the  wild  and  lonely  nature 
of  the  place.  We  were  on  *the  naked  ancf  broken 
suminit  of  the  haunted  Mountain  of  the  Sun,  where 
niint'd  tanks  and  cisterns,  and  the  mouldering  fo'tn- 
(iations  of  extensive  buildings,  spoke  of  former  popu- 
I  i':.";r.eis,  but  where  all  was  now  silent  and  desolate. 

As  we  were  wandering  among  these  traces  of  old 
I  t;Tcs,  Mateo  pointed  out  to  me  a  circular  pit,  that 

ce.ued  to  penetrate  deep  into  the  bosom  of  the 
I  rroisntain.  It  was  evidently  a  deep  well,  dug  by  the 
Indefatigable  Moors,  to  olitain  their  favourite  ele- 
Hient  in  its  greatest  purity.  Mateo,  however,  had  a 
different  story,  and  much  more  to  his  humour.  This 
was,  according  to  tradition,  an  entrance  to  the  sub- 
terranean caverns  of  the  mountain,  in  which  Boab- 
I  dil  and  his  court  lay  bound  in  magpc  spell ;  and  from 
whence  they  sallied  forth  at  night,  at  allot' ed  times, 
I  to  revisit  their  ancient  abodes. 

The  deepening  twilight,  which  in  this  climate  is 
I  of  such  short  dutation,  admonished  us  to  leave  this 
bunted  groand.    As  we  descended  the  mountai" 


defiles,  there  was  no  longer  herdsman  or  mnleteei  to 
l)e  seen,  nor  any  thing  to  be  heard  but  our  own  foot- 
steps and  the  lonely  chirping  of  the  cricket.  The 
shadows  of  the  valleys  grew  deeper  and  deeper,  until 
all  was  dark  around  us.  The  lofty  summit  of  the 
.Sierra  Nevada  alone  retained  a  lingering  gleam  of 
day-light,  its  snowy  peaks  glaring  against  the  dark 
blue  finnament;  and  seeming  close  to  us,  fiom  the 
extreme  purity  of  the  atmosphere. 

"  How  near  the  Sierra  looks  this  evening  ! "  said 
Mateo,  "  it  seems  as  if  you  could  tojch  it  with  youi 
hand,  and  yet  it  is  many  long  leapfues  off."  While 
he  was  speaking  a  star  appeared  over  the  snowy 
summit  of  the  mountain,  the  only  one  yet  visible  in 
the  heavens,  and  so  pure,  so  large,  so  bright  and 
beautiful  as  to  call  forth  ejaculations  cf  delight  from 
honest  Mateo. 

"Que  lucero  hermoso!— aue  claro  y  limpio  es ! — 
no  pueda  ser  lucero  mas  br.llante  1 " — 

(Wh.at  a  beautiful  star  !  how  clear  and  lucid  I — DO 
star  could  be  more  brilliant !) 

I  have  often  remarked  th.s  sensibility  of  the  com- 
mon people  of  Spain  to  the  charms  of  natural  objects 
— The  lustre  of  a  star — the  beauty  or  fragrance  of  a 
flower — the  crystal  purity  of  a  fountain,  will  inspire 
them  with  a  kind  of  poetical  delight — and  then  what 
euphonous  words  their  m.igniticent  language  affords, 
with  which  to  give  utter.ince  to  their  transports ! 

"  But  what  lights  are  those,  Mateo,  which  I  see 
twinkling  along  the  Sierra  Nevada,  just  below  the 
snowy  region,  and  which  might  be  taken  foi  stars, 
only  that  they  are  ruddy  and  against  the  dark  side 
of  the  rtiountain?" 

"  Those,  Seilor,  are  fires  made  by  the  men  who 
gather  snow  and  ice  for  the  supply  of  Granada. 
Ihey  go  up  every  atternoon  with  mules  and  asses, 
and  take  turns,  some  to  rest  and  warm  themselves 
by  the  tires,  while  others  fill  their  panniers  w:th  ice. 
They  then  set  off  down  the  mountain,  so  as  to  reaub 
the  gates  of  Granada  before  sunrise.  That  Sierra 
Nevada,  Senor,  is  a  lump  of  ice  in  the  middle  of  Aii> 
dalusia,  to  keep  it  all  cool  in  summer." 

It  was  now  completely  dark;  we  were  passing 
through  the  barranco  where  stood  the  cross  of  the 
murdered  muleteer,  when  I  beheld  a  number  of 
lights  moving  at  a  distance  and  apparently  advanc- 
ing up  the  ravine.  On  nearer  .approach  they  proved' 
to  be  torches  borne  by  a  train  of  uncouth  figures 
arrayed  in  black ;  it  would  have  been  a  procession 
dreary  enough  at  any  time,  but  was  peculiarly  so  in 
this  wild  and  solitary  place. 

Mateo  drew  near  and  told  me  in  a  low  voice,  that 
it  was  a  funeral  train  bearing  a  corpse  to  the  burying 
ground  among  the  hills. 

As  the  procession  passed  by,  the  lugubrious  light 
of  the  torches,  falling  on  the  rugged  features  and 
funereal  weeds  of  the  attendants,  had  the  most  fan- 
tastic effect,  but  was  perfectly  ghastly  as  it  revealed 
the  countenance  of  the  corpse,  which,  according  to 
Spanish  custom,  was  borne  uncovered  on  an  open 
bier.  I  remained  for  some  time  gazing  after  the 
dreary  train  as  it  wound  up  the  dark  defile  of  the 
mountain.  It  put  me  in  mind  of  the  old  story  of  A 
procession  of  demons,  bearing  the  body  of  a  sinner 
up  the  crater  of  Stromboli, 

"  Ah,  Seiior,"  cried  Mateo,  "  I  could  tell  you  a  story 
of  a  procession  once  seen  among  these  mount  lins — 
but  then  you  would  Kaugh  at  me,  and  say  it  was  one 
of  the  legacies  of  my  gi'andfather  the  tailor." 

"By  no  means,  Mateo.  There  is  nothing  I  relish 
more  than  a  marvellous  tale," 

"  Well,  Seiior,  it  is  about  ore  of  those  very  men 
we  have  been  talking  of,  who  gather  snow  on  the 
Sierra  Nevada.  You  must  know  that  a  great  m.injr 
years  since,  in  my  grandfather's  time,  there  was  ar 


i^.?i 


I'20 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


1^C-^J 


t^:h  ■  • 


fj." 


l; 


i'r^-ii^ 


,T-V: 


Vj 


■M  -  •■'4.  .^ 
"  I  -  ■•     .^  i 


^-:--l 

s 

lli^i 

old  fellow,  Tio  Nicolo  by  name,  who  had  filled  the 
oanniers  of  his  mules  with  snow  and  ice.  and  was 
returning  down  the  mountain.  Bring  very  drowsy, 
he  mounted  upon  the  mule,  and  soon  falling  asleep, 
went  with  his  head  nodding  and  bobbing  about  from 
aide  to  side,  while  his  sure-looted  old  mule  stepped 
along  the  edge  of  (irecipices,  and  down  steep  and 
broken  barrancos  just  as  sate  and  steady  as  if  it  had 
bfen  on  plain  ground.  At  length  Tio  Nicolo  awoke, 
nnd  gazwl  about  him,  and  ruhbfd  his  eyes — and  in 
gcod  truth  he  had  rj«^on~the  moon  shone  almost 
IS  blight  .is  day,  ffnd  he  saw  the  city  below  him,  as 

Clain  as  your  hand,  and  shining  with  its  white 
uildings  like  a  silver  platter  in  the  moonshine;  but 
lord  !  Sefior  ! — it  was  nothing  like  the  city  he  left  a 
few  hours  before.  Instead  of  the  cathedral  with  its 
great  dome  and  turrets,  and  the  churches  with  their 
spires,  and  the  convents  with  their  pinnacles  all  sur- 
mounted with  the  blessed  cross,  he  saw  nothing  but 
Moorish  mosques,  and  minarets,  and  cupolas,  .all 
topped  off  with  glittering  crescents,  such  as  you  see 
on  the  Barbary  nags.  Well,  Sefior,  as  you  may  sup- 
pose, Tio  Nicole  w.is  mightily  puzzled  at  all  this, 
but  while  he  was  gazing  down  upon  the  city,  a  great 
army  came  marching  up  the  mountain ;  winding 
along  the  ravi;ifs,  sometimes  in  the  moonshine, 
sometimes  in  the  shade.  As  it  drew  nigh,  he  saw 
that  there  were  horse  and  fool,  all  in  Moorish  armour. 
Tio  Nicolo  tried  to  scramble  out  of  their  way.  but 
his  old  mule  stood  stock  still  and  refused  to  budge, 
trembling  at  the  same  time  like  a  leaf— for  dumb 
bi'asts,  Sefior,  are  just  as  much  frightened  ."U  such 
t'lings  as  hum.'.n  beings.  Well,  Sefior,  the  holigoblin 
jamy  came  marching  by,  there  were  men  that 
ieemed  to  blow  tnimpets,  nnd  others  to  beat  tirums 
and  strike  cymbals,  yet  never  a  sound  did  they  make ; 
they  all  moved  on  without  the  least  noise,  just  as  1 
have  seen  painted  armies  move  across  the  stage  in 
the  theatre  of  Gran.ada.  and  .all  looked  as  pale  as 
death.  At  last  in  the  rear  of  the  army,  between  two 
black  Moorish  horsemen,  rode  the  grand  inquisitor 
of  Granada,  on  a  mule  as  white  as  snow.  Tio  Nicolo 
wondered  to  see  him  in  sucn  company ;  for  the  in- 
quisitor was  famous  for  his  hatred  of  Moors,  and  in- 
deed of  all  kinds  of  infidels,  Jews  and  heretics,  and 
used  to  hunt  them  out  with  tire  and  scourge — how- 
ever, Tio  Nicolo  felt  himself  safe,  now  that  there  was 
a  priest  of  such  s.anciity  at  hand.  So,  m.aking  the  sign 
of  the  cross,  he  called  out  for  his  benediction,  when 
— hombre  I  he  received  a  blow  that  sent  him  and  his 
old  mule  over  the  edge  of  a  steep  bank,  down  which 
they  rolled,  head  over  heels,  to  the  bottom.  Tio 
Nicolo  did  not  com^  to  his  senses  until  long  alter 
sunrise,  when  he  found  himself  at  the  bottom  of  a 
deep  ravine,  his  mule  grazing  beside  him,  and  his 
panniers  of  snow  completely  melted.  He  crawled 
back  to  Granada  sorely  bruised  and  battered,  and 
was  glad  to  find  the  city  looking  as  usual,  with 
Christian  churches  and  crosses.  When  he  told  the 
story  of  his  night's  adventure  every  one  laughed  at 
him :  some  said  he  had  dn:;imt  it  all,  as  heTlozed  on 
his  mule,  others  t  bought  it  all  a  fabrication  of  his  owfi. 
But  wh.at  was  strange,  Senor,  and  made  people 
afterwards  think  more  seriously  of  the  matter,  w;is, 
tliat  the  grand  inquisitor  died  within  the  year.  I 
b^^ve  often  heard  my  grandfather,  the  tailor,  say  that 
there  was  more  meant  by  that  hobgoblin  army  bear- 
int^f  off  the  resemblance  of  the  priest,  than  folks 
dared  to  surmise," 

"Ihen  you  would  insinuate,  friend  Mateo,  that 
there  is  a  kind  of  Moorish  limbo,  or  purgatory,  in 
the  bowels  of  these  mountains ;  to  which  the  padre 
inquisitor  was  borne  oiT." 

"  God  forbid — Sefior  ! — I  know  nothing  of  the  mat- 
ter —I  only  relate  what  I  heard  from  my  grandfather." 


By  the  time  Mateo  had  finished  the  tale  which  ] 
have  more  succinctly  related,  and  which  was  iiuer. 
larded  with  many  comments,  and  spun  out  with 
minute  details,  we  reached  the  gate  of  thn  A|. 
humbra. 


THE  COURT  OF  LIONS. 


The  peculiar  charm  of  this  old  dreamy  palace,  is 
its  power  of  calling  up  vague  reveries  and  picturing 
of  the  p.ist,  and  thus  clothing  naked  realities  with 
i.he  illusions  of  the  memory  and  the  imagination. 
As  I  delight  to  walk  in  these  "vain  shadows,"  1  ,im 
prone  to  seek  those  parts  of  the  Alhambr.i  which 
are  most  favourable  to  this  phan'.asm.igona  of  the 
mind ;  and  none  are  more  so  than  the  Court  of  Lj. 
onsand  its  surroumling  halls.  Here  the  hand  ol  init 
has  fallen  the  lightest,  and  the  traces  of  .Mounsh 
elegance  and  splendour  exist  in  .almost  their  or;;;. 
inal  brilliancy.  Earthquakes  have  shaken  tlie 
foundations  of  this  pile,  and  rent  its  rudest  towirs, 
yet  see — not  one  of  those  slender  columns  h.as  li'/en 
displaced,  not  an  arch  of  that  light  and  fragile  rl- 
onnade  has  given  way,  and  all  t.he  fiiry  fretwork  of 
these  domes,  apparently  as  unsubst.intial  as  the  crys- 
tal fabrics  of  a  morning's  frost,  yet  exist  after  iht 
Ia[)se  of  centuries,  almo.st  as  fresh  as  if  from  ihe 
hand  of  the  Moslem  artist. 

1  write  in  the  midst  of  these  mementos  cl  t' o 
past,  in  the  fresh  hour  of  early  morning,  in  the  Ivfi 
hall  of  the  Abencerr.iges.  The  bioo<l -stained  fc^T^ 
Lain,  the  legendary  monument  of  their  massa..re  s 
before  me;  the  lolty  jet  almost  cists  its  dew  Lptj 
my  p.iper.  How  difticult  to  recom  ile  the  ancicM 
taie  of  violence  and  blood,  with  the  gentle  ar.d 
peaceful  scene  around.  Every  thing  here  app(ar 
calculated  to  inspire  kind  and  happy  feelings,  lot 
every  thing  is  delicate  and  beautiful.  The  very 
light  falls  tenderly  from  above,  through  the  lantern 
ot  a  dome  tinted  and  wrought  as  if  by  fairy  hands, 
Through  the  ample  and  fretted  arch  of  the  port.il,  1 
behold  the  Court  of  Lions,  with  brilliant  suns.'iine 
gleaming  along  its  colonnades  and  sparkling  in  its 
fountains.  The  liveK  swallow  dives  into  the  court, 
and  then  surging  upwards,  darts  aw.ay  twittering 
over  the  roof;  the  busy  bee  toils  humming  amoii^ 
the  flower  beds,  and  painted  butterflies  hover  li.nn 
plant  to  plant,  and  flutter  up,  and  sport  with  racli 
other  in  the  sunny  air. — It  needs  but  a  slight  exer- 
tion of  the  fancy  to  picture  some  pensive  beauty  ol 
the  haretn,  loitering  in  these  secluded  haunts  of  ori. 
ental  luxury. 

He,  however,  who  would  behold  this  scene  undei 
an  aspect  more  in  unison  with  its  fortunes,  let  \.m\ 
come  when  the  shadows  of  evening  temper  thf 
brightness  of  the  court  and  throw  a  gloom  into  'Ae. 
surrounding  halls, — then  nothing  can  be  nora  =e 
renely  melancholy,  or  more  in  harmony  witL  the  t,<l( 
of  departed  grandeur. 

At  such  times  I  am  apt  to  seek  the  H.all  of  J  is- 
tice.  whose  deep  shadowy  arcades  extend  across  the 
upper  end  of  the  court.  Here  were  performeii,  ti 
presence  of  Ferdin.and  and  Isabella,  and  their  'r- 
umphant  court,  the  pompous  ceremonies  of  hii;!. 
mass,  on  taking  possession  of  the  Alhambr.a,  '1  hi 
very  cross  is  still  to  be  seen  upon  the  wall,  where  tht 
altar  was  erected,  and  where  ofliciated  the  gran' 
cardinal  of  Spain,  and  others  of  the  highest  religious 
dignitaries  of  thtj  land. 

1  picture  to  myself  the  scene  when  this  place  wa; 
fiUed  with  the  conquering  host,  that  miiture  o!  mi- 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


l%t 


(red  prelate,  and  shorn  monk,  and  steel-clad  knight, 
ind  silken  caurtier :  when  crosses  anti  croziers  aiuj 
relitfio'is  stan<lards  were  mingled  with  proud  armo- 
rial  er  signs  and  the  banners  of  the  haughty  chiefs  of 
Spain,  and  flaunted  in  triumph  through  these  Mos- 
lem hails.  I  picture  to  myself  Columbus,  the  future 
liscoverer  of  a  world,  taking  his  modest  stand  in  a 
rciiiote  comer,  the  humble  and  neglected  spectator 
•J  the  pageant.  I  see  in  imagination  the  Catholic 
ijvcreigns  prostrating  themselves  before  the  altar 
■),h\  pouring  forth  thanks  for  their  victory,  while  the 
Mtilis  resound  with  sacred  minstrelsy  and  the  deep- 
K'licii  Te  Ucum. 

The  transient  illusion  is  over— the  pageant  melts 
from  tliK  fancy — monarch,  priest,  and  warrior  return 
into  oblivion,  with  the  poor  Moslems  over  whom 
tlicy  exulted.  The  hall  of  their  triumph  is  waste 
and  desolate.  The  bat  flits  about  its,  'wilight  vaults, 
and  the  owl  hoots  from  the  neighhruring  tower  of 
Comares.  The  Court  of  the  Lions  has  also  its  share 
ot  siijiernatural  legends.  I  have  already  mentioned 
thf  hf  lief  in  the  murmuring  of  voices  and  clanking 
of  chains,  made  at  night  by  the  spirits  of  the  mur- 
(lerird  Abencerrages.  Mateo  Xinunes,  a  few  even- 
ings since,  at  one  of  the  g.'i''  ngs  in  Dame  An- 
ionia's  apartment,  related  ..  iCt  which  happened 
within  the  knowledge  of  his  giandf.ather,  the  legend- 
ar\-  tailor.  There  was  an  invalid  soldier,  who  had 
charge  of  the  Alhanibra.  to  show  it  to  strangers. 
As  he  was  one  evening  about  twilight  passing 
through  the  Court  of  Lions,  he  heard  footsteps  in 
Ihf  Hall  of  the  Abencerrages.  Supposing  some 
Idin^ers  to  be  lingering  there,  he  advanced  to  at- 
liiid  uixjn  them,  when,  to  his  astonishnu-nt,  he  be- 
hi'ld  four  Moors  richly  dressed,  with  gilded  cuirasses 
Ki'd  scimitars,  ;md  poniards  glittering  with  precious 
jt  )!ies.  They  were  walking  to  and  fro  with  solemn 
pucc.  but  paused  and  beckoned  to  him.  The  old 
Miklicr,  however,  took  to  flight ;  and  could  never  at't- 
'.•-vards  be  prevailed  U|)()n  to  enter  the  Alhambra. 
il,.;s  it  is  that  men  sometimes  turn  their  backs  upon 
rv/Hiine;  for  it  is  the  linn  opini<jn  of  Mateo  that  the 
Mi'ors  intended  to  reveal  the  place  where  their  treas- 
ures lay  buried.  A  successor  to  the  invalid  soldier 
was  more  knowing ;  he  came  to  the  Alhambra  poor. 
but  at  the  end  ol  a  year  went  off  to  .Malaga,  bought 
horses,  set  uj)  a  carriage,  and  still  lives  there,  one  of 
the  righest  as  well  as  oldest  men  of  the  place :  all 
which,  Mateo  sagely  surmises,  was  in  conse(|uence 
of  his  finding  out  the  golden  secret  of  these  phantom 
,M(!ors. 

On  entering  the  Court  of  the  Lions,  a  few  even- 
iii^;s  since,  1  was  startled  at  behf)lding  a  liirbaned 
Moor  quietly  seated  near  the  fountain.  It  seemed, 
fur  a  moment,  as  if  one  of  the  stories  of  Mateo  Xi- 
meiies  wt:re  realized,  and  some  ancient  inhabitant 
of  the  Alhambra  had  brt)ken  the  spell  of  centuries, 
and  become  visible.  It  proved,  however,  to  be  a 
nif  re  ordinary  mortal ;  a  native  of  Tetuan  in  Harbary, 
rti.o  h.id  a  .'i'.op  in  the  Zacatin  of  Granada,  where 
he  sold  rhubarb,  trinkets,  and  perfumes.  As  he 
spoke  .Sp.inish  fluently,  I  was  enabled  to  hold  con- 
>(r»ition  with  him,  and  found  him  shrewd  and  in- 
:tllig:.nt.  He  told  me  that  he  came  up  the  hill 
occ.isionally  in  the  summer,  to  pass  a  part  of  the  day 
in  tlie  Alhambra,  which  reminded  him  of  the  old 
jx'.laces  in  Barbary,  which  were  built  and  adorned 
in  similar  j:yle,  though  with  less  magnificence. 

As  we  widked  about  the  palace  he  pointed  out 
len-ral  of  the  Arabic  inscnptions,  as  possessing 
much  poetic  beauty. 

"Ah I  Sefior,"  said  he,  "when  the  Moors  held 
Uranada,  they  were  a  gayer  people  than  they  are 
now-a-days.  They  thought  only  of  love,  of  music, 
md  of  poetry.    They  made  :tanzas  upon  every  oc- 


casion, and  set  them  all  to  music.  He  whs  could 
make  the  best  verses,  and  she  who  had  the  most 
tuneful  voice,  might  be  sure  of  favour  and  prefer- 
ment. In  those  days,  if  any  one  asked  foi  bread 
the  reply  was,  '  Make  me  a  couplet ;,'  and  the  poor- 
est beggar,  if  he  begged  in  rhyme,  would  often  bt 
rewarded  with  a  piece  of  gold.' 

"  And  is  the  popular  feeling  for  poetry,"  said  I 
"  entirely  lost  among  you  ?  " 

"By  no  means,  Sefior;  the  people  of  Barbaiy, 
even  those  of  the  lower  classes,  still  make  couplets, 
and  good  ones  too,  as  in  the  old  time,  but  talent  is 
not  rewarded  as  it  w.as  then :  the  rich  prefer  the 
jingle  of  their  gold  to  the  sound  of  poetry  or  music." 

As  he  was  talking,  hi«  eye  caught  one  of  the 
inscriptions  tha*.  foretold  perpetuity  to  the  power 
and  glory  of  the  Moslem  -nonarchs,  the  masters  of 
the  pile.  He  shook  his  head  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders  as  he  interpreted  it.  "  Such  migtit  have 
l)een  the  case,"  said  he;  "the  Moslems  might  still 
have  been  reigning  in  the  Alhambra,  had  not 
Boabdil  been  a  traitor,  and  given  up  his  capitol  to 
the  Christians.  The  Spanish  monarch*  would 
never  have  been  able  to  conquer  it  by  open  force." 

I  endeavoured  to  vindicate  the  memory  of  the 
unlucky  Boabdil  from  'liis  aspersion,  and  to  show 
that  the  dissensions  which  led  to  the  downfall  of  the 
Moorish  throne,  originated  in  the  cruelty  of  his 
tiger-hearted  father ;  but  the  Moor  would  admit  of 
no  p.-dliation. 

"  Abul  Hassan,"  said  he,  "  might  have  been  cruel, 
but  he  was  brave,  vigilant,  and  patriotic.  Had  he 
been  properly  seconded,  Granada  would  still  have 
been  ours  ;  but  his  son  Boabd'l  thwarted  his  plans, 
crippled  his  power,  sowed  treason  in  his  palace,  ant) 
dissension  in  his  camp.  May  the  curse  of  God  light 
upon  him  for  his  treachery."  With  these  wcids  thi 
i\loor  left  the  Alhambra. 

The  indignation  of  my  turbaned  companion  agrees 
with  an  anecdote  related  by  a  friend,  who,  in  the 
course  of  a  tour  in  Barbary,  had  an  interview  with 
the  pasha  of  Tetuan.  The  Moorish  governor  was 
particular  in  his  in((uiries  about  the  soil,  the  climate 
and  resources  of  Sjiain,  and  especially  concerning 
the  favoured  regions  of  Andalusia,  the  delights  of 
Granada  and  the  remains  of  its  royal  palace.  The 
replies  awakened  all  those  fond  recollections,  s& 
deeply  cherished  by  the  Moors,  of  the  power  and 
splendour  of  their  ancient  empire  in  Spain.  Turning 
to  his  Moslem  attend.ints,  the  pasha  stroked  his 
beard,  and  broke  forth  in  passionate  lamentations 
that  such  a  sceptre  should  have  fallen  from  the  sway 
of  true  believers.  He  consoled  himself,  however, 
with  the  persuasion,  that  the  power  and  prosperity 
of  the  Spanish  nation  were  on  the  decline ;  that  a 
time  would  come  when  the  Moors  would  reconquer 
their  rightful  domains;  and  that  the  day  was, 
perhaps,  not  far  distant,  when  Mohammedan  wor- 
ship would  again  be,  offered  up  in  the  mosque  of 
Cordova,  and  a  Mohammedan  prince  sit  on  his 
throne  in  the  Alhambra. 

Such  is  the  general  aspiration  and  belief  among 
the  Moors  of  Barbary ;  who  consider  Spain,  and 
especially  Andalusia,  their  rightful  herit.age,  of  which 
they  have  been  despoiled  by  treachery  and  violence, 
These  ideas  are  fostered  and  perpetuated  by  the 
descendants  of  the  exiled  Moors  of  Granada,  scatter- 
ed among  the  cities  of  Barbary.  Several  of  these 
reside  in  Tetuan,  preserving  their  ancient  names, 
such  as  Paez,  and  Medina,  and  refraining  from  inter- 
marriage with  any  families  who  cannot  claim  the 
same  high  origin.  Their  vaunted  lineage  is  regarded 
with  a  degree  of  popular  deference  rarely  shown  in 
Mohammedan  communities  to  any  hereditarv  di» 
tinction  ^r.cept  in  the  royal  line. 


i%,i 


yii 


122 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING 


■H  "•*■•- 


•  ,i      'f. 
I  f  ;-■■■•  :V^ 

■'/'.■«,  ■■**■■ 

Ife^^^t  .... 

l#-  t' 


W..^- 


W^^'r 


These  families,  it  is  said,  continue  to  sigh  after 
the  terrestrial  paradise  of  their  ancestors,  and  to  put 
jp  prayers  in  their  mosques  on  Fridays,  iniploring 
Allah  to  hasten  the  time  when  Granada  shall  he 
restored  to  the  faithful ;  an  event  to  which  they  look 
forward  as  fondly  and  coiitiik^ntly  as  did  the  Chris- 
tian crusaders  to  the  recovery  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre, 
Nay,  it  is  added,  that  some  of  them  retain  the  an- 
cient maps  and  deeds  of  the  estates  and  gardens  of 
!heir  ancestors  at  Granada,  and  even  the  keys  of  the 
tiouscs ;  holding  them  as  evidences  of  their  hered- 
itary claims,  to  be  produced  at  the  anticipated  day 
of  restoration. 


BOABDIL  EL  CHICO. 


My  conversation  with  the  Moor  in  the  Court  of 
Lions  set  me  to  musing  on  the  singular  fate  of  Uo- 
abdil.  Never  w.-is  surname  more  applicable  than 
that  bestowed  upon  him  by  his  subjects,  of  "  VA 
Zogoybi,"  or,  "  the  unlucky."  His  misfortunes  beg-in 
almost  in  his  cradle.  In  his  tender  youth  he  w;is 
Imprisoned  and  menaced  with  death  by  an  inhuman 
father,  and  only  escaped  through  a  mother's  strata- 
gem ;  in  after  years  his  life  was  imbittercd  and  re- 
peatedly endangered  by  the  hostilities  of  a  usurping 
uncle;  nis  reign  was  distracted  by  external  invasions 
and  internal  feutis ;  he  was  alternately  the  foe,  the 
prisoner,  the  friend,  and  always  the  dupe  of  Ferdi- 
nand, until  conquered  and  dfthroned  by  the  min- 
gled craft  and  force  of  that  perfidious  monarch.  An 
exile  from  his  native  land,  he  took  refuge  wiih  one 
of  the  princes  of  Africa,  and  fell  obscurely  in  battle 
fighting  in  the  cause  of  a  stranger.  His  misfortunes 
ceased  not  with  his  dealh.  If  Hoabilil  cherished  a 
lesire  to  leave  an  honourable  name  on  tlie  historic 
page,  how  cruelly  has  he  been  defrauded  of  his 
Lvpes  .  Who  is  there  that  has  turned  the  least  at- 
t^'niion  to  tl;c  romantic  history  of  the  Moorish  dom- 
ination in  Spain,  without  kindling  with  indignation 
at  the  allecjt'd  atrocitif.'S  of  Hoabdil  ?  Who  has  not 
been  touched  with  the  woes  of  his  lovely  and  gentle 
queen,  subjected  by  him  to  a  trial  of  life  and  death, 
on  a  false  charge  of  inildelity  ?  Who  has  not  been 
shocked  by  the  alleged  murder  of  his  sister  and  her 
two  children,  in  a  transport  of  passion?  Who  has 
not  felt  his  blood  boil  at  the  inhuman  massacre  of 
the  gallant  Ahencerrages,  thirty-six  of  whom,  it  is  af- 
firmed, he  caused  to  be  beheaded  in  the  Court  of  the 
Lions  ?  All  these  charges  have  bcien  reiterated  in 
various  forms ;  they  have  passed  into  ballads,  dramas, 
and  romances,  until  they  have  taken  too  thorough 
possession  of  the  public  mind  to  be  eradicated. 

There  is  not  a  foreigner  of  education  that  visits 
.ne  Alhambra,  but  asks  for  the  fountain  where  the 
Ahencerrages  were  beheaded  ;  «nd  gazes  with  hor- 
ror at  the  grated  gallery  where  the  queen  is  said  to 
nave  been  confined  ;  not  a  peasant  of  the  Vega  or 
the  Sierra,  but  sings  the  story  in  rude  couplets  to  the 
iccompaniment  of  his  guitar,  while  his  hearers  learn 
to  execrate  the  very  name  of  IJoabdil. 

Never,  however,  was  name  more  foully  and  un- 
justly slandered.  I  have  examined  all  the  authentic 
chronicles  and  letters  written  by  Spanish  authors 
contemporary  with  Boabdil;  some  of  whom  were  in 
llie'  confidence  of  the  Catholic  sovereigns,  and  act- 
'Bally  present  ir  the  camp  throughout  the  war;  I 
have  examined  all  the  Arabian  authorities  I  could 
get  access  to  through  the  medium  of  translation, 
and  can  find  roihing  to  justify  these  dark  and  hate- 
ful accusatio'in. 

The  whole  of  these  talcs  may  be  traced  to  a  work 


commonly  called  "The  Civil  War*  H  Orantda,"' 
containing  a  pretended  history  of  tht  feuds  of  tht 
Zegries  and  Ahencerrages  during  the  last  Rtruiivjii 
of  the  Moorish  empire.  This  work  appeared  oni'i. 
nally  in  Spanish,  and  professed  to  be  translated  frcni 
the  Arabic  by  one  Gines  Perez  de  Hita,  an  'ahab't 
ant  of  Murcia.  It  has  since  passed  into  varinu! 
languages,  and  Florian  has  taken  from  it  much  ot 
the  (able  of  his  Gonsalvo  of  Cordova.  It  has.  in  ,- 
great  measure,  usurped  the  authority  of  real  histcrv 
and  is  currently  believed  by  the  people,  and  espcc, 
ally  the  peasantry  of  Granad.a.  The  whole  of  it, 
however,  is  a  mass  of  fiction,  mingled  with  a  Uw 
disfigured  truths,  which  give  it  an  air  of  veracity.  Ii 
bears  internal  evidence  of  its  falsity,  the  mannns 
and  customs  of  the  Moors  being  extravagantly  mis- 
represented in  it,  and  scenes  depicted  totally  m- 
compatible  with  their  h.abits  and  their  faith,  ^nu! 
which  never  could  have  been  recorded  by  a  Ma- 
hometan writer. 

I  confess  there  seems  to  me  something  alni<  si 
criminal  in  the  wilful  perversions  of  this  w^ik, 
i  Great  latitude  is  undoubtedly  to  be  a'lowcd  to  ni- 
mantic  fiction,  but  there  are  limits  which  it  iiust  noi 
pass,  and  the  names  of  the  distinguished  dinl, 
which  belong  to  history,  are  no  more  to  bt  -al  im- 
niated  than  those  of  the  illustrious  hving.  One 
would  have  thought,  too,  that  the  unfortunate  bcin- 
dil  had  suffered  enough  for  his  iustitiable  hostility 
to  Spaniards,  by  being  stripped  of  his  kingdmn, 
without  having  his  name  thus  w.antoniy  traduce! 
and  rendered  a  bye-word  and  a  theme  of  infamv  'n 
his  native  land,  and  in  the  very  mansion  of  liij 
fathers ! 

It  is  not  intended  hereby  to  affirm  that  the  !rar;. 
actions  imputed  to  Hoabdil  are  totally  without 
historic  found.ation,  but  as  far  as  they  can  he  tracd, 
they  appear  to  have  been  the  arts  of  his  father,  Alml 
Hassan,  who  is  represented,  by  both  Christian  and 
Arabian  chroniclers,  as  being  of  a  cruel  and  fero- 
cious n.atiire.  It  was  he  who  put  to  death  tht 
cavaliers  of  the  illustrious  line  of  the  AbencerraJ^'Ps, 
uiwn  suspicion  of  their  being  engaged  in  a  cons|)ir- 
acy  to  dispossess  him  of  his  throne. 

The  story  of  the  accusation  of  the  queen  of  Ro- 
abdil,  and  of  her  confinement  in  one  of  the  towers, 
may  also  be  traced  to  an  incident  in  the  life  of  his 
tiger-hearted  father.  Abul  Hassan,  in  his  advanced 
age,  married  a  beautiful  Christian  captive  of  no- 
ble descent,  who  took  the  Moorish  appellation  of 
Zor.iyda,  by  whom  he  had  two  sons.  .She  was  of 
an  ambitious  spirit,  and  anxious  that  her  children 
should  succeed  to  the  crown.  For  this  purpose 
she  worked  upon  the  suspicious  temper  of  the  king , 
inflaming  him  with  jealousies  of  his  children  by  hia 
other  wives  and  concubines,  whom  sne  accused  of 
plotting  against  his  throne  and  Jife.  Some  of  them 
were  slain  by  the  ferocious  father.  Ayxa  la  Horra, 
the  virtuous  mother  of  Hoabdil,  who  had  once  been 
his  cherished  favourite,  became  likewise  the  object 
of  his  suspicion.  He  confined  her  anil  her  son  in  the 
tower  of  Comares,  and  would  have  sacrificed  Boah- 
dil  to  his  fury,  but  that  his  tender  mother  lowcrc.l 
him  from  the  tower,  in  the  night,  by  means  of  the 
scarfs  of  herself  and  her  attendants,  and  thus  enal.led 
him  to  escape  to  Guadix. 

Such  is  the  only  shadow  of  a  foundatio-.i  that  I  can 
find  for  the  story  of  the  accused  and  captive  queen , 
and  in  this  it  appears  that  Ucabdil  was  the  per- 
secuted instead  of  the  persecutor. 

Throoghout  the  whole  of  his  brief,  turbulent, 
and  disastrous  reign,  Bo.abdil  gives  evidences  of  a 
mild  and  amiable  character.  He  in  the  first  in- 
stance won  the  hearts  of  the  people  by  his  affa- 
ble and  gracious  manners;  he  was  always  peacca 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


191 


Die,  And  nevef  inflicted  any  severity  of  punishment 
upon  those  who  occasionally  retailed  against  him. 
He  w.is  personally  brave,  hut  he  wanted  moral 
coiiriige,  and  in  times  of  didiculty  and  perplexity, 
was  wavering;  atid  irresolute.  This  feebleness  of 
jpirit  hastened  his  downfall,  while  it  deprived  him 
of  that  heroic  grace  which  would  have  given  a 
mni'eur  and  dij;nity  to  his  fate,  and  rendered  him 
worthy  of  closing  the  splendid  drama  of  the  Moslem 
i;:-.iration  in  Spain. 


MEMENTOS  OF  BOABOIL. 


While  my  mind  was  still  warm  with  the  subject 
of  the  unfortunate  Boabdi),  I  set  forth  to  trace 
the  mt'mentos  connected  with  his  story,  which  yet 
:xist  in  this  scene  of  his  sovereignty  and  his  misfor- 
tunts.  In  the  picture  gallery  of  the  P.ilace  of  the 
GcMtT.ilitre,  hangs  his  portrait.  The  face  is  mild, 
handsome  and  somewnat  melancholy,  with  a  fair 
compltxion  and  yellow  hair ;  if  it  be  a  true  repre- 
sentation of  the  man,  he  m.ty  have  been  wavering 
and  uncertain,  but  there  is  nothing  of  cruelty  or  un- 
kindnt'ss  in  his  aspect. 

1  ntxt  visited  tne  dungeon  wherein  he  was  con- 
fined in  his  youthful  days,  when  his  cruel  father 
meditated  his  destruction.  It  is  a  vaulted  room 
In  the  tower  of  Comares,  under  the  Hall  of  Am- 
bijiidors.  A  similar  room,  separated  by  a  narrow 
t)ass.ige,  w.is  the  prison  of  his  mother,  the  virtuous 
^)■xi.  la  Horra.  The  walls  are  of  prodigious  thick- 
iicss,  .md  the  small  windows  securetl  by  iron  bars,. 
A  nirrow  stone  galler>',  with  a  low  parapet,  extends 
round  three  sides  of  the  tower  just  below  the 
rir:dows,  but  at  a  considerable  height  from  the 
^TOi.'iJ.      From   this  gallery,   it   is  presume<l,  the 


allery, 
with  1 


qjctn  lowered  her  son  with  the  scarfs  of  herself 
and  her  female  attend.aiits,  during  the  darkness  of 
ni^'ht,  to  the  hill-side,  at  the  foot  of  which  waited  a 
domestic  with  a  fleet  steed  to  bear  the  prince  to  the 
mountains. 

As  I  paced  tl-.is  gallery,  my  im.tgination  pictured 
the  anxious  queen  leaning  over  the  parapet,  and 
listening,  with  the  ti-.robbings  of  a  mother's  heart,  to 
the  last  echo  of  the  horses'  hoofs,  as  her  son  scoured 
along  the  narrow  valley  of  the  Darro. 

Mv  next  search  was  for  the  g.ite  by  which  Bo- 
abdii  dep.arted  from  the  Alhambra,  when  about  to 
surn-iuler  his  capital.  With  the  melancholy  ca- 
pnce  of  a  broken  spirit,  he  requested  of  the  Catho- 
lic monarchs  that  no  one  afterwards  might  be  per- 
mitted to  pass  through  this  gate.  His  prayer, 
according  to  ancient  chronicles,  was  complied  with, 
through  the  sympathy  of  Isabella,  and  the  gate 
walled  up.     For  some  time  I  inquired  in  vain   for 

I  such  a  portal ;  at  length  my  humble  attendant, 
Mateo,  learned  among  the  old  residents  of  the 
'cjiress,  that  a  ruinous  gateway  still  existed,  by 
which,  according  to  tradition,  the  Moorish  king  had 
tft  the  for'ress,  but  which  had  never  been  open 
iri  hin  the  memory  of  the  oUlest  inhabitant. 

He  conducted  me  to  the  spot.  The  gateway  is  in 
the  ccr.trr  of  what  was  once  an  immense  tower, 

I  ailed  /(I  Torrg  de  los  Siete  Suelos,  or,  the  Tower  of 
the  Seven  Moors.  It  is  a  place  famous  in  the  super- 
stitious stories  of  the  neighbourhood,  for  being  the 
scene  of  strange  apparitions  and  Moorish  encnant- 

I  ments. 

This  once    redoubtable  tower  is   now  a  mere 

I  vreck,  having  been  blown  up  with  gunpowder,  by 


the  French,  when  they  abandoned  the  foitrest 
Great  masses  of  the  wall  lie  scattered  about,  buried 
in  the  luxuriant  herbage,  or  overshadowed  by  vinei 
and  fig-trees.  The  arcn  of  the  gateway,  though  rent 
by  the  shock,  still  remains ;  but  the  last  wish  of  poor 
Boabdil  has  been  again,  though  unintention<ally,  fuU 
filled,  for  the  portal  hiis  been  closed  up  by  loose 
stones  gathered  from  the  ruins,  and  remains  im- 
passable. 

Following  up  the  ro\ite  of  the  Moslern  .nonarch  aa 
it  remains  on  record,  I  crossed  on  horseback  the  hill 
of  Les  Martyrs,  keeping  along  the  garden  of  the 
convent  of  the  same  name,  and  thence  down  a  rug- 
ged ravine,  beset  by  thickets  of  aloes  and  Indian  figs, 
and  lined  by  caves  and  hovels  swarming  with  gip- 
sies. It  was  the  road  taken  by  Boabdil  to  avoid 
passing  through  the  city.  The  descent  was  so  steep 
and  broken  that  I  was  obliged  to  dismount  and  lead 
my  horse. 

Emerging  from  the  ravine,  and  passing  by  the 
Puerta  de  los  Molinos,  fthe  Gate  of  the  Mills.)  I  is- 
sued forth  upon  the  public  promenade,  called  the 
Prado,  and  pursuing  the  course  of  the  Xenil,  arrived 
at  a  sm;dl  Moorish  mosque,  now  converted  into  the 
chapel,  or  hermit.-tge  of  San  Sebastian.  A  tablet  on 
the  wall  relates  that  on  this  spot  lioabdil  surrendered 
the  keys  of  Granada  to  the  Castilian  sovereigns 

From  thence  I  rode  slowly  across  the  Vega  lO  a 
village  where  the  family  and  household  of  the  un- 
happy king  had  awaited  him  :  for  he  had  sent  them 
forward  on  the  preceding  night  from  the  Alhambra, 
that  his  mother  and  wile  might  not  participate  in  his 
person.'d  humiliation,  or  be  exposed  to  the  gaze  of 
the  conquerors. 

Following  on  in  the  route  of  the  melancholy  band 
of  royal  exiles,  1  arrived  at  the  foot  of  a  chain  of  bar- 
ren and  dreary  heights,  forming  the  skin  oi  the  Al- 
puxarra  mountains,  From  the  summit  of  one  of 
these,  the  unfortunate  Hoalxlil  took  his  la.st  'ook  a) 
Granad.i.  It  bears  a  name  expressive  of  his  soitows 
— La  Cuesta  de  las  L.igrimas,  (the  Hill  of  Te.ars.) 
Beyond  it  a  sandy  road  winds  across  a  rugged  cheer- 
less waste,  doubly  dismal  to  the  unhappy  monarch, 
as  it  led  to  exile ;  behind,  in  the  distance,  lies  the 
"enamelled  Veg.a,"  with  the  Xenil  shining  among 
its  bowers,  and  Granada  beyond. 

1  spurred  my  horse  to  the  summit  of  a  reck  where 
Boalxlil  uttered  his  Last  sorrowful  exclamation,  as  he 
turned  his  eyes  from  taking  their  farewell  gate.  It 
is  still  denominated  el  ultimo  suspiro  dd  Moro,  (the 
last  sigh  of  the  Moor.)  Who  can  wonder  at  his  an- 
guish at  lieing  expelled  from  such  a  kingdom  and 
such  an  .abode  ?  With  the  Alhambra  he  seemed  to 
be  yielding  up  all  the  honours  of  his  line,  and  all  the 
glories  and  delights  of  life. 

It  was  here,  too.  that  his  affliction  was  imhittered 
by  the  reproach  of  his  mother  Ayxa,  who  had  so 
often  .assisted  him  in  times  of  peril,  and  had  vainly 
sought  to  instil  into  him  her  own  resolute  spirit. 
*•  You  do  well,"  said  she,  "  to  weep  as  a  woman 
over  what  you  could  not  defend  as  a  man  ! "— A 
speech  that  savours  more  of  the  pride  of  the  princess, 
than  the  tenderness  of  the  mother. 

When  this  anecdote  was  related  to  Charles  V,,  by 
Bishop  Guevar.a,  the  emperor  joined  in  the  expres- 
sion of  scorn  at  the  weakness  of  the  wavering  Boab- 
dil. "Had  I  been  he,  or  he  been  1,"  said  the 
haughty  potentate,  "  I  would  rather  have  made  this 
Alhambra  my  sepulchre,  than  have  lived  without  a 
kingdom  in  the  Alpuxarras." 

How  easy  it  is  lor  them  in  power  and  prosperity 
to  preach  heroism  to  the  vanquished  I  How  little 
can  they  understand  that  life  itself  may  rise  in  valut 
with  the  unforturate  when  naught  but  hfe  remains 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


4 


li«v 


B>-i^: 


THE  TOWER  OF  LAS  INFANTAS. 


In  an  evening's  stroll  up  a  narrow  glen,  over- 
lh;«1owpd  by  nji-trees,  pomegranates  and  myrtles, 
iiat  divides  the  laiid  of  the  fortress  from  those  of 
the  GeneralifTe,  I  was  struck  with  the  romantic  ai>- 
firjirance  of  a  Moorish  tower  in  the  outer  wall  of  the 
Mhambra,  that  rose  high  ahove  the  tree-lops,  and 
caught  the  ruddy  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  A  solitary 
window,  at  a  great  height,  commanded  a  view  of  the 
rien,  and  as  I  was  regarding  it  a  young  female 
looked  out.  with  her  head  adorned  with  (lowers.  She 
was  evidently  superior  to  the  usual  class  of  people 
that  inhabit  the  old  towers  of  the  fortress  ;  and  this 
sudden  and  picturesriue  glimpse  of  her,  reminded  me 
of  the  descriptions  of  captive  beauties  in  fairy  tales. 
The  fanciful  associations  of  my  mind  were  increased 
on  being  informed  by  my  attendant,  Mateo,  that  this 
was  the  tower  of  the  Princesses,  (la  Torre  de  las  In- 
fantas) so  called  from  having  been,  according  to  tradi- 
tion, the  residence  of  the  daughters  of  the  Moorish 
kings.  1  have  since  \'isited  the  tower.  It  is  not 
generally  shown  to  strangers,  though  well  worthy 
attention,  for  the  interior  is  equal  lor  beauty  of  archi- 
tecture and  (Icljcacy  of  ornament,  to  any  part  of  the 
pal.ice.  The  elegance  of  its  central  nail  with  its 
marble  fountain,  its  lofty  arches  and  richly  fretted 
dome ;  the  arabesques  and  stucco  work  of  the  small, 
but  well  proportionefl  chambers,  though  injured  by 
time  and  neglect,  all  accord  with  the  story  of  its 
being  anciently  the  abode  of  royal  beauty. 

The  little  old  fairy  queen  who  lives  under  the 
•taircase  of  the  Alhambra,  and  fre(|uents  the  even- 
ing tertulias  of  Dame  Anto»  la,  tells  some  fanciful 
traditions  about  three  Moorish  princesses  who  were 
once  shut  up  in  this  tower  by  their  father,  a  tynint 
king  of  Granada,  and  were  only  permitted  to  ride 
out  at  night  about  the  hills,  when  no  one  was  per- 
mitted to  conie  in  their  way,  under  pain  of  death. 
They  still,  .acconiing  to  her  account,  may  be  seen 
occasionally  when  the  moon  is  in  the  full,  riding 
in  lonely  places  along  the  mountain  side,  on  palfreys 
nchly  caparisoned,  and  sparkling  with  jewels,  but 
ttiey  vanish  on  being  spoken  to. 

— Hut  before  1  relate  any  thmg  farther  respecting 
these  princesses,  the  re.adei  tnay  be  anxious  to  know 
something  about  the  fair  iiihabitant  of  the  tower  with 
her  head  drest  with  (lowers,  who  looked  out  from 
the  lofty  window.  She  proved  to  be  tlie  newly 
married  spouse  of  the  worthy  adjutant  of  invalids  ; 
who,  though  well  stricken  in  years,  had  had  the 
courage  to  take  to  his  bosom  a  young  and  buxom 
Andalusian  damsel.  May  rhe  good  old  cavalier  be 
happy  in  his  choice,  .and  find  the  tower  of  the  Prin- 
cesses a  more  secure  residence  for  female  beauty 
than  it  seems  to  have  proved  in  the  time  of  the 
Mc«l?ms,  if  we  may  believe  the  following  legend. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  WEATHERCOCK. 


On  the  brow  of  the  lofty  hill  of  the  Albaycin,  the, 
highest  part  of  the  city  of  Gran.ada,  stand  the  remains 
of  what  was  once  a  royal  palace,  founded  shortly 
af'tet  the  conquest  of  Spain  by  the  Arabs.  It  is  now 
converted  into  a  manufactory,  and  has  fallen  into 
such  obscurity  that  it  cost  me  much  trouble  to  find 
it,  notwithstanding  that  I  had  the  assistance  of  the 
sagacious  and  all-knowing  M.ateo  Ximenes.    This 


edifice  still  bears  the  name  by  which  It  has  r)cei 
known  for  centuries,  namely,  la  Casa  del  Gallo  dt 
Viento;  that  is,  the  House  of  the  Weathercock. 

It  was  so  called  from  a  bronze  figure  of  a  warrior 
on  horseb.ack,  armed  with  shield  an<l  sp<;ar,  ertcit<J 
on  one  of  its  turrets,  and  turning  with  every  w:nd, 
bearing  an  Arabic  motto,  which,  translated  into 
Spanish,  was  as  follows :  , 

Dici  kI  Sahib  AtiMi  Hiibui 
Que  ui  >e  rietsiiile  el  Andului, 
'■  \ 

In  thu  wny,  s»y»  A  ben  Habiii  the  win. 
The  AndaluNiai  hit  fue  defies. 

This  Abel  Habuz  was  a  captain  who  serM'  m 
the  inv.ading  army  of  Taric,  and  was  left  as  ale  lydj 
of  Granada.  He  s  supposed  to  have  intendtMl  thii 
warlike  etiigy  as  a  perpetual  memorial  to  the  Monnjh 
inhabitants,  that  surrounded  as  they  were  by  Iocs, 
and  subject  to  sudden  invasion,  their  safety  depended 
ujKin  being  always  ready  for  the  field. 

Other  traditions,  .however,  give  a  different  account 
of  this  Aben  Habuz  antl  his  pal.ace,  and  aflTinn  that 
his  bronze  horseman  was  originally  a  talisin.m  of 
great  virtue,  though  in  after  ages  it  lost  its  ni.ii^jc 
properties  and  degenerated  into  a  weatlicrrock. 
The  .ollowing  are  the  traditions  alluded  to. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  ARABIAN  ASTROLOGER 


In  old  times,  many  hundred  years  ago,  therf  w,is 
a  Moorish  king  named  Aben  Habuz,  who  reigidl 
over  the  kingdom  of  Granad.a.  He  was  a  redird 
conqueror,  tha'  is  to  say,  one  who,  having  in  Ir- 
more  youthful  days  led  a  life  of  constant  foray  anc 
depredation,  now  itiat  he  was  gfrown  old  and  sll|:t•^ 
annuated,  "languished  for  reiwse,"  and  d-Mied 
nothing  more  than  to  Itve  at  peace  wi^h  all  ite 
world,  to  husband  his  laurels,  and  to  enjoy  in  (jiiiei 
the  possessions  he  had  wrested  from  his  neij-hliours, 

It  so  happened,  however,  that  this  most  rc^iion- 
able  and  pacific  old  monarch  had  young  rivals  to  deal 
with — princes  hill  of  his  early  passion  for  fame  and 
fighting,  and  who  had  some  scores  to  settle  v^.'ich 
he  had  run  up  with  their  fathers ;  he  had  also  soiin- 
turbulent  and  discontented  districts  ol  his  own  ten,- 
tories  .among  the  Alpuxarra  mountains,  which,  dur- 
ing the  days  of  his  vigour,  he  had  treated  with  a 
high  hand  ;  and  which,  now  that  he  Languished  lot 
repose,  were  |)rone  to  rise  in  rebellion  and  to  threaten 
to  march  to  Granada  and  drive  him  from  his  throne. 
To  make  the  matter  worse,  as  Granada  is  surrounded 
by  wild  and  craggy  mountains  which  liide  the  ap- 
pro.ich  of  an  enemy,  the  unfortunate  Aben  H.iliui 
was  kept  in  a  constant  state  of  vigilance  and  alam, 
not  knowing  in  what  quarter  hostilities  might  break 
out. 

It  was  in  vain  that  he  built  watch-towers  en  tin 
mountains  and  stationed  guards  at  every  pass,  wi  h 
orders  to  make  fires  by  night,  and  smoke  by  d.iy,  on 
the  approach  of  an  enemy.  His  alert  foes  would  baffle 
every  precaution,  and  come  breaking  out  of  some 
unthought-of  defile, — ravage  his  lands  beneath  his 
very  nose,  and  then  m.ake  off  with  prisoners  and 
booty  to  the  mountains.  Was  ever  peaceable  and 
retired  conqueror  in  a  more  uncomfortable  predica- 
meiit ! 

While  the  pacific  Aben  Habuz  was  harassed  by 
these  perplexities  and  molestations,  an  ancient 
Arabian  physician  arrived  at  his  court.  His  gray 
beard  descended  to  his  girdle,  aud  h4  had  ever^ 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


131 


mark  of  extreme  age,  yet  he  had  travelled  almost 
th- whole  way  from  Egypt  on  foot,  with  no  other 
ail  than  a  statT  marked  with  hieru);lyphics.  His 
rami;  had  preceded  him.  His  name  was  Ibrahim  Ebn 
Al>ii  Ayiib ;  he  was  said  to  have  lived  ever  since  the 
(U)s  ol  Mahomet,  and  to  be  the  son  of  Abu  Ayub, 
ihc  List  of  the  companions  of  the  prophet.  He  had, 
i»h:'ii  a  child,  followed  the  conquering;  army  of  Amru 
iito  F.B>pt,  where  he  had  remained  many  years 
iimlying  the  dark  sciences,  and  particularly  ma^ic, 
iniiinj;  the  Egyptian  priests.  It  was  moreover  s;iid 
hat  he  had  (oiin<l  out  the  secret  of  prolonging  life, 
oy  means  of  which  he  had  arrived  to  the  great  .ige 
of  upwirds  of  two  centuries  ;  though,  as  he  did  not 
discover  the  secret  until  well  stricken  in  years,  he 
;tiil(l  only  perpetuate  his  gray  hairs  and  wrinkles. 

'I'his  wonderful  old  man  was  very  honourably  en- 
Ifftained  by  the  king,  who,  like  most  superannu- 
iifil  luonarchs,  heg.in  to  take  physicians  into  great 
favmir.  He  would  have  assigned  him  an  apartni'int 
(ti  his  palace.  Itul  the  astrologer  preferred  a  cave  in 
the  side  of  the  hill,  which  rises  above  the  city  of 
Griinada,  being  the  same  on  which  the  Alhambra 
h.is  since  been  built.  He  caused  the  cave  to  be  en- 
larjjfd  so  as  to  form  a  sp.acious  and  lofty  hall  with 
a  circular  hole  at  the  top,  through  which,  as  through 
a  Willi,  he  could  see  the  heavens  and  behold  the  stars 
even  at  mid-day.  The  w.alls  of  this  hall  were  cov- 
ertd  with  Egyptian  hieroglyphics,  with  cabalistic 
symbols,  and  with  the  figures  of  the  stars  in  their 
signs.  This  hall  he  furnished  with  many  imple- 
ments, fabricated  under  his  direction  by  cunning 
ait'.ticers  of  Granada,  but  the  occult  properties  of 
which  were  only  known  to  himself.  In  a  little  while 
Lie  sage  Ibrahim  became  the  bosom  counsellor  of 
Ihe  king,  to  whom  he  applied  lor  advice  in  every 
jinrrgcncy.  Aben  Habuz  was  once  inveighing 
igainst  the  injustice  of  his  neighbours,  and  bewailing 
ih';  restless  vigilance  he  had  to  observe  to  guard 
hiiv.self  against  their  invasions ;— when  he  had  fin- 
islifii,  the  astrologer  remained  silent  for  a  moment, 
111(1  then  replied,  "  Know,  O  king,  that  when  I  was 
in  l.gypt  I  beheld  a  great  marvel  devised  by  a  pagan 
pntsiess  ol  old.  On  a  mountain  above  the  city  of 
Ikjrsa,  and  overlooking  the  great  valley  of  the  Nile, 
wis  a  figure  of  a  ram,  and  above  it  a  figure  of  a 
cock,  both  of  molten  brass  and  turning  ujion  a  pivot. 
Whenever  the  country  was  thre.atened  with  invasion. 
the  ram  would  turn  in  the  direction  .of  the  enemy 
ind  the  cock  would  crow  ;  upon  this  the  inhabitants 
of  the  city  knew  of  the  danger,  and  of  the  quarter 
from  which  it  was  approaching,  and  could  take 
timely  notice  to  guard  against  it.  ' 

"  God  is  great !  "  exclaimed  the  pacific  Aben  Ha- 
bui ;  "  what  a  treasure  would  be  such  a  ram  to  keep 
an  eye  upon  these  mountains  around  me,  and  then 
such  a  cock  to  crow  in  time  of  danger  I  Allah  Ach- 
bar  !  how  securely  I  might  sleep  in  my  palace  with 
such  sentinels  on  the  top  ! " 

"  Listen,  O  king,"  continued  the  astrologer  gravely. 
"  When  the  victorious  Amru  (God's  peace  Ije  upon 
him  !)  con(iuered  the  city  of  Uorsa,  this  talisman  was 
(J<.Etroyed  ;  but  I  was  present,  and  examined  it,  and 
Itudied  its  secret  and  mystery,  and  can  make  one  of 
Hks,  anil  even  of  greater  virtues. " 

"  O  wise  son  of  Abu  Ayub,"  cried  Aben  (I^^uz, 
"  better  were  such  a  talisman  th.an  all  the  w^tch- 
towers  on  the  hills,  .and  sentinels  upon  the  borders. 
Give  me  such  a  safeguard,  and  the  riches  of  my  treas- 
wy  are  ;it  thy  command." 

The  astrologer  inmiediately  set  to  work  to  gratify 
the  wishes  of  the  monarch,  shutting  himself  up  in 
bis  astrological  hall,  and  exerting  the  necromantic 
arts  he  had  learnt  in  Egypt,  he  summoned  to  his  as- 
listance  the  spirits  and  (lemons  of  the  Nile.    By  hiA 


command  they  transported  to  his  presence  a  mummj 
from  a  sepulchral  chamber  in  the  centre  of  one  of 
the  Pyramids.  It  was  the  mummy  of  the  pries* 
who  had  aided  by  magic  art  in  rearing  that  stupend 
ous  pile. 

The  astrologer  opened  the  outer  cases  of  the 
muiimiy,  and  unfoldetl  its  many  wrappers.  On  the 
breast  of  the  corpse  was  a  book  written  in  Chaldaic' 
characters.  He  seized  it  with  trembling  hand,  then 
returning  the  mummy  to  its  case,  ordered  the  de- 
mons to  transport  it  a^ain  to  its  dark  and  silent 
sepulchre  in  the  Pyramid,  there  to  await  the  final 
day  of  resurrection  and  jud^^ent. 

This  book,  s.ay  the  tr.iditions,  was  the  book  ol 
knowledge  given  by  God  to  Ad.am  after  his  fall.  U 
h.ad  been  handed  clown  from  generation  to  gcneiA- 
tion,  to  king  Solomon  the  Wise,  and  by  the  aid  of 
the  wonderful  secrets  in  magic  and  art  revealed  in 
it,  he  h.ad  built  the  temple  of  Jerusalem.  How  it 
had  come  into  the  possession  of  the  builder  of  the 
Pyramids,  He  only  knows  who  knows  all  things. 

Instructed  by  this  mystic  volume,  and  aidea  by 
the  genii  which  it  subjected  to  his  command,  the 
astrologer  soon  erected  a  great  tower  upon  the  top 
of  the  palace  of  Aben  Habuz,  which  stood  on  the 
brow  of  the  hill  of  the  Albaycin.  The  tower  was 
built  of  stones  brought  from  Egypt,  and  taken,  it  is 
said,  from  one  of  the  Pyramids.  In  the  upper  part 
of  the  tower  was  a  circular  hall,  with  windows  look- 
ing toward  every  point  of  the  compass,  and  before 
each  window  was  a  table,  on  whicli  was  arranged, 
as  on  a  chess-board,  a  mimic  army  of  horse  and 
foot,  with  the  elligy  of  the  potentate  that  ruled  jn 
that  direction ;  all  carved  of  wood.  To  each  of 
these  tables  there  was  a  small  lance,  no  bigger  than  a 
bodkin,  on  which  were  engravc<l  certain  mysterious 
Chaldaic  characters.  This  hall  was  kept  constantiv 
closed  by  a  gate  of  brass  with  a  great  lock  ol  steef. 
the  key  of  which  w.as  in  posseiS'cn  of  the  king. 

On  the  top  of  the  tower  w.is  a  bi  ;nze  figure  of  a 
Moorish  horseman,  fixed  on  a  pivot,  with  a  shield  on 
one  arm,  and  his  lance  elevated  perpendicularly. 
The  face  of  this  horseman  was  towar,ds  the  city,  as 
if  keeping  guard  over  it ;  but  if  any  loe  were  at  hand, 
the  figure  would  turn  in  that  direction  and  would 
level  the  lance  as  if  for  action. 

When  this  talisman  was  finished,  Aben  Habuz 
was  all  impatient  to  try  its  virt jes ;  and  longed  as 
ardently  for  an  invasion  as  he  had  ever  sighec  after 
refKise.  His  desire  was  soon  gratified.  Tidings 
were  brought  early  one  inorning,  by  the  sentinel  ap- 
pointed to  watch  the  tower,  that  the  face  of  the 
brazen  horseman  was  turned  towards  the  mountains 
of  Elvira,  and  that  his  lance  pointed  directly  against 
the  pass  of  Lope. 

"Let  the  drums  .and  trumpets  sound  to  arms, 
and  all  Granada  be  put  on  the  alert," — said  Aben 
Habuz. 

"  O  king."  said  the  astrologer,  "  let  not  your  city 
be  disquieted,  nor  your  warriors  called  to  arms;  we 
need  no  aid  of  force  to  deliver  you  from  y  aiir  ene- 
mies. Dismiss  your  attendants  and  let  us  proceed 
alone  to  the  secret  hall  of  the  tower." 

The  ancient  Aben  Habuz  mounted  the  staircase 
of  the  tower,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  still  moie 
ancient  Ibrahiiri  Ebn  Abu  Ayub.  They  unlocked 
the  brazen  door  and  entered.  The  window  thai 
looked  towards  the  pass  of  Lope  w.is  open.  "  In 
this  direction  "  said  the  astrologer,  "lies  the  danger 
— approach,  O  king,  and  behold  the  mystery  of  the 
table." 

King  Aben  Habuz  approached  the  seeming  chest- 
board,  on  which  were  arranged  the  small  wooden 
effigies ;  when  lo !  they  were  all  in  motion.  Th« 
horses  pranced  and  ciu^eted,   the  warriors  bran- 


i*i'-i 


.1;' 


■-■  ■••5 
( 


126 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


T^^:^ 


.]*  "!•■• 


ii 


^m 


m 


di>hed  their  M-eaponx  and  thrre  wnn  a  faint  nound 
of  ilrums  .ind  tnimiKMs.  and  ;i  riang  of  anns  md 
neighing  o(  stcrds,  but  all  no  louder,  nor  more  dis- 
tinct, titan  the  hum  of  the  bee  or  summer  Hy  in 
the  drowsy  ear  of  hiin  who  lies  at  noon-tide  in  the 
shade. 

"  Hchold,  f)  l<inf(,"  said  the  astroiojjer,  "  a  proof 
Ihat  thy  enemies  arc  even  now  in  ihe  held.  They 
niOJt  be  advancing  through  yonder  mountains  l)y 
the  pass  of  Lope.  Would  you  produce  a  panic  and 
conhision  amongst  them,  and  cause  ihcm  to  abandon 
Ihflir  enterprise  and  retreat  without  loss  of  life,  strike 
these  fllinies  with  the  butt  end  of  thin  ma^jic  lance  ; 
but  would  you  cause  bloody  feud  and  carnage  among 
them,  strike  with  the  point." 

A  Hvid  streak  passed  across  the  countenance  of 
the  pacitic  Aben  Habuz ;  he  seized  the  mimic  lance 
with  trembling  eaj;erness,  and  tottered  towards  the 
lalii<; ;  his  ^jr.iy  beard  wagged  with  chuckling  exul- 
tation. "Son  of  Abu  Ayub,"  exclaimed  he,  "1 
think  we  will  have  a  little  blood  !" 

So  saying  he  thrust  the  majjic  lance  into  some  of 
the  pigmy  ettii^ies.  and  belaboured  others  with  the 
l)utt  end  ;  upon  winich  the  lormer  tell,  as  dead,  up- 
on the  Ijoard,  and  the  rest  turning  up<jn  eiich  other, 
began,  pell-mell,  a  chance  medley  rtjjht. 

It  was  with  dilticulty  the  astrologer  could  stay  the 
hand  ol  the  must  p:\citic  of  monarchs,  and  prevent 
him  from  absolutely  exterminating  his  foes.  At 
length  he  iirevailed  upon  him  to  leave  the  tower, 
anil  tn  send  out  scouts  to  the  mountains  by  the  pass 
of  Lope, 

yhey  returned  with  the  intelligence  that  a  Chris- 
tian army  h;id  advanced  throu^'h  the  heart  of  the 
Sierra,  almost  within  sight  of  Ciranaila,  when  a  dis- 
sension having  broken  out  among  them,  they  had 
turned  their  weapons  against  each  other,  and  after 
.TiMch  slaughter,  n.ad  retreated  over  the  border. 

Aben  Hahuz  w.as  transported  with  joy  on  thus 
proving  the  tihcacy  of  the  talisman.  "  At  length," 
fuiv'.  he,  "  I  shall  lead  a  lite  of  tranquillity,  and  have 
ki\  my  enemies  in  my  power.  (Jh  !  wise  son  of  Abu 
Ayub,  wliat  ca»  I  bestow  on  thee  in  reward  for  such 
a  blessing  ?  " 

••The  wants  of  an  old  man  and  a  philosopher,  O 
king,  are  few  and  simple — grant  me  but  the  means 
ol  tilting  up  my  cave  as  a  suitable  hermitage,  and  I 
am  content." 

"  How  noble  is  the  moderation  of  the  truly  wise  !  " 
exclaimed  Aben  Habuz,  secretly  pleased  at  the 
cheapness  of  the  recompense.  He  summoned  his 
treasurer,  and  bade  him  dispense  whatever  sums 
might  be  required  by  Ibrahim  to  complete  and 
furnish  his  hermitage. 

The  astrologer  now  gave  orders  to  have  various 
chambers  hewn  out  of  the  solid  rock,  so  as  to  form 
ranges  of  apartments  connected  with  his  astrologi- 
cal hall.  J  hese  he  caused  to  be  furnished  with 
lusurious  ottomans  and  divans;  and  the  walls  to  be 
hung  with  the  richest  silks  of  Damascu.s.  "  I  am  an 
olJ  man,"  said  he,  "and  can  no  longer  rest  my 
bones  on  stone  couches  ;  and  these  damp  walls  re- 
•luire  covering." 

He  also  had  baths  constructed  and  provided  with 
ivll  kinds  of  perfumery  and  aromatic  oils ;  "  for  a 
I'dth,"  said  lie,  "  is  necessary  to  counteract  the  rigid- 
ity of  age,  and  to  restore  freshness  and  suppleness 
lo  the  I'ra.ne  withered  by  study." 

He  caused  the  apartments  to  be  hung  with  in- 
numerable silver  and  crystal  lamps,  which  he  filled 
with  a  fragrant  oil  prepared  according  to  a  receipt 
discovered  by  him  in  the  tombs  of  Egypt.  This  oil 
was  perpetual  in  its  nature,  and  diffused  a  soft  radi- 
ans like  the  tempered  light  of  d.iy.  "  The  light  of 
the  sun,"  said  he,  "  is  too  garish  and  violent  for  th« 


eyes  of  an  old  inan ;  and  the  light  of  the  lamp  ii 
more  congenial  to  the  stu<iies  tf  a  philosopher." 

The  treasurer  of  King  Aben  fiabuz  groaned  ai 
the  sums  daily  demanded  to  fit  up  this  nermit  yt;, 
and  he  carried  his  complaints  to  the  king.  ',\\t 
royal  word,  however,  was  given — Aben  Ha'-  i 
shruggefl  his  shoulders. — "  We  must  have  patirm  " 
s.iid  he;  "this  old  man  has  taken  his  idea  of  a  [.I..  , 
sophic  retreat  from  the  interior  of  the  I'yrami.ls  .. :( 
the  vast  ruins  of  Kgypt ;  but  all  things  have  an  >  \ 
and  so  will  the  furnisning  of  his  cavern,"     \ 

The  king  was  in  the  right,  the  hermitagf  w.is  »t 
len;^h  complete  and  formeil  a  sumptuous  sul'ir- 
ranean  p.ilace.  "  I  am  now  content,"  sjiid  Ibr.il  i;ii 
F.bn  Abu  Ayub,  to  the  tre.isurer ;  "  1  will  shut  tin  II 
up  in  my  cell  and  devote  my  time  to  study.  I  dc-  re 
nothing  more, —nothing, — except  a  trilling  sdicc 
to  amuse  me  at  the  interv.als  of  mental  labour," 

"  Oh  1  wise  Ibrahim,  ask  what  thou  wilt ;  I  ni 
hound  to  furnish  all  that  is  necessary  for  thy  s  li> 
tude." 

"  I  would  fain  have  then  a  few  dancing  women," 
said  the  philosopher. 

"Dancing  women!"  echoed  the  treasurer  w  th 
surprise. 

"  Dancing  women,"  replied  the  sage,  gravrly 
"a  few  will  sufUce ;  for  I  am  an  olil  man  and  i 
philosopher,  of  simple  habits  .and  easily  jatislii'.l. 
Let  them,  however,  be  young  anil  fair  to  look  upi.n 
— for  the  sight  of  youth  and  beauty  is  refreshing  to 
old  age." 

While  the  philosophic  Ibrahim  F.bn  Ayub  pasip-1 
his  time  thus  s.igely  in  his  hermitage,  the  par't  c 
Aben  Habuz  canietl  on  furious  campaigns  in  eti';'\ 
in  his  tower.  It  was  a  glorious  thing  for  an  oU!  iii.:. 
like  himself,  of  <iuiet  habits,  to  have  war  made  ei-^y 
and  to  be  enabled  to  amuse  himself  in  his  chamU'i 
by  bnishing  aw.ay  whole  armies  like  so  many  sw.iin.j 
of  flies.     For  a  time  he  lioted  in  the  indulgence  ^t 


his  humours,  .and  even  taunted  and  insulted  h.$ 
neighbours  to  induce  them  to  make  incursions;  I'M 
by  degrees  they  grew  vv.iry  from  repeated  disasters 
until  no  one  ventured  lo  inv.ide  his  territories.  Knr 
many  months  the  bronze  horseman  remained  on  the 
peace  establishment  with  his  lance  elevated  in  ihf 
air,  and  the  worthy  old  monarch  began  to  repine  M 
the  want  of  his  accustomed  sport,  and  to  grow  pee- 
vish at  his  monotonous  tranijuillity. 

At  length,  one  '(In,  the  talismanic  horseman 
veered  suddenly  round,  and,  lowering  his  lunee, 
made  a  de.ad  point  tow.irds  the  mountains  of  Guadix. 
Aben  Habuz  hastened  to  his  tower,  but  the  magic 
table  in  that  direction  remained  quiet — not  a  siiij;le 
warrior  was  in  motion.  Perplexed  at  the  circum- 
stance, he  sent  forth  a  trnop  of  horse  to  scour  tlir 
mountains  and  reconnoitre.  They  returned  alter 
three  days'  absence.  Rodovan,  the  captain  of  the 
troop,  addressed  the  king :  "  We  have  searched 
every  mountain  pass,"  said  he,  "  but  not  a  helm  or 
spear  was  stirring.  All  that  we  have  found  i:'.  the 
course  of  our  foray  w.as  a  Christian  damsel  of  sur 
passing  beauty,  sleeping  at  noon-tide  b«"side  a  oin- 
t.ain,  whom  we  have  brought  away  captive." 

"A  damsel  of  suq)assing  beauty!"  exclained 
Aben  Habuz,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  animation; 
"  let  her  be  conducted  into  my  presence."  "  Pardon 
me,  O  king!"  replied  Kodovan,  "but  our  w.arf;ire 
at  present  is  scanty ;  and  yields  but  little  harvest, 
I  had  hoped  this  cliance  gleaning  would  have  been 
allowed  for  my  services." 

"  Chance  gleaning  !  "  cried  Aben  Habuz.  '  What  I 
— a  damsel  of  surpassing  beauty  !  By  the  head  of 
my  father !  it  is  the  choice  fruits  of  warfare,  only  lo 
be  garnered  up  into  the  royal  keeping. — Let  the 
damsel  be  wrought  hither  instantly  ' 


THE   ALHAMURA. 


1X1 


The  beautiful  (lanisri  was  accordinje^ly  condu'-tcci  I  ilc  pcrfumrs,  all  thai   Asia  ard  Al'iica  yielded  o' 


mio  liis  prcscnci!.  Sli!*  wh»  arrayed  in  tiie  (iolhic 
iiyle  with  all  the  luxuiy  ii4  orn.iriiunt  (liat  had  |)ri'- 
vailed  ainunx  thcGolitii  Spaniards  at  the  time  ot 
titr  Arabian  coniiuest.  Fearls  ul  dazzling  whiteness 
*(rr  eiitwindd  with  her  ravm  ircssps;  and  jrwrh 
jpirklcd  on  hiT  torrhend,  nvallinj;  the  liislrr  ol  htr 
;\r;.  Around  her  ne<:k  was  a  goldrii  chain,  to 
a'Imi  h  was  suspended  a  silver  lyre  winch  hun^  by 

,  'T  Mdc, 

Ihe  flashes  of  her  dark  n'fuli;cnt  eye  were  like 
i|  iiks  of  tire  on  the  withered,  yet  comhustihie 
nii.Lst  of  At)en  tlahuz,  and  set  it  in  a  tlanie.  The 
(wiiiMDing  vulu|)iuousness  of  her  gMi  made  hit 
senses  reel.  "  Fairest  of  women,"  cried  he,  with 
ra;itare,  "  who  and  what  art  thou  ?  " — 

"The  dauijhtcr  of  one  of  »he  Gothic  princes  who 
|:iii  ly  ruled  over  this  land.  The  artnies  of  my  father 
have  been  destroyed  as  if  by  ma^c  among  these 
niduntains,  he  has  Iwen  driven  into  exile,  and  his 
(laii>;litfr  is  a  slave." 

'•  He  comforted,  beautiful  princess — thou  art  no 
loiiijer  a  slave,  but  a  soverei^;n  ;  turn  thine  eves  gra- 
ciuii!>iy  upon  Aben  Habuz,  and  reign  over  him  and 
his  dominions." 

"  Iteware,  O  kinR,"  whispered  Ibrahim  Ebn  Abu 
Ayub ;  "tins  may  be  some  snirit  conjured  up  by  the 
m.iK'i'^ians  of  the  liolhs,  an<i  sent  for  thy '.ii.doiiiji. 
Or  it  may  be  one  oi  those  northern  sorci-resses,  wl"( 
as'iiime  tlic  most  seducing  lorms  to  IK-Ruiie  the  un- 
wary.    Metliinks  I  reatl  witchcraft  in  her  eye,  <«i.d 
sorcery  in  tve-ry  movement.     Let  my  sovereij;n  be- 
ware—this must   be  tlie  enemy  pointed  out  by  the 
talisman."     "  .Son  of  Abu  Ayub,  '  replied  the  I'-ini^, ' 
"you  are  a  wise  man  and  a  conjuror,  I  grari--iiiii  ; 
loi  are  little  versed  in  the  ways  ol  woman.     In  I  ii- 
kn'iwleii^'e  of  the  sex,  1  will  yield  to  no  man:   'id,  I 
lot  to  ttie  wise  Solomon   himself,  notwillisi'.i.d'.r,,!  ' 
he  number  of  his  wives  and  his  concub:ii<-'.     As  lo 
this  damsel,  i  see  much  comfort  in  her  lor  my  ol" 
days,  even  such  comlort  as  JXivid,  the  fathev  ot  .Srv- 
?n.iin,  found  in  the  society  of  Abisha^;  the  Sliuiia- 
niite." 

"  HeJirken,  O  king,"  rejoined  the  astrologer,  su'!- 
(lenly  changing  his  tone — "  I  have  given  thee  iiiiiny 
tniiinphs  over  thy  enemies,  and  by  m'-ans  of  my 
talisman,  yet  thou  hast  never  given  me  share  of  the 
spoils  ;  grant  me  this  one  stray  captive  to  solace  a  :! 
in  my  retirement,  and  1  ;im  content." 

"  What  I  "  cried  Aben  liabuz,  "  more  women  ! 
hast  thou  not  already  dancing  women  to  solace  thee 
—what  more  wouldst  thou  desire." 

"  Dancing  women,  have  I,  it  is  true ;  but  I  have 
none  that  sing ;  and  mubic  is  .~,  oalm  to  old  age, — 
This  captive,  I  per.:eive,  beareth  a  silver  lyre,  and 
must  l)e  skilled  in  minstrelsy.  Cjive  her  to  roe,  I 
pray  thee,  to  sooth  my  senses  after  \.\uf  'oil  of 
siudv," 

The  ire  of  the  pacific  monarch  was  kindled,  an  1 
he  loaded  the  philosopher  wiih  rei)roaches.  T';e 
Litter  retired  indignantly  to  his  hennit.age ;  but  *"■». 
he  departed,  he  again  warned  'he  monarch  '.o  '.vc- 
.\are  of  his  beautiful  captive.  Where,  i»  !.<ct,  is  ^he 
o'.d  man  in  love  that  will  listen  to  :ou:-.el?  Aben 
fill  ui  ha<l  felt  the  full  power  of  the  '.v  ichery  O'  the 
rvK,  and  the  sorcery  of  mov.TKir.,  and  the  more  he 
^  ucd,  the  more  he  was  ei  i.n\uu»'ed. 

He  resigned  *^aiTis«'.f  to  tiie  full  sway  of  his  pas- 
I'ons.  His  Driy  stuny,  was  how  to  render  himself 
•I  liable  in  the  eyes  of  the  Gothic  beauty.  He  had 
not  youth,  it  is  true,  to  recommend  him,  but  then 
he  had  riches  ;  and  when  a  lover  is  no  longer  young, 
he  becomes  generous.  The  Zacatin  of  (iranada 
was  ransacked  for  the  most  precious  merchandise  of 
the  East.    Silks,  jewels,  precious  gema  and  exquis- 


rich  and  rare,  were  l.ivi.she(|  upon  the  princess.  Sh« 
received  all  .is  her  due,  and  regarded  them  with  lh« 
inililference  ol  one  accustotned  to  magnilii  enc<*. 
All  kinds  of  spectacles  and  festivities  were  devised 
for  her  entertainment ;  minstrelsy,  dancing,  tounia- 
inrnts,  biilUhghts. — Granada,  for  a  time,  w.asascenc 
of  perpetual  pagi'ant.  The  Gothic  princess  seemed 
to  t.ike  a  delight  in  causing  expense,  as  if  she  sought 
to  drain  the  tre.isures  of  the  tnonaich.  There  wpre 
no  bounils  to  her  caprice,  or  to  the  exirav.igancc 
of  her  ide.as.  Yet,  noiwiihstanding  all  this  munfi- 
cenre,  the  venerable  Aben  H.ibu;.  could  not  flatter 
himself  that  he  had  made  any  impression  on  her 
heart.  She  never  Irowned  on  him,  it  is  true,  but  she 
had  a  singular  way  of  batfling  his  tender  advances, 
Whenever  he  began  to  plead  his  passion,  she  struck 
her  silver  lyre.  There  w;is  a  mystic  'charm  in  the 
sound :  on  hearing  of  it,  an  irresistible  drowsineai 
seized  upon  the  superannuated  lover,  he  fell  asleep, 
and  only  woke  when  the  temporary  fumes  of  pas-  • 
sion  had  evaporated.  Still  the  dream  of  love  had  a 
bewitching  power  over  his  senses ;  so  ne  continued 
to  dream  on  ;  while  all  Granada  scotfed  at  his  in- 
fatuation, and  groaned  at  the  irearures  lavished  for 
X  song. 

\t  iepgth  (■  (ianprr  hurst  over  the  head  of  Alien 
HaoiJ,  agairi.^1  .vh  y.i.  his  talisman  yielded  him  no 
wai-.ng.  /,  I'e'x'iiin  jroke  out  in  t tie  very  heart 
r;  oit  ;;tpital ,  h-s '•■,1  by  tri"  bold  Rodovan.  Alien 
Hab.>.:  vtar,  i;i»  a  time,  besiegei;  in  his  palace,  an<; 
it  <.v;  :■>  not  wiit^.out  the  gre.-i'est  ditiiculiy  that  he  re- 
j>(:l!i  i(  hi*,  ass-iilarifs  and  i|ue!i''l  the  insurrection. 

Ul-  fU'W  (::)'.  himself  co'i  j^fiied  wee  more  to  r<  ■ 
;.)ft  lo  tl».»  »s  .istance  ol  iiv.  -3trolu,{er,  He  f'^-.'nd 
i'lir,  ft'ii  .«;iijt  ':p  m  hi-<  licni  ii!i.;«:,  i.Iicm,:'.!;,',  th.-;  cud 
ol  resi'iimc' t.  "O  vv  -  s 'p  of  Abi  A',  an,  '  s:iid 
ill:,  "wha'  tSou  tw't  toretiMd,  h.T-,  !i  '■.•jr.ic  sort, 
(.o'',e  1)  p,:S',.  I'I'is  Goi.bU.  ',v,ince.-j  h'w  brought 
tifuihle  ar'!  ^;.wig^i  '.iiw;.'  foc," 

"  Is  *.l-  '  ki.'.f  tb;ri  t'l  -f ()Si-.l  I.--/  ;>i  •  Wr  awny  irom 
hii.T?''  '.•aiil  ;.»'■  asnol'-ger  svi  i:  Wi'r.nat'vir. 

"  iiconer -.voiMd  I  p.irr  uith  my  kin^jdor:  I "  "-ep'r,! 
Ab-n  Hal.ui. 

"  '.vl-iat  iiid,  ia  t)ir  n'ed  of  <ii,tu'bir<'.>'  aw  in  my 
phi'osopl  iiMi  reti-cmenl''  &Ai:(  tie  ;..,troiOgtr,  .  i*.e- 
viiVily. 

"  He  net  angry,  O  w^est  of  phi|osi';i.i<*rs,  t 
vvoui.'.  f.iin  have  oKe  th  it  excrt.ori  li  tf  \  ni.agic 
irt,  Jicvise  some  means  bv  viluch  1  ii.iy  b<?  secure 
IroiV.  ir.U^r-iil  irert.'.on,  a'i  vfH  .tso.itvv.;u'  War  —some 
safr  retPia'.,  vi^heie  1  iray  tale  rei'ij^a  and  be  at 
peace." 

The  astrolojver  iiVii.nt-d  frr  a  rroment,  and  a 
subtle  gleam  shone  frorr  his  ^y:  under  his  bushy 
eyebrows. 

" 'ihou  J  -I  t  heard,  no  doubt,  O  king,"  said  he, 
"  of  the  pah.ce  And  garden  ol'  Irem,  whereof  mention 
'1  m;ide  in  that  chapter  of  the  Koran  entitled  '  the 
iiavn  of  dav.' " 

"  J  uive  heatc'.  of  that  garden, — m.arvellous  things 
are  relAiccl  ot  it  by  the  pilgrims  who  visit  Mecca,  bi.t 
I  navv,  thought  them  wild  fables,  such  iis  those  ar* 
prone  to  tell  who  visit  remote  regions." 

"  Listen,  O  king,  and  thou  shalt  know  the  mvstery 
of  th.at  garden,  in  my  younger  days  I  was  in  Arabia 
the  Hajipy,  tending  my  father's  camels.  One  of 
them  strayed  away  from  the  rest,  and  was  lost.  1 
searched  for  it  for  several  days  aliout  the  deserts  of 
Aden,  until  wearied  and  faint,  I  laid  myself  down 
and  slept  under  a  palm  tree  by  the  side  of  a  scanty 
well.  When  I  awoke,  I  found  myself  at  the  gate  of 
a  city.  I  entered  and  beheld  noble  streets  and 
squares  and  market  places,  but  all  were  silent  and 
without  an  inhabitant.    I  wandered  on  until  I  car^t 


Vi.: 


tan 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


r. 


to  a  sumptuous  palace,  with  a  garden  adorned  with 
fountains  and  fish-ponds ;  and  groves  and  (lowers ; 
and  orchards  laden  with  delicious  fruit ;  but  still  no 
one  was  to  l)e  seen.  Upon  which,  appalled  at  this 
loneliness,  1  hastened  to  depart,  and,  after  issuing 
forth  at  the  gate  of  the  city,  I  turned  to  look  upon 
the  place,  liut  it  was  no  longer  to  l)e  seen,  nothing 
but  the  silent  desert  extended  before  my  eyes. 

"  In  the  neighbourhood  I  met  with  an  aged  dervise, 
learned  in  the  traditions  and  secrets  of  the  land,  and 
related  to  him  what  had  befallen  me.  '  This,'  said 
be,  'is  the  far  famed  garden  of  Irem,  one  of  the 
wonders  of  the  desert.  It  only  appears  at  times  to 
some  wanderer  like  thyself,  gladdening  him  with  the 
sight  of  towers  and  palaces,  and  garden  walls  over- 
hung with  richly  laden  fruit  trees,  and  then  vanishes, 
leaving  nothing  but  a  lonely  desert. — And  this  is  the 
story  of  it : — In  old  times,  when  this  country  Vvas 
inhabited  by  the  Addiles,  king  Sheddad,  the  son  of 
Ad,  the  great  grandson  of  Noah,  founded  here  a 
splendid  city.  When  it  was  finished,  and  he  saw  its 
grandeur,  his  heart  was  puffed  up  with  pride  and 
arrogance,  .and  he  determined  to  build  a  royal  pal- 
ace, with  gardens  that  should  rival  all  that  was  re- 
lated in  the  Koran  of  the  celestial  paradise.  But  the 
curse  of  heaven  fell  upon  him  for  his  presumption. 
He  and  his  subjects  were  swept  from  the  earth,  and 
his  splendid  city,  and  palace,  and  garden,  were  laid 
under  a  perpetual  spell,  that  hides  them  from  the 
human  sij:;ht,  excepting  that  they  are  seen  at  inter- 
vals ;  by  way  of  keeping  his  sin  in  perpetual  remem- 
brance. 

"  This  story,  O  king,  and  the  wonders  I  had  seen, 
ever  dwell  in  my  mind,  and,  in  after  years,  when  I 
had  been  ':  E,U'>'pt  and  made  myself  master  of  all 
kinds  of  magic  spells,  I  determined  to  return  and 
FJsit  the  garden  of  Irem.  I  did  so,  and  found  it  re- 
Tcaled  to  my  instructed  sight.  I  took  possession  of 
tfas  palace  of  Sheddad,  and  passed  several  days  in 
l>is  mock  paradise.  The  genii  who  watch  over  the 
place,  were  obedient  to  my  magic  power,  and  reveal- 
ed to  me  the  spells  by  which  the  whole  garden  had 
been,  as  it  were,  conjured  into  existence,  and  by 
which  it  was  rendered  invisible.  Such  spells,  6 
king,  aie  w.thin  the  scope  of  my  art.  What  s.ayest 
th«u  ?  Wouldst  thou  have  a  palace  and  garden  like 
those  of  Irem,  tilled  with  all  manner  of  delights,  but 
hidden  from  the  eyes  of  mortals?" 

"  O,  wise  <;on  of  Abu  AyuhP'  exclaimed  Aben 
Habuz,  trein!)ling  with  eagerness — "Contrive  me 
such  a  paradise,  and  ask  any  reward,  even  to  the 
half  of  my  kingdom." 

"Alas,"  replied  the  other,  "thou  knowest  I  am 
an  old  man.  and  a  philosopher,  and  easily  satisfied  ; 
aU  the  reward  1  ask,  is  the  first  beast  of  burden,  with 
its  load,  that  shall  enter  the  magic  portal  of  the 
palace." 

The  monarch  gladly  agreed  to  so  moderate  a  stip- 
ulation, and  the  astrologer  began  his  work.  On  the 
summit  of  'he  nill  immediately  above  his  subterra- 
nean hennitage  he  caused  a  great  gateway  or  barbi- 
can to  be  e'ected  ;  opening  through  the  centre  of  a 
strong  tower.  There  was  an  outer  vestiDule  or  |)orch 
»"i:h  a  lofty  arch,  and  within  it  a  portal  secured  by 
ui.'usive  gates.  On  the  key-stone  of  the  portal  the 
Mtrokger,  with  his  own  hand,  wrought  the  figure  of 
C  bngr  key,  and  on  the  key-stone  of  the  outer  arch 
3f  the  vestibule,  which  was  loftier  than  that  of  the 
portal  he  car\'ed  a  gigantic  hand.  These  were  po- 
tent talismans,  over  which  he  repeated  many  sen- 
tences in  an  unknown  tongue. 

When  this  gateway  was  finished,  he  shut  himself 
ap  for  twc  days  in  his  astrological  hall,  engageci  in 
feck«t  incantations:  on  the  third  he  ascended  the 
jill.  And  pa.ssed  the  whole  day  on  its  summit.    At  a 


late  hour  of  the  night  he  came  down  and  prcMnted 
himself  before  Aben  Habuz.  "  At  length,  O  king," 
said  he,  "  my  labour  is  accomplished.  On  the  sum 
mit  of  the  hill  stands  one  of  the  most  delectable  pal- 
aces that  ever  the  head  of  man  devised,  or  the  hear: 
of  man  desired.  It  contains  sumptuous  halls  and 
galleries,  delicious  gardens,  cool  fountains  and  Ira 
grant  baths ;  in  a  word,  the  whole  mountain  is  con 
verted  into  a  paradise.  Like  the  garden  ol  Ire.Ti.  it 
is  protected  by  a  mighty  charm,  which  hides  it  fn  in 
the  view  and  search  of^  mortals,  excepting  such  as 
possess  the  secret  of  its  talismans." 

"  Enough,"  cried  Aben  Habuz,  joyfully ;  "  to-nior 
row  morning,  bright  and  early,  we  will  ascend  and 
take  possession."  The  happy  monarch  scarcely 
slept  that  night.  Scarcely  had  the  rays  of  the  si,n 
begun  to  play  about  the  snowy  summit  of  the  Sieira 
Nevada,  when  he  mounted  his  steed,  and  accom- 
panied only  by  a  few  chosen  attendants,  ascended  a 
steep  and  narrow  road  leading  up  the  hill.  Besiilt 
him,  on  a  white  palfrey,  rode  the  Gothic  princess,  her 
dress  sparkling  with  jewels,  while  round  her  ncci 
was  suspended  her  silver  lyre.  The  astrologer  walk- 
ed on  the  other  side  of  the  king,  assisting  his  si  ps 
with  his  hieroglyphic  stalf,  for  he  never  mounted 
steed  of  any  kind. 

Aben  Habuz  looked  to  see  the  towers  of  the  prom- 
ised palace  brightening  above  him,  and  the  embow- 
ered terraces  of  its  gardens  stretching  along  the 
heights,  but  as  yet,  nothing  of  the  king  was  to  ht 
descried.  "  That  is  the  mystery  and  safeguard  of  th« 
place,"  said  the  astrologer,  "  nothing  can  l>e  disccr'.- 
ed  until  you  have  passed  the  spell-bound  gatev^ay 
anH  been  ,)ut  in  possession  of  the  place." 

As  they  approached  the  gatew.ay,  the  astrolr-'v 
paused,  and  pointed  out  to  the  king  the  mystic  h.T;; ; 
and  key  carved  upon  the  portal  and  the  at  ;b. 
"These,"  said  he,  "are  the  talismans  which  gu ul 
the  entrance  to  this  paradise.  Until  yonder  h^-.Tti 
shall  reach  down  and  seize  that  key,  neither  mortal 

f)ower,  nor  magic  artifrce,  can  prevail  against  the 
ord  of  this  mountain." 

While  Aben  Habuz  w.as  gazing  with  open  mo  iih 
and  silent  wonder  at  these  mystic  talismans,  the  pal- 
frey of  the  princess  proceeded  on,  and  bore  her  in  al 
the  ixjrtal,  to  the  very  centre  of  the  barbican. 

"  Behold,"  cried  the  astrologer,  "  my  promised  re- 
ward ! — the  first  animal  with  its  burden,  that  should 
enter  the  magic  gateway." 

Aben  Habuz  smiled  at  what  he  considered  a  pleas- 
antry of  the  ancient  man  ;  but  when  he  found  him  to 
be  in  earnest,  his  gray  beafd  trembled  with  inih^'- 
nation. 

"Son  of  Abu  Ayiib,"said  he,  sternly,  "what  equiv- 
ocation is  this  ?  Thou  knowest  the  meaning  of  n  y 
promise,  the  first  beast  of  burden,  with  its  load,  that 
should  enter  this  iwrtal.  Take  the  strongest  mule 
in  my  stables,  load  it  with  the  most  precious  thim;s 
ol  my  treasury,  and  it  is  thine ;  but  dare  not  to  raise 
thy  thoughts  to  he',  who  is  the  delight  of  my  heart." 

"  What  need  I  of  wealth,"  cried  the  astrologer, 
scornfully;  "  have  I  not  the  book  of  knowledge  of 
Solomon  the  Wise,  and  through  it,  the  command  ol 
the  secret  treasures  of  the  earth  ?  The  nrincess  is 
mine  by  right ;  thy  royal  word  is  pledgea  ;  I  clain 
her  as  my  own." 

The  princess  sat  upon  her  palfrey,  in  the  pnde  of 
youth  and  beauty,  and  a  light  smile  ol  rcom  curhil 
ner  rosy  lip,  at  this  dispute  between  two  gray  beards 
for  her  charms.  The  wrath  of  the  monarch  got  the 
better  of  his  discretion.  "  Base  son  of  the  desert," 
cried  he,  "  thou  mayest  be  master  of  many  arts,  but 
knjw  me  for  thy  master — and  presume  not  to  juggle 
with  thy  king." 

"  My  master  I    echoed  t  ie  ^istrologer,  '  my  king 


THE   ALHAlviSRA. 


The  monarch  of  a  mole-hill  to  claim  sway  over  him 
who  possesses  the  talismans  of  Solomon,  farewell, 
Aben  Habuz ;  reign  over  thy  petty  icingdom,  and 
revel  in  thy  paradise  of  fools — for  me,  I  will  laugh  al 
thtte  in  my  philosophic  retirement." 

So  saying,  he  seized  the  briille  of  the  palfrey,  smote 
the  earth  with  his  staff,  and  sank  with  the  Gothic 
princess  through  the  centre  of  the  barbican.  The 
laii'i  closi;d  over  them,  and  no  trace  remained  of 
i'lc  ;pening  by  which  they  had  descended.  Aben 
iii'Mii  was  struck  tlumb  for  a  time  with  astonish- 
I,  cut.  Recovering  himself  he  ordered  a  thousand 
woiknifii  to  ilig  with  pickaxe  and  spade  into  the 
grmiml  where  the  astrologer  had  disappeared.  They 
digged  .mil  (lig^jed,  liut  in  vain;  the  flinty  bosom  of 
the  hill  resisted  their  implements ;  or  if  they  did  pen- 
etrate a  little  way,  the  eartii  tilled  in  again  as  fast  as 
they  threw  it  out.  Aben  H.ibuz  sought  the  mouth 
of  the  cavern  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  leading  to  the 
subterranean  palace  of  the  astrologer,  but  it  was  no 
where  to  be  found :  where  once  had  been  an  en- 
trance, w.'is  now  a  solid  surface  of  primeval  rock. 
With  the  disappearance  of  Ibrahim  Ebn  Abu  Ayub 
ccascil  the  benefit  of  his  tahsmans.  The  bronze 
horseman  remained  fixed  with  his  face  turned  toward 
the  hill,  and  his  spear  pointed  to  the  spot  where  the 
astrc)io};er  had  descended,  as  if  there  still  lurked  the 
iliMilhest  foe  of  Aben  llahuz.  From  time  to  lime 
ihc  sound  of  music  and  the  tones  of  a  female  voice 
Cdulii  he  faiiuly  heard  from  the  bosom  of  the  hill, 
.ind  a  peasant  one  day  brought  word  to  the  king, 
thai  ill  the  preceding  night  he  had  found  a  fissure  in 
thi'  luck,  by  which  he  h.ad  crept  in  until  he  looked 
liiAvn  into  a  subterranean  hall,  in  which  sai  '  '•»•  as- 
traloger  on  a  magnificent  divan,  slumbering  and 
ncdiling  to  the  silver  lyre  of  the  princess,  which 
jrtmed  to  hold  a  magic  sway  over  his  senses. 

Al;en  llahuz  sought  for  the  rissure  in  the  rock, 
,)ut  it  was  again  closed.  He  renewed  the  attempt  to 
uiHMrth  his  rival,  but  all  in  vain.  The  spell  of  the 
himl  and  key  was  too  potent  to  be  counteracted  by 
human  power.  As  to  the  summit  of  the  mountain, 
the  site  of  the  promised  palace  and  garden,  it  re- 
mained a  naked  waste  :  either  the  boasted  Elysium 
was  hidden  from  sight  by  enchantment,  or  was  a 
mere  fable  of  the  astrologer.  The  world  charitably 
supposed  the  latter,  and  some  used  to  call  the  place 
"the  king's  folly,"  while  others  named  it  "  the  fool's 
Paradise." 

To  adil  to  the  chagrin  of  Aben  Habuz,  the  neigh- 
bours, whom  he  had  detied  and  taunted,  and  cut  up 
at  his  leisure,  while  master  of  the  talismanic  horse- 
man, tiiuling  him  no  longer  prolecteil  by  magic  spell, 
made  inroads  into  his  territories  from  all  sides,  .ami 
the  remainder  of  the  life  of  the  most  p.acific  of  mon- 
archs,  was  a  tissue  of  turmoils. 

At  length,  Aben  Habuz  died  and  was  buried. 
A^fs  have  singe  rolled  away.  The  Alhambra  has 
been  built  on  the  eventful  mountain,  and  in  some 
measure  realizes  the  fabled  delights  of  the  garden  of 
'rem.  The  spell-bound  gateway  still  exists,  protect- 
ed, no  doubt,  by  the  mystic  hand  and  key,  and  now 
br-ns  the  gate  of  justice,  the  grand  entrance  to  the 
fonress  Under  that  g.ateway,  it  is  said,  the  old  as- 
tlologei  reniains  in  his  subterranean  hall ;  nodiling 
Oti  his  d.van,  lulled  by  the  silver  lyre  of  the  princess. 

The  old  invalid  sentinels,  who  mount  guard  at  the 
gAte,  h^r  the  strains  occasionally  in  the  summer 
ti.^Sts,  and,  yielding  to  their  soporific  power,  doze 
quietly  at  their  posts.  Nay,  so  drowsy  an  influence 
pervades  the  place,  that  even  those  who  watch  by 
day,  nuy  generally  be  seen  nodding  on  the  stone 
benches  of  the  barbican,  or  sleeping  under  the  neigh* 
txjuring  trees ;  so  that  it  is,  in  uct,  the  drowsiest 
military  post  in  all  Christendom.    All  this,  say  the 


legends,  will  endure ;  from  age  to  agt  the  priniesa 
will  remam  captive  to  the  astrologer,  and  the  astrol- 
oger bound  up  in  magic  slumber  by  the  princess, 
until  the  hust  day ;  unless  the  mystic  hand  shall  grasp 
the  fated  key,  and  dispel  tl\e  whole  chariiJ  of  this 
enchanted  mountain. 


LEGEND  OF  THE  THREE  BEAUTIFUL 
PRINCESSES. 


In  old  times  here  reigned  a  Moorisl  king  in 
Granada,  whose  name  was  Moaamed,  co  which 
his  subjects  added  the  appellation  of  el  Haygari, 
or  "  the  left-handed."  Some  say  he  was  so  called, 
on  account  of  his  being  really  more  expert  with  his 
sinister,  than  his  dexter  hand  ;  others,  because  he 
was  prone  to  take  every  thing  by  the  wrong  end  ; 
or,  in  other  words,  to  mar  wherever  he  meddled. 
Certain  it  is,  either  through  misfortune  or  misman- 
agement, he  was  continually  in  trouble.  Thrice 
was  he  driven  from  his  throne,  and  on  one  occasion 
barely  escaped  to  Africa  with  his  lite,  in  the  dis- 
guise of  a  fisherm.an.  Still  he  was  as  brave  as  he 
was  blundering,  and,  though  left-handed,  wielded 
his  scimitar  to  such  purpose,  that  he  each  time 
re-established  himself  upon  his  throre  by  dint  of 
hard  fighting.  Insle.id,  however,  of  learning  wis- 
tioin  from  adversity,  he  hardened  his  neck,  and 
stilt'ened  his  left-arm  in  wilfulness.  Tlie  evils  of 
a  public  nature  which  he  thus  brought  upon  him- 
self and  his  kingdom,  may  be  learned  by  these 
who  will  delve  into  the  Arabi.m  annals  of  (jrana« 
da  ;  the  present  legend  deals  but  with  his  domestic 
policy. 

As  this  Mohameri  was  one  day  riding  forth,  willi 
a  train  of  his  courtiers,  by  the  foot  of  the  mountain 
of  Elvira,  he  met  a  band  of  horsemen  returning 
from  a  foray  into  the  land  of  the  Christians.  They 
were  conducting  a  long  string  of  mules  laden  with 
spoil,  and  many  captives  of  both  sexes,  among 
whom,  the  monarch  w.as  struck  with  the  appear- 
ance of  a  beautiful  damsel  richly  attired,  who  sat 
weeping,  on  a  low  pallrey,  and  heeded  not  the  con- 
soling words  of  a  duenna,  who  rode  beside  her. 

The  monarch  was  struck  with  her  beauty,  and  on 
inquiring  of  the  captain  of  the  troop,  found  that  she 
was  the  daughter  of  the  alcayde  of  a  frontier  for- 
tress that  had  been  surprised  and  sacked  in  the 
course  of  the  foray. 

Mohamed  cl.aimed  her  as  his  royal  share  of  the 
booty,  and  h.id  her  conveyed  to  his  harem  in  the 
Alhambra.  There  every  thing  was  devised  to  sooth 
her  melancholy,  and  the  mon.irch,  more  and  more 
enamoured,  sought  to  make  her  his  queen. 

The  Spanish  maid  at  tirst  repulsed  his  addresses. 
He  w;is  an  infidel — he  was  the  open  toe  of  her 
country  —  what  was  worse,  he  was  stricken  in 
years !  , 

The  monarch  finding  his  assiduities  of  no  avail, 
detei  mined  to  enlist  in  his  favour  the  duenna,  *-ho 
had  been  captured  with  the  lady.  She  was  an  Aiida- 
lusian  by  birth,  whose  Christian  name  is  forgotten, 
being  mentioned  in  Moorish  legends,  by  no  oti\er 
appellation  than  that  of  the  discreet  C.adiga — and 
discreel,  in  truth  she  was,  as  her  whole  history  makes 
evident.  No  sooner  had  the  Moorish  king  hdd  a 
little  private  convers.ation  with  her,  than  she  kiw  at 
once  the  cogency  of  his  reasoning,  and  undertook  tus 
cause  with  her  young  mistress. 

"  Go  to,  now  !"  cried  she;  "  what  s  there  in  all 


fm 


Ml 


180 


WORKS  OF    WASK  NGTON   IRVING. 


^-^^4 


r  l-rf 


»*>  •^'  ^ 


':•-'•* 


this  to  wefp  an«.'  wail  about  ? — Is  it  not  better  to 
be  mistress  of  this  beautiful  palace  with  all  its  gar- 
dens and  fountains,  than  to  be  shut  up  within  your 
fxiher's  old  frontier  tower?  As  to  tnis  Mohamed 
beinjj  an  intide! — what  is  that  to  the  purpose  ?  You 
marn,'  him — not  his  relig;ioii.  And  if  he  is  waxing 
a  little  old,  the  sooner  will  you  be  a  wi«low  and 
mistress  of  yourself.  At  any  nite  you  are  in  his 
power— and  must  either  be  a  queen  or  a  sla«re. — 
When  in  the  hands  of  a  robl)er,  it  is  better  to  sell 
one's  merchandise  for  a  fair  price,  than  to  have  it 
Uken  by  main  force," 

The  arjTuments  of  the  discreet  Cadiga  prevailed. 
The  Spanish  lady  dried  her  tears  and  became  -the 
spouse  of  Mohamed  the  left-handed.  She  even  con- 
fonned  in  appearance  to  the  faith  of  her  royal  hus- 
band, and  her  discreet  duenna  immediately  became 
a  zealous  convert  to  the  Moslem  doctrines ;  it  was 
then  the  latter  received  the  Arabian  name  of  Cadiga, 
and  was  permitted  to  remain  in  the  confidential 
employ  of  her  mistress. 

In  due  process  of  time,  the  Moorish  king  was 
made  the  prnud  and  hajipy  father  of  three  lovely 
daughters,  all  born  at  a  birth.  He  could  have 
wished  they  had  been  sons,  but  consoled  himself 
with  the  idea  that  three  daughters  at  a  birth,  were 
pretty  well  for  a  man  somewhat  stricken  in  years, 
and  left-handed. 

As  usual  W'th  all  Moslem  monarchs,  he  sum- 
moned liis  astrologers  on  this  happy  event.  They 
cast  the  nativities  oi  the  three  |)rincesscs,  and 
shook  their  heads,  "  Daughters,  O  king,"  s.'iid 
they,  "  are  always  precarious  property  ;  hut  these 
will  most  need  your  watchtiiliicss  when  they  -ir- 
ive  at  a  marriaii^fabie  age. — At  that  time  gather 
hem  under  your  wing,  and  trust  them  to  no  other 
fiitardianship." 

Mohamed  the  left-handed  wa'^  acknowledged  by 
h!;  courtiers  to  he  a  wise  king,  and  was  certainly 
»?  considered  by  himself.  The  preiliction  of  the 
as'^^rologt-rs  caused  him  but  little  dis<|uiet,  trust mg 
'c;  his  ingenuity  to  gusrd  his  daughters  and  outwit 
the  fates. 

1  hs  threefold  birth  w.as  the  Last  matrimonial 
trophy  of  the  monarch  ;  his  queen  bore  him  no  more 
ciiiidren,  anil  died  within  a  tew  years,  lH;queathing 
her  infant  daughters  to  his  love,  and  to  the  fidelity 
ol  the  discreet  Cadiga. 

Many  years  had  yet  to  elapse  before  the  prin- 
cesses would  arrive  at  that  jjeriod  of  danger,  the 
marri.ageable  age.  "  It  is  good,  however,  to  be  cau- 
tious in  time,"  said  the  shiewd  monarch  ;  so  he  <le- 
termincd  to  have  them  reared  in  the  royal  castle 
of  Salobrena.  This  was  a  sumptuous  pal.ice,  in- 
crusted,  as  it  were  in  a  powertul  Moorish  fortress, 
on  the  summit  of  a  hill  that  overlooks  the  .Mediter- 
ranean sea. 

It  was  a  royal  retreat,  in  which  the  Moslem  mon- 
aichs  shut  up  such  of  their  relations  as  might  en- 
danger their  safely;  allowing  them  all  kinds  of  lux- 
uries and  amnse-Tients,  in  the  midst  of  which  they 
p.assed  their  lives  in  voluptuous  indolence 

Here  the  princesses  remained,  immured  from  the 
worlJ,  but  surrounded  by  enjoyments;  and  attended 
by  female  slaves  who  anticipated  their  wishes. 
They  had  delightful  gardens  for  their  recreation, 
■  £Uea  with  the  rarest  fruits  and  fiowers,  wtth  aromat- 
ic gfnv'js  and  perfumed  baths.  On  three  sides  the 
castle  looked  down  upon  a  rich  valley,  enamelled 
with  all  kinds  of  culture,  and  bounded  by  the  lofty 
Alpuxarra  mountains ;  on  the  other  side  it  over- 
looked the  broad  sunny  sea. 

In  this  delicious  abode,  in  a  propitious  climate 
and  under  a  cloudless  sky,  the  three  princesses 
grew  up  intr)  wondrous  beauty  ;  but,  tliough  all 


reared  alike,  they  gave  early  tokens  cf  diversity  o. 
character.  Their  names  were  Zayda,  Zorayda,  and 
Zorahayda ;  and  such  was  the  order  of  seniority, 
for  there  had  been  precisely  three  minutes  betv.ecn 
their  births. 

Zayda,  the  eldest,  was  of  an  intrepid  spirit,  md 
took  the  leail  of  her  sisters  in  evr/  thing,  as  s!;j 
had  done  in  entering  first  into  ihe  world,  i^j 
was  curious  and  inquisitive,  and  fond  ol  getting  at 
the  bottom  of  things, 

Zorayda  had  a  great  feeling  for  bevity,  v  liicli 
was  the  reason,  no  doubt,  of  her  delightii:g  to  re:;ar(| 
her  own  im.ige  in  a  mirror  or  a  fountain,  and  of 
her  fondness  for  Howtrs  and  jewels,  and  other  taste. 
ful  ornaments. 

As  to  Zorahayda,  tie  youngest,  she  w.is  soft  -(ini 
timid,  and  extremely  sensitive,  with  a  vast  dt.u  of 
disposable  tenderness,  .as  was  evident  from  ha 
number  of  pet  flowers,  and  pet  birds,  and  pet  ani- 
mals, all  of  which  she  cherished  with  the  fonricsi 
care.  Her  amusements,  too,  were  of  a  gentle  n.i 
ture,  and  mixed  up  with  musing  and  reverie,  s'r^ 
would  sit  for  hours  in  a  balcony  gazing  on  lhesj,.iu- 
ting  stars  of  a  summer  night ;  or  on  the  sea  wtun 
lit  up  by  the  moon,  and  at  such  times  the  song  nia 
fisherman  faintly  heard  from  the  beach,  or  the  notes 
of  an  arrafia  or  Moorish  flute  from  some  glulmg 
bark,  sufficed  to  elevate  her  feelings  into  ecst  isy, 
The  least  uproar  of  the  elements,  however,  filled  her 
with  dismay,  and  a  clap  of  thunder  was  enough  to 
throw  her  into  a  swoon. 

Years  moved  on  serenely,  and  Cadiga,  to  whnn> 
the  princesses  were  confided,  was  faithful  to  hci  b-.'s 
and  attended  them  with  unremitting  carr. 

The  castle  of  Salobrena,  as  has  been  said,  wm 
built  upon  a  hill  on  the  sea  coast.  One  of  th';  ti 
tenor  walls  straggled  down  the  profile  of  the  lii'd, 
until  it  reached  a  jutting  rock  overhanging  the  sex 
with  a  narrow  sanilv  beach  at  its  foot,  laved  by  the 
rippling  billows.  A  small  watch  tower  on  this  rock 
had  been  fitted  up  as  a  pavilion,  with  latticed  win- 
dows to  admit  the  sea  breeze.  Here  the  princesses 
used  to  pass  the  sultry  hours  of  mid-day. 

The  urious  Zayda  was  one  day  seated  at  one  ot 
the  windows  of  the  pavilion,  as  her  sisters,  reclii.td 
on  ottomans,  were  taking  the  siesta,  or  noon-tnle 
slumber.  Her  attention  h.ad  been  attracted  to  a 
galley,  which  came  coasting  along,  with  measured 
strokes  of  the  oar.  As  it  drew  near,  she  observer! 
that  it  was  hlled  with  armed  men.  The  galley 
anchored  at  the  foot  of  the  tower:  a  number  oi 
Moorish  soldiers  landed  on  the  narrow  l>each,  con- 
ducting several  Christian  prisoners.  The  curii  us 
Zayda  awakened  her  sisters,  and  all  three  i)eeped 
cautiously  through  the  close  jealousies  of  the  latiict, 
which  screened  them  from  sight.  Among  the 
prisoners  were  three  Spanish  cavaliers,  richly  dressed. 
They  were  in  the  flower  of  youth,  -and  of  nohie 
presence,  ami  the  lofty  manner  in  which  they  carried 
themselves,  though  lo.ided  with  chains  and  surround- 
ed with  enemies,  bespoke  the  grandeur  of  their  souls. 
The  princesses  gazed  with  intense  and  breathl.  ^i 
interest.  Cooped  up  as  they  had  bten  in  this  cai.tlt 
among  female  attendants,  seeing  nothmg  '  f  the  malt 
sex  but  black  slaves,  or  the  rude  fishern-.en  of  the 
sea  coast,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  that  the  a|> 
pearance  of  three  gallant  cavaliers  in  the  pride  of 
youth  anti  manly  beauty  should  produce  some  com- 
motion in  their  bosoms. 

"  Did  ever  nobler  being  tread  the  earth,  than  that 
cavalier  in  crimson  ?  "  cried  Zayda,  the  eldest  of  the 
sisters.  "See  how  proudly  he  bears  himself,  as 
though  all  around  him  were  his  slaves  I " 

"But  notice  that  one  in  gretn,"  exclaimed  Zo 
rayda ;  "  what  grace  I  what  -  legance  I  what  spirit ! ' 


jntj-.s  !"  cxcl.tin 


THE  ALHAMBRA 


181 


The  gentle  Zorahavda  said  nothins^,  but  she  se- 
crcily  pave  preferenc    to  the  cavalier  in  green. 

1  he  princesses  remained  gazing  until  the  prison- 
ers were  out  of  sight;  then  heaving  long-drawn 
si^hs,  they  turned  round,  looked  at  each  other  for  a 
ivomeiit,  and  sat  down  musing  and  pensive  on  their 
o'lotnani. 

iiif  discreet  Cadiga  found  th<-m  m  this  situation ; 
.'  y  r  dated  to  her  what  they  had  seen,  and  even  the 
:  ,:ht  I  •<!  heart  of  the  duenna  was  wanned.  "  Poor 
jiitl.s!"  exclaimed  she,  "I'll  warrant  their  caj)- 
ti'ity  makes  many  a  fair  and  high-born  lady's  heart 
If :,r  in  their  native  land  I  Ah,  my  children,  you 
h.  (•  little  idea  of  t^e  life  these  cavaliers  lead  in  their 
own  country.  Such  pranl.ling  at  tournaments  !  such 
dmoiion  to  the  ladies!  such  courting  .n.'!  serenad- 

The  curiosity  of  Zayda  w.ts  fully  .iro\  sed.  fihe 
was  insatiable  in  her  in(|uiries,  and  drv..v  from  the 
duenna  the  most  animated  pictures  of  the  scenes  of 
ht-r  yiiutlitiil  days  and  native  land.  The  beautiful 
Zor  lyda  bridled  up,  and  slyly  rej^arded  herself  in  a 
mirror,  when  the  theme  turned  upon  the  charms  of 
the  Spanish  ladies ;  while  Zorahavda  suppressed  a 
struggling  sigh  at  the  mention  of  moonlight  sere- 
nades. 

Every  day  the  curious  Zayda  renewed  her  in- 
quiries; and  everyday  the  Kige  duenna  repeated  her 
Stones,  which  were  listened  to  with  unmoved  inte*-- 
est,  though  frequent  sighs,  by  her  gentle  auditors. 
The  discreet  old  woman  at  length  aw.ikened  to  the 
mischief  she  migiu  be  doing.  She  had  been  ac- 
customed to  think  of  the  princesses  only  as  children, 
but  they  had  imperceptibly  tipencd  beneath  her  eye, 
nn  1  nokv  bloomed  before  her  three  lovely  damsels  ol 
ihc  marri.igeable  age. — It  is  time,  thought  the 
i  lenna,  to  give  notice  to  the  king. 

iMvih  lined  the  left-handed  was  sented  one  mom- 
Mi^;  1)11  a  divan  in  one  of  the  court  hails  of  the  Al- 
bar.i!)ra,  when  a  noble  arrived  Irom  the  fortress  of 
Salolirefla,  with  a  message  from  the  sage  Cadiga, 
congratulating  him  on  the  anniversary  of  his 
daughters'  birth-day.  The  slave  at  the  same  time 
presented  a  delicate  little  basket  decorated  with 
flowers,  within  which,  on  a  couch  of  vine  and  fig 
leaves,  lay  a  peach,  an  apricot,  and  a  nectarine,  with 
their  blojin  and  d(jwn,  and  dewy  sweetness  upon 
them,  and  all  in  the  early  stage  of  tempting  ripeness. 
The  monarch  was  versed  in  the  oriental  language 
of  fruits  and  llowers,  and  readily  divined  the  mean- 
ing of  this  emblematical  offering. 

"  So  !  "  said  he,  "  the  critical  period  pointed  out 
by  the  astrologers  is  arrived. — My  daughters  are  at 
a  marriageable  age.  Wh.it  is  to  be  done  ?  They  are 
shut  up  from  the  eyes  of  men, — they  are  under  the 
eye  of  the  discreet  Cadiga — all  very  good — but  still 
they  are  not  under  my  own  eye,  as  was  prescribed 
by  the  astrologers. — '  1  must  gather  them  under  my 
wing,  and  trust  to  no  other  guardianship."  " 

So  saying,  he  ordered  that  a  lower  of  the  Alham- 
bra  should  be  prepared  for  their  reception,  and  de- 
F'.rteff  at  the  head  of  his  guards  for  the  fortress  of 
a;ilol)refia,  to  conduct  them  home  in  person. 

Atxjut  three  years  had  elapsed  since  Mohamed 
tu(t  lieheld  his  daughters,  and  he  could  scarcely 
credit  hli  eyes  at  the  wonderful  change  which  that 
iniall  space  of  time  had  made  in  their  ap|)earance. 
Dming  the  interval  they  h.nd  passed  that  wondrous 
boiniiary  line  in  female  V(c,  which  separates  the 
crude,  unformed  and  thoughtless  girl  from  the  bloom- 
ing, blushing,  meditative  woman.  It  is  like  passing 
from  the  Hat,  bleak,  uninteresting  plains  of  La 
Mancha  to  the  voluptuous  valleys  and  swelling  hills 
of  Andalusia. 

Zayda  was  tall  and  finely  formed,  with  a  lofty  de- 


tneanour  and  a  penetrating  tje.  She  entered  with 
a  stately  and  decided  step,  and  made  a  profound 
reverence  to  Mohamed,  treating  him  more  as  h'er 
sovereign  than  her  father.  Zorayda  was  of  the 
middle  height,  with  an  alluring  look  and  swimming 
gait,  and  a  sparkling  beauty  heightened  by  the  as- 
sistance of  the  toilette.  She  approached  her  father 
with  a  smile,  kissed  his  hand,  and  saluted  him  witk 
several  stanzas  from  a  popular  Arabian  poet,  willj 
which  the  monarch  was  delighted.  Zorahayda  was 
shy  and  timid  ;  smaller  than  her  sisters,  and  with  a 
beauty  of  that  tender,  beseeching  kind  which  looks 
for  fondness  and  protecticn.  She  was  little  fitted  to 
command  like  her  elde"-  s.ster,  or  to  dazzle  like  the 
second ;  but  was  rather  formed  to  creep  to  the 
bosom  of  manly  affection,  to  nestle  within  it.  and  be 
content.  She  drew  near  her  father  with  a  timid  and 
almost  faltering  step,  and  would  have  taken  his  hand 
to  kiss,  but  on  looking  up  into  his  lace,  and  seeing  it 
beaming  with  a  paternal  smile,  the  tenderness  of  her 
nature  broke  forth,  and  she  threw  herself  upon  his 
neck. 

Mohamed,  the  left-handed,  surveyed  his  blooming 
daughters  with  mingled  pride  and  perplexity  ;  for 
while  he  exulted  in  their  charms,  he  bethought  hin> 
self  of  the  prediction  of  the  astrologers.  "  Three 
daughters  ! — three  daughters  !  "  muttered  he,  re- 
peatedly to  himself,  "  and  all  of  a  marriageable  age  ' 
Here's  tempting  hespenan  fruit,  that  requires  a 
dragon  watch  ' " 

He  prepared  for  his  return  to  Granada,  by  send 
ing  her.ilds  before  him,  comn^anding  every  one  to 
keep  out  o«f  the  road  by  which  he  was  to  pass,  and 
that  all  doors  and  windows  should  be  .Icstd  at  the 
approach  of  the  princesses.  This  done,  he  set  forth 
escorted  by  a  troop  of  black  horsenien  of  hidcoiu 
aspect,  and  clad  in  shining  armour. 

The  princesses  rode  beside  the  king,  closely  veiled, 
on  beautiful  white  palfreys,  with  velvet  caparisons 
embroidered  with  gold,  and  sweeping  the  ground ; 
the  bits  and  stirrups  were  of  gold,  and  the  silken 
bridles  adorned  with  pearls  ami  precious  stones. 
The  palfreys  were  covered  with  little  silver  bells  that 
made  the  most  musical  tinkling  as  they  ambled 
gently  along.  Wo  to  the  unlucky  wight,  however, 
who  lingered  in  the  way  when  he  heard  the  tinkling 
of  these  bells — the  guards  were  ordered  to  cut  him 
down  without  mercy. 

The  cavalcade  was  drawing  near  to  Granada, 
when  it  overtook,  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Xenil,  a 
small  body  of  Moorish  soldiers,  with  a  convoy  of 
prisoners.  It  was  too  late  for  the  soldiers  to  get  out 
of  the  way,  so  they  threw  themselves  on  their  faces 
on  the  earth,  ordering  their  captives  to  do  the  like. 
Among  the  prisoners,  were  the  three  identical  cava- 
liers wnom  the  princesses  had  seen  from  the  pavilion. 
They  either  did  not  understand,  or  were  too  naughty 
to  obey  the  order  a"d  remained  standing  and  gazing 
upon  the  cavalcade  as  it  approached. 

The  ire  of  the  monarch  was  kindled  at  this  fla- 
grant defiance  of  his  orders,  and  he  determined  to 
punish  it  with  his  own  hand.  Drawing  his  scintitar 
and  pressing  forward,  he  was  about  to  deal  a  lelt- 
handed  blow,  that  would  have  been  fatal  to  at  least 
one  of  the  gazers,  when  the  princesses  crowded 
round  him,  and  implored  mercy  for  the  prisoners  ; 
even  .the  timid  Zoraliaytla  forgot  her  shyness  and 
became  eIoi|uent  in  their  "lehalf.  Mohamed  paused, 
with  upliftetl  scimitar,  wiion  the  captain  of  the  guard 
threw  himself  at  his  feet.  "  Let  not  you»  majesty," 
said  he,  "  do  a  deed  that  may  cause  great  scandal 
throughout  the  kingdom.  "These  are  three  brave 
and  noble  Spanish  knights  who  have  been  taken  in 
battle,  fighting  like  lions ;  they  are  ot  high  birth 
and  may  bring  great  ransoms.' 


*  1;  ■■ 


l^r 


189 


WORKS  01    WASHINGTON   i.tVING. 


■■■  **:■ 


"Enough,"  said  the  king;  "I  will  spare  their 
lives,  but  punish  their  audacity — let  them  be  taken  to 
the  Vermilion  towers  and  put  to  hard  labour." 

Mohamed  was  making  one  of  his  usual  left-handed 
blunders.  In  the  tumult  and  agitation  of  this  blus- 
tering scene,  the  veils  of  the  three  princesses  had 
Dcen  thrown  back,  and  the  radiance  of  their  beauty 
revealed  ;  tnd  in  prolonging  the  parley,  the  king 
had  given  that  beauty  time  to  have  its  full  effect.  In 
k  )se  days,  people  fell  in  love  much  more  suddenly 
bnn  at  present,  as  all  ancient  stories  make  manilest ; 
it  is  not  a  matter  of  wonder,  therefore,  that  the 
hearts  of  the  three  cavaliers  were  completely  capti- 
vjtted ;  especially  as  gratitude  was  added  to  their 
admiration  :  it  is  a  little  singular,  however,  though 
no  less  certain,  that  each  of  them  was  enraptured 
with  a  several  beauty.  As  to  the  princesses,  they 
were  more  than  ever  struck  with  the  nol)le  demean- 
our of  the  captives,  and  cherished  in  their  hearts  all 
that  they  had  heard  of  their  valour  and  noble  lineage. 

The  cavalcade  resumed  its  march;  the  three  prin- 
cesses rode  pensively  along  on  their  tinkling  pal- 
freys, now  and  tlu-n  stealing  a  glance  behind  in 
search  of  the  Christian  captives,  and  the  latter  were 
conducted  to  their  allotted  prison  in  the  Vermilion 
towers.  , 

The  residence  provided  for  the  princesses,  was  one 
of  the  most  dainiv  that  fancy  could  devise.  It  was 
in  a  tower  somewhat  apart  from  the  main  palace  of 
the  Alhambra,  though  connected  with  it  by  the  main 
wall  that  encircled  the  whole  summit  of  the  hill.  On 
one  side  it  looked  into  the  interior  of  the  fortress, 
and  had  at  its  loot  a  small  garden  filled  with  the 
rarest  flowers.  On  the  other  side  it  overlooked  a 
deep  embowered  ravine,  th.at  separated  the  grounds 
of  the  Alhambra  from  those  of  the  C.eneraliffe.  The 
interior  of  the  towbr  was  divided  into  small  fairy 
apartments,  beautifully  ornamented  in  the  light 
Aiabian  style,  surrounding  a  lofty  hall,  the  vaulted 
sroof  of  which  rose  almost  to  the  summit  of  the  tower. 
The  vails  and  ceiling  of  the  hall  were  adorned  with 
araljesques  and  fret-work  sparkling  with  gold,  and 
with  brilliant  i>encilling.  In  the  centre  of  the  marble 
pavement,  was  an  alabaster  fountain,  set  round  with 
aromatic  shrubs  and  (lowers,  and  throwing  up  a  jet 
of  water  that  cooled  the  whole  edifice  and  had  a 
lulling  sound.  Round  the  hall  were  suspended  cages 
of  gold  and  silver  wire,  containing  singing  birds  of 
the  finest  plumage  or  sweetest  note. 

The  princesses  having  been  represented  as  always 
cheerful  when  in  the  castle  of  Salobreila,  the  king 
had  expected  to  see  them  enraptured  with  the  Al- 
hambra. To  his  surprise,  h  .vever,  they  began  to 
pine,  and  grew  green  and  melancholy,  and  dissatis- 
fied with  every  thing  around  them.  The  flowers 
yielded  them  no  fragrance  ;  the  song  of  the  night- 
ingale disturbed  their  night's  rest,  and  they  were 
out  of  all  patience  with  the  alabaster  fountain,  with 
its  eternal  drop,  drop,  and  sjilash,  splash,  from  morn- 
ing till  night,  and  from  night  till  morning. 

The  king,  who  was  somewhat  of  a  testy,  tyranni- 
cal old  man,  took  this  at  first  in  high  dudgt-on  ;  but 
he  reflected  that  his  daughters  had  arrived  at  an  age 
whin  the  female  mind  expands  and  its  desires  aug- 
iT.cat.  "They  are  no  longtr  children,"  said  he  to 
iiimself;  "they  are  women  grown,  and  retjuire  suit- 
ible  objects  to  interest  them."  He  put  in  requisi- 
tirn,  therefore,  all  the  dress  makers,  and  the  jewel- 
lers, and  the  artificers  in  gold  and  silver  throughout 
the  Zacatin  of  Granada,  and  the  princesses  were 
ovei-whelmed  with  robes  of  silk,  and  of  tissue  and 
of  brocade,  and  cachemire  shawls,  and  necklaces  of 
pearls,  and  diamonds,  and  rings,  and  bracelets,  and 
anklets,  and  all  manner  of  precious  things. 

All.  however,  was  of  no  av^il.    The  princesses 


continued  pale  and  languid  in  the  midst  oi  ths'i 
finery,  and  looked  like  three  blighted  rose  biiili, 
drooping  from  one  stalk.  The  king  was  at  his  wit's 
end.  He  had  in  general  a  laudable  confidence  in 
his  own  judgment,  and  never  took  advice.  •■  The 
whims  and  caprices  of  three  marriageable  damsds, 
however,  are  sufficient,"  said  he,  "  to  puzzle  the 
shrewdest  head." — So,  for  once  in  his  life,  he  c«iirj 
in  the  aid  of  counsel. 

The  person  to  whom  he  ap'.l;«'lwas  the  expcii. 
enced  duenna. 

"Cadiga,"  said  the  king,  "1  know  you  to  be  one 
of  the  most  discreet  women  in  the  whole  world,  .a 
well  as  one  of  the  most  trustworthy;  for  these  na- 
sons.  1  have  always  continued  you  about  the  perscjiia 
of  my  daughters.  Fathers  cannot  be  too  wary  in 
whom  they  repose  such  confidence.  1  now  wish  yuu 
to  find  out  the  secret  malady  that  is  preying  ii|n)n 
the  princesses,  and  to  devise  some  nteans  of  resuir- 
ing  them  to  health  and  cheerfulness." 

Cadiga  promised  iniplicil  obedience.  In  fact,  she 
knew  more  of  the  malady  of  the  princesses  thin 
they  did  themselves.  Shutting  herself  up  uati 
them,  however,  she  endeavoured  to  insmuate  hu- 
self  into  their  confidence. 

'  My  dear  children,  what  is  the  reason  you  a»c  so 
oismai'  and  downc.Lst,  in  so  beautiful  a  place,  wlit-re 
you  have  every  thing  that  heart  can  wish  i*  " 

The  princesses  looked  vacantly  round  the  ap.irt 
ment,  and  sighed. 

"  \Vhat  more,  then,  would  you  have?  Shall  I  yp' 
you  the  wonderful  parro.  that  talks  all  languages, 
anil  is  the  delight  of  Granada  ?  " 

"CXlious!"  exclaimed  the  prmcess  Zayd.a.  A 
horrid  screar^'ng  bird  that  chatters  woids  with  )•;• 
ideas  !  One  lu^A  be  without  brains  to  tolerate  siirii 
a  iiest." 

"  Shall  I  send  for  a  monkey  from  the  rock  of  (i.lv 
raltar,  to  divert  you  with  his  antics?  " 

"  A  monkey  !  faugh  !  "  cried  Zorayda,  "  the  dc- 
testable  mimic  of  man.  1  hate  the  nauseous 
animal." 

"  What  say  you  to  the  famovs  black  singer.  Casein, 
from  the  roval  harem  in  Morocco.  They  say  he  has 
a  voice  as  fine  as  a  woman's." 

••  1  am  terrified  at  the  sight  of  these  black  slaves, " 
said  the  delicate  Zorahayda  ;  "  beside,  I  have  lost  ail 
relish  for  music." 

"  Ah,  my  child,  you  would  not  say  so,"  replied  the 
old  wotnan,  slyly,  "  had  you  heard  the  music  1  luanl 
last  evening,  from  the  three  Spanish  cavaliers  wiiuin 
we  met  on  our  journey — Hut  bless  me,  childr'iil 
what  is  the  matter  that  you  blush  so,  and  are  in  mch 
a  flutter?" 

"  Nothing,  nothing,  good  mother,  pray  proceeil." 

"  Well — as  1  was  |iassing  by  the  Vermilion  tow- 
ers, last  evening,  1  saw  the  three  cavaliers  resting 
alter  their  day's  labour.  One  was  playing  on  ini 
guitar  so  gracefully,  and  the  others  sang  by  turns 
and  they  did  it  in  such  style,  that  the  very  guauf 
seemed  like  statues  or  men  enchanted.  Allah  lo- 
give  me,  1  could  not  help  being  moved  at  heam^ 
the  songs  of  my  native  country, — And  then  tc  :  ti 
three  such  noble  and  handsome  youths  in  chains  and 
slavery." 

Here  the  kind-hearted  old  woman  rould  not  ro 
stram  her  tears. 

"  l*erhaps,  mother,  you  could  manage  to  procure 
us  a  sight  of  these  cavaliers,"  said  Zayda. 

"  I  think,"  said  Zorayda,  "  a  little  mMsic  would  t)C 
quite  reviving." 

The  timid  Zorahayda  said  nothing,  but  threw  iiu 
arms  round  the  neck  of  Cadiga. 

"  Mercy  on  me ! "  exclaimed  the  discreet  cW 
woman;  "what  are  you  talking  of,  my  childrea? 


THE   ALHAMBKA. 


1&8 


ock  of  (j.l> 


ould  not  ro 


lut  threw  iiei 


Vour  father  would  he  the  death  of  us  all,  if  he  heard 
of  such  a  thing.  To  be  sure,  these  cavaliers  are 
evidfii'ly  well-bred  and  high-minded  youths  —  but 
what  of  that  I  they  are  the  enemies  of  our  faith,  and 
you  must  not  even  thinl<  of  them,  but  with  abhor- 
rence. 

There  is  an  admirable  intrepidity  in  the  female 
will,  particularly  aljout  the  niarri  igeable  age.  which 
is  not  to  be  deterred  by  dangers  and  proliibitions. 
The  pr.ncesses  hung  round  their  old  duenna,  and 
,i;\xt'(i  and  entreated,  and  declared  that  a  refusal 
ivjiilil  break  their  hearts.  What  could  she  do?  She 
was  certainly  the  most  discreet  old  woman  in  the 
wSiole  world,  and  one  of  the  most  faithful  servants 
(0  the  king — but  was  she  to  see  three  be.-iutiful  prin- 
cesses break  their  hearts  for  the  mere  tinkling  of  a 
^ruitar?  Heside,  though  she  had  been  so  long  among 
the  Moors,  and  changed  her  faith,  in  imllatiun  of  lier 
nusiress,  like  a  trusty  follower,  yet  she  was  a  Sjwn- 
iaril  born,  and  had  the  lingcrings  ot  Chrisuaniiy  in 
her  heart.  So  she  set  about  to  contrive  how  the 
wisiii's  of  the  princesses  might  be  gratified. 

l  he  Christian  captives  confined  in  the  Vermilion 
towt is,  were  under  the  charge  of  a  big-whiskered, 
hroatl-shoulderetl  renegado,  called  Hussein  Halia, 
who  was  reported  to  have  a  most  itching  palm.  She 
went  to  him,  privately,  and  slipping  a  broad  piece  of  j 
gold  into  his  hand,  "  Hussein  liaba,"  said  she,  "  my 
luiitresses,  the  three  princesses,  who  are  shut  up  in 
tlie  tower,  and  in  sad  want  of  amusement,  have 
he, 11(1  of  the  musical  talents  of  the  three  Sjjanish 
cavaliers,  and  are  desirous  of  hearing  a  specimen  of 
their  skill.  I  am  sure  you  are  tix)  kind-heaned  to 
rehise  '.hem  so  innocent  a  gratification." 

■•  What,  and  to  have  my  head  set  grinning  over 
the  gate  of  my  own  tower — for  that  would  be  tlie 
r;w  ird;  if  the  king  should  rliscover  it  " 

"  No  danger  of  any  thing  ot  the  kind  ;  the  affair 
n,iv  ^°  managed  so  that  the  whim  of  the  princesses 
ji.'.;  be  gratified,  and  their  father  be  never  the  wiser. 
Vol.  know  the  deep  ravine  outside  of  the  walls,  that 
passes  immediately  below  the  tower.  I'ut  the  three 
("hnstians  to  work  there,  and  at  the  intervals  of 
t'.-.eir  labour  let  them  play  and  sing,  as  if  for  their 
own  recreation.  In  this  way,  the  princesses  will  be 
ahle  to  hear  them  from  the  windows  ot  the  tower, 
ami  you  may  be  sure  of^their  paying  well  for  your 
.oiupliance." 

As  the  good  old  woman  concluded  her  harangue, 
she  kindly  pressed  the  rough  hand  of  the  renegado, 
inil  lelt  within  it  another  piece  of  gold. 

Her  eloquence  was  irresistible.  The  very  next 
(lay  the  three  cavaliers  were  put  to  work  in  the  ra- 
vine. During  the  noon-tide  iieat  when  their  fellow 
lahoiuers  were  sleeping  in  the  shade,  and  the  guard 
noilile'!  drowsily  at  his  post,  they  seated  themselves 
among  the  herbage  at  the  foot  of  the  tower,  aixl 
sang  a  Spanish  roundelay  to  the  accompaniment  of 
the  (guitar. 

The  glen  was  deep,  the  tower  was  high,  hut  their 
voires  rose  distinctly  in  the  stillness  of  the  summer 
noon.  The  princesses  lis-  •  -ed  I'rom  their  balcony  : 
they  had  been  taught  the  Spanish  language  by  their 
duenna,  and  were  moved  by  the  lenderness  of  the 
wng. 

The  discreet  Cadiga,  on  the  contrary,  was  terribly 
iliocketl.  "Allah  preserve  us,"  cried  she,  "they 
ye  siiig'ng  a  love  ditty  addresserl  tr  vourselves, — 
iid  ever  mortal  hear  of  such  audacity?  1  will  run 
to  the  slave  master  and  have  them  soumlly  basti- 
nadoed." 

"  What,  bastinado  such  gall.ant  cavaliers  ::,id  for 
singing  so  charmingly  !  "  The  thre-  oeautiful  prin- 
cesses were  filled  with  horror  at  the  idea.  With  all 
her  virtuous  indignation,  the  good  old  woman  was 


of  a  placable  nature  and  easily  appeased.  Beside, 
the  music  seemed  to  have  a  beneficial  etfe:t  upon 
her  young  mistresses.  A  rosy  bloom  had  already 
come  to  their  cheeks,  and  their  eyes  began  to 
sparkle.  .She  m.ide  no  farther  objection,  therefoie, 
to  the  amorous  ditty  of  the  cavaliers. 

When  it  was  finished,  the  princesses  remained 
silent  for  a  time  ;  at  length  Zorayda  took  up  a  lute, 
and  with  a  sweet,  though  faint  and  trembling  voice 
warbled  a  little  Arabian  air,  the  burden  of  whicl 
was,  "The  'ose  is  conce.iled  among  her  leaves, 
but  she  liste-.iS  with  delif  ht  to  the  song  of  the  night- 
ingale." 

From  this  time  forward  the  cavaliers  worked 
almost  daily  in  the  ravine.  The  considerate  Hussein 
Haba  became  more  and  more  indulgent,  and  daily 
more  prone  to  sleep  at  his  post.  For  some  time  a 
vague  intercourse  was  kept  up  by  popular  songs  and 
romances ;  which  in  some  measure  responded  to 
e.ach  other,  and  breathed  the  feelings  of  the  parties. 
Uy  degrees  the  |)rincesses  showed  themselves  at  tha 
balcony,  when  they  could  do  so  without  being  per» 
ceived  by  the  guards.  They  conversed  with  the 
cavaliers  al.so  by  means  of  flowers,  with  the  sym- 
bolical language  of  which  they  were  mutually  ac- 
(jiiainted :  the  didiculties  of  their  intercourse  added 
to  its  charms,  and  strengthened  the  passion  they 
had  so  singularly  conceived ;  for  love  delights  to 
struggle  with  diificulties,  and  thrives  the  most 
hardily  on  the  scantiest  soil. 

The  change  effected  in  the  looks  and  spirits  ot 
the  princesses  by  this  secret  intercourse,  surprised 
and  gratified  the  left-handed  king;  but  no  one  W3I 
more  elated  than  the  discreet  Cailig.a,  who  considei' 
ed  it  all  owing  to  her  able  management. 

At  length  there  was  an  interruption  in  this  telch 
graphic  correspondence,  for  several  days  the  cavalien 
ceased  to  make  their  appearance  in  the  glen.  The 
three  beautiful  princesses  looked  out  from  the  towei 
in  vain. — In  vain  they  stretched  their  swan-like  necks 
from  the  balcony ;  in  vain  they  sang  like  captive 
nightingales  in  their  cage;  nothing  was  to  be  seen 
of  their  Christian  lovers,  not  a  note  resfKnided  from 
the  groves.  The  discreet  Cadiga  sallied  forth  in 
quest  of  intelligence,  and  soon  relumed  with  a  face 
full  of  trouble.  "Ah,  my  children  !  "  cried  she,  "  1 
saw  what  all  this  would  come  to,  but  you  would 
have  your  »vay  ;  you  may  now  hang  up  your  lutes 
on  the  willows.  The  Spanish  cavaliers  are  ransomed 
by  their  families;  they  are  down  in  Granada,  and 
preparing  to  return  to  their  native  country." 

The  three  beautiful  princesses  were  in  despair  at 
the  tidings.  The  fair  Z.ayda  was  indignant  at  the 
slight  put  upon  them,  in  being  thus  deserted  witnout 
a  parting  word.  Zorayda  wrung  her  hands  and 
cried,  and  looked  in  the  glass,  and  wiped  away  her 
tears,  and  cried  afresh.  The  gentle  Zorahayda 
leaned  over  the  balcony,  and  wept  in  silence,  and 
her  tears  fell  drop  by  drop,  among  thi;  flowers  of  the 
bank  where  the  faithless  cavaliers  had  so  often  been 
seated. 

The  discreet  Cadiga  did  all  in  her  power  to 
sooth  their  sorrow.  "Take  comfort,  my  chihhtn," 
said  she  ;  "  this  is  nothing  when  you  are  used  to  it. 
This  is  the  way  of  the  world.  Ah,  when  you  are  aj 
old  as  I  am,  you  will  know  how  to  value  these  men, 
I'll  warrant  these  cavaliers  have  their  loves  among 
the  Spanish  beauties  of  Cordova  and  Seville,  and  will 
soon  be  serenading  under  their  balconies,  and  think- 
ing no  more  of  the  Moorish  beauties  in  *he  Alham- 
bra. — Take  comfort,  ^heretbre,  my  children,  and 
drive  tin.r.1  from  your  hearts." 

The  comlbrting  words  nf  the  discreet  Cadiga  only 
redoubled  the  distress  of  the  princesses,  and  for  two 
days  they  continued  inconsolable.    Ou  the  morning 


184 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


If-. ', . 


I'll  \.^ 


f 


(ji;' 


their 


of  the   tliiH.  the  good  old  woman  entered 
apartment  all  rulllint;  with  indij^nation. 

"  Who  \v();;l(l  have  believed  such  insolence  in 
moitnl  tiinii  ?  "  evrl  liined  she,  as  soon  as  she  could 
find  words  to  express  herself ;"  but  1  am  riijhtly 
SeiTeii  tor  having,'  connived  at  this  deception  of  your 
worthy  father — never  talk  more  to  me  of  your  Span- 
ish cavaliers." 

"  VVhy,  wliat  has  h.'ip|)ened,  jjood  Cadiffa?"  e.\- 
iUii.ned  the  princ  esses,  in  breathless  anxiety. 

"  \\  hat  has  happened  }  treason  has  happened  ! — 
or  what  is  almost  as  bad.  treason  has  been  proposed 
— and  to  n. '^ — the  laithfultst  of  subjects  — the  trustiest 
ol  duennas  —yes,  my  children— the  Spanish  cavaliers 
have  ilared  to  tamper  with  me;  that  I  should  per- 
suade you  to  tly  vvith  them  to  Cordova,  and  become 
thsir  wives." 

Here  the  excellent  old  woman  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands,  and  gave  way  to  a  violent  burst  ot 
grief  and  indif,'nation. 

The  three  beautiful  princesses  turned  pale  ancl 
red,  and  trenililed,  and  looked  down;  and  cast  shy 
looks  at  each  other,  but  said  nothing;  meantime, 
the  old  woman  sal  rockiii>;  backward  and  tbrward 
in  violent  a^'itation,  and  now  and  then  breaking  out 
into  exclam.itions — "  That  ever  I  should  live  to  be 
so  insulted— I,  the  faithiulest  of  servants  !  " 

At  len>;th  the  eldest  iirincess.  who  had  most 
spirit,  and  alw.iys  took  the  lead,  approached  her. 
and  la\ing  her  hand  upon  her  shoulder — "Well, 
mother,"  said  she,  •■su|)|)osing  we  were  willing  to 
fly  with  these  Christi.m  cavaliers — is  such  a  thing 
possible  ?  " 

The  gooil  old  woman  paused  sudilenly  in  her 
erief,  and  looking  up — "  Possible  !  "  echoed  she.  "  to 
DC  sure  it  is  possible.  Have  not  the  cavaliers  al- 
ready bribed  Hussein  Haha,  the  renegado  captain  of 
Ihe  guard,  and  arranged  the  whole  pl.in  ? — Hut  tln-n 
to  tliink  of  deceiving  your  father — your  father,  who 
has  pl.aced  such  confidence  in  me  ? '' 

Here  the  worthy  old  woman  gave  way  to  a  fresh 
3u>st  of  grief,  and  began  again  to  rock  backwards 
and  forwards,  and  to  wring  h';r  hands. 

"  But  our  fatluT  has  lever  placed  any  confidence 
in  us,"  said  the  eldest  princess ;  "  but  h.as  trusted  to 
bolts  and  bars,  and  treated  us  as  ca|)tives." 

"  Why^ihat  is  trueenoui;^h,"  nplied  the  old  wom.an, 
again  pausing  in  her  grid' — "  He  has  indeed  treated 
you  most  unreasonably.  Keeping  y  lu  shut  up  here 
to  waste  your  bloom  in  a  mo|)ing  old  tower,  like  roses 
left  to  wither  in  a  llower  jar.  But  then  to  tly  from 
your  native  land." 

"  And  is  not  the  land  we  fly  to,  the  native  land  of 
our  mother;  where  we  shall  live  in  freedom.' — and 
shall  we  not  each  have  a  youihl'ul  husband  in  ex- 
change for  a  severe  old  father  ?  " 

"Wiiy,  that  again  is  all  very  true— and  your  father, 
I  must  confess,  is  rather  tyrannical. — Hut  what  thtm" 
— relapsing  into  her  grief — "  would  you  leavs  me  be- 
hind to  i)ear  the  brunt  of  his  vengeance  .■•  " 

"By  no  means,  my  good  Cadiga.  Cannot  you  fly 
with  us?  " 

"  Vcvj-  true,  my  child,  and  to  tell  the  truth,  when 
( talked  the  matter  over  with  Hussein  Haba,  he  prom- 
ise.l  to  t.ike  care  of  me  if  I  would  accompany  you 
■JV  your  lliglu  :  but  then,  bethink  you.  my  children  ; 
ire  you  wiilinij  to  renounce  the  faith  of  your 
I'atl  er  ? " 

"  The  Christian  faith  was  the  original  faith  of  our 
mother,"  said  the  eldest  princess ;  "  I  am  ready  to 
efiibrace  it ;  and  so  I  am  sure  ;ire  my  sisters." 

"  Right  again  ! "  exclaimed  the  old  woman,  bright- 
ening up.  '•  It  was  the  original  faith  of  your  mother  ; 
and  bitterly  did  she  lament,  on  her  death-bed,  that 
the  had  renounced  iu     1  promised  her  then  to  take 


n  tc 
m  a 


■•nil 

!:ci'. 

■  iin- 

-ail 


care  of  your  souls,  and  [  atn  rejoiced  to  sec  th ;:  !h»i 
are  now  in  a  fair  way  to  be  saveil.  Yes,  my  chilin-n 
I  too  was  bom  a  Christian— and  have  always  Ivnia 
Christian  in  mv  heart  ;  and  am  resolved  to  reli 
the  faith.  I  have  talketi  on  the  subject  with  H, 
Baba,  who  is  a  Sjianiard  by  birth,  and  comes  li 
place  not  far  from  my  native  town.  He  is  e; 
anxious  to  si-e  his  own  country  and  to  be  recoi 
to  the  church,  and  the  cavaliers  have  proir.'sed 
if  we  are  disposed  to  become  man  and  ui, 
returning  to  our  n.iiive  land,  they  will  |)rovi,le  i 
handsomi'ly." 

In  a  word,  it  appeared  that  this  extremely 
creet  and  provident  old  woman  had  consulinl 
the  cav.diers  and  the  reiu-gado,  and  had  i:om( 
the  whoii'  plan  ol  escape.  The  eldest  prince^- 
meili.itely  assented  to  it,  and  her  example  as 
determined  the  conduct  of  her  sisters.  It  is 
the  youngest  hesitated,  tor  she  was  gentle  and  mmiuI 
of  soul,  and  there  was  a  struggle  in  her  bos(ji!  iip. 
tween  hlial  feeling  and  youthful  passion,  Thel.iMfir 
however,  as  usual,  g.iined  the  victory,  and  \:-:\ 
sili'tn  tears  and  stitied  sighs  she  prepared  herse'i  loi 
flight. 

The  rugged  hill  on  whic-h  the  Alh.nmbra  is  Imili 
was  in  old  limes  perforated  with  subl;  rranean  pis- 
sages,  cut  through  the  rock,  and  leading  from  the 
I'ortress  to  various  parts  of  the  city,  and  to  <li-.iani 
s.dly-ports  on  the  b.mks  ol  the  Oarro  and  the  X  nil. 
They  h.id  been  constructed  at  dilferent  times,  1)\  ;he 
Moorish  kings,  .is  me.ms  of  esc.ipe  from  sudili  ii  iii' 
surrection,  or  of  secretly  issuing  forih  on  pru,,tf 
enterprises.  Many  of  tiiem  are  now  entirely  ln^l, 
while  others  remain,  partly  choked  up  with  ruh :>isi), 
and  partly  walled  up  —monuments  of  the  je.vl-iuj 
precautions  and  warlike  str.itagenis  of  ihe  .Mu'Tish 
government.  By  one  of  these  pass.iges,  Hii.^-in 
Baba  had  undertaken  to  conduct  the  pnncefses  toj 
sally-port  beyond  the  walls  of  the  city,  where  the 
cavaliers  were  to  be  ready  with  fleet  steeds  to  i^a: 
them  all  over  the  borders. 

The  ai)i)ointed  night  arrived.  The  tower  of  -hi; 
princesses  had  been  locked  up  as  usual,  and  the  Al- 
hambra  was  buried  in  deep  sleep.  Towards  inid- 
night  the  discreet  Cadiga  listened  from  ;i  balcony  ul  a 
window  that  looked  into  the  garden.  Hussein  I'-aiia, 
the  reneg.ado,  was  already  below,  and  gave  the  ap- 
pointed signal.  The  duenna  fastened  the  end  i.r  a 
ladder  of  ropes  to  the  balcony,  lowered  it  into  ilie 
garden,  and  descended.  The  two  eldest  princesse? 
followed  her  with  beating  hearts;  but  when  it  L.iiiie 
to  the  turn  of  the  youngest  princess,  Zorahayda,  sht 
hesitated  .and  trembled.  Several  times  she  vent.iai 
a  delicate  little  foot  upon  the  ladder,  and  as  o.'<"i 
drew  it  back  ;  while  her  poor  little  heart  fluttered  mi  re 
and  more  the  longer  she  delaye<l.  She  cast  a  w-^tiul 
look  b.ick  into  the  silken  chamber;  she  h.id  lived  ni 
it,  to  be  sure,  like  a  bird  in  a  cage,  but  within  it  shu 
w.as  secure— who  could  not  tell  wliat  danjjers  m;.;(it 
beset  her  should  she  flutter  forth  into  the  wide  wi'  i'l  ? 
Now  she  bethought  her  of  her  gal'.cnt  Chrisnan 
lover,  and  her  little  foot  was  instantly  upon  the  U-d- 
der,  and  anon  she  thought  of  her  lather,  and  slinink 
back.  But  fruitless  is  the  attempt  to  describe  li:;: 
conllict  in  the  bosom  of  one  so  young,  and  teni'.sr, 
and  loving,  but  so  timid  and  so  ignorant  ol  ihi: 
world.  In  vain  her  sisters  implored,  the  duenra 
scolded,  and  the  renegailo  blasphemed  beneath  il.c 
balcony.  The  gentle  little  Moorish  maid  stiK)d 
doubting  and  wavering  on  the  verge  of  elopement 
temjited  by  the  sweetness  of  the  sin,  but  terrified  at 
its  perils. 

Kvery  moment  increased  the  danger  of  discovery. 
A  distant  tramp  was  heard. — "  The  p^ttruls  are  w.ilk 
ing  the  rounds,"  cried  the  renegado;  "if  we  lin^it; 


^m-\ 


THE   A  LH  AM  BRA. 


I8S 


tower  of  'ht 


Kjncrr  we  perish— princess,  descend  instantly,  or  we 

Ici''  vou." 

/ .  r.ihayd.i  was  for  a  moment  in  fearful  agitation, 
th(ti  loosening  the  ladder  of  ropes,  with  desperate 
resolution  she  flung  it  from  the  balcony. 

'•  It  is  decided,'  cried  she,  "  flijjht  is  now  out  of 
^ly  power ! — Allah  guide  and  bless  ye,  my  dear  sis- 
ters ! " 

The  two  eldest  princesses  were  shocked  at  the 
tliouK'lits  of  leaving  her  behind,  and  would  fain  have 
lin).;-rcci,  but  the  patrol  was  advancing ;  the  rene- 
g.uUt  was  furious,  and  they  were  hurried  away  to 
the  subterraneous  passage.  They  groped  their  way 
thri'ii,;;li  a  fearful  labyrinth  cut  through  the  heart  of 
ihf  mountain,  and  succeeded  in  reaching,  undiscov- 
ert.ll.  an  iron  gate  that  opened  outside  of  the  walls. 
Tlir  Spanish  cavaliers  were  waitinfj  to  receive  them, 
disguised  as  Moorish  soldiers  of  the  guard  com- 
maiulcd  by  the  renegado. 

Tlic  lover  of  Zorahayda  was  frantic  when  he 
leaiii'td  that  she  h.id  refused  to  leave  the  tower; 
but  tlu-re  w.as  no  time  to  waste  in  lamentations. 
The  'WO  princesses  were  placed  behind  their  lovers  ; 
itif  discreet  Cadiga  mounted  behind  the  renegado, 
and  .ill  .set  off  at  a  round  pace  in  the  direction  of  the 
pass  of  Lope,  which  leads  through  the  mountains 
tow.irds  Cordova. 

1  hey  had  not  proceeded  far  when  they  heard  the 
noise  of  drums  and  trumpets  from  the  battlements 
,of  the  Alhambra.  "Our  flight  is  discovered,"  said 
the  reiie<,'ado.  "  We  have  fleet  steeds,  the  night  is 
dark,  and  we  may  distance  all  pursuit,"  replii.-d  the 
cav.ilii'rs. 

They  put  spurs  to  their  horses  and  scoured  across 
the  \'ega.  They  attained  to  the  foot  of  the  moun- 
tain of  Elvira,  which  stretches  like  a  promontorj- 
iuto  the  plain.  The  renegado  paused  and  listened. 
"As  yet,"  said  he,  "there  is  no  one  on  our  traces, 
we  shall  make  good  our  escape  to  the  mountains." 
While  he  spoke  a  ball  of  fire  sprang  up  in  a  light 
blaze  on  the  top  of  the  watch-tower  of  the  Al- 
hanihra. 

"  Confusion  !  "  cried  the  renegado,  "  that  fire  will 
put  all  the  guards  of  the  passes  on  the  alert. 
Away,  away,  spur  like  mad  ;  tnere  is  no  time  to  be 
lost.'* 

Away  they  d.ashed — the  clattering  of  their  horses' 
hoofs  echoed  from  rock  to  rock  as  they  swept  along 
the  road  that  skirts  the  rocky  mountain  ol  Elvira. 
.\s  they  galloped  on,  they  beheld  that  the  ball  of  tire 
of  the  Alhambra  was  answered  in  every  direction  ; 
light  after  light  blazed  on  the  atalayas  or  watch- 
towers  of  the  mountains. 

"  Korwaril !  forward  !  "  cried  the  renegado,  with 
many  an  oath — "to  the  bridge !— to  the  bridge! 
befiire  the  al.irm  has  reached  there." 

They  doid)led  the  promontory  of  the  mountain, 
aiul  arrived  in  sight  of  the  famous  Puente  del  I'inos, 
that  crosses  a  rushing  stream  often  dyed  with  Chris- 
tian and  Moslem  blood.  To  their  confusion  the 
tower  on  the  bridge  blazed  with  lights  and  glittereil 
with  armed  men.  The  renegado  pulled  up  his 
jteeil,  rose  in  his  stirnips  and  looked  about  him  for 
i  ninment,  then  beckoning  to  the  cavaliers  he  struck 
jif  from  the  road,  skirted  the  river  for  soine  dis- 
'jnre,  and  dashed  into  its  waters.  The  cavaliers 
c illeil  upon  the  princesses  to  cling  to  them,  and  did  the 
jMiae.  They  were  borne  for  some  distance  down  the 
lapid  current,  the  surges  roared  round  ther.,  but  the 
beautiful  prince.sses  cJung  to  their  Christian  knights 
and  never  ut'ered  a  complaint.  The  cavaliers  at- 
tained the  opposite  bank  in  safety,  and  were  con- 
Juciec  by  the  renegado,  by  rude  and  unfrequented 
paths,  and  wild  barrancos  through  the  heart  of  the 
mountains,  so  at  to  avoid  all  the  regular  passes.  In 
6 


a  word,  they  succeeded  in  reaching  the  ancient  citj 
of  Cordova  ;  when  their  restoration  to  their  couniry 
and  friends  was  celebrated  with  great  rejoicings, 
for  they  were  of  the  noblest  families.  The  beau- 
tiful princesses  were  forthwith  received  into  the 
bosom  of  the  church,  and  after  being  in  all  drit 
form  m.ide  regular  Christians,  were  rendered  hafj] 
lovers. 

In  our  hurry  to  make  good  the  escape  of  thr 
princesses  across  the  river  and  up  the  mountains 
we  forgot  to  mention  the  fate  of  the  discreet  Cadiga. 
She  had  clung  like  a  cat  to  Hussein  Haba,  in  the 
scamper  across  the  V'e;ga,  screaming  at  every  bound 
and  drawing  many  an  oath  from  the  whiskered 
renegado  ;  but  when  he  prepared  to  plunge  his  steed 
into  the  river  her  terror  knew  no  bounds. 

"Grasp  me  not  .so  tightly,"  cried  Hussein  Baba; 
"  hold  on  by  my  belt,  and  fe.tr  nothing." 

She  held  firmly  with  both  hands  by  the  leathern 
belt  that  girdeil  the  broad-backed  renegado ;  but 
when  he  halted  with  the  cavaliers  to  take  breath  on 
the  mountain  summit,  the  duenna  was  no  longer  to 
be  seen. 

"  What  has  become  of  Cadiga  ?  "  cried  the  prin- 
ce.sses in  alarm. 

"  I  know  not,"  replietl  the  renegado.  "  My  bell 
came  loose  in  the  midst  of  the  river,  and  Cadiga 
was  swept  with  it  down  the  stream.  The  will  of 
Allah  be  done  ! — but  it  was  an  embroidered  bell 
and  of  great  price  !  " 

There  was  no  time  to  waste  in  idle  reports,  yei 
bitterly  did  the  princesses  bewail  the  loss  of  their 
faithful  and  discreet  counsellor.  That  excellent  old 
woman,  however,  did  not  lose  more  than  half  of  hei 
nine  lives  in  the  stream. — A  fisherman  who  wai 
drawing  his  nets  some  distance  down  the  stream, 
brou'.4ht  her  to  land  and  was  not  a  little  astonished 
at  his  miraculous  draught.  What  farther  becanv: 
of  the  discreet  Cadiga,  the  legend  does  not  mention. 
— Certain  it  is,  that  she  evinced  her  discretion  in 
never  venturing  within  the  reach  of  Mohamed  the 
lett-handed. 

Almost  as  little  is  known  of  the  conduct  of  that 
sagacious  monarch,  when  he  discovered  the  escape 
of  his  daughters  and  the  deceit  practised  upon  him 
by  the  most  faithful  of  servants.  It  was  the  only  in- 
stance in  which  he  had  called  in  the  aid  of  counsel, 
and  he  was  never  aftirwards  known  to  be  guilty  of 
a  similar  weakne.ss.  He  took  good  care,  however, 
to  guard  his  remaining  daughter  ;  who  had  no  dis- 
positior.  to  eloiie.  It  is  thought,  indeed,  that  she 
secretly  repented  having  remained  behind.  Now 
and  then  she  was  seen  leaning  on  the  battlements 
of  the  tower  and  looking  mournfully  towards  the 
mountains,  in  the  flirection  of  Cordova;  and  some- 
times the  notes  of  her  lute  were  heard  accomp.-inying 
plaintive  ditties,  in  which  she  was  said  to  lament 
the  loss  of  her  sisters  and  -her  lover,  and  to  bewail 
her  solitary  life.  She  died  voting,  and,  according  to 
popular  rumour,  was  buried  in  a  vault  beneath  the 
tower,  and  her  untimely  fate  has  given  rise  to  niort 
than  one  traditionary  fable. 


LOCAL  TRADITIONS. 

The  common  people  of  Spain  have  an  oriental  pas. 
sion  for  sioiy-iellinK  and  are  fond  of  the  marvelloD& 
They  will  gather  niund  the  doors  of  their  cott.iieii  te 
summer  evenings,  or  in  the  great  cavernous  ctiiraney 
corners  of  their  ventas  in  the  winter,  and  listen  with 
insatialilc  delight  to  miraculous  Ic^'ends  of  saints,  per- 
ilous adventures  of  travellers,  and  daring  exploits  of 
rolihers  and  contrabandistas.  The  wild  and  solitary 
nature  of  a  great  pan  of  Spain  ;  the  imperfect  state  of 
knowledge  ;  the  scanuncss  of  general  topics  of  coo 


^ 


'r    a 


iSb 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON    IRVINU 


■■I.:..!' 


I  ■»  j^  ■ 


rnvv 


K'^^r'f 


r  r..-i 


veriailon,  «nd  ihe  ronidiitic,  adveniuroui  life  that  every 
one  leads  in  a  land  wliere  travelling  is  yet  in  its  prim- 
itive state,  all  contribute  to  clicriith  this  love  of  oral 
narration,  and  to  produce  a  stioiig  expression  of  the 
extravaj^ant  and  wonderful.  There  is  no  theme,  how- 
ever, more  prevalent  or  popular  than  that  of  treasures 
buried  Ly  the  Moors.  It  pervades  the  whole  country. 
In  traversing  thu  wild  SiiTrait,  the  scenes  of  ancient 
prey  and  exploit,  you  cannot  see  a  Moorish  atalaya  or 
watch  lower  perched  among  the  cliffs,  or  beetling 
tbove  its  rock-built  village,  but  your  muleteer,  on  be- 
jig  clor>ely  questioned,  will  suspend  the  smoking  of 
Dis  cigarillo  to  tell  some  tale  of  Moslem  gold  buried 
Denrath  its  foundations  ;  nor  is  there  a  ruined  alca/.ar 
in  a  city,  but  has  its  golden  tradition,  handed  down, 
from  generation  to  generation,  among  the  poor  people 
of  the  neighbourhood. 

These,  like  most  popular  fictions,  have  had  some 
groundwork  in  fact.  During  the  wars  between  Moor 
and  Christian,  which  distracted  the  country  for  cen- 
turies, towns  and  castles  were  liable  frequently  and 
suddenly  to  change  owners  ;  and  the  inhabitants,  dur- 
ing sieges  and  assaults,  were  fain  to  bury  their  money 
and  jewels  in  the  earth,  or  hide  them  in  vaults  and 
wells,  as  is  often  done  at  the  present  day  in  the  des- 
potic and  belligerent  countries  of  the  East.  At  the 
time  of  the  expulsion  of  the  Moors,  also,  many  of  them 
concealed  their  most  precious  circcts.  hoping  that  their 
exile  would  be  ^ut  temporary,  and  that  they  would 
be  enabled  to  return  and  retrieve  their  treasures  at 
some  future  day.  It  is  ccriain  that,  from  time  to  time, 
hoards  of  gold  and  silver  coin  have  been  accidentally 
digged  up,  after  a  lapse  of  centuries,  (torn  among  the 
ruins  of  Moorish  fortresses  and  habitations,  and  it  re- 
quires but  a  few  facts  of  the  kind  to  give  birth  to  a 
thousand  fictions. 

The  stories  thus  originating  h.Tve  generally  some- 
thing uf  an  oriental  tinge,  and  are  marked  with  that 
mixture  of  the  Arabic  and  Gothic  which  seems  to  nic 
to  characterize  every  thing  in  Spain  ;  and  especially  in 
Its  southern  provinces.  The  hidden  wealth  is  always 
taid  under  magic  spell,  and  secured  by  charm  and 
tUisman.  Sometimes  it  is  guarded  by  uncouth  mon- 
sters, or  fiery  dragons  ;  sometimes  by  enchanted 
Moors,  who  sit  by  it  in  armour,  with  drawn  swords, 
but  motionless  as  statues,  maintaining  a  sleepless 
watch  lor  ages. 

The  Alhambra,  of  course,  from  the  peculiar  circum- 
stances of  its  history,  is  a  strong  hold  for  popular  fic- 
tions of  the  kind,  and  curious  reliques,  dug  up  from 
time  to  time,  have  contributed  to  strengthen  them. 
At  one  lime,  an  earthen  vessel  was  found,  containing 
Moorish  coins  and  the  skeleton  of  a  cock,  which,  ac- 
cording to  the  opinion  of  shrewd  inspectors,  mu'^jt  have 
been  buried  alive.  At  another  time,  a  vessel  was 
digged  up,  containing  a  great  scarabaeus,  or  beetle, 
of  baked  clay,  covered  with  Arabic  inscriptions,  which 
was  pronounced  a  prodig'ous  amulet  of  occult  virtues. 
in  this  way  the  wits  of  the  ragged  brood  who  inhabit 
the  Alhambra  have  been  set  wool  gathering,  until  there 
it  not  a  hall,  or  tower,  or  vault,  of  the  old  fortress  that 
bas  not  been  made  the  scene  of  some  marvellous  tra- 
dition. 

I  have  already  given  brief  notices  of  some  related 
(o  me  by  the  authentic  Mateo  Ximenes,  and  now  sub- 
join one  wrought  out  from  various  particulars  gath- 
ered among  the  gossips  of  the  fortress. 


lEfiEND  OF  THE  MOOR'S  LEGACY. 


Just  within  the  fortress  of  the  Alhambra,  in  front 
of  the  royal  palace,  is  a  hroaci  open  esplanade,  Cdllec! 
the  place  or  stiuare  of  the  cisterns,  (la  plaza  de  ios 
algibes)  so  called  from  being  undermined  by  reser- 
voirs of  water,  hidden  from  sight,  and  which  have 


existed  from  the  time  of  '.lie  Moors.  At  one  cornet 
of  this  esplanade  is  a  Mtorish  well,  cut  through  the 
living  rock  to  a  great  depth,  the  water  of  whicl.  ji 
cold  as  ice  and  clear  as  crystal.  The  wells  made  by 
the  Moors  arc  alw.'iys  in  repute,  for  it  is  well  known 
what  pains  they  took  to  penetrate  to  the  purest  ,ind 
sweetest  springs  and  fountains.  The  one  we  ,iie 
speaking  of  is  famous  throughout  Granada,  insorriurh 
tnat  the  water-carriers,  some  bearing  great  waicr. 
jars  on  their  shoulders,  others  driving  asses  Ixioi; 
them,  laden  with  e.Trthcn  vessels,  are  ascending'  .inil 
descending  the  stuej)  woody  avinues  of  the  Alh m-.. 
bra  from  early  dawn  until  t  late  hour  of  the  niijlit. 

Fountains  and  well.s,  ever  since  the  scriptural  <1  ivs, 
have  been  noted  gossiping  places  in  hot  clini.iiis, 
and  at  the  well  in  question  there  is  a  kind  of  j).  r- 
petual  club  kept  up  during  the  live-long  day,  by  the 
invalids,  old  women,  and  other  curious,  do-notKiny 
folk  of  the  fortress,  who  sit  here  on  the  stone  bene  ht-s 
untler  an  awning  sprcid  over  the  well  to  shelter  the 
toli-gatherer  from  the  sun,  and  dawdle  ovsr  the  );iis. 
sip  of  the  fortress,  at  d  question  any  water-carrier 
that  arrives  about  the  news  of  the  city,  and  iii.ikt 
long  comments  on  every  thing  they  hear  and  see. 
Not  an  hour  of  the  day  but  loitering  housewives  and 
idle  maid -servants  may  be  seen,  lingering  with  pitchei 
on  head  or  in  hand,  to  hear  the  last  of  the  endless 
tattle  of  these  v/orthies. 

Among  the  v.ater-carriers  who  once  lesorted  to 
tliis  well  there  was  a  sturdy,  strong-backed,  !)an(lv- 
Icgged  little  fellow,  named  Pedro  Gil,  but  called 
Peregil  for  shortness.  Being  a  water-carrier,  he  was 
a  Galiego,  or  native  of  Galiicia,  of  course.  Nature 
seems  to  have  formeil  rates  of  men  as  she  has  jf 
animals  for  different  kinds  of  drudgery.  In  Fr.ince 
the  shoebl.icks  are  all  Savoyards,  the  porteis  of 
hotels  all  Swiss,  and  in  the  days  of  hocps  and  haii 
powder  in  England,  no  man  could  give  the  refill  ii 
swing  to  a  sedan  chair  but  a  bog-trotting  Irishman 
So  in  Spain  the  carriers  of  water  and  bearers  ol 
burdens  are  all  sturdy  little  natives  of  Galiicia.  .No 
man  says,  "  get  me  a  porter,"  but,  "  call  a  Galli^'u." 

To  return  from  this  digression.  Peregil  the  li.il- 
lego  had  begun  business  with  merely  a  great  eaiihen 
jar,  which  he  carried  upon  his  shoulder ;  by  degrtes 
he  rose  in  the  world,  and  was  enabled  to  pure  h.ise 
an  assistant,  of  a  correspondent  class  of  aiiiin.ils, 
being  a  stout  shaggy-haired  donkey.  On  each  sidt 
of  this  his  long-eared  aid-de-camp,  in  a  kind  of  pan- 
nier, were  slung  his  water-jars  covered  with  lig 
leaves  to  protect  them  from  the  sun.  There  wis 
not  a  more  industrious  water-carrier  in  all  Granaili, 
nor  one  more  merry  withal.  The  streets  rang  with 
his  cheerful  voice  as  he  trudged  after  his  donkey, 
singing  forth  the  usual  summer  note  that  resoLincls 
through  the  Spanish  towns  :  "  guien  quiere  trx"''~ 
at^ua  mas  fria  que  la  nicve. — Who  wants  water 
water  colder  than  snow — who  wants  water  from  tiic 
well  of  the  Alhambra — cold  as  ice  and  clear  as  crys- 
tal .'  "  When  he  served  a  customer  with  a  sp,iri< 
ling  glass,  it  was  always  with  a  pleasant  woril  tiia'. 
caused  a  smile,  and  \(,  perchance,  it  was  a  coir.elj 
dame,  or  dimpling  damsel,  it  was  always  with  a  $!• 
leer  and  a  compliment  to  her  beauty  tnat  was  irrt 
sistible.  Thus  Peregil  the  Gallego  was  noted  through 
out  all  Granada  for  being  one  of  the  civilest,  pleasant 
est,  and  happiest  of  mortals.  Yet  it  is  not  he  wh; 
sings  loudest  and  Jokes  most  that  has  the  lighiesi 
heart.  Under  all  this  air  of  merriment,  honest  I'ere- 
gil  had  his  cares  and  troubles.  He  had  a  large 
Kiinily  of  ragged  children  to  support,  who  were 
hungry  and  clamorous  as  a  nest  of  young  swallows, 
and  beset  him  with  theii"  outcries  for  food  whenever 
he  came  home  of  ar  evening.  He  had  a  help-matt 
too,  who  was  any  thiiig  but  a  help  to  him.     She  had 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


181 


been  a  village  beauty  before  marriage,  noted  for  her 
skill  in  dancing;  the  bolero  and  i  ittlin^;  tlie  castanets,. 
ind  slie  still  retained  hei  early  propensities,  sjiend- 
\r^  the  hard  earnings  of  honest  Peregil  in  frippery, 
ami  laying  the  very  donkey  under  reciuisition  for 
juiikctting  parties  into  the  country  on  Sundays,  and 
Biints'  days,  and  those  innumerable  holydays  which 
arr  rather  more  numerous  in  Sjiain  than  the  days  of 
the  week.  With  all  this  she  was  a  little  of  a  slattern, 
jonii'thing  more  of  a  liea-bed,  and,  above  all,  a  gos- 
tij)  i)f  the  first  water ;  neglecting  house,  household 
mid  every  thing  else,  to  loiter  slip-shod  in  the  houses 
ol  hiT  gossip  neighbours. 

Hi',  however,  who  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn 
lami),  accommodates  the  yoke  of  matrimony  to  the 
lubmissive  neck.  IVregil  bore  all  the  heavy  dispen- 
3,'ttions  of  wife  and  children  with  ;is  meek  a  spirit  as 
his  donkey  bore  the  water-jars ;  and,  however  he 
might  shake  his  ears  in  private,  never  ventured  to 
question  the  household  virtues  of  his  sl.ittern  spouse. 

He  loved  his  children  too,  even  as  an  owl  loves  its 
owlets,  seeing  in  then*  his  ov/n  image  multiplied' and 
perpetuated,  for  ihey  were  a  sturtly,  long-backed, 
bandy-legged  little  brootl.  The  great  pleasure  of 
honest  Feregil  was,  whenever  he  could  afford  hinv 
seif  a  scanty  holyday  and  had  a  handful  of  marave- 
dies  to  spare,  to  take  the  whole  litter  forth  with  him, 
some  in  his  arms,  some  tugging  at  his  skirts,  and 
some  trudging  at  his  heels,  and  to  treat  them  to  a 
gambol  among  the  orchards  of  the  Vega,  while  his 
wife  was  dancing  with  her  holyday  friends  in  the 
Angosturas  of  the  Darro. 

It  was  a  late  hour  one  summer  night,  and  most 
of  the  water-rarriers  had  desisted  from  their  toils. 
The  day  had  been  uncommonly  sultry;  the  night 
was  one  of  those  delicious  moonlights,  which  tempt 
ite  liihuhi'ants  ot'  those  southern  climes  to  indemnify 
ihc;i. selves  for  the  heat  and  inaction  of  the  day,  by 
.Vigering  in  the  open  air  and  enjoying  its  tempered 
sweetness  until  after  midnight.  Customers  for 
water  were  therefore  still  abroad.  Peregil,  like  a 
considerate,  painstaking  little  lather,  thought  of  his 
hungry  children.  "  <.)ne  more  journey  to  the  well," 
sail!  he  to  himself,  "  to  earn  a  good  Sunday's  puchero 
for  the  little  ones."  So  saying,  he  trudged  rapi<lly 
up  the  steep  avenue  of  the  Alhambra,  singing  as  he 
went,  anil  now  and  then  bestowing  a  hearty  thw.ick 
with  a  cudgel  on  the  tlanks  of  his  donkey,  either  by 
way  of  cadence  to  the  song,  or  refreshment  to  the 
animal ;  for  dry  blows  serve  in  lieu  for  provender  in 
Spain,  for  all  beasts  of  burden. 

When  arrived  at  the  well,  he  found  it  deserted  by 
every  one  except  a  solitary  stranger  in  Moorish  garb, 
seated  on  the  stone  bench  in  the  moonlight.  Pere- 
gil paused  at  first,  and  regarded  him  with  surprise, 
not  unmixed  with  awe,  but  the  Moor  feebly  beckoned 
him  to  approach. 

"  I  am  laint  and  ill,"  said  he ;  "  aid  me  to  return 
to  the  city,  and  I  will  pay  thee  double  what  thou 
cojidsl  gain  by  thy  jars  of  water." 

The  honest  heart  of  the  little  water-carrier  was 
touched  with  compassion  at  the  an|)eal  of  the 
stnnge.-.  "God  forbid,"  said  he,  "  that  I  should 
j;:l  tee  oi  reward  for  doing  a  common  act  of  hu- 
:;auity." 

He  accordingly  helped  the  Moor  on  his  donkey 
u\d  set  off  slowly  for  Granada,  the  poor  Moslem 
being  so  weak  that  it  was  necessary  to  hold  him 
on  the  animal  to  keep  him  from  falling  to  the  earth. 

When  they  entered  the  city,  the  w.ater-carrier  de- 
manded whither  he  should  conduct  him.  "Alas!" 
said  the  Moor,  faintly,  "  I  have  neither  home  nor 
habitation.  I  am  a  stranger  in  the  land.  Suffer  me 
to  lay  my  head  this  nitht  beneath  thy  roof, and  i^'t 
stialt  be  amply  repaid. ' 


Honest  Pctfgil  thus  saw  himself  unexptKitedly 
saddled  with  in  infidel  guest,  but  he  was  too. hu- 
mane to  refuse  a  night's  shelter  to  a  fellow  being  is 
so  forlorn  a  plight ;  so  he  conducted  the  Moor  to 
his  dwelling.  The  children,  who  had  sallied  forth, 
open-mouthed  as  usual,  on  hearing  the  tramp  of  the 
donkey,  ran  back  with  affright,  when  they  beheld 
the  t.irbaned  stranger,  and  nid  themselves  behind 
thei:  mother.  The  latter  step^jed  forth  intrepidly, 
like  a  riitfling  hen  before  her  b:  ood,  when  a  vagrant 
dog  approacnes. 

"What  infidel  companion,"  cried  she,  "is  this 
you  have  brought  home  at  this  late  hour,  to  draw 
upon  us  the  eyes  of  the  Inquisition  ?  " 

"Be  quiet,  wife,"  replied  the  Gallego,  "here  is  a 
poor  sick  stranger,  witliout  friend  or  home :  wouldst 
thou  turn  him  forth  to  perish  in  the  streets  ?  " 

The  wife  would  still  have  remonstrated,  for, 
though  she  lived  in  a  hovel,  she  was  a  furious  stick 
ler  for  the  credit  of  her  house ;  the  little  water-car- 
rier, however,  for  orce  was  stiff-necked,  and  refused 
to  bend  beneath  the  yoke.  He  assisted  the  poor 
Moslem  to  alight,  and  spread  a  mat  and  a  sheep- 
skin for  him,  on  the  ground,  in  the  coolest  part  of 
the  house;  being  the  only  kind  of  bed  that  hi? 
poverty  afforded. 

In  a  little  while  the  Moor  was  seized  with  violent 
convulsions,  which  defied  all  the  ministering  skiH  of 
the  simple  water-carrier.  The  eye  of  the  poor  pa- 
tient acknowkflged  his  kindness.  During  an  inter- 
val of  his  fits  he  called  him  to  his  side,  and  address- 
ing him  in  a  low  voice  ;  "  My  end,"  said  he,  "  I  fear 
is  at  hand.  If  I  die  i  bequeath  you  this  box  as  a 
reward  for  your  charity.  So  saying,  he  opened  his 
albornoz,  or  cloak,  and  showed  a  small  box  of  s?nda] 
wood,  strapped  round  his  body. 

"  God  grant,  my  friend,"  replied  the  worthy  litt'f 
Gallego,  "  that  you  may  live  many  years  to  •  njcj 
your  treasure,  whatever  it  m.'iy  be." 

The  Moor  shook  his  head  ;  he  laid  his  hand  ipoc 
the  box,  and  would  have  said  something  more  con- 
cerning it,  but  his  convulsions  returned  witli  in- 
creased violence,  and  in  a  little  while  he  expiree. 

The  water-carrier's  wife  was  now  as  one  dis- 
tracted. "  This  comes,"  said  she,  "  of  your  foolish 
good  nature,  always  running  into  scrapes  to  oblige 
others.  What  will  become  of  us  when  this  corpse 
is  found  in  our  house  ?  We  shall  be  sent  to  jirison 
as  murderers ;  and  if  we  escape  with  our  lives,  shall 
be  mined  by  not.iries  and  alguazils." 

Poor  Peregil  was  in  equal  tribulation,  and  almost 
repented  himself  of  having  done  a  good  deed.  At 
length  a  thought  struck  him.  "  It  is  not  yet  day," 
said  he,  "  1  can  convey  the  dead  body  out  of  the 
city  and  bury  it  in  the  sands  on  the  banks  of  the 
Xenil.  No  one  saw  the  Moor  enter  our  dwelling, 
and  no  one  will  know  any  thing  of  his  death."  So 
said,  so  done.  The  wife  aided  him  :  they  rolled  the 
body  of  the  unfortunate  Moslem  in  the  mat  on  which 
he  had  expired,  laid  it  <Lcross  the  ass,  and  Mattjas 
set  out  with  it  for  the  banks  of  the  river. 

As  ill  luck  would  h.ave  it,  there  lived  opposite  to 
the  water-(Mrrier  a  barber,  named  Pedrillo  Pedrugo, 
one  of  the  most  prying,  tattling,  mischief-making,  of 
his  gossip  tribe.  He  was  a  weasel-faced,  spider 
legged  varlet,  supple  and  insinuating  ;-the  famooi 
Harljer  of  Seville  could  not  surpass  him  for  bis  imi- 
versal  knowledge  of  the  affairs  of  others,  and  he  had 
no  more  power  of  retention  than  a  sieve.  It  was 
said  that  he  slept  with  but  one  eye  at  a  time,  and 
kept  one  ear  uncovered,  so  that,  even  in  his  sleep, 
he  might  see  and  hear  all  that  was  going  on.  Cer- 
tain it  is,  he  was  a  sort  of  scandalous  chronicle  foi 
the  quidnuncs  of  Granada,  and  had  more  custom«*xs 
than  all  the  rest  of  his  fraternity. 


m 


188 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


I  r^  Ml' 


tei-il: 


rR-^c 


■  *lj"'^-"^  •»' 


This  meddlesome  barber  heard  Peregil  arrive  at 
an  unusual  hour  of  night,  .nul  the  exclamations  of  his 
wife  and  children.  Hi.»  laad  was  instantly  popped 
out  ol  a  little  window  whicli  served  hiiu  as  a  luol<- 
out,  and  he  saw  his  neif,'l»hour  assist  a  man  in  a 
Moorish  garb  into  his  dweilin};.  This  was  so  strange 
an  occuirence,  that  l\;i!rillo  Fedrugo  slept  not  a 
wink  that  night — every  live  minutes  he  was  at  his 
loop-hole,  w. Itching  tiie  lights  tiiat  gleamed  through 
Ihe  chinks  of  his  neighbour's  door,  and  before  day- 
light he  beheld  Peregil  sally  forth  with  his  donkey 
jnusually  laden. 

The  inquisitive  barber  was  in  a  fidget ;  he  slipped 
on  his  clothes,  and,  stealing  forth  silently,  foUoweil 
the  water-carrier  at  a  distance,  until  he  saw  him  dig 
a  hule  in  the  sandy  bank  of  the  Xenil,  and  bury 
something  that  had  the  appearance  of  a  dead  l)ody, 

The  barber  hied  him  nome  and  fidgeted  about 
his  sliop,  setting  every  thing  upside  down,  until  sun- 
rise, He  then  took  a  basin  under  his  arm,  and 
sallied  forth  to  the  house  of  his  daily  customer,  the 
Alcalde. 

The  Alcalde  was  just  risen.  Tedrillo  Pedrugo 
seated  liim  in  a  chair,  threw  a  napkin  round  his 
neck,  put  a  basin  of  hot  water  under  his  chin,  and 
began  to  mollily  his  beard  with  his  fingers. 

"  Strange  doings,"  said  I'edrugo,  who  played  bar- 
ber and  newsmonger  at  the  same  time.  "  Strange 
doings  !  Roi)bery,  and  murder,  and  burial,  all  in 
one  night  !  " 

"  Key  ?  how  !  What  is  it  you  say  ?  "  cried  the 
Alcilde. 

"  I  say,"  replied  the  barber,  nibbing  a  piece  of 
soap  over  the  nose  and  mouth  of  the  dignitary,  for 
a  Spanish  barber  disdains  to  emjiloy  a  brush  ;  "I 
lay  that  I'eregil  tlie  Gallego  has  robbed  anil  mur- 
dered a  Moorish  Mussulman,  ami  buried  him  this 
blessed  night, — malilita  sat  la  noiAf, — accursed  be 
ihe  night  tor  the  same  !  " 

"  lUit  how  do  you  know  all  this  ?  "  demanded  the 
Alcalde. 

''Be  tatient,  Sei'ior,  and  you  shall  hear  all  about 
it,"  replied  Pedrillo.  taking  him  by  the  nose  and 
sliding  a  razor  over  his  cheek,  lie  then  recounted 
all  that  he  had  Seen,  goii-.g  through  both  operations 
at  the  same  time,  shaving  his  beard,  washing  his 
chin,  and  wiping  him  dry  with  a  diity  napkin,  while 
he  was  robbing,  imirdfiing,  and  bur\ ing  the  Moslem. 

Now  it  so  ha|)pene(l  ihat  this  Alcalde  was  one  of 
the  most  overbearing,  and  at  the  same  time  most 
griping  and  corrupt  curimiclgeoiis  in  all  Granada.  It 
could  not  be  denied,  however,  that  he  set  a  high  val- 
ue upon  justice,  for  he  sold  it  at  its  weight  in  gold. 
He  presumed  the  case  in  point  to  be  one  of  murder 
and  robbery  ;  doubtless  there  must  be  rich  spoil ; 
how  was  it  to  be  secured  into  the  legitimate  hands 
of  the  law  ?  for  as  to  merely  entrapping  the  delin- 
>juenl — that  would  be  feeding  the  gallows :  but  en- 
traiiping  the  booty — that  would  be  enriching  the 
judge;  and  such,  accoiding  to  his  creed,  was  the 
freat  end  of  justice.  So  thinking,  he  summoned  to 
Sis  presence  his  trustiest  algua/il  ;  a  gaunt,  hungry- 
looking  varlet,  clad,  according  to  the  custom  of  his 
jrder,  in  the  ancient  Spanish  garb — a  hro.ad  black 
b*«.>er,  turned  up  at  the  sides  ;  a  (piaint  ruflf,  a  small 
black  cloak  dangling  Iron:  his  shoulders  ;  rusty  black 
Wider-clothes  that  set  off  his  sjiare  wiry  form  ;  while 
m  his  hand  he  bore  a  slender  white  wand,  the  dread- 
ed insignia  of  his  oflice.  Such  was  the  legal  blood- 
Soand  of  the  ancient  Span.sh  breed,  that  he  put  u|>on 
the  traces  of  the  unlucky  water-carrier  ;  and  s  u  h  was 
hisspecd  and  certainty  that  he  was  upon  the  haunches 
of  poor  Peregil  before  he  had  returned  to  his  dwell- 
ing, and  brought  both  him  and  his  donkey  before  the 
dispenser  of  justice. 


The  Alcalde  bent  upon  him  one  of  hia  mint  ter 
rific  frowns.    "  Hark  ye,  culprit,"  roareu  he  in  t 
voice  that  made  the  knees  of  tne  little  Gabego  sniitt 
together, — "  Hark  ye,  culprit  t  there  is  no  need  ot 
ilenying  thy  guilt :  every  thing  is  known  to  me,     A 
gallows  is  the  proper  reward  tor  the  crime  thou  hvM 
committed,  but  I  am  merciful,  and  readily  iisttn  iw 
reason.    The  man  that  has  been  murdered  in  t.n 
house  was  a  Moor,  an  irfidel,  the  enemy*  f  oui  fai;' 
It  was  doubtless  in  a  It  of  religious  zeal  that  tliu 
hast  slain  him.     I  will  be  indulgent,  therefore,  ru, 
der  up  the  oropert/  of  which  thou  hast  robbed  him, 
and  we  will  hush  the  matter  up." 

The  poor  water-carrier  called  upon  all  the  s;iinij 
to  witness  his  innocence  ;  alas  !  not  one  of  them  ap. 
neared,  and  if  there  had,  the  Alcalde  would  have  dis 
believed  the  whole  kalendar.  The  water-carmr 
related  the  whole  story  of  the  dying  Moor  with  the 
straight ''orward  simplicity  of  truth,  but  it  was  all  in 
vain  :  "  Wilt  thou  [lersist  in  saying,"  demanded  tlie 
judge,  "  that  this  Moslem  had  neither  gold  nor  jew- 
els, which  were  the  object  of  thy  cupidity  ?  " 

"  As  I  hope  to  be  saved,  your  worship,"  replied 
the  water-carrier,  "  he  h.id  nothing  but  a  small  box 
of  sandal  wood,  which  he  bequeathed  to  me  in  re- 
ward of  my  services." 

"  A  box  of  sandal  wood  !  a  !  lox  of  sandal  wood  !  " 
excl.iimed  the  Alcalde,  his  eyes  sparkling  at  the  idea 
of  precious  jewels,  "and  where  is  this  box?  wheit 
have  you  concealed  it  ?  " 

"An'it  please  your  grace,"  replied  the  water- 
carrier,  "  it  is  in  one  of  the  panniers  of  my  muie,  and 
heartily  at  the  sp'vice  ot  your  worship." 

He  had  hardly  spoken  the  words  wh(;n  the  k;,i, 
alguazil  darted  otTand  rea])pearcd  in  an  instant  wi;/ 
the  mysterious  box  of  sandal  wood.  The  Ale  il, . 
opened  it  with  an  eager  and  trembling  hand  ,  .i! 
pressed  forward  to  gaze  upon  the  treasures  it  u  j 
exiiecteil  to  contain  ;  when,  to  their  disappointmi-iu 
nothing  ajjpeared  within  but  a  iiarchmtnt  struil 
covered  with  Arabic  characters,  and  an  end  cl  a 
waxen  taper  ! 

When  there  is  nothing  to  be  gained  by  the  cm- 
viction  of  a  prisoner,  justice,  even  in  Spain,  is  apt  in 
be  impartial.  The  Alcalde,  having  recovered  imin 
his  disap|)ointment  and  found  there  w;is  really  no 
booty  in  the  case,  now  listened  dispassionately  to  tlse 
ex|>lanation  ot  the  water-carrier,  which  was  corroli- 
orated  by  the  testimony  of  his  wile.  Ueing  cmi- 
vinced,  therefore,  of  his  innocence,  he  discharged  h;i!i 
from  arrest;  nay  more,  he  permitleil  him  to  canv 
olT  the  .Moor's  legacy,  the  box  ot  sandal  wood  ami 
its  contents,  as  the  well-merited  reward  of  his  im 
inanity  ;  but  he  retained  his  donkey  in  payment  ul 
cost  and  charges. 

Behold  the  unfortunate  little  Gallego  rediiccil 
once  more  to  the  necessity  of  being  his  own  wai-r- 
carrier,  and  trutlging  up  to  the  well  ot  the  Alhaniti.-i 
with  a  gre.'it  i-.irlhen  jar  upon  his  shoulder.  As  Ivj 
toiled  up  tli<;  hill  in  the  heat  of  a  summer  ndon  hr- 
usual  good-humour  forsook  him.  "  Uog  of  an  Al 
calde  ! "  would  he  cry,  "  to  rob  a  poor  man  o(  ilii 
means  of  his  subsistence — of  the  best  frieiul  he  h  .0 
in  the  world  ! "  And  then  at  the  remembrance  c! 
the  beloved  companion  of  his  labours  ail  the  kit:il 
ness  of  his  nature  would  break  forth.  "  Ah  doi.kr) 
of  my  heart !  "  would  he  exclaim,  resting  his  burdci 
on  a  stone,  and  wiping  the  sweat  from  his  brow 
"  Ah  donkey  of  my  heart !  I  warrant  me  thou  think 
est  of  thy  old  master !  1  warrant  me  thou  missesi  ihi 
water  jars  : — ^poor  beast !  " 

To  add  to  his  afflictions  his  wife  received  him,  or 
his  return  home  with  whimperings  and  repinings 
she  had  clearly  the  vantage-ground  of  him,  having 
warned  him  not  to  :x)mmit  the  egregious  act  of  hos- 


THE  ALHAMBRA 


in 


pit.ility  that  had  brought  on  him  all  these  misfor- 
tunes, and  like  a  knowing  woman,  she  took  every 
occasion  to  throw  her  superior  sagacity  in  liis  teeth. 
If  (;viT  her  children  lacked  food,  or  needed  a  new 
garment,  she  would  answer  with  a  sneer,  "  Go  to 
your  lather;  he's  heir  to  kiiij:j  Chico  ot  the  Alham- 
bra.  Aik  him  to  help  you  ouf  of  the  Moor's  strong 
t»x. ' 

\V  IS  ever  poor  mortal  more  soundly  punished,  for 
lavint,'  I'.one  a  good  action!  The  unlucky  Feregil 
K'as  grieved  in  Hesh  und  spirit,  but  :itill  he  bore 
nifi  kiy  with  the  railings  of  nis  spouse.  At  length 
otif  evening,  when,  after  a  hot  d.ay's  toil,  she  taunted 
hi;n  ill  the  usual  manner,  he  lost  all  patience.  He 
dill  not  venture  to  retort  upon  her,  but  his  eye  rested 
upon  the  box  of  sandal  wood,  whicli  lay  on  a  shelf 
wiih  iiil  half  open,  as  if  lauijhing  in  mockery  of  his 
vev.itlon.  Seizing  it  up  lie  dashed  it  with  indigna- 
11(111  on  the  lloor.  "  Unlucky  was  the  day  that  I  ever 
ic\  cyts  on  thee,"  he  cried,  "or  sheltered  thy  m.ister 
bem-.ith  my  roof." 

As  the  box  struck  the  floor  the  lid  flew  wide  open, 
and  the  parchment  scroll  rolled  forth.  I'eregil  sat 
reL;.irding  the  scroll  for  some  time  in  moodv  silence. 
At  ii-ngth  rallying  his  ideas,  "  Who  knows.''  thought 
he,  "  l)Ut  this  writing  m;iy  be  of  some  importance,  as 
llic  Moor  seems  to  have  guarded  it  with  such  care." 
IV  king  it  up,  therefore,  he  put  it  in  his  bosom,  and 
ihc  next  morning,  as  he  was  crying  w;iter  through 
il;f  streets,  he  stopped  at  the  shop  of  a  Moor,  a  na- 
U\v  ol  Tangiers,  who  sold  trinkets  and  perfumery  in 
the  /.icalin,  and  asked  hiin  to  explain  the  contents. 

The  Moor  read  the  scroll  attentively,  then  stroked 
his  Ve.ird  and  smiled.  "  This  manuscript,"  said  he, 
"  is  ,1  lorm  of  incantation  for  the  recovery  of  hidden 
tr  '..ure,  that  is  under  the  power  of  enchantment. 
I.  IS  said  to  have  such  virtu;  that  the  strongest  bolts 
ai.ll  birs,  nay  the  adamantine  rock  itself  will  yield 
lelore  it." 

"  liah  !  "  cried  the  little  Gallego,  "wh.it  is  all  that 
to  inc.  I  am  no  enchanter,  anil  know  nothing  of 
bun-d  Veasure."  So  saying  he  shouldered  his  water- 
j:u.  Icli  I'-e  scroll  in  the  hands  of  the  Moor,  ar\d 
truiiue.'.  forward  on  his  daily  rounds. 

I'liat  evening,  however,  as  he  rested  himself  about 
twili>;ht  at  the  well  of  the  Alhambra,  he  found  a 
nuinlier  of  gossips  .assembled  at  the  pl.ace,  and  their 
conversation,  as  is  not  unusual  at  that  sli.adowy 
honr,  turned  upon  old  tales  anil  traditions  of  a  su- 
pcrn.iiural  nature.  Being  all  poor  as  rats,  they 
dwelt  with  peculiar  fondness  uihju  the  popular  theme 
of  enchanted  riches  lelt  by  the  Moors  in  various 
parts  of  the  Alhambra.  Above  all,  they  concurred 
;n  du!  belief  that  there  were  great  treasures  buried 
^l^■r\)  \n  the  earth  under  the  tower  of  the  Seven 
Floors. 

f  liese  stories  made  an  unusual  impression  on  the 
niuul  of  honest  I'eregil,  and  they  sank  deeper  and 
diefier  into  his  thoughts  as  he  returned  alone  down 
the  (l.irkling  avenues.  "  If,  after  all,  there  should  be 
're.vsure  hid  beneath  that  tower — and  if  the  scroll  I 
le.'.  with  the  Moor  should  enable  me  to  get  at  it  I " 
li;  '.  le  sudden  ecstasy  of  the  thought  he  had  well 
u  ^;•^  let  tall  his  vvater  jar. 

Taat  night  he  tumbled  and  tossed,  and  could 
icarcely  get  a  wink  of  sleep  for  the  thoughts  that 
i.:r(  bewildering  lis  brain.  In  the  morning,  bright 
»,id  ejirly,  he  repaired  to  the  shop  of  the  Moor,  and 
toll  him  all  that  w.xs  passing  in  his  mind.  "  You 
c-iii  reiid  Arabic,"  said  he,  "  suppose  we  go  together 
t3  the  tower  and  try  the  etfert  of  the  charm  ;  if  it 
fa:is  we  are  no  worse  off  than  betore,  but  if  it  suc- 
ceeds we  will  share  equally  all  the  tre.asure  we  may 
iis(  over." 

"  Hold,    replied  the  Moslem,  "  this  writing  is  not 


sufficient  of  itselt ;  it  must  be  read  at  m,  Inighi,  by 
the  light  of  a  taper  sittgularly  compounded  and  pre- 
pared,  the  ingredients  of  which  are  not  within  tiiy 
reach.  Without  such  taper  the  scroll  is  ol  no  avail. 

"Say  no  tnore!"  cried  the  little  Gallego.  "I 
have  such  a  taper  at  hand  and  will  bring  it  here  in  ■ 
moment."  So  saying  he  hastened  home,  and  sixjd 
returned  with  the  end  of  a  yellow  wax  taper  that  h; 
had  found  in  the  box  of  sandal  wood. 

The  Moor  felt  it,  and  srell  to  it.  "  Here  are  rait 
and  costly  perfumes,"  said  he,  "combined  with  this 
yellow  wax.  This  is  the  kind  of  taper  specified  in  the 
scroll.  While  this  burns,  the  strongest  walls  and 
most  secret  caverns  will  remain  open  ;  woe  to  him 
however,  who  lingers  within  until  it  be  extinguished 
He  will  remain  enchanted  with  the  treasure." 

It  w.'is  now  agreed  between  them  to  try  the  charm 
that  very  night.  At  a  late  hour,  therefore,  when 
nothing  was  stirring  but  bats  and  owls,  they  ascend- 
ed the  woody  hill  of  the  Alhambra,  and  approached 
that  awful  tower,  shrouded  by  trees  and  rendered 
formidai)le  bv  so  many  traditionary  tales. 

By  the  light  of  a  lantern,  they  groped  their  way 
through  bushes,  and  over  fallen  stones,  to  the  door 
of  a  vault  beneath  the  tower.  With  fear  and  trem- 
bling they  descended  a  flight  of  steps  cut  into  the 
rock.  It  led  to  an  empty  chamber,  damp  and  drear, 
from  which  another  flight  of  steps  led,  to  a  deeper 
vault.  In  this  way  tliey  descended  four  sevemJ 
flights,  leading  into  as  many  vaults,  one  below  the 
other,  but  the  floor  of  the  fourth  was  solid,  and 
though,  according  to  tradition,  there  remained  three 
vaults  still  below,  it  was  said  to  be  impossible  to 
penetrate  further,  the  residue  being  shut  up  by 
strong  enchantment.  The  air  of  this  vault  w.ia 
ilam|)  and  chilly,  and  had  an  earthy  smell,  and  tli« 
light  scarce  cast  forth  any  rays.  They  p.iu.sed  hert 
lor  a  time  in  breathless  suspense,  until  they  fai'.iliy 
heard  the  clock  of  the  watch  tower  strike  tnidnighi ; 
upon  this  they  lit  the  w.ixen  taper,  which  diftused 
an  odour  of  myrih.  and  frankincense,  and  storax. 

The  .Moor  began  to  read  in  a  hurried  voice.  He 
h.ui  scarce  flnislied,  when  there  w,as  a  noise  as  of 
subterraneous  thunder.  The  earth  shook,  and  the 
lloor  yawning  open,  disclosed  a  flight  of  steps. 
Trembling  with  awe  they  descended,  and  by  the 
light  of  the  lantern  found  themselves  in  another 
v.uilt,  covered  with  Arabic  inscriptions.  In  the 
centre  stoixl  a  great  chest,  .securei!  with  seven  l)anils 
of  steel,  at  each  end  of  which  s.it  an  ench.iiiied 
Moor  in  armour,  but  motioidess  as  a  st.iiue,  being 
controlled  by  the  power  of  the  incantation.  Before 
I  the  chest  were  several  jars  tilled  with  gold  and  silver 
and  precious  stones.  In  the  largest  of  these  they 
thrust  their  arms  up  to  the  elbow,  and  at  every  dip 
h.'iuled  forth  hands-full  of  broad  yellow  pieces  of 
Moorish  gold,  or  bracelets  and  ornaments  of  the 
same  precious  metal,  while  occasionally  a  necklace 
of  oriental  pearl  would  slick  to  their  Anders.  .Still 
they  trembled  and  bre.athed  short  while  cramming 
their  pockets  with  the  spoils;  and  cast  n  any  a  fear- 
ful glance  at  the  two  enchanted  Moots,  who  sat 
grim  and  motionless,  glaring  upon  them  with  un- 
winking eyes.  At  length,  struck  with  a  sudden  panic 
at  some  fancied  noise,  they  both  rushed  up  the  stair- 
case, tumbled  over  one  another  into  the  upper  ap.irt 
mem,  overturned  and  extinguished  the  waxen  tajier, 
and  the  pavement  again  closed  with  a  thundering 
sound. 

Filled  with  dismay,  they  did  not  pause  until  they 
had  groped  their  way  out  of  the  tower,  and  beheld 
the  stars  shining  through  the  trees.  Then  seating 
themselves  upon  the  grass,  they  divided  the  spoit 
determining  to  content  themselves  for  the  present 
with  this  mere  skimming  of  the  jars,  but  to  return 


I 


M 

tJ;t» 


1«U 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


■•'•■'rf'il 


I  lit  '•^•,-^- 

r'i*"'  1  ST 


.♦'-»» 


on  some  future  night  and  drain  them  to  the  bottom. 
To  make  surr  of  cAch  other'*  good  faith,  also,  they 
divi.led  the  f.ilismans  httwirn  th<'in,  one  ret.iiiiing 
the  scroll  mil  the  other  the  taper;  this  done,  they 
set  otfwith  light  hearts  and  well  lined  pockets  lor 
Imnada. 

Ai  thev  wended  their  way  down  the  hill,  the 
shrewd  Moc^  whispered  a  word  of  counsel  in  the 
«r  of  the  sir.. pie  little  wafer-carrier. 

••  Friend  I'erecpl,"  said  he.  "  all  this  affair  must  he 
iipt  a  profound  secret  until  we  have  secured  the 
treasure  and  conveyed  it  out  of  harm's  way.  If  a 
whisper  of  it  gets  to  the  ear  of  the  Alcalde  we  are 
undone ! " 

"  Certainly  !  "  replied  the  Gallego ;  "  nothing  can 
he  more  true." 

'  Friend  Perrgil,"  said  the  Moor,  "you  are  a  dis- 
creet man,  and  1  make  no  doubt  can  keep  a  secret ; 
but— you  have  a  wife — " 

"  She  shall  not  know  a  word  of  it !  "  replied  the 
little  water-carrier  sturdily. 

"  F.nonj{h,"  said  the  Moor,  "  I  depend  upon  thy 
discretion  and  thy  promise." 

Ne\;r  was  promise  more  positive  and  sincere ; 
but  al.as  !  what  man  can  keep  a  secret  from  his  wife  ? 
Certainly  not  such  a  one  as  I'erej^il  the  w,ater-car- 
rier,  who  was  one  of  the  most  loving  and  tractable 
of  husbands.  Pn  his  return  home  he  found  his  wife 
moping  in  a  corner. 

"  Mighty  well !  "  cried  she,  as  he  entered  ;  "  you've 
come  at  List ;  after  rambling  aliout  until  this  hour  of 
the  ni>;ht.  1  wonder  you  have  not  brought  home 
another  Moor  as  a  housemate."  Then  bursting  into 
tears  she  began  to  wring  her  hands  and  smite  her 
breast.  "  Unhaiipy  woman  th.al  I  am  1  "  exclaimed 
»he,  "  what  will  occome  of  me  !  My  house  stripped 
iiid  plundered  by  lawyers  and  algua/ils  ;  my  hus- 
Sirxl  a  do-no-good  that  no  longer  brings  home  bre.ad 
V.r  his  fanily,  but  goes  rambling  alxiut,  d.ay  and 
night,  witiT  intldel  Nloors.  Oli,  my  children  !  my 
children  !  what  will  become  of  us;  we  shall  all  have 
to  l)<!g  in  the  streets  !  " 

Hi.nest  I'eregil  w.as  so  moved  by  the  distress  of 
his  spouse,  th.at  he  could  not  help  whimpering  also. 
His  heart  was  as  full  as  his  pocket,  an<t  not  to  be 
restrained.  Tlirustiiig  his  hand  into  the  l.itter  he 
hauled  forth  three  or  four  bro.ul  gold  pieces  and 
slipped  them  into  her  bosom.  The  poor  woman 
stared  with  astonishment,  anrl  could  not  un<lerstand 
the  meaning  of  this  golden  sliower.  Before  she 
could  recover  her  surprise,  the  little  Ciallego  drew 
forth  a  chain  of  golu  and  dangled  it  before  her, 
capering  with  exultation,  his  mouth  distended  from 
ear  to  ear. 

"  Holy  Virgin  protect  us ! "  exclaimed  the  wife. 
"What  hast  thou  been  doing,  I'eregil?  Surely  thou 
hast  not  been  committing  murder  and  robbery ! '' 

The  idea  scarce  entered  the  brain  of  the  poor 
woman  than  it  became  a  certainty  with  her.  She 
saw  a  prison  and  a  gallows  in  the  distance,  and 
a  little  bandy-legged  Gallego  dangling  pendant 
frrrr  i*  and,  overcome  by  the  horroi-s  conjured  up 
b]  her  im.agination,  fell  into  violent  hysterics. 

'^Vhat  could  the  po(3r  man  do?  He  had  no  other 
iTieans  ot  pacifying  his  wife  and  dispelling  the 
ph.%i,tonis  of  her  fancy,  than  by  relating  the  whole 
itory  of  his  good  fortune.  This,  however,  he  did 
col  do  until  he  hafl  exacted  from  her  the  most 
^^lemn  piornise  to  keep  it  a  profound  secret  from 
every  living  bi.-ing. 

To  describe  her  joy  would  be  impossible.  She 
flung  her  amis  round  the  neck  of  her  husband,  and 
almost  strangled  him  witli  her  caresses.  "  Now, 
wife  I"  exclaim.'d  the  little  man  with  honest  exulta- 
tion. '  what   say  you  now  to  the  Moor's  legacy  ? 


Henceforth  never  abuse  ni«    sr  helping  a  fe  \cm 
creature  in  distress." 

The  honest  Gallego  retired  to  his  sheepskiii  n  .i 
and  slept  .is  soundly  as  if  on  a  bed  of  down.  f\o\ 
so  his  wife, — She  emptied  the  whole  contents  n'.  hn 
pockets  upon  the  mat,  .ind  sat  all  night  con  <,i,^ 
goM  pieces  of  Arabic  coin,  trying  on  necklaces  .ni 
ear-rmgs,  and  fancying  the  figure  she  should  on-  f  ,j 
make  when  permitted  to  enjov  her  riches. 

On  the  following  morning  tbe  honest  Gallegri ,..  , 
a  broad  golden  coin,  and  repaired  with  it  to  a  j  m  ; 
ler's  shop  in  the  Zacatin  to  offer  it  for  sale;  pn  ii;u|. 
ing  to  have  found  it  among  the  ruins  of  the  Aid  iin- 
bra.  The  jeweller  saw  that  it  had  an  Ai.mic 
insrri|)lion  and  was  of  the  I'lrest  gold;  he  nil.  i,,|, 
however,  but  a  third  of  Is  value,  with  whirli  ;ht 
w.iter-carrier  w.-is  perfcc\ly  content,  Peregil  nuw 
bought  new  clothes  for  his  little  flock,  and  all  1. mlj 
of  toys,  together  with  ample  p'ovisions  for  a  Iv  ir'y 
ine.d,  and  returning  to  his  dwelling  set  all  lui 
children  dancing  around  him,  while  he  capen  tl  m 
the  midst,  the  happiest  of  fathers. 

The  wife  of  the  water-car,  ier  kept  her  prniniM" 
of  secrecy  with  surprising  ^ri 'tncss.  For  a  wlmlt 
day  anrl  a  half  she  went  about  with  a  look  o*,  nyv 
tery  and  a  heart  swelling  almost  to  bursting,  yci  --Ik; 
held  her  peace,  though  surrounded  by  her  go  pi 
It  is  true  she  could  not  help  giving  hersell  i  hw 
airs,  apologized  for  her  ragged  dress,  and  talked  ui 
ordering  a  new  basquina  all  trimmed  with  goM  1  i: 
and  bugles,  and  a  new  lace  mantilla.  She  iKmv 
out  hints  of  her  husband's  intention  of  leaving  oil 
his  trade  of  water-carrying,  as  it  di<l  not  aliogcih-i 
agree  with  his  health,  in  fact  she  thought  tl.-y 
should  all  retire  to  the  country  for  the  summer,  ili^r 
the  childn-n  might  have  the  benefit  of  the  mourn  m 
air,  for  there  was  no  living  in  the  city  in  this  salii) 
season. 

The  neighbours  stared  at  each  other,  and  th'nijjht 
the  poor  woman  had  lost  her  wits,  an<l  her  airs  .ind 
graces  and  elegant  pretensions  were  tlie  themr  of 
universal  scolling  and  merriment  among  her  fruiHls, 
jhe  moment  her  back  was  turned. 

If  she  restrained  herself  abroad,  however,  she 
indemnified  herself  at  home,  and,  putting  a  siring 
of  rich  oriental  pearls  round  her  neck,  Moiii,,r 
bracelets  on  her  arms;  an  aigrette  of  diamonds  on 
her  head,  siiiled  b.ackwards  and  forwards  in  lut 
slattern  rags  about  the  room,  now  and  then  stoi)|iing 
to  .admire  herself  in  a  piece  of  broken  mirror.  .N.iy, 
in  the  impulse  of  her  simple  vanity,  she  couKI 
resist  on  one  occasion  showing  herself  at 
window,  to  enjoy  the  effect  of  ner  finery  on 
p.'issers  by. 

As  the  fates  would  have  it,  Pedrillo  Pedrugo 
meddlesome  barber,  w.as  at  this  moment  sitting  iilly 
in  his  shop  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  when 
his  ever  watchful  eye  caught  the  sparkle  of  a  diaiiKJiii!. 
In  an  instant  he  was  at  nis  loop-hole,  reconnoitring 
the  slattern  spouse  of  the  water-carrier,  decor.iuii 
with  the  sjjlendour  of  an  ea.stern  bride.  No  soo-.cr 
had  he  taken  an  accurate  inventory  of  her  ornain  iiu 
than  he  [V)sted  off  with  all  speed  to  the  Alcalde.  In 
a  little  while  the  hungryalgua.il  was  r.gain  on  tht 
scent,  and  before  the  d.ay  was  over,  the  unfortun:ilJ 
Peregil  was  again  dragged  into  the  presence  o:  tliu 
judge. 

'•How  is  this,  villain!"  cried  the  Alcalde  in  i 
furious  voice.  "  You  told  me  th.at  the  inJidel  wiic 
died  in  your  house  left  nothing  lieh.nd  but  an  ein|uy 
coffer,  and  now  I  hear  of  your  wife  flaunting  in  lie! 
r.ags  dt!cked  out  with  pearls  and  diamonds.  VVrcich 
that  thou  art !  prepare  to  render  up  the  spoils  a)  i'i\ 
miserable  victim,  and  to  swing  on  the  galbws  t'^i 
is  already  t.red  of  waiting  for  thee."  / 


11"! 

the 
the 

iht 


THK   ALHAMBRA. 


Hi 


The  t«rrific«l  water-carrier  fell  on  his  knt-en,  and 
ni.tiif  a  full  relation  of  the  marvellouH  iiiniwi«r  in 
yhi>h  he  hnd  gained  his  wealth.  The  Alcalrlt',  the 
iigj.u.il,  and  tlic  iii({iiisitivc  barber  listened  with 
^uijy  'urs  to  thiH  Arabian  tale  nf  enchaiUfd 
Ireasiire.  Tha  aljfuazil  was  despatched  to  briii)^ 
the  Moor  whc  had  assisted  In  the  incantaiion. 
1  iu-  Moslem  entere<l  half  frightened  out  of  his  wits 
st.lidiiiir  liimself  in  the  hands  of  the  hatpiis  of  the 
A  V  VVtien  he  beheld  the  water-carrier  standing; 
ni;l.  'iheepish  look  and  <lowncast  countenance,  he 

uiipieheiided  the  whole  mutter.     "Miserable  ani- 


x 


na 

bbli 


uaiii  ilice  against  bab])lin);  to  thy  wife?" 

Ihi"  story  of  the  Moor  coincided  exactly  with  that 
of  hi  i  colleajjiie  ;  but  the  Alcalde  affected  to  be  slow 
ol  lirlief,  and  threw  out  menaces  of  imprisonment 
;inii  ii;;orous  investigation. 

'  Softly,  good  Seflor  Alcalde,"  said  the  Mussul- 
tii m,  who  by  this  time  h.id  recovered  his  usual 
shrewdness  and  self-possession.  "  Let  us  not  mar 
fortune's  favours  in  the  scramliie  for  them.  Nobody 
knows  any  thing  of  this  matter  but  ourselves;  let  us 
<;i  p  the  secret.  There  is  wealth  enough  in  the  cave 
'.0  enrich  us  all.  I'romise  a  fair  division,  and  all 
sh  ill  be  jiroduced ;  refuse,  and  the  cave  shall  remain 
fur  ever  cliised." 

I  he  Alcalde  consulted  apart  with  the  alguazil. 
I'l!''  latter  was  an  old  Ibv  in  nis  profession.  "  I'roin- 
isc  any  thing,"  said  he,  "  until  you  get  i)ossession  of 
'.lie  treiisure.  You  may  then  seize  uiion  the  whole, 
iikI  if  he  and  his  .iccomplice  dare  to  nturmur, 
;hie,iti'n  them  with  the  laggot  and  the  stake  as  in- 
:\Ms  and  sorcerers." 

riic  Alcalde  relished  the  advice.  Smoothing  his 
urow  a:.d  turning  to  the  Moor, — "  This  is  a^tr.mgr 
Uory."  said  he,  "and  may  be  true,  but  I  must  have 
xu'ar  proof  of  it.  This  very  night  yt)u  must  repe.it 
'.he  mcantation  in  my  presence.  If  there  be  really 
901 1 1  treasure,  we  will  share  it  amicably  between  us, 
arid  s;iy  nothing  furtlier  of  the  ntatter ;  if  ye  have 
deceived  me,  exjiect  no  mercy  at  my  hands.  In  the 
iK-.m  time  you  must  remain  in  custody." 

1  he  Moor  and  the  water-earner  cheerfully  .igrecd 
to  these  conditions,  satisfied  that  the  event  would 
prove  the  truth  of  iheir  words. 

I'owards  midnight  the  Alcalde  sallied  forth  se- 
creiiy,  attended  by  the  alguazil  .md  the  meddlesome 
birher,  all  strongly  armed.  Tliey  conducted  the 
Mdor  and  the  water-carrier  as  prisoi\ers,  and  were 
pruvided  with  the  stout  tlonkey  of  the  latter,  to  bear 
uti  the  expected  treasure.  They  arrived  at  the  tower 
witliout  being  observed,  and  tving  the  donkey  to  a 
ii^-uee,  descended  into  the  fourth  vault  of  the 
tii'.ver. 

1  he  scroll  was  produced,  the  yellow  w.ixen  taper 
lighted,  and  the  .Moor  read  the  tomi  of  incantation. 
Tiie  earth  trembled  as  before,  and  the  p-iveme-nt 
opened  with  a  thundering  sound,  disclosing  the 
narrow  flight  of  steps.  The  Alcalde,  the  alguazil, 
ami  the  barl)er  were  struck  agh.ist,  and  could  not 
suiaiiion  courage  to  descenil.  The  Moor  and  the 
water-carrier  entered  the  lower  vault  and  found  the 
i.wo  Moors  seated  as  before,  silent  and  motionless. 
They  lemoveil  two  of  the  great  jars,  tilled  with 
't'lildi  coin  and  precious  stones.  The  water-carrier 
>;re  them  up  one  by  one  upon  his  shoulders,  but 
Aijh  a  strong-bucked  little  man,  and  accustomed 
to  L-.rry  burdens,  he  staggered  bcne.ith  their  weigiit, 
ami  louiid,  when  slung  on  each  side  of  his  donkey, 
ihcy  were  as  much  as  the  animal  could  bear. 

"Let  us  be  content  for  the  present,"  said  the 
Moor  ;  "  here  is  as  much  treasure  as  wc  can  carry 
otf  without  being  perceived,  and  enough  to  make  us 
ill  wealthy  to  our  heart's  d'>sire." 


"  Is  there  more  trcisure  lemalning  thind  ?  "  dfr 
manded  the  Alcalde. 

"The  greatest  prize  of  all,"  aaiil  tie  Moor  ;  "• 
huge  cofler,  bound  svith  bands  of  itcel,  and  MM 
with  pearls  and  precious  stones." 

"  Let  us  have  up  the  colter  by  all  means,"  cried  lh« 
gras()ing  Alcalde. 

"  I  will  descend  for  no  iviore,"  said  the  Moor,  dog- 
gedly. "  Knough  is  enough  lor  p  re.isonable  nan, 
more  is  supfrlluoiis," 

"And  I,"  said  the  water-carrier,  "wMI  bring  up 
no  further  burthen  to  break  the  back  of  my  pool 
donkey." 

Kitiding  commands,  threats,  and  entre.itiesequilly 
vain,  the  Alcalde  turned  to  his  two  adherents.  "  Aid 
mc,"  said  he,  "  to  bring  up  the  coffer,  and  its  con- 
tents shall  be  divided  l)etween  us."  .So  saving  he 
desceniled  the  steps,  followed,  with  trembling  re- 
luctance, by  the  alguazil  and  the  barber. 

No  sooner  did  the  Moor  behold  thern  fairly  earthed 
than  he  extinguished  the  yellow  taper:  the  pave- 
ment closed  svith  its  usual  crash,  and  the  three 
worthies  rern.ained  buried  in  its  wondi. 

He  then  hastened  up  the  dilferent  (lights  of  j.feps, 
nor  stopped  until  in  the  open  air.  The  little  water- 
carrier  followed  him  as  fast  as  his  short  legs  would 
permit. 

"Wiiathast  thou  done?  "cried  Teregil,  as  soon 
as  he  couM  recover  breath.  "  'I'he  Alcalde  and  the 
other  two  are  shut  up  in  the  vault !  " 

"  It  is  the  wdl  of  Allah !  "  said  the  Moor,  d«s 
voutly. 

"And  will  you  not  release  them  ?  "  tlemanded  t|-# 
Ciaiago. 

"  Allah  forbid  !  "  replied  the  Moor,  smcothir^-  his 
beard.  "  It  is  written  in  the  book  of  tali?  that  thfj 
shall  remain  enchanted  until  some  future  adventure) 
shall  come  to  break  the  charm.  The  will  of  dod  U 
done  !  "  So  saying  he  hurled  the  end  of  the  waxen 
taper  far  amoi.;;  the  gloomy  thickets  of  the  glen. 

There  w.is  now  no  remedy  ;  so  the  Moot  and  the 
water-carrier  i)roceeiled  with  the  ricidy-laden  donkey 
towards  the  cUy  :  nor  could  honest  Feregil  retrain 
from  hugging  and  kissing  his  long-eared  fellow- 
labuurer,  thus  restored  to  him  from  the  clutches  ol 
the  law  ;  anil,  in  fact,  it  is  doubtful  which  gave  the 
simple-hearteil  little  man  most  joy  .-it  the  moment, 
the  gaining  of  the  treasure  or  the  recovery  of  the 
donkey. 

The  two  partners  in  good  luck  divided  their  spoil 
amicably  and  lairly,  excepting  that  the  Moor,  who 
had  a  little  taste  for  trinketry,  made  out  to  get  into 
his  heap  the  most  of  the  pearls  and  precious  stones, 
and  other  baubles,  but  lh(;n  he  always  gave  the 
water-carrier  ii\  lieu  ni.igniticent  jewels  of  massy 
gold  lour  times  the  size,  with  which  the  latter  was 
he.inily  content.  They  took  care  not  to  linger  svithin 
re.ach  of  accidents,  but  m;ide  off  to  enjoy  their  wealth 
undisturbed  in  other  countries.  The  Moor  returnt  d 
into  Africa,  to  his  native  city  of  Tetuan,  and  tiic 
Gallego,  with  his  wife,  his  children  and  his  donkey, 
made  the  best  of  his  way  to  I'ortugal.  Here,  undei 
the  admonition  and  tuition  of  his  wife,  he  became  ii 
personage  of  some  consequence,  for  she  made  tbt 
tittle  man  array  his  long  body  and  slicrt  legs  is 
doublet  and  hose,  with  a  feather  in  his  hnt  ai.d  a 
sword  l)y  his  side  ;  and,  laying  aside  the  farr.iliait 
appellation  of  I'eregil,  assume  the  more  sonorous 
title  of  Don  I'edro  Gil.  His  progeny  grew  up  a 
thriving  and  merrj-hearted,  though  slioit  and  handy- 
legged  generation  ;  while  the  Senora  Gil,  be-fringed, 
be-laced.  and  be-tasselled  from  her  head  to  her  heels, 
with  glittering  rings  on  every  linger,  became  a  modd 
of  slattern  fashion  and  tinery. 
As  to  the  Alcalde,   and  his  adjuncts,  thev  n 


H'A 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


I*! 


maincd  shut  up  under  the  great  tower  of  the 
Seven  Floors,  and  there  they  remain  spcll-bound 
at  the  present  day.  Whenever  there  shall  i)e  a  lack 
in  S|)ain  of  pimpinjj  barbers,  sharking  algu.azils,  and 
corrupt  Alcakles,  ihey  may  be  sou5,'ht  after;  but 
if  they  have  to  wait  until  such  time  for  their  deliver- 
aa:e,  there  is  danger  of  their  enchantment  enduring 
til  doomsday. 


VISITORS  TO  THE  ALHAMBRA. 


-^iiMU 


It  is  now  nearly  three  months  since  I  took  up 
my  abode  in  the  Alhaml)ra,  durinj^  which  time 
the  progress  of  the  season  has  wrought  many 
changes.  When  I  first  arrived  every  thing  was 
in  the  freshness  of  May ;  the  foliage  of  the  trees 
was  still  leniler  and  transparent ;  the  pomegran- 
ate had  not  yet  shed  its  brilliant  crimson  blos- 
soms; the  orchards  of  the  Xenil  and  the  Darro 
were  in  lull  bloom  ;  the  rocks  were  hung  with  wild 
flowers,  and  Granada  seemed  completely  surrounded 
by  a  wilderness  of  roses,  among  which  innumerable 
nightingales  sang,  not  merely  in  the  night,  but  all 
day  long. 

The  advance  of  summer  has  withered  the  rose 
and  silenced  the  nightingale,  anil  the  distant  coun- 
try begins  to  look  parched  and  smiburnt  ;  thmigh 
a  perennial  verdure  reij.jTis  imiiieiliately  round  tlie 
city,  i  in  the  deep  iiarri)w  valleys  at  the  foot  of 
th.e        4V-capped  mountains. 

Tl.  Aibf-imbra  possesses  retreats  graduated  to 
he  heat  of  the  weather,  among  which  the  most 
.iCtliar  is  the  almost  subtt'rranean  apartment  of 
1'.^  baths.  This  still  retains  its  ancient  oriental 
character,  though  stamped  with  the  touching  traces 
of  decline.  At  the  entrance,  o|)ening  into  a  small 
C'jurt  formerly  adorned  with  tlowers,  is  a  hall, 
moderate  in  size,  but  light  and  graceful  in  archi- 
tecture. It  is  overlooked  hv  a  small  gallery  sup- 
ported by  marble  pill.irs  and  morescu  arches.  An 
alabaster  fountain  in  the  centre  of  the  pavement  st:!I 
tiirows  up  a  jet  of  w.uer  to  cool  the  pl.ice.  On  each 
siile  are  deep  alcoves  with  raised  platforms,  where 
the  bathers  alter  iheir  .iblutions  reclmed  on  lu.vuri- 
ous  cushions,  sootheil  to  vuhijnuous  repose  by  the 
t'ragrance  of  the  perlumed  air  and  the  notes  of  soft 
musr:  from  the  gallciy.  iieyond  this  h.dl  are  the  in- 
terior chambers,  still  more  private  and  retired, 
wiiere  no  light  is  admitted  but  through  small  aper- 
tures in  the  vaulted  ceilings.  Here  was  the  sanc- 
tum sanctonim  of  female  privacy,  where  the  be.iutics 
of  the  harem  indulged  in  the  lu.xury  of  the  baths. 
A  soft  mysterious  light  reigns  through  the  i)l.ice, 
the  oroken  baths  are  stil  iheie,  and  traces  of  .-^ncient 
elegance. 

The  i)revailing  silence  and  obscurity  have  nrade 
this  a  favourite  resort  of  bats,  who  nestle  durint;  the 
lay  in  the  dark  nooks  and  corners,  and,  on  being 
I'sturbed,  Hit  mysteriously  about  the  twilight  cham- 
Krs,  heightening  in  an  indescribable  degree  their 
lit  of  desertion  and  decay. 

In  this  cool  and  elegant  though  dilapidated  re- 
treat, which  h.is  the  Ireshne.ss  and  seclusion  of  a 
grotto,  I  have  "f  late  passed  the  sultry  hours  of  the 
uav ;  emerging  toward  sunset,  ami  b.ithing.  or 
rather  swimimng,  at  nighi  in  the  gre.it  reservoir  of 
the  main  court.  In  this  way  I  h.tve  been  en.ibleil  in 
a  measure  to  eounter.ict  the  relaxing  and  enervating 
iiifinence  of  the  climate. 

My  dre.im  o(  absolute  sovereignty  howe'.'cr,  ii  at 
Vk  end  :  1  w.is  roused  from  it  lately  jy  the  report  of 


fire-arms,  wh.ch  reverberated  among  the  to\«;rs  a.s  il 
the  castle  had  been  taken  by  surprise.  On  sallyino 
forth  1  found  an  old  cavalier  with  a  number  nl 
domestics  in  possession  of  the  hall  of  am'  .issndoi:* 
He  was  an  ancient  Count,  who  had  come  up  Ito:;! 
his  jial.ice  in  Granada  to  pass  a  short  time  in  the  ,\l- 
hambra  for  the  benefit  of  purer  air.  and  who,  bf.'.ns! 
a  veteran  and  inveterate  sportsman,  was  endeavcu;- 
ing  to  get  an  appetite  for  his  breakfast  by  shooting 
at  swallows  from  the  balconies.  It  was  a  harmless 
amusement,  for  though,  by  the  alertness  of  his 
attendants  in  loading  his  pieces,  he  was  enablt  i!  ^o 
keep  up  a  brisk  fire,  I  could  not  accuse  hin-  of  ilic 
death  of  a  single  swallow.  Nay,  the  birds  tlu :,:. 
selves  seemed  to  enjoy  the  sport,  and  to  de'ide  hir, 
vv.mt  of  skill,  skimming  in  circles  close  to  ilic 
balconies,  and  twittering  as  they  darted  by. 

The  arrival  of  this  old  gentleman  'i  -  in  some 
measure  changed  the  aspect  of  affairs,  init  h.as  lik  ■- 
wise  afforded  matter  for  agreealile  s|)eculation.  We 
have  tacitly  shared  the  empire  between  us,  l:Kt; 
the  last  kings  of  Gran.ada,  excepting  that  we  mnii;- 
tain  a  most  amicable  alliance.  Me  reigns  absoliiic 
over  the  Court  of  the  Lions  and  its  adjacent  h.iil-, 
while  I  maintain  pe.iceful  possession  of  the  region  i;f 
the  baths  and  the  little  garden  of  Lindara.xa.  \','i: 
take  our  meals  together  under  the  arcades  of  ih,'- 
court,  where  the  fountains  cool  the  air,  and  I  ' 
bling  rills  run  along  the  channels  of  the  m,,!  e 
pavement. 

In  the  evening,  a  domestic  circle  g.ithcrs  ali-  it 
the  worthy  old  cavalier.  The  countess  comes  ip 
from  the  city,  w;:h  a  favourite  daughter  alo  ; 
sixteen  years  of  age.  Then  there  are  the  official  (  • 
jiendents  of  the  Count,  his  chaplain,  his  lawyer,  h  • 
secretai;^-,  his  steward,  and  other  officers  and  agj,, 
of  his  extensive  possessions.  Thus  he  holils  a  i.:!.,i 
of  domestic  court,  where  every  person  seeks  to  i  .n- 
tribute  to  his  amusement,  without  s.icrifuing  hs 
own  pleasure  or  self-respect.  In  fact,  vvhitever  ii;r,- 
be  said  of  Spanish  pride,  it  certainly  does  not  eii  ■; 
into  social  or  domestic  life.  Among  no  people  ,  i 
the  relations  between  kindred  more  cordial,  or  i  .•- 
I  ween  superior  and  dependent  more  frank  and  _,  ■ 
ni.il ;  in  these  respects  there  still  remains,  in  ::.>■ 
provincial  life  of  Spain,  much  of  the  vaunted  sin,;  ':- 
city  of  the  olden  times. 

The  most  interesting  member  of  this  family  grmi; 
however,  is  the  daughter  of  the  Count,  the  ch.r  - 
ing  though  almost  infantile  little  Carmen.  1:  r 
form  has  not  yet  attained  its  maturity,  but  h.i>  ,.- 
ready  the  exijuisiie  i^ymmetry  anil  pliant  gr.u  e  ^l 
prevalent  in  this  country.  Her  blue  eyes,  fair  i  i>r. 
plexion,  anil  light  hnir  are  unusual  in  Anilalu?ia,  iiiil 
give  a  mildness  and  gentleness  to  her  deine.inoiii  ii 
contrast  to  the  usual  fire  of  Spanish  beauty,  b  r  <•'. 
perfect  unison  with  the  guileless  and  confiding  iiii,.>- 
cence  of  her  manners.  She  has,  however,  all  the 
innate  aptness  and  versatility  of  her  fist in.iii-; 
country-women,  and  sings,  dances,  and  plays  tdt- 
guitar  and  other  instruments  to  admir.ition.  A  1  'w 
days  after  t. iking  up  his  residence  in  the  Alh.'.miira, 
the  Count  gave  a  domestic  fete  on  his  saint's  i!  u, 
assembling  round  him  the  members  of  his  lainiiy 
and  household,  while  several  old  serv.ants  came  ti.iii 
his  distant  jiossessions  to  pay  their  reverence  to  h  u, 
and  partake  of  the  good  cht  ';r. 

This  patri.irch.il  sjiirit  which  ch.iractcnzei!  >  .•■ 
Sp.anish  nobility  in  the  days  o(  their  opulenc-  h  s 
declined  with  their  fortunes;  but  some  who,  like  I'le 
Count,  still  retain  their  ancient  family  possessii.  ,, 
keep  up  a  little  of  the  ancient  system,  and  have  tli  u 
estates  overrun  and  almost  eater  up  by  generaiin  .i 
of  idle  retainers.  According  to  ;.u";  magnificent  ;i! 
Spanish   system,  in  which  the   national   pride  ani! 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


141 


generoslly  bote  equal  parts,  a  superannuated  serv- 
ant was  never  turned  off,  but  became  a  charge  for 
the  rest  of  his  days ;  nay,  his  children,  and  his  chil- 
dren's children,  and  often  their  relatians,  to  the  right 
and  left,  became  gradually  entailed  upon  the  family. 
H:!iice  the  huge  palaces  of  the  Spanish  nobility, 
which  have  such  an  air  of  empty  ostentation  from 
the  sTcatness  of  their  size  compared  with  the  medi- 
(Tcrity  and  scantiness  of  their  furniture,  were  abso- 
Uifely  required  in  the  golden  days  of  Spain  by  the 
palriarchal  habits  of  their  possessors.  They  were 
[jUle  better  than  vast  barracks  for  the  hereditary 
fenerations  of  hangers-on  that  battened  at  the  ex- 
t  cnse  of  a  Spanish  noble.  The  worthy  Count,  who 
his  estates  in  various  parts  of  the  l<ing(lom,  assures 
nie  that  some  of  them  barely  feed  the  hordes  of  de- 
pendents nestled  upon  them ;  who  consider  them- 
st  Ives  entitled  to  be  maintained  upon  the  place,  rent 
free,  l)ecause  their  forefathers  have  been  so  for  gen- 
erations. 

The  domestic  fete  of  the  Count  broke  in  upon  the 
usual  still  life  of  the  Alhambra.  Music  and  laugh- 
ter resounded  through  its  late  silent  halls ;  there 
were  groups  of  the  guests  amusing  themselves  about 
the  i;aileries  and  gardens,  and  ofiicious  servants  from 
town  hurrying  through  the  courts,  bearing  viands  to 
the  ancient  kitchen,  which  was  .igain  alive  with  the 
trc.ul  of  cooks  and  scullions,  and  blazed  with  un- 
woiited  fires. 

The  feast,  for  a  Spanish  set  dinner  is  literally  a 
feast,  was  laid  in  the  beautiful  moresco  hall  called 
"la  sala  de  las  dos  Hennanas."  (the  saloon  of  tlie 
two  sisters ; )  the  tabic  groaned  with  abundance, 
."ml  a  joyous  conviviality  prevailed  round  the 
r  3ard ;  for  though  the  Spaniards  are  generally  an 
abstemious  people,  they  are  complete  revellers  at  a 
banquet. 

For  my  own  part,  there  was  something  peculiarly 
jt'.testing  in  thus  sitting  at  a  feast,  in  the  royal  halls 
I.',  the  Alhambra,  given  by  the  representative  of  one 
(;f  its  most  renowned  conquerors ;  for  the  venerable 
Cuunt,  though  unwarlike  himself,  is  the  lineal  de- 
vendant  and  representative  of  the  "  Great  Captain," 
the  illustrious  tlonsalvo  of  Cordova,  whose  sword 
he  guaids  in  the  archiv'es  of  his  [)al.'ice  at  Granada. 
The  banquet  ended,  the  company  adjourned  to  the 
hall  of  amb.issadors.  Ht-re  every  one  contributed 
to  the  general  amusement  by  exerting  some  peculiar 
t.iUnt ;  singing,  improvising,  telling  wonderful  tales, 
(,r  danring  to  that  all-pervading  talisman  of  Spanish 
pleasure,  the  guitar. 

'['lie  life  and  charm  of  the  whole  assemblage,  how- 
ever was  the  gifteil  little  Carmen.  She  took  her 
]) art  in  two  or  three  scenes  Irom  Spanish  comedies, 
exhibiting  a  charming  dramatic  talent ;  she  gave 
nuitaiidns  of  the  popular  Italian  singers,  with  singu- 
l.u  and  wliimsic.al  felicity,  and  a  rare  qualiiy  of 
voice  ;  she  imitated  the  dialects,  dancs,  and  bal- 
lads of  the  gipsies  anil  the  neighbouring  peasantry, 
hut  did  every  thing  with  a  facility,  a  neatness,  a 
^;i  ice,  and  an  all-|)ervading  prettmess,  'hat  were 
p  rt'ect!)  fascinating.  The  great  charm  of  her  per- 
fi  ri'iances,  however,  was  their  being  free  frmn  all 
[wetension  or  ambition  of  display.  .She  seemeil  un- 
conscious of  the  extent  of  her  own  talents,  and  in 
Ivct  is  accustomed  only  to  exert  them  casually,  like  a 
■  iii  1,  for  the  amusi-mert  of  the  flomestic  circle, 
he:  nbser\'ation  and  tact  must  be  remarkablv  quick, 
fi  ■■•  her  life  is  passed  in  the  bosom  of  her  famdy,  and 
•he  can  only  have  had  casual  and  transient  gi.inces 
:U  t!ie  various  characters  and  traits,  l)roiighl  out  /w- 
promptti  in  moments  of  domestic  hilarity,  like  the 
Jiie  in  question.  It  is  ple.asing  to  see  the  fondness 
and  admiration  with  whicii  every  one  of  the  house- 


the  domestics,  ty  any  other  appellation  than  iiat  of 
La  Nifla,  "  the  child,"  an  appellation  which  thus 
applied  has  something  pecuii.irly  kind  and  endearing 
in  the  Spanish  language. 

Never  shall  I  think  of  the  Alhambra  without  re- 
membering the  lovely  little  Carmen  sporting  in  h.appy 
and  innocent  girlhood  in  its  marble  halls;  dancing  to 
the  sound  of  the  Moorish  castanets,  or  mingling  th( 
silver  warbling  of  her  voice  with  the  music  o7  lb( 
fountains. 

On  thfs  festive  occasion  several  curious  an  1  amus- 
ing legends  and  traditions  were  told  ;  many  of  which 
have  escaped  my  memory ;  but  of  those  that  most 
struck  me,  I  will  endeavoui  to  shape  forth  some  en- 
tertainment for  the  leader. 


E6END  Qi:  PRINCE  AHMED  AL  KAMEL; 

OR, 

THE  PILGRIM  OF  LOVE. 


There  was  once  a  Moorish  King  of  Granada  whc 
h.ad  but  one  son,  whom  he  named  Ahmed,  to  which 
his  courtiers  added  the  surname  of.  al  K.amel,  or  thi; 
perfect,  from  the  indubitable  signs  of  super-excel- 
lence which  they  perceived  in  him  in  his  very  infancy, 
The  astrologers  countenanced  them  in  their  fore- 
sight, predicting  every  thing  in  his  favour  that  could 
make  a  perfect  prince  and  a  prosperous  sovereign 
One  cloud  only  rested  upon  his  destiny,  and  ever 
that  was  of  a  roseate  hue.  He  would  be  3l  ao 
amorous  tempetament,  and  run  great  perils  from  th- 
tender  p.assicn.  If,  however,  he  could  be  kept  tr.Jti 
the  allurements  of  love  until  of  mature  age.  these 
dangers  would  be  averted,  and  his  life  thereafter  be 
one  uninterrupted  course  of  felicity. 

To  prevent  all  danger  of  the  kiuvl,  the  king  wisely 
determined  to  rear  the  prince  in  a  .--eclusion,  v.'ltere 
he  should  never  see  a  female  face  nor  hear  even  the 
name  of  love.  For  this  purpose  he  built  a  be.autifirl 
palace  on  the  brow  of  a  iiill  .above  ihe  Alhambra,  in 
the  midst  of  delightful  gardens,  tut  surrounded  by 
lofty  walls  ;  being,  in  fact,  the  satiie  palace  known  at 
the  present  ikiy  by  the  name  cf  the  Generaliffe.  In 
this  piAlace  the  youtliliil  prince  was  shut  up  and  en- 
trusted to  the  guardianship  and  instruction  of  Ebon 
Bonabbon,  one  of  the  wisest  and  dryest  of  Araiiian 
sages,  who  had  passed  the  greatest  part  of  his  lite  in 
Fgypt,  studying  hieroglyphics  and  making  researches 
among  the  tombs  and  pyramids,  and  who  saw  more 
charms  in  an  Egyptian  mummy  than  in  the  most 
tem])ting  of  living  beauties.  The  s.ige  \vas  ordered 
to  instruct  the  prince  in  all  kinds  of  knowledge  but 
one — he  is  to  be  kept  utterly  ignorant  of  love — "  use 
every  precaution  lor  the  purpose  you  may  tliink 
proper."  said  the  king,  "  but  rcm.ember,  oh  Ebon 
lion.ahbon,  if  my  son  learns  aught  of  that  forbidden 
knowledge,  while  under  your  care,  your  head  shall 
answer  tor  it,"  A  withered  smile  came  over  the  dry- 
visage  of  the  wise  lionabbon  at  the  menace.  "  Let 
your  m<ajesty's  heart  be  as  easy  about  your  son  ai 
mine  is  about  my  head.  Am  I  a  man  likely  to  give 
lessons  in  the  idle  passion  ?" 

Under  the  vigilant  care  of  the  philosopher,  the 
prince  grew  up  in  the  seclusion  of  the  palace  and  iti 
gardens.  He  had  black  slaves  to  attend  upon  him 
— hideous  mutes,  who  knew  nothi,  g  of  love,  or  if 
iliev  did.  h  ^d  not  words  to  communicate  it     Hij 


mental  eialuwments  were  the  peculiar  care  of  Ebon 
hold  regards  her :  she  is  never  spoken  of,  even  by  j  t'onabbon,  who  sought  to  initiate  him  into  the  al> 


144 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


#■-■♦-•■"  i   ' 


H^>r^ 'r 


-k-' 


i-,-l-- 


.    .'f 


i;  v- 


mf 


■truse  lore  of  Egypt,  but  in  this  the  prince  made  little 
progress,  and  it  was  soon  evident  that  he  had  no 
turn  for  philosophy. 

H>.  was,  however,  amazingly  ductile  for  a  youthful 
prince ;  ready  to  follow  any  advice  and  always  guided 
by  the  last  councillor.  He  suppressed  his  yawns, 
and  listened  patiently  *o  the  long  and  learned  dis- 
courses of  Ebon  Bciiabbon,  from  which  he  imbibed 
a  smattering  of  various  kinds  of  knowledge,  and  thus 
Inppily  attained  his  twentieth  year,  a  miracle  of 
pnncely  wisdom,  but  totally  ignorant  of  love. 

About  this  time,  however,  a  change  came  over  the 
conduct  of  the  prince.  He  completely  abandoned 
his  studies  and  took  to  strolling  about  the  g.irdens 
and  musing  by  the  side  of  the  fountains.  He  had 
been  taught  a  little  music  among  his  various  accom- 
plishments;  it  now  engrossed  a  great  part  of  his 
time,  and  a  turn  for  poetry  became  apparent.  The  sage 
Ebon  Uonabbon  look  the  alarm,  and  endeavoured 
to  work  these  idle  humours  out  of  him  by  a  severe 
course  of  algebra ;  but  the  prince  turned  from  it  with 
distaste.  "I  cannot  endure  algebra,"  said  he;  "it 
is  an  abomination  to  me.  I  want  something  that 
speaks  more  to  the  heart." 

The  sage  Ebon  Ronabbon  shook  his  dry  head  at 
the  words.  "  Here's  an  end  to  philosophy,  '  thought 
he.  "The  princp  has  discovered  he  has  a  heart !  " 
He  now  kept  anxious  watch  upon  his  pupil,  and  saw 
that  the  latent  tenderness  of  his  nature  was  in  activ- 
ity, and  only  wanted  an  object.  He  wandered  about 
the  gardens  of  tlie  Generaliffe  in  an  intoxication  of 
feelings  of  which  he  knew  not  the  cause.  Sometimes 
he  would  sit  plunged  in  a  delicious  reverie ;  then  he 
would  seize  his  lute  and  draw  from  it  the  most 
touching  notes,  and  then  throw  it  aside,  and  break 
fc<rth  into  sighs  and  ejaculations. 

Hy  degrees  this  loving  disposition  began  to  extend 
>."}  inanirr.ate  ojjjecls;  he  had  his  favourite  flowers 
which  i.e  clieri'-.hcd  with  tender  assi<luity ;  then  he 
became  attached  to  various  trees,  and  there  was  one 
in  particular,  of  a  graceful  U;rm  and  drooping  foliage, 
on  which  he  lavished  his  amorous  devotion,  carving 
his  name  on  its  bark,  hangin>»  garlands  on  its 
branches,  and  singing  couplets  in  its  praise,  to  the 
accompaniment  ol  his  lute. 

The  sage  Ebon  Bonabbon  was  alarmed  at  this  ex- 
cited state  of  his  pupil.  He  saw  him  on  the  very 
brink  of  forbidden  knowledge — the  least  tiint  miglit 
reveal  to  him  the  fatal  secret.  Trembling  fur  the 
safety  of  the  prince,  and  the  security  of  his  own  head, 
he  hastene(l  to  draw  him  from  the  seductions  of  the 
garden,  and  shut  him  up  in  the  highi.'St  tower  of  the 
Generaliffe.  It  contained  l.n.'autiful  apartments,  and 
commanded  an  almost  boundless  prospect,  but  was 
elevated  far  above  that  atmosphere  of  sweets  and 
those  witching  bowers  so  dangerous  to  tlit  feelings 
of  the  too  susceptible  Ahmed. 

What  was  to  Ix-  done,  however,  to  reconcile  him 
to  this  restraint  and  to  beguile  tne  tedious  hours? 
He  had  exhausted  almost  all  kinds  of  agreeable 
knowledge  ;  and  .algebra  was  not  to  be  menticmed. 
Fortunately  F.bon  Bonabbon  had  l)een  in'  tructed, 
wher  in  Ejr  pt,  in  the  language  of  liirds,  bv  a  Jewish 
r;abb  n,  v,no  had  received  it  in  lineal  tra«sniission 
from  ''^omon  the  wise,  who  had  been  taught  it  by 
^hf  ^»ueen  or.Shet<a.  At  the  very  mention  of  such  a 
■  *dy  the  eyes  of  the  prince  sparkled  with  animation, 
and  he  applied  himself  to  it  with  sucii  avidity,  that 
he  soon  became  as  great  an  adr|)t  as  his  master. 

The  tower  o(  the  Generaliffe  was  no  longer  a  soli- 
tude;  he  had  companions  at  hand  with  whom  he 
could  converse.  Tlie  first  acquaintance  he  formed 
was  with  a  hawk  who  built  his  nest  in  a  crevice  of 
the  lofty  battlements,  from  whence  he  soared  far  a-.! 
wide  in  quest  of  prev.     The  prince,  however,  found 


little  to  like  or  esteem  in  him.  Ae  was  a  mcr; 
pirate  of  the  air,  swaggering  and  boastful,  whose 
talk  was  all  about  rapine,  and  carnage,  and  desperatt 
exploits. 

His  next  acquaintance  was  an  owl,  a  mighty  wise- 
looking  bird,  with  a  large  head  and  staring  eyes, 
who  sat  blinking  and  goggling  all  day  in  a  hole  ir 
the  wall,  but  roamed  forth  at  night.  He  had  grerii 
pretensions  to  wisdom  ;  talked  something  of  astrology 
and  the  moon,  and  hinted  at  the  dark  sciences,  hui 
he  was  gjrievously  given  to  metaphysics,  and  the 
prince  found  his  prosings  were  more  ponderous  than 
those  of  the  sage  Ebon  Bonabbon. 

Then  there  was  a  bat,  that  hung  al.  day  by  hif 
heels  in  the  dark  corner  of  a  vault,  but  s-illied  out  in 
a  dip-shod  style  at  twilight.  He,  however,  had  Inii 
twilight  ideas  on  all  subjects,  derided  things  of  which 
he  had  taken  but  an  imperfect  view,  and  seemed  to 
take  delight  in  nothing. 

Beside  these  there  was  a  swallow,  with  whom  the 
prince. was  at  first  much  taken.  He  w.as  a  smart 
talker,  but  restless,  bustling,  and  for  ever  on  the 
wing ;  seldom  remaining  long  enough  for  any  con- 
tinned  conversation.  He  turned  out  in  the  end  to 
be  a  mere  smatterer,  who  did  but  skim  over  the  sur- 
face of  things,  pretending  to  know  every  thing,  but 
knowing  nothing  thoroughly. 

These  were  the  only  feathered  associates  with 
whom  the  prince  had  any  opportunity  of  exercising 
his  newly  acquired  language ;  the  tower  w.as  too 
high  for  any  other  birds  to  frequent  it.  He  soon 
grew  weary  of  his  new  acquaintances,  whose  conver- 
sation spake  so  little  to  the  he.id  and  nothing  to  ih» 
heart ;  and  gradually  relapsed  into  his  lonelim  .(. 
A  winter  passed  away,  spring  opened  with  all  its 
bloom,  and  verdure,  and  breathing  sweetness,  ai<;! 
the  happy  time  arrived  for  birds  to  pair  and  bu''.l 
their  nests.  Suddenly,  as  it  were,  a  universal  buist 
of  song  .and  melody  broke  forth  from  the  groves  ami 
gardens  of  the  Generaliffe,  anil  reached  the  priiKe  ^ 
the  solitude  of  his  tower.  From  every  side  he  heai! 
the  same  universal  theme  —  love  —  love  —  love 
chaunted  forth  and  responded  to  in  every  variety  "i 
note  and  tone.  The  prince  listened  in  silence  ami 
perplexity.  "  What  can  be  this  love,"  thought  h', 
"of  which  the  world  seems  so  full,  and  of  which  I 
know  nothing?  "  He  applied  tor  inlormation  to  ins 
friend  the  hawk.  The  ruffian  bird  answered  in  a 
tone  of  scorn, — "  You  must  apply,"  said  he,  "  to  the 
vulgar,  peaceable  birds  of  earth,  who  are  made  in 
the  prey  of  us  princes  of  the  air.  My  trade  is  wii 
and  lighting  niv  tielight.  In  a  word,  1  am  a  warnui, 
anil  know  nothing  of  this  thing  called  love." 

The  i)rince  turned  from  him  with  disgust,  and 
sought  the  owl  in  his  retreat.  "This  is  a  bird,' 
sai'l  he,  "  of  peaceful  habits,  and  may  be  able  to 
solve  my  question."  So  he  asked  the  owl  to  tell  hiiu 
what  was  this  love  about  which  all  the  birds  in  dv 
groves  below  were  singing. 

Ujion  this  the  owl  put  on  a  look  of  offended  (hg- 
r.ity  "  My  nights,"  said  he,  "  ire  taken  up  in  Muo\ 
and  research,  and  my  days  in  laminating  in  my  it 
upon  all  that  I  have  learnt.  As  to  these  sin;.'.' ■^; 
birds  of  whom  you  talk,  I  never  listen  to  them.  I 
desjjise  them  and  their  themes.  Allah  be  praised,  ' 
cannot  sing.  In  a  word,  1  am  a  philosopher,  an 
know  nothing  of  this  thing  called  love.' 

The  prince  now  repaired  to  the  vault  where 
friend  the  bat  was  h.inging  by  the  heels,  and  [ 
pounded  the  same  question.  Tl-.e  bat  wrinkled 
his  none  into  a  most  snappish  e/ijiression.  "  Why 
vou  disturb  me  in  my  morning's  nap  with  such 
idle  question,"  said  he  peevishly.  "I  only  flv 
twiliglit  when  all  birds  are  asleep,  and  never  troi 
my.ieU  with  tneir  concms.     1  am  neither  b-rd 


hi' 


loni  of  the  ear 


nature  of  th 


THE   ALHAMBRA 


14fi 


Beast,  and  I  thank  heaven  for  it.  I  have  Tound  out 
the  .  iilainy  of  the  whole  of  them,  and  hat-:  them,  one 
ar.'l  all.  In  a  word,  I  am  a  misanthrope,  and  know 
nothing  of  this  thing  called  love." 

As  a  last  resort,  the  prince  now  sought  the  swal- 
low, and  stopped  him  just  as  he  w.is  circling  about 
fjie  summit  of  the  tower.   The  swallow  as  usual  was 


c  fi)!iow,  that  I  have  had  no  time  to  think  on  the 
iii.ijcct.  I  have  every  day  a  thousand  visits  to  pay  ; 
A  thousand  affairs  of  importance  to  examine  mto, 
that  leave  me  not  a  moment  of  leisure  for  these  little 
5in>;-song  matters.  In  a  word,  1  am  a  ciii/en  of  the 
world.  I  know  nothing  of  this  thing  called  love." 
So  saying,  the  swallow  dived  into  the  valley  and  was 
^it  of  sight  in  a  moment. 

The  prince  remained  disappointed  and  perplexed, 
but  ivitn  his  curiosity  still  more  pi(|ued  by  'he  diffi- 
culty of  gratifying  it.  While  in  this  mood  his  anrit-nt 
pjanil.in  entered  the  tower.  The  prince  adv.iiiced 
ca.ijfily  to  meet  him.  "Oh  sige  Ebon  Bon.ibhon," 
crifil  he,  "thou  hast  revealei!  to  me  much  of  the 
wisiioin  of  the  earth,  but  there  is  one  thing  of  which 
1  reiii.iin  in  utter  ignorance,  and  would  fain  be  in- 
foriiK'd." 

"  My  prince  has  but  to  make  the  inquiry,  and 
every  thing  within  the  limited  range  of  his  servant's 
jn'i:llt'ct  is  at  his  command." 

"  Trll  nie  then,  oh  most  profound  of  sages,  what 
is ;'  •  nature  of  this  thing  called  love  ?  " 

The  sage  Ebon  Honabhon  was  strucK  as  with  a 
thund.  rbolt.  lie  trembled  and  turned  pale,  and  felt 
as  if  his  head  sat  but  loo.selv  on  his  shoulders. 

"  What  could  suggest  such  a  question  to  my 
jinre  ?  —  where  could  he  have  learnt  so  idle  a 
nord  ?  " 

The  prince  led  him  to  the  window  of  the  tower. 
•'Li>ii'n,  oh  Ebon  lonabbon  !  "  said  he.  The  sage 
l.siened.  The  nightingale  sat  in  a  thicket  below  the 
twer  singing  to  his  paramour,  the  rose;  from  ever)' 
iiitissorned  spray  and  tuftt'd  grove  arose  a  strain  of 
melody,  and  love — love— love,  w.is  stdl  the  unvary- 
in|j  theme.  "Allah  Achbar  I  C.od  is  great!"  ex- 
claiiMi'l  the  wise  lionabbon.  "  Who  shall  pretend 
ij  keep  this  secret  from  the  hearts  of  men  when  even 
ihs  birds  of  the  air  conspire  to  betray  it  ?  " 

Then  turning  to  Ahmed,  "Oh  my  ptince,"  cried 
he,  "  shut  thine  ears  to  these  seductive  strains. 
Close  thy  mind  against  this  dangerous  knowledge. 
Know  th;it  this  love  is  the  cause  of  I  If  the  ills  of 
wretched  mort.ility.  It  is  this  which  |  roduces  bit- 
terii'ss  of  strife  between  brethren  and  friends  ;  which 
LMUies  treacherous  murder  and  desolating  war.  Care 
siiil  -.(irrow,  weary  days  and  slee|)less  nights,  are  its 
attiii  l.mts.  It  withers  the  bloom  and  blights  the 
io\s  of  youth,  and  brings  on  the  ills  and  griefs  of 
prei.Mture  old  age.  Allah  preserve  thee,  my  prince, 
in  total  ignorance  of  this  thing  calleil  love  !  ' 

Tiie  sage  EI)on  Hon.ibbon  nastily  retired,  leaving 
the  prince  plunged  in  still  iK'eper  |)erplexity.  It  was 
ir  vi.in  he  attempted  lo  dismiss  the  subject  from  his 
'  ir.  I ;  it  still  continued  uppermost  in  his  thoughts, 
ijd  t<.ased  and  exhausted  him  with  vain  conjectures. 
';"urely,"  said  he  to  himself  as  he  listened  to  the 
I  lelul  strains  of  the  birds,  "  there  is  no  sorrow  in 
.'.■,':  notes:  every  thing  seems  tenderness  and  jf>'. 
'.i  ove  be  a  cause  of  such  wretchedness  and  ilrife, 
w;.y  .ue  not  these  birils  drooping  in  solitude,  or  tear- 
ini,'  III  h  other  in  pieces,  instead  of  tluttcring  cheer- 
fjl!y  ,il)out  the  groves,  or  sporting  with  each  other 
among  the  flowers?  " 

He  lay  one  morning  on  his  couch  meditating  on 
this  inexplicable  matter.     The  window  of  his  cham- 
10 


ber  was  open  to  admit  the  soft  morning  bi  eeze  which 
came  laden  with  the  perfume  of  orange  blossoms 
from  the  valley  of  the  Darro.  The  voice  of  the 
nightingale  was  faintly  heard,  still  chanting  the 
wonted  theme.  As  the  prince  was  listeni-ig  and 
sighing,  there  was  a  sudden  rushing  noise  in  the  air; 
a  beautiful  dove,  pursued  by  a  hawk,  darted  in  at  the 
window  and  fell  panting  on  the  tloor ;  while  the  pur- 
suer, balked  of  his  prey,  soared  off  to  the  mountains. 

The  prince  took  up  the  gasping  bird,  smootled 
its  feathers,  and  nestled  it  in  his  bo.som.  When  he 
had  soothed  it  by  his  caresses  he  put  it  in  a  golden 
cage,  and  offered  it,  with  his  own  hands,  the  whitest 
and  finest  of  wheat  and  the  purest  of  water.  The  bird, 
however,  refused  food,  and  sat  drooping  and  pining, 
and  uttering  piteous  moans. 

"  What  aileth  thee .'  "  said  Ahmed.  "  Hast  thou 
not  every  thing  thy  heart  can  wish  ?  " 

"Alas,  no ! "  replied  the  dove,  "  am  I  not  sepa- 
rated from  the  partner  of  my  heart — and  that  too  in 
the  happy  spring-time — the  very  season  of  love  ?  " 

"  Ot  love  !  "  echoed  Ahmed.  "  I  pray  thee,  my 
pretty  bird,  canst  thou  then  lell  me  what  is  love?  " 

"  Too  well  can  I,  my  piince.  It  is  the  torment  ot 
one,  the  felicity  of  two,  the  strife  and  enmity  of 
three.  It  is  a  charm  which  dr.iws  two  beings  lo- 
geirter,  and  unites  them  by  delicious  sympathies, 
unking  it  happiness  to  be  with  each  other,  r)ut  mis- 
ery to  be  apart.  Is  there  no  being  to  whom  you  are 
drawn  by  these  ties  of  tender  affection  ?  " 

•'  1  like  my  old  teacher,  K!jon  Honabhon,  better 
than  any  other  l)eing ;  but  he  is  ot'ten  tedious,  and  I 
occasionally  feel  myself  happier  without  his  society." 

"  That  is  not  ihe  syni().'.thy  I  mean.  1  speai;  o! 
love,  the  great  mystery  anrl  principle  of  lite  ,  the  in- 
toxicating revel  of  youth  ;  the  sober  deli;,dit  of  n^e 
Look  lorth,  my  prince,  and  Ijehifjld  how  at  this  hle.',i. 
season  all  nati'ie  is  full  of  love,  r^very  created  rjeing 
has  its  mate  ;  the  most  insignificant  bird  singa  to  it« 
paramour  ;  the  very  beetle  uoos  its  lady  beetle  in  the 
dust,  and  yon  buttertlies  which  you  see  lluttermg  high 
al)o\e  'he  tower  and  toying  in  the  air  are  happv  -n 
each  ,...ier's  kne.  Alas,  my  pnnce !  hast  thoL 
spent  so  mnny  of  the  ])recious  days  of  youth  without 
kiiowiiig  any  thing  of  love  !  Is  there  no  gentle  be- 
ing of  another  sex  ;  no  beautiful  princess,  or  lovely 
damsel  who  h.is  ensnared  your  heart,  and  tilled  your 
bosom  with  a  soft  tumult  of  pleasing  pains  and  ten- 
der wishes  ?  " 

"  I  begin  to  understand !  "  said  the  prince  sigh- 
ing. "  Such  a  tumult  I  have  more  than  once  experi- 
enced w''hoiit  knowing  the  cause  ;  anil  whete  should 
I  se'.-k  for  an  object  such  as  you  describe  in  this  dis- 
mal solitude  ?  " 

A  little  further  conversation  ensued,  and  the  first 
amatory  lesson  of  the  prince  was  complete, 

"  Al.i-  '  "  saitl  he  "  if  love  be  indeed  such  a  de- 
light, and  its  internii  lion  such  a  misery,  Allah  for- 
bid that  I  should  mar  the  joy  of  any  of  its  votaries." 
He  o|ieneu  the  cage,  took  out  the  dove,  and,  having 
fondly  kissed  it,  carried  it  to  the  u  nJow.  "Go. 
happy  bird,"  said  he,  "  rejoice  with  the  partner  ol 
thy  heart  in  the  days  of  youth  and  sjirin^-tinie. 
Why  should  I  make  thee  a  fellow  prisoner  in  this 
dreary  tower,  where  love  can  never  enter  ?  " 

The  dove  flapped  its  wings  in  rapture,  gave  or  ( 
vault  into  the  air,  and  then  swooned  downward  on 
whistling  wings  to  the  bhioming  boxvers  of  the  iJarro. 

The  prince  followed  him  with  his  eyes,  aiul  ihen 
gave  way  to  bitter  repining.  The  singing  of  ths 
birds  which  once  delignted  him  now  added  lo  his 
bitterness.  Love  I  love!  love!  Alas,  poor  youth, 
h<"  now  unilerstood  'he  strain. 

i  lis  eyes  llashed  fire  wiicn  next  he  beheld  the  s:\ge 
Bonabbon      "  Why  hast  i*  :".'.  kept  me  in  this  abiect 


4'ki 
*" 


if-: 


146 


WORKS  <ji!'  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


V.'TT 


f-   ~  ■  ■■  J* 


III'!;-:  -^   '.. 


ignorance)'"  cried  he.  "  Why  has  the  great  mys- 
tery and  princti)le  of  life  been  withheld  from  me,  in 
which  I  find  the  meanest  insect  is  so  learned  ?  Be- 
hold ail  nature  is  in  a  revel  of  delight.  Every  cre- 
ated being  rejoices  with  its  mate.  'Phis — this  is  the 
love  a'jout  which  I  have  sought  instruction  ;  why  am 
1  alone  debarred  its  enjoyment  ?  why  has  so  much 
ot  my  youth  been  wasted  without  a  knowledge  of 
t'ur  rapture  ?  " 

The  sage  Bonabbon  saw  that  all  further  resen'e 
3/  •£  useless,  for  the  prinre  had  acquired  the  d.mger- 
ous  and  forbidden  knowledge.  He  revealed  to  him, 
therefore,  the  predictions  of  the  astrologers,  and  the 
precautions  that  had  been  taken  in  his  education  to 
avert  the  threatened  evils.  "  And  now,  my  prince," 
added  he,  "my  life  is  in  your  hands.  Let  the  king 
your  father  discover  that  you  have  learned  the  pas- 
sion of  love  while  under  my  guardianship,  and  my 
head  must  answer  for  it." 

The  prince  was  as  reasonable  as  most  young  men 
of  his  age,  and  easily  listened  to  the  remonstrances 
of  his  tutor,  since  nothing  pleaded  against  them. 
Beside,  he  really  was  attached  to  the  sage  Bonab- 
bon, and  bemg  as  yet  but  theoretically  acquainted 
with  the  passion  of  love,  he  consented  to  confine  the 
knowledge  of  it/  to  his  own  bo.som,  rather  than  en- 
danger the  head  of  the  philosopher.  His  discre- 
tion was  doomed,  however,  to  be  put  to  still  further 
proofs.  A  few  mornings  afterwards,  as  he  was  ru- 
minating on  the  battlements  of  the  tower,  the  dove 
which  had  been  released  by  him  came  hovering  in 
the  air,  and  alighted  fearlessly  upon  his  shoulder. 

The  prince  fondled  it  to  his  breast.  "  Happy 
bird,"  said  he,  "who  can  fly,  as  it  were,  with  the 
wings  of  the  morning  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the 
earth.     Where  hast  thou  been  since  we  parted  ?" 

"  Ir  a  far  country,  my  prince  ;  from  whence  I 
brin^j  you  tidings  in  rew  ird  for  my  lilierty.  In  the 
tvide  compass  of  my  flight,  which  extends  over  plain 
and  mountain,  as  I  was  soaring  in  the  air,  I  beheld 
bcldw  me  a  deligl.ttul  garden  with  all  kinds  of  fruits 
and  flowers.  J I  was  in  a  green  meadow  on  the 
banks  of  a  meandering  stn-im,  and  in  the  centre  of 
the  garden  was  a  stalely  palace.  1  alighted  in  one 
of  the  bowers  to  repose  after  my  weary  flight ;  on 
the  green  bank  below  me  was  a  youthful  princess  in 
the  very  sw^•etness  and  bloom  of  her  years.  She 
was  surrounded  by  female  attendants,  young  like 
herself,  who  decked  her  with  garl.mds  and  coronets 
of  (lowers;  but  no  flower  of  field  or  garden  could 
compare  with  her  for  loveliness.  Here,  however,  she 
bloomed  in  secret,  for  the  garden  was  surrounded  by 
higii  walls,  and  no  mortal  man  was  permitted  tot'ntei. 
When  1  behf'ld  this  beauteous  maid  thiisyounfc.  and 
innocent,  and  unspotted  by  the  world,  I  thouglii, 
here  is  the  being  formed  by  heaven  to  inspire  my 
prince  with  love." 

The  description  was  .is  a  spark  of  fire  »o  the  i:om- 
Oiistilile  heart  of  Ahmed  ;  all  the  l.itent  amnnmsness 
of  his  temperament  had  at  once  found  an  objt'Ct,  and 
he  conceived  an  immeasurable  passion  for  &,*■  prin- 
cts';.     He  wrote  a  letter  couched   in  the  most  im- 

Eaiioned  language,  breathing  his  fervent  devotion, 
ul  .he  imbappy  thraldom  ot  his  person,  which  pre- 
(ivr '.ed  him  frorr.  seeking  In  r  :  it,  and  throwing  him- 
self at  her  leet.  He  added  coujilets  of  the  most 
lender  and  moving  eloquence,  tor  he  was  a  poet  by 
nature  and  inspired  iiy  love.  He  addressed  his  letter, 
"To  the  unknown  beauty,  fri"n  the  ca])ti>'e  prince 
Ahmed,"  tln-n  perfummg  it  with  musk  and  roses,  he 
gave  it  to  the  dove. 

"Aw.ay,  trustiest  of  messengers,"  said  he.  "  Fly 
over  mount.'iin,  and  valley,  i'lid  river,  and  plain  ;  rest 
not  in  bower  nor  set  foot  on  earth,  until  thou  hast 
gi'cn  this  letter  to  the  mistress  of  my  heart.' 


The  dove  soared  high  in  air,  and  takmg  his  '.ours« 
darted  away  in  one  undeviating  direction.  The 
prince  followed  him  with  his  eye  until  he  was  a  ni.rt 
speck  on  a  cloud,  and  gradually  disappeared  behind 
a  mountain. 

Day  after  day  he  watched  for  the  return  ot  the 
messenger  of  love ;  but  he  watched  in  vain,  ,4c 
began  to  accuse  him  of  forgetfulness,  when  towarri-, 
sunset,  one  evening,  the  faithful  bird  fluttered  ini: 
his  apartment,  and,  falling  at  his  feet,  expired.  Th: 
arrow  of  some  wanton  archer  had  pierced  his  bte.-irt, 
yet  he  had  struggled  with  the  lingerings  of  lite  to 
e'^'^cute  his  mission.  As  the  prince  bent  with  grief 
over  this  gentle  martyr  to  fidelity,  he  beheld  a  cinin 
of  pe.ar'.s  round  his  neck,  attached  to  which,  beni-.-uh 
his  w:rg,  was  a  small  er  imelled  picture.  It  repr";- 
sented  a  lovely  princess  in  the  very  flower  of  liet 
years.  It  was,  djubtless,  the  unknown  beauty  ol  the 
g.arden  :  but  who  and  where  was  she — how  had  she 
received  his  letter — and  was  this  picture  sent  as  a 
token  of  an  approval  of  his  passion  r  Unfortun.iii-lv, 
the  death  of  the  faithful  dove  left  every  thinj;  (n 
myster)'  and  doubt. 

The  prince  gazed  on  the  picture  till  his  eyes  swam 
with  tears.  He  pressed  it  to  his  lips  and  to  his 
heart ;  he  sat  for  hours  contemplating  it  in  an  almost 
agony  of  tenderness.  "  Beautiful  image  !  "  said  he. 
"  Alas,  thou  art  but  an  image.  Ye»  thy  dewT  cms 
beam  tenderly  upon  me;  those  rosy  lips  look  as 
though  they  would  speak  encouragement.  \'.iin 
fancies  !  H.ave  they  not  looked  the  same  on  so:iie 
more  happy  rival  ?  But  where  in  this  wide  world 
shall  I  hope  to  find  the  original  ?  Who  knows  wb.M 
mountains,  what  realms  may  separate  us  ?  V.'h.V 
adverse  chances  may  inten-ene  ?  Ferh.ips  n>  w 
even  now,  lovers  may  be  crowding  around  1  t.r 
while  1  sit  here,  a  prisoner  in  a  tower,  wasting  r.j 
time  in  adoration  of  a  painted  shadow." 

The  resolution  of  prince  Ahmed  was  taken.  "  i 
will  lly  from  this  palace,"  said  he,  "  which  has  be- 
come an  odious  prison,  and,  a  pilgrim  of  love,  will 
seek  this  unknown  princess  throughout  the  worhi." 
To  escape  from  the  tower  in  the  day,  when  every 
one  was  awake,  might  be  a  difficult  matter ;  bui  .it 
night  the  palace  was  slightly  guarded,  for  no  one 
apprehended  any  attempt  of  the  kind  from  the 
prince,  who  had  always  been  so  passive  in  his  cap- 
tivity. How  was  he  to  guide  himself,  however,  in 
his  darkling  flight,  being  ignorant  of  the  couiitr>. 
He  bethought  him  of  the  owl,  who  w.as  accuslonnd 
to  roam  at  night,  and  must  know  every  by-lane  .ind 
secret  p.iss.  Seeking  him  in  his  hermitage,  he 
questioned  him  touching  his  knowledge  of  the  Innd 
Ui)on  this  the  owl  put  on  a  mighty  self-imixiri.ir.t 
look. 

"  \ou  must  know,  O  prince,"  "^r.id  he,  "thai  wc 
owls  are  of  a  very  ancient  ard  extensive  f.inily, 
though  rather  fallen  to  decay,  and  jiossess  ruinous 
castles  axid  palaces  in  al'  parts  >  '  Spain.  1  here  is 
scarcely  a  tower  of  the  mountains,  or  fortress  ol  the 
plains,  (Sir  an  old  citadel  of  a  city  but  has  -onic 
brother,  or  uncle,  or  cousin  (]uartered  in  it ;  .I'v!  in 
going  t'T¥e  rounds  to  visit  these  my  nuni  ■  ous 
kindred  I  have  pryed  into  every  nook  and  comer 
and  made  myself  acquainted  with  every  secrr  ot 
the  1,111(1." 

The  prince  was  overjoyed  to  find  the  owl  so  (U  p- 
ly  versed  in  lo[V)graphy,  and   now  int<  rmed  hir:.  ra 
confidence,  of  his  tender  passion   and   ■■  is  intern:-^ 
elopement,  urging  him   to   be   his   companion 
counsellor. 

•'  do  to !  "  said  the  owl,  with  a  look  ot  displcaMiie 

"Am   1  a  bird  to  engage  in  a  love  atfair;  !  whose 

whole  time  is  devote  1  to  meditati(  n  and  the  mo<\; !" 

"  Be  not  oiTended,  itost  solemn  iwl  I '    replieu  ihf 


THE   ALHAMBRA 


U1 


prince.  "  Abstract  thyself  for  a  time  from  medita- 
tion and  the  moon,  ancf  aid  me  in  my  flight,  and  thou 
shiilt  have  whatever  heart  can  wish." 

"  I  have  that  already,"  said  the  owl.  "  A  few 
mice  are  sufficient  fnr  my  frugal  table,  and  this  hole 
in  the  svail  is  spacious  enough  for  my  studies,  and 
wii.1t  more,  does  a  philosopher  like  myself  desire  ? " 

"  Bethink  thee,  most  wise  owl,  that  while  moping 
in  thy  cell  and  gazing  at  the  moon  all  thy  talents  are 
lest  to  the  world.  I  shall  one  day  be  a  sovereign 
prirtce,  and  may  advance  thee  to  some  post  of  hon- 
our and  dignity." 

The  owl,  though  a  philosopher  and  above  the 
ordinary  wants  of  life,  was  not  above  ambition, 
so  he  was  finally  prevailed  upon  to  elope  with  the 
pnnce,  and  be  his  guide  and  Mentor  in  his  pil- 
grimage. 

The  plans  of  a  lover  are  promptly  executed.  The 
prince  collected  all  his  jewels  and  concealed  them 
about  his  person  as  travelling  funds.  That  very 
night  he  lowered  himself  by  his  scarf  from  a  balcony 
of  the  tower,  clambered  over  the  outer  walls  of  the 
GeneralilTe,  and  guided  by  the  owl,  made  good  his 
escape  before  morning  to  the  mountains. 

He  now  held  a  council  with  his  Mentor  as  to  his 
future  course. 

"  Might  I  advise,"  said  the  owl,  "  I  would  recom- 
mend you  to  repair  to  Seville.  You  must  know  that 
ni.'uiy  years  since  I  was  on  a  visit  to  an  uncle,  an 
owl  of  great  dignity  and  power,  who  lived  in  a  ruined 
wing  of  the  Alcazar  of  that  place.  In  my  hoverings 
at  night  over  the  city  I  frequently  remarked  a  light 
burning  in  a  lonely  tower.  At  length  1  alighted  on 
the  b.ittlement.s,  and  found  it  to  proceed  from  the 
limp  of  an  Arabian  magician.  He  was  surrounded 
l-,v  his  magic  books,  .and  on  his  shoulder  was  perched 
■'lis  familiar,  an  ancient  r.aven,  who  h.id  come  with 
j-.'m  from  Egypt.  I  became  acquainted  with  that 
-nven,  and  owe  to  him  a  great  part  of  the  knowledge 
1  possess.  The  magician  is  since  dead,  but  the 
ravL-n  still  inhabits  the  tower,  for  these  birds  are  of 
wonderful  long  life.  I  would  advise  you,  O  prince, 
to  seek  that  raven,  for  he  is  a  soothsayer  and  a 
coniuror,  and  deals  in  the  black  art,  for  which  all 
ravens,  and  especially  those  of  Egypt,  are  renowned." 

The  prince  was  struck  with  the  wisdom  of  this 
advice,  and  accordingly  bent  his  course  towards 
Seville.  He  travelled  only  in  the  night,  to  accom- 
modate his  companion,  and  lay  by  during  the  day 
in  some  dark  cavern  or  mouldering  watch-tower, 
lor  the  owl  knew  every  hiding  hole  of  the  kind  in 
the  country,  and  had  a  most  antiquarian  taste  for 
mins. 

At  length,  one  morning  at  day-break  they  reached 
the  city  of  Seville,  where  the  owl,  who  hated  the 
(jiare  and  bustlf  of  crowded  streets,  halted  without 
the  gale,  and  took  up  his  quarters  in  a  hollow  tree. 

The  princt  entered  the  gate  and  readily  found 
the  magic  tower,  which  rose  above  the  houses  of 
the  city  as  a  palm  tree  rises  above  the  shrubs  of  the 
defort.  It  was,  in  f.ict,  the  same  tower  known  at 
the  present  day  as  the  Giralda,  the  famous  Moorish 
tower  of  Sf'viiie. 

The  prince  ascended  by  a  great  winding  staircase 
!o  the  summit  of  the  tower,  where  he  found  the 
cabalistic  raven,  an  old,  mysterious,  gray-headed 
hird,  ragged  in  feather,  witti  a  film  over  one  eye 
that  gave  him  the  glare  of  a  spectre.  He  was 
perched  on  one  leg,  with  his  head  turned  on  one 
side,  and  poring  will>  his  remaining  eye  on  a  diagram 
described  on  th !  pavement. 

fhe  prince  approached  him  with  the  awe  and 
reverence  oa*  irally  inspi  ed  by  his  venerable  ap- 
pearance and  supernatural  wisdom.  "  Pardon  me, 
most  ancieni  ana  darkly  wise  .aven. '  exclaimed  he. 


"  if  for  a  moment  I  fntcmiit  those  studies  whteh  are 
the  wonder  of  the  world.  You  behold  belbre  you  a 
votary  of  love,  who  would  fain  seek  counsel  how  to 
obtain  the  object  of  his  passion." 

"  In  other  words,"  said  the  raven  with  i  signifi- 
cant look,  "you  seek  to  try  my  skill  in  pah.^istry, 
Come,  show  me  your  hand,  and  let  me  decipher  the 
mysterious  lines  of  fortune." 

"Excuse  me,"  said  the  prince,"?  come  not  to 
pry  into  the  decrees  of  fate,  which  are  hidden  by 
Allah  from  the  eyes  of  mortals.  I  £.m  a  pilgrim  ol 
love,  and  seek  but  to  find  a  clue  to  the  object  of  my 
pilgrimage." 

"  And  can  you  be  at  any  loss  for  an  object  in  am- 
orous Andalusia,"  said  the  old  raven,  leering  upon 
him  wit.i  his  single  eye.  "  Above  all,  can  you  be  al 
a  loss  in  wanton  .Seville,  where  black-eyed  damsels 
dance  the  zambra  under  every  orange  grove  ?  " 

The  prince  blushed  and  was  somewhat  shocked  at 
hearing  an  old  bird,  with  one  foot  in  the  grave,  talk 
thus  loosely.  "  Believe  me,"  said  he  gravely.  "  I  am 
on  none  such  light  and  vagrant  errand  as  thou  dost 
insinuate.  The  black-eyed  damsels  of  And.aliisia 
who  dance  among  the  orange  groves  of  the  Guadal- 
quiver,  are  as  r aught  to  me.  I  seek  one  unknown 
but  immaculate  beauty,  the  original  of  this  picture, 
and  I  beseech  thee,  most  potent  raven,  if  it  be  within 
the  scope  of  thy  knowledge,  or  the  reach  of  thy  art, 
inform  me  where  she  may  be  found." 

The  gray-headed  raven  was  rebuked  by  the  grav- 
ity of  the  prince.  "  What  know  I,"  replied  he  dryly, 
"  of  youth  and  beauty  ?  My  visits  are  to  the  old  and 
withered,  not  the  young  and  fair.  The  harbingw 
of  fate  am  I,  who  croak  bodings  of  death  from  the 
chimney  top.  and  flap  my  wings  at  the  sick  man's 
window.  You  must  seek  elsewhere  for  tidings  of 
your  unknown  beauty." 

"  And  wht.-e  am  I  to  seek,  if  not  among  the  soni 
of  wisdcm,  versed  in  the  book  of  iiesimy  i*  A  royal 
|)rince  am  I,  fated  by  the  stars  and  sent  on  a  myste- 
rious enterprise,  on  which  may  hang  the  destmy  of 
empires." 

When  the  raven  heard  that  it  was  a  matter  of  vast 
moment,  in  which  the  stars  took  interest,  he  changed 
his  tone  and  manner,  and  listened  with  profound  at- 
tention to  the  story  of  the  prince.  When  it  was 
concluded,  he  replied,  "Touching  this  princess,  I  can 
give  thee  no  information  of  myself,  for  my  flight  is 
not  among  gardens  or  around  Ladies'  bowers ;  but 
hie  thee  to  Cordova,  seek  the  palm-tree  of  the  great 
Abderahman.  which  stands  in  the  court  of  the  prin- 
cipal mosque;  at  the  foot  of  it  you  will  find  a  great 
traveller,  who  has  visited  all  countries  and  courts, 
and  been  a  favourite  with  queens  and  princesses. 
He  will  give  you  tidings  of  the  object  of  your  search." 

"  Many  thanks  for  this  precious  information,"  said 
the  prince.     "Farewell,  most  venerable  coniuror." 

"  Farewell,  pilgrim  of  love,"  said  the  raven  drjiy 
and  again  fell  to  pondering  on  the  diagram. 

The  prince  sallied  forth  from  Seville,  sought  hi: 
fellow  traveller  the  owl,  who  was  still  dosing  .*n  Ih; 
hollow  tree,  and  set  oT  for  Cordova. 

He  approached  it  along  hanging  gardems,  and  or- 
ange anil  cition  groves  overlooking  the  fair  valley  ol 
the  taiad.thjuiver.  When  arrived  at  its  gates  thi 
owl  tlew  L'.p  to  a  dark  hole  in  the  wall,  and  the  prince 
proceeded  in  quest  of  the  palm-tree  planted  in  day! 
of  yore  by  the  great  Abderahman.  It  stood  in  the 
midst  of  the  gre.at  couit  of  the  Mosque,  tcwerine 
from  amidst  orange  and  cypress  trees.  Dervises  ano 
Faquirs  were  seated  in  groups  under  the  cloisters  of 
the  court,  and  many  of  the  faithful  were  performing 
thi-ir  ablutions  at  the  fountains,  before  entering  the 
Miis<i'ie. 

At  the  foot  of  the  palm-tr'  2  wa*  a  crowd  listening 


■v.a 


■■'ill 


148 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


•  i   u. 


I'    •)■ 


I    :--. 


to  the  w  ords  of  one  who  appeared  to  be  talking  with 
great  Tolubility.  This,  said  the  prince  to  iiimselt", 
must  l>e  the  great  traveller  who  is  to  give  me  tidinjjs 
of  the  unknown  princess.  He  mingled  in  ihf  crowd, 
but  was  astonished  to  perceive  that  they  were  all 
listening  to  a  parrot,  wiio,  with  his  bright  green 
coat,  praginatic.d  eye,  and  consi^qucntiai  topknot, 
had  the  air  of  a  bird  on  excellent  terms  with  liimself. 

"  How  is  this,"  said  the  prince  to  one  of  the  by- 
Jtanders,  "  that  so  many  grave  persons  can  be  de- 
lighted with  the  garrulity  of  a  chattering  bird?" 

"  You  know  not  of  whom  you  spe.ik,"  said  the 
o^b^:r ;  "  tiiis  parrot  is  a  descendant  nf  the  famous 
parrot  of  Persia,  renowned  for  his  story-telling  tal- 
ent. He  has  all  the  learning  of  the  Kast  at  the  tip 
of  his  tongue,  and  can  quote  poetry  as  fast  as  he  can 
talk.  He  has  visited  various  Ibreign  courts,  where 
he  has  been  considered  an  oracle  of  erudition.  He 
has  been  a  universal  favourite  also  with  the  fair  sex, 
who  have  a  vast  admiration  for  erudite  parrots  that 
can  quote  poetry," 

"  Enough,"  said  the  prince,  "  I  will  have  some 
private  talk  willi  this  distinguished  traveller." 

He  sought  a  private  interview,  and  expounded 
the  nature  of  his  errand.  Ho  had  scarcely  mention- 
ed it  when  the  parrot  burst  into  a  tit  of  dry  rickety 
lai;ghter,  that  absolutely  brought  tears  in  his  eyes. 
•  Excuse  my  mirth,"  said  he,  "  but  the  mere  mention 
of  love  .always  sets  me  laughing," 

The  prince  was  shocked  at  this  ill-timed  merri- 
ment. "  Is  not  love,"  s.iid  he,  "  the  gre.it  mystery 
of  nature. — the  secret  principle  of  life,— the  univctsa! 
bond  of  sympathy .'  " 

"A  fig's  end  I "  cried  the  parrot,  interrupting 
him.  •'  Pry'lhee  where  hast  thou  learnt  this  senti- 
mental jargon }  Trust  me,  lovu  is  quite  out  of 
vcgue  ;  one  never  hears  of  it  in  the  company  ol  wits 
Bi.'d  people  of  relinemenl." 

The  prince  sighed  as  he  recalled  the  ditTerent 
language  of  his  I'rierid  the  dove.  But  tliis  parrot, 
thouglu  he,  has  lived  al)out  court;  he  affects  the  wit 
and  the  line  gentleman ;  he  knows  nothing  of  the 
thing  called  love. 

Unwilling  to  provoke  any  more  ridicule  of  the 
sentiment  which  filled  his  heart,  he  now  directed 
his  iiujiiiries  to  the  imnieiiiate  purport  of  his  visit. 

"Tell  iiic,"  said  he,  "most  accomplished  parrot, 
thou  who  lia-'  every  where  been  ndmitleil  to  the 
most  secret  bowers  of  lieaiity,  hast  thou  in  the 
course  of  thy  travels  met  with  the  origin.d  of  this 
portrait?  " 

The  parrot  took  the  picture  in  his  claw,  turned 
his  head  troin  side  to  side,  and  examined  it  curiously 
with  either  eye.  "  U|ion  my  lionour,"  said  he,  "a 
very  pretty  face  ;  ver)'  pretty.  Uut  then  one  sees  so 
many  pretty  women  in  one'i  travels  th.u  on-'  can 
hardly — but  hold — bless  me  !  now  I  look  at  it  .I'^ain 
—sure  enough,  this  is  the  princess  Aldegonda  ;  how 
;ould  I  forget  one  that  is  so  ijrodigious  a  favourite 
with  me  ?  " 

"  The  princess  Aldegonda  !  "  echoed  the  prince. 
'an<l  where  is  she  to  he  found?" 

'Kuftly — softly,"  said  the  p;in-ot,  "easier  to  be 
sound  tiian  gained.  She  is  the  only  daughter  of  the 
Cnristian  king  wlvi  reigns  at  Toledo,  and  is  shut  up 
ir-:,:;i  the  world  until  her  seventeenth  birth-day,  on 
iccount  of  some  preiiiction  of  those  meddlesome 
f-dlovvs,  the;  astrologers.  You'll  not  get  a  sight  of 
i'.vr,  no  mortal  man  can  see  her.  I  was  admitted  to 
her  presence  to  entertain  her,  and  I  assure  you,  on 
the  word  of  a  parrot  who  has  seen  the  world,  I  have 
converic.i  witli  much  siiiier  [irincess'.s  in  my  tune." 

"  A  woni  in  confidence,  my  dear  parrot,"  sau!  the 
prince.  '•  I  aril  heir  to  a  kiiigilom,  and  shall  one 
day  sit  upoi   a  thunie.     I  si  •:  th.it  you  are  a  bird  ot 


parts  and  understand  the  wo.  d.  Help  me  to  fnin 
possession  of  this  princess  anc  I  will  advance  you  ta 
some  distinguished  post  about  court." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  the  parrot ;  "but  let  it 
be  a  sinecure  if  possible,  t:r  we  wits  have  a  jrcai 
dislike  to  labour.' 

Arrangements  were  promptly  made ;  the  princt 
sallied  forth  from  Cordova  through  the  same  gate  by 
wliich  he  had  entered;  called  the  owl  down  from 
the  hole  in  the  vva.l,  introduced  him  to  his  new 
travelling  compan  on  as  a  brother  s^avant,  and  awaj 
they  set  off  on  their  jcumcy. 

They  travelled  much  more  slowly  than  accorded 
with  the  imiiatieiice  of  the  prince,  but  the  parrot 
was  accistomcd  to  high  life,  and  did  not  like  to  be 
disturbed  early  in  the  morning.  The  owl,  on  thf 
other  hand,  was  for  sleeping  at  mid-day,  and  lost  a 
great  deal  of  time  by  his  long  siestas.  His  anti- 
(juarian  taste  also  was  in  the  way ;  for  he  insisted 
on  pausing  and  inspecting  every  niin,  and  had  long 
legendary  tales  to  tell  about  every  old  tower  and 
castle  in  the  country.  The  prince  had  supposed 
that  he  and  the  parrot,  being  both  birds  of  le.irning, 
could  delight  in  each  other's  society,  but  never  had 
he  been  more  mistaken.  They  were  eternally  bick- 
ering. The  one  v/as  a  wit,  the  other  a  philosopher. 
The  parrot  quoted  poetry,  was  critical  on  new  read- 
ings, and  eloquent  ou  small  points  of  erudition  ;  the 
owl  treated  all  such  knowledge  as  trifling,  and 
relished  nothing  but  metaphysics.  Then  the  parrel 
would  sing  songs  and  re])eat  bon  mots,  and  crack 
jokes  upon  his  solenm  neighbour,  and  laugh  out- 
rageously at  his  own  wit ;  all  which  the  owl  con- 
siilered  a  grievous  invasion  of  his  dignity,  and  would 
scowl,  and  sulk,  and  swell,  and  sit  silent  for  a  whclr 
day  together. 

The  pnnce  heeded  not  the  wranglings  of  hi." 
companions,  being  wrapped  up  in  the  (Ireams  of  hh 
own  fancy,  ami  the  contempl.ition  of  the  portrait  of 
the  beautiful  princess.  In  this  way  they  journeyed 
through  the  stern  passes  of  the  .Sierra  Moren.a,  across 
the  sunburnt  plains  of  l..i  Mancha  and  Castile,  and 
along  the  banks  of  the  "  t'lolden  Tagus,"  which 
winvis  its  wizard  mazes  over  one-h;df  ol  Spain  and 
Portug.al.  At  length,  tliey  came  in  sight  of  a  strong 
city  with  walls  and  towers,  built  on  a  locky  ])romon 
lor\',  round  the  foot  of  which  the  Tagus  circled  with 
brawling  violence. 

"  Behold,"  exclaimed  the  owl,  "the  ancient  ami 
renowned  city  of  Toledo ;  a  city  famous  for  its 
antiquities.  Behold  those  vener.ible  domi;s  and 
towers,  hoary  with  time,  and  clothed  with  legenil.iry 
grandeur ;  in  which  so  many  of  my  ancestors  have 
meditated —  " 

"  Pish,"  cried  the  parrot,  interrupting  his  solenm 
antitjuarian  rapture,  "  what  have  we  to  tlo  with  anti- 
quities, and  legend.s,  and  your  ancestors?  Beh  )ld, 
what  is  more  to  the  purpose,  behold  the  abode  ol 
youth  and  !)eauty, — behold,  at  leni;;th,  oh  prince,  the 
abode  of  your  long  sought  princess." 

The  prince  looked  in  ihe  direction  indicated  by 

the  parrot,  and  beheld,  in  a  delightful  green  n'.eadovv 

on  the  banks  (  .'  'he  T.igus.  a  stately  palace  riving 

from  amidst  the  .  owers  of  a  delicious  (garden,     b 

[  was  just  such  a  place  .as  had  been  described  by  t;r 

I  dove  .as  the  resilience  of  the  origin.d  of  the  pictuii  . 

(  He  g.ized  at  it  with  a  throbbing  heart :  '  Perh.ip' 

;  at  this  moment,"  thought  he,  "  the  be.iutiful  prin- 

I  cess  is  sporting   beneath    those  sh.idy  bowers,  oi 

!  p.acing  with  delicate  step  those  stately  terraces,  oi 

!  reposing  bene.ath  those  lot'ty  roofs  !  "     As  he  looked 

jiriure   n.irvowiv,  'it    jierceivei!  that  the  wr'ls  of  th». 

'  garden  were  of  great  height,  so  as  to  defy  acce:is 


tiieiu. 


bers  ol   aimed  gu.;ri!^   natrolied  aroua;' 


'^^e  prince  ti 
K  oinplished  ol 
^it  of  human  s 
5;rk  the  idol  of 
Ahir.ed,  a  jpilgrir 
hf  s  arrived  in  qu 
ihf  Tagus." 

The  parrot,  pi 
the  gitilen,  moui 
ik-aring  for  a  t 
fjjj;hted  on  the  1 
Ihe  river,  flere, 
held  the  prince? 
cyfs  fixed  on  a  j 
each  other  down 
I'luming  his  v 
brif,'h*  green  co; 
parrot  perched  h 
therj  assuming  a 
"  Dry  thy  tears 
he,  •'  I  come  to  b 
The  princess  \ 
turning  and  seeir 
bird  bobbing  and 
solace  canst  tho 
t)ut  a  parrot !  " 

The  parrot  wa 
consoled  many  \ 
he  :  "  but  let  that 
«i!(ir  from  a  toy 
prince  of  Granad 
is  encamped  evei 
Tagus." 

The  eyes  of  the 
words,  even  brigl 
art.  "  O  sweete 
,;•  led  are  thy  ti( 
.v\  sick  almost 
;■  Locy  of  Ahmed. 
''■?  wiiids  of  his 
;;:'.i!  his  pretry  h: 
h;in,  hc,ve\er,  th 
love  by  force  of  a; 
l)irth-day,  when  I 
toiiniament ;  sev( 
ind  my  hand  is  t( 
The  parrot  aga 
the  t^ioves,  flew  I 
his  r"turn.  The 
oii;,.;i;;al  o(  his  ad 
and  true,  can  on 
ninri:'.ls,  who  hav 
t'a\  dreams,  and 
i.h'Tc  w.is  one  th 
th:s  ii.ipending  t 
!hf  Tagus  were 
rt'Sdiinding  with 
who  with  proud 
Yo\:  do,  to  attend 
thai  had  controll 
t;  vi-riu'd  th.at  of 
fiath  birth-day, 
•^  ■r!<l,  to  guard 
'»  ne  of  her  char 
Titlier  than  obsc 
(.cw'Tfu!  princes  1 
h;'r  fa;hfr,  who  w 
.e  avoid  making  t 
I.!  rrrd  them  to  t 
file  rival  candid.- 
itriTigth  anil  prov 
■jr.!;.rtunate  Abni 
we:tnons,  and  uni 
"  buckles--  |)rince 
ijf'u  InouKh.t  up 


Ki^':^ 


THE   ^LHAMBRA 


149 


"|^^J  prince  turned  to  the  parrot. 
«  oinplished  of  birds,"  said  he,  "t 


soU'iim 
i-ith  anti- 

Iif-h)l(l, 
ihotle  ot 
ince,  the 


i  arounr 


'Oh  most 
'thou  hast  the 
fin  o(  human  speech.  Hie  thee  to  yon  garden  ; 
5:!rl'  the  idol  of  my  soul,  and  tell  her  that  prince 
Ahir.ed,  <i  pilgrim  of  love,  and  guided  by  the  stars, 
hfs  arrivetl  in  quest  of  her  on  the  Howery  banks  of 
ihr  Tagiis."  ♦ 

The  parrot,  proud  of  his  embassy,  flew  away  to 
Oie  giulen,  mounted  above  its  lofty  walls,  and,  after 
curing  for  a  time  over  the  lawns  and  groves, 
fjighted  on  the  balcony  of  a  pavilion  that  overhung 
Ihe  river.  Here,  looking  in  at  the  casement,  he  be- 
held the  princess  reclining  on  a  couch,  with  her 
r/f  fixed  on  a  paper,  while  tears  gently  stole  after 
lacli  other  down  her  pallid  cheek. 

riuniing  his  wings  for  a  moment,  adjusting  his 
brif,'h*  green  coat,  and  elevating  his  topknot,  the 
parr-l  perched  himself  beside  her  with  a  gallant  air  ; 
tkcu  assuming  a  tenderness  of  tone, — 

"  Dry  thy  tears,  most  beautiful  of  princesses,"  said 
he,  "  I  come  to  bring  solace  to  thy  heart." 

The  princess  was  startled  on  hearing  a  voice,  but 
turning  and  seeing  nothing  but  a  little  green-coated 
bin!  bobbing  and  bowing  before  her: — "  Alas  !  what 
solsce  canst  thou  yield,  '  said  she,  "  seeing  thou  art 
Dut  .1  parrot !  " 

The  parrot  was  nettled  at  the  q\iestion.  "  I  have 
consoled  many  beautiful  ladies  in  my  time,"  said 
he :  "  but  let  that  pass.  At  present,  I  come  anibas- 
sailor  from  a  loyal  prince.  Know  that  Ahmed,  the 
priiire  of  Granada,  has  arrived  in  quest  of  thee,  and 
is  ciiramped  even  now  on  the  flowery  banks  of  the 
Tn;,nis." 

The  eyes  of  the  beautiful  princess  sparkled  at  these 
words,  even  brighter  th;in  the  diamonds  in  her  coro- 
net. "O  sweetest  of  parrots,"  cried  she,  "joyful 
,;' !(''(!  are  thy  tidings  ,  for  I  was  fiint,  and  wean,', 
.■.'!  sick  almost  unto  death,  with  doubt  of  the  cnn- 
;■  .fir\  of  Ahmed.  Hie  thee  back,  and  tell  him  th.it 
'■■■'  wi'KJs  of  his  letter  are  engraven  in  my  heart, 
;;:j!  his  |!retry  has  been  the  food  of  my  soul.  Tell 
liiin,  however,  that  he  must  prepare  to  prove  his 
l{v,e  l)y  force  of  arms ;  to-morrow  is  my  seventeenth 
hirth-day,  when  the  king,  my  father,  holds  a  great 
tournament ;  several  prinres  are  to  enter  the  lists, 
iikI  my  hand  is  to  be  the  prize  of 'he  victor." 

The  parrot  again  took  wing,  and.  rustling  through 
the  proves,  flew  h.ick  to  where  the  prince  awaited 
his  I'turn.  The  npture  of  Ahmed  on  finding  the 
oiii,'i;'.al  of  his  adored  portrait,  and  tinding  her  kind 
aiu!  true,  ran  only  be  conceived  by  those  favoured 
rnnrt.'.ls,  who  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  reali/e 
il.i\  dreams,  and  turn  shadows  into  subst.ince.  Stilt 
ih'-re  was  one  thing  that  alloyed  his  transport,—- 
this  itnpending  tournament.  In  fict,  the  b.inks  of 
the  Tagus  were  alre;\dy  glittering  with  arms,  and 
resd'inding  with  trumpets  of  the  various  knights, 
who  vith  proud  retinues  sverr  prancing  on  towards 
Fohdo,  to  attend  the  eerenioiMal.  'I'he  s.aiiie  star 
that  had  controlled  the  de-.tviy  of  the  prince,  had 
(J'  virned  th.it  of  the  princess,  and  until  her  seven- 
fenth  birth-d.iy,  she  had  been  shut  u]i  from  the 
Horlil,  to  guard  her  from  the  tender  passion.  The 
(ft. lie  of  her  charms,  however,  had  been  eidiaiiced, 
Cither  than  oLiscured  by  thi-;  seclusion.  .Sever.d 
;."'\''>-ful  pnnces  had  contend-d  for  her  .alliaiiee.  and 
'!:r  t".iih?r,  who  was  a  kinj^  ot  wondrous  shrewdness. 
.1'  .ivoid  making  enemies  by  showing  partiality,  h;!(l 
I.'  'rri'd  them  to  the  arbitrament  of  ;.rms.  Among 
•lie  riv.il  candid.ites,  were  several  renowned  lor 
^trr.-igth  and  prowess.  Wliat  a  |ncdic.mient  tor  the 
;jn!:.rtunate  Ahmed,  unprovided  as  1h-'  was  with 
we:qions,  and  unskillrd  in  the  exercises  of  chivalry. 
"  buckles^-  [)rince  that  I  am!"  said  he,  "to  have 
bf:r:i   broutjht   up  in  serhision,  under  the  eye  of  a 


philosopher  of  what  avail  -re  algebra  anJ  philos- 
ophy in  affairs  of  love  I  alas.  Ebon  Bonabbon,  why 
hast  thou  neglectetl  to  instruct  me  in  the  m.anagt- 
ment  of  arms  ?  "  Upon  this  the  owl  broke  silence 
prefacing  his  harangue  with  a  pious  ejaculation,  fo» 
ne  was  a  devout  Mussulman  : 

"  Allah  Achbar  !  '  God  is  great,'  "  exclaimed  he . 
"in  his  hands  are  .all  secret  thirgs,  he  alone  governs 
the  destinv  of  princes !  Know,  O  pr.nce,  that  this 
land  is  full  of  mysteries,  hidden  from  all  but  thosi 
who,  like  myself,  can  grope  after  knowledge  in  the 
dark.  Know  that  in  the  neighbouring  mountains 
there  is  a  cave,  and  in  that  cave  there  is  an  iron 
table,  and  on  'hat  table  lies  a  suit  of  magic  armour 
and  beside  that  table  stands  a  .spell-bound  steed, 
which  have  been  shut  up  there  tor  many  genera- 
tions." 

The  prince  stared  with  wonder,  while  the  ow! 
blinking  his  huge  round  eyes  and  erecting  his  horns, 
proceeded : 

"  Many  years  sitice,  I  accompanied  my  father  to 
these  parts  on  a  tour  of  his  est,ates,  and  we  so- 
journed in  that  cave,  and  thus  became  I  acquainted 
with  the  m.ystery.  It  is  a  tradition  in  o',jr  family, 
which  1  have  heard  from  my  grandfather  when  1 
was  yet  but  a  very  little  owlet,  that  this  armour  be- 
longed to  a  Moorish  m.agician,  who  took  refuge  in 
this  cavern  when  Toledo  was  captured  by  the  Chris- 
tians, and  died  here,  leaving  his  steed  and  weapons 
under  a  mystic  spell,  never  to  be  used  but  by  a  Mos- 
lem, and  by  him  only  from  sunrise  to  mid-day.  In 
that  interval,  whoever  uses  them,  v/ill  overthrow 
every  opponent." 

"  r.nough,  let  us  seek  this  cave,"  exclaimed 
Ahinerl, 

Guided  by  his  legendary  Mentor,  the  prince  found 
the  cavern,  which  was  in  one  of  the  wildest  recesses 
of  those  rocky  cliffs  which  rose  around  Toledo ; 
none  but  the  mousing  eye  of  an  owl  or  an  antiq'ary 
could  have  discovered  the  entrance  to  it.  A  sepul- 
chral lamp  of  everlasting  oil,  shed  a  solemn  light 
through  the  place.  On  an  iron  table  in  the  centre 
ot  the  cavern  lay  the  magic  armour,  against  it  leaned 
the  lance,  and  beside  it  stood  an  Arabian  steed, 
cnparisoned  for  the  field,  but  motionless  as  a  statue. 
The  armour  was  bright  and  unsullied,  as  it  had 
gleamed  in  days  of  old;  the  steed  in  as  good  condi- 
tion as  if  just  from  the  pasture,  and  when  Ahmed 
laid  his  hand  upon  his  neck,  he  pawed  the  ground 
and  gave  a  loud  neigh  of  joy  that  shook  the  walls 
of  the  cavern.  Thus  provided  with  horse  to  ride 
and  weapon  to  wear,  the  prince  determined  to  defy 
the  field  at  the  impending  tourney. 

The  eventful  morning  arrived.  The  lists  for  the 
combat  were  prepared  in  the  Vega  or  plain  jus' 
below  the  cliff-built  walls  of  Toledo.  Htre  were 
erected  stages  and  galleries  for  the  spect.aiors,  cov- 
ered with  rich  tapestry  and  sheitt  rrd  from  the  sun 
by  silken  awnings.  All  the  beauties  of  the  l.infi 
were  assembled  in  those  g.alleries,  while  below 
prance;!  plumed  knights  with  their  pages  atid  es- 
(jiilres,  among  whom  figured  conspicuously  tlic 
princes  who  were  to  contend  in  the  tourney.  Al 
the  beauties  of  the  land,  however,  were  eclipsed 
when  the  princess  Aldegonda  apwared  in  the  roya 
jxivnlion,  and  lor  the  first  time  broke  forth  •JiK)n  thi 
gaze  ol  an  admiring  world.  A  murmur  of  wondci 
ran  through  the  crowd  at  her  transcendent  loveli- 
ness;  and  the  princes  who  were  candidates  for  her 
h.iiu'i  merely  on  the  taith  o!  her  reported  charms, 
now  felt  u  n-t't)ld  ardour  for  the  conflict. 

The  i)rincess,  however,  had  a  troubled  look.  Tht 
coiour  caire  and  wc  nt  from  her  clieek,  and  her  eyt 
wandered  with  a  restless  and  ttnsatist-etl  expressios: 
over  the  pluineti  thioiig  of  ivnishts.     The  trumpet! 


■    'Y'.fi 


#'    , 


.*• 


'\  -ll 

'-  j'tl 

*  "•  '^ 

•     "       1 

.  >"i 

^1 

-.»*'-*  -El 

\*-V-     i 

"1    "v*    J 

■*>'  1**5 

*     >.t 

^    --A 

•  "ii  >.  iSI 

^  m 

160 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


,;;■*>  S' 


I  t  •■4    . 


were  ahout  sounding  for  the  encounter  wlien  a 
hcr.iUl  announced  the  arrival  of  a  stranger  l<nijjht, 
and  Aliriif(i  rode  into  the  ticld.  A  steeled  hrlniet 
siudilcd  with  gems  rose  al)ove  his  turban  ;  his  cui- 
rass WAS  enihossi'd  with  pold ;  his  scimitar  and 
dag^jft  were  of  the  workiii.inship  of  Fay,  and  flanie<l 
with  precious  stones.  A  round  shield  was  at  his 
shoukier,  and  in  his  hand  he  bore  the  lance  of 
charmed  virtue.  The  caparison  of  his  Arabian  was 
nrhly  enibroidered,  and  swept  the  ground  ;  and  the 
proud  aniiiiril  )ranced  and  snuffed  the  .lir,  ;ind 
ne:j{hed  with  jo  •  at  once  more  lieholding  the  array 
of  arms.  The  lol'ty  and  graceful  demeanour  of  the 
ptince  struck  '.-very  eye,  and  when  his  appellation 
was  announced,  "The  pilgrim  of  love,"  a  universal 
flutter  an'l  agitation  prevailed  among  the  fair  dames 
in  the  galleries. 

\Vhen  Ahmed  presented  himself  at  the  lists,  how- 
ever, they  were  closed  against  him  ;  none  but  princes, 
he  was  told,  were  adinittijd  to  the  contest.  He  de- 
tlared  his  name  .T.id  rank.  Still  worse,  he  was  a 
Moslem,  and  r.iuld  not  engage  in  a  tourney  where 
the  hand  .;!  r.  Christian  princess  was  the  |iii/.e. 

The  rival  prince!,  surrounded  him  with  haughty 
and  menacing  aspects,  and  one  of  insolent  demean<jur 
and  Herculean  frame  sneered  at  his  light  and  youth- 
ful fcjrin,  and  Bcollcd  at  his  anmroiis  a])pellation. 
The  ire  of  the  prince  was  roused  ;  he  delied  his  rival 
to  the  encounter.  They  took  distance,  wheeled, 
and  charged  ;  at  the  tirst  touch  of  the  m.igic  l.mce 
the  brawny  scotfer  was  tilted  t'roni  liis  saddle.  Here 
the  prince  would  h.ive  jiauseil,  but  al.is  !  he  had  to 
deal  witli  a  demoniac  horse  and  armour:  once  in 
action,  nothing  could  control  them.  The  Arabian 
steed  ch.irged  into  tlie  thickest  of  the  throng:  the 
lance  overturned  even,"  thuig  th:it  presentee!  ;  the 
j{entle  [irinTp  was  cjrneil  pell-mill  about  the  field, 
Strewing  it  with  high  and  knv,  gentle  and  simple, 
and  grieving  at  his  own  involuntary  exploits.  The 
kir.g  st<irmeil  and  niged  at  this  outrage  on  his  sub- 
jects and  his  guests.  He  ordered  out  all  his  guards 
— tney  were  unhorsed  as  fist  as  they  came  un.  The 
king  threw  otf  his  robes,  gr.isjied  buckler  an<l  lance, 
a')'!  rode  forth  to  awe  the  stranger  with  the  presence 
of  in.aji  sty  itself.  Alas,  majesty  fared  no  better  than 
the  vulgar  ;  the  steed  and  lance  were  no  respecters 
of  persons  ;  to  the  dismay  of  Ahmed,  he  was  borne 
full  tilt  against  the  king,  and  in  a  motvient  the  royal 
heels  were  in  the  air,  and  the  crown  was  rolling  in 
the  dust. 

At  this  moment  the  sun  reached  the  meridian  ; 
the  magic  spell  resumed  its  power.  The  Arabian 
steed  scoured  .across  the  [ilain,  leaped  the  barrier, 
plunged  into  the  Tagus,  swam  its  raging  current, 
bore  the  prmce,  brtathless  and  am.i/ed,  to  the  cav- 
ern, and  resumed  his  st.ition  like  a  statue  bi'side  the 
iron  l.ible.  Tiie  i)rince  dismounted  right  gkidly, 
and  repl.icetl  the  armour,  to  abide  the  I'uither  de- 
crees ot  fate.  Then  se.iti  ig  himself  in  the  cavern, 
ne  ruminated  on  the  drsperaie  st.ite  to  which  this 
bedeviled  steed  and  .irmour  li  nl  reduced  him.  .Never 
should  he  dare  to  show  his  lace  at  Toledo,  , liter  in- 
rticting  such  disgrace  upon  its  chivalry,  anil  such  an 
outrage  on  its  king.  What,  too,  would  the  princess 
think  of  so  rmle  and  riotous  an  achievcn'eni; .'  Full 
01  anxiety,  he  sent  forth  his  winged  messengers  to 
gather  tidings.  The  i)ariot  resorted  to  all  the  public 
places  and  ciowdcil  resorts  of  the  city,  and  soon  re- 
tuined  with  a  world  of  gossip.  All  Toledo  was  in 
consternation.  The  princiss  h.id  been  borne  off  sense- 
less to  the  palace ;  the  tournament  had  ended  in  con- 
fusion ;  every  one  was  talking  of  tiie  sudden  apriari- 
tion,  prodigious  exploits.  ,ind  strange  disappearance 
of  the   Moslem   knight.     .Some    pronounced    him    a 


who  had  assumed  a  human  shapf  ;  whl  e  other*  re. 
lated  traditions  of  enchanted  warriors  hidden  iii  \ 
caves  of  the  mountains,  and  thought  it  might  bi  i  ne 
of  these,  who  had  made  a  sudden  irni[>tion  froie  Ins 
den.  All  agreed  that  no  mere  ordinary  nimfi; 
could  have  wrought  such  wonders,  or  unhoised  su.h 
accomplishet^and  stalwart  Christi.an  w.irriors. 

The  owl  flew  forth  at  night,  and  hovered  al)c«  , 
the  dusky  city,  perching  on  the  roofs  and  cliiniiifiv:, 
He  then  wheeled  his  Might  up  to  the  loyal  pal.;cf 
which  stood  on  the  rocky  summit  of  Toledo,  and 
went  prowling  about  its  terraces  and  b.-utleirnnis, 
eaves-dropping  at  every  cranny,  and  glaring  in  waii 
his  big  goggling  eyes  at  every  win<low  where  ti'iTp 
w,is  a  light,  so  as  to  throw  two  or  three  ni.iit'  i! 
honour  into  fits.  It  was  m  t  until  the  gr;iy  >  wn 
began  to  peer  above  the  mou.  tains  that  he  returitvl 
from  his  mousing  expedit'D».,  and  related  to  the 
prince  what  he  had  seen. 

"  As  I  w.as  prying  abou'  on*  ot  the  loftiest  Icvits 
of  the  palace,  '  said  he,  "  i  be  leld  through  a  i  .in-- 
ment  a  beautil  il  princes'^.  Sh.i  was  reclining  m  a 
couch,  with  at  endants  ind  physici.ins  aroun  inr, 
but  she  would  none  '  f  their  ministrv  and  t:  d 
When  they  ret  red,  I  b'held  her  <lraw  I'orth  a  Iru-i 
from  her  bosoi  i,  and  r  „ad,  and  kiss  it,  and  give  w,i\ 
to  loud  lainerit;itions  .  at  which,  philosopher  ls  I 
am,  I  could  not  but  Ik?  greatly  moved." 

The  tender  heart  of  Ahmed  was  distrp'wd  ai 
these  tidings.  "  T(X)  true  were  thy  worils,  oh  s.^^-f 
Fbon  Bon.ibbon  t  "  crie<l  he.  "Care  and  sorruvv, 
and  sleepless  nights  are  the  lot  of  lovers.  A  lih 
preserve  the  \m  incess  from  the  blighting  iriHuenci  ^| 
this  thing  calle  \  love," 

Further  intelligence  from  Toledo  corroborjteii  ■ 
report  of  the  Oivl.  The  city  was  a  prey  to  ui  ' 
ness  and  alarm.  The  princess  was  conveyed  t  !;,■ 
highest  tower  of  the  palace,  everv  avenue  to  WMci. 
was  strongly  guarded.  In  the  mean  time,  a  devo.ii. 
ing  melancholy  had  seized  u|X)n  I'.er,  ot  which  tiO 
one  could  divine  the  cause.  She  refused  food,  and 
turned  a  de.ifear  to  every  consolation.  The  niosi 
skilful  physicians  had  essayed  their  art  in  vain  :  it 
was  thought  some  magic  spell  had  l)ern  pr;ici -ci 
upon  her,  and  the  king  made  proclamation,  detlir 
ing  that  whoever  should  effect  her  cure,  shuiilf! 
receive  the  richiM.t  jewel  in  the  royal  treasury. 

When  the  owl,  who  was  dozing  in  a  cornei,  hirarc 
of  this  prodamaiion,  he  rolled  his  large  eyes  .ind 
looked  mort  mysterious  than  ever, 

"Allah  Achb.ir  !  "  exclaimed  he.  "Happy  ihe 
man  that  sh.all  eflect  that  cure,  should  he  bui  knov 
wtiat  to  choose  from  the  royal  treasury." 

"  What  ine.in  you,  most  reverend  owl  ?  "  said 
Ahmed. 

"  Hrarken,  O  prince,  to  what  I  shall  relate.  \Vt 
owls,  you  must  know,  are  a  learned  body,  anil  iiu'rh 
given  to  dark  and  dusty  research.  During  my  litt 
l>rowling  at  night  about  the  domes  and  turreis  o! 
Toledo,  I  discovered  a  college  of  antic|uari.in  ou's 
who  hold  their  meetings  in  a  great  vaulted  tav.ii 
where  the  royal  treasure  is  deposited.  }lere  (hev 
were  discussing  the  forms  and  inscniitions,  and  ilC' 
signs  of  ancient  gems  and  jewels,  and  of  golden  and 
silver  vessels,  heaped  up  in  the  treasury,  the  fishim 
of  evei7  country  and  age  :  but  mostly  they  were  in- 
terested about  certain  reliques  and  ialismans,  ih.v. 
have  remained  in  the  tre^sury  since  the  time  ol 
Roderick  the  Cloth.  Among  these,  f/as  a  bos  ol 
shitlim  wood,  secured  by  bands  of  steel  of  oner.i.i 
workmanshi[),  and  inscribeil  with  mystic  char.nirr 
known  only  to  the  learned  few.  This  box  anil  li' 
inscription  had  occupied  the  college  lor  several  ■iiv 
sions,  and  h.ad  caused  much  long  and  grave  uis;    le 


Moorish  magician  ;  others  thought   him   a   demon  I  At  the  time  of  my  visit,  a  very  ancient  owl,  who  \\u 


M-ya 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


IS] 


rci  cntly  amved  from  Egypt,  was  seated  on  the  lid 
(I  the  box  lecturing  upon  the  inscription,  and  proved 
iKiin  It,  that  the  colfer  contained  the  sill<en  carpet  of 
;|i('  throne  of  Solomon  the  wise:  which  douliltcss 
h.iil  been  brought  to  Toledo  by  the  Jews,  who  took 
r"lin;<:  there  aiter  the  downf  ill  of  Jerus;dem." 

When  the  owl  had  concluded  his  antiquarian 
h.ir.iiij^ue,  the  prince  remained  lor  a  time  absorbed 
in  thought.  "  1  have  heard,"  said  he,  "  tri)m  the 
v.ijt.-  Kboii  Bonabbon,  of  the  wonderful  propi-rties  of 
lint  talisman,  which  disappeared  at  the  fail  ofjeru- 
Kikii),  and  was  sui)pose(!  to  be  lost  to  mankind. 
Uiubtless  it  remains  a  sealed  myster)-  to  the  Chris- 
ti.iiis  of  Toledo.  If  I  can  get  possessior,  of  that 
carpta,  my  fortune  is  secure." 

I  he  next  day  the  prince  laid  aside  his  rich  attire, 
am!  arrayed  himself  in  the  simple  garb  of  an  Arab 
oi  the  desert.  He  dyed  his  complexion  to  a  tawny 
Ir.ii ,  and  no  one  could  have  recogni/fd  in  him  the 
s|il-iKlid  warnor  who  had  caused  sucli  admiration 
an;  dismay  at  the  tournament.  With  staff  in  hand 
aiiil  scrip  by  his  side,  and  a  small  pastoral  reed,  he 
r'liaired  to  Tolotlo,  and  nresenting  himself  at  the 
^.itc  of  the  roval  palace,  announced  himself  as  a 
cimlidate  for  the  reward  olfered  for  the  cure  of  the 
|ir:n(ess.  The  guards  would  havedri;en  him  away 
With  blows;  "  What  can  ji  vajjrant  Arab  like  thyself 
piviL-nd  to  do,"  said  they,  "in  a  case  where  the 
most  learned  of  the  land  have  failed .' "  The  king, 
luiwever,  overheard  the  tumult,  and  ordered  the  Arab 
to  be  brought  into  his  presence. 

"Most  potent  king,"  said  Ahmed,  "you  behold 
bftbre  you  a  Bedouin  Arab,  the  greater  part  of 
whose  life  has  been  passed  in  the  solitudes  of  the 
desert.  Those  solitudes,  it  is  well  known,,  are  the 
hiiunts  of  demons  and  evil  sjiirits,  who  beset  us  pof)r 
siiepiierds  in  our  lonely  watchings,  enter  into  and 
possess  our  Hocks  and  herds,  and  sometimes  render 
even  the  patiiMil  camel  furious.  Against  tliese,  our 
Co..n;erch.irm  is  music;  ajid  we  have  legendary  airs 
handed  ilown  I'roin  getieration  to  generation,  tliat  we 
chant  and  |)i|)e  to  cast  I'orth  these  evil  spirits.  I  am 
of  a  gifted  line,  and  possess  this  power  in  its  fullest 
force.  If  it  he  any  evil  inlliicnce  ol  the  kind  that 
holds  a  spell  over  thy  daughter,  1  pledge  my  head  to 
free  her  from  its  sway." 

The  king,  wl^o  was  a  inan  of  understanding,  and 
Knew  the  wonderful  secrets  possessed  by  the  Arabs, 
was  inspired  with  hope  by  the  c(;ntiilent  language  of 
llie  prince.  He  corulucted  him  immedi.itely  to  the 
lofty  tower  secured  by  several  doors,  in  the  sunnnit 
of  which  w;is  the  ch-'  ..jer  of  the  princess.  The 
windows  opened  upon  a  terrace  with  balustrades, 
commanding  a  view  over  Toledo  anrl  all  the  sur- 
rounding country.  The  windows  were  darkened, 
for  the  princess  lay  within,  a  prey  to  a  devouring 
jjrief  that  refused  all  alleviation. 

The  prince  seatetl  himself  on  the  terrace,  and  per- 
formed several  wild  Arabian  airs  on  his  pastoral 
pipe,  which  he  had  le;irnt  from  his  attendants  in  the 
Ci<ntralitfe  at  (}ranad:i.  The  princess  continued  in- 
sensible, and  the  doctors,  who  were  present,  shook 
their  heads,  and  smiled  with  incredibility  and  con- 
ciT'.pt.  At  length  the  prince  laid  aside  the  reed, 
t!i.i,  to  a  simple  melo:ly,  chanted  the  amatory  verses 
uf  the  letter  which  had  declared  his  passion. 

The  princess  recognized  the  strain.  A  tluttering 
ioy  stole  to  her  heart ;  she  raised  her  head  and  lis- 
tened ;  tears  rushetl  to  her  eyes  and  streamed  down 
her  cheeks;  her  bosom  rose  ami  tell  with  a  tumult 
of  emotions.  She  uould  have  asked  for  the  minstrel 
to  be  brought  into  her  presence,  but  maiden  coyness 
held  her  silent.  The  king  read  her  wishes,  and  at 
his  command  Ahmed  was  conducted  into  the  cham- 
ber.   The  loveis  were  discreet :  they  but  exchanged 


glances,  yet  those  glances  spoke  volumes.  Ncvei 
was  triumph  of  music  more  complete.  The  rose 
had  returned  to  the  soft  cheek  of  the  princess,  tht 
freshness  to  her  lip,  and  the  de\\7  light  to  her  Ian 
guishing  eye. 

All  the  physicians  present  stared  at  each  othei 
with  astonishment.  The  king  regarded  the  Arab 
minstrel  with  admiration,  mixt  with  awe.  "  Wcn- 
derfid  youth,"  exclaimed  he,  "  thou  shall  henceforth 
be  the  first  physician  of  my  court,  and  no  other  pre- 
scription will  1  take  but  thy  melody.  P'or  the  pres- 
ent, receive  thy  reward,  the  most  precious  jewel  in 
my  treasury." 

"  O  king,"  replied  Ahmed,  "  1  care  not  for  silver, 
or  gold,  or  precious  stones.  One  relicpie  hast  thou 
in  thy  treasury,  handed  down  from  the  Moslems  who 
once  owned  Toledo.  A  box  of  sandal  wood  contain- 
ing a  silken  carpet.  Give  me  that  box,  and  1  am 
content." 

All  present  were  surprised  at  the  moderation  of 
the  Arab ;  and  still  more,  when  the  Iwx  of  sandal 
wood  was  brought  and  the  carpet  drawn  forth.  It 
was  of  fine  green  silk,  covered  with  Hebrew  and 
Chaldaic  characters.  The  cout1  physicians  looked 
at  each  other,  shrugged  their  shoulders,  and  smiled 
at  the  simj-licity  of  this  new  practiiioner,  who  could 
be  content  with  so  paltry  a  fee. 

"This  carpet,"  said  the  prince,  "once  covered 
the  throne  of  Solomon  the  wise  ;  it  is  worthy  of  be- 
ing place<l  beneath  the  feet  of  bca'.jty." 

So  saying,  he  spread  it  on  tlie  terrace  beneath  an 
ottoman  that  had  been  brovight  forth  for  the  prin- 
cess ;  then  seating  himself  at  her  feet, — 

"Who,"  said  he,  "shall  coimterart  what  is  writ- 
ten in  the  book  of  fate.'     Behold  the  prediction  of 
the  astrologers  verified.     Know,  oh  k'l^.  'h.'it  youi 
daughtir  and  I  have  long  loved  e.ich  other  in  secret 
Behold  in  me  the  pilgrim  of  love." 

These  words  were  scarcely  from  his  lips,  wnen  the 
carpet  rose  in  the  air,  bearing  off  the  prince  and 
princess,  The  king  and  the  physicians  ga/.ed  after 
it  with  open  mouths  and  straining  eyes,  until  it  be- 
came a  little  speck  on  the  white  I'oiom  of  a  cloud, 
and  then  disap[)eare<l  in  the  blue  vault  of  heaven. 

The  king  in  a  rage  summoned  his  treasurer. 
"How  is  this,"  said  he.  "that  thou  hast  suffered  an 
infidel  to  get  poss<'Ssion  of  svich  a  tali3m;;n  ?  " 

"  Alas  I  sire,  we  knew  not  its  nature,  nor  could  we 
decipher  the  inscription  of  tlie  box.  If  it  be  indeed 
the  carpet  of  the  throne  of  the  wise  S(domon,  it  is 
possessed  of  m.igic  power,  and  can  tr.insport  its 
owner  from  place  to  place  through  the  air." 

The  king  assenibleil  a  mighty  .iriny,  and  set  off  foi 
Granada  m  pursuit  of  the  fugitives.  His  march  was 
long  and  toilsome.  Encamping  in  the  Vega,  he  sent 
a  heraUl  to  demand  restitution  of  his  daughter.  The 
king  himself  came  forth  with  all  his  court  to  meet 
him.  In  the  king,  he  beheld  the  Arab  minstrel,  for  Ah- 
med had  succeeded  to  t!ie  throne  on  the  de.ith  of  his 
father,  and  the  beautiful  Aldegond.i  was  I'is  Sultana. 

The  Christian  king  was  easily  pacified,  when  he 
found  that  his  d.iughter  was  suffered  to  continue  in 
her  faith  ;  not  th.it  he  was  particularly  pious ;  but 
religion  is  always  a  point  of  ]iridc  and  et'ijuette  wilt 
princes.  Instead  of  bloody  b;<tles,  there  was  a  suc- 
cession of  leasts  and  rejoicings  ;  after  which,  the  king 
returned  well  pleased  to  Toledo,  and  the  youthful 
couple  continued  to  reign  .as  happily  as  wisely,  in  the 
Alh.'imhra. 

It  is  proper  to  add,  that  the  ow  and  the  parrot 
had  severally  followed  the  prince  by  easy  stages  to 
j  Granada  :  the  former  travelling  by  night,  and  stop- 
I  ping  at  the  various  hereditary  |>;issessions  of  his 
1  family  ;  the  latter  figuring  in  the  gay  circles  of  evert 
I  town  and  city  on  his  route. 


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WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVINU 


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/ 


Ahmed  gratefully  recjuited  the  services  which  they 
had  rendered  him  on  his  pilgrim.ijjc.  He  appointed 
the  owl  his  prime  minister ;  the  parrot  his  master  of 
ceremonies.  It  is  needless  to  say,  that  niivcr  was  a 
realm  more  sagely  administered,  or  a  court  con- 
d'jcted  with  more  exact  punctilio. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  ROSE  OF  THE  ALHAMBRAi 


0«, 


THE   PAGE  AND  THE  GER-PAt.CON. 


For  some  time  after  the  surrender  of  Oranada  by 
the  Moors,  that  deliKiUful*rity  was  a  frequent  and 
favourite  residence  of  the  Spanish  sovereijjns,  until 
they  were  frijjhtcned  away  l)y  successive  shocks  of 
earthquakes,  which  topplc'i  down  various  houses  and 
made  the  old  Moslem  to\wrs  rock  to  their  founda- 
tion. 

Many,  many  years  then  rolled  away,  during  which 
Granada  was  rarely  honoured  liy  a  royal  j^ucst.  The 
palaces  of  the  nobility  remaii.ed  silent  and  shut  up  ; 
and  the  Alhamhra,  like  a  slighted  beauty,  sat  in 
mournful  desolation  among  her  neglected  gardens. 
The  tower  of  the  Inf:inta,-:.  once  the  residence  of  the 
three  beautiful  Moorish  princesses,  partook  of  the 
general  desolation  ;  and  the  spider  spun  her  web 
athwart  the  gilded  vault,  and  bats  an(I  owls  nestled 
in  those  chambers  that  had  been  graced  by  the  pres- 
ence of  Zayda,  Zorayda,  and  Zorahayda.  The  ne- 
glect of  the  tower  may  partly  have  been  owing  to 
fp.ne  superstitious  notions  of  the  neigliboirrs.  It 
•waa  rumoured  that  the  spirit  of  the  youthful  Zora- 
Ttayda,  who  had  pi;rished  in  that  tower,  was  often 
ictn  by  moonlight  seated  beside  the  fountain  in  the 
hall,  or  mo.uiing  about  the  b.itllemenls,  and  ihat  the 
notes  of  her  silver  lute  would  be  heard  at  midnight 
by  wayfarers  passing  along  tlie  glen. 

At  length,  the  city  of  Granada  was  once  more  en- 
livened by  the  royal  presence.  All  the  world  kniws 
that  Philip  v.  was  the  first  IJourbon  that  swayed  the 
Spanish  sceptre.  All  the  world  knows  that  lie  mar- 
ried, in  second  nuptials,  Klizahetia  or  Isabella,  (for 
they  are  the  same,)  the  beautiful  princess  of  Parma  ; 
and  all  the  world  knows,  that  by  this  chain  of  con- 
tingencies, a  French  prince  and  an  Itali.in  princess 
were  seated  together  on  the  Spanish  throne.  For 
the  reception  of  this  illustrious  pair,  the  Alhambra 
wiis  repaired  and  fitted  up  with  all  possible  expedi- 
tion. The  arrival  of  the  court  changed  the  whole 
aspect  of  the  lately  deserted  place.  The  clangour 
of  drum  and  trumpet,  the  tramp  of  steed  about  the 
avenues  and  outer  court,  the  glittei  of  arms  and  dis- 
play of  banners  about  barbican  and  battlement,  re- 
called the  ancient  and  walike  glories  of  the  fortress. 
A  softer  spirit,  however,  reigned  within  the  royal 
palace.  There  was  the  rustling  of  robes,  and  the  cau- 
lious  tread  and  murmuring  voice  of  reverential 
courtiers  about  the  antechambers;  a  loitering  of 
•m^es  and  maids  of  honour  about  the  gardens,  and 
he  sc-jnd  of  music  stealing  from  open  casements. 

Among  those  who" attended  in  the  train  of  the 
tnonarjhs,  was  a  favourite  page  of  the  queen,  named 
Ruyz  de  Alarcon.  To  say  that  he  w.is  a  f;i^'Ourite 
page  of  the  queen,  was  .it  once  to  speak  his  eulogium, 
for  every  one  in  the  suite  of  the  stately  Elizabetta 
was  chosen  for  grace,  and  beauty,  and  accomplish- 
ments. He  was  just  turned  of  eighteen,  light  and 
little  of  form,  and  graceful  as  a  young  Antinoiis.  To 
the  queen,  he  was  all  deference  and  respect,  yet  he 


was  at  heart  a  roguish  itripling,  pelted  and  spoilfd 
by  the  ladies  about  the  court,  and  experienced  m  the 
ways  of  women  far  beyond  his  yc.irs. 

This  loitering  page  was  one  morning  ramblins 
about  tl.e  groves  of  the  GeneralifVe,  which  overlrjnk 
the  grounds  of  'he  Alh.amlira.  He  h.id  taken  w'N 
him  for  his  .imusement,  a  favourite  ger-f.dcon  ol  th;: 
queen.  In  the  course  of  his  rambles,  seeing  a  tiiti' 
rising  from  a  thicket,  he  unhooded  the  hawk  and  k\ 
him  fly.  The  falcon  towered  high  in  the  air,  m.odi 
a  swoop  at  his  quarry,  but  missing  it,  soared  awe, 
regardless  of  the  calls  of  the  page,  i'he  latter  fo|. 
lowed  the  truant  bird  with  his  eye  in  its  caprici()\is 
flight,  until  he  s-iw  it  alight  jpon  the  b.attlsmcnts  ot 
a  remote  and  lonely  tower,  m  the  outer  wall  of  !hc 
Alhambra,  built  on  the  edge  of  a  ravine  that  sepa- 
r.ited  the  royal  fortress  from  the  grounds  of  the 
Generalilfc.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  "  tower  of  the  Prin- 
cesses." 

The  page  descended  into  the  ravine,  and  approarh- 
ed  the,  tower,  but  it  had  no  entrance  from  the  pirn. 
.and  its  lofty  height  rendered  any  attempt  to  scale  it 
fniitless.  Seeking  one  of  the  gates  of  the  fortre.s, 
therefore,  he  made  a  wide  circuit  to  that  side  of  the 
tower  facing  within  the  walls.  A  small  garden  en- 
closed by  a  trellir.work  of  reeds  overhung  with  myrtle 
lay  before  the  tower.  Opening  a  wicket,  the  patje 
p.issed  between  beds  of  flowers  and  thickets  of  ros^s 
to  the  door.  It  was  closed  and  bolted.  A  crevi(  » 
in  the  door  g.ave  him  a  peep  into  the  interior.  Therr 
was  a  small  Moorish  hall,  with  fretted  walls,  lij^'ht 
marble  columns,  and  an  alab.xster  fountain  surroun  i- 
ed  with  flowers.  In  the  centre  hung  a  gilt  cage  en  •■ 
taining  a  singing  bird  ;  beneath  it.  on  a  chair,  hv  3 
tortoise-shell  cat  among  reels  of  silk  and  oih't 
articles  of  female  labour,  and  a  guitar,  decorati  1 
with  ribands,  le.aned  .igainst  the  fountain. 

Ruyz  de  Alarcon  was  struck  with  these  traces  rt 
female  t.aste  and  elegance  in  a  lonely,  and.  as  he  hid 
supposed,  deserted  tower.  They  reminded  him  of 
the  tales  of  enchanted  h.dls,  current  in  the  Alhnr- 
bra;  and  the  tortoise-shell  cat  might  be  some  spell- 
bound princess. 

He  knocked  gently  at  the  door, — a  beautiful  f  ice 
peeped  out  from  a  little  window  above,  but  was  in- 
stantly withdrawn.  He  waited,  expecting  that  the 
door  would  be.  opened ;  but  he  waited  in  vain :  im 
footstep  w.is  to  b-  heard  within,  all  was  silent.  H  tl 
his  senses  deceived  him,  or  was  this  beautiful  ;i|>- 
parition  the  fairy  of  the  tower  ?  He  knocked  again, 
and  more  loudly.  After  a  little  while,  the  beaniin;,' 
face  once  more  peeped  forth :  it  was  that  of  a  blfwni- 
ing  damsel  ot  tifteen. 

The  page  immediately  dofTed  his  plumed  bonne', 
and  entreated  in  the  most  courteous  accents  to  b". 
permitted  to  ascend  the  tower  in  pursiut  of  his 
f.alcon. 

"  I  dare  not  open  the  door,  Seflor,"  replied  the 
little  damsel,  blushing;  "my aunt  has  foriiidden  it." 

"  I  do  beseech  you,  fair  ma*  I ;  it  is  the  favonrire 
falcon  of  the  queen ;  1  dare  not  return  to  the  pa'ar'r 
without  it," 

"Are  you,  then,  one  of  the  cavjiliers  of  ht. 
court  ?  " 

"  I  am,  fair  m.iid ;  but  I  shall  lose  the  rjjtieen'a 
favour  and  my  place  if  I  lose  this  hawk." 

"  Santa  Maria  !  Ii  is  against  you  cavaliers  of  the 
court  that  my  aunt  has  charged  me  especially  to  bar 
the  door." 

"  Against  wicked  cavaliers,  doubtless ;  but  I  sm 
none  of  those,  but  a  simple,  harmless  page,  who  will 
be  ruined  and  undone  if  you  deny  me  tnis  small  re- 
quest." 

The  heart  of  the  little  d-tmsel  wa«  touched  by 
the  distress  of  the  page„     It  was  a  thousand  piticJ 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


Ml 


f)(  ilniuM  Ik*  mined  for  the  want  of  so  trifling  a  boon. 
Surely,  too,  he  could  not  be  one  of  tliosc  dan;  tous 
bfin  whom  her  iint  had  dcscriiied  as  ;i  spt;ci'.-5  of 
caim..  .il,  ever  on  ihe  prowl  to  make  prey  of  ihtui^jht- 
If.ss  damsels  ;  lie  was  j;cntle  and  modest,  ;ind  stood 
10  ent;f.Uingl>  with  cap  in  hand,  and  l(Mil<ed  so 
ch.-iniung.  The  sly  [Li^e  saw  that  the  garrison 
bfgin  to  waver,  !tnd  redDuhlcd  his  entreaties  in  such 
novin)?  terms,  that  it  was  not  in  the  nature  of  niurtal 
Biiidcn  to  deny  him  ;  so,  tlie  blushinij  little  warder 
of  the  tiAver  descended  and  opened  the  door  with  a 
ircMihliiiK  hand  ;  and  if  the  jia^e  had  Ixcn  channed 
'jy  it  nuTC  glimpse  of  her  countenance  Iroiwi  the  win- 
ilcvv.  lie  was  ravished  by  the  lull-length  portrait  now 
revelled  to  hiirt. 

Hi  r  Andaliisian  bodice  and  trirT\  hasquina  set 
otT  il  f'  round  but  delicate  symmetry  ol  her  (orm, 
which  w.is  .as  yet  scarce  verging  into  womanhood. 
Her  i;lossy  hair  w.is  parted  on  her  forehead  with 
sciiuniliitis  exactness,  and  decorated  with  a  fresh 
plucKid  rose,  according  to  the  universal  custom  of 
the  country. 

li  is  true,  her  complexion  was  tinged  by  the 
v'liMir  of  a  southern  sun,  but  it  served  to  give  rich- 
r,f!>s  t(*  the  mantling  hloom  of  her  cheek,  and  to 
hci>;litin  the  lustre  of  her  melting  eyes. 

Kuyz  de  Alarcon  beheld  .dl  this  with  a  single 
gliiue,  li)r  it  became  him  not  to  tarry;  he  merely 
miinnnred  his  .acknowledgments,  and  then  bounded 
lightly  up  the  s|)iral  staircase  m  quest  of  his  falcon. 
He  siioii  returned  with  the  truant  bird  upon  his  fist. 
The  damsel,  in  the  mean  time,  had  seated  herself 
by  the  fountain  in  the  hall,  and  was  winding  silk  ; 
but  in  lier  agitation  she  let  fall  the  reel  u|K)n  the 
pavement.  The  page  sprang,  picked  it  up,  then 
drn]i;iing  gracefully  on  one  knee,  jirescnted  it  to 
her,  1/111,  sei/.ing  tne  hand  extended  to  receive  it, 
imprinted  on  it  a  kiss  more  fervent  anil  flevout 
ihiii  lie  had  ever  imprinted  on  the  fair  h.ind  of  his 
Kvcreign. 

"Ave  Maria!  Sefior!"  exclaimed  the  damsel, 
blushing  still  deejier  with  confusion  and  surprise, 
for  never  bi-forc  had  she  receivetl  such  a  salutation. 

The  moilest  p.age  made  a  thousand  a|)ologies,  as- 
suring her  it  was  the  way,  at  court,  of  expressing  the 
most  profound  hom.age  and  respect. 

Her  anger,  if  anger  she  fell,  was  easily  |)acified; 
but  lier  agitation  and  end)arrassment  continued,  and 
she  sat  blushing  deeper  and  deeper,  with  her  eyes 
cast  down  upon  her  work,  entangling  the  silk  which 
she  attempted  to  wind. 

Tl'.e  cunning  p.age  saw  the  confusion  in  the  op- 
posite camp,  anil  would  fain  have  profited  by  it, 
but  the  line  sixieches  he  woidd  have  uttered  died 
iipmi  his  lips  ;  his  attempts  at  gallantry  were  awk- 
v.iril  and  ineffectual ;  and,  to  his  sur])rise,  the 
adroit  page  who  had  tigured  with  such  grace 
anil  rtirontery  among  the  most  knowing  and  ex- 
pcnciui-d  ladies  of  the  court,  found  himself  awed 
and  ab.ished  in  the  presence  of  a  simple  damsel  of 
'iutrn. 

In  fact,  the  artless  maiden,  in  her  own  modesty 
anJ  innocence,  h.ad  guardians  more  effectual  than 
ttio  holts  and  bars  prescribed  by  her  vigilant  aunt. 
Stiil,  where  is  the  u-male  bosom  proof  against  the 
iirst  v/hisperings  of  love?  The  little  damsel,  with 
all  her  artlessness,  instinctively  comprehended  all 
(n:  the  faltering  tongue  of  the  page  failed  to  ex- 
press, and  her  heart  was  fluttered  at  beholding, 
lor  the  first  time,  a  lover  at  her  feet — and  such  a 
over ! 

The  diffidence  of  the  page,  though  genuine,  w.as 
I  shot-lived,  and  he  was  recovering  his  usual  ease 
mil  (oididtnce,  when  a  shrill  voice  was  heard  at  a 
distance. 


"  My  aunt  is  returning  from  nass ! "  cried  th« 
damsel  in  .iffright.     "  I  pray  you,  S«rior,  depart," 

"  Not  until  you  grant  mc  that  rose  from  your  hsijr 
as  a  remembrance." 

.She  hastily  untwisted  the  rose  from  hci  ravin 
locks.  "  Take  it,"  cried  she,  agitatea  and  blushing 
"  but  pr.ay  begone." 

The  page  took  the  rose,  and  at  the  same  timf 
covered  with  kisses  the  fair  hand  that  gavr  it. 
Then  placing  the  flower  in  his  bonnet,  and  talvinj 
the  falcon  upon  his  fist,  he  bounded  off  throMgli  the 
garden,  bearing  away  with  him  the  heart  of  the  gen- 
tle Jarinta, 

When  the  vigilant  aunt  .arrived  at  the  tower, 
she  remarked  the  agitation  of  her  niece,  and  an  air 
of  confusion  in  the  hall ;  li'it  a  word  of  explanation 
surticed.  "  A  ger  falcon  Lad  pursued  his  prey  into 
the  hall." 

"  Mercy  on  us  I  To  think  of  a  falcon  flying  into  the 
tower.  Did  ever  one  hear  of  so  saucy  a  hawk  .'  Why, 
the  very  bird  in  the  cage  is  not  safe." 

The  vigilant  Fredegonda  was  one  of  the  mosf 
wary  of  ancient  spinsters.  She  had  a  becoming  ter- 
ror and  distrust  of  what  she  denominated  "  the  op- 
posite sex,"  which  had  gr.aclually  increased  throujjh 
a  long  life  of  celibacy.  Not  that  the  good  l.uly  had 
ever  suflered  from  their  wiles  ;  nature  having  set  up 
a  safeguard  in  her  face,  that  forbade  all  trespass 
upon  her  premises  ;  but  ladies  who  h.ave  least  cause 
to  fear  for  themselves,  are  most  ready  to  keep  a 
watch  over  their  more  tempting  neighbours.  The 
niece  was  the  orphan  of  an  otlifcr  who  had  fallen 
in  the  wars.  She  had  been  educated  in  a  convent, 
and  had  recently  been  transferred  from  her  sacred 
.asylum  to  the  immediate  guardianship  of  her  aunt 
under  vxdiose  oversh.adowing  care  she  vegetated  it 
obscurity,  like  an  opening  rose  bloominij  hene.ath  i 
bri.ir.  Nor,  indeed,  is  this  comparison  entir'-ly 
accidimtal,  for  to  tell  the  truth  her  fresh  and  dawa. 
ing  be.iuty  had  cauglit  the  piil>iic  eye,  even  in  her 
seclusion,  and,  with  that  poetical  turn  common  to 
the  people  of  Andalusia,  the  |K'.asantry  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood had  given  her  the  appellation  of  "  The 
Rose  of  the  Alhambra," 

The  wary  aunt  continued  to  keep  a  faithful  watch 
over  her  tempting  little  niece  as  long  as  the  court 
continued  .at  liranad.i,  and  flattered  herself  that  her 
vigilance  had  been  successful.  It  is  true,  the  good 
laily  w.as  now  and  then  discoirposed  by  the  tinkling 
of  guitars,  and  chanting  of  love  ditties  from  the 
moonlit  groves  beneath  the  tower,  but  she  would 
exhort  her  niece  to  shut  her  ears  .against  such  idle 
minstrelsy,  assuring  her  th.it  it  was  one  of  the  arts 
of  the  opposite  sex,  by  which  simple  maids  were 
often  lured  to  their  undoing  ; — alas,  what  chance 
with  a  simple  maid  has  a  dry  lecture  against  a  moon- 
light seren.ade  ! 

At  length  king  Philip  cut  short  his  soiourn  at 
flranada,  and  suddenly  departed  with  all  fits  train. 
The  vigilant  Fredegonda  w.itched  the  royal  pageant 
as  it  issued  forth  from  the  gate  of  Justice,  .and  de- 
scended the  great  avenue  leading  to  the  city.  Whet 
the  last  banner  disappeared  from  her  sight,  she  re- 
turned exulting  to  her  tower,  for  all  her  cares  were 
over.  To  her  surprise,  a  light  Arabian  steed  pawod 
the  ground  at  the  wicket  gate  of  the  garden,--to  hei 
horror  she  saw  through  the  thickets  of  roses,  a 
youth,  in  g.aily  embroidered  dress,  at  the  lert  of  her 
niece.  At  the  sound  of  her  footsteps  he  gave  a  ten- 
der adieu,  bounded  lightly  over  the  jarricr  of  reedi 
and  myrtles,  sprang  upon  his  horse,  and  was  ottt  of 
sight  in  an  instant. 

The  tender  Jacinta  i.n  the  agony  of  her  grief  lost 
all  thought  of  her  aunt's  displeasure.  Throwing  her- 
self into  her  arms,  she  broke  forth  into  sobs  and  tean, 


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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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Photogi'aphic 

Sdences 

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WIUTIR.N.Y.  USM 

(7l6)«72-4503 


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WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON     RVING. 


"Ay  di  ml  I "  cried  she,  "  he  is  gone  1  he  is  gone ! 
and  I  shall  never  see  him  more." 

"  Gone  !  who  is  gone  I  what  youth  is  this  I  saw  at 
your  feet  ?  " 

"A  queen's  page,  aunt,  who  came  to  bid  me  fare- 
well." 

"A  queen's  page,  child,"  echoed  the  vigilant  Fre- 
degorda  faintly,  "  and  when  did  you  become  ac- 
[juainted  with  a  queen's  page  P  " 

"  The  morning  that  the  ger-falcon  flew  into  the 
rower.  It  was  the  quMn's  ger-falcon,  and  he  came 
ia  pursuit  of  it." 

"  Ah,  silly,  silly  girl  I  know  that  there  are  no  ger- 
falcons haU  so  dangerous  as  these  prankling  pages, 
and  it  is-precisely  such  simple  birds  as  thee  that  they 
pounce  upon." 

The  aunt  was  at  first  indignant  at  learning  that, 
in  despite  of  her  boasted  vigilance,  a  tender  inter- 
course had  been  carried  on  by  the  youthful  lovers, 
almost  beneath  her  eye ;  but  when  she  found  that 
her  simple-hearted  niece,  though  thus  exposed,  with- 
out the  protection  of  bolt  or  bar,  to  all  the  machina- 
tions of  the  opposite  sex,  had  come  forth  unsinged 
from  the  fiery  ordeal,  she  consoled  herself  with  the 
persuasion  that  it  was  owing  to  the  chaste  and  cau- 
tious maxims  in  which  she  had,  as  it  were,  steeped 
her  to  the  very  lips. 

While  the  aunt  laid  this  soothing  unction  to  her 
pride,  the  niece  treasured  up  the  oft-repeated  vows 
of  fidelity  of  the  page.  But  what  is  the  love  of 
restless,  roving  man  ?  a  vagrant  stream  that  dallies 
for  a  time  with  each  flower  upon  its  banks,  then 
passes  on  and  leaves  them  all  in  tears. 

Days,  weeks,  months  elapsed,  and  nothing  more 
wis  heard  of  the  page.  The  pomegranate  ripened, 
the  vine  yielded -up  its  fruit,  the  autumnal  rains  de- 
icended  in  torrer.ts  from  the  mountains  ;  the  Sierra 
i"«evada  becanvs  2;'rrsd  with  a  snowy  mantle,  and 
wintry  blasts  howled  through  the  halls  of  the  Al- 
hambra:  still  he  came  not.  The  winter  passed 
away.  Again  the  genial  spring  burst  fortn  with 
scng,  an  d  blossoms,  and  balmy  zephyr  ;  the  snows 
melted  from  the  mountains,  until  none  remained,  but 
on  the  lofty  summit  of  the  Nevada,  glistening  through 
the  sultry  summer  air:  still  nothing  was  heard  of  the 
forgetful  page. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  poor  little  Jacinta  grew  pale 
and  thoughtful.  Her  former  occupations  and 
amusements  were  abandoned';  her  silk  lay  entangled, 
her  guitar  unstrung,  her  flowers  were  neglected,  the 
notes  of  her  bird  unheeded,  and  her  eyes,  once  so 
bright,  were  dimmed  with  secret  weeping.  If  any 
solitude  could  be  devised  to  foster  the  passion  of  a 
lovelorn  damsel,  it  would  be  such  a  place  as  the  Alham- 
bra,  where  every  thing  seems  disposed  to  produce 
tender  and  romantic  reveries.  It  is  a  very  Paradise 
for  lovers;  how  hard  then  to  be  alone  in  such  a 
Paradise ;  and  not  merely  alone,  but  forsaken. 

"Alas,  silly  child  !  "  would  the  staid  and  immacu- 
late Fredegonda  say,  when  she  found  her  niece  in 
one  of  her  desponding  moods,  "did  I  not  warn 
thee  against  the  wiles  and  deceptions  of  these  men  ? 
What  couldst  thou  expect,  too,  from  one  of  a  haughty 
»nd  aspiring  family,  thou,  an  orphan,  the  descencl- 
ir.t  of  a  fallen  and  impoverished  line ;  be  assured,  if 
the  youth  were  true,  his  father,  who  is  one  of  the 
pruuiist  nobles  about  the  court,  would  prohibit  his 
union  with  one  so  humble  and  portionless  as  thou. 
Pluck  up  thy  resolution,  therefore,  and  drive  these 
idle  notions  from  thy  mind." 

The  words  of  the  immaculate  Fredegonda  only 
served  to  increase  the  melancholy  of  her  niece,  but 
she  sought  to  indulge  it  in  private.  At  a  late  hour 
one  midsummer  night,  after  her  aunt  had  retired  to 
rest,  she  remained  alone  in  the  hall  of  the  tower, 


seated  beside  the  alabaster  fountajL  It  ivas  hen 
that  the  faithless  paee  had  first  knelt  and  kissed  ho 
hand,  it  was  here  that  he  had  often  vowed  eternai 
fidelity.  The  poor  little  damsel's  heart  was  over- 
laden with  sad  and  tender  recollections,  her  tears 
began  to  flow,  and  slowly  fell,  drop  by  drop,  into  thi 
fountain.  By  degrees  the  crystal  water  became  agi. 
tated,  and,  bubble — bubble — bubble,  boiled  up,  and 
was  tossed  about  until  a  female  figure,  richly  clad  io 
Moorish  robes,  slowly  rose  to  view. 

Jacinta  was  so  frightened,  that  she  fled  from  th« 
hall,  and  did  not  venture  to  return.  The  next 
morning,  she  related  what  she  had  seen  to  her  aunt, 
but  the  good  lady  treated  it  as  a  fantasy  of  hei 
troubled  mind,  or  supposed  she  h.id  fallen  asleep  and 
dreamt  beside  the  ibuntain.  "  Thou  hast  been  think. 
ing  of  the  story  of  the  three  Moorish  princesses  thai 
once  inhabited  the  tower,"  continued  she,  "  and  it 
has  entered  into  thy  dreams." 

"  What  story,  aunt  ?    I  know  nothing  of  it." 

"Thou  hast  certainly  heard  of  the  three  prin- 
cesses, Zayda,  Zorayda,  and  Zorahayda,  who  were 
confined  in  this  tower  by  the  king  their  father,  and 
agreed  to  fly  with  three  Christian  cavaliers.  Thj 
first  two  accomplished  their  escape,  but  the  third 
failed  in  resolution  and  remained,  and  it  is  said  died 
in  this  tower." 

"  I  now  recollect  to  have  heard  of  it,"  said  J-icinta 
"  and  to  have  wept  over  the  fate  of  the  gentle  Zora- 
hayda." 

"  Thou  mayst  well  weep  over  her  fate,"  continued 
the  aunt,  "  for  the  lover  of  Zorahayda  was  thy  an- 
cestor. He  long  bemoaned  his  Moorish  love,  but 
time  cured  him  of  his  grief,  and  he  married  a  Spar- 
ish  lady,  from  whom  thou  art  descended." 

Jacinta  ruminated  upon  these  words.  "  That 
what  I  have  seen  is  no  fantasy  of  the  brain,"  sai'l  she 
to  herself,  "  I  am  confident.  If  indeed  it  be  the 
sprite  of  the  gentle  Zorahayda,  which  1  have  hc.\rd 
lingers  about  this  tower,  of  what  should  I  be  afraid? 
I'll  watch  by  the  fountain  to-night,  perhaps  the  visit 
will  be  repeated." 

Towards  midnight,  when  everx*  thing  was  quiet, 
she  again  took  her  seat  in  the  hall.  As  the  bell  on 
the  distant  watch-tower  of  the  Alhambra  struck  the 
midnight  hour,  the  fountain  was  again  agitated,  and 
bubble — bubble — bubble,  it  tossed  about  the  waiers 
until  the  Moorish  female  again  rose  to  view.  She 
was  young  and  beautiful;  her  dress  was  rich  with 
jewels,  and  in  her  hand  she  held  a  silver  lute,  jacinta 
trembled  and  was  faint,  but  was  reassured  bv  the 
soft  and  plaintive  voice  of  the  apparition,  and  the 
sweet  expression  of  her  pale  melancholy  counte- 
nance. 

"  Daughter  of  Mortality,"  said  she,  '  what  aiieth 
thee  ?  Why  do  thy  tears  trouble  my  fountain,  and 
thy  sighs  and  plaints  disturb  the  quiet  watches  of 
the  night  ?  " 

"  I  weep  because  of  the  faithlessness  of  man  ;  and 
I  bemoan  my  solitary  and  forsaken  state." 

"  Take  comfort,  thy  sorrows  may  )  et  have  an  end 
Thou  beholdest  a  Moorish  princess,  who,  like  t>.ce. 
was  unhappy  in  her  love.  A  Christian  knight,  thj 
ancestor,  won  my  heart,  and  would  have  bomc  me 
to  his  native  land,  and  to  the  bosom  of  his  church, 
I  was  a  convert  in  my  heart,  but  I  lacked  courage 
equal  to  my  faith,  and  lingered  till  too  late,  toi 
this,  the  evil  genii  are  permitted  to  have  power  over 
me,  and  I  remain  enchanted  in  this  tower  i.  til 
some  pure  Christian  will  deign  to  break  the  iiiogic 
spell.     Wilt  thou  undertake  the  task? " 

"  I  will ! "  replied  the  damsel,  trembling. 

"  Come  hither,  then,  and  fear  not :  dip  thy  hand 
in  the  fountain,  sprinkle  the  water  over  me  and  bap- 
tize me  after  the  manner  of  thy  faith ;  so  shall  tn< 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


168 


ith ;  so  shali  in 


enchantment  be  dispelled,  and  my  trouDled  spirit 
ha\e  repose." 

llie  uamsel  advanced  jvith  faltering  steps,  dipped 
her  hand  in  th';  fountain,  collected  water  in  the  palm, 
and  sprinkled  it  over  the  pale  face  of  the  phantom. 

The  latter  smiled  with  ineffable  benignity.  She 
i<  jpped  her  silver  lute  at  the  feet  of  Jacinta,  crossed 
hix  white  arms  upon  her  bosom,  and  melted  from 
ssjjht,  so  that  it  seemed  merely  as  if  a  shower  of 
Vwdrops  had  fallen  into  the  fountain. 

Jacinta  retired  from  the  hall,  filled  with  awe  and 
wonder.  She  scarcely  closed  her  eyes  that  night, 
but  when  she  awoke  at  daybreak  out  of  a  troui)led 
slumber,  the  whole  appeared  to  her  like  a  distem- 
pered dream.  On  descending  into  the  hall,  how- 
ever, the  truth  of  the  vision  was  established ;  for, 
beside  the  fountain  she  beheld  the  silver  lute  glitter- 
ing in  the  morning  sunshine. 

She  hastened  to  her  aunt,  related  all  that  had  be- 
fallen her,  and  called  her  to  behold  the  lute  as  a  tes- 
timonial of  the  reality  of  her  story.  If  the  good  lady 
had  any  lingering  doubts,  they  were  removed  when 
Jacinta  touched  the  instrument,  for  she  drew  forth 
such  ravishing  tones  as  to  thaw  even  the  frigid  bo- 
som of  the  immaculate  Fredegonda,  that  region  of 
eternal  winter,  into  a  genial  flow.  Nothing  out  su- 
pernatural melody  could  have  produced  such  an 
effect. 

Tht  extraordinary  power  of  the  lute  became  every 
lay  more  and  more  apparent.  The  wayfarer  pass- 
ing by  the  tower  was  detained,  and,  as  it  were,  spell- 
bound, in  breathless  ecstasy.  The  very  birds  gath- 
ered in  the  neighbouring  trees,  and,  hushing  their 
own  strains,  listened  in  charmed  silence.  Rumour 
soon  spread  the  news  abroad.  The  inhabitants  of 
Granada  thronged  to  the  Alhambra,  to  catch  a  few 
notes  of  the  transcendent  music  that  floated  about 
J.e  tower  of  Las  Infantas. 

The  lovely  little  minstrel  was  at  length  dra>vn 
forth  from  her  retreat.  The  rich  and  powerful  of 
the  l.ind  contended  who  should  entertain  and  do 
hono  ir  to  her;  or  rather,  who  should  secure  the 
charms  of  her  lute,  to  draw  fashionable  throngs  to 
thtir  saloons.  Wherever  she  went,  her  vieilant  aunt 
kept  a  dragon-watch  at  her  elbow,  awing  the  throngs 
of  impassioned  admirers  who  hung  in  raptures  on 
her  strains.  The  report  of  her  wonderful  powers 
spread  from  city  to  city :  Mal.iga,  Seville,  Cordova, 
all  became  successively  mad  on  the  theme  :  nothing 
was  talked  of  throughout  Andalusia,  but  the  beau- 
tiful minnrel  of  the  Alhambra.  How  could  it  be 
otherwise  among  a  people  so  musical  and  gallant  as 
the  Andalusians,  when  the  lute  was  magical  in  its 
powers,  and  the  minstrel  inspired  by  love. 

While  all  Andalusia  was  thus  music-mad,  a  dif- 
ferent mood  prevailed  at  the'court  of  Spain.  Philip 
v.,  as  is  well  known,  was  a  miserable  hypochon- 
driac, and  subject  to  all  kinds  of  fancies.  Some- 
tiir.N  he  would  keep  to  his  bed  for  weeks  together, 
groaning  under  imaginary  complaints.  At  other 
times  he  would  insist  up<m  abdicating  his  throne, 
to  the  great  annoyance  of  his  royal  spouse,  who  had 
a  strong  relish  for  the  splendours  of  a  court  and  the 
glories  of  a  crown,  and  guided  the  sceptre  of  her 
irahecile  lord  with  an  expert  and  steady  hand. 

Nothing  was  found  to  be  so  efficacious  in  dispel- 
lii'g  the  royal  megrims  as  the  powers  of  music ; 
Uie  queen  took  care,  therefore,  to  have  the  best  per- 
fonncrs,  both  vocal  and  instrumental,  at  hand,  and 
retained  the  famous  Italian  singer  Farinelli  a'^out 
the  court  as  a  kind  of  royal  |)hysician. 

At  the  moment  we  treat  of,  however,  a  freak  had 
come  over  the  mind  of  this  sapient  and  illustrious 
Bourbon,  that  surpassed  all  former  vagaries.    After 

1  long  spell  of  imaginary  illness,  which  set  all  the 


strains  of  Farinelli,  and  the  consults  ens  of  a  whoU 
orchestra  of  court  fiddlers,  at  defiance,  the  monarch 
fairly,  in  idea,  gave  up  the  ghost,  and  considered 
himself  absolutely  dead. 

This  would  have  been  harmless  enough,  and  even 
convenient  both  to  his  queen  and  courtiers,  had  he 
been  content  to  remain  in  the  quietude  befitting  a 
dead  man ;  but,  to  their  annoyance,  he  insisted  upoa 
having  the  funeral  ceremonies  performed  over  him  • 
and,  to  their  inexpressible  perplexity,  began  to  grow 
impatient,  and  to  revile  bitterly  at  them  for  negli- 
gence  and  disrespect  in  leaving  hin  unburied.  What 
was  to  be  done  ?  To  disobey  the  king's  jiositive 
commands  w.is  monstrous  in  the  eyes  of  the  obse- 
(juious  courtiers  of  a  punctilious  court, — but  to  obey 
him,  and  bury  him  alive,  would  be  downrigth  regi- 
cide! 

In  the  midst  of  this  fearful  dilemma,  a  rumour 
reached  the  court  of  the  female  minstrel,  who  was 
turning  the  brains  of  all  Andalusia.  The  queen 
despatched  missives  in  all  haste,  to  summon  her  to 
St.  Ildefonso,  where  the  court  at  that  time  resif'.ed. 

Within  a  few  days,  as  the  queen  with  her  maids 
of  honour  Was  walking  in  those  stately  gardens,  in- 
tended, with  their  avenues,  and  terraces,  and  fount- 
ains, to  eclipse  the  glories  of  Versailles,  the  far- 
famed  minstrel  was  conducted  into  her  presence. 
The  imperial  Elizabetta  gazed  with  surprise  at  the 
youthful  and  unpretending  appearance  of  the  little 
being  that  had  set  the  world  madding.  She  was  in 
her  picturesque  Andalusian  dress;  her  silver  lute 
was  in  her  hand,  and  she  stood  with  modest  and 
downcast  eyes,  but  with  a  simplicity  and  freshness 
of  beauty  that  still  bespoke  her  "  The  Rose  of  the 
Alhambra." 

As  usual,  she  was  accompanied  by  the  ever  vigi- 
lant Fredegonda,  who  gave  the  whole  history  of  her 
parentage  and  descent  to  the  inquiring  queen.  If 
the  stately  Elizabetta  had  been  interested  by  the  ap. 
pearance  of  Jacinta,  she  was  still  more  pleased  when 
she  learnt  that  she  was  of  a  meritorious,  though  im- 
poverished line,  and  that  her  father  had  bravely  fallen 
in  the  service  of  the  crown.  "  If  thy  powers  equal 
their  renown,"  said  she,  "  and  thou  canst  cast  forth 
this  evil  spirit  that  possesses  thy  sovereign,  thy  for- 
tune shall  henceforth  be  my  care,  and  honours  and 
wealth  attend  thee." 

Impatient  to  make  trial  of  her  skill,  she  led  the 
way  at  once  to  the  apartment  of  the  moody  monarch. 
Jacinta  followed  with  downcast  eyes  through  files  of 
guards  and  crowds  of  courtiers.  They  arrived  at 
length  at  a  great  chamber  hung  in  black.  The  win- 
dows were  closed,  to  exclude  the  light  of  day ;  a 
number  of  yellow  wax  tapers,  in  silver  sconces,  dif- 
fused a  lugubrious  light,  and  dimly  revealed  the  fig- 
ures of  mutes  in  mourning  dresses,  and  courtiers, 
who  glided  about  with  noiseless  step  and  woe-begone 
visage.  On  the  midst  of  a  funeral  bed  or  bier,  his 
hands  folded  on  his  breast,  and  the  tip  of  iiis  nose 
just  visible,  lay  extended  this  would-be-buried  mon- 
arch. 

The  queen  entered  the  chamber  in  silence,  »r.d, 
pointing  to  a  footstool  in  an  obscure  comer,  beck- 
oned to  Jacinta  to  sit  down  and  commence. 

At  first  she  touched  her  lute  with  a  faltering  hand, 
but  gathering  confidence  and  animation  as  snc  pro- 
ceeded, drew  forth  such  soft,  aerial  harmony,  thai 
all  presertt  could  scarce  believe  it  mortal.  As  to  the 
monarch,  who  had  already  considered  himself  in  the 
world  of  spirits,  he  set  it  down  for  some  angelic  mel- 
ody, or  the  music  of  the  spheres.  By  degrees  the 
theme  was  varied,  and  the  voice  of  the  minstrel  ac- 
companied the  instrument.  She  poured  forth  one 
of  the  legendary  ballads  treating  of  the  ancient  glo- 
ries of  the  Alhambra,  and  the  achievements  gf  the 


I 


160 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING 


.^oora.  Her  whole  soul  entered  into  the  theme,  for 
with  the  recollections  of  the  Alhambra  was  associ- 
ated the  story  of  her  love ;  the  funereal  chamber  re- 
sounded  with  the  animating  strain.  It  entered  into 
the  gloomy  heart  of  the  monarch.  He  raised  his 
head  and  gazed  around ;  he  sat  up  on  his  couch ; 
(lis  eye  began  to  kindle ;  at  lenfjth,  leapinfj  upon  the 
feoor,  he  called  for  sword  and  buckler. 

The  triumph  of  music,  or  rather  of  the  enchanted 
iule,  was  complete ;  the  demon  of  melancholy  was 
cast  forth  ;  and,  as  it  were,  a  dead  man  brought  to 
life.  The  windows  of  the  apartment  were  thrown 
open ;  the  glorious  effulgence  of  Spanish  sunshine 
burst  into  the  late  lugubrious  chamber;  all  eyes 
sought  the  lovely  enchantress,  but  the  lute  had  fallen 
from  her  hand ;  she  had  sank  upon  the  earth,  and 
the  next  moment  was  clasped  to  the  bosom  of  Ruyz 
de  Alarcon. 

The  nuptials  of  the  happy  couple  were  shortly 
after  celebrated  with  great  splendour, — but  hold,  1 
hear  the  reader  ask  how  did  Ruyz  de  Alarcon  ac- 
count for  his  long  neglect  ?  Oh, — that  was  all  owing 
to  the  opposition  of  a  proud  pragmatical  old  father, — 
besides,  young  people,  who  really  like  one  another, 
soon  come  to  an  amicable  understanding,  and  bury 
all  past  grievances  whenever  they  meet. 

But  how  was  the  proud  pragmatical  old  father 
reconciled  to  the  match  ? 

Oh,  his  scruples  were  easily  overruled  by  a  word 
or  two  from  the  queen, — especially  as  dignities  and 
rewards  were  showered  upon  the  blooming  favour- 
ite of  royalty.  Besides,  the  lute  of  Jacinta,  you  know, 
i^wssessed  a  magic  power,  and  could  control  the  most 
stubborn  head  and  hardest  heart. 

And  what  became  of  the  enchanted  lute  ? 

Oh,  that  is  the  most  curious  matter  of  all,  and 
plainly  proves  the  truth  of  all  the  story.  That  lute 
Wmained  for  some  time  in  the  family,  but  was  pur- 
loined and  carried  off,  as  was  supposed,  by  the  great 
linger  Farinelli,  in  pure  jealousy.  At  his  death  it 
passed  into  other  hands  in  Italy,  who  were  ignorant 
of  its  mystic  powers,  and  melting  down  the  silver, 
transferred  the  strings  to  an  old  Cremona  fiddle. 
The  strings  still  retain  something  of  their  magjic  vir- 
tues. A  word  in  the  reader's  ear,  but  let  it  go  no 
hirther, — that  fiddle  is  now  bewitching  the  whole 
world, — it  is  the  fiddle  of  Paganini ! 


THE  VETERAN. 


AMONG  the  curious  acquaintances  I  have  made  in 
my  rambles  about  the  fortress,  is  a  brave  and  bat- 
tered old  Colonel  of  Invalids,  who  is  nestled  like  a 
ha'.vk  in  one  of  the  Moorish  towers.  His  history, 
wKich  he  is  fond  of  telling,  is  a  tissue  of  those  advent- 
uics,  mishaps,  and  vicissitudes  that  render  the  life 
ol  almost  every  Spaniard  of  note  as  varied  and 
w.iiirrical  as  the  pages  of  Gil  Bias. 

He  was  in  America  at  twelve  years  of  age,  and 
reckons  among  the  most  signal  and  fortunate  events 
of  his  life,  his  having  seen  General  Washington. 
Since  then  he  has  taken  a  part  in  all  the  wars  of  his 
country ;  he  can  speak  experimentally  of  most  of  the 

Erisons  and  dungeons  of  the  Peninsula,  has  been 
uned  of  one  leg,  crippled  in  his  hand,  and  so  cut  up 
and  carbonadoed,  that  he  is  a  kind  of  walking  monu- 
ment of  the  troubles  of  Spain,  on  which  there  is  a 
scar  for  every  battle  and  broil,  as  every  year  was 
notched  upon  the  tree  of  Robmson  Crusoe,  The 
greatest  misfortune  of  the  brave  old  cavalier,  how- 
ever, appears  to  have  been  bis  having  commanded  at 


Malaga  during  a  time  of  pcil  and  conHslon,  ani 
been  made  a  general  by  the  inhabitants  to  pro' eel 
them  from  the  invasion  of  the  French. 

This  has  entailed  upon  him  a  number  of  iust 
claims  upon  government  that  I  fear  will  employ  him 
until  his  dying  day  in  writing  and  printing  petition] 
and  memorials,  to  the  i^reat  disquiet  of  his  mind,  ex- 
haustion of  his  purse  and  penance  of  his  friends; 
not  one  of  whom  can  visit  nim  without  having  tc 
listen  to  a  mortal  document  of  half  an  hour  li 
length,  and  to  carry  away  half  a  dozen  pamphlet!:  in 
his  pocket.  This,  however,  is  the  case  throughcm 
Spain :  every  where  you  meet  with  some  worthy 
wight  broodmg  in  a  comer,  and  nursing  up  some 
pet  grievance  and  cherished  wrong.  Beside,  a 
Spaniard  who  has  a  lawsuit,  or  a  claim  upon  ^jov. 
ernment,  may  be  considered  as  furnished  with  en- 
ployment  for  the  remainder  of  his  life. 

I  visited  the  veteran  in  his  quarters  in  the  upjicr 
part  of  the  Terre  del  Vino,  or  Wine  Tower,  His 
room  was  small  but  snug,  and  commanded  a  beau- 
tiful view  of  the  Vega.  It  was  arranged  with  a  sol- 
dier's precision.  Three  muskets  and  a  brace  ot 
pistols,  all  bright  and  shining,  were  suspendMl 
against  the  wall,  with  a  sabre  and  a  cane  hanj^ing 
side  by  side,  and  above  these  two  cocked  hats,  uno 
for  parade,  and  one  for  ordinary  use.  A  small  shelf, 
containing  some  half  dozen  books,  formed  his  library, 
one  of  which,  a  little  old  mouldy  volume  of  philo- 
sophical maxims,  was  his  favourite  reading.  Thif 
he  thumbed  and  pondered  over  day  by  day ;  apply- 
ing every ;  laxim  to  his  own  particular  case,  provided 
it  had  a  little  tinge  of  wholesome  bitterness,  art'] 
treated  of  the  injustice  of  the  world. 

Yet  he  is  sociai  and  kind-hearted,  and,  pro\-ir',^! 
he  can  be  diverted  from  Ms  wrongs  and  his  philoso- 
phy, is  .an  entertaining  companion.  I  like  these  old 
weather-beaten  sons  of  fortune,  and  enjoy  tl-.eir 
rough  campaigning  anecdotes.  In  the  course  of  my 
visit  to  the  one  in  question,  I  learnt  some  curious 
facts  abo  it  an  old  military  commander  of  the  for- 
tress, who  seetns  to  have  resembled  him  in  some  re- 
spects, and  to  have  had  similar  fortunes  in  the  w.Trs. 
These  particulars  have  been  augmented  by  inquiries 
among  some  of  the  old  inhabitants  of  the  place,  par- 
ticularly the  father  of  Mateo  Ximenes,  of  whose  tra- 
ditional stories  the  worthy  I  am  about  to  introduce 
to  the  reader  is  a  favourite  hero. 


THE  GOVERNOR  AND  THE  NOTARY. 


In  former  times  there  ruled,  as  governor  of  thf 
Alhambra,  a  doughty  old  cavalier,  wlio,  from  having 
lost  one  arm  in  the  wars,  was  commonly  known  by 
the  name  of  El  Gobernador  Manco,  or  the  one 
armed  governor.  He  in  fact  prided  himself  upi.n 
being  an  old  soldier,  wore  his  mustachios  curled  up 
to  his  eyes,  a  pair  of  campaigning  boots  and  a  toledo 
as  long  as  a  spit,  with  his  podket  handkerchief  ic 
the  basket-hilt. 

He  was,  moreover,  excee<llngly  proud  and  punctil 
ious,  and  tenacious  of  all  his  privileges  and  dignities. 
Under  his  sway,  the  immunities  of  the  Alhamiira,as 
a  royal  residence  anrl  domain,  were  I'gidly  exacted. 
No  one  was  permitted  to  enter  the  fortress  with  f  re- 
arms, or  even  with  a  sword  or  staff,  unless  he  were 
of  a  certain  rank,  and  every  horseman  was  obliged 
to  dismount  at  the  gate  and  lead  his  horse  by  the 
bridle.  Now,  as  the  hill  of  the  Alhambra  rises  from 
the  vtry  midst  of  the  city  of  Grana  la,  being,  as  it 
were,  an  excrescence  of  the  capital,  U  must  at  al 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


in 


times  be  somewhat  irksome  to  the  captain-general 
who  commands  the  province,  to  have  thus  an  im- 
perium  in  imperio,  a  petty  independent  post,  in  the 
very  core  of  his  domains.  It  was  rendered  the  more 
galling  in  the  present  instance,  Trom  the  irritable 
plousy  of  the  old  governor,  that  took  fire  on  the 
least  question  of  authority  and  Jurisdiction,  and  from 
tiie  loose  vagrant  character  of  the  people  that  had 
gradually  nestled  themselves  within  the  fortress  as 
HI  a  sanctuary,  and  from  thence  carried  on  a  system 
ol  roguery  and  depredation  at  the  expense  of  the 
hoicst  inhabitants  of  the  city.  Thus  there  was  a 
perpetual  feud  and  heart-burning  between  the  cap- 
tain-general and  the  governor ;  the  more  virulent  on 
the  part  of  the  latter,  inasmuch  as  the  smallest  of 
two  neighbouring  potentates  is  always  the  most 
captious  about  his  dignity.  The  stately  palace  of 
the  captain-general  stood  in  the  Plaza  Nueva,  im- 
mediately at  the  foot  of  the  hill  of  the  Alhambra, 
and  here  was  always  a  bustle  and  parade  of  giiards, 
and  domestics,  and  city  functionaries.  A  Celling 
bastion  of  the  fortress  overlooked  the  palace  and  the 
public  square  in  front  of  it ;  and  on  this  bastion  the 
old  governor  would  occasionally  strut  backwards 
and  forwards,  with  his  toledo  girded  by  his  side, 
keeping  a  wary  eye  down  upon  his  rival,  like  a 
hawk  reconnoitring  his  quarry  from  his  nest  in  a 
dr)'  tree. 

Whenever  he  descended  into  the  city,  it  was  in 
grand  parade,  on  horseback,  surrountled  by  his 
guards,  or  in  his  state  coach,  an  ancient  and  un- 
wieldy Spanish  edifice  of  car\'ed  timber  and  gilt 
leather,  drawn  by  eight  mules,  with  running  foot- 
men, outriders,  and  lacqueys,  on  which  occasions 
he  flattered  himself  he  impressed  every  beholder 
with  awe  and  admiration  as  vicegerent  of  the  king, 
though  the  wits  of  Granada,  particularly  those  who 
loitered  about  the  palace  of  the  captain-general, 
were  apt  to  sneer  at  his  petty  parade,  and,  in  al- 
(usio;i  to  the  vagrant  character  of  his  subjects,  to 
greet  him  with  the  appellation  of  "  the  King  of  the 
begg-rs." 

One  of  the  most  fruitful  sources  of  dispute  between 
these  two  doughty  rivals,  was  the  right  claimed  by 
the  governor  ti  have  all  things  passed  free  of  duty 
through  the  city,  that  were  intended  for  the  use  of 
himself  or  his  garrison.  By  degrees,  this  privilege 
had  given  rise  to  extensive  smuggling.  A  nest  of 
contrabandistas  took  up  their  abode  in  the  hovels 
of  the  fortress  and  the  numerous  caves  in  its  vicinity, 
and  drove  a  thriving  business  under  the  connivance 
of  the  soldiers  of  the  garrison. 

The  vigilance  of  the  captain-general  was  aroused. 
He  consulted  his  legal  adviser  and  factotum,  a 
shrewd,  meddlesome  Escribano  or  notary,  who  re- 
joiced in  an  opportunity  of  perplexing  the  old  poten- 
tate of  the  Alhambra,  and  mvolving  him  in  a  maze 
of  legal  subtilities.  He  advised  the  captain-general 
to  insist  upon  the  right  of  examining  every  convoy 
passing  through  the  gates  of  his  city,  and  he  penned 
a  long  letter  for  him,  in  vindication  of  the  right. 
Governor  Manco  was  a  straight-forward,  cut-and- 
tiim^t  old  soldier,  who  hated  an  Escribano  worse 
!han  the  devil,  and  this  one  in  particular,  worse 
;hin  all  other  Escribanoes. 

"  Wboit  1 "  said  he,  curling  up  his  mustachios 
n'.rcely,  "does  the  captain-general  set  his  man  of 
tlie  pen  to  practise  confusions  upon  me?  I'll  let 
him  see  that  an  old  soldier  is  not  to  be  baffled  by 
Schoolcraft." 

He  seized  his  pen,  and  scrawled  a  short  letter  in 
a  crabbed  hand,  m  which,  without  deigning  to  enter 
"nto  argument,  he  insisted  on  the  right  of  transit 
free  of  search,  and  denoimced  vengeance  on  any 
^ustom-hoiise  officer  who  should  lay  nis  unhallowed 


hand  on  any  convoy  protected  by  the  flag  of  the 
Alhambra. 

While  this  question  was  agitated  between  the  two 
pragmatical  potentates,  it  so  happened  that  a  mule 
laden  with  supplies  for  the  fortress  arrived  one  day 
at  the  gate  of  Xenil,  by  which  it  was  to  traverse  a 
suburb  of  the  city  on  its  way  to  the  Alhambia. 
The  convoy  was  headed  by  a  testy  old  corporal,  who 
had  long  served  under  the  governor,  and  was  a  man 
after  his  own  heart ;  as  trusty  and  staunch  as  an  old 
toledo  blade.  As  they  approached  the  gate  of  th« 
city,  the  corporal  placed  the  banner  of  the  Alhambra 
on  the  pack  saddle  of  the  mule,  and,  drawing  him- 
self up  to  a  perfect  perpendicular,  advanced  with  his 
head  dressed  to  the  front,  but  with  the  wary  side 
glance  of  a  cur  passing  through  hostile  grounds,  and 
ready  for  a  snap  and  a  snarl. 

"  Who  goes  there  ? "  said  the  sentinel  at  the 
gate. 

"Soldier  of  the  Alhambra,"  said  the  corporal, 
without  turning  his  head. 

"  What  have  you  in  charge  ?  " 

"  Provisions  for  the  garrison." 

"Proceed." 

The  corporal  marched  straight  forward,  followed 
by  the  convoy,  but  had  not  advanced  many  paces, 
before  a  poss6  of  custom-house  officers  rush«l  out 
of  a  small  toll-house. 

"  Hallo,  there  I "  cried  the  leader .  "  Muleteer, 
halt  and  open  those  packages." 

The  corporal  wheeled  round,  and  drew  himself 
up  in  battle  array.    "  Respect  the  flag  of  the  Al 
hambra,"  said  he;  "these  things  are  for  the  gov- 
ernor." ' 

"  A  fig  for  the  governor,  and  a  fig  fcr  his  flag. 
Muleteer,  halt,  I  say." 

"  Stop  the  convoy  at  your  peril ! "  cried  the  cor 
poral,  cocking  his  musket.     "  Muleteer,  proceed." 

The  muleteer  gave  his  beast  a  hearty  thwack,  the 
custom-house  ofhcer  sprang  forward,  and  seized  the 
halter;  whereupon  the  corporal  levelled  his  piece 
and  shot  him  dead. 

The  street  was  immediately  in  an  uproar.  The 
old  corporal  was  seized,  and  after  undei  going  sundry 
kicks  and  cuffs,  and  cudgellings,  which  are  generally 
given  impromptu,  by  the  mob  in  Spain,  as  a  fore- 
taste of  the  after  penalties  of  the  law,  he  was  loaded 
with  irons,  and  conducted  to  the  city  prison  ;  while 
his  comrades  were  permitted  to  proceed  with  the 
convoy,  after  it  had  been  well  rummaged,  to  the 
Alhambra. 

The  old  go%'emor  was  in  a  towering  passion,  when 
he  heard  of  this  insult  to  his  flag  and  capture  of  his 
corporal.  For  a  time  he  stormed  about  the  Moorish 
halls,  and  vapoured  about  the  bastions,  and  looked 
down  fire  and  sword  upon  the  palace  of  the  captain - 
general.  Having  vented  the  first  ebullition  of  his 
wrath,  he  despatched  a  message  demanding  the 
surrender  of  the  corporal,  as  to  him  alone  belonged 
the  right  of  sitting  in  judgment  on  the  offences  of 
those  under  his  command.  The  captain-general, 
aided  by  the  pen  of  the  delighted  Escnbano,  replied 
at  great  length,  irgiiing  that  as  the  offence  had  been 
committed  within  the  walls  of  his  city,  and  against 
one  of  his  civil  officers,  it  was  clearly  within  his 
proper  jurisdiction.  The  governor  rejoined  by  a 
repetition  of  his  demand ;  the  captain-general  gave 
a  sur-rejoinder  of  still  greater  length  and  legai 
acumen ;  the  governor  became  hotter  and  n?crt! 
peremptory  in  his  demands,  and  the  captain-generai 
cooler  and  more  copious  in  his  replies ;  until  the  old 
lion-hearted  soldier  absolJtely  roared  with  ftiry, 
at  being  thus  entangled  in  the  mcshei  of  legal  con- 
troversy. 

While  the  subtle  Escribano  was  thus  amasin; 


IM 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


m. 


;fer 


l^ii 


himself  at  thd  expense  of  the  governor,  he  was  con* 
ducting  the  trial  of  the  corporal ;  who,  mewed  up  in 
d  narrow  dungeon  of  the  prison,  had  merely  a  sm.nll 
grated  window  at  which  to  show  his  iron-bound 
visage,  and  receive  the  consolations  of  his  friends ;  a 
mountain  of  written  testimony  was  diligently  heaped 
up,  according  to  Spanish  form,  by  the  indefatigable 
Lscribano ;  the  corjoral  was  completely  overwhelmed 
by  it.  }le  was  convicted  of  murder,  and  sentenced 
to  be  hanged. 

It  was  in  vain  the  governor  sent  down  remon- 
strance and  menace  from  the  Alhambra.  The  fatal 
day  was  at  hand,  and  the  corporal  was  put  in  capilla, 
that  is  to  say,  in  the  chapel  of  the  prison  ;  as  is  al- 
ways done  with  culprits  the  day  before  execution, 
that  they  may  meditate  on  their  approaching  end, 
and  repent  them  of  their  sins. 

Sering  things  drawing  to  an  extremity,  the  old 
governor  determined  to  attend  to  the  affair  in  person. 
For  this  purpose  he  ordered  out  his  carriage  of 
stale,  and,  surrounded  by  his  gtiards,  rumbled  down 
the  avenue  of  the  Alhambra  into  the  city.  Driving 
to  the  house  of  the  Escribano,  he  summoned  him  to 
the  portal. ' 

The  eye  of  the  old  governor  gleamed  like  a  coal  at 
beholding  the  smirking  man  of  the  law  advancing 
with  an  air  of  exult.ation. 

"  What  is  this  I  hear,"  cried  he,  "  that  you  are 
about  to  put  to  death  one  of  my  soldiers  ?  " 

*'  All  according  to  law, — all  in  strict  form  of  jus- 
tice," said  the  self-sufficient  Escribano,  chuckling 
and  rubbing  his  hands.  "  I  can  show  your  excel- 
lency the  written  testimony  in  the  case.' 

"  Fetch  it  hither,"  said  the  governor. 

The  Escribano  bustled  into  his  office,  delighted 
with  having  another  opportunity  of  displaying  his 
ingenuity  at  the  expense  of  the  hard-headei!  veteran. 
He  returned  with  a  satchel  full  of  pajMjrs,  and 
'legan  to  read  a  long  deposition  with  professional 
votubility.  By  this  time,  a  crowd  had  collected, 
listening  with  outstretched  necks  and  gaping  mouths. 

"  Fry 'thee  man,  get  into  the  carriage  out  of  this 
pestilent  throng,  that  I  may  the  better  hear  thee," 
said  the  governor. 

The  Escrijjano  entered  the  carriage,  when,  in  a 
twinkling,  the  door  was  closed,  the  coachman 
smacked  his  whin,  mules,  carriage,  guards,  and  all 
dashed  off  at  a  thundering  rate,  leaving  the  crowd 
in  gaping  wonderment,  nor  did  the  governor  pause 
until  he  h.ad  lodged  his  prey  in  one  ot  the  strongest 
dungeons  of  the  Alhambra. 

He  then  sent  down  a  flag  of  tnice  in  military 
style,  proposing  a  cartel  or  exchange  of  prisoners, 
the  corporal  for  the  notary.  The  pride  of  the  cap- 
tain-general was  piqued,  he  returned  a  contemptuous 
refusal,  and  fortnwith  caused  a  gallows,  tall  and 
Mrong,  to  be  erected  in  the  centre  of  the  Plaza 
Neuva,  for  the  execution  of  the  corporal. 

"  O  ho  !  is  that  the  game  ?  "  said  governor  Manco : 
he  gave  orders,  and  immediately  a  gibbet  was  reared 
on  the  verge  of  the  great  beetling  bastion  that  over- 
looked the  Flaza.  "  Now,"  said  he,  in  a  message  to 
the  captain-general,  "  hang  my  soldier  when   you 

Slear.e ;  but  at  the  same  time  that  he  is  swung  off 
I  the  square,  look  up  to  see  your  Escribano  dan- 
gline  against  the  sky. ' 

The  captain-general  was  inflexible ;  troops  were 
paraded  in  the  square ;  the  drums  beat ;  the  bell 
tolled ;  an  immense  multitude  of  amateurs  had 
collected  to  behold  the  execution ;  on  the  other 
hand,  the  governor  paraded  his  garrison  on  the  bas- 
tion, and  tolled  the  funeral  dirge  of  the  notary  from 
the  Torre  de  la  Campana,  or  tower  of  the  bell. 

The  notary's  wife  pressed  through  the  crowd  with 
B  vhole  progeny  of  little  ennbryo  Escribanoes  at  her 


tht 
ea 
ron, 


heels,  and  throwing  herself  a,t  the  feet  of  the  captaliv 
general,  implored  him  not  to  sacrifice  the  lite  of  hn 
husband,  and  the  welfare  of  herself  and  her  nii'iier 
ous  little  ones  to  a  point  of  pride ;  "  for  you  know 
the  old  governor  too  well,"  said  she,  "  to  nonhi  ihai 
he  will  put  his  threat  in  execution  if  you  hang  th( 
soldier.' 

The  captain-general  was  overpowered  >>  hji 
tears  and  lament.-itions,  and  the  clamours  ul  |\«i 
callow  brood.  The  corporal  was  sent  up  to 
Alhambra  under  a  guard,  in  his  gallows  garb  li 
hootled  friar ;  but  with  head  erect  and  a  face  tl  i 
The  Escribano  was  demanded  in  exchange,  acrord 
ing  to  the  cartel.  The  once  bustling  and  self  suf- 
ficient man  of  ihe  law  was  drawn  forth  from  liii 
dungeon,  more  dead  than  alive.  All  his  flippancy 
and  conceit  had  evaporated;  his  hair,  it  is  said,  had 
nearly  turned  gray  with  affright,  and  he  had  a 
downcast,  dogged  Icok,  as  if  he  still  felt  the  iiaitet 
round  his  necK. 

The  old  governor  stuck  his  one  arm  a  kimho, 
and  for  a  moment  surveyed  him  with  an  iron  smile 
"  Henceforth,  my  friend,"  said  he,  "  moderate  youi 
real  in  hurrying  others  to  the  gallows ;  be  not  ido 
certain  of  your  own  safety,  even  though  you  should 
have  the  law  en  your  side ;  and,  above  all,  tak'j  cart 
how  you  play  iff  your  schoolcraft  another  t:me  upon 
an  old  soldier. '  - 


GOVERNOR  MANCO  AND  THE  SOLDIFK. 


When  governor  Manco,  or  the  one-anned,  /'p 
up  a  show  of  military  state  in  the  Alhambu,  lit 
became  nettled  at  the  reproaches  continually  (a;,, 
upon  his  fortress  of  being  a  nestling  place  of  rof;ues 
and  contrabandistas.  On  a  sudden,  the  old  jioten. 
tate  determined  on  reform,  and  setting  vigorously  to 
work,  ejected  whole  nests  of  vagabonds  out  of  the 
fortress,  and  the  gipsy  caves  with  which  the  sur- 
rounding hills  are  honey-combed.  He  sent  out  sol- 
diers, also,  to  patrol  the  avenues  and  footpaths,  with 
orders  to  take  up  all  suspicious  persons. 

One  bright  summer  morning,  a  patrol  consisting 
of  the  testy  old  corporal  who  had  distin,'^iislie(] 
himself  in  the  affair  of  the  notary,  a  trumpeter  and 
two  jprivates  were  seated  under  the  garden  w  til  of 
the  GeneralifTe,  beside  the  ro.id  which  leads  'lown 
from  the  mountain  of  the  Sun,  when  they  ht\Tnl  ih( 
tramp  of  a  horse,  and  a  male  voice  singing  in  roiii;h, 
though  not  unmusical  tones,  an  old  Castilian  cam 
paigning  song. 

Presently  they  beheld  a  sturdy,  sun-burnt  fellow 
clad  in  the  ragged  garb  of  a  foot-soldier,  leading.! 
powerful  Arabian  horse  caparisoned  in  the  anctnt 
Morisco  fashion. 

Astonished  at  the  sight  of  a  strange  soldier  ck> 
scending,  steed  in  hand,  from  that  solitary  irouii' 
tain,  the  corporal  stepped  forth  and  challenged  hini. 

"  Who  goes  there  ? 

"  A  friend." 

"  Who,  and  what  are  you?" 

"  A  poor  soldier,  just  from  the  wars,  with  a 
cracked  crown  and  empty  purse  for  a  reward." 

By  this  time  they  were  enabled  to  view  him  more 
narrowly.  He  had  a  black  patch  across  his  tore- 
head,  which,  with  a  grizzled  beard,  added  to  a  cer- 
tain dare-devil  cast  of  countenance,  while  a  slight 
squint  threw  into  the  whole  an  occasional  gle.am  of 
roguish  good-humour. 

Having  answered  the  questions  of  the  patrol,  l!« 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


168 


lowered  i)  hn 
clamours  ol  b«i 
sent  up  to  th( 
lows  garb  like  a 
>d  a  face  cl  iron, 
cchanjje,  acronl. 
ing  and  self  suf 

forth  from  hij 
\li  his  flippancy 
ir,  It  is  said,  had 

and  he  h.id  a 
11  felt  the  ii.iltei 


loidier  seemed  to  consider  himselt  entitled  to  make 
others  in  return. 

"May  I  ask,"  said  he,  "what  city  is  this  which  I 
lee  at  tne  foot  of  the  hill  ?  " 

•'  What  city  !  "  cried  the  trumpeter ;  "  come,  that's 
toe  tia.l.  Here's  a  fellow  lurking  about  the  moun- 
tain of  the  Sun,  and  demands  the  name  of  the  great 
Oty  of  Granada. " 

"Gt.inada !  Madre  de  Dios  !  can  it  be  possible  I " 

"  Perhaps  not !  "  rejoined  the  trumpeter,  "  and 
lerh.ips  you  have  no  idea  that  yonder  are  the  towers 
if  the  Alhambra?" 

"  Son  of  a  trumpet,"  replied  the  stranger,  "  do 
not  trifle  with  me ;  if  this  be  indeed  the  Alhambra.  I 
havp  some  str.ange  matters  to  rereal  to  the  governor." 

"You  will  have  an  opportunity."  said  the  cor- 
poral, "  for  we  mean  to  take  you  before  him." 

liy  this  time  the  trumi)eter  had  seized  the  bridle 
of  the  stee<l,  the  two  privates  had  each  secured  an 
arm  of  the  soldier,  the  corporal  put  himself  in  front, 
gave  the  word,  "  forward,  march  I "  and  away  they 
marched  for  the  Alhambra. 

The  sight  of  a  ragged  foot-soldier  and  a  fine 
Aral)ian  horse  brought  in  captive  by  the  patrol,  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  all  the  idlers  of  the  fortress, 
and  of  those  gossip  groups  that  generally  assemble 
atwut  wells  and  fountains  at  early  dawn.  The  wheel 
of  the  cistern  paused  in  its  rotations  ;  the  slipshod 
5er\aiit-maid  stood  gaping  with  pitcher  in  hrind,  as 
the  corporal  passed  by  with  his  prize.  A  motley 
train  gradually  gathered  in  the  rear  of  the  escort. 
Knowing  nods,  and  winks,  and  conjectures  passed 
from  one  to  another.  It  is  a  deserter,  said  one  ;  a 
contt.ihandista,  said  another ;  a  bandalero,  said  a 
third,  until  it  was  affirmed  that  a  captain  of  a  des- 
pei.ite  band  of  robbers  had  been  captured  by  th^ 
prowess  of  the  corporal  and  his  patrol.  "  Well, 
litll,"  said  the  old  crones  one  to  another,  "captain 
or  rot,  let  him  get  out  of  the  grasp  of  oUl  governor 
M.mco  if  he  can,  though  he  is  but  owe-haniled." 

Governor  Manco  was  seated  in  one  of  the  inner 
halls  of  the  Alhambra,  taking  his  morning's  cup  of 
chocolate  in  company  with  his  confessor,  a  fat 
Franciscan  friar  from  the  neighbouring  convent.  A 
demure,  dark-eyed  damsel  of  Mal.iga,  the  daughter 
of  his  housekeeper,  was  attending  upon  him. 

The  world  hinted  that  the  damsel,  who,  with  all 
her  demureness,  was  a  sly,  buxom  baggage,  had 
found  out  a  soft  spot  in  the  iron  heart  of  the  old 
governor,  and  held  complete  control  over  him, — but 
let  that  pass  ;  the  domestic  affairs  of  these  mighty 
potentates  of  the  earth  should  not  be  too  narrowly 
scrutinized. 

When  word  was  brought  that  a  suspicious  stranger 
had  been  taken  lurking  about  the  fortress,  and  was 
actually  in  the  outer  court,  in  durance  of  the  cor- 
poral, w<'iiting  the  pleasure  of  his  excellency,  the 
pride  and  statcliness  of  office  swelled  the  bosom  of 
the  governor.  Giving  back  his  chocolate  cup  into 
the  hands  of  the  demure  damsel,  he  called  for  his 
bi«'\et-hilted  sword,  girded  it  to  his  side,  twirled  up 
his  niust.ichios,  took  his  seat  in  a  large  high-backed 
jhair,  assumed  a  bitter  and  forbidding  asjiect,  and 
srdered  the  prisoner  into  his  presence.  The  soldier 
v.is  brought  in,  still  closely  pmioned  by  his  captors, 
»nrl  guarded  by  the  corporal.  He  maintained,  how- 
ever, a  resolute,  self-confident  air,  and  returned  the 
sharp,  scrutinizing  look  of  the  governor  with  an 
easy  squint,  which  by  no  means  pleased  the  punc- 
tilious old  potentate. 

"  Well,  culprit !  "  said  the  govenior,  after  he  had 
regarded  him  for  a  moment  in  silence,  "  what  have 
you  to  say  for  yourself?  who  are  you  ?  " 

"  A  soldier,  just  from  the  wars,  who  has  brotight 
awav  nothing  but  scars  and  bruises." 


"  A  soldier  ?  humph  !  a  foot-so!dier  by  your  |(arb. 
I  understand  you  have  a  fine  Arabian  horse.  I  pre- 
sume you  brought  him  too  from  the  wars,  bcsiilf 
your  scars  and  bruises." 

"  May  it  please  your  excellency,  I  have  something 
strange  to  tell  about  that  horse.  Indeed,  I  have  one 
of  the  most  wonderful  things  to  relate — somcthinji 
too  that  concerns  the  security  of  this  fortress,  indeed 
of  all  Granada.  But  it  is  a  matter  to  be  imparted 
only  to  your  private  ear,  or  in  presence  of  sucn  only 
as  are  in  your  confidence." 

The  governor  considered  for  a  moment,  and  then 
directed  the  corporal  and  his  men  to  withdraw,  but 
to  post  themselves  outside  of  the  door,  and  be  ready 
at  call.  "  This  holy  friar,"  said  he,  "  is  my  confes- 
sor, you  may  say  any  thing  in  his  presence— and 
this  damsel, '  nodding  towards  the  handmaid,  who 
had  loitered  with  an  air  of  great  curiosity,  "  this 
damsel  is  of  great  secrecy  and  discretion,  and  to  be 
trusted  with  any  thing." 

The  soldier  gave  a  glance  between  a  squint  and  a 
leer  at  the  dennire  handmaid.  "  I  am  perfectly  will- 
ing," said  he,  "that  the  damsel  should  remain." 

When  all  the  rest  had  withdrawn,  the  soldier  com- 
menced his  stoiy.  He  was  a  fluent,  smooth-tongue: 
varlet,  and  h.id  a  command  of  language  above  his 
apparent  rank. 

"  May  it  please  your  excellency,"  said  he,  "  I  am, 
as  I  before  observed,  a  soldier,  and  have  seen  some 
hard  service,  but  my  term  of  enlistment  being  ex- 
pired, I  was  discharged  not  long  since  from  the  army 
at  V.illadolid,  .ind  set  out  on  foot  for  my  native  vil- 
lage in  Andalusia.  Yesterday  evening  the  sun  wrnt 
down  as  I  was  traversing  a  great  dry  plain  of  ^'ld 
Castile." 

"  Hold  !  "  cried  the  governor,  "  what  is  this  yo'i 
say  ?  Old  Castile  is  some  two  or  three  hundred 
miles  from  this." 

"  Even  so,"  replied  the  soldier,  coolly,  "  I  told  yout 
excellency  1  haci  str.ange  things  to  relate — but  not 
more  strange  than  true — as  your  excellency  will  find, 
if  you  will  deign  me  a  patient  hearing." 

"  Proceed,  culprit,"  said  the  governor,  twirling  up 
his  mustachios. 

"  As  the  sun  went  down,"  continued  the  soldier, 
"  I  cast  my  eyes  about  in  search  of  some  quarters 
for  the  night,  but  far  as  my  sight  could  reach, 
there  was  no  signs  of  habitation.  I  saw  that  I 
should  have  to  make  my  bed  on  the  naked  plain, 
with  my  knapsack  for  a  pillow  ;  but  your  excellency 
is  an  old  soKlier,  and  knows  that  to  one  who  has 
been  in  the  wars,  such  a  night's  lodging  is  no  great 
hartlship." 

The  governor  nodded  assent,  as  he  drew  his  pock- 
et-handkerchief out  of  the  basket-hilt  of  his  sword, 
to  drive  away  a  fly  that  buzzed  about  his  nose. 

"  Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,"  continued  the 
soldier,  "  I  trudged  forward  for  several  miles,  until  I 
came  to  a  bridge  over  a  deep  ravine,  through  which 
ran  a  little  thread  of  water,  almost  dried'up  by  the 
summer  heat.  At  one  end  of  the  bridge  was  a 
Moorish  tower,  the  upper  part  all  in  ruins,  but  a 
vault  in  the  foundations  quite  entire.  Here,  thinks 
I,  is  a  good  place  to  make  a  halt.  So  I  went  down 
to  the  stream,  took  a  hearty  drink,  for  the  water  was 
pure  and  sweet,  and  1  was  parched  with  thirst,  then 
opening  my  wallet,  I  took  out  an  onion  and  a  few 
crusts,  which  were  all  my  provisions,  and  seating 
myself  on  a  stone  on  the  margin  of  the  stream, 
began  to  make  my  supper  ;  intending  afterwards  to 
qu.arter  myself  for  the  night  in  the  vault  of  the  tower, 
and  capital  quarters  they  would  have  been  for  a 
campaigner  just  from  the  wars,  as  your  excellency, 
who  is  an  old  soldier,  may  suppose." 
"  I  have  put  up  gladly  with  worse  in  my  time." 


iSb 


WORKS  OF  WASHINQTON   IRVING. 


^.r;-S  if 


■aid  tne  governor,  retuining  his  pocket-handkerchief 
into  the  hilt  of  his  sword. 

"While  I  was  quietly  craunchlng  my  crust,"  pur- 
sued the  soldier,  "  I  heard  something  stir  within  the 
vault ;  I  listened  :  it  was  the  tramp  of  a  horse.  Uy 
and  by  a  man  came  forth  from  a  door  in  the  founda- 
tion of  the  tower,  close  by  the  water's  edge,  leading 
a  powerful  horse  by  the  bridle.  I  could  not  well 
make  out  wh;it  he  was  by  the  starlight.  It  had  a 
suspicious  look  to  be  lurkmg  among  the  ruins  of  a 
tower  in  that  wild  solitary  place.  He  migiit  be  a 
mere  wayfarer  like  myself;^  ne  might  be  a  contra- 
bandista ;  he  might  be  a  bandalero !  What  of  that, 
— thank  heaven  and  my  poverty,  I  had  nothing  to 
lose, — so  I  sat  still  and  craunched  my  crusts. 

"  lie  led  his  horse  to  the  water  close  by  where  I 
was  sitting,  so  that  I  h.id  a  fair  opportunity  of  rc- 
connoitring  him.  To  my  surprise  he  was  dressed 
in  a  Moorish  garb,  with  a  cuirass  of  steel,  and  a 
polished  skullcap,  that  I  distinguished  by  the  reflec- 
tion of  the  stars  upon  it.  His  horse,  too,  was  har- 
nessed in  the  Morisco  fashion,  with  great  shovel 
stimips.  He  led  him,  as  I  said,  to  the  side  of  the 
stream,  into  which  the  animal  plunged  his  head  al- 
most to  the  eyes,  and  drank  until  I  thought  he 
would  have  burst. 

"  'Comrade,'  said  I,  'your  steed  drinks  well ;  it's 
a  good  sign  when  a  horse  plunges  his  muzzle  bravely 
into  the  water.' 

" '  He  may  well  drink,'  said  the  stranger,  speaking 
with  a  Moorish  .iccent ;  '  it  is  a  good  year  since  he 
had  his  last  draught' 

" '  By  Santiago,'  said  I,  '  that  beats  even  the 
cam.-ils  that  1  have  seen  in  Africa.  But  come,  you 
seem  to  be  something  of  a  soldier,  won't  you  sit 
down,  and  take  part  of  a  soldier's  fare  ? ' — In  fact,  I 
felt  the  want  ot  a  companion  in  this  lonely  place, 
fuid  was  willing  to  put  up  with  an  intidel.  Besides, 
as  your  excellency  well  knows,  a  soldier  is  never 
very  particular  about  the  faith  of  his  company,  and 
soldiers  uf  all  countries  are  comrades  on  peaceable 
ground." 

The  governor  again  nodded  assent. 

"  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  1  invited  him  to  share  my 
supper,  such  as  it  was,  for  I  could  not  do  less  in 
common  hospitality. 

" '  I  have  no  time  to  pause  for  meat  or  drink,' 
said  he, '  I  have  a  long  journey  to  make  before  morn- 
ing.' 

"  •  In  which  direction  ?  '  said  I. 

" '  Andalusia,'  said  he. 

" '  Exactly  my  route,'  said  I.  '  So  as  you  won't 
stop  and  eat  with  me,  perhaps  you'll  let  me  mount 
and  ride  with  you.  I  see  your  horse  is  of  a  powerful 
frame :  I'll  warrant  he'll  carry  double.' 

" '  A«iTeed,'  said  the  trooper ;  and  it  would  not 
have  been  civil  and  soldierlike  to  refuse,  especially 
as  I  had  offered  to  share  my  supper  with  him.  So 
op  he  mounted,  and  up  I  mounted  behind  him. 

"'Hold  fast,'  said  he,  'my  steed  goes  like  the 
wind.' 

" '  Never  fear  me,'  said  I,  and  so  off  we  set. 

"  From  a  walk  the  horse  soon  passed  to  a  trot, 
from  a  trot  to  a  gallop,  and  from  a  gallop  to  a 
banim-scarum  scamper.  It  seemed  as  if  rocks, 
trees,  houses,  every  thing,  flew  hurry-scurry  behind 

ns. 

" '  What  town  is  this  ? '  said  I. 

" '  Segovia,'  said  he  ;  and  before  the  words  were 
out  of  his  mouth,  the  towers  of  Segovia  were  out 
of  sight.  We  swept  up  the  Guadarama  mountains, 
and  down  by  the  Escurial ;  and  we  skirted  the  walls 
of  Madrid,  and  we  scoured  away  across  the  plains  of 
La  Mancha.  In  this  way  we  went  up  hill  and  down 
dale,  by  towns  and  cities  all  buried  in  deep  sleep. 


and  across  mountains,  and  plains,  %ni  rivers,  ja|i 
glimmerine  in  the  starlight. 

"  To  make  a  long  story  short,  and  not  to  f-<tign 
your  excellency,  the  trooper  suddenly  pulled  up  04 
the  side  of  a  mountain.  '  Here  we  are,  said  he, 'a. 
the  end  of  our  journey.' 

"  I  looked  about,  but  could  see  no  signs  of  hntiita. 
tion  :  nothing  but  the  mouth  of  a  cavern ;  whih  I 
looked,  1  saw  multitudes  of  people  in  Moorish  dnssrs, 
some  on  horseback,  some  on  foot,  arriving  as  I' 
borne  by  the  wind  from  all  points  of  the  coiii|)ass, 
and  hurrying  into  the  mouth  of  the  cavern  like  Ices 
into  a  hive.  Before  I  could  ask  a  question,  the 
trooper  struck  his  ktjg  Moorish  spurs  into  the  hDtsc's 
n.-inks,  and  dashed  n  with  the  throng.  We  p  issed 
along  a  steep  wind.ng  way  that  descended  iniu  the 
very  iKtvvels  of  the  mountain.  As  we  pushed  on,  a 
light  began  to  glimmer  up  by  little  and  little,  like  the 
tirst  glimmerings  of  day,  but  what  caused  it,  i  could 
not  discover.  It  grew  stronger  and  stronger,  and 
enabled  me  to  see  every  thing  around.  I  now  no- 
ticed as  we  passed  along,  great  caverns  opening  to 
the  right  and  left,  like  halls  in  an  arsenal.  In  some 
there  were  shields,  and  helmets,  and  cuirasses,  and 
lances,  and  scimitars  hanging  against  the  w.ills ;  in 
others,  there  were  great  heaps  of  warlike  mumtiuns 
and  camp  equipage  lying  upon  the  ground. 

"  It  would  nave  done  your  excellency's  litart 
good,  being  an  old  soldier,  to  have  seen  such  };;ai)d 
provision  lor  war.  Then  in  other  carverns  tin  re 
were  long  rows  of  horsemen,  armed  to  the  ii  (.tl., 
with  lances  raised  and  banners  unfurled,  all  icidy 
fur  the  held ;  but  they  all  sat  motionless  in  'i^i 
saddles  like  so  many  statues.  In  other  halls,  u.m; 
warriors  sleeping  on  the  ground  beside  their  li.i'.r.s 
and  foot  soldiers  in  groups,  ready  to  fall  iiiii:  :i!c 
ranks.  All  were  in  old-fashioned  Moorish  dteve^ 
and  armour. 

"Well,  your  excellency,  to  cut  a  long  story  slum, 
we  at  length  entered  an  immense  cavern,  or  I  nu.;hi 
say  palace,  of  grotto  work,  the  walls  of  wliiih 
seemed  to  be  veined  with  gold  and  silver,  and  to 
sparkle  with  diamonds  and  sapphires,  and  all  kinds 
of  precious  stones.  At  the  upi>er  end  sat  a  Mouiish 
king  on  a  golden  throne,  with  his  nobles  on  t  ich 
side,  and  a  guard  of  African  blacks  with  dr.iwn 
scimitars.  All  the  crowd  that  continLed  to  ll(icl( 
in,  and  amounted  to  thousands  and  thousands, 
passed  one  by  one  before  his  throne,  each  pay  ng 
nomage  as  he  passed.  Some  of  the  multitude  wire 
dressed  in  ma^ihcent  robes,  without  stain  or  blem- 
ish, and  spcirkling  with  jewels ;  others  in  burnished 
and  enamelled  armour;  while  others  were  in  moul- 
dered and  mildewed  garments,  and  in  armour  all 
battered  and  dinted,  and  covered  with  rust. 

"  I  had  hitherto  held  my  tongue,  for  your  ex- 
cellency well  knows,  it  is  not  ior  a  soldier  to  ask 
many  questions  when  on  duty,  but  I  could  keep 
silence  no  longer. 

" '  Pry'thee,  comrade,'  said  I,  '  what  is  the  mean* 
ing  of  all  this  ?  ' 

"  '  This,'  said  the  trooper.  '  is  a  great  and  pow 
erful  mystery.  Know,  0  Christian,  that  you  s«e  be 
fore  you  the  court  and  army  of  Boabdil,  the  last  king 
of  Granada.' 

"'What  is  this  you  tell  me!'  cried  I.  'Boabdil 
and  his  court  were  exiled  from  the  land  hundreds  ol 
years  agone,  and  all  died  in  Africa.' 

" '  So  it  is  recorded  in  your  lying  chronicles,'  re- 
plied the  Moor, '  but  know  that  Boafxlil  and  the  war- 
riors who  made  the  last  struggle  for  Granada  werf 
all  shut  up  in  this  mountain  by  powerful  enchant- 
ment. As  to  the  king  and  jarmy  that  marched  forth 
from  Granada  at  the  time  of  the  surrender,  they 
were  a  mere  phantom  train,  or  spii  its  and  demons 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


161 


t  is  the  mean- 


periniUed  to  assume  those  shapes  to  deceive  the 
Christian  uovcretgns.  And  furtnermore  let  me  tell 
voii,  friend,  that  all  Spain  is  a  country  under  the 
power  of  enchantment.  There  is  not  a  mountain- 
cave,  not  a  loDciy  watch-tower  in  the  plains,  nor 
ruined  castle  on  the  hills,  but  has  some  spell-bound 
IV arriurs  sleeping  from  aze  to  a^e  within  its  vaults, 
until  the  sins  are  expiated  for  which  Allah  permitted 
ths  Lominion  to  pass  for  a  time  out  of  the  hands  of 
t!ie  faithful.  One*  every  year,  on  the  eve  of  St. 
ji'bn,  they  are  released  from  enchantment  from  sun- 
iz\  to  sunrise,  and  permitted  to  repair  here  to  pay 
he  mage  to  their  sovereign ;  and  the  crowds  whicn 
ytu  teheld  swarming  into  the  cavern  are  Moslem 
warriors  from  their  haunts  in  all  parts  of  Spain ;  for 
my  own  part,  you  saw  the  rumed  tower  of  the 
bridtje  in  old  Castile,  where  I  have  now  wintered 
and  summered  for  many  hundred  years,  and  where 
1  must  be  back  again  by  day-break.  As  to  the  bat- 
talions of  horse  and  foot  which  you  beheld  drawn 
up  in  array  in  the  neighbouring  caverns,  they  are 
the  spell-bound  warriors  of  Granada,  it  is  written 
in  the  book  of  fate,  that  when  the  enchantment  is 
broken,  Ho.abdil  will  descend  from  the  mountains  at 
the  head  of  this  army,  resume  his  throne  in  the  Al- 
h.imbra  and  his  sway  of  Granada,  and  gathering 
togfther  the  enchanted  warriors  from  all  parts  of 
Spam,  will  reconquer  the  peninsula,  and  restore  it  to 
Moslem  rule.' 

" '  And  when  .shall  this  happen  ? '  said  I. 

" '  All.'ih  alone  knows.  We  had  hoped  the  day  of 
deliverance  was  at  hand  ;  but  there  reigns  at  present 
a  vigilant  governor  in  Alhambra,  a  staunch  old 
loldier,  the  same  called  governor  Manco ;  while 
iuch  a  warrior  holds  command  of  the  very  outpost, 
jjid  stands  ready  to  check  the  first  irruption  from 
[he  mountain,  I  fear  Boabdil  and  his  soldiery  must 
'«  content  to  rest  upon  their  arms.'  " 

Here  the  governor  raised  himself  somewhat  per- 
pendicularly, adjusted  his  sword,  and  twirled  up  his 
musiachios. 

"  To  make  a  long  story  short,  and  not  to  fatigue 
your  excellency,  the  trooper  having  given  me  this  ac- 
count, dismounted  from  his  steed. 

"•Tarry  here,'  said  he,  'and  guard  my  steed, 
while  I  go  and  bow  the  knee  to  Boabdil.'  So  saying, 
he  strode  away  among  the  throng  that  pressed  for- 
ward to  the  throne. 

"  What's  to  be  done  ?  thought  I,  when  thus  left  to 
myself.  Sh.all  I  wait  here  until  this  infidel  returns 
to  whisk  me  off  on  his  goblin  .steed,  the  Lord  knows 
where  ?  or  shall  I  make  the  most  of  my  time,  and 
beat  a  retreat  from  this  hobgoblin  community  .* — A 
soldier's  mind  is  soon  made  up,  as  vour  excellency 
well  knows.  As  to  the  horse,  he  belonged  to  an 
avowed  enemy  of  the  faith  and  the  realm,  and  was  a 
fair  prize  according  to  the  rules  of  war.  So  hoisting 
myself  from  the  crupper  into  the  saddle,  I  turned 
the  reins,  struck  the  Moorish  stirrups  into  the  sides 
ol  the  steed,  and  put  him  to  make  the  best  of  his 
way  out  of  the  passage  by  which  we  had  entered. 
As  we  scoured  by  the  halls  where  the  Moslem 
horsemen  sat  in  motionless. battalions,  1  thought  I 
heard  the  clang  of  armour,  and  a  hollow  murmur  of 
>cices.  I  gave  the  steed  another  taste  of  the  stir- 
fijps,  and  doubled  my  speed.  There  was  now  a 
iound  behind  me  like  a  rushing  blast ;  I  heard  the 
clatter  of  a  thousand  hoofs  ;  a  countless  throng  over- 
took me ;  1  was  borne  along  in  the  press,  and  hurled 
forth  from  the  mouth  of  the  cavern,  while  thou- 
sands of  sliadowy  forms  were  swept  off  in  every  di- 
rection by  the  four  winds  of  heaven. 

"  In  the  whirl  and  confusion  of  the  scene,  I  was 
thrown  from  the  saddle,  and  fell  senseless  to  the 
earth.    When  1  came  to  myself  I  was  lymg  on  the 


brow  ol  a  hill,  with  the  Arabian  steed  standing  bfl> 
side  me,  for  in  falling  my  arm  had  slip|)ed  within 
the  bridle,  which,  I  presume,  pre^'ented  nis  whisking 
off  to  old  Castile. 

"  Your  excellency  may  easily  judge  of  my  surprise 
on  looking  round,  to  behold  hedges  of  aloes  and 
Indian  tigs,  and  other  proofs  of  a  southern  climate, 
and  see  a  great  city  below  me  with  towers  and 
palaces,  and  a  grand  cathedral.  I  descended  the 
Kill  cautiously,  leading  my  steed,  for  I  was  afraid  to 
mount  nim  again,  lest  he  should  play  me  some 
slippery  trick.  As  I  descended,  I  met  with  your 
patrol,  who  let  me  into  the  secret  that  it  was  Gra- 
nada that  lay  before  me :  and  that  I  was  actually  un- 
der the  walls  of  the  Alhambra,  the  fortress  of  the 
redoubted  governor  Manco,  the  terror  of  all  en- 
chanted Moslems.  When  I  heard  this,  I  deter- 
mined at  once  to  seek  jOur  excellency,  to  inform  you 
of  all  that  I  had  seen,  and  to  warn  you  of  the  perils 
that  surround  and  undermine  you,  that  you  may 
take  measures  in  time  to  guard  your  fortress,  and 
the  kingdom  itself,  from  this  intestine  army  that 
lurks  in  the  very  bowels  of  the  land." 

"  And  pry'thee,  friend,  you  who  are  a  veteran  cam- 
paigner, and  have  seen  so  much  service,"  said  the 
governor,  "  how  would  you  advise  me  to  go  about  to 
prevent  this  evil  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  for  an  humble  private  of  the  ranks," 
said  the  soldier  modestly,  "  to  pretend  to  instruct  a 
commander  of  your  excellency's  sagacity ;  but  it  ap- 
pears to  me  that  your  excellency  might  cause  all  the 
caves  and  entrances  into  the  mountain  to  be  walled 
up  with  solid  mason-work,  so  that  Boabdil  and  his 
army  might  be  completely  corked  up  in  their  sul>- 
terranean  habitation.  If  the  good  father  too,"  added 
the  soldier,  reverently  bowing  to  the  friar,  and  de- 
voutly crossing  himself,  "  would  consecrate  the  bar- 
ricadoes  with  liis  blessing,  and  put  up  a  few  crossei 
and  reli()ues,  and  images  of  saints,  I  think  they 
might  withstand  all  the  power  of  infidel  enchant- 
ments." 

"  They  doubtless  would  be  of  great  avail,"  said 
the  friar. 

The  governor  now  placed  his  arm  a-kimbo,  with 
his  hand  resting  on  the  hilt  of  his  toledo,  fixed  his 
eye  upon  the  soldier,  and  gently  wagging  his  head 
from  one  siile  to  the  other  : 

"So,  friend,"  said  he,  "then  you  really  suppose  I 
am  to  l)e  gulled  with  this  cock-and-bull  story  about 
ench.inted  mountains,  and  enchanted  Moors.  Hark 
ye,  culprit  I — not  another  word. — An  old  soldier  you 
may  be,  but  you'll  find  you  have  an  old  soldier  to 
de.il  'ih;  and  one  not  easily  outgeneralled.  Hoi 
gu.ar ;  t.icre  ! — put  this  fellow  in  irons." 

The  .'  rnure  nandmaid  would  have  put  in  a  word 
in  favour  of  the  prisoner,  but  the  governor  silenced 
her  with  a  look. 

As  they  were  pinioning  the  soldier,  one  of  the 
guards  felt  something  of  bulk  in  his  pocket,  and 
drawing  it  forth,  found  a  long  leathern  purse  that 
appeared  to  be  well  filled.  Holding  it  by  one  comer, 
he  turned  out  the  contents  on  the  table  before  the 
governor,  and  never  did  freebooter's  bag  make  more 
gorgeous  delivery.  Out  tumbled  rings  and  jewels 
and  rosaries  of  pearls,  and  sparkling  diamond  cross- 
es, and  a  profusion  of  ancient  golden  coin,  some  of 
which  fell  jingling  to  the  floor,  and  rolled  away  to 
the  uttermost  parts  of  the  chamber. 

For  a  time  the  sanctions  of  justice  were  sus- 
pended :  there  was  a  universal  scramble  after  the 
glittering  fugitives.  The  governor  alone,  who  was 
imbued  with  true  Spanish  pride,  maintained  his 
stately  decorum,  though  his  eye  betrayed  a  little 
anxiety  until  the  last  coin  and  jewel  was  restored  to 
the  sack. 


I«i 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGVON  IRVING. 


r 


The  tritr  was  not  so  calm;  hit  whole  face  glowed 
like  a  furnace,  and  his  eyes  twinkled  and  flashed  at 
sight  of  the  rosaries  antf  crosses. 

"  Sacrile|,nous  wretch  that  thou  art,"  exclaimed  he, 
"  what  church  or  sanctuary  hast  thou  been  plundering 
of  these  siicrod  reiiques  ?  ' 

"  Ncitlier  one  nor  the  oiiicr,  holy  father.  If  they 
he  Micrilc^ons  jpoiis,  they  must  have  been  taken  in 
limes  loiiij  p.ist  by  the  infulel  trooper  I  h.ive  men- 
tioned, fwas  just  going  to  tell  his  excellency,  when 
he  interninted  tne,  that,  on  takinjj  possession  of  the 
Wooper's  liorse,  I  unhooked  a  leathern  s.ick  which 
hung  At  the  saddle  bow,  and  which,  1  presume,  con- 
tained the  plunder  of  his  canipaigiiings  in  days  of 
old,  when  tne  Moors  overr.an  the  country. " 

"  Mijjhty  well, — at  present  you  will  make  up  your 
mind  to  take  up  your  auarters  in  a  chamlier  of  the 
Vermilion  towers,  whicn,  though  not  under  a  magic 
spell,  will  hold  you  as  safe  as  any  cave  of  your  en> 
chanted  Moors." 

"  Your  excellency  will  do  as  you  think  proper," 
said  the  prisoner  coolly.  "  I  shall  be  thankful  to 
your  excellency  for  any  accommodation  in  the  fortress. 
A  soldier  who  has  been  in>the  wars,  as  your  excel- 
lency well  knows,  is  not  particular  about  his  lodg- 
ings ;  and  provided  1  have  a  snug  dungeon  and  regu- 
lar rations.  I  shall  manage  to  make  myself  comfort- 
able. I  would  only  entreat,  that  while  your  excel- 
lency is  so  careful  about  me,  you  would  have  an 
eye  to  your  fortress,  and  think  on  the  hint  I  drop- 
ped about  stopping  up  the  entrances  to  the  moun- 
tain.' 

Here  ended  the  scene.  The  prisoner  was  con- 
ducted toa  strongdui  geon  in  the  Vermilion  towers, 
the  Arabian  steed  was  led  to  his  excellency's  stable, 
and  the  trooper's  sack  was  deposited  in  his  excel- 
lency's strong  box.  To  the  latter,  it  is  true,  the 
friar  made  some  demur,  questioning  whether  the 
Mcred  reiiques,  which  were  evidently  sacrilegious 
fpcils,. should  not  be  placed  in  custody  of  the  church  ; 
but  as  the  governor  was  peremptory  on  the  subject, 
and  was  absolute  lord  in  the  Alhambra,  the  friar  dis- 
creetly dropped  the  discussion,  but  tletermined  to 
convey  intelligence  of  the  fact  to  the  church  digni- 
taries in  Ciranada. 

To  explain  these  prompt  and  rigid  measures  on 
the  part  of  old  governor  Manco,  it  is  proper  to  ob- 
serve, that  about  this  time  the  Alpuxarra  mountains  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Granada  were  terribly  infested 
by  a  gang  of  robbers,  under  the  command  of  a  daring 
chiefTnamed  Manuel  Bonasco,  who  were  accustomed 
to  prowl  about  the  country,  and  even  to  enter  the 
city  in  v.irious  disguises  to  gain  intelligence  of  the 
departure  of  convoys  of  merchandise,  or  travellers 
with  well-lined  purses,  whom  they  took  care  to  way- 
lay in  c'.istant  and  solitary  passes  of  their  ro.ad. 
These  repeated  and  daring  outrages  had  awakened 
the  attention  of  government,  and  the  commanders 
of  the  various  posts  had  received  instructions  to  be 
on  the  alert,  and  to  take  up  all  suspicious  strag- 
glers. Governor  Manco  was  particularly  zealous, 
m  consequence  of  the  various  stigmas  that  had 
been  cast  upon  his  fortress,  and  he  now  doubted  not 
that  he  had  entrapped  some  formidable  desperado 
of  this  gang. 

In  the  mean  time  the  story  took  wind,  and  became 
the  talk  not  merely  of  the  fortress,  but  of  the  whole 
city  of  Granada.  It  was  said  that  the  noted  roblier, 
Manuel  Borasco,  the  terror  of  the  Alpuxarras,  had 
fallen  into  the  clutches  of  old  governor  Manco,  and 
been  cooped  up  by  him  in  a  dungeon  of  the  Vermilion 
towers,  and  every  one  who  ha<l  lieen  robbed  by  him 
flocked  to  recognize  the  marauder.  The  Vermilion 
lowers,  as  is  well  known,  stand  apan  from  the  Al- 
hambra, on  a  sister  hill  separated  from  the  main 


fortress  by  the  lavine,  down  which  paiaa  the  ma;i 
avenue.  There  were  no  outer  walls,  but  a  sentit^l 
patrolled  before  the  tower.  The  window  of  Hic 
ch.imber  in  which  the  soldier  was  confined  w.ii 
strongly  grated,  and  looked  upon  a  small  espl  in.ult;. 
Here  the  good  folks  of  Granada  repaired  to  ga/c  ji 
him,  as  they  would  at  a  laughing  hyena  grinnlni 
through  the  cage  of  a  menagerie.  Noboiiy,  lu)w. 
ever,  recognizee!  him  for  Maiuiel  Borasco,  for  thsi 
terrible  robber  was  noted  for  a  ferocious  phy:.iog> 
nomy,  and  had  by  no  means  the  good-hunumrcc 
s<iuint  of  the  prisoner.  Visitors  came  not  nu nly 
from  the  city,  but  from  all  parts  of  the  country,  Imi 
nobody  knew  him,  and  there  began  to  be  doubts  In 
the  mindj  of  the  common  people,  whether  tline 
might  not  be  some  truth  in  his  story.  That  lio  ilxlil 
and  his  army  were  shut  ut  in  the  mountain,  was  an 
old  tradition  which  many  of  the  ancient  inhabitants 
had  heard  from  their  fathers.  Numbers  went  up  to 
the  mountain  of  the  .Sim.  or  rather  of  St.  Llena,  in 
search  of  the  cave  mentioned  by  the  soldier ;  and 
saw  and  peeped  intc  the  deep  dark  pit,  descending, 
no  one  knows  how  far,  into  the  mountain,  ,ind 
which  remains  there  to  this  day,  the  fabled  entrance 
to  the  subterranean  abode  of  Boubdil. 

By  degrees,  the  soldier  became  popular  with  th« 
common  people.  A  freebooter  of  the  mountains  ii 
by  no  means  the  opprobrious  character  in  Sp'iin  that 
a  robber  is  in  any  other  country;  on  th"*  contrary, 
he  is  a  kind  of  chivalrous  personage  in  the  eyi  s  of 
the  lower  classes.  There  is  always  a  disposi'ion, 
also,  to  cavil  at  the  conduct  of  those  in  coniiimnd, 
and  many  began  to  murmur  at  the  high-hanil(xi 
measures  of  old  governor  Manco,  and  to  look  upon 
the  nri.soner  in  the  light  of  a  martyr. 

Tne  soldier,  moreover,  was  a  merry,  waggibh  fel. 
low,  that  had  a  joke  for  every  one  who  came  ntx 
his  window,  and  a  soft  speech  for  every  female.  Ht 
had  procured  an  old  guitar  also,  and  would  sit  by  hi: 
window  and  sing  ballads  and  love-ditties  to  the  de- 
light of  the  women  of  the  neighbourhood,  who 
would  a.ssemble  on  the  esplan.'ide  in  the  evenings, 
and  dance  boleros  to  his  music.  Having  trinnned 
oil  his  rough  beard,  his  sunburnt  face  found  favour 
in  the  eyes  of  the  fair,  and  the  demure  handiij.iiil  of 
the  governor  declared  that  his  squint  was  perftciiy 
irresistible.  This  kind-hearted  damsel  had.  Iioin  ihe 
first,  evinced  a  deep  sympathy  in  his  fortunes,  and 
having  in  vain  tried  to  mollify  the  governor,  had  set 
to  work  privately  to  mitigate  the  rigour  of  his  dis- 
pensations. Every  day  she  brought  the  prisoner 
some  crumbs  of  comfort  which  had  fallen  Irom  tl:e 
governor's  table,  or  been  abstracted  from  his  larder, 
together  with,  now  and  then,  a  consoling  bottle  of 
choice  Val  de  Pet^as,  or  rich  Malaga. 

While  this  petty  treason  was  going  on  in  the  very 
centre  of  the  old  governor's  citadel,  a  storm  of  o[)eu 
war  was  brewing  up  among  his  external  foes.  Ihe 
circumstatice  of  a  bag  of  gold  and  jewels  having 
been  found  upon  the  person  of  the  supposed  ruhlicr, 
had  been  reported  with  many  exagger.ition.s  in 
Granada.  A  question  of  territorial  jurisdiciita 
was  immetliately  started  by  the  governor's  inveter- 
ate rival,  the  captain-general.  He  .'nsisted  that  tlif 
prisoner  had  been  captured  without  the  precincts  cf 
the  Alhambra,  and  within  the  niles  of  his  authoiity. 
He  demanded  his  body  therefore  and  the  s|>oiia 
opima  taken  with  him.  Due  information  h.iving 
been  carried  likewise  by  the  friar  to  the  grand  In- 
quisitor, of  the  crosses,  and  the  rosaries,  and  chet 
reiiques  contained  in  the  bag,  he  claimed  the  culprit, 
as  having  been  guilty  of  siicrilege,  and  insisted  that 
his  plunder  was  due  to  the  church,  and  his  body  tc 
the  next  Auto  <la  Fe.  The  feuds  ran  high ;  the  gov- 
ernor was  furious,  and  swore,  rather  thar  suneaaet 


IE6END  OF  Tl 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


lef 


IM  captive  he  would  hang  him  up  within  the  Al> 
liambra.  u  a  spy  caught  within  the  purlieui  of  the 
fortress. 

Th(*  captaln-feneral  threatened  to  send  a  body  of 
lolHirrs  to  transfer  the  prisoner  from  the  Vermilion 
•owers  to  the  city,  e    grand    Inquisitor   was 

equally  bent  upon  despatching  a  number  of  the  fa- 
mili.irs  of  tne  holy  ofnce.  Word  was  brought  late 
It  ni^ht  to  the  governor,  of  these  machinations. 
«Lfi  iliein  come,  said  he,  "they'll  find  nie  Iwfore- 
\ai\  with  them.  He  must  rise  bright  and  early  who 
would  take  in  an  old  soldier."  He  accordingly  issued 
orJtis  to  have  the  prisoner  removed  at  daybreak  to 
the  Donjon  Keep  within  the  walls  of  the  Alhainbra  : 
"Ami  d'ye  he.ir,  child,"  said  he  to  his  demure  hand- 
maiil,  "  Lin  at  my  door,  and  wake  me  before  cock- 
crowing,  that  I  may  see  to  the  matter  myself." 

Tin;  dity  dawned,  the  cock  crowed,  but  nobody 
t,\pp<  d  at  the  door  of  the  governor.  The  sun  rose 
hiuh  above  the  mountain-tops,  and  glittered  in  at 
his  casement  ere  the  governor  was  awakened  from 
his  morning  dreams  by  his  veteran  corporal,  who 
V(xi(l  before  him  with  terror  stamped  upon  his  iron 
visan''. 

"  He's  off !  he's  gone  I "  cried  the  corporal,  gasp- 
ing lur  breath, 

"  Who's  off? — who's  gone  ?  " 

"  I  he  soldier — the  robber — the  devil,  for  aught  I 
itnow.  His  dungeon  is  empty,  but  the  doer  locked. 
No  one  knows  how  he  has  esciped  out  of  it." 

"  W'iio  saw  him  last  ?  " 

"  Your  handmaid,— she  brought  him  his  supper." 

"  Lei  her  be  called  instantly.' 

Here  w.is  new  matter  of  confusion.  The  ch.-iml>er 
uf  the  demure  damsel  was  likewise  empty ;  her  bed 
had  not  been  slept  in ;  she  h.id  doubtless  gone  olf 
fill,  the  culprit,  as  she  had  appeared,  for  some  days 
oast,  to  have  frecjucnt  conversations  with  him. 

This  was  wounding  the  old  governor  in  a  tender 
^irt,  hut  he  had  scarce  time  to  wince  at  it,  when 
new  misfortunes  broke  upon  his  view.  On  going 
into  his  cabinet,  he  found  his  strong  box  open,  the 
le.-»thern  purse  of  the  tro<iper  abstr.icted,  anu  with  it 
a  couple  ol  corpulent  bags  of  doubloons, 

but  hi^w,  and  which  way  had  the  fugitives  escaped  ? 
A  peasant  who  lived  in  a  cott.ige  by  the  road-side 
leading  up  into  the  Sierra,  declared  that  he  had  heard 
the  tramp  of  a  powerful  steed,  just  before  daybreak, 
piissing  up  into  the  mountains.  He  had  looked  out 
at  li.s  casement,  and  could  just  distinguish  a  horse- 
man, with  a  female  se<ited  before  him, 

"  Searcii  the  stahles,"  cried  governor  M.nnco,  The 
st.ibles  were  searched ;  all  the  horses  were  in  their 
stalls,  excepting  the  Arabian  steed.  In  his  place 
was  a  stout  cudgel  tied  to  the  manger,  and  on  it  a 
label  bearing  these  words,  "A  gitt  to  governor 
lAanco,  from  an  old  soldier." 


1E8END  OF  THE  TWO  DISCREET  STATUES. 


'I  HERE  lived  once,  in  a  waste  apartment  of  the 
Alhambn,  a  merry  little  fellow  named  Lope  Sanchez, 
#lio  worked  in  the  gardens,  and  was  as  brisk  and 
blithe  as  a  grasshopper,  singing  all  day  long.  He 
was  the  life  and  soul  of  the  fortress  ;  when  his  work 
was  over,  he  would  sit  on  one  of  the  stone  benches 
of  the  esplanade  and  strum  his  guitar,  and  sing  lonj^ 
ditties  about  the  Cid,  and  Bernardo  <lel  Carpio,  and 
Fernando  del  Pulgar,  and  other  Spanish  heroes,  for 
the  amusement  oi  the  old  soldiers  of  the  fortress,  or 


would  •trike'  up  a  meirier  tune,  a  i  tel  the  girli 
dancing  boleros  and  fandangos. 

Like  most  little  men.  Lope  Sanchei  h.id  a  itra)^ 
ping  buxom  d4anie  for  a  wife,  who  could  ilmost  have 
put  him  in  her  pocket ;  but  he  lacked  the  usual  poor 
man's  lot,— inste.id  of  ten  children  he  h.ad  but  one. 
This  was  a  little  bl.ack-cyed  girl,  about  twelve  yeais 
of  age,  named  Sanchic.i,  who  was  .is  merry  .is  hin- 
self,  and  the  delight  of  his  heart.  She  played  aboul 
him  as  he  wcrkcd  in  the  gardens,  dancecl  to  his  guitai 
as  he  s.it  in  the  shade,  and  ran  as  wild  as  a  young 
fawn  about  the  groves,  and  alleys,  and  ruined  halu 
of  the  Alhambra, 

It  was  now  the  eve  of  the  blessed  St.  John,  and 
the  holiday-loving  gossi[.s  of  the  Alhambra,  men, 
women,  and  children,  went  up  at  nieht  to  the  moun- 
tain of  the  Sun,  which  rises  above  tne  Generaliffe,  to 
keep  their  midsummer  vigil  on  its  level  summit.  It 
W.1S  a  bright  moonlight  night,  .nnd  all  the  mountains 
were  gr.iy  and  silvery,  and  the  city,  with  its  domea 
and  spires,  l.iy  in  shadows  below,  and  the  Vega  was 
like  a  fairy  land,  with  haunted  streams  gleaming 
among  its  dusky  groves.  On  the  highest  part  ot  the 
mountain  they  lit  up  a  bale  fire,  according  to  an  old 
custom  of  the  country  handed  down  from  the  Moors. 
The  inh.ibitants  of  the  surrounding  country  were 
keeping  a  similar  viiijil,  and  bale  fires  here  and  there 
in  the  Vega,  and  along  the  folds  of  the  mountains, 
bl.ized  up  palely  in  the  moonlight. 

The  evening  w.is  gaily  passed  in  dancing  to  the 
guitar  of  Lope  Sanchez,  who  was  never  so  joyous  as 
when  on  a  holiday  revel  of  the  kind.  While  the 
dance  was  going  on,  the  little  Sanchica  with  some 
of  her  playmates  sported  among  the  ruins  of  an  old 
Moorish  fort  that  crowns  the  mountain,  when,  on 
gathering  pebbles  in  the  fosse,  she  found  a  small 
hand,  curiously  carved  of  jet,  the  lingers  closed,  and 
the  thumb  firmly  cl.isped  upon  them.  Overjoyed 
with  her  good  fortune,  she  ran  to  her  mother  witfc 
her  prize.  It  immediately  became  a  subject  of  sage 
speculation,  .and  was  eyed  by  some  with  superstitious 
distrust,  "  Throw  it  away,"  said  one,  "  it  is  Moorish, 
— depend  upon  it  there's  mischief  and  witchcraft  in 
it,"  "Uyno  means,"  s.iid  another,  "you  mav  sell 
it  for  something  to  the  jewellers  of  the  Zacatin.*'  In 
the  midst  of  this  discussion  an  old  tawny  soldier  drew 
ne.ir,  who  had  served  in  Africa,  and  was  <is  swarthy 
as  a  Moor.  He  examined  the  hand  svith  a  knowing 
look.  "  I  have  seen  things  of  this  kind,"  said  he, 
"among  the  Moors  of  Barbary.  It  is  of  great  value 
to  guard  against  the  evil  eye,  and  all  kinds  of  spells 
and  enchantments.  I  give  you  joy,  friend  Lope,  this 
bodes  good  luck  to  your  child." 

Upon  hearing  this,  the  wife  of  Lope  Sanchez  tied 
the  little  hand  of  jet  to  a  riband,  and  hung  it  round 
the  neck  of  her  daughter. 

The  sight  of  this  talisman  called  up  all  the  favour 
ite  superstitions  about  the  Moors.  The  dance  was 
neglected,  and  they  sat  in  groups  on  the  ground, 
telling  old  legendary  tales  handed  down  from  their 
ancestors.  Some  of  their  stories  turned  upon  the 
wonders  of  the  very  mountain  upon  which  they  were 
seated,  which  is  a  famous  hobgoblin  region. 

One  ancient  crone  gave  a  long  account  of  the  sub- 
terranean p.ilace  in  the  bowels  of  that  mountain, 
where  Boabdil  and  all  his  Moslem  court  are  said  to 
remain  enchanted.  "  Among  yonder  ruins,"  said 
she,  pointing  to  some  crumbling  walls  and  mounds 
of  earth  on  a  distant  part  of  the  mountain,  "  there  is 
a  deep  black  pit  th.it  goes  down,  down  into  the  very 
heart  of  the  mountain.  For  all  the  money  in  Grana- 
d.i,  I  would  not  look  down  into  it.  Once  upon  a 
time,  a  poor  man  of  the  Alhambra,  who  tended  goati 

Xn  this  mountain,  scrambled  down  mto  that  pit 
r  a  kid  that  had  fallen  in.    He  came  out  agaia 


(  I 


•4\ 


I«4 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVINO. 


til  wild  and  itarin^.  and  told  luch  thin((i  of  what  he 
had  seen,  that  every  one  thou^jht  hit  bmin  wai 
tiimcii.  He  raved  for  a  day  or  two  about  hubi;ul)lin 
Moore  that  had  pursued  him  in  the  cavern,  andcould 
haidly  be  persuaded  to  drive  his  eoats  up  ai;aiii  to 
the  mountain.  He  did  so  at  last,  but,  poor  man,  he 
never  came  down  again,  Ti^e  ncif^hbours  found  his 
goats  browsing  about  the  Moorish  ruins,  and  his  hat 
and  mantle  lymv  near  the  mouth  of  the  pit,  but  he 
was  never  more  neard  of." 

The  little  Sanchica  listened  with  breathless  atten- 
tion to  this  Htory.  She  was  of  a  curious  nature,  and 
fell  iminediatt'ly  a  great  hankering  to  peep  into  this 
dangerous  pit.  Stealing  away  from  her  companions, 
th't  sought  the  distant  ruins,  and  after  irroping  for 
tome  tunc  among  them,  came  to  a  small  hollow  or 
basin,  near  the  brow  of  the  mountain,  where  it  swept 
steeply  down  into  the  valley  of  the  Darro.  In  the 
centre  of  this  basin  yawned  the  mouth  of  the  pit, 
Sanchica  ventured  to  the  verge  and  peeped  in.  All 
was  black  as  pitch,  and  gave  an  idea  of  immeasura- 
ble depth.  Her  blood  ran  coKI — she  drew  back — 
then  [)eeped  again — then  would  have  run  away  — 
then  took  another  peep^the  very  horror  of  the  thing 
was  delightful  to  her.  At  length  she  rolled  a  large 
stone,  and  pushed  it  over  the  brink.  For  some  time 
it  tell  in  silence  ;  then  struck  some  rocky  projection 
with  a  violent  crash,  then  rebounded  from  side  to 
side,  rumbling  and  tumbling,  with  a  noise  like  thun- 
der, then  made  a  finiil  splash  into  water,  far,  far  be- 
low, and  all  was  again  sdent. 

The  silence,  however,  did  not  long  continue.  It 
seemed  as  if  something  had  been  awakened  within 
this  dreary  abyss.  A  murmuring  sound  gradually 
rd»2  out  of  the  pit  like  the  hum  and  buzz  of  a  bee- 
hive. It  grew  louder  and  louder :  there  was  the 
confusion  of  voices  as  of  a  distant  multitude,  together 
with  the  faint  din  of  arms,  clash  of  cymbals,  and 
clangour  of  trumpets,  as  if  some  army  were  marshal- 
ling for  battle  in  the  very  bowels  of  the  mountain. 

The  child  drew  olT  with  silent  awe,  and  hastened 
back  to  the  place  where  she  had  left  her  parents  and 
their  companions.  All  were  s^ne.  The  bale  fire 
was  expirmg,  and  its  last  wreath  of  smoke  curling 
up  in  the  moonshine.  The  distant  fires  that  h.id 
blazed  along  the  mountaiiut  and  in  the  Vega  were 
all  extinguished  ;  every  thing  seemed  to  have  sunk 
to  repose.  Sanchica  called  her  parents  and  some  of 
her  companions  by  name,  but  received  no  reply.  She 
ran  down  the  side  of  the  mountain,  and  by  the  gar- 
dens of  the  GeneralifTe,  until  she  arrived  in  the  alley 
of  trees  leading  to  the  Alhambra,  where  she  seated 
herself  on  a  bench  of  a  woody  recess  to  recover 
breath.  The  bell  from  the  watch-tower  of  the  Al- 
hambra told  midnight.  There  was  a  deep  tranquillity, 
as  if  all  nature  slept ;  excepting  the  low  tmkling  sound 
of  an  unseen  stream  that  ran  under  the  covert  of  the 
bushes.  The  breathing  sweetness  of  the  atmosphere 
was  lulling  her  to  sleep,  when  her  eye  was  caught 
by  somethmg  glittering  at  a  distance,  and  to  her  sur- 
prise, she  l:>eheld  a  long  cavalcade  of  Moorish  war- 
riors pouring  down  the  mountain  side,  and  along  the 
leafy  avenues.  Some  were  armed  with  lances  and 
ifiields ;  others  with  scimitars  and  battle-axes,  and 
with  polishe<l  cuirasses  that  flashed  in  the  moon- 
beams. Their  horses  pranced  proudly,  and  champ- 
ed upon  the  bit,  but  their  tramp  caused  no  more 
sound  than  if  they  had  been  shod  with  felt,  and  the 
riders  were  all  as  pale  as  death.  Among  them  rode 
a  beautiful  lady  with  a  crowned  head  and  long  golden 
locks  entwined  with  pearls.  The  housings  of  her 
palfrey  were  of  crimson  velvet  embroidered  with 
gold,  and  swept  the  earth  ;  but  she  rode  all  discon- 
•oUte,  with  eyes  ever  fixed  upon  the  ground. 

Then  succeeded  a  train  of  courtiers  magnificently 


arrayed  in  rolwa  and  turltins  of  divcn  coIj  in,  tm 
amidst  these,  on  a  cream-coloured  chargi-r,  njf.t 
king  Uoabdil  el  Chico,  In  a  royal  mantle  rovrrei! 
with  jewels,  and  a  crown  snnrkiing  with  di  iiiuimti 
The  little  Sanchica  knew  hinr.  >y  his  yellow  (» ,nr,^ 
and  his  resemblance  to  his  nortrait,  which  she  h*^ 
often  seen  in  the  picture  gallery  of  the  Grin  i  i!iff(, 
She  gazed  in  wonder  anu  admiration  at  this  r.jy;j 
pitgeant  as  it  pjissed  glistening  imong  the  tr'tt,  \)^, 
though  the  knew  these  monarchs,  and  courtiers,  .inj 
warriors,  so  pale  and  silent,  were  out  of  the  commun 
course  of  nature,  and  th.ngs  of  magic  or  rnc hin(. 
ment,  yet  she  looked  on  with  a  liold  heart,  such 
cour.ige  did  she  derive  from  the  mystic  talisin.in  of 
the  hand  which  was  suspended  about  her  neck. 

The  cavalcade  having  passed  by,  she  rose  and  fo|. 
lowed.  It  ccntinued  on  to  the  great  rate  of  lustier, 
which  stood  wide  open  ;  the  old  invalid  sentinch  oii 
duty,  lay  on  (he  stone  benches  of  the  Barbican,  hur. 
ied  in  profound  and  apparently  ch.irmcd  sleep,  ana 
the  ph.intom  p  igeant  swept  noiselessly  by  them  with 
flaunting  banner  and  triumphant  st.ite.  Snrchia 
would  have  followed,  but,  to  ner  surprise,  she  lichcld 
an  opening  in  the  earth  within  the  Barbican,  Ir.iding 
down  beneath  the  foundations  of  the  tower.  sh{ 
entered  for  a  little  distance,  and  was  encourai^nl  ic 
proceed  bv  tintling  steps  rudely  hewn  in  the  mck, 
and  a  vaulted  passage  here  and  there  lit  up  by  a  jjl. 
ver  lamp,  which,  while  it  gave  light,  diffused  lil<(. 
wise  a  grateful  fragrance.  Venturing  on,  she  carat 
at  last  to  a  great  hall  wrought  out  of  the  heart  ot  ihc 
mountain,  magnificently  furnished  in  the  Moorish 
style,  and  lighted  up  by  silver  and  crystal  lamps 
Hv.-re  on  an  ottoman  sat  an  old  man  in  Moorish  drtiv 
with  a  long  white  beard,  nodding  and  dozing.  WA 
a  statfin  his  hand,  which  seemetl  ever  to  be  slippin; 
from  his  grasp ;  while  at  a  little  distance,  sat  a  l.c.iu 
tiful  lady,  in  ancient  Sp.inish  dress,  with  a  coror.:i 
all  sparkling  with  diamonds,  and  her  hair  entwinci 
with  pearls,  who  was  softly  playing  on  a  silver  Krc. 
The  little  Sanchica  now  recollected  a  story  nhe  ,uf. 
heard  among  the  old  people  of  the  Alhambr.-i.  con- 
cerning a  Gothic  princess  confined  in  the  centre  of 
the  mountain  by  an  old  Arabian  magician,  whom  sh( 
ke|it  bound  up  in  magic  sleep  by  the  power  of  music. 

The  lady  paused  with  surprise,  at  seeing  a  innn.il 
in  that  enchanted  hall.  "  Is  it  the  eve  of  the  blcssti! 
St.  John  ?  "  said  she. 

"It  is,"  replied  Sanchica. 

"  Then  for  one  night  the  magic  charm  is  sus 
pended.  Come  hither,  child,  and  fear  not,  I  am  a 
Christian  Uke  thyself,  though  bound  here  by  en- 
chantment. Touch  my  fetters  with  the  talisman 
that  hangs  about  thy  neck,  and  for  this  night  1  shall 
be  free." 

So  saying,  she  opened  her  robes  and  displayed  a 
broad  golden  band  round  her  waist,  and  a  golden 
chain  tnat  fastened  her  to  the  ground.  The  child 
hesit.ited  not  to  apply  the  little  hand  of  jet  to  tht 
golden  band,  and  immediately  the  chain  fell  to  th; 
earth.  At  the  sound  the  old  man  awoke,  and  h'^in 
to  nib  his  eyes,  but  the  lady  ran  her  fingera  ove;-  tht 
chords  of  the  lyre,  and  again  he  fell  into  a  sluniljet 
and  began  to  nod,  and  his  staff  to  falter  in  his  hand. 
"  Now,  ■  said  the  ladv,  "  touch  his  staff  with  the  til- 
ismanic  hand  of  jet. '  The  child  did  so,  and  it  fell 
from  his  grasp,  and  he  sunk  in  a  deep  sleep  on  the 
ottoman.  The  lady  gently  laid  the  silver  lyre  on  the 
ottoman,  leaning  it  against  the  head  of  the  sleeping 
m.agician,  then  touching  the  chords  until  they  vibra- 
ted in  his  ear,  ••  O  potent  spirit  of  harmony,"  said 
she,  "  continue  thus  to  hold  his  senses  in  thraldom 
till  the  return  of  day."  "  Now  follow  me,  my  child," 
continued  she,  "  and  thou  shah  behold  the  Alhamhra 
as  it  was  in  the  days  of  its  glory,  for  thou  hast  a 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


IM 


f^:  taliunan  that  reveals  all  enclMnlmcnla."  I 
Sanchica  followetl  the  lady  in  lilencs.  They  paucd 
up  ttiroufrh  the  entrance  of  the  cavern  into  the  Uar* 
(lean  oftne  gate  of  Justice,  and  thence  to  the  Flaia 
le  las  AlKines,  or  eaplanndc  within  the  fortress. 
This  was  all  filled  with  Moorish  soliliery,  horse  and 
loot,  marshalled  in  squadrons,  with  luinners  display- 
od.  There  were  royal  guards  also  at  the  portal,  and 
rows  of  African  blacks  with  drawn  scimitars.  No 
unr  ^|loke  a  word,  and  Sanchica  ntisited  on  fearlessly 
tfitr  ner  conductor.  Her  astonisnment  increased  on 
fniTint;  the  royal  palace,  in  which  she  had  been 
reared.  The  broad  ntoonshine  lit  up  all  the  halls, 
aii>i  courts,  and  gardens,  almost  as  brightly  iis  if  it 
were  day ;  but  revealed  a  far  different  scene  from 
th.li  (0  which  she  was  accustomed.  The  walls  of  the 
sp.triinents  were  no  longer  stained  and  rent  by  time. 
ItiHieud  of  cobwebs,  they  were  now  hung  with  rich 
iilk5  uf  Uamascus,  and  the  gildings  anaarabcsciue 
paintings  were  restored  to  their  original  brilliancy 
and  freshness.  The  halls,  instead  of  being  naked 
and  unfurnished,  were  set  out  with  divans  and  otto- 
mans of  the  rarest  stuffs,  embroidered  with  pearls, 
and  studded  with  precious  gems,  and  all  the  foun- 
tains in  the  courts  and  gardens  were  playing. 

Tlie  kitchens  were  again  in  full  operation  ;  cooks 
were  busied  preparing  snadowy  dishes,  and  roasting 
ini\  boiling  the  phantoms  of  pullets  and  partridges ; 
servants  were  hurrying  to  and  fro  with  silver  dishes 
heaped  up  with  dainties,  and  arranging  a  delicious  ban- 
quet. The  court  of  Lions  was  thronged  with  guards, 
ami  courtiers,  and  alfaquis,  as  in  the  old  times  uf  the 
Muurs ;  and  at  the  upn«r  end,  in  the  saloon  of  judg- 
ment, sat  Uoabdil  on  his  throne,  surrounded  by  his 
court,  and  swayed  a  shadowy  sceptre  for  the  night. 

Notwithstanding  all  this  throng  and  seeming 
liustle,  not  a  voice  or  footstep  was  to  be  heard ; 
eothing  interrupted  the  midnight  silence  but  the 
flashing  of  the  fountains.  The  little  Sanchica  fol- 
lowed her  conductress  in  mute  amazement  about  the 
palace,  until  they  came  to  a  portal  opening  to  the 
vaulted  passages  beneath  the  great  tower  of  Co- 
mans.  On  each  side  of  the  portal  sat  the  figure  of 
a  nymph,  wrought  out  of  alabaster.  Their  heads 
were  turned  aside,  and  their  regards  fixed  upon  the 
same  spot  within  the  vault.  The  enchanted  ladv 
paused,  and  bccl'oned  the  child  to  her.  "  Here, ' 
said  she,  "  is  a  grtat  secret,  which  I  will  reveal  to 
thee  in  reward  for  thy  faith  and  courage.  These 
discreet  statues  watch  over  a  mighty  treasure  hid- 
den in  old  times  by  a  Moorish  king.  Tell  thy 
father  to  search  the  spot  on  which  their  eyes  are 
fixed,  and  he  will  find  what  will  make  him  richer 
than  any  man  in  Granada.  Thy  innocent  hands 
alone,  however,  gifted  as  thou  art  also  with  the  talis- 
man, can  remove  the  treasure.  Bid  thy  father  use 
it  discreetly,  and  devote  a  part  of  it  to  the  perform- 
ance of  daily  m.isses  for  my  deliverance  from  this 
unholy  enchantment." 

When  the  lady  had  spoken  these  words,  she  led 
the  child  onward  to  the  little  garden  of  Lindaraxa. 
which  is  hard  by  the  vault  of  the  statues.  The 
moon  trembled  upon  the  waters  of  the  solitary 
fountain  in  the  centre  of  the  earden,  and  shed  a 
tender  light  upon  the  orange  and  citron  trees.  The 
beautiful  lady  plucked  a  branch  of  myrtle  and 
wreathed  it  round  the  head  of  the  child.  "  Let  this 
ixa  memento,"  said  she,  "of  what  I  have  revealed 
to  thee,  and  a  testimonial  of  its  truth.  My  hour  is 
come. — I  must  return  to  the  enchanted  hall ;  follow 
me  not,  lest  evil  befall  thee;  farewell,  remember 
what  I  have  said,  and  have  m.asses  performed  for 
my  deliverance."  So  saving,  the  lady  entered  a  dark 
iiassage  leading  beneath  the  towers  of  Comares,  and 
was  no  longer  to  be  seen. 


The  faint  crowing  of  a  cock  waa  aaw  heard  f^om 
the  cottages  below  the  Alhambra.  n  the  valloy  of 
the  Darro,  and  a  pale  streak  of  light  began  to  appcu 
above  the  eastern  mountains.  A  sliglit  wind  arose , 
there  was  a  sound  like  the  rustling  uf  dry  leaves 
through  the  courts  and  corridors  and  dour  after 
door  shut  to  with  a  Jarring  round.  Sanchica  re> 
turned  to  the  scenes  she  had  so  lately  t)eheld 
thronged  with  the  shadowy  multitude,  but  boabdil 
and  his  phantom  court  were  gone. 

The  moon  shone  into  empty  halls  and  galloriis, 
stripped  of  their  transient  splendour,  stained  and 
dilapidated  by  time,  and  hung  with  cobwebs ;  the 
bat  Hit  led  about  in  the  uncertain  light,  and  the  frog 
cro.iked  from  the  fish-pond, 

.Sanchica  now  made  the  best  of  her  way  to  a  rt- 
mote  st.iirca.He  that  led  up  to  the  humble  apartment 
occupied  by  her  family.  The  door  as  usual  was 
open,  for  Lope  Sanchez  was  too  poor  to  need  bolt  or 
bar :  she  crept  quietly  to  her  pallet,  and,  putting 
the  myrtle  wreath  beneath  her  pillow,  soon  fell 
asleep. 

In  the  morning  she  related  all  that  had  befallen 
her  to  her  father.  Lope  Sanchez,  however,  treated 
the  whole  as  a  mere  dream,  and  laughed  at  the 
child  for  her  credulity.  He  wei.t  forth  to  his  cus- 
tomary labours  in  the  g.ird('n,  but  had  not  been 
there  long  when  his  little  daughter  came  running  to 
him  almost  breathless.  "Father!  father!"  cried 
she,  "  behold  the  myrtle  wreath  which  the  Moorish 
lady  bound  round  my  head." 

Lope  Sanchez  gazed  with  astonishment,  for  the 
stalk  of  the  myrtle  was  of  pure  gold,  and  every  leaf 
was  a  sparkling  emerald  I  Being  not  much  ici  us- 
tonied  to  precious  stones,  he  was  ignorant  of  tlic 
real  value  of  the  wreath,  but  he  saw  enough  to  coii' 
vince  him  that  it  was  something  more  substantial 
than  the  stuff  that  dreams  arc  generally  made  of, 
and  that  at  any  rate  the  child  had  dreamt  to  some 
purpose.  His  hrst  care  was  to  enjoin  the  most 
absolute  secrecy  upon  his  daughter ;  in  this  respect, 
however,  he  was  secure,  for  she  had  discretion  far 
beyond  her  years  or  sex.  He  then  repaired  to  the 
vault  where  stood  the  st.itues  of  the  two  alabaster 
nymphs.  He  remarked  that  their  heads  were  turned 
from  the  portal,  and  that  the  regards  of  each  were 
fixed  upon  the  same  point  in  the  interior  of  the  build- 
ing. Lope  Sanchez  could  not  but  admire  this  most 
discreet  contrivance  for  guarding  a  secret.  He  drew 
a  line  from  the  eyes  of  the  statues  to  the  point  ol 
regard,  made  a  private  mark  on  the  wall,  and  then 
retired. 

All  day,  however,  the  mind  of  Lope  Sanchez  was 
distracted  with  a  thousand  cares.  He  could  not 
help  hovering  within  distant  view  of  the  two  statues, 
and  became  nervous  from  the  dread  that  the  golden 
secret  might  be  discovered.  E^ery  footstep  that 
approached  the  place,  made  him  tremble.  He  would 
have  given  any  thing  could  he  but  turn  the  heads 
of  the  statues,  forgetting  that  they  had  looked  pre- 
cisely in  the  same  direction  for  some  hundreds  of 
years,  without  anv  person  being  the  wiser,  "  A 
plague  upon  them,  he  would  say  to  himself,  "  lhe)'li 
betray  all.  Did  ever  mortal  hear  of  such  a  ini)de  c!f 
guarding  a  secret  I "  Then,  on  hearing  any  one 
advance  he  would  steal  off,  as  though  his  very  lurk- 
ing near  the  place  would  awaken  suspicions.  Then 
he  would  return  cautiously,  and  peep  from  a  distance 
to  see  if  every  thing  was  secure,  but  the  sight  of  the 
statues  would  again  call  forth  his  indignation.  "Aye, 
there  they  stand,"  would  he  say,  "always  looking, 
and  looking,  and  looking,  just  where  they  should 
not.  Confound  them  I  tney  are  just  like  all  their 
sex ;  if  they  have  not  tongues  to  tattle  with,  theyll 
be  sure  to  do  it  with  their  eyes  I " 


168 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


■M 


■If:''-'  , •■.I it 


At  length,  to  his  relief,  the  long  anxious  day  drew 
to  a  close.  The  sound  of  footsteps  was  no  longer 
heard  in  the  echoing  halls  of  the  Alhambra ;  the 
last  stranger  passed  the  threshold,  the  great  portal 
was  barred  and  bolted,  and  the  bat,  and  the  frog. 
Mid  the  hooting  owl  gradually  resumed  their  nightly 
rocations  in  the  deserted  palace. 

Lope  Sanchez  waited,  hoArever,  until  the  night 
was  (ar  advanced,  before  he  ventured  with  his  little 
Ijughter  to  the  hall  of  the  two  nymphs.  He  found 
iiieni  lookmg  as  knowingly  and  mysteriously  as 
ever,  at  the  secret  place  of  deposit.  "  By  your 
leaves,  gentle  ladies,"  thought  Lope  Sanchez  as  he 
Oassed  between  them,  "  I  will  relieve  you  from  this 
-harge  that  must  have  set  so  heavy  in  your  minds 
.'or  the  last  two  or  three  centuries."  He  accordingly 
went  to  work  at  the  part  of  the  wall  which  he  had 
marked,  and  in  a  little  while  laid  open  a  concealed 
recess,  in  which  stood  t-  o  great  jars  of  porcelain. 
He  attempted  to  draw  ihem  forth,  but  they  were  im- 
movable until  touched  by  the  innocent  hand  of  his 
little  daughter.  With  her  aid  he  dislodged  them 
from  their  niche,  and  found,  to  his  gre<.t  joy,  that 
they  were  tilled  with  pieces  of  Moorish  gold,  mingled 
with  jewels  and  precious  stones.  Before  daylight  he 
manage<l  to  convey  them  to  his  chamber,  and  left 
the  two  guardian  statues  with  llieir  eyes  still  fixed 
on  the  vacant  wall. 

Lope  Sanchez  had  thus  on  a  sudden  become  a 
rich  m.in,  but  riches,  as  usual,  brought  a  world  of 
cares,  to  which  he  had  hitherto  been  a  stranger. 
How  was  he  to  convey  away  his  wealth  with  safety? 
How  was  he  even  to  enter  upon  the  enjoyment  of  it 
without  awakening  suspicion.'  Now  too,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  the  dread  of  robbers  entered 
ki'.o  his  mind.  He  looked  with  terror  at  the  inse- 
curity of  his  habitation,  and  went  to  work  to  barri- 
cade the  doors  and  windows;  yet  after  all  his  pre- 
cautions, he  could  not  sleep  soundly.  His  usual 
gaiety  was  at  an  end  ;  he  had  no  longer  a  joke  or  a 
song  for  his  neigiibours,  and,  in  short,  became  the 
most  miserable  animal  in  the  Alhambra.  His  old 
comrades  remarked  this  alteration ;  pitied  him 
heartily,  and  began  to  desert  him,  thinking  he  must 
be  f.illing  into  want,  and  in  danger  of  looking  to 
them  for  assistance  ;  little  did  they  suspect  that  his 
only  calamity  was  riches. 

The  wife  of  Lojie  Sanchez  shared  his  anxiety ; 
but  then  she  had  ghostly  comfort.  We  ought  be- 
fore this  to  have  mentioned,  that  Lope  being  rather 
a  light,  inconsiderate  little  man,  his  wife  was  ac- 
custoini'd,  in  all  grave  matters,  to  seek  the  counsel 
and  ministry  of  her  confessor.  Fray  Simon,  a  sturdy, 
broad-shouldered,  bhie-bearded,  bullet-he.aded  friar 
of  the  neighbouring  convent  of  .San  Francisco,  who 
was,  in  fact,  the  spiiitiial  comforur  of  half  the  good 
wives  of  the  neigWxiurhood.  He  was,  moreover,  in 
great  esteem  among  divers  sisterhoods  of  nuns,  who 
requited  him  lor  his  ghostly  services  by  frequent 
presents  of  those  little  dainties  and  nicknacks 
manufactured  in  convents,  such  as  delicate  con- 
fections, sweet  biscuits,  and  l)ottles  of  spiced  cor- 
diali,  found  to  be  marvellous  restoratives  after  fasts 
ind  vigils, 

Fr  ly  Simon  thrived  in  the  exercise  of  his  func- 
tions. His  oily  skin  glistened  in  the  sunshine  as  he 
toiled  up  the  hill  of  the  Alhambra  on  a  sultry  day. 
Yet  notwithstanding  his  sleek  condition,  the  knotted 
rope  round  his  waist  showed  the  austerity  of  his  self- 
discipline  ;  the  multitude  ooffed  their  caps  to  him  as 
a  mirror  of  piety,  and  even  the  dogs  scented  the 
odoir  of  sanctity  that  exhaled  from  his  garments, 
and  howled  from  their  kennels  as  he  passed. 

Such  was  Fray  Simon,  the  spiritual  counsellor 
«f  the  comely  wife  of  Looe  Sanchez,  and  as  the 


father  conressor  is  the  domestic  conf dant  of  womet 
in  humble  life  in  Spam,  he  was  soon  made  ac- 
ouainted,  in  great  secrecy,  with  the  story  of  the  hid- 
aen  treasure. 

The  friar  opened  ey^s  and  mouth,  and  cro'i^^ 
himself  a  dozen  times  at  the  news.  After  a  mo 
ment's  pause,  "  Daughter  of  my  soul !  "  said  ht 
"  know  that  thy  husband  has  committed  a  dojbl, 
sin.  a  sin  .agamst  both  state  and  church !  The 
treasure  he  has  thus  seized  upon  for  himself,  bting 
found  in  the  royal  domains,  belongs  of  cotirse  to  th« 
crown  ;  but  bemg  infulef  wealth,  rescued,  as  it  were, 
from  the  very  fangs  of  .Satan,  should  be  devot'.nl  tc 
the  church.  Still,  however,  the  matter  may  be  ac- 
commodated.    Briiig  hither  the  myrtle  wreath." 

When  the  good  father  beheld  it,  his  eyes  twinkled 
more  than  ever,  with  admiration  of  the  size  and 
beauty  of  the  emeralds.  "This,"  said  he,  "linne 
the  first  fruits  of  this  discovery,  should  be  dedicated 
to  pious  purposes.  I  will  hang  it  up  as  a  vonvg 
offering  before  the  image  of  San  Francisco  in  out 
chapel,  and  will  e.imestly  pray  to  him,  this  very 
night,  that  your  husband  be  permitted  to  remain 
in  quiet  possession  of  your  wealth." 

The  good  dame  was  delighted  to  make  her  peace 
with  heaven  at  so  cheap  a  rate,  and  the  friar,  put- 
ting th:  wreath  under  his  mantle,  departed  with 
saintly  steps  towards  his  convent. 

When  Lope  Sanchez  came  home,  his  wife  told 
him  what  had  passed.  He  was  excessively  ]>r> 
voked,  for  he  lacked  his  wife's  devotion,  and  had  let 
some  time  gruaned  in  secret  at  the  domestic  visita- 
tions of  the  friar.  "  Woman,"  said  he,  "  what  hast 
thou  done  !  Thou  hast  put  every  thing  at  h.-izard 
by  thy  t.atiling." 

"What!"  cried  the  good  woman,  "would  you 
forbid  my  disburthening  my  conscience  to  my  con. 
fessor  ?  " 

"No,  wife !  confess  as  many  of  your  own  sins  .-u 
you  please ;  but  as  to  this  money-digging,  it  .s  a  ^;n 
of  my  own,  and  my  conscience  is  very  easy  uiidir 
the  weight  of  it." 

Th;re  was  no  use,  however,  in  complaining ;  the 
secret  was  told,  and,  like  water  spilled  on  the  sand, 
was  not  again  to  be  gathered.  Their  only  chance 
was,  that  '.ne  friar  would  be  discreet. 

Thi;  next  day,  while  Lope  Sanchez  was  .abroad, 
there  v.as  an  humble  knocking  at  the  door,  and 
Fray  Simon  entered  with  meek  and  demure  coun- 
tenance. 

"  Daughter,"  said  he,  "  I  have  prayed  earnestly 
'to  San  F'rancisco,  and  he  has  heard  my  prayer.  In 
the  dead  of  the  night  the  s.aint  appeared  to  me  in  a 
dream,  but  with  a  frowning  hspect.  '  Why,'  said 
he.  'tlost  thou  pr.iy  to  me  to  dispense  with  this 
treasure  of  the  Gentiles,  when  thou  seest  the  poveny 
of  my  chapel  ?  Go  to  the  house  of  Lope  Sanchcj, 
crave  in  my  name  a  portion  of  the  Moorish  goM  to 
furnish  two  candlesticks  for  the  main  altar,  and  let 
him  possess  the  residue  in  peace.'  " 

When  the  good  woman  heard  of  this  vision,  she 
crossed  herself  with  awe,  and  going  to  the  secret 
place  where  Lope  had  hid  the  treasure,  she  filled  a 
great  l-ralhem  purse  with  pieces  of  Moorish  gold, 
and  gave  it  to  the  friar.  The  |)ious  monk  l)esiow«l 
upon  her  in  return,  benedictions  enough,  if  p?i(l  hy 
heaven,  to  enrich  her  race  to  the  latest  posterity, 
then  slipping  the  purse  into  th<;  sleeve  of  nis  habil, 
he  folded  his  hands  upon  his  breast,  and  departed 
with  an  air  of  humble  thankfuh>ess. 

When  Lope  Sanchez  heard  i>f  this  second  dcna 
tion  to  the  church,  he  had  well  nigh  lost  his  senaej. 
"Unfortunate  man,"  cried  he,  "what  will  become 
of  me  ?  I  shall  be  robbed  by  piecemeal ;  I  shal'  !x 
ruined  and  brought  to  beggary  I " 


THB  ALHAMBRA. 


im 


nt  of  womej 
It  mm\e  ac< 
y  of  the  hid- 

and  cro";)«1 
After  k  mo 
I !  "  said  ht. 
ed  a  doubl.. 
lurch !    The 
imself,  bting 
cotrsc  tu  th« 
:d,  as  it  were, 
e  devot'.'il  tt 
r  may  be  ac- 
wreath. " 
eyes  iwiiikleil 
the  size  and 
d  he,  "biino 
.  be  dedicated 
p  as  a  votivj 
ncisco  in  oui 
ini,  tliis  \tv) 
:ed  to  reiuain, 

akc  her  peace 
the  friar,  put- 
departed  witii 

his  wife  told 
cessively  |>r> 
m,  and  hail  let 
omestic  visita- 
le,  "  what  hast 
tiing  at  hazard 

I,  "would  you 
ice  10  my  con- 

ir  own  sins  as 

ng,  it  is  a  ^\n 

;ry  easy  uv.iia 

plaining ;  the 
d  on  the  sami, 
ir  only  chance 

\i  was  abroad, 
the  door,  and 
demure  coun- 

lyed  earnestly 
ny  prayer,  in 
|red  to  me  in  a 
Why,'  said 
■nse  with  this 
fest  the  poveriy 
iLope  Sanchei, 
[oorish  goKl  to 
altar,  and  let 

Ithis  vision,  she 
to  the  secret 
,/e,  she  filled  a 
Moorish  gold, 
konk  l>estowd 
Lgh,  if  pi^iil  t>J 
itest  posterity, 
|e  of  nis  habit, 
,  and  departed 

second  dcna 

lost  his    StUaO. 

\t  will  become 
I  shal)  Ix 


n  wu  with  the  utmost  difRctdty  that  his  wile 
(ouin  pacify  him  by  reminding  him  of  the  countless 
wealth  that  yet  remained ;  and  how  considerate  it 
«r;ts  for  San  Francisco  to  rest  contented  with  sO' 
yery  small  a  portion. 

Unluckily,  Fray  Simon  had  a  number  of  poor  re- 
lations to  be  provided  for,  not  to  mention  some  half 
dozen  sturdy,  bullet-headed  orphan  children  and 
destitute  foundlings,  that  he  had  taken  under  his 
^re.  He  repeated  his  visits,  therefore,  from  day  io 
Jay,  with  salutations  on  behalf  of  Saint  Dominick, 
Saint  Andrew,  Saint  James,  until  poor  Lope  was 
driven  to  despair,  and  found  that,  unless  he  got  out 
of  the  reach  of  this  holy  friar,  he  should  have  to 
make  peace  offerings  to  every  saint  in  the  kalendar. 
He  determined,  therefore,  to  pack  up  his  remaining 
wealth,  beat  a  secret  retre.at  in  the  night,  and  make 
off  10  another  part  of  the  kin>rdom. 

I'ull  of  his  project,  he  bought  a  stout  mule  for  the 
purpose,  and  tethered  it  in  a  gloomy  vault,  under- 
neath the  tower  of  the  Seven  Floors.  The  very 
place  from  whence  the  Kellado,  or  goblin  horse 
without  a  head,  is  said  to  issue  forth  at  midnight 
ind  to  scour  the  streets  of  Granada,  pursued  by  a 
Mck  of  hell-hounds.  Lope  Sanchez  had  little  faith 
in  the  story,  but  availed  himself  of  the  dread  oc- 
casioned by  it,  knowing  that  no  one  would  be  likely 
to  pry  into  the  subterranean  stable  of  the  phantom 
steeil.  He  sent  off  his  family  in  the  course  of  the 
day,  with  orders  to  wait  for  him  at  a  distr  it  village 
of  the  Vega.  As  the  night  advanced,  he  conveyed 
his  treasure  to  the  vault  under  the  tower,  and  having 
loadtil  his  mule,  he  led  it  forth,  and  cautiously  de- 
scended the  dusky  avenue. 

Honest  Lope  had  taken  his  measures  with  the  ut- 
tr.ost  secrecy,  imparting  them  to  no  one  but  the 
faithful  wife  of  his  bosom.  By  some  miraculous 
revelation,  however,  they  became  known  to  Fray 
Si.nion;  the  zealous  friar  beheld  these  infidel  treas- 
iros  on  the  point  of  slipping  for  ever  out  of  his 
^asp,  ap''  determined  to  have  one  more  dash  at 
them  for  ihe  l)enerit  of  the  church  and  San  Fran- 
cisco. Accordingly,  when  the  bells  had  rung  for 
animas,  and  all  the  Alhambra  was  quiet,  he  stole 
out  (if  his  convent,  and,  descending  through  the 
gate  of  Justice,  concealed  himself  among  the  thickets 
of  roses  and  laurels  that  border  the  great  avenue. 
Here  he  remained,  counting  the  quarters  of  hours 
[  M  they  were  sounded  on  the  bell  of  the  watch- 
tov;er,  and  listening  to  the  dreary  hootings  of 
owls,  and  the  distant  barking  of  dogs  from  the 
gipsy  caverns. 

At  length,  he   heard   the  tramp   of  hoofs,  and, 

I  through  the  gloom  of  the  overshadowing  trees,  im- 

piTlectly  l)eheld  a  stee<l  descending  the  avenue.  The 

sturdy  fiiar  chuckled  at  the  idea  ot  the  knowing  turn 

he  was  about  to  serve  honest  Lope.     Tucking  up 

the  skirts  of  his   habit,  and  wriggling  like  a  cat 

I  watching  a  mouse,  he  waited  until  his  prey  was  di- 

lectly  before  him,  when  darting  forth  fr6ni  his  leafy 

;overl,  and  putting  one  hand  on  the  shoulder,  and 

the  other  on  the  crupper,  he  made  a  vault  that  would 

I  i»i  have  disgraced  the  most  experienced  master  of 

liquiiation,  and  alighted  well  forked  astriile  the  steed. 

rAha!"said  the  sturdy  friar,  "we  shall  now  see 

[who  best  ur.derstands  the  game." 

He  had  si:arce  uttered  the  words,  when  the  mule 
lotgar.  to  kick  and  rear  and  plunge,  and  then  set  otT 
III  lull  9|>eed  down  the  hill.  The  friar  attempted  to 
IdiKk  hiin,  but  in  vain.  He  bounded  from  rock  to 
Irock,  and  bush  to  bush ;  .the  friar's  habit  was  torn 
1  0  ribands,  and  fluttered  in  the  wind ;  his  shaven  poll 
Ireceued  many  a  h.ird  knock  from  the  branches  of 
Ithe  trees,  and  many  a  scratch  from  the  brambles. 
|To  add  to  his  terror  and  distress,  he  found  a  pack 
7 


of  seven  hounds  m  fill  cry  at  his  leeb,  and  per- 
ceived, too  late,  that  he  was  actually  mounted  upoc 
the  terrible  Bellado  I 

Away  they  went,  according  to  the  ancient  phrase 
"pull  devil,  pull  friar,"  down  the  f,reat  avenue, 
across  the  Plaza  Nueva,  along  the  Zacatin,  around 
the  Vivarambia, — never  did  huntsman  and  hound 
make  a  more  fui  ious  rut),  or  more  infernal  uproar. 

In  vain  did  the  friar  invoke  every  saint  in  the  kal- 
endar, and  the  holy  virgin  into  the  bargain  ;  every 
time  he  mentioned  a  name  of  the  kind,  it  was  like  a 
fresh  application  of  the  spur  and  m.ide  the  Bellado 
bound  as  high  as  a  house.  Through  the  remainder 
of  the  night  was  the  unlucky  Fray  Simor  carried 
hither  and  thither  and  whither  h'.:  would  not,  until 
evjry  bone  in  his  body  ached,  a-id  he  suffered  a  loss 
of  leather  too  grievous  to  be  mentioned.  At  length, 
the  crowing  of  a  cock  gave  the  signal  of  returning 
day.  At  the  sound,  the  goblir  steed  wheele«l  about, 
and  galloped  back  for  his  tower.  Again  he  scoured 
the  Vivarambia,  the  Zacatin,  the  Plaza  Nueva,  and 
the  avenue  of  fount.ains,  the  seven  dogs  yelling  and 
barking,  and  leaping  up,  and  snapping  at  the  heels 
of  the  territied  friar.  The  first  streak  of  day  had 
just  appeared  as  they  reached  the  tower ;  here  the 
goblin  steed  kicked  up  his  heels,  sent  the  fiiar  a 
somerset  through  the  .air,  plunged  into  the  dark  vault 
followed  by  the  infernal  pack,  and  a  profound  si- 
lence succeeded  to  the  late  deafening  clamour. 

Was  ever  so  diabolical  a  trick  played  off  upon  holy 
friar  ?  A  peasant  going  to  his  labours  at  early  dawn, 
found  the  unfortunate  Fray  Simon  lying  under  a  fig- 
tree  at  the  foot  of  the  tower,  but  so  bruised  and  be- 
deviled, that  he  could  neither  speak  nor  move.  He 
was  conveyed  with  all  care  and  tenderness  to  his 
celt,  and  the  story  went  that  he  had  been  waylaid 
and  maltreated  by  robbers.  A  day  or  two  elapsed 
before  he  recovered  the  use  of  his  limbs :  he  con- 
soled himself  in  the  mean  time,  with  the  thoughts 
that  though  the  mule  with  the  treasure  had  escaped 
him,  he  had  previously  had  some  r.ire  pickings  at 
the  infidel  spoils.  His  first  care  on  being  able  to 
use  his  limbs,  w.as  to  search  beneath  his  pallet, 
where  he  had  secreted  the  myrtle  wreath  and  the 
leathern  pouches  of  gold,  extracted  from  the  piety 
of  dame  Sanchez.  What  was  his  dism.ay  at  finding 
the  wreath,  in  effect,  but  a  withered  branch  of  myr- 
tle, and  the  leathern  pouches  filled  with  sand  and 
gravel ! 

Fray  Simon,  with  all  his  chagrin,  had  the  discre- 
tion to  hold  his  tongue,  for  to  betray  the  secret 
might  draw  on  him  the  ridicule  of  the  pul>lic,  and 
the  punishment  of  his  superior  ;  it  was  not  until 
many  years  afterwards,  on  his  death-bed,  that  he 
revealed  to  his  confessor  his  nocturnal  riile  on  the 
Bellado. 

Nothing  was  heard  of  Lope  Sanchez  for  a  long 
time  after  his  disappearance  from  the  Alhambra 
His  memory  was  always  cherished  as  that  of  a  inerrv 
companion,  though  it  w;is  feared,  from  the  care  anA 
melancholy  bowed  in  his  couduct  shortly  before  his 
mysterious  .cparture,  that  poverty  antl  distress  had 
driven  him  to  some  extremity.  .Some  ye.irs  after 
wards,  one  of  his  old  companions,  an  invalid  soi- 
dier,  being  at  Malag.a,  w.as  knocked  down  and  nearly 
run  over  by  a  coach  antl  six.  The  carriage  stopped ; 
an  old  gentleman,  magnificently  dressed,  with  a  bag- 
wig  and  sword,  steppeil  out  to  .assist  the  poor  inw- 
lid.  What  was  the  astonishment  of  the  lattc  to 
behold  in  this  grand  c.ivalier,  his  old  friend  Lope 
Sanchez,  who  was  actually  celebrating  the  mairiag-* 
of  his  daughter  Sanchica,  with  one  of  the  first  gran 
dees  in  the  land. 

The  carriage  contained  the  bridal  p.srty.  Thert 
was  dame  Sanchez  now  grown  as   r  .nd  is  a  barrel 


(68 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


and  dressed  out  with  feathers  and  jeweis,  and  neck- 
laces of  pearls,  and  necklaces  of  diamonds,  nnd  rings 
on  every  finger,  and  altogether  a  finery  ol  apparel 
that  had  not  been  seeq  since  the  days  ol  Queen 
Sheba.  The  little  Sanchica  had  now  grown  to  be  a 
woman,  and  for  grace  and  beauty  might  have  been 
mistaken  for  a  duchess,  if  not  a  princess  outright. 
The  bridegroom  sat  beside  her,  rather  a  withered, 
fpindle-shanked  little  man,  but  this  only  proved  him 
o  be  of  the  true  blue  blood,  a  legitimate  Spanish 
frandee  being  rarely  above  three  cubits  in  stature. 
The  match  had  been  of  the  mother's  making. 

Kiches  had  not  spoiled  the  heart  of  honest  Lope. 
He  itept  his  old  comrade  with  him  for  several  days  ; 
feasted  him  like  a  king,  took  him  to  plays  and  bull- 
lights,  anil  at  length  sent  him  away  rejoicing,  with 
a  big  b,-»y  of  money  tor  himself,  and  another  to  be 
rlistrihuicd  among  his  ancient  m<issmates  of  jthe 
Alhambra. 

Lope  alw.iys  gave  out  that  a  rich  -rotherhad  died 
in  America,  and  left  him  heir  to  a  copper  mine,  but 
the  shrewd  gossips  of  the  Alhambra  insist  that  his 
wealth  was  all  derived  from  his  having  discovered 
the  secret  guarded  by  the  two  marble  nymphs  of 
the  Alhambra.  It  is  remarked,  that  these  very  dis- 
creet statues  continue  even  unto  the  present  day 
with  their  eyes  fixed  most  significantly  on  the  same 
part  of  the  wall,  which  leads  many  to  suppose  there 
is  still  some  hidden  treasure  remaining  there,  well 
worthy  the  attention  of  the  enterprizing  traveller. 
Though  others,  and  particularly  all  female  visitors, 
regard  them  with  great  complacency,  as  lasting 
monuments  of  the  fact,  that  women  can  keep  a 
»«iret. 


MAHAMAO  ABEN  ALAHMAR: 

IHE  FOUNDER  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA. 


Having  dealt  so  freely  in  the  marvellous  legends 
of  the  Alhambra,  I  feel  as  if  bound  to  give  the  reader 
a  few  facts  concerning  its  sober  history,  or  rather  the 
history  of  those  magnificent  princes,  its  founder  and 
finisher,  to  whom  Eurojje  is  indebted  for  so  beauti- 
ful and  romantic  an  oriental  monument.  To  at- 
tain these  facts,  I  descended  from  this  region  of 
lancy  and  fiction,  where  every  thing  is  liable  to  take 
an  imaginative  tint,  and  carried  my  researches  among 
the  dusty  tomes  of  the  old  Jesuit's  library'  in  the  uni- 
versity. This  once  boasted  repository  of  erudition 
is  now  a  mere  shadow  of  its  former  self,  having  been 
stripped  of  its  manuscripts  and  rarest  works  by  the 
French,  while  masters  of  Granada.  Still  it  contains, 
among  many  pondeious  tomes  of  polemics  of  the 
lesuit  fathers,  several  curious  tracts  of  Spanish 
literature,  and  above  all,  a  number  of  those  antiqua- 
ted, dusty,  parchment-bound  chronicles,  for  which  I 
liave  a  peculiar  veneration. 

In  this  old  library  I  have  p?ssed  many  delightful 
hours  of  quiet,  undisturbed,  literary  foraging,  for  the 
Iteys  of  the  doors  and  bookcases  were  kindly  ei.- 
srusted  to  me,  and  I  was  left  alone  to  rummage  at 
■By  leisure — a  rare  indulgence  in  those  sanctuaries 
of  learning,  which  too  often  tantalize  the  thirsty 
student  with  the  sight  of  sealed  fountains  of  knowl- 
edge. 

In  the  course  of  these  visits  I  gleaned  the  follow- 
Mg  particulars  concerning  the  historical  characters 
la  question. 

The  Moors  of  Granada  regarded  the  Alhambra  as 
i  miracle  of  art,  and  had  a  tradition  that  the  king 


who  founded  it  dealt  in  magic,  or  at  least  was  deeplj 
versed  in  alchymy,  by  means  of  which,  he  procured 
the  immense  sums  of  gold  expended  in  its  erecUon, 
A  brief  view  of  his  reign  will  show  the  real  secret  of 
his  wealth. 

The  name  of  this  monarch,  as  inscribed  on  the 
walls  of  some  of  the  apartments,  was  Aben  Abd'ailan, 
(«.  e.  the  father  of  Abc'allah.)  but  he  is  comirionly 
known  in  Moorish  hislcry  as  Mahamad  Aben  Aiali. 
mar,  (or  Mahamad  son  of  Alahmar.)  or  simply  Abtn 
Alahmar,  for  the  sake  of  brevity. 

He  was  bom  in  Arjona,  in  the  year  of  the  Hcgira, 
591,  of  the  Christian  era,  1195,  of  the  noble  fimilv 
of  the  Beni  Nasar,  or  children  of  Nasar,  and  nu  ex- 
pense was  spared  by  his  parents  to  fit  him  for  the 
high  station  to  which  the  opulence  and  dignity  of  his 
family  entitled  him.  The  Saracens  of  Spain  were 
greatly  advanced  in  civilization.  Every  principal 
city  was  a  seat  of  learning  and  the  arts,  so  th.it  it 
was  easy  to  command  the  most  enlightened  instruct- 
ors for  a  youth  of  rank  and  fortune.  Aben  Alah- 
mar, when  he  arrived  at  manly  years,  was  appointed 
Alcayde  or  governor  of  Arjona  and  Jaen,  and  gained 
great  popularity  by  his  benignity  and  justice.  Some 
years  afterwards,  on  the  death  of  Aben  Hud,  the 
.Moorish  power  of  Spain  was  broken  into  factions, 
and  many  places  declared  for  Mahamad  Aben  Alah- 
mar. Being,  of  a  sanguine  spirit  and  lofty  ambition, 
he  seized  upon  the  occasion,  made  a  circuit  through 
the  country,  and  was  every  where  received  with  ac- 
clamation. It  was  in  the  year  1238  that  he  entered 
Granada  amidst  the  enthusi-ostic  shouts  of  the  mul- 
titude. He  was  proclaimed  king  with  every  demon 
stration  of  joy,  and  soon  became  the  head  of  the 
Moslems  in  Spain,  being  the  first  of  the  illustriou! 
line  of  Beni  Nasar  that  had  sat  upon  the  throne. 

His  reign  was  such  as  to  render  him  a  blessmj;  to 
his  subjects.  lie  gave  the  command  of  his  vatious 
cities  to  such  as  had  distinguished  themselves  by 
valour  and  pru<lence,  and  who  seemed  most  accept- 
able to  the  people.  He  organized  a  vigilant  j^ohcf., 
and  established  rigid  rules  for  the  administration  c! 
justice.  The  poor  and  the  distressed  always  found 
ready  admission  to  his  presence,  and  he  attended 
personally  to  their  assistance  and  redress.  He 
erected  hospitals  for  the  blind,  the  aged,  and  infinn. 
and  all  those  inca|»able  of  labour,  and  visited  thera 
frequently,  not  on  set  days,  with  pomp  and  form,  so 
as  to  give  time  for  every  thing  to  be  put  in  order  and 
every  abuse  concealed,  but  suddenly  and  unexpect- 
edly, informing  himself  by  actual  observation  and 
close  inquiry  of  the  treatment  of  the  sick,  anil  the  1 
conduct  of  those  apix}inted  to  administer  to  their  re 
hef. 

He  founded  schools  and  colleges,  which  he  visited  | 
in  the  s.ame  manner,  inspecting  personally  the  in 
struction  of  the  youth.  He  established  butcheries  I 
and  public  ovens,  that  the  people  might  be  furnished 
with  wholesome  provisions  at  just  and  regular  prices.  I 
He  introduced  abundant  streams  of  water  into  the  I 
city,  erecting  baths  and  fountains,  and  constructing  I 
aqueducts  and  canals  to  irrigate  and  fertilize  the  I 
Vega.  By  these  means,  prosperity  and  abundance  I 
prevailed  ih  this  beautiful  city,  its  gates  were  I 
thronged  with  commerce,  and  its  warehouses  tilled  I 
with  the  luxuries  and  merchandize  of  every  ditnt  | 
and  country. 

While  Mahamad  Aben  Alahmar  was  ruling  hal 
fair  domains  thus  wisely  and  prosperously,  he  was! 
suddenly  menaced  by  the  horrors  of  war.  Thel 
Chri.stians  .at  that  time,  profiting  by  the  dismember  [ 
ment  of  the  Moslem  power,  were  rapidly  regaiiiin|| 
their  ancient  territories.  James  the  Conqueror  had  I 
subjected  all  Valentia,  and  Ferdinand  the  Saint  wail 
carrying  his  victorious  armies  into  Andalusia.    Th(| 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


in> 


t  was  deeplj 

he  procured 

its  erection, 

eal  secret  of 

ribed  on  the 
:n  Abd'ailan, 
is  cominaiily 
i  Aben  Alati- 
simply  Abf.n 

»f  the  Ht'sira, 

noble  f.imilv 
ir,  and  no  ex- 
t  him  for  the 

dij;nity  of  his 
if  Spain  were 
rery   principal 
irts,  so  th.it  it 
ened  instruct- 
Aben  Alah- 
was  appointed 
en,  and  gained 
iustice.     Some 
.ben  Hud,  the 
I  into  factions, 
ad  Aben  Alah- 
lofty  amt)iiion, 
circuit  through 
;eived  with  ac- 
hat he  entered 
uts  of  the  inul- 
h  every  demon 
lie  head  of  the 
f  the  illustrious 
1  the  throne. 
m  a  blessing,  to 
d  of  his  vaiious 

themselves  by 
;d  most  accept- 

vigilant  police, 
Iministration  cl 
;d  always  found 

nd  he  attcmlcd 
redress.     He 

;ed,  and  intinn. 
Ind  visited  them 

np  and  form,  so 

put  in  order  .ml 
and  unexpect- 

•bseivatiou  and  | 

,e  sick,  and  the 

lister  to  their  re 

.ifhich  he  visited 
|rsonally  the  in 
ihed  butcheries 
'ht  be  furnished 
^  regular  iirictrs. 
water  into  the 
id  constructing 
tnd  fertilize  the 
[and  abundance] 
jits    gates  were  I 
larehouses  filled  | 
of  every  dinH 

was  ruling  ha 
erously.  he  was 
of  war.  The 
I  the  dismember 
ipidly  reKaininl 
Conqueioi  had 
\d  the  Saint  wa«! 
Udalusia.    The 


Mter  invested  the  city  of  Jaen,  and  swore  not  to 
r,iise  his  camp  until  he  had  gained  possession  of  the 
place.  Mahamad  Aben  Alahmar  was  conscious  of 
the  insufficiency  of  his  means  to  carry  on  a  war  with 
the  potent  sovereign  of  Castile.  Taking  a  sudden 
resolution,  therefore,  h:  repaired  privately  to  the 
Christian  camp,  and  made  his  unexpected  appear- 
Mice  in  the  presence  of  king  Ferdinand,  "  In  me," 
said  he,  "  you  behohl  Mahamad,  king  of  t^ranada. 
i  confide  in  your  good  faith,  and  put  myself  under 
r:iur  protection.  Take  all  I  possess,  and  receive  me 
IS  your  va.ssal."  So  saying,  he  knelt  and  kissed  the 
ang's  hand  in  token  of  submission. 

Km;?  Ferdinand  was  touched  by  this  inst.ince  of 
confiding  faith,  and  determined  not  to  be  outdone  in 
generosity.  He  raised  hi.s  late  rival  from  the  earth 
and  embraced  him  as  a  friend,  nor  would  he  accept 
the  wealth  he  offered,  but  received  him  as  a  vassal, 
leaving  him  sovereign  of  his  dominions,  on  condition 
of  paying  a  yearly  tribute,  attending  the  cortes  as 
one  of  the  nobles  of  the  empire,  and  serving  him  in 
war  with  a  certain  number  of  horsemen. 

It  was  not  long  after  this  that  Mahamad  was  called 
upon  for  his  military  services,  to  aid  king  Ferdinand 
in  his  famous  siege  of  Seville.  The  Moorish  kin;T 
sallied  forth  with  hve  hundred  chosen  horsemen  of 
Gran.ida,  than  whom  none  in  the  world  knew  better 
how  to  manage  the  steed  or  wield  the  lance.  It  was 
i  melancholy  and  humiliating  service,  however,  for 
they  h.td  to  draw  the  sword  ag.ainst  their  brethren 
of  the  faith,  Mahamad  gained  a  melancholy  dis- 
tinction by  his  prowess  in  this  renowned  con(iuest, 
out  more  true  honour  by  the  humanity  which  he 
Dfcvailed  upon  Ferdinand  to  introduce  into  the  usages 
if  w,ar.  When  in  1248,  the  famous  city  of  Seville 
jurrendered  to  the  Castilian  monarch,  Maham.id 
'Ctumed  sad  and  full  of  care  to  his  dominions.  He 
AW  the  gathering  ills  that  menaced  the  Moslem 
anse,  ami  uttered  an  ejaculation  often  used  by  him 
;■?.  moments  of  anxiety  and  trouble :  "  How  straitened 
»nd  w  retched  would  be  our  life,  if  our  hope  were  not 
so  spacious  and  extensive."* 

When  the  melancholy  conqueror  appro.nched  his 
beloved  Granada,  the  people  thronged  forth  to  see 
him  with  impatient  joy,  for  they  loved  him  as  a  ben- 
efactor. They  h.ad  erected  arches  of  triumph  in 
honour  of  his  martial  exploits,  and  wherever  he 
passed  he  was  hailed  with  acclamations,  as  /t/  Gnlih, 
or  the  contjueror ;  Mahamad  shook  his  head  when 
he  heard  the  appell.uion,  "  Wa  U  Galih  iU  ALi," 
exclaimed  he :  (there  is  no  conqueror  but  God !) 
From  that  time  forward,  he  adopted  this  exclama- 
tion as  a  motto.  He  inscribed  it  on  an  oblique  band 
across  his  escutcheon,  and  it  continued  to  be  the 
motto  of  his  descendants. 

Mahamad  had  purchased  peace  by  submission  to 
the  Christian  yoke,  but  he  knew  that  where  the  ele- 
ments were  so  discordant,  and  the  motives  for  hos- 
lihty  so  deep  and  ancient,  it  could  not  be  secure  or 
permanent.     Acting  therefore  upon  an  old  maxim, 
"arm  thyself  in  peace,  and  clothe  thyself  in  sum- 
mer," he  improved  the  present  interval  of  tranquil- 
jlityby  Ibrtilying  his  dominions  and  replenishing  his 
tisetials,  and  by  promoting  those  useful  arts  wliich 
I  jlic  wealth  and  real  power  to  an  empire.     He  gave 
jjremiums  and  privileges  to  the  best  arti/.-ans ;  im- 
froved  the  breed  of  horses  and  other  domestic  ani- 
ir.jils ;  encouraged   husbandry ;   and   increased   the 
Itatunil  .''rrtiUty  of  the  soil  twofold  by  his  protection, 
I  making  the  lonely  v.alleys  of  his  kingdom  to  bloom 
I  like  jjardens.     He   fostered   also   the   growth   and 
lubrication  of  silk,  until  the  looms  of  Granada  sur- 
I  passed  even  those  of  Syria  in  the  fineness  and  beauty 

'"Que  anROile  y  miiieribila  >erU  nuotra  vida,  lino  fuera  tan 
I  fUuUa  V  eipaciuu  n  iwira  aperanu  I " 


of  their  productions.  He,  moreover,  canse.l  the 
mines  of  gold  and  silver,  and  other  metals  found  in 
the  mountainous  regions  of  his  dominions,  to  be 
diligently  worked,  and  was  the  first  king  of  Granada 
who  struck  money  of  gold  and  silver  with  his  name, 
taking  great  care  that  the  coins  should  be  skilfully 
executed. 

It  was  about  this  time,  towards  the  middle  of  the 
thirteenth  century,  and  just  alter  his  return, from  the 
siege  of  Seville,  that  he  commenced  the  splendid 
palace  of  the  Alhambra :  superintending  the  build- 
ing of  it  in  person,  mingling  frequently  among  the 
artists  and  workmen,  and  directing  their  labours. 

Though  thus  mign'.ficent  in  his  works,  and  great 
in  his  enterprises,  he  was  simple  in  his  person,  and 
moderate  in  his  enjoyments.  His  dress  w.as  not 
merely  void  of  splendour,  but  so  plain  as  not  to  dis- 
tinguish him  from  ins  subjects.  His  harem  boasted 
but  lew  beauties,  and  tfiese  he  visited  but  seldom, 
though  they  were  entertained  with  great  magiiifi- 
cence.  His  wives  were  daughters  ot  the  principal 
nobles,  and  were  treated  by  him  as  friends  and  ra- 
tional comp.inions;  what  is  more,  he  managed  to 
make  them  live  as  friends  with  one  another. 

He  passed  much  of  his  time  in  his  gardens;  es- 
pecially in  those  of  the  Alhambra,  wliich  he  had 
stored  with  the  rarest  plants,  and  the  most  beauti- 
ful and  aromatic  flowers.  Here  he  delighted  him- 
self in  reading  histories,  or  in  causing  them  to  be 
read  and  related  to  him ;  and  sometimes,  in  inter- 
vals of  leisure,  employed  himself  in  the  instruction 
of  his  three  sons,  lor  whom  he  had  provided  tlw 
most  learned  and  virtuous  masters. 

As  he  had  frankly  and  voluntarily  offered  himself 
a  tributary  vassal  to  Ferdinand,  so  he  always  re- 
mained loyal  to  his  word,  giving  him  repeated  proofs 
of  fidelity  and  attachment.  When  that  renowncri 
monarch  died  in  Seville,  in  1254,  Mahanuid  Aben 
Alahmar  sent  ambassadors  to  condole  with  his  sue 
cessor,  Alon/o  -X.,  and  with  them  a  gallant  train  ot 
a  hundred  Moorish  cavaliers  of  distinguished  rank, 
who  were  to  attend,  each  bearing  a  lighted  taper 
roiind  the  royal  bier,  during  the  funeral  ceremonies. 
This  gr.md  testimonial  of  respect  was  rejieated  by 
the  .Moslem  monarch  during  the  remainder  of  his 
life,  on  e.ach  anniversary  of  the  death  of  King  Fer- 
nando el  Santo,  when  the  hundred  Moorish  knights 
rep.iired  from  Granada  to  Seville,  and  took  their 
stations  with  lighted  tapers  in  the  centre  of  the 
suinpuious  cathedral  round  the  cenotaph  of  the  il- 
lustrious deceased. 

Mahamad  Aben  Alahmar  retained  his  faculties 
and  vigour  to  an  advanced  age.  In  his  seventy- 
ninth  year  he  took  the  field  on  horseback,  accom- 
panied by  the  flower  of  his  chivalry,  to  resist  an  in- 
vasion of  his  territories.  As  the  army  sallied  forth 
from  Gran.ida,  one  of  the  princip.1l  adalides  or 
guules,  who  rode  in  the  advance,  accidentally  broke 
his  lance  against  the  arch  of  the  gate.  The  coun- 
sellors of  the  king,  alarmed  by  this  circumstance, 
which  was  considered  an  evil  omen,  entreated  him 
to  return.  Their  supplications  were  in  vain.  The 
king  persisted,  and  at  noon-tide  the  omen,  say  the 
Moorish  chroniclers,  was  fatally  fulfilled.  Mahamad 
was  suddenly  struck  with  illness,  and  had  neatly 
fallen  from  his  horse.  He  was  placed  en  a  litter, 
and  liorne  back  towards  Granada,  but  his  illness  in- 
creased to  such  a  degree,  that  they  were  obliged  to 
pitch  his  tent  in  the  Vega.  His  physicians  were 
filled  with  consternation,  not  knowing  what  remedy 
to  prescribe.  In  a  few  hours  he  died  vomiting  blood, 
and  in  violent  convulsions.  The  Castilian  prince. 
Don  Philip,  brother  of  Alonzo  X.,  was  by  his  side 
when  he  expired.  His  body  was  embalmed,  enclosed 
in  a  silver  coffin,  and  buried  in  the  Alhambia.  in  s 


if 

I 
I 


(70 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


lepulcnre  of  precious  marble,  amidst  the  unfeigned 
lamentations  of  his  Subjects,  who  bewailed  him  as  a 
parent. 

Such  was  the  enlightened  patriot  prince,  who 
founded  the  Alhambra,  whose  name  remains  em- 
blaxoned  among  its  most  delicate  and  graceful  orna- 
ments, and  whose  memory  is  calculated  to  inspire 
the  loftiest  associations  in  those  who  tread  these 
&ding  scenes  of  his  magnificence  and  glory.  Though 
iis  undertakings  were  vast,  and  his  expenditures 
onmense,  yet  his  treasury  was  always  full ;  and  this 
teeming  contradiction  gave  rise  to  the  story  that  he 
was  versed  in  magic  art  and  possessed  of  the  secret 
for  transmuting  baser  metals  into  gold.  * 

Those  who  n.^ve  attended  to  his  domestic  policy, 
iS  here  set  forth,  will  easily  understand  the  natural 
magie-and  simple  alchymy  which  made  his  ample 
treasury  to  overflow. 


JUSEF  ABUL  HAGIAS: 

THE   FINISHER  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA. 


Beneath  the  governor's  apartment  in  the  Al- 
hambra, is  the  royal  Mosque,  where  the  Moorish 
monarchs  performed  their  private  devotions.  Though 
consecrated  as  a  Catholic  chapel,  it  still  bears  traces 
of  its  Moslem  origin;  the  Saracenic  columns  with 
their  gilded  capitals,  and  the  latticed  gallery  for  the 
females  of  the  harem,  may  yet  be  seen,  and  the 
escutcheons  of  the  Moorish  kings  are  mingled  on 
the  walls  with  those  of  the  Castilian  sovereigns. 

In  this  consecrated  place  perished  the  illustrious 
Jusef  Abul  Hagias,  the  high-minded  prince  who 
;X)mpleted  the  Alhambra,  and  who,  for  his  virtues 
*nd  endowments,  deserves  almost  equal  renown  with 
its  magnanimous  founder.  It  is  with  pleasure  1  draw 
forth  from  the  obscurity  in  which  it  has  too  long 
remained,  the  name  of  another  of  those  princes  of  a 
departed  and  almost  forgotten  race,  who  reigned  in 
elegance  and  splendour  in  Andalusia,  when  all  Eu- 
rope was  in  comparative  barbarism. 

Jusef  Abul  Hagias,  (or,  as  it  is  sometimes  written, 
Haxis,)  ascended  the  throne  of  Granada  in  the  year 
'333>  *"'!  f^'S  personal  appearance  and  mental  quali- 
ties were  such  as  to  win  all  hearts,  and  to  awaken 
anticipations  of  a  benclicent  and  prosperous  reign. 
He  was  of  a  noble  presence  and  great  bodily  strength, 
united  to  manly  beauty.  His  complexion  was  ex- 
ceeding fair,  and,  according  to  the  Arabian  chron- 
iclers, he  heightened  the  gravity  and  majesty  of  his 
appearance  by  suffering  his  beard  to  grow  to  a  dig- 
nihe<l  length,  and  dying  it  black.  He  had  an  excel- 
lent memory,  well  stored  with  science  and  erudition ; 
he  was  of  a  lively  genius,  and  accounted  the  best 
poet  ol  his  time,  and  his  manners  were  gentle,  affa- 
ble, and  urbane. 

Jusef  possessed  the  courage  common  to  all  gener- 
ous spirits,  but  his  genius  was  more  calculated  for 
pieace  than  war,  and,  though  obliged  to  take  up 
itrms  repeatedly  in  his  time,  he  was  generally  un- 
Xjrtuaate.  He  carried  the  benignity  of  his  nature 
jito  waifare,  prohibiting  all  wanton  cruelty,  and 
enjoining  mercy  and  protection  towards  women  and 
children,  the  aged  and  infirm,  and  all  friars  and  per- 
sons of  holy  and  recluse  life.  Among  other  ill- 
Uarred  eriterprizes,  he  undertook  a  great  canipaign 
In  conjunction  with  the  king  of  Morocco,  against  tne 
kings  of  Castile  and  Portugal,  but  was  defeated  in 
Uie  memorable  battle  of  balado;  a  disastrous  re- 


verse which  had  nearly  proved  a  death  blow  ^o  th< 
Moslem  power  in  Spain. 

Jusef  obtained  a  long  truce  after  this  defeat,  dur- 
ing which  time  he  devoted  himse  f  to  the  instruction 
of  his  people  and  the  improvement  o'  their  inorals 
and  manners.  For  this  purpose  be  cstabiisherl 
schools  in  all  the  villages,  with  simple  ar  d  uniforni 
systems  of  education ;  he  obliged  every  h'inilei  o! 
more  than  twelve  houses  to  nave  a  Mosque,  an.l 
prohibited  various  abuses  and  indecorums,  thai  hid 
been  introduced  into  the  ceremonies  of  religion,  and 
the  festivals  and  public  amusements  of  the  |)eopl: 
He  attended  vigilantly  to  the  police  of  the  city, 
establishing  nocturnal  guards  and  patrols,  and  super- 
intending all  municipal  concerns. 

Hia^attention  was  also  directed  towards  finishing 
the  great  architectural  works  commenced  by  his 
predecessors,  and  electing  others  on  his  own  pims, 
The  Alhambra.  which  had  been  founded  by  ih{ 
good  Aben  Alahmar,  was  now  completed.  Jusef 
cohstructed  the  beautiful  gate  of  Justice,  fortnin^  tl« 
grand  entrance  to  the  fortress,  which  he  finishH  la 
1348.  He  likewise  adorned  many  of  the  courts  and 
halls  of  the  palace,  as  may  be  seen  by  the  inscrip- 
tions on  the  walls,  in  whicb  his  name  repeatedly 
occurs.  He  buili  also  the  noble  Alcazar,  or  citadel 
of  Malaga ;  now  unfortunately  a  mere  mass  of  crum- 
bling ruins,  but  which,  probably,  exhibited  in  its  in- 
terior similar  elegance  and  magnificence  with  the 
Alhambra. 

The  genius  of  a  sovereign  stamps  a  character  upon 
his  time.  The  nobles  of  Granada,  imitating  tht 
elegant  and  graceful  taste  of  Jusef,  soon  filled  the 
city  of  Granada  with  magnificent  palaces  ;  the  hallj 
of  which  paved  in  Mosaic,  the  walls  and  ceilingi 
wrought  in  fret-work,  and  delicately  gilded  and 
painted  with  azure,  vermilion,  and  other  brilliam 
colours,  or  minutely  inlaid  with  cedar  and  oth;i 
precious  woods ;  specimens  of  which  have  survived 
in  all  their  lustre  the  lapse  of  several  centuries. 

Many  of  the  houses  had  fountains,  which  threw 
up  jets  of  water  to  refresh  and  cool  the  air.  1  hej 
had  lofty  towers  also,  of  wood  or  stone,  curiously 
carved  and  ornamented,  and  covered  with  plates  of 
metal  that  glittered  in  the  sun.  Such  was  the  retined 
and  delicate  taste  in  architecture  that  prevailed 
among  this  elegant  people ;  insomuch,  that  to  use 
the  beautiful  simile  of  an  Arabian  writer,  "Cn-\ 
niuU,  in  the  days  of  Jusef,  was  as  a  silver  vase  tilled  | 
with  emeralds  and  jacinths." 

One  anecdote  will  be  sufficient  to  show  the  mag- 
nanimity of  this  generous  prince.     The  long  truce  1 
wl.       had  succeeded  the  battle  of  Salado,  was  at  an  | 
end,  and  2very  effort  of  Jusef  to  renew  it  was  in  vain, 
His  deadly  foe,  Alfonso  XI.  of  Castile,  took  the  tield  I 
with  great  force,  and  laid  siege  to  Gibraltar.    Jusef 
reluctantly  took  up  arms,  and  sent  troops  to  the  re- 
lief of  the  place;  when,  in  the  midst  of  his  anxiety, 
he  received  tidings  that  his  dreaded  foe  had  suddenly 
fallen  a  victim  to  the  plague.     Instead  of  manifest- 
ing exultation  on  the  occasion,  Jusef  called  to  mind  I 
the  great  qualities  of  the  deceased,  and  was  touched  I 
with  a  noble  sorrow.   "  Alas  !  "  cried  he,  "  the  world 
has  lost  one  of  its  most  excellent  princes ;  a  sever-  [ 
eign  who  knew  how  to  honour  merit,  whether  inj 
friend  or  foe ! " 

The  Spanish  chroniclers  themselves  bear  witness  I 
to  this  magnanimity.  According  to  their  accounts  r 
the  Moorish  cavaliers  partook  of  the  sentitnen'  ol 
their  king,  and  put  on  mourning  for  the  death  of  Al  I 
fonso.  Even  those  of  Gibraltar,  who  had  befii  so  I 
closely  invested,  when  they  knew  that  the  hostiltl 
monarch  lay  dead  in  his  cairp,  determined  I'mongl 
themselves  that  no  hostile  movement  ihou'd  b(| 
made  against  the  Christians. 


THE  ALHAMBRA. 


171 


h  blow  to  th« 

s  defeat,  dur- 
he  instruction 
'  their  morals 
K,  established 
;  a:  il  uniiomi 
try  h'inilci  o! 
Mosque,  an,^ 
rams,  that  hod 
)f  religion,  ar.d 
of  the  i^eopie 
e  of  the  city, 
ols,  and  super« 

yards  finishing 
ncnced  by  his 
his  own  pliiis, 
)un(led  l)y  th( 
ipleted.  Jusef 
ice,  forming  th« 
I  he  finishe'l  ii 
the  courts  and 
by  the  inscrip. 
ame  rei»eaiediy 
:a2ar,  or  citadel 
;  mass  of  crum- 
iiibiled  in  its  in- 
cence  with  the 

I  character  upon 
I,  imitating  the 

soon  filled  th« 
ilaces ;  the  hails 
ills  and  ceilinp 
Lely  gilded  and 
,  other  brilliani 
:edar  and  oth;i 
h  have  survived 

centuries. 
ns,  which  threw 
i  the  air.    They 
stone,  curiously 
d  with  plates  of 

was  the  rt'tined 

that    prevailed 

uch,  that  to  use 

writer,    "(.ra- 

silver  vase  hlled 

show  the  mag- 
The  long  truce 
alado,  was  at  an 
:w  it  was  in  vain, 
le,  took  the  tield  | 
■ibraltar.    Jusef 
troops  to  the  r^  1 
it  of  his  anxiety, 
be  had  suddenly  | 
ead  of  manifest- 
;f  called  to  mind  I 
ind  was  touched! 
he,  "  the  world  I 
jrinces ;  a  sovcr-  f 
lerit,  whether  in  I 

ves  bear  witness  I 
o  their  accounts  f 
he  sentimeii'  ol 
the  death  of  Al  I 
ho  had  bci'ii  soj 
that  the  hostile  I 
ermined  imongl 
ent  ihou'd  be  I 


iTte  (lay  on  which  the  camp  was  broken  up,  and 
(he  army  departed,  bearing  the  corpse  of  Alfonso, 
the  Moors  issued  in  multitudes  from  Gibraltar,  and 
jtood  mute  and  melancholy,  watching  the  mournful 
pageant.  The  same  reverence  for  the  deceased  was 
observed  by  all  the  Moorish  commanders  on  the 
frontiers,  who  suffered  the  funeral  train  to  pass  in 
safety,  bearing  the  corpse  of  the  Christian  sovereign 
from  Gibraltar  to  Seville.* 

Jusef  did  not  long  survive  the  enemy  he  had  so 
generously  deplored.  In  the  year  1354,33  he  was 
one  day  praying  in  the  royal  mosque  of  the  Alham- 
bra,  a  maniac  rushed  suddenly  from  behind,  and 
plunged  a  dagger  in  his  side.  The  cries  of  the  king 
Brought  his  guards  and  courtiers  to  his  assistance. 
They  found  him  wf.-ltering  in  his  blood,  and  in  con- 


*"V  loi  Moroa  qne  eslaban  en  la  villa  y  Castillo  deGibralU- 
topuet  que  topieron  que  el  Rey  Don  Alontu  en  miterto,  order 
■tron  entrai  que  Dinguiio  Don  fuewe  oudo  de  Cuer  ningun  movi- 
•icoio  contra  lot  Chriitianoi,  nin  mover  pelear  contra  elloi,  tt- 
lovieroa  todoi  qucdot  ^denan  entr*  elloi  que  aquel  dia  muriera  ua 
lakl*  KT  y  fraa  priaapa  dal  muado  I " 


vulsions.  He  was  borne  to  the  roya\  apartments, 
but  expired  almost  immediately.  The  murderer'  was 
cut  to  pieces,  and  his  limbs  burnt  in  public,  to  gratifj 
the  fury  of  the  populace. 

The  body  of  the  king  was  interred  in  a  superk 
sepulchre  of  white  marble;  a  long  epitaph  in  letters 
of  gold  upon  an  azure  ground  recorded  his  virtues. 
"  Here  lies  a  king  and  martyr  of  an  illustrious  line , 
gentle,  learned  and  virtuous;  renowned  for  the 
graces  of  his  person  and  his  manners ;  whose 
clemency,  piety,  and  benevolence,  were  extolled 
throughout  the  kingdom  of  Grapada.  He  was  a 
great  prince,  an  illustrious  captain ;  a  sharp  sword 
of  the  Moslems ;  a  valiant  standard-bearer  among 
the  most  potent  nnonarchs,"  &c. 

The  mosc^ue  stiU  remains,  which  once  resounded 
with  the  dying  ties  of  Jusef.  but  the  monument 
which  recorded  h's  virtues,  has  long  since  disa|>> 
peared.  His  name,  however,  remains  inscribed 
among  the  ornaments  of  the  Alhambra,  and  will 
be  peri)etuated  in  connexion  with  this  renowned 
pile,  which  it  was  his  pride  and  delight  tc  beautifv 


AC 


r^ 


L^<  J 


m 


^: 


AI.THOTTOII 

ot  the  vonertb 

sapcrstructare 

oiain  of  bis  wo 
Agipida.  who 
name  is  not  t( 
Spanish  authoi 
he  appears  to  I 
luthurs  of  Spa 
rents  and  call 
dreaming  of  bi 
cTidently  was 
particulars  of  l 
the  Moors — a  t 
with  the  weeds 
cause  of  the  C; 
IS  a  model  of  t 
recorded  with 
amp'js  of  the  c 
i^retted,  there 
ilie  libraries  of 
iaring  the  late 
II  now  to  be  n; 
Tliese,  however 
;nto  oblivion,  as 
be  found  in  any 
therefore,  the  m 
will  be  adopted 
6!led  up,  ezten 
ritations  from  v 
bian,  who  have 
wish  to  know  1 
chronicle  of  Fra 
their  curiosity  b; 
which  are  carei 
Escurial. 

Before  enterii 
to  notice  the  oj 
and  devout  hisi 
to  this  war. 

Marinus  Sicul 
it  a  war  to  aveii( 
Christians  from 
Granada,  and  t( 
Christian  relijfic 

Estevan  de  G; 
inion(5  the  Spai 
•pecial  act  of  di 
the  end  that  th 
liVgcd  out  so 
Jppression  of  tl 
Kn^th  be  reduci 

Padre  Marian 
Host  renowned 
domination  of  tt 
Spanish  nation, 
»ar  with  Grana 


•  Lucio  Marino  Si 

♦  Guilwy,  Compt 


A  Chronicle  of  the  Conquest  of  Granada. 


BY  FRAY  ANTONIO  AGAPIDA. 


INTRODUCTION. 


AiTKOiroTi  the  following  Chronicle  bears  the  name 
ot  ihs  venerable  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  it  is  rather  a 
soperstructure  reared  upon  the  fraftments  which  re- 
main of  his  work.  It  may  be  asked.  Who  is  this  same 
Agapida,  who  is  cited  with  such  deference,  yet  whose 
name  is  not  to  be  found  in  any  of  the  catalogues  of 
Spanish  authors?  The  question  is  hard  to  answer: 
he  appears  to  have  been  one  of  the  many  indefatigable 
authors  of  Spain,  who  have  filled  the  libraries  of  con- 
vents and  cathedrals  with  their  tomes,  without  ever 
dreaming  of  bringing  their  labors  to  the  press,  lie 
evidently  was  deeply  and  accurately  informed  of  the 
particulars  of  the  wars  between  his  countrymen  and 
the  Moors — a  tract  of  history  but  too  much  overgrown 
with  the  weeds  of  fable.  His  glowing  zeal,  also,  i'l  the 
cause  of  the  Catholic  faith,  entitles  him  to  be  hc'.d  up 
as  a  model  of  the  good  old  orthodox  chronicler-4,  who 
rerorded  with  such  pious  exultation  the  united  tri- 
sBip'JS  of  the  cross  and  the  sword.  It  is  deeply  to  be 
iggretted,  therefore,  that  his  manuscripts,  deposited  in 
ibe  libraries  of  various  convents,  have  been  dispersed 
ioring  the  late  convulsions  in  Spain,  so  that  nothing 
II  now  to  be  met  of  them  but  disjointed  fragments. 
T'.iese,  however,  are  too  precious  to  be  suifercd  to  fall 
;nto  oblivion,  as  they  contain  many  curious  (acts,  not  to 
be  found  in  any  other  historian.  In  the  following  work, 
therefore,  the  manuscript  of  the  worthy  Fray  Antonio 
will  be  adopted,  wherever  it  exists  entire  ;  but  will  be 
6!led  up,  extended,  illustrated,  and  corroborated,  by 
ritations  from  various  authors,  both  Spanish  and  Ara- 
bian, who  have  treated  of  the  subject.  Those  who  may 
wish  to  know  how  far  the  work  is  indebted  to  the 
chronicle  of  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  may  readily  satisfy 
their  curiosity  by  referring  to  his  manuscript  fragments, 
which  are  carefully  preserved  in  the  library  of  the 
Escurial. 

Before  entering  upon  the  history,  it  may  be  as  well 
to  notice  the  opinions  of  certain  of  the  most  learned 
and  devout  historiographers  of  former  times,  relative 
to  this  war. 

.Marinus  Siculus,  historian  to  Charles  V.,  pronounces 
it  a  war  to  avenge  the  ancient  injuries  received  by  the 
Christians  from  the  Moors,  to  recover  the  kingdom  of 
Granada,  and  to  extend  the  name  and  honor  of  the 
Christian  religion.* 

Estevan  de  Garibay,  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
among  the  Spanish  historians,  regards  the  war  as  a 
tpecial  act  of  divine  clemency  towards  the  Moors  ;  to 
the  end  that  those  barbarians  and  infidels,  who  had 
i:Vged  out  so  many  centuries  under  the  diabolical 
oppression  of  the  absurd  sect  of  Mahomet,  should  at 
i(nt(th  be  reduced  to  the  Christian  faith. f 

Padre  Mariana,  also,  a  venerable  Jesuit,  and  the 
aost  renowned  historian  of  Spain,  considers  the  past 
domination  of  the  Moors  as  a  scourge  inflicted  on  the 
Spanish  nation,  for  its  iniquities  ;  but  the  triumphant 
war  with  Granada,  as  the  reward  of  Heaven  for  its 


*  Uicio  Marino  Sieolo,  Cotu  Memorabilo  da  Etpata,  lik.  so. 

*  G«rib«r,  Compcnd.  Hiit.  Etpab,  lib.  i8,  c.  *«. 


gteat  act  of  propitiation  in  cF.ab'.iea  Kg  the  gioriont 
tribunal  of  the  Inquisition  !  No  sooner  (says  th; 
worthy  father)  was  this  holy  office  opened  in  Spaiu, 
than  there  instantly  shone  forth  a  resplendent  light. 
Then  it  was,  that,  through  divine  favor,  the  nation  in 
creased  in  power,  and  became  competent  to  overthrow 
and  trample  down  the  Moorish  domination.* 

Having  thus  cited  high  and  venerable  authority  for 
considering  this  war  in  the  light  of  one  of  those  pioui 
enterprises  denominated  crusades,  we  trust  we  have 
said  enough  to  engage  the  Christian  reader  to  follow 
us  into  the  field,  and  to  stand  by  us  to  the  ver>'  issue 
ot  the  encounter. 


CHAPTER  I. 


OF  THE  KINGDOM  OF  GRANADA,  AND  THE  TRIBUTJ 
WHICH  IT  PAID  TO  THE  CASTILIAN  CROWN, 

The  history  of  those  bloody  and  disa.strous  Wiits. 
which  have  caused  the  downfall  of  mighty  empires 
(observes  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,)  has  evti  been 
considered  a  study  highly  delectable,  and  full  of 
precious  edification.  What  then  must  be  the  history 
of  a  pious  crusade,  waged  by  the  most  Catholic  ot 
sovereigns,  to  rescue  from  the  power  of  the  Infidels 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  but  benighted  regions  of 
the  globe  ?  Listen  then,  while,  froin  the  solitude  of 
my  cell,  I  relate  the  events  of  the  conquest  of  Gra- 
nada, where  Christian  knight  and  turbaned  Infidel 
disputed,  inch  by  inch,  the  fair  land  of  Andalusia, 
until  the  crescent,  that  symbol  of  heathenish  abomi- 
nation, was  cast  down,  and  the  blessed  cross,  the 
tree  of  our  redemption,  erected  in  its  stead. 

Nearly  eight  hundred  years  were  past  and  gone, 
since  the  Arabian  invaders  had  sealed  the  perdition 
of  Spain,  by  the  defeat  of  Don  Roderick,  the  la.st 
of  her  Gothic  kings.  Since  that  disastrous  event, 
kingdom  after  kingdom  had  been  gradually  recover- 
ed ny  the  Christian  princes,  until  the  single,  but 
powerful,  territory  of  Granada  alone  remained  under 
domination  of  the  Moors. 

This  renowned  kingdom  was  situated  in  the 
southern  part  of  Spain,  bordering  on  the  Mediter- 
ranean sea,  and  defended  on  the  land  side  by  lofty 
and  rugged  mountains,  locking  up  within  their  em- 
braces, deep,  rich,  and  verdant  valleys,  where  the 
sterility  of  the  surrounding  heights  was  repaid  Ly 
prodigal  fertility.  The  city  of  Granada  lay  in  the 
centre  of  the  kingdom,  sheltered  as  it  were  in  the 
lap  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  or  chain  of  snowy  mount- 
ains. It  covered  two  lofty  hills,  and  a  deep  valley 
which  divides  them,  through  which  flows  the  river 
Darro.  One  of  these  hills  was  crowned  by  the 
royal  palace  and  fortress  of  the  Alhambra,  capable 
of  containing  forty  thousand  men  within  its  walls 
and  towers.    There  is  a  Moorish  tradition,  that  thr 


», 


*  Mariana,  Hiit.  EipaAa,  lib.  as,  c,  i. 


(178) 


174 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


•ing  wno  built  this  mighty  pile,  was  skilled  in  the 
occult  sciences.  an<l  furnislieu  himself  with  gold  and 
silver  for  the  purpose  by  means  of  alchemy.*  Cer- 
Minly,  never  was  there  an  edifice  accomplished  in  a 
superior  st\!e  of  barbaric  magnihcence ;  and  the 
Btianger  who,  even  at  the  present  day,  wanders 
among  its  silent  and  deserted  courts  and  ruined 
-halls,  gazes  with  astonishment  at  its  gilded  and  fret- 
tei.  domes  and  luxurious  decorations,  still  retaining 
Ihrir  brilliancy  and  beauty  in  defiance  of  the  ravages 
Ot  tim:. 

Opposite  to  the  hill  on  which  stood  the  Alhambra, 
was  its  rival  hill,  on  the  summit  of  which  was  a 
spacious  plain,  covered  with  houses  and  crowded 
with  inhabitants.  It  was  commanded  by  a  fortress 
called  the  Alcazaba.  The  declivities  and  skirts  of 
these  hills  were  covered  with  houses  to  the~  number 
of  seventy  thousand,  separated  by  narrow  streets 
and  small  squares,  according  to  the  custom  of  Moor- 
ish cities.  The  houses  had  interior  courts  and  gar- 
dens, refreshed  by  fountains  and  running  streams, 
and  set  out  with  oranges,  citrons,  and  pomegranates, 
so  that  as  the  edifices  of  the  city  rose  above  each 
other  on  the  sides  of  the  hill,  they  presented  a  min- 
gled appearance  of  city  and  grove,  delightful  to  the 
eye.  The  whole  w.as  surrounded  by  high  walls,  three 
leagues  in  circuit,  with  twelve  gates,  and  fortified 
by  a  thousand  and  thirty  towers.  The  elevation  of 
the  city,  and  the  neighborhood  of  the  Sierra  Nevada 
crowned  with  perpetual  snows,  tempered  the  fervid 
rays  of  summer ;  so  that,  while  other  cities  were 
panting  with  the  sultry  and  stilling  heat  of  the  dog- 
days,  the  most  salubrious  breezes  played  through 
the  marble  halls  of  Granada. 

The  glory  of  the  city,  however,  was  its  vega  or 
plain,  w-hich  spread  out  to  a  circumference  of  thirty- 
seven  leagues,  surrounded  by  lofty  mountains.  It 
W.13  a  vast  garden  of  delight,  refreshed  by  numerous 
fountains,  and  by  the  silver  windings  of  the  Xenil. 
The  labor  and  ingenuity  of  the  Moors  had  diverted 
the  waters  of  this  river  into  thousands  of  rills  and 
streams,  and  diffused  them  over  the  whole  surface 
of  the  plain.  Indeed,  they  had  wrought  up  this 
happy  region  to  a  degree  of  wonderful  prosperity, 
and  took  a  prifle  in  decorating  it.  as  if  it  had  been  a 
favorite  mistress.  The  hills  were  clothed  with  or- 
chards and  vineyards,  the  valleys  embroidered  with 
gardens,  and  the  wide  plains  covered  with  waving 
grain.  Here  were  seen  in  profusion  the  orange,  the 
citroa  tb:  He,  and  pomegranate,  with  great  planta- 
tions of  mulberry  trees,  from  which  was  produced 
the  finest  of  silk.  The  vine  clamliered  from  tree  to 
tree;  the  grapes  hung  in  rich  clusters  about  the 
peasant's  cottage,  and  the  groves  were  rejoiced  by 
the  perpetual  song  of  the  nightmgale.  In  a  word, 
so  beautiful  was  the  earth,  so  pure  the  air,  and  so 
serene  the  sky,  of  this  delicious  region,  that  the 
Moors  imagined  the  paradise  of  their  Prophet  to  be 
situated  in  that  part  of  the  heaven  which  overhung 
the  kingdom  of  Granada.t 

This  rich  and  populous  territory  had  been  left  in 
quiet  possession  of  the  Infidels,  on  condition  of  an 
annual  tribute  to  the  sovereign  of  Castile  and  Leon, 
ol  two  thousand  doblas  or  pistoles  of  gold,  and  six- 
i&'u  hundred  Christian  captives;  or,  in  default  of 
capt.ves,  an  equal  number  of  Moors  to  be  surren- 
dered as  slaves ;  all  to  be  delivered  in  the  city  of 
Cordova.J 

At  the  era  at  which  this  chronicle  commences, 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  of  glorious  and  happy  mem- 
ory, reigned  over  the  united  kingdoms  of  Castile, 

*  Zurita,  lib.  lo.  c  4a. 

t  Jaaa  BoUro  Bcaat.    RcUoobm  tJni*«nalc*  <lal  Mi4i. 

t  Ouibay.    Comptod.  lib.  4.  c.  »$• 


Leon,  and  Arragon ;  and  Muley  Aoen  Hassan  ui 
on  the  throne  of  dranada.  This  Muley  Aben  Hassan 
had  succeeded  to  his  father  Ismael  in  146$,  whilt 
Henry  IV.,  brother  and  immediate  predecessor  of 
queen  Isabella,  was  king  of  Castile  and  Leon.  }\t 
was  of  the  illustrious  lineage  of  Mohammed  A  bun 
Alaman,  the  first  Moorish  king  of  Granada,  and  wit 
the  most  potent  of  his  line.  He  had  in  fact  aui% 
mented  in  power,  in  consetjuence  of  the  fall  of  otirj 
Moorish  kingdoms,  which  had  been  conquered  l:y 
the  Christians.  Many  cities  and  strong  places  ol 
those  kingdoms,  which  lay  contiguous  to  Granadn, 
had  refused  to  submit  to  Christian  vassalage,  and  had 
sheltered  themselves  under  the  protection  of  Muliy 
Al>cn  Hassan.  His  territories  had  thus  increased  in 
wealth,  extent,  and  population,  beyond  all  fonner 
example,  and  contained  fourteen  cities  and  ninety. 
seven  fortified  towns,  besides  numerous  unwalle'l 
towns  and  villages,  defended  by  formidable  cxstlfj, 
The  spirit  of  Muley  Aben  Hassan  swelled  with  his 
possessions. 

The  tribute  of  money  and  captives  had  been 
regularly  paid  by  his  .'ather  Ismael;  and  Mi!li\ 
Aben  H.issan  had  jn  one  occ.ision,  attended  pi^r. 
sonally  in  Cordova  at  the  payment.  He  had  wit- 
nessed the  taunts  and  sneers  of  the  haughty  Ciis- 
tilians  ;  and  so  indignant  was  the  proud  son  of  A  trie 
at  what  he  considered  a  degradation  of  his  race,  tivi! 
his  blood  boiled  whenever  he  recollected  the  huiT.,ii. 
ating  scene. 

\Vhen  he  came  to  the  throne,  he  ceased  all  pay- 
ment of  the  tribute;  and  it  was  sulficient  to  put  hiin 
in  a  transport  of  rage,  only  to  mention  it.  "  He  was 
a  fierce  and  warlike  Infidel,"  says  the  Catholic  Kray 
Antonio  Aganida  ;  "  his  bitterness  against  the  huly 
Christian  faitn  had  been  signalized  in  battle,  durii!^ 
the  life-time  of  his  father ;  and  the  same  diabolical 
spirit  of  hostility  was  apparent  in  his  ceasing  to  pay 
this  most  righteous  tribute." 


CHAPTER  II. 


HOW  THE  CATHOLIC  SOVEREIGNS  SENT  TC  DE- 
MAND ARREARS  OF  TRIBUTE  OF  THE  MUOR, 
AND   HOW  THE  MOUR  REPLIED. 

In  the  year  1478,  a  Spanish  courtier,  of  powrrful 
frame  and  haughty  demeanor,  arrived  at  the  gates 
of  Granada,  as  ambassador  from  the  Catholic  iiion- 
archs,  to  demand  the  arrear  of  tribute.  His  n.iiiic 
was  Don  Juan  dc  Vera,  a  zealous  and  devout  knight, 
full  of  ardor  for  the  faith,  and  loyalty  for  the  cruwn. 
He  was  gallantly  mounted,  armed  at  all  points,  and 
followed  by  a  moderate,  but  well-apijointed  retinue. 

The  Moorish  inh<-ibitants  looked  jealously  at  this 
small  but  proud  array  of  Spanish  chivalry,  as  it 
paraded,  with  that  statelihess  possessed  only  by 
Spanish  cavaliers,  through  the  renowned  gate  ot 
Elvira.  They  were  struck  with  the  stem  and  lofty 
<lemeanor  of  Don  Juan  de  Vera,  and  his  sinewy 
frame,  which  showed  him  formed  for  hardy  dec<l5 
of  arms ;  and  they  supposed  he  had  come  in  se.irch 
of  distinction,  by  defying  the  Moorish  knights  in  open 
tourney,  or  in  the  famous  tilt  with  reeds,  for  which 
they  were  so  renowneil ;  for  it  was  still  the  custom 
of  the  knights  of  either  nation  to  mingle  in  these 
courteous  and  chivalrous  contests,  during  the  inter- 
vals of  w.ir.  When  they  learnt,  however,  that  he 
was  come  to  demand  the  tribute  so  abhorrent  to  the 
ears  of  the  fiery  monarch,  they  observed  that  it  well 
required  a  warrior  of  his  app.arent  nerve,  to  eiecuti 
aiicb  an  embassy. 


A  CHRONICLE  01^  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


171 


I  Hassan  sat 
Aben  Hassan 
n  1465,  whilt 
•cdecfssor  of 
tl  Leon.     H( 
ainmtd  Abcii 
uida,  and  am^ 
.1  in  fact  aui> 
c  fall  of  oih'-i 
ConqucR'd  l;v 
)ng  placfs  (li 
\  to  Ciranacin, 
ilajje,  and  had 
tion  of  Miiliy 
IS  increased  in 
nd  all  fonnet 
;s  and  ninety. 
•ous  unwaili!'! 
idahlc  c.xstlfj, 
relied  with  his 

\/a  had  been 
1;  and  Miilc^ 
attended  per- 
He  had  wit- 
haughty  C.is- 
id  son  ot  A  trie 
if  his  race,  tli.i; 
;ed  the  huir..li- 

;eased  all  iviy- 
lent  to  put  him 
»  it.  "  Hf  waj 
;  Catholic  Kray 
gainst  the  holy 
1  battle,  diirip^ 
same  diabolical 
i  ceasing  to  pay 


SENT  TC    DE- 

r    THE  MUtiR, 

er,  of  powerful 

;d  at  the  gai« 
Catholic  tiion- 

ite.  His  name 
devout  kiiighl, 
for  the  crown. 
all  points,  and 

ointed  retinue. 

ealously  at  this 

chivalry,  as  it 

jessed  only  by 

>wned  gate  ot 
stem  and  lofty 
nd  his  sinewy 
hardy  deeds 
come  in  search 
knights  in  op-en 
eeds,  for  which 
till  the  custom 
riingle  in  these 
jring  the  inter- 
wever,  that  he 
bhorrent  to  the 
ved  that  it  well 
irve,  to  eiecuu 


Mulev  Aben  Hassan  received  the  cavalier  in  state, 
ir.ited  on  a  m.ignificent  divan,  and  surrounded  by 
•.he  officers  of  his  court,  in  the  hall  of  amba.ssadors, 
«ne  of  the  most  sumptuous  apartments  of  the  Al- 
hambra.  When  De  Vera  had  delivered  his  message, 
a  h.iughty  and  bitter  smile  curled  the  lip  of  the  fierce 
monarch.  "  Tell  your  sovereigns,"  said  he,  "  that 
the  kings  of  Granada,  who  used  to  pay  tribute  in 
iTi7.'.<y  to  the  Castilian  crown,  are  dead.  Our  mint 
at  present  coins  nothing  but  blades  of  scimitars  and 
hia-ls  of  lances."* 

The  defiance  couched  in  this  proud  reply,  was 
heard  with  stern  aiid  lofty  courtesy  by  Don  Juan  «le 
Vera,  for  he  was  a  bold  soldier,  and  a  devout  hater 
of  the  Infidel.s ;  and  he  saw  iron  war  in  the  words  of 
the  .Moorish  monarch.  He  retired  from  the  audience 
chanil)er  with  stately  and  ceremonious  gravity,  being 
master  of  all  points  of  etiquette.  As  he  passed  through 
the  Court  of  Lions,  and  ])aused  to  regard  its  cele- 
brated fountain,  he  fell  into  a  discourse  with  the 
Moorish  courtiers  on  cert.ain  mysteries  of  the  Chris- 
tian faith.  The  arguments  advanced  by  those  Infidels 
^5ays  Kray  Antonio  Agapida)  awakened  the  pious 
indifjnation  of  this  most  Christian  knight  and  discreet 
ainli  iss.idor ;  but  still  he  restrained  himself  within  the 
limits  of  lofty  gravity,  leaning  on  the  pommel  of  his 
sword,  and  looking  down  with  ineffable  scorn  upon 
the  weak  casuLsis  around  hiin.  The  (|uick  and  subtle 
Arahian  witlin;.js  redoubled  their  light  attacks  upon 
this  stately  Spaniard,  and  thought  they  had  com- 
pletely foiled  him  in  the  contest ;  but  the  stern  Juan 
de  Vera  had  an  argument  in  reserve,  for  which  they 
were  but  little  prepared ;  for,  on  one  of  them,  of  the 
race  of  the  Abencerrages,  daring  to  question,  with  a 
sneer,  the  immaculate  conception  of  the  blessed 
virj,nn,  the  Catholic  knight  could  no  longer  restrain 
his  ire.  Rair'ig  his  voice  of  a  sudden,  he  told  the 
Kifidtl  he  lied  ;  and,  raising  his  arm  at  the  same  time, 
b«  smote  him  on  the  head  with  his  sheathed  sword. 

In  an  instant  the  Court  of  Lions  glistened  with  the 
Basil  of  .irms,  and  its  fountains  would  have  been  dyed 
will  bl>x)d,  h.id  not  Muley  Aben  Hassan  overheard 
the  tumult,  and  forbade  all  appeal  to  arms,  pronounc- 
ing tl  e  person  of  the  ambassador  sacred  while  within 
his  territories.  The  Abencerrage  treasured  up  the 
remembrance  of  the  insult  until  an  hour  of  vengeance 
should  arrive,  and  the  ambassador  prayed  our  blessed 
lady  to  grant  him  an  opportunity  of  proving  her  im- 
maculate conception  on  the  head  of  this  turbaned 
Infidel.t 

Notwithstanding  this  occurrence,  Don  Juan  de 
Vera  was  treated  with  great  distinction  by  Muley 
Aben  Ha.ssan  ;  but  nothing  could  make  him  unbend 
from  his  stem  and  stately  rcser\e.  Before  his  de- 
p.irture,  a  scimitar  was  sent  to  him  by  the  king ;  the 
blade  of  the  tinest  Damascus  steel,  the  hilt  of  agate 
enriched  with  precious  stones,  and  the  guard  of  gold. 
De  Vera  drew  it,  and  smiled  grimly  as  he  noticed 
the  admirable  temper  of  the  blade.  "  His  majesty 
has  given  me  a  tr»!nchant  weapon,"  said  he  ;  "  1  trust 
a  time  will  con:-  when  I  may  show  him  that  1  know 
how  to  u.se  his  r'.,yal  present,"  The  reply  was  con- 
liderrd  as  a  compliment,  of  course ;  the  bystanders 
iit:le  knew  the  bitter  hostility  that  lay  couched  be- 
neath. 

Don  Juan  de  Vera  and  his  companions,  during 
iheir  brief  sojourn  at  Granada,  learned  the  force,  and 
fctaarion  of  the  Moor,  with  the  eyes  of  practiced  war- 
riors.   They  saw  that  he  was  well  prepared  for  hos- 

*  CrM-bay.  Compcnd.  lib.  40,  c.  19.  Conde.  Hist,  de  Ic*  Arabci, 
►  4,c  J4. 

tThe  Curate  of  I/i>  Palactos  alao  records  this  anecdote,  but 
BtDtions  it  as  happening  on  a  subseqaent  occasion,  when  Don  )uan 
d«  Vera  was  tent  10  negotiate  for  certain  Christian  captives.  There 
>t>p&us  every  reason,  however,  to  consider  Fray  Antonio  Aguf'i* 
■Oit  correct  i'<  the  period  to  which  h«  refers  it. 


tilitirs.  His  walls  and  towers  were  of  vast  ttrer  gth. 
in  complete  repair,  and  mounted  with  lombards  and 
other  ncavy  ordnance.  His  magazines  were  well 
stored  with  all  the  munitions  ot  wnr :  he  ha  1  a  mighty 
host  of  foot-soldiers,  together  with  squadroi.s  of  cav- 
alry, ready  to  scour  the  country  and  carry  on  either 
defensive  or  predatory  warfare.  The  Chnstian  war- 
riors noted  these  things  without  dismay  ;  their  hearts 
rather  glowed  with  emulation,  at  the  thoughts  of  en  • 
countering  so  worthy  a  foe.  As  they  slowly  pranced 
through  the  streets  of  Granada,  on  their  departitrt, 
they  looked  round  with  eagerness  on  its  stately 
palaces  and  sumptuous  mosques  ;  on  its  alcaycerin 
or  b.izar,  crowded  with  silks  and  cloth  of  silver  and 
gold,  with  jewels  and  precious  stones,  and  other  rich 
merchandise,  the  luxuries  of  every  clime  ;  and  they 
longed  for  the  time  when  all  this  wealth  should  be 
the  spoil  of  the  soldiers  of  the  faith,  and  when  each 
tramp  of  their  steeds  might  be  fetlock  deep  in  the 
blood  and  carnage  of  the  Infidels. 

Don  Ju.'in  de  Vera  and  his  little  band  pursued 
their  way  slowly  through  the  country,  to  the  Chris- 
tian frontier.  Every  town  was  strongly  fortified. 
The  vega  was  studded  with  towers  of  refuge  for  the 
peasantry  ;  every  pa.ss  of  the  mountain  h.ad  its  castle 
of  defence,  evei-y  lofty  height  its  watch-tower.  As 
the  Christian  cavaliers  p.issed  under  the  walls  of  the 
fortresses,  lances  and  scimitars  flashed  from  their 
battlements,  and  the  turbaned  sentinels  seemed  to 
dart  from  their  dark  eyes  glances  of  hatred  and  de- 
fiance. It  was  evident  that  a  war  with  this  kingdom 
must  be  one  of  doughty  peril  and  valiant  enterprise; 
a  war  of  posts,  where  every  step  must  be  gained  by 
toil  and  bloodshed,  and  maintained  with  the  utmost 
diflficulty.  The  warrior  spirit  of  the  cavaliers  kindlei! 
at  the  thoughts,  and  they  were  impatient  for  hostili- 
ties ;  "  not, '  says  Antonio  Ag.tpida,  "  for  any  thirst 
for  rapine  and  revenge,  but  from  that  pure  and  holy 
indignatifin  which  every  Sp.inish  knight  entertained 
at  beholding  this  beautiful  dominion  of  his  ancestors 
defiled  by  the  footsteps  of  Infidel  usurpers.  It  was 
impossible,"  he  adds,  "to  contemplate  this  delicious 
country,  and  not  long  to  see  it  restored  to  the  do- 
minion of  the  true  faith,  and  the  sway  of  the  Chris- 
tian monarchs." 

When  Don  Juan  de  Vera  returned  to  the  Castilian 
court,  and  reported  the  particulars  of  his  mission, 
and  all  that  he  had  heard  and  seen  in  the  Moorish 
territories,  he  was  highly  honored  and  rewarded  by 
king  Ferdinand ;  and  the  zeal  he  had  shqiMm  in  vin- 
dication of  the  sinless  conception  of  the  blessed  vir- 
gin, was  not  only  applauded  by  that  most  Catholic 
of  sovereigns,  but  gained  him  great  favor  and  re- 
nown among  all  piuus  cavaliers  and  reverend  prei* 
ates. 


CHAPTER   III. 


HOW  THE    MOOR    DETERMINED  TO    STRIKE    THl 
FIRST  BLOW   IN  THE  WAR. 

The  defiance  thus  hurled  at  the  Castilian  sover- 
eigns by  the  fiery  Moorish  king,  would  at  once  hav! 
been  answered  by  the  thunder  of  their  artillery ;  but 
they  were  embroiled,  at  that  time,  in  a  war  with 
Portugal,  and  in  contests  with  their  own  factious 
nobles.  The  truce,  therefore,  which  had  existed  foi 
many  years  between  the  nations,  was  suffered  to 
continue ;  the  wary  Ferdinand  reserving  the  refusal 
to  pay  tribute  as  a  fair  ground  for  war,  whenever  the 
favorable  moment  to  wage  it  should  arrive. 

In  the  course  of  three  years,  the  war  with  Portu|fal 
was  terminated,  and  the  factiocs  of  the  Spsjtuli 


176 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


*'a' 


jMI',  ."H"    " 


noblea  were,  for  tlie  mo«t  part,  quelled.  The  Cas- 
tiliun  sovereigns  now  turneo  their  thoughts  to  wh.-it, 
Iruin  the  time  of  the  union  of  their  crowns,  hud  heen 
the  ^reat  object  of  thtir  anibiiion, — the  coneiucst  of 
Grenada,  and  the  complete  extirpation  of  the  Moslem 
powtr  from  Spain.  Ferdinand,  whose  pious  zeal 
wan  Quickened  hy  motives  of  temporal  policy,  looked 
Wilh  a  craving  eye  at  the  rich  territory  of  the  Moor, 
»t>.ddt'd  with  innumerable  towns  and  cities.  He  de- 
termined to  carry  on  the  war  'vith  cautious  and  per- 
s^verinj,'  patience,  taking  town  alter  town  and  Ibr- 
Ircbs  alter  fortress,  anti  gradually  pliickin^j  away  all 
the  supports,  before  he  attempteil  the  .\Ioorisii  cani- 
til.  "  1  will  nick  out  the  seeds,  one  by  one,  of  inis 
pomej;ranate, '  said  the  wai^  Ferdinand.* 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  was  aware  of  the  hostile  jn- 
tentions  of  the  Catholic  monarch,  but  lelt  contiduht 
m  his  means  of  resisting  them.  He  hail  amassed 
great  wealth,  during  a  tranquil  reign ;  he  had 
sirciigtiient'd  the  delences  of  his  kingdom,  and  had 
drawn  large  bodies  of  auxiliary  troops  lioin  liarbary, 
besides  making  an;ii. cements  with  the  African 
princes  to  assist  him  with  sup|)lics,  in  case  of  emtr- 
cency.  His  subjects  were  fierce  of  spirit,  stout  of 
heart,  and  valiant  of  hand.  Inured  to  the  exercises 
of  war,  they  could  tight  skilfully  on  foot,  but,  above 
all,  were  dexterous  horsemen,  whelher  heavily  aimed 
and  fully  appoint'xl,  or  lightly  mounted  a  ia  j(iiu'/a, 
with  simply  lance  and  target.  'Ihey  were  patient 
ot  fatigue,  hunger,  thirst,  and  nakedness;  prompt 
for  war,  at  the  lirst  summons  of  th<'ir  king,  aiul 
ten.acious  in  defence  of  their  tov.'ns  and  possessions. 

Thus  ami)!y  |)rovidcd  for  war,  Mulcy  .\ben  H.issan 
determined  to  be  beforehand  with  the  politic  Ferdi- 
nand, and  to  be  the  lirst  to  strike  a  blow.  In  the 
truce  wtiich  existed  between  them,  there  was  a  sinsii- 
lar  clause,  permitting  ciihcr  party  to  m.iko  sudden 
inro.Kls  and  assaults  upon  towns  and  fortresses, 
provided  Ihey  were  done  furtively  and  by  stratagem, 
without  displ.iy  of  banners  or  sound  ot  trumpet,  or 
regular  encampment,  and  that  they  did  not  last 
above  three  days.t  This  gave  rise  to  fre([uent  en- 
terprises of  a  hardy  and  adventurous  character,  in 
which  castles  and  strong  holds  were  taken  by  sur- 
prise, and  carried  sworclin  hand.  A  long  time  had 
elapsed,  however.wiihout  any  outrage  of  the  kind  on 
the  part  of  the  Moors;  and  the  Christian  towns  on 
the  frontiers  had  all,  in  consequence,  fallen  into  a 
state  of  the  most  negligent  security. 

Muley  AHfiiin  Hassan  cast  his  eyes  round  to  select 
his  object  of  attack,  when  inform.ition  was  brought 
him  that  the  fortress  of  Zahara  was  but  feebly  gar- 
risoned and  scantily  supplied,  and  that  its  alcayde 
was('arelessof  his  charge.  This  important  post  was 
on  the  frontier,  between  Ronda  and  Medina  Sidonia, 
and  was  built  on  the  crest  of  a  rocky  mountain,  with 

strong  castle  perched  above  it,  upon  a  cliff,  so  high 
that  it  w.is  said  to  be  above  the  tlight  of  birds  or 
drift  of  clouds.  The  streets  and  many  of  the  houses 
were  mere  excavations,  wrought  out  of  the  living 
rock.  The  town  had  but  one  gate,  opening  to  the 
west,  and  defended  by  towers  and  bulwarks.  The 
only  ascent  to  this  cnaggcd  fortress  was  by  roads 
■;ut  in  the  rock,  and  so  rugged  as  in  many  places  to 
i^semble  broken  stairs.  Such  was  the  situation  of 
the  mountain  fortress  of  Zahara,  which  seemed  to 
set  all  attack  at  defiance,  insomueh  that  it  had  be- 
sOTie  so  proverbial  throughout  Spain,  that  a  woman 
of  forbidding  and  inaccessible  virtue  was  called  a 
Zaharen.a.  But  the  strongest  fortress  and  sternest 
virtue  have  weak  points,  and   require  unremitting 


vigilance  to  fjrunrd  them  :  let  wamoi  and  dime  Uln 
warning  from  the  fate  of  Zahara. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


*  Granada  it  the  Spanitb  term  for  pomtgranatt. 
tZuiita.    Anales  de  Aragoa,  I.  ao,  c.  4'.    Marianm. 
,  I.  a?,  c.  I. 


Hut  de 


EXPEDITION  or    MULEV  ABEN    HAMAM   AGAIhSI 
THE  rORIKKSS  UF  ZAII\KA. 

It  was  in  the  year  of  o:r  Lord  cne  thousand  tmi 
hundred  and  eighty-one,  and  but  a  night  or  two 
after  t^e  festival  ol  the 'nost  blessed  Nativity,  t'ul 
Muley  Aben  Hassan  male  his  famous  attack  \\\vm 
Zahara  The  inh.ibitants  of  the  place  were  sunk  ii\ 
profound  sleep ;  the  very  sentinel  had  deserted  his 
[lost,  and  sought  shelter  from  a  tempest  which  li  id 
raged  for  three  nights  in  succes.sion ;  for  it  appearul 
but  little  probable  that  an  enemy  wouki  be  abr'  ul 
during  such  an  upro.ir  of  the  elements.  Uut  », il 
spirits  work  best  during  a  storm,  (observes  t'.e 
worthy  Antonio  Agapida.)  and  Muley  Aben  Has,  n 
found  such  a  season  most  suitable  for  his  diaboi.^.il 
[.urposes.  In  the  midst  of  the  night,  an  uproar  .uj'.i: 
within  the  walls  of  Zahara,  more  awful  than  i!n; 
raging  of  the  storm.  A  fearful  alarm  cry— "I'.i; 
Moor!  the  Moor  ! "  resoundetl  through  thestrn's, 
mingled  with  the  clash  of  arms,  the  shriek  of  aiigii.'  !i 
anil  the  shout  of  victor^'.  Muley  Aben  ll.iss.ui,  a 
the  head  of  a  powerful  force,  h.id  huriied  from  i.i  i- 
ii.ula,  and  passed  unobserved  througii  the  mount;  ;\s 
in  the  obscurity  of  the  tempest.  While  the  st.  rin 
pelted  the  sentinel  from  his  post,  and  howled  rm  ,ul 
towet  and  battlement,  the  Moors  had  planted  llnir 
scaling-ladders,  and   mounted    securely,   into   l>)in 

I  town  and  castle.  The  garrison  was  unsuspicious  of 
(hanger,  until  battle  and  massacre  hurst  forth  will. in 
its  very  walls.  It  seemed  to  tlie  ;iMrighled  inhaiii- 
anls,  as  if  the  heiids  of  the  air  hail  come  upon  i',.; 
wings  of  the  wind,  aiul  possessed  themselves  nf 
tower  and  turret.  The  war  cry  resounded  on  i'm  ry 
side,  shout  answering  shout,  above,  below,  on  ilu; 
battlements  of  the  castle,  in  the  streets  of  the  ti),.:i 
— the  foe  was  in  all  parts  \  i,i,,ped  in  obscurity,  I'lt 
acting  in  concert  by  the  aid  of  preconcerted  sigii;ils. 
Starling  from  sleep,  the  soldiers  were  interce|jiul 
and  cut  down  as  they  rushed  from  their  ([uarli  rs; 
or,  if  they  escajied,  they  knew  not  where  to  assi  in- 
ble,  or  where  to  strike.  Wherever  lights  ajiiwan  d, 
the  dashing  scimitar  was  at  its  deadly  work,  and  ail 
who  attempted  resistance  fell  beneath  its  edge. 

In  a  little  while,  the  struggle  was  at  an  ei\  I. 
Those  who  were  not  slain  took  refuge  in  the  sec  rt  t 
places  of  their  houses,  or  gave  themselves  up  as 
captives.  The  clash  of  arms  ceased  ;  and  t!.o 
storm  continued  its  howling,  mhigled  with  t!:c'  n,:. 
casional  shout  of  the  Moorish  soldiery,  roaming  m 
search  of  plunder.  While  the  inhabitants  were 
trembling  for  their  fate,  a  trumpet  resouiKltrd 
through  the  streets,  summoning  them  all  to  .is- 
seinble,  unarmed,  in  the  public  squ.ire.  Here  ti  ty 
were  surrounded  by  soldiery,  and  strictly  guarded, 
until  day-break.  When  the  day  dawned,  it  was  ju'e- 
ous  to  behold  this  once  prosperous  coiimiunity,  i^ilo 
had  laid  down  to  rest  in  |)eaceful  security,  naw 
crowded  together  without  distinction  of  age,  oi 
rank,  or  sex,  and  almost  without  riiiment,  fUra-.g 
the  severity  of  a  wintry  storm.  The  fiitce  Maley 
Aben  Hassan  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  all  their  prayc te 
and  remonstrances,  and  ordered  them  to  be  eua- 
ducted  cajitives  to  Granada.  Leaving  a  strong  gar- 
rison in  both  town  and  castle,  wiih  orders  to  put 
them  in  a  complete  state  of  defence,  he  retiinad, 
flushed  with  victory,  to  his  capital,  entering  it  -iX 

I  the  head  of  his  trocps,  ladt;n  with  spoil,  and  )xat- 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


m 


M   AOAIHVI 


tne  in  triumph  the  bannera  and  pennons  taken  at 

Zannra. 

While  preparations  were  making  for  jousts  and 
other  fcstivitlrs.  in  honour  of  this  victory  over  the 
Chnsiians,  tlie  captives  of  Zahara  arrived  —  a 
wreiched  train  of  men,  women,  and  children,  worn 
out  with  fatigue  and  haggard  with  despair,  and 
drivRn  like  cattle  into  the  city  gates,  by  a  detach- 
ment of  Moorish  soldiery. 

Deep  was  the  grief  and  indignation  of  the  people 
if  Ciranada,  at  this  cruel  scene.  Old  men,  who  had 
eiperienced  the  calamities  of  warfare,  anticipated 
c()iiiiii)(  troubles.  Mothers  clasped  their  infants  to 
Ihrir  breasts,  as  they  beheld  th^  hapless  females  of 
Zahara,  with  their  cnildren  expiring  in  their  arms. 
On  every  side,  the  accents  of  pity  Tor  the  sufferers 
were  mingled  with  execrations  of  the  barbarity  of 
the  king.  The  preparations  for  festivity  were 
ncglfcted ;  and  the  viands,  which  were  to  have 
fcHStcd  the  conquerors,  were  distributed  among  the 
captives. 

The  nobles  and  alfaciuis,  however,  repaired  to  the 
AlliaiTibra,  to  congratulate  the  king ;  for,  whatever 
storms  may  rage  in  the  lower  regions  of  society, 
rnrely  do  any  clouds,  but  clouds  of  incense,  rise  to 
the  awful  eminence  of  the  throne.  In  this  inst.ince, 
however,  a  voice  rose  from  the  midst  of  the  obse- 
quious crowd,  that  burst  like  thunder  upon  the  ears 
ol  Aben  Hassan.  "Wo!  wo  I  wo!  to  Granada!" 
exclaimed  the  voice;  "its  hour  of  desolation  ap- 
proaches. The  ruins  of  Zahara  will  fall  upon  our 
heads ;  my  spirit  tells  me  that  the  end  of  our  empire 
is  at  hand !  '  All  shrunk  back  aghast,  and  left  the 
drnouncer  of  wo  standing  alone  in  the  centre  of  the 
hall.  He  was  an  ancient  and  hoary  man.  in  the 
nule  attire  of  a  dervise.  Age  had  withered  his 
form  without  quenching  the  fire  of  his  spirit,  which 
gl,  red  in  balt-lul  lustre  from  his  eyes.  He  was, 
(My  the  Arabian  historians.)  one  of  those  holy  men 
terir.ed  s.intons,  who  pass  their  lives  in  hermitages, 
in  fasting,  meditation,  and  prayer,  until  they  .ittain 
to  the  purity  of  saints  and  the  toresight  of  prophets. 
"He  was,"  s.iys  the  indignant  Fray  Antonio  Aga- 
pida.  "  a  son  of  Belial,  one  of  those  faiuatic  inhdels 
possessed  by  the  devil,  who  arc  sometimes  per- 
mitted to  predict  the  truth  to  their  followers ;  but 
witn  the  proviso,  that  their  predictions  shall  be  of  no 
ivail." 

The  voice  of  the  santon  resounded  through  the 
lofty  hall  of  the  Alhambra,  and  struck  silence  and 
awe  into  the  crowd  of  courtly  sycophants.  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  alone  was  unmoved ;  he  eyed  the 
hoary  anchorite  with  scorn  as  he  stood  dauntless 
before  him,  and  treated  his  predictions  as  the  rav- 
ings of  a  maniac.  The  santon  rushed  from  the 
royal  presence,  and,  descending  into  the  city,  hur- 
ried through  its  streets  and  squares  with  frantic  ges- 
ticulations. His  voice  was  heard,  in  every  part,  in 
iwful  denunciation.  "  The  peace  is  broken !  the 
exterminating  war  is  commenced.  Wo !  wo  1  wo 
to  (iranada  I  its  fall  is  at  hand !  desolation  shall 
dwell  in  its  palaces;  its  strong  men  shall  fall 
beneath  the  sword,  its  children  and  maidens  shall 
K  led  into  captivity.  Zahara  is  but  a  type  of 
Gnnada  I " 

T(  rror  seized  upon  the  populace,  for  they  consid- 
ered these  ravings  as  the  inspirations  of  prophecy. 
They  hid  themselves  in  their  dwellings,  as  in  a  time 
of  general  mourning ;  or,  if  they  went  abroad,  it  was 
tc  gather  together  in  knots  in  the  streets  and  squares, 
to  alarm  each  other  with  dismal  forebodings,  and  to 
curse  the  rashness  and  cruelty  of  the  fierce  Aben 
Hassan. 

The  Moorish  monarch  heeded  not  their  murmurs. 
Knowing  that  his  exploit  must  draw  upon  him  the 
12 


vengeance  of  the  christians,  he  now  threw  afT  lU 
reserve,  and  made  attempts  to  surprise  Castellaa 
and  Klvira,  though  without  auccess.  He  tent 
.ilfaquis,  also,  to  the  Barbary  powers,  informing 
them  that  the  sword  was  drawn,  and  inviting  them 
to  aid  in  maintaining  the  kingdom  of  Granada,  and 
the  religion  of  Mahomet  against  the  violeace  of 
unbelievers. 


CHAPTER  V. 


EXPEDITION  or  THE  MARQUES  OP  CADIZ  AOAINST 
ALHAMA. 

Great  was  the  indignation  of  king  Ferdinand, 
when  he  heard  of  the  stormintr  of  Zahara — more  es- 
pecially as  it  had  anticipated  nis  intention  of  giving 
the  first  blow  in  this  eventful  war.  He  valued  him- 
self upon  his  deep  and  prudent  policy ;  and  there  is 
tiothing  which  politic  monarchs  can  less  forgive,  than 
thus  being  forestalled  by  an  adversary.  He  im- 
mediately issued  orders  to  all  the  adelantados  and 
alcaydes  of  the  frontiers  to  maintain  the  utmost 
vigilance  at  their  several  posts,  and  to  prepare  to 
carry  tire  and  sword  into  the  territories  of  the  Moors, 

Among  the  many  valiant  cavaliers  who  rallied 
round  the  throne  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  one  of 
the  most  eminent  in  rank  and  renowned  in  arms  was 
Don  Roderigo  Ponce  de  Leon,  marques  of  Cadiz. 
As  he  was  the  distinguished  champion  of  this  ho'y 
war,  and  commanded  in  most  of  its  enterprises  fipd 
battles,  it  is  meet  that  some  particular  acco'Jut 
should  be  gnven  of  him.  He  was  bom  in  1443,  d 
the  valiant  lineage  of  the  Ponces,  and  from  his  ear- 
liest youth  had  rendered  himself  illustriovj  in  thft 
field.  He  was  of  the  middle  stature,  with  a  muscu- 
lar and  powerful  frame,  capable  of  great  exertion 
and  fatigue.  His  hair  and  beard  were  red  and  curled, 
his  countenance  was  ojien  and  magnanimous,  of  a 
ruddy  complexion,  and  slightly  marked  with  the 
small-pox.  He  was  temperate,  chaste,  valiant,  vigi- 
lant ;  a  just  and  generous  master  to  his  vassals ; 
frank  and  noble  in  his  deportment  towards  his 
equals ;  loving  and  faithful  to  his  friends ;  fierce  and 
terrible,  yet  magnanimous,  to  his  enemies.  He  was 
considered  the  mirror  of  chivalry  of  his  times,  arc* 
compared  by  contemporary  historians  to  the  immor 
tal  did. 

The  marques  of  Cadiz  had  vast  possessions  in  tht 
most  fertile  parts  of  And.ilusia.  including  many  towns 
and  castles,  and  could  lead  forth  an  army  into  the 
field  from  his  own  vassals  and  dependants.  On  re- 
ceiving the  orders  of  the  king,  he  burned  to  signal- 
ize himself  by  some  sudden  incursion  into  the  king- 
dom of  Granada,  that  should  give  a  brilliant  com- 
mencement to  the  war,  and  should  console  the  sov- 
ereigns for  the  insult  they  had  received  in  the  capture 
of  Zahara.  As  his  estates  lay  near  to  the  Moorish 
frontiers,  and  were  subject  to  sudden  inroads,  he  had 
always  in  his  pay  numbers  of  adalides,  or  scouts  and 
guides,  many  of  them  converted  Moors.  These  he 
sent  out  in  all  directions,  to  watch  the  movements 
of  the  enemy,  and  to  procure  all  kinds  of  information 
important  to  the  security  of  the  frontier.  One  of 
these  spies  came  to  him  one  day  in  his  town  of  Mar- 
chena,  and  informed  him  that  the  Moorish  town  of 
Alhama  was  slightly  garrisoned  and  negligently 
guarded,  and  mignt  be  taken  by  surprise.  This  was 
a  large,  wealthy,  and  populous  place  within  a  few 
leagues  of  Granada.  It  was  situated  on  a  rocky 
height,  nearly  surrounded  by  a  river,  and  defended 
by  a  fortress  to  which  there  w?.s  no  access  but  by  a 
steep  and  cragged  ascent.    The  strength  of  its  situ- 


178 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


F.ttftl' 


5|»;': 


ttlon.  and  its  beine  embotomed  in  the  dentic  of  the 
kindiiorn.  had  produced  the  careleu  security  which 
aow  ill vi  led  attacic. 

To  ascertain  fully  the  state  of  the  fortress,  the 
aiarauei  dispatcheif  secretly  a  veteran  soldier,  who 
was  highly  in  his  contidence.  His  name  was  Ortet^a 
de  I'raiio,  a  man  of  great  activity,  shrewdness,  and 
valor,  and  captain  of  escaladurs,  or  those  employed 
t«  scale  tne  walls  of  fortresses  in  time  of  attacl<. 
Orteca  approached  Alhama  one  moonless  ni};ht,  and 
ff^kcti  along  its  walls  with  noiseless  step,  laying  his 
e^r  occasionally  to  the  ground  or  to  the  wall.  Every 
lim^,  he  distinguished  tnc  measured  tread  of  a  sen- 
tinel, and  now  and  then  the  challenge  of  the  night- 
watch  going  its  rounds.  Finding  the  town  thus 
guarded,  he  clambered  to  the  castle : — there  all  was 
silent.  As  he  ranged  its  lofty  battlements,  between 
him  and  the  sky  he  saw  no  sentinel  on  duty.  He 
noticed  certain  places  where  the  w.ill  might  lie  as- 
cended by  scaling-ladders ;  and,  having  marked  the 
hour  of  relieving  guard,  and  made  all  necess.iry  ob- 
servations, he  retired  without  being  discovered. 

Ortega  returned  to  Marchena,  and  assured  the 
marques  of  Cadiz  of  the  practicability  of  scaling  the 
castle  of  Alhama,  and  taking  it  by  surprise.  The 
marques  had  a  secret  conference  with  Don  Pedro 
Henriquez  Adelant.ido,  of  Andalusia;  Uon  Diego  de 
Merlo,  commander  of  Seville ;  and  Sancho  de  Avila, 
alcayde  of  Carmona,  who  all  agreed  to  aid  him  with 
their  forces.  On  an  appointed  day,  the  several  com- 
manders assembled  at  Marchena  with  their  troops 
and  retainers.  None  but  the  leaders  knew  the  object 
or  destination  of  the  enterprise  ;  but  it  was  enough 
to  rouse  the  Andalusian  spirit,  to  know  th.it  a  foray 
was  intended  into  the  country  of  their  old  enemies, 
the  Moors.  Secrecy  and  celerity  were  necessary  for 
eticcess.  They  set  out  promptly,  with  three  thou- 
♦.ind  genetes,  or  light  cavalry,  and  four  thousand  in- 
tantry.  They  chose  a  route  but  little  travelled,  by 
the  way  of  Antiquera,  passing  with  great  labor 
through  rugged  and  solitary  detdes  of  the  Sierra  or 
chain  of  mountains  of  Alzerifa,  and  left  all  their  b-ig- 
gage  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Yeguas,  to  l)e  brought 
alter  them.  Their  march  was  principally  in  the 
night ;  all  day  they  remained  (|uiet ;  no  noise  was 
suffered  in  their  camp,  and  no  hres  were  made,  lest 
the  smoke  should  betray  them.  On  the  third  day 
they  resumed  their  march  as  the  evening  darkehecl, 
and  forcing  themselves  forward  at  as  quick  a  pace  as 
the  rugged  and  dangerous  mountain  roads  would  per- 
mit, thev  descended  towards  mi<lnight  into  a  small 
deep  valley,  only  half  a  league  from  Alhama.  Here 
they  made  a  halt,  fatigued  by  this  forced  march,  dur- 
ing a  long  dark  evening  towards  the  end  of  February. 

The  marques  of  Cadiz  now  explained  to  the  troops 
the  object  of  the  expedition.  He  told  them  it  was 
for  the  glory  of  the  most  holy  faith,  and  to  .ivenge 
the  wrongs  of  their  countrymen  of  Zahara ;  and  that 
the  rich  town  of  Alhama,  full  of  wealthy  spoil,  was 
the  place  to  be  atticked.  The  troops  were  roused 
to  new  ardor  by  these  words,  and  desired  to  be  led 
forthwith  to  the  assault.  They  arrived  close  to  Al- 
bama  about  two  hours  before  d.aybreak.  Here  the 
army  remained  in  ami>ush,  while  three  hundred  men 
were  dispatched  to  scale  the  walls  and  get  posses- 
son  of  the  castle.  They  were  picked  men,  many  of 
them  alcades  and  officers,  men  who  preferred  <leath 
to  dishonor,  This  gallant  l>and  was  guided  by  the 
escalado'  Orteg.-i  de  Prado,  at  the  head  of  thirty  men 
with  scaling-ladders.  They  clambered  the  ascent  to 
tiie  castle  in  silence,  and  arrived  under  the  dark 
sh^iiow  of  its  towers  without  being  discovered.  Not 
B  light  was  to  be  seen,  not  a  sound  to  be  heard ;  the 
whole  place  was  wrapped  in  profound  repose. 

Fixing  theit  ladders,  they  ascended  cautiously  and 


with  noiseless  steps.  Ortega  was  the  first  t.w 
mounted  upon  the  battlements,  fohawed  by  ont 
Martin  Galindo,  a  youthful  esijuire,  full  of  spini  .ind 
eager  for  distinction.  Moving  stealthily  along  ih( 
parapet  to  the  portal  of  the  citadel,  they  came  upon 
the  sentinel  by  surprise.  Ortega  seized  him  by  ilic 
throat,  brandished  a  d.igger  ttcfore  his  e>es,  and  or. 
dered  him  to  point  the  way  to  the  guartl-room.  The 
infidel  obeyed,  and  was  instantly  dispatched,  to  pie. 
vent  his  giving  an  alarm.  The  gu.ird-room  w.is  a 
scene  rather  of  massacre  than  tombat.  Some  of  ihr 
soldiery  were  killed  while  sicc  ping,  others  were  tut 
down  almost  without  resistance,  bewildered  by  so 
unexpected  in  ass.iult:  all  were  dispatched,  for  the 
selling  party  was  too  small  to  make  prisoners  or  to 
spare.  The  alarm  sprud  throughout  the  castle,  hut 
by  this  tim<:  *Jie  tnree  hundred  picked  men  had 
mounted  tne  oattlements.  The  garrison,  startlt-d 
from  sleep,  found  the  enemy  alre.idy  m.xsters  of  tli» 
towers.  Some  of  the  Moors  were  cut  down  at  once, 
others  fought  desperately  from  room  to  room,  and 
the  whole  castle  resounded  with  the  clash  of  .-irr.i^, 
the  cries  of  the  combatants,  and  the  groans  of  the 
wounded.  The  army  in  ambush,  finding  by  the  ii|i. 
roar  that  the  castle  was  surprised,  now  rusned  trum 
their  concealment,  and  approached  the  walls  with 
loud  shouts,  and  sound  of  kettle-drums  and  trump<  t<i, 
to  increase  the  confusion  and  dismay  of  the  gnrrison, 
A  violent  conflict  took  place  in  the  court  of  the 
c.istle,  where  several  of  the  scaling  party  sought  to 
throw  open  the  gates  to  admit  their  countryintn. 
Here  fell  two  valiant  alcaydes,  Nichol.is  de  Koja 
and  Sancho  de  Avila  ;  but  they  fell  honorably,  u[)on 
a  heap  of  slain.  At  length  Ortega  de  Prado  siic- 
cee<led  in  throwing  open  a  postern,  through  winch 
the  marques  of  Cadiz,  tlie  adelant.ido  of  A/idaluH',-), 
and  Don  Diego  de  Merlo.  entered  with  a  host  of  (oi- 
lowers,  and  the  citadel  remained  in  full  possession 
of  the  christians. 

As  the  Spanish  cavaliers  were  ranging  from  room 
to  room,  tne  marques  of  Cadiz,  entering  an  ap..rt- 
ment  of  superior  richness  to  the  rest,  lK;hfld,  by  ihe 
light  of  a  silver  lamp,  a  beautiful  Moorish  female, 
the  wife  of  the  .ilcuyde  of  the  c.istle,  whose  husband 
was  absent,  attending  a  wedding-fe.ist  at  Velez  .M.'.i- 
.iga.  She  would  have  fieil  at  the  sight  of  a  christi.in 
w.irrior  in  her  apartment,  but,  entangled  in  the  cover- 
ing of  the  l>ed,  she  fell  at  the  feet  of  the  marques, 
imploring  mercy.  The  christi.in  cavalier,  who  had 
a  soul  fml  of  honor  and  courtesy  towards  the  sex, 
raised  her  from  the  floor,  and  endeavored  to  allay 
her  fears ;  but  they  were  incre.ised  at  the  sight  uf 
her  female  attendants  pursued  into  the  room  by  the 
Spanish  soldiery.  The  marques  reproache<l  his  sol- 
diers with  their  unmanly  conduct,  and  reminded 
them  that  they  made  war  upon  men,  not  on  defence- 
less women.  Having  soothed  the  terrors  of  the 
females  by  the  promise  of  honorable  protection,  he 
appointed  a  trusty  guard  to  watch  over  the  security 
of  their  .ipartmcnt. 

The  castle  was  now  taken ;  but  the  town  below 
it  was  in  arms.  It  was  bro.id  day.  and  the  people 
recovered  from  their  panic,  were  enabled  to  see  and 
estim.ite  the  force  of  the  enemy.  The  inhabitants 
were  chiefly  merchants  and  trades-people;  but  the 
Moors  all  possessed  a  knowledge  of  the  use  of  wea- 
pons, and  were  of  brave  and  warlike  spirit.  They 
confided  in  the  strength  of  their  walls,  and  the  cer- 
tainty of  speedy  relief  from  Granada,  which  was 
but  about  eight  leagues  distant.  Manning  the  battle- 
ments and  towers,  they  discharged  showers  of  stones 
and  arrows,  whenever  the  part  of  the  christi.in  army, 
without  the  wa!'.-  Attempted  to  approach.  Thev 
barricadoed  the  entrances  of  their  streets,  also,  whicfi 
opened  towards  the  castle ;  sutioning  men  expert  al 


A  CHRONICLB  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


ITfl 


IM  crow-bow  and  ar^uebuie.  Theie  kept  up  a  con- 
Mint  fire  upon  the  nte  of  the  caitle,  to  that  no  one 
toiilil  mIIt  lorth  without  being  instantly  ihot  down. 
Two  valiant  cavaliers,  who  attempted  to  lead  forth 
I  p:\rty  in  defiance  of  this  fatal  tempest,  were  shot 
(lead  It  the  very  portal. 

I'lie  cltrisiians  now  found  themselves  in  a  sitna- 
boa  of  gieat  peril.  Keinforcements  must  soon  arrive 
to  Ine  enemy  from  Oranad.^  ;  unless,  therefore,  they 
ffinrd  possession  of  t)ir  town  in  the  course  of  the 
Mf,  ihey  were  likely  to  be  surrounded  and  beleaguer- 
u1.  without  provisions,  in  the  c.lsMe.  Some  obserxed 
tli.li,  even  if  they  tool<  the  town.  xhfV  nhotil  I  not  be 
ahlc  to  maintain  ponses.Hion  of  it.  They  [m  oposed, 
ihtiffore,  to  make  booty  of  every  thine  val«i;ililf-',  to 
s,ul<  the  castle,  set  '  nn  fire,  ami  ma**  good  their 
reiriMt  to  Seville. 

Tlie  marques  of  Cidit  was  of  different  counsel, 
"(xmI  has  given  the  cit.-idel  luin  christian  hands," 
j,ij(t  he  ;  "  he  will  no  doubt  stren^^thf  n  them  to  main- 
tain it.  We  have  gained  the  place  with  ditliculty 
and  bloodshed  ;  it  would  be  a  stain  upon  our  honor 
to  .ilmndon  it  through  fear  of  im.aginary  daiiKefS." 
The  .idelantado  ana  Don  Uie^o  de  Merlo  joint.-d  in 
hi«  opinion  ;  but  without  their  earnest  and  united 
ffmnnstrances,  the  pl.ice  would  h.ave  been  aiiandon- 
«1 ;  so  eihaustcd  were  the  troopn  by  forced  marches 
and  hard  fighting,  and  so  apprehensive  of  the  ap- 
pro.irh  of  the  Moors  of  Granada. 

The  itrenjjth  and  spirits  of  the  narty  within  the 
castle  were  m  some  degree  restoreci  by  the  provi.n- 
ions  which  they  found.  The  Christian  army  be- 
ne iih  the  town,  being  also  refreshed  by  .i  morning's 
rcp.i«».,  advanced  vigorously  to  ihc  attack  of  the 
fti\h.  They  planted  their  scaling-ladders,  and, 
rv.^rmiig  up,  swonl  in  hand,  foujjht  liercely  with  the 
V^wrish  soldiery  upon  the  ramparts. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  mar(|ues  of  Cadiz,  seeing 
lh.it  the  gale  of  the  castle,  which  opened  toward  the 
fi-y,  was  completely  comm.anded  by  the  artillery  of 
iNe  f  nemy,  ordered  a  large  bre.ach  to  be  made  in  the 
wall,  through  wliich  he  might  lead  his  troops  to  the 
att.ick  ;  animating  them,  in  this  perilous  m unent,  by 
assuring  them  that  the  pl.ace  should  be  given  up  t^ 
plunder,  and  its  inhabitants  made  captives. 

The  breach  being  made,  the  marques  put  himself 
at  the  head  of  his  troops,  and  entered  sword  in 
h.mil.  A  simultaneous  attack  was  made  by  the 
christians  in  every  part — by  the  ramp<arts,  by  the  gate, 
by  the  roofs  and  walls  which  connected  the  castle 
with  the  town.  The  Moors  fought  valiantly  in  their 
streets  from  their  windows,  and  from  the  tops  of 
thfir  houses.  They  were  not  equal  to  the  christians 
in  bodily  strength,  for  they  were  for  the  most  part 
peaceful  men,  of  industrious  callings,  and  enervated 
Dy  the  frequent  use  of  the  warm  bath ;  but  they 
were  superior  in  number,  and  unconquerable  in 
ipirit ;  old  and  young,  strong  and  weak,  fought  with 
the  s.ame  desperation.  Tiie  .Moors  fought  tor  prop- 
erty, for  lilwrty,  for  life.  They  fought  at  their  tnres- 
hol '.s  and  their  hearths,  with  the  shrieks  of  their 
wives  and  children  ringing  in  their  ears,  and  they 
cnght  in  the  hope  that  each  moment  would  bring 
»/>  from  Gran.'ida.  They  regarded  neither  their  own 
rounds  nor  the  deaths  of  their  companions ;  but 
'.ontinued  fighting  until  they  fell,  and  seemed  as  if, 
^hen  they  could  no  longer  contend,  they  would 
'>!c<k  up  the  thresholds  of  their  beloved  homes  with 
ih-eir  mangled  bodies.  The  christians  foujjht  for 
fiery,  for  revenge,  for  the  holy  faith,  and  for  the 
ipoil  of  these  wealthy  infidels.  Success  would  place 
a  rich  town  at  their  mercy ;  failure  would  deliver 
them  into  the  hands  of  the  tyrant  ot  Granada. 

The  contest  raged  from  morning  until  night,  when 
the  Moors  began  to  yiekl.    Retreating  to  a  large 


mosque  near  the  walla,  they  kept  up  to  g  illing  a  firr 
from  it  with  lances,  cross-bows,  and  arqurbuset, 
(hat  for  some  time  the  christians  dirnl  not  anpioarh 
Covering  themselves,  at  length,  with  buckleia  ani" 
mantelets*  to  protect  them  from  the  deadly  shower, 
they  m.i(le  their  way  to  the  ntosque,  and  set  fire  to 
the  floors.  When  the  smoke  anfl  flainea  rolled  in 
upon  them,  the  .Moors  gave  all  up  as  lost.  Many 
rushed  forth  desperately  upon  the  enemy,  but  weie 
immediately  slam  ;  the  rest  surrendered  themsclva 
captives. 

The  struggle  was  now  at  an  end  ;  the  town  re- 
mained at  the  mercy  of  the  christians ;  and  the  in- 
haliit.tnts,  both  male  and  female,  became  the  slaves 
of  those  who  made  them  prisoners.  Some  lew  es- 
caped by  a  mine  or  subterranean  way,  which  lc«l  to 
the  river,  and  concealed  themselves,  their  wives  and 
children,  in  caves  and  secret  pLices  ;  but  in  three  or 
four  days,  were  compelled  to  surrender  themselves 
throupjh  himger. 

The  town  wa.s  given  up  to  plunder,  and  fhe  booty 
was  immense.  There  were  found  prodigious  (|iian- 
tities  of  gold  and  silver,  and  jewels,  and  rich  <(\\k%, 
and  costly  stuffs  of  all  kinds ;  together  with  horses 
and  beeves,  and  abundance  of  grain  and  oil,  and 
honey,  and  all  other  productions  of  this  fruitiul 
kinjidom ;  for  in  Alhama  were  collected  the  royal 
rents  and  tributes  of  the  surrounding  country ;  it 
was  the  richest  town  in  the  Moorish  teiritory,  and, 
from  its  gre.it  strength  and  its  peculiar  situaticn, 
was  called  the  key  to  Granada. 

Great  waste  and  devastation  were  conin-i''!d  by 
the  Spanish  soldiery  ;  for,  thinking  it  would  be  im- 
possible to  keep  possession  of  the  place,  they  beg.'.' 
to  tiestroy  whatever  they  could  not  lake  away.  Ini- 
mrnse  j.ar8  of  od  were  broken,  costly  furniture  ihat. 
tered  to  pieces,  and  m.agazines  of  grain  broken  cpert, 
and  their  contents  scattered  to  the  winds.  Many 
christian  captives,  who  had  been  taken  at  Zahara, 
were  found  buried  in  a  Moorish  dungeon,  and  were 
triumphantly  restored  to  light  and  lit>erty ;  and  a 
renegado  Spaniard,  who  had  often  served  as  guide 
to  the  Moors  in  their  incursions  into  the  christian 
territories,  was  hanged  on  the  highest  part  of  the 
battlements,  lor  the  edification  of  the  army. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

HOW  THF.  PEOPLK  Of  GRANADA  WERE  AFKECTtU, 
t>N  HEARING  OP  THE  CAPTURE  OP  ALHAMA. 
AND  now  THE  MOORISH  KINO  SALLIED  FORTH 
TO  REGAIN  IT. 

A  MiMjRiSH  horseman  had  spurted  across  the 
vega,  nor  reined  his  panting  steed  untd  he  alighted 
at  the  gale  of  the  Alhambra.  He  brought  tidings 
to  Muley  Aben  H.assan,  of  the  attack  upon  Alhama, 

"  The  christians,"  s;iid  he,  "  are  in  the  land.  They 
came  upon  us,  we  know  not  whence  r>r  how,  ant! 
scaled  the  walls  of  the  castle  in  the  night.  Theie 
has  been  dreadful  fighting  and  carnage  in  its  towers 
and  courts  ;  and  when  1  spurred  my  steed  frcm  the 
gate  of  Alhama,  the  castle  was  in  possession  of  tlie 
unl)clicvers." 

Muley  Aben  H.ass.an  felt  for  a  moment  as  if  swift 
retribution  had  come  ujwn  him  for  the  woes  he  had 
inllicteil  upon  Zahara.  Still  he  flattereil  himself  that 
this  had  only  been  some  transient  inroad  of  a  party 
of  marauders,  intent  upon  plunder ;  and  that  a  littk 


*  Mkottlet— a  movable  pvapet,  made  cf  thick  ph 
liDOf*,  wbca  advauang  to  sap  or  aiaaull  a  walltd  plac*. 


IHU 


1    WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


H 

»^l 


•rj: 


lip's*  ■•■' . ■*-';■ 


m^iH 


succor,  throw  i  into  the  town,  would  be  sufficient  to 
expel  them  from  the  castle,  and  drive  them  from  the 
'and.  He  ordered  out.  therefore,  a  thousand  of  his 
cnosen  cavalry,  and  sent  them  in  all  speed  to  the 
assistance  of  Alhama,  They  arrived  before  its  walls, 
the  niorningf  after  its  capture :  the  christian  stand- 
ards floated  upon  its  towers,  and  a  body  of  caralr)- 
poured  forth  from  its  gates  and  came  wheeling  down 
into  the  plain  to  receive  them. 

The  Moorish  horsemen  turned  the  reins  of  their 
steed::,  and  galloped  back  for  Granada.  They  en- 
tered Its  gates  in  tumultuous  confusion,  soreading 
terroi  and  lamentation  by  their  tidings.  Albania 
is  fallen  I  Alhama  is  fallen  ! "  txclaimed  t?  ey  ;  "  the 
christians  garrison  its  wails ;  the  key  of  Granada  is 
in  the  hands  of  the  enemy  ! " 

When  the  jjcople  heard  these  words,  they  remem- 
bered the  denunciation  of  the  santon.  His  predic- 
tion seemed  still  to  resound  in  every  ear.  and  its  ful- 
filment to  be  at  hand.  Nothing  was  heard  through- 
out the  city  but  sighs  and  wailings.  "  Wo  is  me, 
Alhama  .'  "  was  in  every  mouth ;  and  rhis  ejaculation 
of  deep  sorrow  and  doleful  foreboding,  came  to  be 
the  burthen  of  a  plaintive  ballad,  which  remains  un- 
til the  present  day.* 

Many  aged  men,  who  had  taken  refuge  in  Grana- 
da from  other  Moorish  dominicms  which  had  fallen 
into  the  power  of  the  Christians,  now  groaned  in 
despair  at  the  thoughts  that  war  was  to  follow  them 
into  this  last  retreat,  to  lay  waste  tins  pleasant 
land,  and  to  bring  trouble  and  sorrow  upon  their  de- 
clining years.  The  women  were  more  loud  and  ve- 
hement in  their  grief;  for  they  beheld  the  evils  im- 
p)ending  over  their  children,  and  what  can  restrain 
the  ag'^ny  of  a  mother's  heart .'  Many  of  them  made 
tiieir  way  through  the  halls  of  the  Alhambra  into 
the  presence  of  the  kincr.  weeping,  and  wailing,  and 
tearing  their  hair.  •  Accursed  be  the  day,"  cried 
they,  "  that  thou  hast  lit  the  flame  of  war  in  our 
land!  May  the  holy  Prophet  bear  witness  before 
Allah,  that  we  and  our  children  are  innocent  of  this 
act !  Upon  thy  head,  and  ujwn  the  heads  of  thy 
posterity,  until  the  end  of  the  world,  rest  the  sin  of 
the  desolation  of  Zahara  !  "t 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  remained  unmoved,  amidst 
all  this  storm  ;  his  heart  was  hartlened  (observes 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida)  like  that  of  Pharaoh,  to  the 
end  that,  through  his  blind  violence  and  rage,  he 
might  produce  the  di.'liverance  of  the  land  from  its 
heathen  bondage.  In  fact,  he  w:is  a  bold  and  fear- 
less warrior,  and  trusted  soon  to  make  this  blow 
recoil  upon  the  head  of  the  enemy.  He  had  ascer- 
tained that  the  captors  of  Alhama  were  but  a  hand- 
ful :  they  were  in  the  centre  of  his  dominions,  within 
a  short  distance  of  his  capital.  They  were  deficient 
in  munitions  of  war,  and  provisions  for  sustaining  a 
siege.  By  a  rapid  movcm<*nt,  he  might  surroun<l 
them  with  a  powerful  atr..y.  cut  off  all  aid  from  their 
countr\'inen,  and  entrap  them  in  the  fortress  they 
bid  taken. 

To  think  was  to  act,  with  Muley  Aben  H.assan  ; 
but  he  was  prone  to  act  with  too  much  precipita- 
tif>n.  He  iinmediately  set  forth  in  [>erson,  with  three 
th:)usand  horse  and  lil'ly  thousatid  foot,  and  in  his 
BRgemess  to  arrive  at  the  scene  of  action,  would  not 
wait  to  provide  artillery  .and  the  various  engines  re- 
qiii.-ed  in  a  siege.  "The  multitude  of  my  forces," 
wd  he,  contidenily,  "  will  be  sufficient  to  overwhelm 
the  enemy." 

The  marijues  of  Cadi2,  who  thus  held  possession 
of  Alhama,  bad  a  chosen  friend  and  faithful  cotn- 


■  The  murnful  little  Spaniih  lomuie*  of  Af  dt  mi.  Alhama  I 
te  lupputed  to  be  uf  Muonth  uhgin.  uid  lo  enibudy  ihtr  grief  of 
ike  people  uf  Graoada  ua  thift  oocuioa. 

t  UuilMV,  lib.  40.  c.  19, 


panion  in  arms,  among  the  most  distinguishctl  ol 
the  christian  chivalry.  This  was  Don  Alonio  dt 
Cordova,  senior  and  lord  of  the  house  of  Ag;ii;i,ir, 
and  brother  of  Gonsalvo  of  Cordo/a,  afterwarrfs  rt;^ 
nowned  as  grand  captain  of  Spain.  As  yet,  Alonij 
de  Agiiilar  was  the  glory  of  his  name  and  racts- 
for  his  brother  was  but  youn^  in  arms.  He  was  ont 
of  the  most  hardy,  valiant,  and  enterprising  of  thj 
Sp.anish  knights,  and  foremost  in  all  service  rf  a 
|)erilous  and  adventurous  nature.  He  had  not  bnto 
at  hand,  to  accompany  his  friend  Ponce  dt  Leon, 
marques  of  Cadiz,  in  his  inroad  into  the  Moorish 
territory  ;  but  he  hastily  assembled  a  number  of  re- 
tainers, horse  and  foot,  and  pressed  forward  to  join 
the  enterprise.  Arrirrg  at  the  river  Yeguas,  he 
found  the  baggage  of  the  anny  still  upon  its  b.uiks, 
and  took  charge  of  it  to  carry  it  to  Alhama.  1  he 
marques  of  Cadiz  heard  of  the  approach  of  his 
friend,  whose  march  was  slow  in  consequence  of 
being  encumbered  by  the  bag^ge.  He  was  wiihin 
but  a  few  leagues  of  Alhama,  when  scouts  c.iine 
hurr^-ing  into  the  pl.ace,  with  intelligence  that  the 
Moorish  king  was  at  hand  with  a  |)owerful  ar.iiy. 
The  m.aniues  of  Cadiz  was  filled  with  alarm  lest  IJe 
Aguilar  should  fall  into  the  h.ands  of  the  en-my 
Forgetting  his  own  danger,  and  thinking  only  of 
that  of  his  friend,  he  dispatched  a  well-mountefl 
messenger  to  ride  full  speed,  and  warn  him  not  to 
approach. 

The  first  determination  of  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  when 
he  heard  th.at  the  Moorish  king  was  at  hand,  was  to 
take  a  strong  position  in  the  mountains,  and  aw.iit 
his  coming.  The  madness  of  an  attempt  with  his 
handful  of  men  to  oppose  an  immense  army,  was 
represented  to  him  with  such  force  .as  lo  induce  h:-n 
to  abandon  the  idea;  he  then  thought  of  throw ir^j 
himself  into  Alhama,  to  share  the  fortunes  of  1a 
friend  :  but  it  was  now  too  late.  The  Moor  woa!', 
inf^illibly  intercept  him,  and  he  should  only  giv?  ''■; 
marques  the  atlditional  distress  of  beholiling  l.iir 
captured  beneath  his  walls.  It  was  even  urged  Liiy;n 
him  that  he  had  no  time  for  delay,  if  he  would  con- 
sult his  own  s.afety,  which  could  only  In:  insured  liy 
^  immediate  retreat  into  the  Christian  territory. 
This  last  opinion  was  confirmed  by  the  return  of 
scouts,  who  brought  information  that  Muley  Ab^n 
Hassan  had  received  notice  of  his  movements,  .-iiid 
was  rapidly  advancing  in  quest  of  him.  It  was  with 
infinite  reluctance  that  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar  yield- 
ed to  these  united  and  powerful  reasons.  Proudly 
and  sullenly  he  drew  off  his  forces,  laden  with  the 
b.agg.age  of  the  army,  and  made  an  unwilling  retreat 
towards  Antiquera.  Muley  Aben  Hassan  pursued 
him  for  soine  distance  through  the  mountains,  hut 
soon  gave  up  the  chase  and  turned  with  his  forcei 
upon  Alhama. 

As  the  army  approache  !  the  town,  they  beheld  the 
fields  strewn  with  the  dead  bodies  of  their  country- 
men, who  h.ad  fallen  in  defence  of  the  place,  and  hid 
been  cast  forth  and  left  unburied  by  the  christisiij. 
There  they  lay,  mangled,  and  exposed  to  every  in- 
dignity; while  droves  of  half-famished  dogs  were 
preying  upon  them,  and  fighting  and  howling,  o\e» 
their  hideous  repast.*  Furious  at  the  sight,  th» 
Moors,  in  the  first  transports  of  their  rage,  attacked 
those  ravenous  animals  :  their  next  measuie  was  to 
vent  their  fury  upon  the  christians.  They  n:sleQ 
like  madmen  to  the  walls,  applied  scaling-ladders  in. 
.all  parts,  without  w..'ting  for  the  necessary  mante- 
lets and  other  protections, — thinking,  by  attacking 
suddenly  and  at  various  points,  to  distract  the  ene- 
n'y,  an(f  overcome  them  by  the  force  of  numbers. 

The  marques  of  CadL',  with  'lis  confederate  coin 

*  Pitlgtr.    Croniea. 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GR.iNADA. 


18) 


It  of  throwing 


nandecs  dbtributed  themselves  aldng  the  walls,  to 
direct  and  animate  their  men  in  the  defence.  The 
Moors,  in  their  blind  furv,  often  assailed  the  most 
jilUcuIt  and  dangerous  places.  Darts,  stones,  and 
all  kinds  of  missiles,  were  hurled  down  upon  their 
^fenceless  heads.  As  fast  as  they  mounted,  they 
were  cut  dcr/.n,  or  dashed  from  the  battlements, 
their  ladders  owrtunied,  and  all  who  were  on  them 
precipitated  headlong  below. 

Miilcy  Aben  Hassan  stormed  with  passion  at  the 
t.'ght ;  ne  sent  detachment  after  detachment  to  scale 
llie  walls — but  in  vain  ;  they  were  like  waves  rush- 
ing upon  a  rock,  only  to  dash  themselves  to  pieces. 
The  Moors  lay  in  heaps  beneath  the  wall,  and 
among  them  many  of  the  bravest  cavaliers  of  Gra- 
nada. The  christians,  also,  s.illied  frequently  from 
the  spates,  and  made  great  havoc  in  the  irregular 
multitude  of  assailants. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  the  party  was  com- 
mamled  by  Don  Ju.in  de  Vera,  the  same  pious  and 
hi>;h-han(led  knight  who  had  borne  the  embassy  to 
Muley  Aben  Hassan,  demanding  tribute.  As  this 
(lou^'lity  cavalier,  after  a  career  of  carnage,  was 
slowly  retreatiTig  to  the  gate,  he  heard  a  voice  loudly 
callii.g  after  him,  in  furious  accents.  "Turn  back  I 
turn  back  I  "  cried  the  voice  ;  "  thou  who  canst  in- 
sult in  hall,  prove  that  thou  canst  combat  in  the 
field."  Don  Juan  de  Vera  turned,  and  beheld  the 
same  Abencerrage  whom  he  had  struck  with  his 
sword  in  the  AUiambra,  for  scofting  at  the  immacu- 
late conception  of  the  blessed  virgin.  All  his  holy 
le.il  and  pious  indignation  rekindled  at  the  sight ; 
he  put  l.ance  in  rest,  and  spurred  his  steed  to  finish 
this  doctrinal  dispute.  Don  Juan  de  Vera  was  a 
|y:Hen'  and  irresistible  arguer  with  his  weapon  ;  and 
h::  v'\s  aided,  (says  Fray  Antonio  Agajjida,)  by  the 
,'*:;.iiiar  virtue  of  his  cause.  At  the  very  tirst  en- 
i'jantt-r,  his  lance  entered  the  mouth  of  the  Moor, 
.nd  hurled  him  to  the  earth,  never  more  to  utter 
»onl  or  breath.  Thus  (continues  the  worthy  friar) 
did  this  scolhng  infidel  receive  a  well-merited  pun- 
Lshment,  through  the  very  organ  with  which  he  had 
offfuded  ;  and  thus  was  the  immaculate  conception 
miraculously  vindicated  from  his  foul  aspersioiiS. 

The  vigorous  and  successful  defence  of  the  chris- 
tip.ns,  now  made  Muley  Aben  Hassan  sensible  of  his 
error  in  hurrying  trom  Granada  without  the  proper 
enjjines  for  a  siege.  Destitute  of  all  means  to  batter 
the  fortifications,  the  town  remained  uninjured,  defy- 
ing the  mighty  army  which  raged  and  roamed  before 
it.  Incensed  at  being  thus  foiled,  Muley  Aben  H.assan 
gave  orders  to  undermine  the  walls.  The  Moors 
advanced  with  shouts  to  the  attempt.  They  were 
received  with  a  deadly  fire  from  the  ramparts,  which 
drove  them  from  their  works.  Repeatedly  were 
they  repulsed,  and  repeatedly  did  thev  return  to  the 
charge.  The  christians  not  merely  galled  them  from 
the  battlements,  but  issued  forth  and  cut  them  down 
in  the  eic.avations  they  were  attempting  to  form. 
The  contest  lasted  throughout  a  whole  day,  and  by 
•rjning  two  thousand  Moors  were  cither  killed  or 
ijunded, 

Mdley  Aben  Hassan  now  abandoned  all  hope  of 
irrjing  the  place  by  assault,  and  attempted  to  dis- 
itis  it  into  terms  by  turning  the  channel  of  the 
■iver  which  runs  by  its  walls.  On  this  stream  the 
i:hai.>itants  dejxinded  for  their  supply  of  water  ;  the 
plice  being  destitute  of  fountains  and  cisterns,  from 
whi<.li  circu:nstance  it  is  called  Alhama  la  seca,  or 
•'the  dry." 

A  desperate  conflict  ensued  on  the  banks  of  the 
rivi'r,  the  Moors  endeavoring  to  plant  palisades  in 
its  bed  to  divert  the  stream,  and  the  christians  striv- 
hig  to  prevent  them.  The  Spanish  commanders 
exposed  themselves  to  the  utmost  danger  to  animate 


their  men,  who  were  repeatedly  driven  back  into  the 
town.  The  marques  of  Cadiz  was  often  up  to  bis 
knees  in  the  stream,  fighting  hand  to  hard  with  the 
Moors.  The  water  ran  red  vith  blood,  and  «as 
encumbered  with  dead  bodies.  At  length,  the  over- 
whelming numbers  of  the  Moors  gave  them  the  ad 
vantage,  and  they  succeeded  in  diverting  the  greater 
part  of  the  water.  The  christians  had  to  struggle 
severely,  to  supply  thetnselves  from  the  f'.Tble  riP 
which  remained.  They  sallied  to  the  river  by  a  sub- 
terraneous passage  ;  but  the  Moorish  cross-bowmes 
stationed  themselves  on  the  opposite  bank,  keeping 
up  a  heav7  fire  upon  the  christians,  whenever  they 
attempted  to  fill  their  vessels  from  the  scanty  and 
turbid  stream.  One  party  o!  the  christians  had, 
therefore,  to  fight,  while  another  drew  water.  At 
all  hours  of  the  day  and  night,  this  deadly  strife  was 
maintained,  until  it  seemed  as  if  every  drop  of  water 
were  purchase<l  with  a  drop  of  blood. 

in  ihe  mean  time,  the  sdtTerings  in  the  town  be- 
came intense.  None  but  the  soldiery  and  their 
horses  were  allowed  the  precious  beverage  so  dearly 
earned,  and  even  that  in  quantities  that  only  tan- 
talized thi.'ir  wants.  The  wounded,  who  could  not 
sally  to  procure  it,  were  almost  destitute  ;  while  the 
unhappy  prisoners,  shut  up  in  the  mosques,  were 
reduced  to  frightful  extremities.  Many  perished 
raving  mad,  fancying  themselves  swimming  in  bound- 
less seas,  yet  unable  to  assuage  their  thirst.  Many 
of  the  soldiers  lay  parched  and  panting  along  the 
battlements,  no  longer  able  to  draw  a  bcwstrir.g  or 
hurl  a  stone ;  while  above  five  thousand  Moors, 
st.ationed  upon  a  rocky  height  which  overlooked 
part  of  the  town,  kept  up  a  galling  fire  into  it  with 
slings  and  CiOss-lx)ws ;  so  that  the  mar(jues  of  Cadli 
was  obliged  to  heighten  the  battlements,  by  ustrg 
the  doors  from  the  private  dwellings. 

The  christian  cavaliers,  exposed  to  this  extreme 
peril,  and  in  imminent  danger  of  falling  into  the 
hands  of  the  enemy,  dispatched  fleet  messengers  to 
Seville  and  Cordova,  entreating  the  chivalry  of  An- 
dalusia to  hasten  to  their  aid.  They  sent  likewise, 
imploring  assistance  from  the  king  and  queen,  who 
at  that  time  held  their  court  in  Medina  del  Campo. 
In  the  midst  of  their  distress,  a  tank,  or  cistern,  of 
water,  was  fortunately  discovered  in  the  city,  which 
gave  temporary  relief  to  their  sulTciir.gs. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


WOW  THK  DUKR  OF  MEDINA  SinONIA,  AND  THl 
CHIVAl.HV  OF  ANDALUSIA,  HASTENED  TO  THl 
RELIEF  Ur   ALHAMA. 

Thf,  i^erilous  situation  of  the  christian  cavaliers, 
pent  up  and  beleaguered  within  the  walls  of  Alhama, 
spread  terror  among  their  friends,  and  anxiety 
throughout  all  Andalusia.  Nothing,  however,  could 
e()ual  the  anguish  of  the  marchioness  of  Cadiz,  the 
wite  of  the  gallant  Roderigo  I'once  de  Leon.  In  bw 
deep  distress,  she  looked  round  for  some  powerful 
noble,  who  had  the  means  of  rousing  the  country  to 
the  assistance  of  her  husband.  No  one  appeared 
more  competent  for  the  purpose  than  Don  Juan  de 
Guzman,  the  duke  of  Medina  Sidonia.  He  was  one 
of  the  most  wealthy  and  puissant  grandees  of  Spain ; 
his  possessions  extended  over  some  of  the  most  fer- 
tile parts  of  Andalusia,  embracing  towns,  and  sea- 
ports, and  numerous  villages.  Here  he  reigned  in 
feudal  state,  like  a  petty  sovereign,  and  could  at  any 
time  bring  into  the  field  an  immense  force  of  vassals 
and  retainers. 


itri 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


The  duke  of  Medina  Sidonia,  and  the  marques  of 
Cadiz,  however,  were  at  this  time  deadly  foes.  An 
Hereditary  feud  existed  between  them,  which  had 
often  arisen  to  bloodshed  and  open  war  ;  for  as  yet 
the  fierce  contests  between  the  proud  and  puissant 
Spanish  nobles  had  not  been  completely  quelled  by 
the  power  of  the  crown,  and  in  this  respect  they 
exerted  a  ripht  of  sovereipity.  in  leading  their  vassals 
against  each  other  in  open  tield. 

The  duke  of  Medina  Sidonia  would  have  appeared, 
to  many,  the  very  last  person  to  whom  to  apply  for 
ud  of  the  marques  of  Cadiz  ;  but  the  marchioness 
judged  of  him  by  the  standard  of  her  own  high  and 
generous  mind.  She  knew  him  to  be  a  gallant  and 
courteous  knight,  and  had  already  experienced  the 
magnanimity  of  his  spirit,  having  been  relieved  by  him 
when  besieged  by  the  Moors  in  her  husband's  for- 
tress of  Arcos.  To  the  duke,  therefore,  she  applied 
in  this  moment  of  sudden  calamity,  imploring  him 
to  furnish  succor  to  her  husband.  The  event  showed 
how  well  noble  spirits  understand  each  other.  No 
sooner  did  the  dulce  receive  this  appeal  from  the  wife 
of  his  enemy,  than  he  generously  forgot  all  feeling 
of  animosity,  and  determined  to  go  in  person  to  his 
succor.  He  immediately  dispatched  a  courteous  let- 
ter to  the  marchioness,  assuring  her  that  in  considera- 
tion of  the  request  of  so  honorable  and  estinv^ble  a 
lady,  and  to  rescue  from  peril  so  valiant  a  cavalier  as 
her  husband,  whose  loss  would  be  great,  not  only  to 
Spain,  but  to  all  Christendom,  he  would  forego  the 
recollection  of  all  past  grievances,  and  hasten  to  his 
relief  with  all  the  forces  he  could  raise. 

The  duke  wrote  at  the  same  time  to  the  alcaydes 
of  his  towns  and  fortresses,  ordering  them  to  join 
him  forthwith  at  Seville,  with  all  the  forces  they  could 
spare  from  their  garrisons,  lie  called  on  all  the 
liiivalry  of  Andalusia  to  make  a  common  cause  in 
the  rescue  of  those  christian  cavaliers,  and  he  offered 
large  pay  to  all  volunteers  who  would  resort  to  him 
with  horses,  armor,  and  provisions.  Thus  all  who 
could  be  incited  by  honor,  religion,  patriotism,  or 
thirst  of  gain,  were  induced  to  hasten  to  his  standard, 
and  he  took  the  field  with  an  army  of  five  thousand 
horse  and  fifty  thousand  foot.*  Many  cavaliers  of 
distinguished  name  accompanied  him  in  this  gener- 
ous enterprise.  Among  these  was  the  re<loubtable 
Alonzo  de  Agiiilar,  the  chosen  friend  of  the  marques 
of  Cadiz,  and  with  him  his  younger  brother,  Gonsalvo 
Fernandez  de  Cordova,  afterwards  renowned  as  the 
grand  captain  ;  Don  Roderigo  Giron,  also.  Master  of 
the  order  of  Calatrava,  together  with  Martin  Alonzo 
de  Montemayor,  and  the  marques  De  ViJIena,  es- 
teemed the  best  lance  in  Spain.  It  was  a  gallant 
and  splendid  army,-  comprishig  the  flower  of  Spanish 
chivalry,  and  poured  forth  in  brilliant  array  from  the 
gates  of  Seville,  bearing  the  great  standard  of  that 
ancient  and  renowned  city. 

Ferdinand  and  Isaljella  were  at  Medina  del  Campo, 
when  tidings  came  of  the  capture  of  Alhama.  The 
king  was  at  mass  when  he  received  the  news,  and 
ordered  te  deum  to  be  chanted  for  this  signal  triumph 
of  the  holy  faith.  When  the  first  Hush  of  triumph 
bad  subsided,  and  the  king  learnt  the  imminent  peril 
af  the  valorous  Ponce  de  Leon  and  his  companions, 
and  the  great  danger  that  this  strong-hold  might 
again  be  wrested  from  their  grasp,  he  resolved  to 
hurry  in  person  to  the  scene  ofaction.  So  pressing 
lutpeared  to  him  the  emergency,  that  he  barely  gave 
himself  time  to  take  a  hasty  repast  while  horses  were 
providing,  and  then  departed  at  furious  speed  for 
Andalusia,  leaving  a  request  for  the  queen  to  follow 
him.t     He  was  attended   by  Don   Beltram  de   la 


*  Croaica  da  Im  Dnquat  da  Madina  Sidoaia,  ror  Padio  da 
Madina.    MS. 
t  LlMcaa.  Hitt.  PonlificaL 


Cueva,  duke  of 'Albuquerque  Don  Inieo  Loper  qi 
Mendoza,  count  of  Tendilla,  and  Don  Pedro  Mauri. 
ques,  count  of  Trevifio,  with  a  few  more  cavaliers  ot 
prowess  and  distinction.  He  travel'ed  by  forced 
journeys,  frequently  changing  his  jaded  horses,  be 
ing  eager  to  arrive  in  time  to  take  command  of  the 
Andalusian  chivalry.  When  he  an'ved  within  five 
leagues  of  Cordova,  the  duke  of  Albuquerque  reinon- 
strated  with  him  upor  entering,  with  such  incai'Mouj 
haste,  into  the  enemies'  country.  He  represent  d  ic 
him  that  there  were  troops  enough  assembled  to  siircoi 
Alhama,  and  that  it  was  not  for  him  to  venture  I113 
royal  person  in  doing  what  could  be  done  by  his  sul). 
jects  ;  especially  as  he  had  such  valiant  and  cxpt^. 
rienced  captains  t'^  act  for  him.  "  Besides,  s.re," 
added  the  duke,  "  your  majesty  should  bethink  you 
that  the  troops  about  to  take  the  field  are  mere  mtu 
of  Andalusia,  whereas  your  illustrious  predecessors 
never  made  an  inroad  into  the  territory  of  the  Moors, 
without  being  accompanied  by  a  powerful  force  of 
the  staunch  and  iron  warriors  of  old  Castile." 

"Duke,"  replied  the  king,  "your  counsel  mijjht 
have  been  good,  had  I  not  departed  from  Mtlma 
with  the  avowed  determination  of  succoring  these 
cavaliers  in  person.  I  am  now  near  the  end  of  my 
journey,  and  it  would  be  beneath  my  dignity  to 
change  my  intention,  before  even  I  had  met  with  an 
impediment.  I  shall  take  the  troops  of  this  country 
who  are  assembled,  without  waiting  for  those  of 
Castile,  and,  with  the  aid  of  God,  shall  prosecute  my 
journey."* 

As  king  Ferdinand  approached  Cordova,  the  prin 
cipal  inhabitants  came  forth  to  receive  him.  Learn- 
ing, however,  that  the  duke  of  Medina  Sidonia  wpi 
already  on  the  march,  and  pressing  forward  into  ih; 
territory  of  the  Moors,  the  king  was  all  on  tire  tn 
overtake  him,  and  to  lead  in  person  the  succor  te 
Alhama.  Without  entering  Cordova,  therefore,  he 
exchanged  his  weary  horses  for  those  of  the  inti.hit- 
ants  who  had  come  forth  to  meet  him,  and  pressed 
forward  for  the  army.  He  dispatched  fleet  couners 
in  advance,  requesting  the  duke  of  Medina  Sidonia 
to  await  his  coming,  that  he  might  t<dce  comm.mc 
of  the  forces. 

Neither  the  duke  nor  his  companions  in  arms, 
however,  felt  inclined  to  pause  in  their  generous  ex- 
pedition, and  gratify  the  inclination  of  the  king.  Thev 
sent  back  missives,  representing  that  they  were  fat 
within  the  enemies'  frontier,  and  it  was  danf^crous 
either  to  pause  or  turn  back.  They  had  likewise 
received  pressing  entreaties  from  the  besieged  to 
hasten  their  speed,  setting  forth  their  great  sulTer- 
ings,  .nd  their  hourly  peril  of  being  overwhehuei! 
by  the  enemy. 

The  king  was  at  Ponton  del  Maestre,  when  he  re- 
ceived these  missives.  So  inflamed  was  he  with  zeal 
for  the  success  of  this  enterprise,  that  he  would  have 
penetrated  into  the  kingdom  of  Granada  with  the 
nandful  of  cavaliers  who  accompanied  him,  but  thev 
represented  the  rashness  of  such  a  journey,  througfi 
the  mountainous  defiles  of  a  hostile  country,  thickly 
beset  with  towns  and  castles.  With  some  difficulty, 
therefore,  he  was  dissuaded  from  his  inclination,  and 
prevailerl  upon  to  await  tidings  from  the  army  i: 
the  frontier  city  of  Antiqucra. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 
SEQUEL  OP  THE   EVENTS  AT  ALHAMA. 

While  all  Andalusia  was  thus  in  arms,  and  pour- 
ing its  chivalry  through  the  mountain  passes  of  tht 
Moorish  frontier,  the  garrison  of  Alhama  was  r^ 

*  Puliar.  Cioaka,  p^  la  •.  !!• 


nigo  Lope;  Q) 
I  Pedro  Mauri, 
ire  cavaliers  ot 
iVd  by  forced 
ieJ  horses,  be 
i^mmand  of  the 
Lred  within  five 
,uerque  rtmon- 
such  inca"!oiis 

represent!,;  tc 
mbledtosurcni 

to  venture  hij 
one  by  his  snt). 
iant  and  cxpe. 
Besides,  s.ie," 
Id  bethink  you 
1  are  mere  nien 
IS  predecessors 
y  of  the  Moors, 
werful  forie  of 
Castile." 

counsel  might 

I  frond  Mciina 
uccoring  thes« 

the  end  of  my 
my  dignity  to 
id  met  with  an 
of  this  countf) 
T  for  those  of 

II  prosecute  my 


rdova,  the  prin 
e  him.  Le.im- 
na  Sidonia  w:'j 
orward  into  ih; 
i  all  on  tire  to 
1  the  succor  to 
1,  therefore,  he 

of  the  inliabit- 
m,  and  pressed 
d  fleet  couriers 
ledina  Siilonia 

take  commanc 

nions  in  arms, 

generous  ex- 

ihe  king.  Thev 

they  were  tat 

was  danjjcrous 

had  likewise 

besieged  to 

ir  great  suffer- 

overwhelmed 

•e,  when  he  re- 
as  he  with  zeal 
he  would  havt 
nada  with  the 
him,  but  thev 
umey,  througfi 
ountry,  thickly 
lome  difficulty, 
nclination,  and 
1  the  army  i: 


LLHAMA. 

rms,  and  pour 
passes  of  tht 
lama  was  r^ 


:!€--j 


f'iii 


',-■« 


i^^,:^  r 


i*,..i 


•|lll    k  V  M  I  l:--l.il  I,  IK\  IN(i. 


('..pyriiiht  WHO  l>y  I-()I.r,AUI>  .»■  M" 


THL  ALCAYDE'S  WIFF   IMPLORING   PROTECTION. 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


I8S 


duced  to  great  extremity,  and  In  danger  of  sinking 

uniler  its  suffenngs  before  the  pronfiised  succor  could 
arrive.  The  intoleralile  tiiirst  that  prevailed  in  con- 
jeqiience  of  the  scarcity  of  water,  the  incessant 
watch  that  had  to  he  maintained  over  the  vast  force 
of  enemies  without,  and  the  great  number  of  prison- 
ers within,  and  the  wounds  which  almost  every  sol- 
:_l:er  had  received  in  the  incessant  skirmishes  and 
-ifsa'ilts,  had  worn  grievously  both  flesh  and  si)iril. 
The  noble  Ponce  de  Leon,  marques  of  Cadiz,  still 
tnimatrd  the  soldiery,  however,  by  word  and  exam- 
pic,  sharing  every  hardship  and  being  foremost  in 
every  danger;  exempli  tying  that  a  good  commander 
is  the  vital  spirit  of  an  army. 

When  Muley  Aben  Hassan  heard  of  the  vast  force 
that  was  approaching  untler  the  command  of  the 
duke  of  Medina  Sidonia,  and  that  Ferdinand  was 
coining  in  person  with  additional  troops,  he  perceiv- 
ed that  no  time  was  to  be  lost :  Alhama  must  be  ear- 
ned by  one  powerful  attack,  or  abandoned  entirely 
to  the  christians. 

A  number  of  Moorish  cavaliers,  some  of  the 
t)ravrst  youth  of  Granada,  knowing  the  wishes  of 
the  king,  proposed  to  undertake  a  desperate  enter- 
prise, which,  if  successful,  must  put  Alhama  in  his 
power.  Early  one  morning,  when  it  was  scarcely 
the  gray  of  the  dawn,  about  the  time  of  changing  the 
watch,  these  cavaliers  approached  the  town,  at  a 
place  considered  inaccessible,  from  the  steepness  of 
the  rocks  on  which  the  wall  was  founded  ;  which,  it 
was  supjKised,  elevated  the  battlements  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  longest  scaling-ladder.  The  Moorish 
knights,  aided  by  a  number  of  the  strongest  and  most 
iciive  escaladors,  mounted  these  rocks,  and  applied 
the  ladders,  without  being  discovered  ;  for,  to  divert 
a'tention  from  them,  Miiley  Al>en  Hassan  made  a 
[a!s(!  attack  ujion  the  town  in  another  quarter. 

The  scaling  party  mounted  with  difficulty,  and  in 
small  numbers ;  the  sentinel  was  killed  at  his  post, 
md  seventy  of  the  Moors  made  their  way  into  the 
streets  before  an  alarm  was  given.  The  guards 
rushed  to  the  walls,  to  stop  the  hostile  throng  that 
was  still  pouring  in.  A  sharp  conflict,  hand  to  hand 
and  man  to  man,  took  place  on  the  battlements,  and 
many  on  both  sides  fell.  The  Moors,  whether 
wounded  or  slain,  were  thrown  headlong  without 
the  walls  ;  the  scaling-ladders  were  overturned,  and 
those  who  vvere  mounting  were  dashed  upon  the 
rocks,  and  from  thence  tumbled  upon  the  plain. 
Thus,  in  a  little  while,  the  ramparts  were  cleared 
by  christian  prowess,  led  on  by  that  valiant  knight 
Don  Alonzo  Ponce,  the  uncle,  and  that  brave  es- 
quire Pedro  Pineda,  nephew  of  the  marques  of 
dadiz. 

The  walls  being  cleared,  these  two  kindred  cava- 
liers now  hastened  with  their  forces  in  pursuit  of 
the  seventy  Moors  who  had  gained  an  entrance  into 
the  town.  The  main  party  of  the  garrison  being  en- 
gagrd  at  a  distance  resisting  the  feigned  attack  of 
the  Moorish  king,  this  fierce  band  of  infidels  had 
ranged  the  streets  almost  without  opposition,  and 
were  making  their  way  tc  the  gates  to  throw  them 
i)p»n  to  the  army.*  They  were  chosen  men  from 
among  the  Moorish  forces,  several  of  them  gallant 
tnl_f;hts  of  the  proudest  families  of  Granada.  Their 
footsteps  through  the  city  were  in  a  manner  printed 
Ti  blood,  and  they  were  tracked  by  the  bodies  of 
those  they  had  killed  and  wounded.  They  had 
attained  the  gate ;  most  of  the  guard  had  fallen  be- 
neath their  scimitars:  a  moment  more,  and  Alhama 
would  have  been  thrown  open  to  the  enemy. 

Just  at  this  juncture,  Don  Alonzo  Ponce  and  Pedro 
ie  Pineda  reached  the  spot  with  their  forces.    The 


*  ZuriU,  Ull  lo.  c.  4S. 


Moors  had  the  enemy  in  front  and  rear ;  they  pixced 
themselves  back  to  back,  with  their  banner  m  the 
centre.  In  this  way  they  fought  with  desperate  and 
deadly  determinaticn,  making  a  rampart  around 
them  with  the  slain  More  christian  troops  arrived, 
and  hemmed  them  i :. ;  but  s'ill  they  fought  without 
asking  for  quarter.  As  their  numbers  decreased, 
they  serried  their  circle  still  closer,  defendii  g  their 
baimcr  from  assault ;  and  the  last  Moor  ditd  at  his 
post,  grasping  the  standard  of  the  Prophet.  This 
standard  was  displayed  from  the  walls,  and  the  tur- 
baned  heads  of  the  Moors  were  thrown  down  to  the 
besiegers.* 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  tore  his  beard  with  rage  at 
the  failure  of  this  attempt,  and  at  the  death  of  so 
m.any  of  his  chosen  cavaliers.  He  saw  that  all  further 
effort  was  in  vain;  his  scouts  brought  word  that  they 
had  seen  from  the  heights,  the  long  columns  and 
flaunting  banners  of  thf  christian  army  approaching 
through  the  mountains.  To  linger  would  be  to  place 
himself  between  two  bodies  of  the  enemy.  Break- 
ing up  his  camp,  therefore,  in  ■all  haste,  he  gave  up 
the  siege  of  Alhama,  and  hastened  back  to  Granada  ; 
and  the  last  clash  of  his  cymbals  scarce  died  upon 
the  ear  from  the  distant  hills,  before  the  standard  of 
the  duke  of  Sidonia  was  seen  emerging  in  anothsi 
direction  from  the  deliles  of  the  mountains. 

When  the  christians  in  Alhama  beheld  their  ene- 
mies retreating  on  one  side  and  their  friends  advanc- 
ing on  the  other,  they  uttered  shouts  of  joy  and 
hymns  of  thanksgiving,  for  it  w.as  as  a  sudden  relief 
from  present  death.  Harassed  by  several  weeks 
of  incessant  vigil  and  fighting,  suffering  from  scarcity 
of  provisions  and  almost  continual  thirst,  the)  re- 
sembled skeletons  rather  than  living  men.  It  wr.s  n 
noble  and  gracious  sight  to  behold  the  meeting  of 
those  two  ancient  I'oes,  the  duke  of  Medina  Sidonin 
and  the  marques  of  Cadiz.  When  the  marques  be- 
held his  magnaniiTious  deliverer  approaching,  ht. 
melted  into  tears;  all  past  animosities  only  gave  the 
greater  poignancy  to  present  feelings  of  gratitude 
and  admiration  ;  they  clasped  each  other  in  their 
arms,  and  from  that  time  forward  were  true  and 
cordial  friends. 

While  this  generous  scene  took  place  between  the 
commanders,  a  sordid  contest  arose  among  theii 
troops.  The  soldiers  who  had  come  to  the  rescue 
claimed  a  portion  of  the  spoils  of  Alhama ;  and  so 
violent  was  the  dispute,  that  both  parties  seized  their 
arms.  The  duke  of  .Medina  Sidonia  mterfer'-^,  and 
settled  the  question  with  his  characteristic  magnan- 
imity. He  declared  that  the  siwil  belonged  to  those 
who  had  captured  the  city.  "  We  bave  taken  the 
field,"  said  he,  "only  for  honor,  for  religion,  and  for 
the  rescue  of  our  countrymen  and  fellow-christians 
and  the  success  of  our  enterprise  is  a  sufficient  and 
a  glonious  reward.  If  we  desire  booty,  there  arc 
sufficient  Moorish  cities  yet  to  he  taken,  to  enrich 
us  all."  The  soltliers  were  convinced  by  the  frank 
and  chivalrous  reasoning  of  the  duke ;  they  replied 
to  his  speech  by  acclamations,  and  the  transient 
broil  was  happily  appeased. 

The  marchioness  of  Cadiz,  with  the  forethought 
of  a  loving  wife,  had  dispatched  her  major  doina 
with  the  army  with  a  large  supply  of  provisions. 
Tables  were  immediately  spread  benenth  the  tents, 
where  the  marques  gave  a  ban()uet  to  the  duke  and 
the  cavaliers  who  had  accompanied  him,  and  noth- 
ing but  hilarity  prevailed  in  this  late  scene  of  sutfer- 
ing  and  death. 

A  garrison  of  fresh  troops  was  left  in  Alh^niai 

*  Pedro  de  Pineda  received  the  hooor  of  kiii<hlhood  fro*  tko 
hand  of  kins  Kerdinuid,  for  hii  valor  os  tlii>  occauca ;  (Alonac 
Ponce  was  already  knight).— See  Zufliga,  Aasales  of  Sevula,  lib 
la.  as.  148a. 


^'' 


k. 


•*4 


t^ 


1^ 


t 

r 


184 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


-.■  •'T-  -■• 


11*1*1. *'     1  >» 

'■■4  ■!■«--  ':T  I'   i 


t:>^. 


■"•^■■^'•^r 


and  the  veterans  who  had  so  valiantly  captured  and 
maintained  it,  returned  to  their  homes,  burthcned 
with  precious  booty.  The  marques  and  duke*  with 
their  confederate  cavaliers,  repaired  to  Antiquera, 
where  they  were  received  with  great  distinction  by 
the  king,  who  honored  the  marques  of  Cadi*  with 
signal  marks  of  favor.  The  duke  then  accompanied 
his  late  enemy,  hut  now  most  zealous  and  grateful 
Iriend,  the  marques  of  Cadiz,  to  his  town  of  March- 
«ia,  where  he  received  the  reward  of  his  generous 
conduct,  in  the  thanks  and  blessings  of  the  mar- 
chioness. The  mari,ues  celebrated  a  sumptuous 
feast,  in  honor  of  his  guest ;  for  a  day  and  night,  his 
palace  was  thrown  OjXin,  and  wn.s  the  scene  of  con- 
tinual revel  and  festivity.  When  the  duke  departed 
for  his  estates  at  St.  Lucar,  the  marques  atteiuled 
him  for  some  dist.ince  on  his  journey ;  and  when 
they  separated,  it  was  as  the  parting  scene  of 
brothers  Such  was  the  noble  spectacle  exhibited 
to  the  chivalry  of  .Spain,  by  these  two  illustrious 
rivals.  Kach  reaped  universal  renown  from  the  part 
he  had  performed  in  the  campaign ;  the  marques, 
from  having  surprised  and  captured  one  of  the  most 
important  and  fonnidable  fortresses  of  thfi  kingdom 
of  Granada;  and  the  duke,  from  having  subdued 
his  deadliest  foe,  by  a  great  act  of  magnanimity. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


i'^tm 


MM.iS  4. 


\t<--, 


EVENTS  AT  GRANADA,  AND  RISE  OF  THE  MOORISH 
Kl.VG  BOABDIL  EL  CHICO. 

TKE  Moorish  king,  Ahen  H.assan,  rettimed, 
baffled  and  disappointed,  from  before  the  walls  of 
Alhama,  and  was  received  with  groans  and  smother- 
)5.1  cuecrations  by  the  people  of  Granada.  The  pre- 
iticticn  of  the  santon  was  in  every  mouth,  and 
ipreared  to  l>e  rapidly  fultilling;  for  the  enemy  was 
Aireiuty  strongly  fonitied  in  Alhama,  in  the  very 
heart  of  the  kingdom.  The  disatfection,  which 
broke  out  in  murmurs  among  the  common  people, 
fermented  more  secretly  and  cangerously  among  the 
nobles.  Muley  Abcn  H.issan  was  of  a  fierce  and 
cruel  nature ;  his  reign  had  been  marked  with  tyr- 
anny and  bloodshed,  and  many  chiefs  of  the  family 
of  the  Abencerrages,  the  noblest  lineage  among  the 
.Moors,  had  fallen  victims  to  his  policy  or  vengeance. 
A  deep  plot  was  now  formed,  to  put  an  end  to  his 
oppressions,  and  dispossess  him  of  the  throne.  The 
situation  of  the  royal  household  favored  the  con- 
spiracy. 

Muley  Ahen  Tlass.an,  though  cruel,  was  uxorious  ; 
that  is  to  say,  he  h.id  many  wives,  and  w.as  prone  to 
be  managed  by  them  by  turns.  He  had  two  queens 
in  particular,  whom  he  had  chosen  from  atfection. 
One,  named  Ayxa,  was  a  Moorish  female ;  she  was 
likewise  termeci  in  Arabic,  La  Hurra,  or  the  chaste, 
from  the  six)tless  purity  of  her  character.  While 
yet  in  the  prime  ot  her  beauty,  she  bore  a  son  to 
Aben  Hassan,  the  expected  heir  to  his  throne.  The 
name  of  this  prince  was  M.ahomet  Abdalla,  or,  as  he 
has  more  generally  been  termed  among  historians, 
Boab'.il.  At  his  birth,  the  astrologers,  according  to 
:r.iStom,  cast  his  horoscope:  they  were  seized  with 
'as'.r  and  trembling,  when  they  beheld  the  fatal  por- 
li-nts  revealed  to  their  science.  "  Alia  Achbar  !  God 
is  gteat !"  exclaimed  they;  "he  alone  controls  the 
fate  of  empires.  It  is  written  in  the  heavens  th.it 
tliis  prince  shall  sit  upon  the  throne  of  Granada,  but 
that  the  downfall  of  the  kingdcmi  shall  be  acci>m- 
plished  during  hi-",  reign."  From  this  time,  the  prince 
was  ever  regarded  with  aversion  by  his  father ;  and 
the  series  of  pt  rsecutions  which  he  suffered,  and  the 


dark  prediction  which  hung  over  him  rom  his  In. 
fancy,  procured  him  the  suri.amc  of  E  Zogoybi,  oi 
"  the  unfortunate."  He  is  more  commonly  known 
by  the  appellation  of  El  Chico  (the  younger,)  to  div 
tinguish  him  from  an  usurping  uncle. 

The  other  favorite  queen  of  Aben  Hass.an  w.n 
named  Fatima.  to  which  the  Moors  added  the  appcj. 
lation  of  La  Zoraya,  or  the  light  of  dawn,  from  hji 
elTul^rent  beauty.  She  was  a  christian  by  birth,  th; 
daughter  of  the  commander  Sancho  Ximenes  ijj 
Soils,  and  had  been  taken  captive  in  her  temiei 
youth.*  The  king,  who  w.as  well  stricken  in  years 
at  the  time,  became  en.ainored  of  the  blooming 
christian  maid  ;  he  made  her  his  sultana,  an<i.  like 
most  old  men  who  marry  in  their  dotage,  resif^md 
himself  to  her  management.  Zoraya  became  \h'. 
mother  of  two  princes,  an«l  her  anxiety  for  their  ;t,|. 
vancement  seemed  to  extinguish  every  other  natural 
feeling  in  her  breast.  She  was  as  ambitious  as  ^he 
was  beautiful,  and  her  ruling  desire  became  to  s re 
one  of  her  sons  seated  upon  the  throne  of  (TranuLi, 
For  this  purpose,  she  made  use  of  all  her  arts,  md 
of  the  complete  ascendancy  she  had  over  the  iiiwi 
of  her  cruel  husband,  to  undermine  his  other  i:ii:l. 
dren  in  his  alTections,  and  to  till  him  with  jealouMi-s 
of  theirdesigns.  Muley  Aben  H.'issan  was  so  wrot'ghi 
ui)on  by  her  machinations,  that  he  publicly  put 
several  of  his  sons  to  death,  at  the  celebrated  I'uiin- 
tain  of  Lions,  in  the  court  of  the  Alhambra,— a 
pl.ace  signalized  in  Moorish  history  as  the  scene  oi' 
many  sanguinary  deeds. 

The  next  measure  of  Zor.aya,  was  agjainst  her  riva 
sult.ana,  the  virtuous  Ayxa.  She  was  past  the  bloon 
of  her  beauty,  and  had  ceased  to  be  attractive  in  thf 
eyes  of  her  husband.  He  was  easily  persuaded  It 
repudiate  her,  and  to  confine  her  and  her  son  in  tht 
tower  of  Cimares,  one  of  the  principal  towers  of  thi 
Alhambra.  As  BoalKlil  increased  in  ye.ars,  Zr)ra)a 
beheld  in  him  a  formidable  obstacle  to  the  pretensi  irii 
of  her  sons ;  for  he  was  universally  considered  heir- 
apparent  to  the  throne.  The  jealousies,  suspicions, 
and  alarms  of  his  tiger-hearted  father,  were  aj,'ain 
excited  ;  he  was  reminded,  too,  of  the  prediction  th.U 
fixed  the  ruin  of  the  kingdom  during  the  reign  ci' 
this  prince.  Muley  Aben  Hassan  impiously  set  t!;c 
stars  at  defiance  :  "  The  sword  of  the  executioner," 
said  he,  "shall  prove  the  falsehood  of  these  Ivinj; 
horoscopes,  and  shall  silence  the  ambition  of  l!oai> 
dil,  as  it  has  the  presumption  of  his  hrnthers." 

The  sultana  Ayxa  was  secretly  apprized  of  th» 
cruel  design  of  the  old  monarch.  She  was  a  wnii>an 
ot  lalents  and  courage,  and,  by  means  ot  her  fe:n:>le 
attendants,  concerted  a  plan  for  the  escape  of  ht;r 
son.  .\  faithful  servant  was  inslnicted  to  wait  hfjow 
the  .Alhambra,  in  the  dead  of  the  night,  on  the  b.ink^ 
of  the  river  Darro.  with  a  fleet  Arabian  coursvr. 
The  sultana,  when  the  castle  was  in  a  state  of  deep 
repose,  tied  together  the  shawls  and  scarfs  of  herst'll 
and  her  female  attendants,  and  lowered  the  youthtul 
prince  from  the  tower  of  Cimares.f  He  made  his 
way  in  safety  down  the  sttx'p  rocky  hill  to  the  bar.k! 
cflhe  I^^arro,  and,  throwing  himself  on  the  Arab;;ir) 
courser,  was  thus  spirited  off  to  the  city  of  (Ju.-mIIt 
in  the  Alpuxarres.  Here  he  lay  for  some  time  con 
cealed,  until,  gaining  adherents,  lic  ftrtified  himsch 
in  the  place,  and  set  the  machinations  of  his  tyiMrt 
father  at  detian'"  .  Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  in  i  he 
roy.al  househ  !fi  jf  J.ranada,  when  Muley  Aben  H  iv 
san  returned  foiled  from  his  expedition  against  Al- 
hama. The  faction,  which  had  secretly  fornicd 
among  the  nobles,  deter,  lined  to  depose  the  old  kir.i^ 
Al>en  Hassan,  and  to  elevate  his  son  lioa'xlil  to  tht 

*  Croafca  del  Oion  C»rdinnl,  cap.  71.    Soluiu,  , 
t  SalMK,    Croaica  i»l  Gnu  Cdrduinl,  c«p,  71. 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


188 


throne.  They  concerted  their  measures  with  the 
latter,  and  an  opportunity  soon  presented  to  put  them 
in  pructice.  Muiey  Abcn  Hassan  had  a  royal  country 
palace  called  Alixares,  in  the  vicinity  of  Granada,  to 
which  he  resorted  occasionally  to  recreate  his  mind, 
during  this  time  of  perplexity.  He  had  been  passing 
one  (lay  among  its  bowers,  when,  on  returning  to  the 
,-ap;tal,  he  found  the  gates  closed  against  him,  and 
liis  son  Mohammed  Abdalla,  otherwise  called  rioab- 
;il,  proclaimed  iting.  "  Allah  Achbar !  God  is 
■:Mt  I  "  exclaimed  old  Muley  Aben  Hassan  ;  "  it  is 
,n  vain  to  contend  against  what  is  written  in  the 
Iwok  of  fate.  It  was  predestined,  that  my  son  should 
•it  upon  the  throne — Allah  forefend  the  rest  of  the 
pre.l  ction  !  "  The  old  monarch  knew  the  inflam- 
ii,i!)  e  nature  of  the  Moors,  and  that  it  was  useless 
to  a'  tempt  to  check  any  sudden  hhue  of  popular  p;is- 
sum  "  A  little  while,"  said  he,  "  and  this  rash  flame 
will  burn  itself  out,  and  the  people  when  cool  will 
hstcn  to  reason."  So  he  turned  liis  steed  from  the 
g.itf .  and  re()aired  to  the  city  of  Baza,  where  he  was 
ii'Ci  ved  with  great  demonstrations  of  loyalty.  He 
was  not  a  man  to  give  up  his  tlirone  without  a  strug- 
Ai.  A  large  part  of  the  kmgdoin  still  remained 
hil'itui  to  him  ;  he  trusted  that  the  conspiracy  in  the 
c:ip  t  il  w.ts  hut  tr.insiciu  and  partial,  anil  that  by 
suillfniy  making  his  appearance  in  its  streets,  at  the 
hc.'i  I  of  a  nuxliTate  force,  he  should  awe  the  people 
ag.i  n  uito  al'cgi.ince.  He  look  his  measures  with 
tlvii  combination  of  dexterity  and  daring  which 
fan,, C.I  his  character,  and  arrived  one  nigiit  under 
the  v:  lis  of  Granada,  with  five  hundred  chosen  fol- 
lowers. Scahng  the  walls  of  the  Alliambra.  he  threw 
himself  with  sanguinary  fur)'  mto  its  silent  courts. 
Tlif;  sleeping  inmates  were  roused  from  their  repose 
only  to  lall  iiy  the  exterminating  scimitar.  The  rage 
o(  Aben  Hassan  spared  neither  age,  nor  rank,  nor 
wi ,  the  halls  resounded  with  shrieks  and  yells,  and 
fi  I'juntains  ran  red  with  blood.  The  alcayde, 
/vtvjn  Cimixer,  retreateil  to  a  strong  tower,  with  a 
fv'>v  of  the  garrison  and  inhabitants.  The  furious 
A')en  H.assan  did  not  lose  time  in  pursuing  him  ;  he 
was  anxious  to  secure  the  city,  and  to  wreak  his  ven- 
pe-.ince  on  its  rebellious  inhabitants.  Descending 
with  his  bloody  band  into  the  streets,  he  cut  down 
the  defenceless  inhabitants,  as,  startled  from  their 
sleep,  they  rushed  forth  to  learn  the  cause  of  the 
alarm.  The  city  was  soon  completely  roused ;  the 
people  Hew  to  arms ;  lights  blazed  in  every  street, 
revealing  the  scanty  numbers  of  this  band,  that  h.id 
been  dealing  such  fatal  vengeance  in  the  dark. 
.Muley  Aben  Hassan  had  been  mistaken  in  his  con- 
jectures ;  the  great  m;iss  of  the  people,  incensed  by 
his  tyranny,  were  zealous  in  favor  of  his  son.  A 
violent,  but  transient  conflict  took  place  in  the  streets 
ami  squares  ;  many  of  the  followers  of  Aben  H.assan 
«'ere  sliin  ;  the  re.st  driven  out  of  the  city  ;  and  the 
old  non.arch,  with  the  remnant  of  his  band,  retreat- 
C'l  ti.>  his  loyal  city  of  Malaga. 

Such  was  the  commencement  of  those  great  inter- 
!)al  feuds  and  dinsions,  which  hastened  the  downfall 
)t  Gran.ada.  The  Moors  became  separated  into  two 
hosiile  factions,  headed  by  the  father  and  the  son, 
md  several  bloody  encounters  took  place  between 
l-.em :  yet  they  never  failed  to  act  with  all  their 
C'ra-fate  force  against  the  christians,  as  a  common 
tf-my,  whenever  an  opportunity  occurred. 


CHAPTER  X. 
ROYAI.  BXPEDTTION  AGAINST   LOXA. 

fCiNO  Ferdinand  held  a  council  of  war  at  Cor- 
feva,  where  it  w;is  deliberated  what  was  to  be  done 


with  Alhama.  Most  of  the  council  ad\nscd  that  it 
should  be  demolished,  in.asrnuch  as  being  in  the 
centre  of  the  Moorish  kingdom,  it  would  be  at  all 
times  liable  to  attack,  and  could  only  be  maintained 
by  a  powerful  garrison  and  at  a  vast  expense.  Queen 
Isabella  arrived  at  Cordova  in  the  midst  of  these  de- 
liberations, and  listened  to  them  with  surprise  am' 
impatience.  "  What !  "  said  she,  "  shall  we  destroj 
the  first  fruits  of  our  victories?  shall  we  abandon 
the  first  place  we  have  wrested  from  the  Moors? 
Never  let  us  suflTer  such  an  idea  to  occupy  our  minds, 
It  would  give  new  courage  to  the  enemy,  argiiing 
fear  or  feebleness  in  our  councils.  You  talk  of  the 
toil  and  expense  of  maintaining  Alhama.  Did  we 
doubt,  on  undertaking  this  war,  that  it  was  to  be  a 
war  of  infinite  cost,  labor,  and  bloodshed  ?  And 
shall  we  shrink  from  the  cost,  the  moment  a  victory 
is  obtained,  and  the  question  is  merely  to  guard  or 
abandon  its  glorious  trophy  ?  Let  us  hear  no  more 
about  the  destruction  of  Alhama  ;  let  us  maintain  its 
walls  sacred,  as  a  strong-hold  granted  us  by  heaven, 
in  the  centre  of  this  hostile  land  ;  and  let  our  only 
consideration  be  how  to  extend  our  conquest,  and 
capture  the  surrounding  cities." 

The  language  of  the  queen  infused  a  more  lofty 
and  chivalrous  spirit  into  the  royal  council.  Prepa- 
rations were  immediately  made  to  maintain  Alhama 
at  all  risk  and  expense ;  and  king  Ferdinaiid  ap- 
pointed as  alcayde  Luis  Fernandez  Puerto  Carrero, 
Senior  of  the  house  cf  Palma,  supported  by  Diego 
Lopez  de  Ayola,  Pero  Ruiz  de  Alarcon,  and  Alonzo 
Ortis,  captains  of  four  hundred  lances,  and  a  body 
of  one  thousand  foot ;  supplied  with  pro\'isions  fci 
three  months. 

P'erdinand  resolved  also  to  lay  siege  to  Loxa.-  ? 
city  of  great  strength,  at  no  great  distance  from  A!.- 
hama.  For  this  purpose,  he  called  upon  all  the 
cities  and  towns  of  Andalusia  and  Estramadura,  and 
the  domains  of  the  orders  of  Santi,igo,  Calatrava, 
and  Alcantara,  and  of  the  priory  of  St.  Juan,  and  the 
kingdom  of  Toledo,  and  beyond  to  the  cities  of  Sala- 
manca, Tero,  and  Valladolid,  to  furnish,  according 
to  their  repartimientos  or  allotments,  a  certain 
quantity  of  bread,  wine,  and  cattle,  to  be  delivered 
at  the  royal  camp  before  Loxa,  one-half  at  the  end 
of  June,  and  one-half  in  July.  These  lands,  also,  to- 
gether with  Biscay  and  (iuipiscoa,  were  ordered  to 
send  reinforcements  of  horse  and  foot,  each  town 
lurnishing  its  quota;  and  great  diligence  was  used 
in  providing  bombards,  powder,  and  other  warliie 
munitions. 

The  Moors  were  no  less  active  in  their  prepara- 
tions, and  sent  missives  into  Africa,  entreating  sup- 
plies, and  calling  upon  the  Barbary  princes  to  aid 
them  in  this  war  of  the  faith.  To  intercept  all  suc- 
cor, the  Castilian  sovereigns  stationed  an  armada  of 
ships  and  galleys  in  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar,  under 
the  command  of  Martin  Diaz  de  Mina  and  Carlos  de 
Valera,  with  orders  to  scour  the  Barbarj'  coast,  and 
sweep  every  Moorish  sail  from  the  sea. 

While  these  preparations  were  m.aking,  Ferdinand 
made  an  incursion,  at  the  head  of  his  army,  into  the 
kingdom  of  Gr.anada,  .and  laid  wast-;  the  vcga.  de- 
stroying its  hamlets  and  villages,  rav.aging  the  field* 
of  grain,  and  driving  away  the  cattle. 

It  was  about  the  end  ot  June,  th,u  king  Fetd:a.ii.d 
departed  from  Cordova,  to  sil  down  before  the  w.alls 
of  Loxa.  So  confident  was  he  of  success,  that  he 
left  a  great  part  of  the  army  at  Ecija,  and  advanced 
with  but  five  thousand  cav.alry  and  eight  thousand 
infantry.  The  marques  of  Cadiz,  a  warrior  as  wise 
as  he  was  valiant,  remonstrated  against  employing 
so  small  a  force,  and  indeed  was  opposed  to  th? 
measure  altogether  as  being  undertaken  precipitate- 
ly ani  wilhaut  sufficient  preptiration.     King  Ferdi- 


,«,'' 
«- 


K. 


<^'i 


«f  1 


4 


C86 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


>■•*•-■ 


It 


fi^1;:•-- 


■and,  however,  was  influenced  by  the  counsel  of 
Don  Diego  He  Merle,  and  was  eager  to  strike  a 
brilliant  and  decided  blow.  A  vain-glorious  confi- 
dence prevailed,  about  this  time,  among  the  Spanish 
cavaliers;  they  overrated  their  own  prowess,  or 
rather  they  undervalued  and  despised  their  enemy. 
Many  of  them  believed  that  the  Moors  would 
Karcely  remain  in  their  city,  when  they  saw  the 
christian  troops  advancing  to  assail  it.  The  Spanish 
ihiviUry,  therefore,  marthed  gallantly  and  fearlessly, 
ind  almost  carelessly,  over  the  border,  scantily  sup- 
plied with  the  things  needful  for  a  besieging  army, 
in  the  heart  of  an  enemy's  country.  In  the  same 
negligent  and  confident  spirit,  they  took  up  their 
station  before  Loxa. 

The  country  around  was  broken  and  hilly,  so  that 
It  was  extremely  difficult  to  form  a  combined  camp. 
The  river  Xenil,  which  runs  by  the  town,  was  com- 
pressed between  high  banks,  and  so  deep  as  to  be 
fordable  with  extreme  difficulty ;  and  the  Moors  had 
possession  of  the  bridge.  The  king  pitched  his  tents 
in  a  plantation  of  olives,  on  the  banks  of  the  river ; 
the  troops  were  distributed  in  different  encampments 
on  the  heights,  but  separated  from  e.ich  other  by 
deep  rocky  ravines,  so  as  to  be  inojipable  of  yielding 
each  other  prompt  assistance.  There  w;is  no  room 
for  the  operation  of  the  cavalry.  The  artillery,  also, 
was  so  injudiciously  placed,  as  to  be  almost  entirely 
useless.  Alonzo  of  Arragon,  duke  of  Villaherntosa, 
and  illegitimate  brother  of  the  king,  was  present  at 
the  siege,  and  disapproved  of  the  whole  arrange- 
ment. He  was  one  cf  the  most  .able  generals  of  his 
time,  and  especially  renowned  for  his  skill  in  batter- 
inz  fortified  places.  He  recommended  that  the 
wnole  disposition  of  the  camp  should  be  changed, 
and  that  several  bridges  should  be  thrown  across 
the  river.  His  advice  w:is  adopted,  but  slowly  and 
r/egligentiv  followed,  so  that  it  w;is  rendered  of  no 
avail.  Among  o'Jirr  oversights  in  this  hasty  and 
negligent  expedition,  the  artny  had  no  supply  of 
baked  bread  ;  and,  in  thfi  hurry  of  encampment,  there 
was  no  time  to  erect  furnaces.  Cakes  were  therefore 
h.istily  made,  and  baked  on  the  coals,  and  for  two 
days  the  troops  were  supplied  in  this  irregular  way. 

King  Ferdinand  telt,  too  late,  the  insecurity  of  his 
position,  and  endeavored  to  provide  a  temporary 
remedy.  There  was  a  height  near  the  city,  called 
by  the  Moors  Santo  Albohacen,  which  w,as  in  front 
of  the  bridge.  He  ordered  several  of  his  most  valiant 
cavaliers  to  take  possession  of  this  height,  and  to 
hold  it  as  a  check  upon  the  enemy  and  a  protection 
o  the  camp.  The  cavaliers  chosen  for  tnis  distin- 
guished and  perilous  post,  were,  the  marques  of  Ca- 
diz, the  marques  of  Villcna,  Don  Roderigo  Tellez 
Giron,  Master  of  Calatrava,  his  brother  the  count  of 
Urefia,  and  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguiiar.  These  valiant 
warriors,  and  tried  companions  in  arms,  led  their 
troops  with  alacrity  to  the  height,  which  soon  glitter- 
ed with  the  array  of  arms,  and  was  graced  by  several 
of  the  most  redoubtable  pennons  of  warlike  Spain. 

Loxa  was  commanded  at  this  time  by  an  old  Moor- 
ish alc.ayde,  whose  daughter  was  the  favorite  wife  of 
Boabdil  el  Chico.  The  name  of  this  Moor  was 
Ilirahim  Ali  Atar,  but  he  was  generally  known 
among  the  Spaniards  as  Alatar.  He  had  grown 
fray  m  border  warfare,  was  an  implacable  enemy 
•)f  the  christians,  and  his  name  had  long  been  the 
terror  of  the  frontier.  He  was  in  the  ninetieth  year 
of  his  age,  yet  indomit.able  in  spirit,  fiery  in  his  pas- 
sions, sinewy  ^nd  pov/erful  in  frame,  deeply  versitd 
m  warlike  stratagem,  and  accounted  the  beut  lance 
in  all  Mauritania.  He  had  three  thousand  horsemen 
under  his  command,  veter.an  troops,  with  whom  he 
had  often  scoured  the  borders ;  and  he  daily  expected 
the  old  Moorish  king,  with  reinforcements. 


Old  Ali  Atar  had  watched  from  his  tortresa  ever) 
movement  of  the  christian  army,  a:  d  had  exulted  io 
all  the  errors  of  its  commanders :  when  he  beheld 
the  flower  of  Spanish  chivalry,  glittering  about  th« 
height  of  Albohacen,  his  eye  flashed  with  exultation, 
"  Ky  the  aid  of  Allah,"  said  he,  "  1  will  give  thusa 
pranking  cavaliers  a  rouse." 

Ali  Atar,  privately,  and  by  night,  sent  forth  a  large 
body  of  his  chosen  tro(  ,)s,  to  lie  in  ambush  near  one 
of  the  skirts  of  Albohacen.  On  the  fourth  day  ot  the 
siege,  he  sallied  across  the  bridge,  and  made  a  lilni 
att.ack  upon  the  height  The  cavaliers  rushed  im. 
petuously  forth  to  meet  him,  leaving  their  encamp. 
ment  almost  unprotected.  Ali  Atar  wheeled  and 
fled,  and  was  hotly  pursued.  When  the  christian 
cavaliers  had  l)een  <lrawn  a  lonsiderable  distance 
from  their  encampment,  they  heard  a  vast  shout  be- 
hind them,  and,  looking  round,  beheld  their  encanip. 
ment  assailed  by  the  Moorish  force  which  had  Ix  -?n 
place<l  in  ambush,  and  which  h.ad  ascended  a  diiltr- 
ent  side  of  the  hill.  The  cavaliers  desisted  from  ihc 
pursuit,  and  hastened  to  prevent  the  plunder  of  their 
tents.  Ali  Atar,  in  his  turn,  wheeled  and  pursuril 
them ;  and  they  were  attacked  in  front  and  rear,  nn 
the  summit  of  the  hill.  The  contest  Lasted  for  an 
hour  ;  the  height  of  Albohacen  was  red  with  hl.Mn!, 
many  brave  cavaliers  fell,  expiring  among  heaps  of 
the  enemy.  The  fierce  Ali  Atar  fought  with  the  mry 
of  a  tleinon,  until  the  arrival  of  more  christian  fun  is 
compelled  hiin  to  retreat  into  the  city.  The  sevrirst 
loss  to  the  christians,  in  this  skirmish,  was  thai  cl 
Roderigo  Tellez  Giron,  Master  of  Calatrava.  As  he 
was  raising  his  arm  to  make  a  blow,  an  arrow  pierced 
him,  just  beneath  the  shoulder,  at  the  open  part  of 
the  corselet.  He  fell  instantly  from  his  horse,  hut 
was  caught  by  Pedro  Gasca,  a  cavaher  of  Avil.a  wro 
conveyed  him  to  his  tent,  where  he  died.  The  king 
and  queen,  and  the  whole  kingdom,  moume<l  his 
death,  for  he  was  in  the  freshness  of  his  youth,  hting 
but  twenty-four  years  of  age,  and  had  proved  himself 
a  gallant  and  high-minded  cavalier.  A  melanchd) 
group  collected  about  his  corse,  on  the  bloody  hei^jhi 
of  Albohacen  :  the  knights  of  Cal.atrava  mourned  luin 
as  a  commander ;  the  cavaliers  who  were  encainpoil 
on  the  height,  lamented  him  as  their  companion  in 
arms,  in  a  service  of  peril ;  while  the  count  de  Ureha 
grieved  over  him  with  the  tender  affection  of  a 
brother. 

King  Ferdinand  now  perceived  the  wisdom  of  the 
opinion  of  the  marques  of  Cadiz,  and  that  his  force 
was  quite  insufficient  for  the  enterprise.  To  continue 
his  camp  in  its  present  unfortunate  position,  wimld 
cost  him  the  lives  of  his  bravest  cavaliers,  if  not  a 
total  defeat,  in  case  of  reinforcements  to  the  eiiciiiy. 
He  called  a  council  of  war,  late  in  the  evening  of 
.Saturday;  and  it  was  determined  to  withdraw  the 
army,  early  the  next  morning,  to  Rio  Fno.  a  shori 
distance  from  the  city,  and  there  wait  for  additional 
troops  from  Cordova. 

The  next  morning,  early,  the  ca/aliers  on  the 
height  of  Albohacen  Degan  to  strike  their  tents.  Hi 
sooner  did  Ali  Atar  behold  this,  than  he  sallied  fmh 
to  attack  them.  Many  of  the  christian  troops,  who 
had  not  heard  of  the  intention  to  change  the  c.in.j), 
seeing  the  tents  struck  and  the  Moors  sallying  foiiu, 
supposed  that  the  enemy  had  been  reinforced  in  the 
night,  and  that  the  army  was  on  the  point  of  retir;.!- 
mg.  Without  stopping  to  ascertain  the  truth  or  to 
receive  orders,  they  fled  in  dismay,  spreading  contu- 
sion through  the  camp;  nor  did  they  halt  until  ihty 
had  reached  the  Rock  of  the  Loveis,  about  sevea 
leagues  from  Loxa.* 

The  king  and  his  commanders  saw  the  immineai 

*  Pu!ku.    CronicJL 


*  Cun  da  lot  Tah 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


187 


peril  ol  the  moment,  and  made  face  to  the  Moors, 
Sch  commander  guarding  his  quarter  and  repelling 
all  assaults,  while  the  tents  were  struck  and  the  ar- 
tillery and  ammunition  conveyed  away.  The  king, 
with  a  handful  of  cavaliers,  galloped  to  a  rising 
pound,  exposed  to  the  fire  ol  the  enemy,  calling 
tipon  tl.e  tiying  troops  and  endeavoring  m  vain  to 
rally  them.  Setting  upon  the  Moors,  he  and  his 
(a/ali-TS  charged  them  so  vigorously,  that  they  put 
J  squadron  to  Higl.t,  slaying  many  with  their  swords 
ud  lances,  and  driving  others  into  the  river,  where 
Jiey  were  drowned.  The  Moors,  however,  were 
loon  reinforced,  and  returned  in  great  numbers. 
The  king  was  in  clanger  of  being  surrounded,  and 
twice  owed  his  safety  to  the  valor  of  Don  Juan  de 
Ril)er.i,  Senior  of  Montemayor. 

The  marques  of  Cadiz  beheld,  from  a  distance,  the 
peril  of  his  sovereign.  Summoning  about  seventy 
horsemen  to  follow  him,  he  galloped  to  the  spot, 
threw  himself  between  the  king  and  the  enemy,  and, 
hurling  his  lance,  transpierced  one  of  the  most  daring 
of  the  Moors.  For  some  time,  he  remained  with  no 
other  weapon  than  his  sword  ;  his  horse  was  wound- 
ed by  an  arrow,  and  many  of  his  followers  slain  ; 
but  'le  succeeded  in  beating  off  the  Moors,  and  rescu- 
ing the  king  from  imminent  jeopardy,  whom  he  then 
prevailed  upon  to  retire  to  less  d.inj,'erous  ground. 

The  martines  continued,  throughout  the  day,  to 
expose  himself  to  the  repeated  assaults  of  the  enemy  ; 
he  was  ever  found  in  the  place  of  the  greatest  dan- 
ger, and  through  his  bravery  a  great  part  of  the 
army  and  camp  was  preserved  from  destniction.* 

It  was  a  perilous  day  for  the  commanders  ;  for  in 
a  reireat  of  the  kind,  it  s  the  noblest  cavaliers  who 
ciosl  exiwse  themselves  to  save  their  people.  The 
i±d  of  Medina  Cell  was  struck  to  the  ground,  but 
ffscued  by  his  troops.  The  count  dc  Tendiila, 
*hose  tents  were  nearest  to  the  city,  received  several 
younds,  and  various  other  cavaliers  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished note  were  exposed  to  fearful  jeopardy. 
The  whole  "day  was  passed  in  bloody  skirmishings, 
in  which  the  nidalgos  and  cavaliers  of  the  royal 
household  distinguished  themselves  by  their  bravery ; 
at  lenj-th,  the  encampments  being  all  broken  up,  and 
most  of  the  artillery  an«l  baggage  removed,  the  bloody 
height  of  Albohacen  was  abandoned,  and  the  neigh- 
twrhood  of  Loxa  ev.acuated.  .Several  tents,  a  quan- 
tity of  provisions,  and  a  few  pieces  of  artillery,  were 
left  upon  the  spot,  from  the  want  of  horses  and  mules 
10  carry  them  off. 

AH  Atar  hung  upon  the  rear  of  the  retiring  army, 
ami  harassed  it  until  it  reached  Rio  F"rio  ;  from 
thence  Ferdinand  returned  to  Cordova,  deeply  morti- 
fied, though  greatly  benefited,  by  the  severe  lesson 
he  had  received,  which  served  to  render  him  more 
cautious  in  his  campaigns  and  more  didident  of  for- 
tune. He  sent  letters  to  all  parts,  excusing  his  re- 
treat, imputing  it  to  the  small  number  of  his  forces, 
and  the  circumstance  that  many  of  them  were 
quotas  sent  from  various  cities,  and  not  in  royal 
pay;  in  the  mean  time,  to  console  his  troops  for 
Iheir  disappointmert,  and  to  keep  up  their  spirits, 
iie  led  them  upon  another  inroad  to  lay  waste  the 
.'Ctac.  Granada. 


the  imminent 


CHAPTER  X;. 

a:  *•  MULKY  ABEN  HASSAN  MADE  A  KORAY  INTO 
IHE  LANDS  or  MEDINA  SIOONIA,  AND  HOW  HE 
WA5  RECEIVED. 

Oi.D  Muley  Abet  Hassan  had  mustered  an  army, 
snd  narchea  to  the  relief  of  Loxa  ;  bi.t  arrived  too 

*  Cun  d*  loi  TaUci  •!,  c.  }l. 


late — the  last  squadron  of  Ferdiniind  had  already 
p.assed  over  the  border.  "They  nave  come  and 
gone,"  said  he,  "  like  a  summer  cloud,  and  all  then 
v.aunllng  has  been  mere  empty  thunder."  He  turned 
to  make  another  attempt  upon  Albania,  the  garrison 
of  which  w.as  in  the  utmost  consternation  at  the 
retreat  of  Ferdinand,  and  would  have  deserted  the 
place,  had  it  not  been  for  the  courage  and  persever- 
ance of  the  alcayde  Luis  Fernandez  Puerto  Carrero. 
ThHt  brave  and  loyal  commander  cheered  up  the 
spirits  of  his  men,  and  kept  the  old  Moorish  kmg  at 
bay,  until  the  approach  of  Ferdinand,  on  his  second 
incursion  into  tne  vega,  obliged  him  to  rr:ake  an  un- 
willing retreat  to  Malaga. 

MuTey  Aben  Hassan  felt  that  it  would  be  in  vain, 
with  his  inferior  force,  to  oppose  the  powerful  army 
of  the  christian  monarch  ut  to  remain  idle  and  see 
his  territories  laid  waste,  vould  ruin  him  in  the  esti- 
mation of  his  people.  "  If  we  cannot  parry,"  said 
he,  '*  we  can  strike  ;  if  we  cannot  keep  our  own  lands 
from  being  ravaged,  we  can  ravage  the  lands  of  the 
enemy."  He  inouired  and  learnt  th.at  most  of  the 
chivalry  of  Andalusia,  in  their  eagerness  for  a  foray, 
had  marched  off  with  the  king,  and  left  their  own 
country  almost  defenceless.  The  territories  of  the 
duke  of  Medina  Sidonia  were  particularly  ungur.rded  : 
here  were  vast  plains  of  pasturage,  coveret  with 
flocks  and  herds — the  very  country  for  a  hasty  in- 
road. The  old  monarch  had  a  bitter  grudge  against 
the  duke,  for  having  foiled  him  at  Alhama.  "  I'lJ 
give  this  cavalier  a  lesson,"  said  he,  exultingly,  "  that 
will  cure  him  of  his  love  of  campaigning.'  So  he 
prepared  in  all  haste  for  a  foray  into  the  country 
about  Medina  Sidonia. 

Muley  Aben  H.assan  s,illied  out  of  Malaga  with 
fifteen  hundred  horse  and  six  thousand  foot,  and  took 
the  way  by  the  sea-coast,  marching  through  Estl- 
ponia,  and  entering  the  christian  country  oetween 
Gibraltar  and  Castellar.  The  only  person  that  was 
likely  to  molest  him  on  this  route,  was  one  Pedro  de 
Vargas ;  a  shrewd,  hardy,  and  vigilant  soldier, 
alcayde  of  Gibraltar,  and  who  lay  ensconced  in  his  old 
warrior  rock  as  in  a  citadel.  Muley  Aben  Hassan 
knew  the  watchful  and  daring  character  of  the  man, 
but  had  ascertained  that  his  garrison  was  too  small 
to  enable  him  to  make  a  sally,  or  at  least  to  insure 
him  any  success.  Still  he  pursued  his  march,  with 
great  silence  and  caution  ;  sent  parties  in  advance, 
to  explore  every  pass  where  a  foe  might  lie  in  am- 
bush ;  cast  many  an  anxious  eye  towards  the  old 
rock  of  Gibraltar,  as  its  cloud-capped  summit  was 
seen  towering  in  the  distance  on  his  left ;  nor  did  he 
feel  entirely  at  ease,  until  he  had  passed  through  the 
broken  and  mountainous  country  of  Castellar,  and 
descended  into  the  plains.  Here  he  encamped  on 
the  banks  of  the  Celemin.  From  hence  he  sent 
four  hundred  corredors,  or  fleet  horsemen,  arme<! 
with  lances,  who  were  to  station  themselves  near 
Algeziras,  and  to  keep  a  strict  watch  across  the  bay 
upon  the  opposite  fortress  of  Gibraltar.  If  the  al- 
cayde attempted  to  sally  forth,  they  were  to  way- 
lay and  attack  him,  being  almost  four  times  his  sup- 
posed force  ;  and  were  to  send  swift  tidings  to  the 
camp.  In  the  mean  time,  two  hundred  corredcra 
were  sent  to  scour  that  vast  pl.ain  called  the  Cam- 
pifia  de  Tarifa,  abounding  with  flocks  and  herds ; 
and  two  hundred  more  were  to  ravage  the  landj 
about  Medina  Sidonia.  Muley  Aben  Hassan  re- 
mained with  the  main  body  of  the  army,  as  a  rally, 
ing  point,  on  the  banks  of  the  Celemin. 

The  foraging  parties  scoured  the  country  to  such 

effect,  th.at  they  came  driving  vast  flocks  and  herds 

before  them,  enough  to  supply  the  place  of  all  that 

^  had  be*n  swept  from  the  vega  of  Granada.    The 

i  troops  which  had  kept  watch  upon  the  *ock  ot  Gib- 


PJ 


IU8 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


\§^^'  ' 


raltar,  rrtumed  with  word  that  they  had  not  seen  a 
chnstian  helmet  stirring.  Tlie  old  king  congratu- 
laied  himself  upon  the  secrecy  and  promptnesi  with 
which  he  had  conducted  his  foray,  and  upon  having 
baffled  the  vigilance  of  Pedro  de  Vargas. 

Muley  Aben  Hass-nn  h.-id  not  been  so  secret  .is  he 
Imagined ;  the  watchful  Pedro  de  Varg.is  hail  re- 
ceived notice  of  his  movements.  His  garrison  was 
barely  suthcient  for  the  defence  of  the  place,  and  he 
feared  to  take  the  field  and  leave  his  fortress  un- 
guarded. Luckily,  at  this  juncture,  there  arrived  in 
the  harfjor  of  Gibraltar  a  squadron  of  the  armed 
galleys  stationed  in  the  Strait,  and  commanded  by 
Carlos  de  Valera.  The  alcayde  immediately  pre- 
vailed upon  him  to  guard  the  place  during  his  ab- 
sence, and  sallied  forthat  midnight  with  seventy  horse. 
He  m.ade  lor  the  town  of  Castellar,  which  is  strongly 
posted  on  a  steep  height,  knowing  that  the  Moorisfi 
king  would  have  to  return  by  this  place.  He  or- 
dered alarm -tires  to  be  lighted  upon  the  mountains, 
to  give  notice  that  the  Moors  were  on  the  ravage, 
that  the  peasants  might  drive  their  flocks  and  herds 
to  places  ot  refuge  ;  and  he  sent  couriers,  riding  like 
mad,  in  every  direction,  summoning  the  fighting 
men  of  the  neighborhood  to  meet  him  at  Castellar. 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  saw,  by  the  tires  blazing 
about  the  mountains,  that  the  country  was  rising. 
He  struck  his  tents,  and  pushed  forward  as  rapidly 
as  possible  lor  the  border ;  but  he  was  incumbered 
with  booty,  and  with  the  vast  cavalgada  swept  from 
the  pastures  of  the  Campina  de  Tarifa,  His  scouts 
brought  hiin  word  that  there  were  troops  in  the  field, 
but  he  m.ade  light  of  the  intelligence,  knowing  that 
they  could  only  he  those  of  the  alcayde  of  Gibraltar, 
and  that  he  had  not  more  than  a  hundred  horsemen 
in  his  garrison.  He  threw  in  advance  two  hundred 
Rnd  titty  of  his  bravest  troops,  and  with  them  the 
ciraydes  of  Marabella  and  Casares.  Behind  this 
wnguard  was  a  great  cav.algada  of  cattle ;  and  in 
die  rear  marched  the  king,  with  the  main  force  of 
his  httle  army. 

It  was  near  th«  middle  of  a  sultry  summer  day, 
that  they  approached  Castellar.  De  Vargas  was  on 
the  watch,  and  beheld,  by  an  immense  cloud  of  dust, 
that  they  were  descending  one  of  the  heights  of  that 
wild  and  broken  country.  The  vanguard  an<l  rear 
guard  were  above  half  a  league  asunder,  with  the 
cavalgada  between  them ;  and  a  long  and  close  for- 
est hid  them  from  each  other.  De  Vargas  saw  that 
they  could  render  but  little  assistance  to  each  other 
tn  case  of  a  sudden  attack,  and  might  be  easily 
thrown  in  confusion.  He  chose  fifty  of  his  bravest 
horsemen,  and,  making  a  ciroiit,  took  his  post  se- 
cretly in  a  narrow  glen  opening  into  a  defile  between 
two  rocky  heights,  through  which  the  Moors  had  to 
pass.  It  was  his  intention  to  suffer  the  vanguard 
and  the  cavalgada  to  pass,  and  to  fall  upon  the  rear. 

While  thus  lying  perdue,  six  Moorish  scouts,  well 
mounted  and  well  armed,  entered  the  glen,  examin- 
ing every  place  that  might  conceal  an  enemy.  Some 
of  the  christians  advised  that  they  should  slay  these 
six  men,  and  retreat  to  Gibraltar.  "  No,"  said  De 
Vargas,  "  I  have  come  out  for  higher  game  than 
th;5e;  and  I  hope,  by  the  aid  of  God  and  Santiago, 
to  do  good  work  this  day.  I  know  these  Moors  well, 
a-id  doubt  not  but  that  they  may  readily  be  thrown 
•nto  omfusion." 

By  this  time,  the  six  horsemen  approached  so  near 
that  they  were  on  the  point  of  discovering  the  chris- 
ti.in  ambuah.  De  Vargas  gave  the  word,  and  ten 
horsemen  rushed  forth  upon  them:  in  an  instant, 
four  of  the  Moors  rolled  in  the  dust ;  the  other  two 
put  spurs  to  their  steeds,  and  fled  towards  their 
army,  pursued  by  the  ten  christians.  About  eighty 
of  the  Moorish  vanguard  cajne  galloping  ^o  the  re- 


lief of  their  companions  ;  the  chrlitlana  turned  and 
fled  towards  their  ambush.  De  Var^aa  kep<  |)|| 
men  concealed,  until  the  fugitives  and  tn^ir  puriueri 
came  clattering  pell-mell  into  the  glen.  At  a  s  /nal 
trumpet,  his  men  sallied  forth  with  gre&t  heal  md 
in  close  array.  The  Moors  almost  rushed  upon  "heir 
weapons,  before  they  perceived  them ;  forty  oi  th« 
infidels  were  overthrown,  the  rest  turned  then  h  u  h 
"  Forward  I "  cried  De  Vargas ;  "  let  us  give  tht 
vangu.ard  a  brush,  before  it  can  be  joined  by  the 
rear,"  So  saying,  he  pursued  the  flying  Moors  d  jv/i. 
hill,  and  came  with  such  force  and  fury  upon  tin-  id 
vance  guard  as  to  overturn  many  of  them  at  thi  ririi 
encounter.  As  he  wheeled  off  with  his  men,  th« 
Moors  discharged  their  lanr«s;  upon  which  he  re. 
turned  to  the  charge,  and  m.ade  great  slauj^htcr. 
The  MDors  fought  valiantly  for  a  short  time,  until 
the  alcaydes  of  Marabella  aid  Casares  were  si  tin, 
when  they  gave  way  and  lied  for  the  rear  guard,  in 
their  flight,  they  passed  through  the  cavalg.idi  c.l 
cattle,  threw  the  whole  in  confusion,  and  raised  such 
a  cloud  of  dust  that  the  christians  could  no  loiij^'pr 
distinguish  objects.  Fearing  that  the  king  ami  the 
main  body  might  be  at  hand,  and  finding  thai  i)c 
Varg.as  was  badly  wounded,  they  contentfd  tjiem- 
selves  wiih  despoiling  the  slain  and  taking  a'love 
twenty-eight  horses,  and  then  retreated  to  Cast t  liar, 

When  the  routed  Moors  came  flying  back  upon 
the  rear  guaril,  Muley  Aben  Hassan  feared  that  (he 
people  ot  Xeres  were  in  anns.  Several  of  his  tol- 
lowers  advised  him  to  abandon  the  cavalgada,  and 
retreat  by  another  road.  "  No,"  said  the  old  king, 
"  he  is  no  true  soldier  who  gives  up  his  booty  with- 
out fighting."  Pi '  ling  spurs  to  his  horse,  he  gallup«d 
forward  through  the  centre  of  the  cavalgada,  dnvirv 
the  cattle  to  'he  right  and  left.  When  he  reichca 
the  field  of  bat'le,  he  found  it  strewed  with  thf 
bodies  of  upwards  of  one  hundred  Moors,  aiTicnj 
which  were  those  of  the  two  alcaydes.  Enras;('d  li 
the  sight,  he  summoned  all  his  cross-bowmen  and 
cavalry,  pushed  on  to  the  very  gates  Of  Castellar, 
and  set  tire  to  two  houses  close  to  the  walls.  IVdro 
<le  Vargas  was  too  severely  wounded  to  sally  lurth 
in  person  ;  but  he  ordered  out  his  troops  and  there 
was  brisk  skirmishing  under  the  walls,  until  the  king 
i  ;w  off  and  returned  to  the  scene  of  the  recent  en- 
counter. Here  he  had  the  bo<lies  of  the  principal 
warriors  laid  across  mules,  to  be  interred  honorably 
at  Mal.aga ;  the  rest  of  the  sl.ain  were  buried  on  the 
field  of  battle.  Then,  gathering  together  the  scat- 
tered cavalgada,  he  paraded  it  slowly,  in  an  immense 
line,  past  the  walls  of  Castellar,  by  way  of  taunting 
his  foe. 

With  all  his  fierceness,  old  Muley  Aben  Hassan 
had  a  gleam  of  warlike  courtesy,  and  admired  the 
hardy  and  soldierlike  character  of  Pedro  de  Varg^is. 
He  summoned  two  christian  captives,  and  demanded 
what  were  the  revenues  of  the  alcayde  of  Gibraltar, 
They  told  him  that,  among  other  things,  he  was  en- 
titled to  one  out  of  eveiy  drove  of  cattle  that  n.issed 
his  Iwundaries.  "  Allah  forbid,"  cried  the  old  mon- 
arch, "  that  so  brave  a  cavalier  should  be  defrauded 
of  his  dues." 

He  immediately  chose  twelve  of  the  finest  cattle, 
from  the  twelve  druves  which  formed  the  cavalgda. 
These  he  gave  in  charge  to  an  alfaqui,  to  de'rvr r  ic 
Pedro  de  Vargas.  "  Tell  him,"  said  he,  "  that  1 
crave  his  pardon  for  not  having  sent  these  citlle 
sooner ;  but  I  have  this  moment  learnt  the  nature  ol 
his  rights,  and  I  hasten  to  satisfy  them,  with  the 
punctuality  due  to  so  worthy  a  cavalier.  Tell  him 
at  the  same  time,  that  I  had  no  idea  the  alcayde  of 
Gibraltar  was  so  active  and  vigilant  in  collecting  hit 
tolls." 

The  brave  alcayde  relished  the  stem,  soldleiliki 


•  AloDio  de  Fal 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQU  .ST  OF  GRANADA. 


m 


pleasantry  of  the  old  Moorish  monarch.  He  ordered 
a  rich  siricen  vest,  and  a  scarlet  mantle,  to  be  given 
to  the  alfaqui,  and  dismissed  him  with  great  courtesy. 
'Tell  his  majesty,"  said  he,  "that  1  kiss  his  hands 
lor  the  honor  he  has  done  me,  ami  regret  that  my 
jcan'y  force  has  not  pennitted  me  to  give  him  a 
more  signal  reception,  on  his  coming  into  those 
n;irts.  Had  three  humlred  horsemen,  whom  I  have 
be'-n  promised  from  Xu-res,  arrived  in  time,  I  might 
ij.we  served  up  an  entertainment  more  hcCitting  stich 
s  nionarch.  1  trust,  however,  they  will  arrive  in  the 
-  >i  rse  of  the  night,  in  which  case  his  majesty  may 
be  sure  of  a  royal  regale  at  the  dawning." 

Miilf:y  Aben  Hassan  shook  his  he.id,  when  he  re- 
ceived the  reply  of  l)e  Vargas.  "  Allah  preserve  us," 
said  he,  "  from  any  visitation  of  these  hard  riders  of 
X(  ITS  !  a  handful  of  troops,  acquainted  with  the 
wild  p.iases  of  these  mountains,  may  destroy  an 
army  f  ncumbert-d  as  ours  is  with  booty." 

1 1  was  soi'ie  relief  to  the  king,  however,  to  learn 
th.it  the  hardy  alcayde  of  Clibraitar  was  too  severely 
wounded  to  take  the  field  in  person.  He  itn mediately 
bf.it  a  retrf.it,  with  all  speed,  before  the  close  of 
J.iy,  hurrying  with  such  precipitation,  that  the  cav- 
a!j,'  da  w.is  Ireqiiently  broken,  and  scattered  among 
th«  rugged  delilcs  of  the  mountains  ;  and  above  five 
thousand  of  the  cattle  turned  back,  and  were  re- 
fiiiifd  by  the  christians.  Mulcy  Ahen  Hassan 
returned  triumphantly  with  the  residue  to  Malaga, 
glorying  in  the  spoils  of  the  duke  of  Medina  Sidonia. 

King  Ferdinand  was  mortified  at  finding  his  in- 
cursion into  the  vega  of  (Granada,  counterTialanced- 
by  this  inroad  into  his  dominions,  and  s;iw  that  there 
%vr'  two  sides  to  the  g.ime  of  vv  ir,  as  to  all  other 
j^i^ies.  The  only  one  who  reaped  real  glory  in  this 
j-irs  of  inroads  and  skirmishings,  was  Fedro  de 
\i:g35,  the  stout  alcayde  of  Gibraltar.* 


CHAPTER   XII. 


rOKAY     or     SPANISH      CAVALIKRS      AMONG 
MOUNTAINS  OF  MALAGA. 


THE 


rn,  soldletiikt 


The  foray  of  old  Muley  Mten  Hassan  had  touched 
he  pride  of  the  Andalusian  chivalry,  anrl  they  de- 
termined on  retaliation.  For  this  purpose,  a  num- 
Der  of  the  most  distinguished  cavaliers  assembled  at 
Antiquerit,  in  the  month  of  March,  1483.  The  le.id- 
eis  of  the  enterprise  were,  the  gallant  marques  of 
C.idiz ;  Don  Pedro  Henriquez,  adelantado  of  Anda- 
lusia; Don  Juan  de  Silva,  count  of  Cit'uentes.  am' 
bearer  of  the  royal  standard,  who  commanded  in 
Seville  ;  Don  Alonzo  de  C.irdevas,  Master  of  the  re- 
li^nous  and  military  order  of  S.anti.ago ;  and  Don 
Alonzo  de  Agiiilar.  Several  other  cavaliers  of  note 
h:i.stened  to  take  part  in  the  enterprise ;  ;ind  in  a 
l;:tle  while,  about  twenty-seven  hundred  horse,  and 
Kseral  companies  of  foot,  were  assembled  within 
J.e  oiil  warlike  city  of  Aniiquera,  comprising  the 
^Kv  Hower  of  Andalusian  chivalry. 

A  council  of  war  was  held  by  the  chiefs,  to  de- 
it-.Ti^.ie  in  what  quarter  they  should  strike  a  blow. 
'  '.e  rival  Moorish  kings  were  waging  civil  war  with 
».ich  other,  in  the  vicinity  of  Granada;  and  the 
whole  countrj-  lay  open  to  inroads.  Various  plans 
were  jroiwsed  by  the  different  cavaliers.  The  mar- 
ines of  Cadiz  was  desirous  of  scaling  the  walls  of 
lihara,  and  regaining  possession  of  that  important 
fortress.  The  M.astcr  of  Santiago,  however,  sug- 
gested a  wider  ninge  and  a  still  mi  re  important  ob- 
ject.    He  had  received  infcrmatio.i  from  his  ada- 

'  Alooio  de  FalcBCca,  I.  tS.  c  \, 


lides,  were  apontate  Moors,  that  an  Incursion 

wiljtht  iicly  r^adc  Inte    a  mountainous  regioa 

near  M.  ;a,  cah  j  the  Axarquia.  Here  were  vaW 
leys  of  |,  ture  I  *nd,  wel  .locked  with  tlDcks  and 
herdii ;  an  'he^  wert  <  nerous  villages  and  haiB 
lets,  whir  would  be  ;>  e*!»y  prey,  The  city  of 
Malaga  w.i    too  weakly  j,  irr^soncd,  .-■'wt  li.id  too  few 


>»ttltfn ;  ns' 

ravage* 
il.at  we«>' 


1 


cavalry,  to  send  frth  aii)  torce  tn 

he  added,  they  might  even  ♦•xteiwl 

its  very  gates,  and  peradveniurc  ca-       uun  wea-    ,^ 

pl.ace  by  sudden  assault. 

The  adventurous  spirits  of  th*  i  iliers  were  «i 
flamed  by  this  suggestion ;  in  their  „iriguine  C-ttnli* 
dcnce,  they  alieady  beheld  Malaga  ,n  their  poww, 
and  they  were  eager  for  the  enterprise.  The  mar- 
ques of  Cadiz  endeavored  to  interpose  a  little  cool 
caution.  He  likew'j^  had  apostate  adalides,  the 
most  intelligent  unL  experienced  on  the  borders ; 
among  these,  he  placed  esiiecial  reliance  on  one 
named  Luis  Amar,  who  knew  all  the  mountains  and 
valleys  of  the  country.  He  had  received  from  him 
a  particular  account  of  these  mountains  of  the  Ax- 
arqiiia.*  Their  sav;ige  and  broken  nature  was  a 
suthcient  defence  for  tl  e  herce  people  who  inhab- 
ited them,  who,  manning  their  rocks,  and  their  tre- 
mendous passes,  which  were  often  nothing  more 
than  the  deep  dry  beds  of  torrents,  might  set  whole 
armies  at  defiance.  Even  if  vanquished,  they  af- 
forded no  spoil  to  the  victor.  Their  houses  were 
little  better  than  bare  walls,  and  they  would  drive 
off  their  scanty  flocks  and  herds  to  the  fastnessei 
of  the  mountains. 

The  sober  counsel  of  the  marques,  however,  wa» 
overruled.  The  cavaliers,  accustomed  to  mountain 
warfare,  considered  themselves  and  the"ii  horse? 
equal  to  any  wild  and  rugged  expedition,  and  were 
flushed  with  the  idea  of  terminating  their  foray  by  a 
brilliant  assault  upon  Malaga. 

Leaving  all  heavy  bagg.age  at  Anti.quera,  and  all 
such  as  had  horses  too  weak  for  this  mountain 
scramble,  they  set  forth,  full  of  spirit  and  confi- 
dence. Don  Alonzo  de  Agiiilar,  and  the  adelantado 
ol  Andalusia,  led  the  squadron  of  advance.  The 
count  of  Cifuentes  followed,  with  certain  of  the 
chivalry  of  Seville.  Then  came  the  battalion  of  the 
most  valiant  P.oderigo  Ponce  de  Leon,  marques  of 
Cadiz:  he  was  accompanied  by  several  of  his 
brothers  and  nephews,  and  many  cavaliers,  who 
sought  distinction  under  his  banner ;  and  this  fam- 
ily band  attracted  universal  attention  and  applause, 
as  they  paraded  in  marti.al  state  through  the  streets 
of  Aitiquera.  The  rear  guard  was  led  by  Don 
Aloni,  J  Cardenas,  Master  of  Santiago,  and  was  com- 
•  posed  of  the  knights  of  his  order,  and  the  cavaliers 
of  Ecija,  with  certain  men-at-arms  of  the  Holy 
Brotherhood,  whom  the  king  had  placed  under  his 
command.  The  anny  was  attended  by  a  great  train 
of  mules,  laden  with  provisions  for  a  few  days'  sup- 
ply, until  they  should  be  able  to  forage  among  the 
Moorish  villages.  Never  did  a  more  gallant  and 
self-confident  little  army  tread  the  earth.  If  was 
composed  of  men  full  of  health  and  vipor,  to  whom 
war  w.as  a  pastime  and  delight.  They  had  spared 
no  expense  in  their  equipments,  for  never  was  th»: 
pomp  of  war  carried  to  a  higher  pitch  than  amon^ 
the  proud  chivalry  of  Spain.  Cased  in  armor  richly 
inlaid  and  embossed,  decked  with  rich  surcoats  and 
waving  plumes,  and  superbly  mounted  on  Andalusian 
steeds,  they  pranced  out  of  Antiquera  with  banners 
Hying,  and  their  various  devices  and  armorial  bear- 


*  Pulgar,  in  his  Chronicle,  revcna  the  aae,  and  makei  At 
marque*  of  Cadiz  recommend  the  eipedition  to  tee  Azarquia ;  bol 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida  i>  tupported  in  his  statement  bv  tnat  mod 
ventcinas  and  contemporary  coronicler,  Andicai  Bernaldai.  curat* 
of  Itm  Piiacioi. 


I 


m 


i 


lOO 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


^. 


•1 » 


':(, 


,';  )i 


f' 


ings  oaten  callously  diiplayrd ;  and  in  the  confidence 
of  their  tiiines,  promised  the  inhiib'tants  tu  enrich 
them  with  the  s|M)ils  ol  M^ila^'t- 

in  the  rear  of  this  warlike  pn^reant,  followed  a 
peaceful  hami,  intent  u|)on  prutiting  hy  the  antiri* 
pate<l  victories.  Th«y  weie  not  the  customary 
wrrtches  that  hover  nhout  armies  to  plunder  and 
■trip  the  dead,  liut  ^oudiy  and  substantial  traders 
fhJtn  Sev'lle,  C^onlova,  and  other  cities  of  tralHc. 
They  rode  sleek  niuUrs,  and  were  clad  in  f^oodly  rai- 
Rvnt,  with  li)n>j  leitlu-rn  purses  at  their  girdles,  well 
ailed  with  pistoli'S  and  other  }{olden  coin.  They  h.id 
heard  of  the  spoils  wasted  by  the  soldiery  at  the  cap- 
ture of  Alhama,  and  were  provided  witli  moneys  to 
buy  up  the  jewels  and  precious  stones,  the  vessels 
of  i^nld  and  silvi^r,  and  the  rich  silks  and  cloths,  that 
should  form  the  plunder  of  M.ala^a.  The  proud 
savaliem  eyed  these  sons  of  traffic  with  jfreat  dis- 
dain, but  permitted  them  to  follow  for  the  conven- 
ience of  tlie  troops,  who  might  otherwise  be  over- 
burthencd  with  booty. 

It  had  bi-cn  intended  to  conduct  this  expedition 
with  great  lelenty  and  secrecy ;  but  the  noise  of 
their  preparations  had  already  reached  the  city  of 
Malaga.  'l'h(-  jjarrison,  it  is  true,  was  weak ;  but  it 
possessed  a  CDiiiinander  who  was  himself  a  host. 
This  was  Muley  AlKl.illah,  commonly  calletl  Kl  Za- 
pal,  or  the  valiant.  lie  was  younger  brother  of 
Sluley  Abcn  Hassan,  and  general  of  the  few  forces 
which  remained  faithful  to  the  old  monarch.  He 
possessed  equal  fierceness  of  spirit  with  his  brother, 
and  surp.assed  him  in  craft  and  vigilance.  His  very 
name  was  a  war-cry  among  his  soUliery,  who  had 
the  most  extravagant  opinion  of  his  prowess. 

El  Zagal  suspected  that  Malaga  w.as  the  object  of 
ihis  noisy  exiwdition.  He  consulted  with  old  Hexir, 
>  veteran  Moor,  who  governed  the  city.  "  If  this 
army  ol  marauders  should  reach  .M.il.iga,"  s-iid  he. 
"  we  should  hardly  be  able  to  keep  them  without 
its  walls.  1  will  throw  myself,  with  a  small  force, 
into  the  mountains;  rouse  the  peasantry,  take  pos- 
session of  the  passes,  .inM  endeavor  to  give  these 
Spanish  cavaliers  Kulhcient  entertainment  upon  the 
road." 

it  was  on  a  Wednesday,  that  the  pranking  army 
"of  high-mettled  warriors  issued  forth  from  the  an- 
cient gates  of  Anti(|uera.  They  marched  all  day 
and  night,  making  their  way,  secretly  as  they  sup 
posed,  throtii^h  the  passes  of  the  mountains.  As 
the  tract  of  country  they  intended  to  mar.iud  was 
far  in  the  Moorish  territories,  near  the  coast  of  the 
Mediterranean,  they  did  not  arrive  there  until  late  in 
the  following  day.  In  passing  through  these  stem 
and  lotty  mountains,  tneir  path  was  often  aloltPv 
the  Iwttom  of  a  barranco,  or  lieep  rocky  valley,  with 
a  scanty  stream  dashing  along  it,  among  the  loose 
rocks  and  stones,  which  it  had  broken  and  rolled 
down,  in  the  time  of  its  autumnal  violence.  Some- 
times their  road  was  a  mere  rambin,  or  dry  bed  of 
a  torrent,  cut  deep  into  the  mountains,  and  filled 
with  their  shattered  fragments.  These  barrancos 
and  ramblas  were  overhung  by  immense  cliffs  and 
precipices ;  forming  the  lurking-pl.aces  of  ambus- 
cades, during  the  wars  between  the  Moors  and 
Spaniards,  as  in  after  times  they  have  become  the 
Gfcvoritc  haunts  of  robbers  to  waylay  the  unfortunate 
traveller. 

As  the  sun  went  down,  the  cavaliers  came  to  a 
toi'ty  part  of  the  mountains,  commanding  to  the  right 
a  distant  glimpse  of  a  part  of  the  fair  vega  of  Mala- 
ga, with  the  blue  Mediterranean  beyond  ;  and  they 
nailed  it  with  exultation,  as  a  glimpse  of  the  promised 
land.  As  the  night  closed  in,  they  reached  the  chain 
of  little  valleys  and  hamlets,  locked  up  among  these 
rocky  heights,  and  known  among  the  Moors  by  the 


name  of  the  Axarqula.  Here  their  v.-iui:ting  fiipa 
were  destined  to  meet  with  the  lirst  diiappointmcnt 
The  inhabitants  had  heard  of  their  appro.ach  ,  iht\ 
h.iil  conveyed  away  their  cattle  and  etfects.  .iu(, 
with  their  wives  and  children,  had  taken  refuse  \t, 
the  tovvers  and  fastnesses  of  the  mountains. 

Kiiraged  at  their  disappointment,  the  troops  v>t 
tire  to  the  deserted  hou.ses,  and  pressed  forw;>.r(|, 
hoping  for  Iwtter  fortune  as  they  .advanced.  Ddi, 
Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  and  the  other  cavaliers  in  thi; 
v.mgiiard,  spre.ad  out  their  forces  to  lay  wasir  n,, 
country;  capturing  a  few  lingering  herds  of  cimIi;, 
with  the  Moorish  pt^.isants  who  were  driving  tlicm 
to  stime  place  of  salety. 

While  this  marauding  party  carried  fire  and  sworj 
in  the  advance,  and  lit  up  the  mountain  clilfs  with 
the  flames  of  the  h.iinlets,  the  Master  of  .Saiiti  i.;o, 
who  brought  up  the  rear  guard,  maintained  sinct 
orrler,  keeping  his  knights  together  in  martial  .irray, 
re.ady  for  attack  or  ilefence,  should  an  enemy  .'i|)ii  ,ir, 
The  men-al-arinsof  the  Holy  Brotherhood  aitcinpt. 
e<i  to  roam  in  {(uest  of  booty;  but  he  called  tlivm 
back,  and  rebuked  them  severely. 

At  length  they  came  to  a  part  of  the  mount.-\in 
completely  broken  up  by  barrancos  and  rambLis.  of 
vast  depth,  and  shagged  with  rocks  and  precipiies, 
It  was  impossible  to  maintain  the  order  of  march; 
the  horses  h.-^d  no  room  for  .action,  and  were  scarcely 
man.ageable,  having  to  scramble  fiom  rock  to  rock, 
an<l  up  and  down  frightful  declivities,  where  there 
was  scarce  footing  for  a  mountain  goat.  I'assin;,;  by 
a  burning  vill.ige.  the  light  of  the  flames  revcil.-i] 
their  perplexed  lituation.  The  Moors,  who  liul 
taken  refuge  in  a  watch-tower  on  an  impeiding 
height,  shouted  with  exultation,  when  they  lo;  l-.eil 
down  upon  tliese  glistening  cavaliers  stnigglin),'  imi 
stumbling  among  the  rocks.  Sallying  forth  f'lL'ir.  tlini 
tower,  they  took  jmssession  of  the  cliffs  which  on  r- 
hung  the  ravine,  and  hurled  darts  atid  stones  i.pjn 
the  enemy.  It  was  with  the  utmost  grief  of  In  an 
that  the  good  .Master  of  Santi.ago  beheld  his  hr.ivc 
men  falling  like  helpless  victims  around  him,  wiilumt 
the  means  of  resistance  or  revenge.  The  confusum 
of  his  followers  was  increased  by  the  shouts  ol  the 
Moors,  multiplied  by  the  echoes  of  every  crag  and 
cliff,  as  if  they  were  surrounded  by  innunnrible 
foes.  Being  entirely  ignorant  of  the  country,  in  then 
struggles  to  extricate  themselves  they  plunged  mio 
other  glens  and  defiles,  where  they  were  still  iiiire 
exposed  to  d anger.  In  this  extremity,  the  m.asier  oi 
Santiago  dispatched  messengers  in  search  of  succor. 
The  marques  of  Cadiz,  like  a  loyal  companion  in 
arms,  hastened  to  his  aid  with  his  cav.alry  ;  his  i|v 
proach  checked  the  a.ssaults  of  the  enemy,  and  tiie 
Master  was  at  length  enabled  to  extricate  his  troops 
from  the  defile. 

In  the  mean  time,  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar  and  his 
companions,  in  their  eager  advance,  had  likewise  pet 
entangled  in  deep  glens,  and  the  dry  beds  of  torreiuo, 
where  they  had  been  severely  galled  by  the  insuiiini.' 
att.acks  of  a  handful  of  Moorish  peasants,  posted  nn 
the  impending  precipices.  The  proud  spirit  of  De 
Aguilar  was  incensctf  at  having  the  game  of  war  v.<w. 
turned  upon  him,  and  his  gallant  forces  domineered 
over  by  mourtain  boors,  whom  he  had  thought  tc 
drive,  like  the  r  own  cattle,  to  Antiquera.  Heaiiii),', 
however,  that  his  friend  the  marques  of  Cadiz,  hiid 
the  Master  of  Santiago,  were  engaged  with  th« 
enemy,  he  disregarded  nis  own  danger,  and,  calling 
together  his  troops,  returned  to  assist  them,  or  rather 
to  partake  their  perils.  Being  once  more  assembled 
together,  the  cavaliers  held  a  hasty  council,  amidst 
the  hurling  of  stones  and  the  whistling  of  arrows 
and  their  resolves  were  quickened  by  the  sigh:,  fnim 
time  to  time,  of  some  gallant  companion  in  arms  Isui 


A   CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


til 


low,  Thev  determined  that  there  was  no  s|)oil  in 
(hi«  pan  o(  the  country,  to  repjiy  for  the  extraordi- 
nary |>»  ril ;  a*i<i  ih-it  it  was  better  to  ahnndon  the 
henlH  th«y  h:ul  iilrradv  tal<cn,  which  only  ernhar- 
niHsc'l  tlw-ir  inurch,  anu  to  retreat  with  all  speed  to 
levi  iI'»<k;  rous  (ground. 

Ttie  ,t.,iAliilfi,  or  guides,  were  ordered  to  Irad  the 
rjy  i»H  ot  this  place  of  carnnjje.  Tliese,  ihinl<inn 
jc  .oi'  !>jct  ihetn  by  the  mont  secure  route,  led  them 
Sy  :i  «t''ep  :\ui\  rocky  pass,  ditlicult  for  the  foot-sol- 
jiiTi.  but  almost  impractiral)le  to  the  cavalry.  It 
n:v»  i>v'  Thunjf  with  precipices,  from  whence  showers 
)f  •.tii.v  •*  ;uid  arrows  were  poured  upon  them,  ac- 
comp  inied  by  sav.ajje  yells,  which  appalled  the  stout- 
est .K-art.  In  some  pl.ices,  thry  could  niss  but  one 
at  1  iinie,  and  were  often  transpierced,  horse  and 
ridiT,  !»•  the  Moorish  darts,  ini|)e(lin^  the  projfrc.is 
ol  i'hm  comrades  by  their  (King  siru),'>;les.  The 
luii  ii  lin^  precipices  were  lit  up  by  a  thousand 
aliMi-iiies;  every  crag  and  clilT  had  its  tiame,  by 
the  'ij;lit  of  whii  h  they  beheld  their  foes,  bounding 
fmin  roi-k  to  rock,  and  looking  mure  like  tiends  than 
moiiil  men. 

liiilur  through  terror  and  confusion,  or  throuijh 
real  i^iiiorancc  of  the  country,  their  guides,  instead 
of  conducting  them  out  of  the  mountains,  led  them 
(le-  |)er  into  their  fatal  recesses.  The  morning  dawned 
upuii  ihcm  in  a  narrow  rambla,  its  bottom  formed  of 
brciki-n  rocks,  where  once  had  raved  along  the  moun- 
tain torrent ;  while  above,  there  l)eetle<i  great  arid 
clit^,  over  the  brows  of  which  tliey  liehekl  the  tur- 
Daiii  d  heads  of  their  fierce  and  exulting  foes.  What 
1  (lilfereiit  appearance  did  the  unfortunate  cavaliers 
picsf-nt,  from  that  of  the  gallant  band  that  marched 
ID  v.iuntingly  out  of  Antitpiera  I  Covered  with  dust, 
v.i\  blood,  and  wounds,  and  haggard  with  fatijrue  and 
hortor,  tliey  looked  like  victims  rather  than  like  war- 
liofs.  Many  of  their  banners  were  lost,  and  not  a 
!riMip<^t  was  heard  to  rally  up  their  sinking  spirits. 
riie  men  turned  with  iinploring  eyes  to  their  com- 
miiuiers;  while  the  hearts  of  the  cavaliers  were 
ready  to  burst  with  ra^je  and  grief,  at  the  merciless 
havoc  made  among  their  faitblul  loilowers. 

All  (lay,  they  made  ineffectual  attempts  to  extri- 
cate themselves  from  the  mountains.  Columns  ot 
smoke  rose  from  the  heights,  svhere,  in  the  preceding 
nit^lit,  had  blazed  the  alarm-tire.  The  mountaineers 
sssi-mbU'd  from  every  direction ;  they  swanned  at 
firry  pass,  getting  in  the  advance  of  the  christians, 
and  garrisoning  the  clitTs  like  so  many  towers  and 
liaiilements. 

Night  closed  again  upon  the  christians,  when  they 
were  shut  up  in  a  narrow  valley  tr.iversed  by  a  deep 
stream,  and  surrounded  by  precipices  which  seemed 
to  re.'ich  the  skies,  and  on  which  blazed  and  tiared 
the  alarm-fires.  .Suddenly  a  new  cry  w.is  heard  re- 
»(juiuling  along  the  valley  :  "  1:11  Zagal !  Kl  Zaijal  !  " 
echoed  from  cliff  to  clitf.  "  What  cry  is  that?  '  said 
the  Master  of  Santiago.  "  It  is  the  war-cry  of  El 
Z^a\,  the  Moorish  general,"  said  an  old  Castilian 
soldier :  "  he  must  be  coming  in  person,  with  the 
lr:;oi)s  of  Malaga." 

1  'je  worthy  Master  turned  to  his  knights :  "  Let 
i,s  dit,"  said  he,  "  making  a  road  with  our  hearts, 
liiice  wc  cannot  with  our  swords.  Let  us  scale  the 
moiniain,  and  std  our  lives  dearly,  instead  of  stay- 
ing here  to  be  tamely  butchered." 

.So  saying,  he  turned  his  steed  against  the  moun- 
tain, and  spurred  him  up  its  flinty  side.  Horse  and 
loot  followed  his  example,  eager,  if  they  could  not 
t.'.cape,  to  have  at  least  a  dying  blow  at  the  enemy. 
As  they  strijggled  up  the  height,  a  tremendous  storm 
of  d.arts  and  stones  was  showered  upon  them  by  the 
Muurs.  Sometimes  a  fragment  of  rock  came  lH>und- 
ing  and  thundering  down,  plowing  its  way  through 


the  centre  of  their  host.  The  foot-foldieia,  falni 
with  weariness  and  hunger,  or  crippled  by  woundt, 
held  by  the  tails  and  manei  of  the  horses  to  tid 
them  in  their  ascent  ;  while  the  horses,  losing  tS^li 
lcH)ihold  among  the  loose  stones,  or  receiving  inn  c 
sudden  wound,  tumbled  down  the  steep  declivity, 
steed,  rider,  and  soldiei.  rolling  from  cr.ig  to  crag, 
until  they  were  d.ishcd  to  pieces  in  the  valley,  la 
this  desperate  struggle,  the  alferez  or  standarcl-bear* 
er  of  the  Master,  with  his  standard,  was  lost ;  at 
were  many  of  his  relations  and  his  <learest  frirndl. 
At  length  ne  succeeded  in  attaining  the  crest  of  the 
mountain ;  but  it  was  only  to  be  plunged  in  new 
ditriculties.  A  wilderness  of  rocks  and  rugged  dells 
l.iy  before  him.  Iniset  by  cruel  foes.  Having  neither 
iMnner  nor  trumpet  by  which  to  rally  his  troops 
thev  wandered  a|)art,  each  intent  upon  saving  him 
self  from  the  precipices  of  the  mountains,  and  h« 
darts  of  the  enemy.  When  the  pious  master  of 
Santiago  Itcheld  the  scattered  fragments  of  his  late 
gallant  force,  he  could  not  restrain  his  grief.  "  Oh 
tjotl ! "  exclaimed  he,  "great  is  thine  anger  this  day 
.igainst  thy  servants.  Thou  hast  convened  the  cow- 
ardice of  these  intidels  into  ilesperate  valor,  and 
hast  made  peasants  and  boors  victorious  over  armed 
men  of  battle." 

He  would  fain  have  kept  with  his  fout-soldicrs, 
and,  gathering  them  together,  have  made  head 
against  the  enemy  ;  but  those  around  him  entreated 
him  to  think  only  of  his  personal  safety.  To  remain 
was  to  perish,  without  striking  a  blow;  to  escape 
was  to  preserve  a  life  th.at  might  be  devoted  to  ven- 
geance on  the  Moors.  The  M.ister  reluctantly  yield- 
ed to  the  advice.  "Oh  Lord  of  hosts  ! "  exclaimed 
he  again,  "  from  thy  wrath  do  1  Hy ;  not  from  thcje 
infidels :  they  are  but  instn-menis  in  thy  hands,  to 
chastise  us  for  our  sins."  So  saying,  he  sent  the 
guides  in  the  advance,  and,  putting  spurs  to  hia 
horse,  dashed  through  a  defile  of  the  mountains, 
before  the  Moors  could  intercept  him.  The  moment 
the  master  put  his  horse  to  speed,  his  troops  scat- 
tered in  all  directioi  s  Some  endeavored  to  follow 
his  traces,  but  were  (,'nfounded  among  the  intrica- 
cies of  the  mountain.  They  fled  hither  and  thither, 
many  perishing  among  the  precipices,  others  being 
slain  liy  the  Moors,  and  others  taken  prisoners. 

The  gallant  marques  of  Cadiz,  guided  by  hia 
trusty  ailalid,  Luis  Amar,  had  ascended  a  different 
part  of  the  mountain.  He  was  followed  by  his  friend, 
Don  Aloiuo  (le  Aguilar,  the  adelantadu,  and  the 
count  of  Cifiieiites  ;  but,  in  the  darkness  and  confu- 
sion, the  bands  of  these  commanders  became  sepa- 
rated from  each  other.  When  the  marques  attained 
the  summit,  he  looked  around  for  his  companions  in 
arms ;  but  they  were  no  longer  following  him,  and 
there  was  no  trumpet  to  summon  them.  It  was  a 
consolation  to  the  marques,  however,  that  his  broth- 
ers, and  several  of  his  relations,  with  a  number  of 
his  retainers,  were  still  with  him  :  he  called  his 
brothers  by  name,  and  their  replies  gave  comfort  to 
his  heart. 

His  guide  now  led  the  way  into  another  valley, 
where  he  would  be  less  exposed  to  danger :  wh»c 
he  had  reached  the  bottom  of  it,  the  marques  paused 
to  collect  his  scattered  followers,  and  to  give  time 
for  his  fellow-commanders  to  rejoin  him.  Here  he 
was  suddenly  assailed  by  the  troops  of  El  Zagal, 
aided  by  the  mountaineers  from  the  clitfs.  The 
christians,  exhausted  and  terrified,  lost  all  presence 
of  mind  :  most  of  them  fled,  and  were  either  slain 
or  taken  captive.  The  marques  and  his  valiant 
t  -others,  with  a  fc  "  tried  friends,  made  a  stout  re 
sisi<t  ice.  His  horst.  was  killed  under  him ;  hiii 
brothers,  Don  Diego  and  Don  Lope,  with  hia  twti 
nephews,  Don  l^renzo  and  Don  Man'iei.  wer<i  i«« 


W 


i 

f 


IVZ 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


.-■t'-''. 


^ 


.  i 


by  one  swept  from  his  side,  either  transfixed  with 
darts  and  lances  by  the  soldiers  of  El  Zagal,  of 
crushod  oy  stones  from  the  heights.  The  marques 
was  a  veteran  warrior,  and  had  been  in  many  a 
bloody  liattle ;  hut  never  before  had  death  fallen  so 
thick  and  close  around  him.  When  he  saw  his  re- 
maining brother,  Don  Heltram,  struck  out  of  his  sad- 
dle by  a  frag^ment  of  a  rock,  and  his  horse  running 
wildly  about  without  his  rider,  he  gave  a  cry  of  an- 
guish, and  stood  bewildered  and  aghast.  A  few 
&:thful  followers  surrounded  him,  and  entreated  him 
to  fly  for  his  life.  He  would  still  have  remained,  to 
have  shared  the  fortunes  of  his  friend  Don  Alonzo 
de  Ag^ilar,  and  his  other  companions  in  arms  ;  but 
the  forces  of  El  Z.igal  were  between  him  and  them, 
and  death  w.is  whistling  by  on  every  wind.  Reluc- 
tantly, therefore,  he  consented  to  fly.  Another  horse 
was  brought  him :  his  faithful  adalid  guided  him  by 
one  of  the  steejwst  paths,  which  lasted  for  four 
leagues ;  the  enemy  still  hanging  on  his  traces,  and 
thinning  the  scanty  ranks  of  his  followers.  At  length 
the  marques  reached  the  extremity  of  the  mountain 
deliles,  and,  with  a  haggard  remnant  of  his  men, 
escaped  by  dint  of  hoof  to  Antiquera. 

The  count  of  Cifuentes,  with  a  few  of  his  ret.ain- 
crs,  in  attempting  to  follow  the  marques  of  Cadiz, 
wandered  into  a  narrow  pass,  where  they^were  com- 
pletely surrounded  by  the  band  of  El  Zagal.  Find- 
ing all  attempts  at  escape  impossible,  and  resistance 
vain,  the  worthy  count  surrendered  himself  prisoner, 
as  did  also  his  brother  Don  Pedro  de  Silva,  and  the 
few  of  his  retainers  who  survived. 

The  dawn  of  day  found  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar. 
with  a  handful  of  his  followers,  still  among  the 
mountains.  They  had  attempted  to  follow  the  mar- 
oues  of  Cadiz,  but  had  been  obliged  to  pause  and 
defend  themselves  against  the  thickening  forces  of 
the  enemy.  They  at  length  traversed  the  mountain, 
and  reache<l  the  same  valley  where  the  marques  had 
made  his  iast  disastrous  stand.  Wearied  and  per- 
plexed, they  slieltered  themselves  in  a  natural  grotto, 
ur.vler  an  overhanging  rock,  which  kept  otfthe  darts 
of  the  enemy  ;  while  a  bubbling  tountain  gave  them 
the  means  of  slaking  their  raging  thirst,  and  refresh- 
ing their  exhausted  steeds.  As  day  broke,  the  scene 
of  slaughter  unfolded  its  horrors.  There  lay  the 
noble  brothers  and  nephews  of  the  gallant  marques, 
transfixed  with  darts,  or  gashed  and  bruised  with  un- 
seemly wounds  ;  while  many  other  gallant  cavaliers 
lay  stretched  out  dead  and  dying  around,  some  of 
them  panly  stripped  and  plundered  by  the  Moors. 
De  AguiUir  was  a  pious  knight,  but  his  piety  was  not 
humble  and  resigned,  like  that  of  the  worthy  Master 
of  Santiago.  He  imprecated  holy  curses  upon  the 
infidels,  lor  having  thus  laid  low  the  flower  of  Chris- 
tian chivalry;  and  he  vowed  in  his  heart  bitter 
vengeance  upon  the  surrounding  country. 

By  degrees,  the  little  force  of  De  Aguilar  was 
augmented  by  numbers  of  fugitives,  who  issued  from 
caves  and  chasms,  where  they  had  taken  refuge  in  the 
night.  A  little  band  of  mounted  knights  was  gradually 
formed ;  and  the  Moors  having  abandoned  the  heights 
to  collect  the  spoils  of  the  slain,  this  gallant  but  for- 
lorn squadron  was  enabled  to  retreat  to  Antiquera. 

This  disastrous  aflair  lasted  from  Thursday  even- 
ing, throughout  Friday,  the  twenty-first  of  March, 
i.^  festival  of  St.  Benedict.  It  is  still  recorded  in 
Spanish  calendars,  as  the  defeat  of  the  mountains  of 
Malaga ;  and  the  spot  where  the  greatest  slaughter 
to^K  place,  is  pointed  out  to  the  present  day,  and  is 
called  /a  Cut's  fa  de  la  Matanza,  or  The  HiU  of  the 
Massacre.  The  principal  leaders  who  survived,  re- 
turned to  Antiquera.  Many  of  the  knights  took 
rtfuge  in  Alhama,  and  other  towns ;  many  wandered 
about  the  mountains  for  eight  days,  iivin|r  on  roots 


and  herbs,  hiding  themselves  durini;  the  day,  txA 
sallying  forth  at  night.  So  enfeebled  and  dishearten. 
ed  were  they,  that  they  offered  no  resistance  if  at. 
t.acked.  Three  or  four  soldiers  would  su;ren(|rr  to 
a  Moorish  peasant ;  and  even  the  women  of  M.il,-,^^ 
sallied  forth  and  made  prisoners.  Some  were  thrown 
into  the  dungeons  of  frontier  towns,  others  Icii  i.ip. 
live  to  Granada ;  but  by  far  the  greater  number  W(  [v 
conducted  to  Malaga,  the  city  they  had  thieatenr'  1  u 
attack.  Two  hundred  and  fifty  principal  cavaiiei-,, 
alcay<les,  commanders,  and  hidalgos,  of  geiurcus 
blood,  were  confined  in  the  Alcazaba,  or  citadel  nf 
Malaga,  to  await  their  ransom  ;  and  five  hundred  and 
seventy  of  the  common  soldiery  were  crowded  in  an 
enclosure  or  court-yard  of  the  Alcazaba,  to  be  sold 
as  slaves.* 

Great  spoils  were  collected  of  splendid  armor  and 
weapons  taken  from  the  slain,  or  thrown  away  by  the 
cavaliers  in  their  flight ;  and  many  horses,  magniti- 
cently  caparisoned,  together  with  numerous  stand- 
ards— all  which  were  paraded  in  triumph  into  tl\« 
Moorish  towns. 

The  merchants  also,  who  had  come  with  the  amiy, 
intending  to  traffic  in  the  spoils  of  the  Moors,  were 
themselves  m.ade  objects  of  tratfic.  Several  of  thtir, 
were  driven  hke  cattle,  before  the  Moorish  virai;os, 
to  the  market  of  Malaga;  and  in  spite  of  all  their 
adroitness  in  trade,  and  their  attempts  to  buy  thrm. 
selves  off  at  a  cheap  ransom,  they  were  unable  tti 
purchase  their  freedom  without  such  draughts  upon 
their  money-bags  at  home,  as  drained  them  to  the 
very  bottom. 


CHAPTER  Xni. 


EFFECTS  OF  THE   DISASTERS  AMONG  TUB 
MOUNTAINS  OF  MALAGA. 

The  people  of  Antiquera  had  scarcely  recover;d 
from  the  tumult  of  excitement  and  admiratior,, 
caused  by  the  departure  of  the  gallant  band  of 
cavaliers  upon  their  foray,  when  they  beheld  the 
scattered  wrecks  flying  for  refuge  to  their  wails. 
Day  after  day,  and  hour  after  hour,  brought  some 
wretched  fugitive,  in  whose  battered  plight,  and 
haggard,  wobegone  demeanor,  it  was  almost  im- 
possible to  recognise  the  warrior  whom  they  had 
lately  seen  to  bsue  so  gaily  and  gloriously  from 
their  gates. 

The  arrival  of  the  marques  of  Cadiz,  almost  alone 
covered  with  dust  and  blood,  his  armor  shattered 
and  defaced,  his  countenance  the  picture  of  despair, 
filled  every  heart  with  sorrow,  for  he  was  greatly 
beloved  by  the  people.  The  multitude  asked  where 
was  the  band  of  brothers  which  had  rallied  round 
him  as  he  went  forth  to  the  field ;  and  when  they 
heard  that  they  had,  one  by  one,  been  slaughtered  at 
his  side,  they  hushed  their  voices,  or  spake  to  ea  n 
other  only  in  whispers  as  he  passed,  gazing  at  hi.t; 
in  silent  sympathy.  No  one  attempted  to  consol' 
him  m  so  great  an  affliction,  nor  did  the  good  n'.it 
ques  speak  ever  a  word,  but,  shutting  hnn.self  jp 
brooded  in  lonely  anguish  over  his  mii-fortune.  It 
was  only  the  arrival  of  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar  that 
gave  him  a  gleam  of  consolation,  for,  amidst  t^.e 
shafts  of  deatli  that  had  fallen  so  thickly  among  his 
family,  he  rejoiced  to  find  that  his  chosen  friend  and 
brother  in  arms  had  escaped  uninjured. 

For  several  days  every  eye  was  turned,  in  an  agony 
of  suspense,  towards  the  Moorish  border,  anciously 
looking,  in  every  fugitive  from  the  mountains,  for  thi 


*  Cun  d«  lot  Palado*. 


•  Cora  d«  loi  Pi 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


193 


lineainents  of  some  friend  or  relation,  vhose  fate  was 
yet  a  mystery.  At  lenrth  every  hope  and  doubt  sub- 
sided into  certainty ;  tne  whole  extent  of  this  great 
calamity  was  icnown,  spreading  grief  and  consterna- 
tion throughout  the  land,  and  laying  desolate  the 
pnde  and  hopes  uf  palaces.  It  was  a  sorrow  that 
vis'ted  the  marble  hall  and  silken  pillow.  Stately 
iames  mourned  over  the  loss  of  their  sons,  the  joy 
Mid  glory  of  their  age ;  and  many  a  fair  cheek  was 
>Ur.ched  with  wo,  that  had  lately  mantled  with 
^:cret  admiration.  "All  Andalusia,"  says  a  his- 
[cria'i  of  the  time,  "  was  overwhelmed  by  a  great 
jlfliction ;  there  was  no  drying  of  the  eyes  which 
wfpt  in  her."  ♦ 

Fear  and  trembling  reigned,  for  a  time,  along  the 
%ontier.  Their  spear  seemed  broken,  their  buckler 
tielt  in  twain  :  every  border  town  dreaded  an  attack, 
iiicl  the  mother  caught  her  infant  to  her  bosom  when 
the  watch-dog  howled  i-  thtf  night,  fancying  it  the 
war-cry  of  the  Moor.  All,  for  a  time,  seemed  lost ; 
and  despondency  even  found  its  way  to  the  royal 
brcMsts  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  amidst  the  splen- 
dors of  their  court. 

Great,  on  the  other  hand,  was  the  joy  of  the  Moors, 
wht-n  they  saw  whole  legions  of  christian  warriors 
brought  captive  into  their  towns,  by  rude  mountain 
peasantry.  They  thought  it  the  work  of  Allah  in 
favor  of  the  faithful.  But  when  they  recognized, 
among  the  captives  thus  dejected  and  broken  down, 
some  of  the  proudest  of  christian  chivalry;  when 
tluy  saw  several  of  the  banners  and  devices  of  the 
iiobK'st  houses  of  Spain,  which  they  had  been  accus- 
toiiud  to  behold  in  the  foremost  of  the  battle,  now 
trailtd  ignominiously  through  their  streets ;  when,  in 
sli  iri,  they  witnessed  the  arrival  of  the  count  of  Ci- 
'iicntes,  the  royal  standard-bearer  of  Spain,  with  his 
^^tl'ant  brother  Uon  I'edro  de  Silva,  brought  prison- 
:;j  into  the  gates  of  Granada,  there  were  no  bounds 
J  iheir  exultation.  They  thought  that  the  days  of 
;rn'ir  ancient  glory  were  about  to  return,  and  th.at 
they  were  to  renew  their  career  of  triumph  over  the 
iiiibelievers. 

The  christian  historians  of  the  time  are  sorely  per- 
plexed to  account  for  this  misfortune  ;  and  why  so 
many  christian  knights,  fighting  in  the  cause  of  the 
holy  faith,  should  thus  miraculously,  as  it  were,  be 
given  captive  to  a  handful  of  infidel  boors  ;  for  we 
are  assured,  that  all  this  rout  and  destruction  was 
etfected  by  h  '  hundred  foot  and  fifty  horse,  and 
those  mere  mountaineers,  without  science  or  disci- 
pline.! "  It  was  intended,"  observes  one  historiog- 
rapher, "  as  a  lesson  to  their  confidence  and  vain- 
1,'lijry ;  overrating  their  own  prowess,  and  thinking 
that  so  chosen  a  oand  of  chivalry  had  but  to  appear 
111  the  land  of  the  enemy,  and  conquer.  It  was  to 
teach  ihem  that  the  race  is  not  to  the  swift,  nor  the 
battle  to  the  strong,  but  that  God  alone  giveth  the 
victory." 

The  worthy  father  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  how- 
ever, asserts  it  to  be  a  punishment  for  the  avarice  of 
the  Spanish  warriors.  They  did  not  enter  the  king- 
(.'rm  of  the  infidels  with  tiie  pure  spirit  of  christian 
l;ii>;hts,  zealous  only  for  the  glory  of  the  faith,  but 
1  -iher  as  greedy  men  of  traffic,  to  enrich  themselves 
i.  ending  the  spoils  of  the  infidels.  Instead  of  pre- 
wiring themselves  by  confession  and  communion,  and 
fi-.'.'ting  their  testaments,  and  making  donations 
and  t)eqiiests  to  churches  and  convents,  they  thought 
only  of  arranging  barg.iins  and  sales  of  their  antici- 
pattd  booty.  Instead  of  taking  with  them  holy 
inuiiks  -.J  aid  them  with  their  prayers,  they  were 
followed  by  a  train  of  trading  men,  to  keep  alive 
their  worldly  and  sordid  ideas,  and  to  turn  what 


ought  to  be  holy  triumphs  into  scenes  of  btawhng 
traffic.  Such  is  the  opinion  of  the  excellent  Agapida, 
in  which  he  is  joinec!  by  that  most  worthy  and  up- 
right of •  chroniclers,  the  curate  of  Los  PaLacioi. 
Agapida  comforts  himself,  however,  with  the  reflec- 
tion, that  this  visitation  was  meant  in  mercy,  to  try 
the  Castilian  heart,  and  to  extract,  from  its  present 
humiliation,  the  elements  of  future  success,  as  geld 
is  extracted  from  amidst  the  impurities  of  earth  ;  ano' 
in  this  reflection  he  is  supported  by  the  't  lerable 
historian  Pedro  Abarca,  of  the  society  of  j*«uit3.* 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


*  Cora  da  lot  PaUcioi. 

la 


t  Can  de  los  Palacio*. 


HOW    KING   BOABEIL  EL   CHICO   MARCHED  OVEB 
IHE   BORDER. 

The  defeat  of  the  christian  cavaliers  among  the 
mountains  of  Malaga,  and  the  successful  inroad  of 
Muley  Aben  Hassan  into  the  lands  of  Medina  Sidonia, 
had  produced  a  favorable  effect  on  the  fortunes  of 
the  old  monarch.  The  inconstant  populace  began 
to  shout  forth  his  name  in  the  streets,  and  to  sneer 
at  the  inactivity  of  his  son  Boabdil  el  Chico.  The 
latter,  though  in  the  flower  of  his  age,  and  distin- 
guished for  vigor  and  dexterity  in  jousts  and  tourna- 
ments, had  never  yet  fleshed  his  weapon  in  the  field 
of  battle ;  and  it  was  murmured  that  he  preferred 
the  silken  repose  of  the  cool  halls  of  the  Alhambra, 
to  the  fatigue  and  danger  of  the  foray,  and  the  hard 
encampments  of  the  mountains. 

The  (wpularity  of  these  rival  kings  depended  upon 
their  success  against  the  christians,  and  Boabdil  el 
Chico  found  it  necessary  to  strike  some  signal  blow 
to  counterbalance  the  late  triumph  of  his  father.  He 
was  further  incited  by  the  fierce  old  Moor,  his  father- 
in-law,  Ali  Atar,  alcayde  of  Loxa,  with  whom  the 
coals  of  wrath  against  the  christians  still  burned 
among  the  ashes  of  age,  and  had  lately  been  blown 
into  a  flame  by  the  attack  made  by  Ferdinand  on 
the  city  under  his  command. 

Ali  Atar  informed  Boabdil  th.it  the  late  discomfit 
ure  of  the  christian  knights  had  stripf)ed  Andalusia 
of  the  prime  of  her  chivalry,  and  broken  the  spirit 
of  the  country.  All  the  frontier  of  Cordova  and 
Ecija  now  lay  open  to  inroad ;  but  he  especially 
pointed  out  the  city  of  Lucena  as  an  object  of  attacl^ 
being  feebly  garrisoned,  and  lying  in  a  country  rich 
in  pasturage,  abounding  in  cattle  and  grain,  in  oil 
and  wine.  The  fiery  old  Moor  spoke  from  thorough 
information  ;  for  he  had  made  many  an  incursion  into 
these  parts,  and  his  very  name  was  a  terror  through- 
out the  country.  It  had  become  a  by-word  in  the 
garrison  of  Loxa  to  call  Lucena  the  garden  of  Ah 
Atar,  for  he  was  accustomed  to  forage  its  fertile  ter- 
ritories for  all  his  supplies. 

Boabdil  el  Chico  listened  to  the  persuasions  of  this 
veteran  oT  the  borders.  He  assembled  a  force  of 
nine  thousand  foot  and  seven  hundred  horse,  most 
of  them  his  own  adherents,  but  many  the  partisans 
of  his  father  ;  for  both  factions,  however  they  might 
fight  among  themselves,  were  ready  to  unite  in  any 
ex|iedition  ag.iinst  the  christians.  Many  of  the  most 
illustrious  and  valiant  of  the  Moorish  nobility  assem- 
bled round  his  standard,  magnificently  arrayed  in 
sumptuous  armor  and  rich  embroidery,  as  though 
they  were  going  to  a  festival  or  a  tilt  of  canes,  rathef 
than  an  enterprise  of  iron  war.  Boabdil's  mother, 
the  sultana  Ayxa  la  Horra,  armed  him  for  the  field. 


^m 


*  Abarca.    Annale*  de  Aragoa,  Re;  |o.  ca[ .  «.  |  7. 


If*;,. 


>f!?^^H'''^ 


W^ 


#&>;,, 


194 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


I  f.  »'  -  '*  '^'' 


5('! 


and  ga^e  him  her  benediction  as  she  girded  his 
scimitar  to  his  side.  His  favorite  wife  Morayma 
wept,  as  she  thought  of  the  evils  that  mlRht  befall 
him.  "  VV  hy  dos*.  thou  weep,  daughter  of  AJi  Atar  ?  " 
said  the  hiijh-minded  Ayxa:  "these  tears  ix:come 
not  the  daughter  of  a  warrior,  nor  the  wife  of  a 
king.  Believe  me,  there  lurks  more  danger  for  a 
monarch  within  the  strong  walls  of  a  palace,  than 
within  the  frail  curtains  of  a  tent.  It  is  by  perils  in 
Ihe  field,  that  thy  husband  must  purchase  security 
on  his  throne." 

But  Morayma  still  hung  upon  his  neck,  with  tears 
tnd  sad  forebodings ;  and  whi-n  he  departed  from 
the  Alhambra,  she  betook  herself  'X)  her  mirador, 
which  looks  out  over  the  vega.  From  thence  she 
watched  the  army,  as  it  went,  in  shining  order,  along 
the  road  which  leads  to  Loxa ;  and  every  burst  of 
warlike  melody  that  came  swelling  on  the  breeze, 
was  answered  by  a  gush  of  sorrow. 

As  the  royal  cavalcade  issued  from  the  palace  and 
descended  through  the  streets  of  Granada,  the  popu- 
lace greeted  their  youthful  sovereign  with  shouts, 
and  anticipated  success  that  should  wither  the  laurels 
of  his  father.  In  passing  through  the  gate  of  Elvira, 
however,  the  king  accidentally  broke  his  lance  against 
the  arch.  At  this,  certain  of  his  nobles  turned  pale, 
«nd  entreated  him  to  turn  b.ick,  for  they  regarded  it 
as  an  evil  omen.  Boabdil  scoffed  at  their  fears,  for 
he  considered  them  mere  idle  fancies ;  or  rather, 
(says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida.)  he  was  an  incredulous 
pagan,  puifed  up  with  confidence  and  vain-glory. 
He  refused  to  take  another  spear,  but  drew  forth  his 
scimitar,  and  led  the  way  (adds  Agapida)  in  an  arro- 
gant and  haughty  style,  as  though  he  would  set  both 
heaven  and  earth  at  defiance.  Another  evil  omen 
was  sent,  to  deter  him  from  his  enterprise ;  arriving 
at  the  ranibla,  or  dry  ravine  of  Beyro,  which  is 
scarcely  a  bow-shot  from  the  city,  a  fox  ran  through 
?hc  whol*;  army,  and  close  by  the  person  of  the  king ; 
and,  thoui^h  a  thousand  bolts  were  discharged  at  it, 
escaped  uninjured  to  the  mountains.  The  principal 
courtiers  about  Boabdil  now  reiterated  their  remon- 
strances against  proceeding ;  for  they  considered 
these  occurrences  as  mysterious  portents  of  diiasters 
to  their  army;  the  king,  however,  was  not  to  be  dis- 
mayed, but  continued  to  march  forwar.i.* 

At  Loxa,  the  royal  army  was  reinforced  by  old  AH 
Atar,  with  the  chosen  horsemen  of  his  garrison,  and 
many  of  the  bravest  warriors  of  the  border  towns. 
The  people  of  Loxa  shouted  with  exultation,  when 
they  beheld  AH  Atar,  armed  at  all  points,  and  once 
more  mounted  on  his  Harbary  steed,  which  had  often 
borne  him  over  the  borders.  The  veteran  warrior, 
with  nearly  a  century  of  years  upon  his  head,  had  all 
the  fire  and  animation  of  youth,  at  the  prospect  of  a 
foray,  and  careered  from  rank  to  rank  with  the  veloc- 
ity of  an  Arab  of  the  desert.  The  populace  watched 
the  army,  as  it  p.araded  over  the  bridge,  and  wound 
into  the  passes  of  the  mountains ;  and  still  their  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  pennon  of  Ali  Atar,  as  if  it  bore 
with  it  an  assurance  of  victory. 

The  Moorish  army  entered  the  christian  frontier 
by  forced  marches,  hastily  ravaging  the  country, 
driving  off  the  Hocks  and  herds,  and  making  captives 
of  the  inhabitants.  They  pressed  on  furiously,  and 
nude  the  latter  part  of  their  march  in  the  night,  that 
ihey  might  elude  observation,  and  come  upon  Lucena 
by  surprise.  Boabdil  was  inexperienced  in  the  art 
of  war,  but  he  had  a  veteran  counsellor  in  his  old 
father-in-law ;  for  Ali  Atar  knew  every  secret  of  the 
countr)-,  and,  as  he  prowled  through  it,  his  eye 
ranged  over  the  land,  uniting,  in  its  gl:»re,  the  craft 
of  Uie  fox  with  the  sanguinary  ferocity  of  the  wolf. 

■  Mivmol.    Rebel,  de  lot  Maroi  lib.  i,  c  xii.  fol.  14. 


He  had  flattered  himself  that  their  march  had  heq 
so  rapid  as  to  outstrip  intelligence,  and  that  Lucena 
would  be  an  easy  capture  ;  when  suddenly  he  bflie|(j 
alarm-fires  blazing  upon  the  mountains.  "  \\  »  are 
discovered,"  said  he  to  Boabdil  el  Chico ;  "  tht 
country  will  be  up  in  arms ;  we  have  nottiiti);  left 
but  to  strike  boldly  or  Lucena ;  it  is  but  slu'titly 
garrisoned,  and  we  may  carry  it  by  assault  Ixfnre 
it  can  receive  assistance."  The  king  appiovcd 
of  his  counsel,  and  they  marchec^,  rapidly  lor  tht 
gate  of  Lucena. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


HOW  THE  COUNT  DE  CABRA  SALLIED  FORTH  FROM 
HIS  CASTLE,  IN  QUEST  OF  KING  BOABDIL. 

Don  Diego  de  Cordova,  count  of  Cabra,  was  in 
the  castle  of  Vaena,  which,  with  the  town  of  the 
siiirte  name,  is  situated  on  a  lofty  sun-burnt  hill  on 
the  frontier  of  the  kingdom  of  Cordova,  and  hut  a 
few  leagues  from  Lucena.  The  range  of  mountains 
of  Horquera  he  between  them.  The  castle  of  V  atna 
was  strong,  and  well  furnished  with  arms,  and  tlic 
count  had  a  numerous  band  of  vassals  and  retain- 
ers; for  it  behoved  the  noblemen  of  the  frontiers,  r. 
those  times,  to  be  well  prepared  with  man  and 
horse,  with  lance  and  buckler,  to  resist  the  sudden 
incursions  01  the  Moors.  The  count  of  Cabra  w.is  a 
hardy  and  experienced  warrior,  shrewd  in  couiicil, 
prompt  in  action,  rapid  and  fearless  in  the  tuiit 
He  was  one  of  the  bravest  cavaliers  for  an  inrctd, 
and  had  been  quickened  and  sharpened,  in  thoujjht 
and  action,  by  living  on  the  borders. 

On  the  night  of  the  20th  of  April,  1483,  the  count 
was  about  to  retire  to  rest,  when  the  watciunan  I  rum 
the  turret  brought  him  word  that  there  were  ai.irm. 
fires  on  the  mountains  of  Horquera,  and  that  they 
were  made  on  the  signal-tower  overh.inging  the 
defile  through  which  the  road  passes  to  Cabra  and 
Lucena. 

The  count  ascended  the  battlement,  and  beheld 
five  lights  blazing  on  the  tower, — a  sign  that  tliere 
was  a  Moorish  army  attacking  some  place  on  the 
frontier.  The  count  instantly  ordered  the  alarm-bells 
to  be  sounded,  and  dispatched  couriers  to  rouse  the 
commanders  of  the  neighboring  towns.  He  ordcrd 
all  his  retainers  to  prepare  for  action,  and  sent  a 
trumpet  through  the  town,  summoning  the  men  to 
assemble  at  the  castle-gate  at  daybreak,  armed  and 
equipped  for  the  field. 

Throughout  the  remainder  of  th.»  night,  the  cajtle 
resounded  with  the  din  of  preparation.  Every  house 
in  the  town  w.is  in  etiual  bustle  ;  for  in  these  frontier 
towns,  every  house  had  its  warrior,  and  the  lance 
and  buckler  were  ever  hanging  against  the  wall, 
ready  to  be  snatched  down  for  instant  service.  Noth- 
ing w.-is  heard  but  the  din  of  armorers,  the  shoein<; 
of  studs,  and  furbishing  up  of  weapons;  nnd,  -lii 
night  long,  the  alarm -fires  kept  blazing  on  iht 
mountains. 

When  the  morning  d.-iwned,  the  count  of  Ca'nri 
sallied  forth,  at  the  head  of  two  hundred  and  fi!t', 
cavaliers,  of  the  best  families  of  Vaena,  all  well  \^ 
pointed,  exercised  in  arms,  and  experienced  in  tht 
warfare  of  the  borders.  There  were,  besides,  twelve 
hundred  foot-soldiers,  all  brave  and  well  seasoned 
men  of  the  same  town.  The  count  ordered  them  to 
hasten  forward,  whoever  could  make  most  speetl, 
taking  the  road  to  Cabra,  which  was  three  leagc-'S 
distant.  That  they  might  not  loiter  on  the  road,  hr. 
allowed  none  of  them  to  break  their  fast  until  thi-y 
arrived  at  that  place.  The  provident  count  dispatch 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


IH 


azing  on  Ih; 


f(1  couriers  m  advance,  and  the  little  army,  on  reach- 
iiij,'  Cabra,  found  tablies  spread  with  food  and  vefresh- 
nirnts,  at  the  gates  of  the  town.  Here  they  were 
joiiu-il  by  Don  Alonzo  de  Cordova,  Senior  of  Zu- 
heros. 

Having  made  a  hearty  rep/ist,  they  were  on  the 
point  of  resuming  their  march,  when  the  count  dis- 
covered, that,  in  the  hurry  of  his  departure  fiom 
nrnie,  he  had  forjjotten  to  l)ring  the  standard  of 
Vaena,  which  for  upwards  of  eij;hty  years  had  always 
i)een  borne  to  battle  by  his  family.  It  was  now  noon, 
and  there  was  not  time  t«  return  ;  he  took,  therefore, 
the  standard  of  Cabra,  the  device  of  which  is  a  goat, 
and  which  haJ  not  been  seen  in  the  wars  for  the 
bst  h;Uf  century.  When  about  to  depart,  a  courier 
came  galloi)ing  at  full  speed,  bringing  missives  to  the 
count  from  his  nephew,  Don  Diego  Hernandez  de 
Cordova,  .Senior  of  Lucena  and  alcayde  de  los  Don- 
zclcs,  entreating  him  to  hasten  to  his  aid,  as  his  town 
\\;is  beset  by  the  Moorish  king  Boabdil  el  Chico, 
wuli  a  powerful  army,  who  were  actually  setting  fire 
to  the  gates. 

The  count  put  his  little  army  instantly  in  move- 
m-'nt  for  Lucena,  which  is  only  one  league  from 
Caiira ;  he  was  fired  with  the  idea  of  having  the 
Moiirir-h  king  in  person  to  contend  with.  By  the 
time  he  reached  Lucena,  the  Moors  had  desisted 
from  the  attack,  and  were  ravaging  the  surrounding 
country.  He  entered  the  town  with  a  few  of  his 
cavahers,  and  was  received  with  joy  by  his  nephew, 
whose  whole  force  consisted  but  of  eighty  horse  and 
lline  hundred  foot.  Don  Diego  Hern.andez  de  Cor- 
,iova  was  a  yimng  man,  yet  he  was  a  prudent,  care- 
ful, and  capable  officer.  Having  learnt,  the  evening 
JK-lbre,  that  the  .Moors  had  passed  the  frontiers,  he 
ha>'  j^.ithered  within  his  walls  all  the  women  and 
chiklrcn  from  the  environs ;  had  armed  the  men, 
ii^nt  couriers  in  ail  directions  for  succor,  and  had 
lijjhted  alarm-lires  on  the  mountains. 

Boabdil  had  arrived  with  his  anny  at  d.iybreak, 
aiKJ  had  sent  in  a  message  threatening  to  put  the 
garrison  to  the  sword,  if  the  place  were  not  instantly 
surrendered.  The  messenj;er  was  a  Moor  of  Gra- 
nada, named  Hamet,  whom  Don  Diego  had  formerly 
known :  he  contrived  to  amuse  him  with  negotiation, 
to  gain  time  for  succor  to  arrive.  The  fierce  old 
Ah  Atar,  losing  all  patience,  had  made  an  assault 
upon  the  town,  id  stormed  like  a  fury  at  the  gate  ; 
but  had  been  repulsed.  Another  and  more  serious 
anatk  w.as  expected,  in  the  course  of  the  night. 

When  the  count  de  Cabra  had  heard  this  account 
of  the  situation  of  artairs,  he  turned  to  his  nephew 
with  his  usual  alacrity  of  manner,  and  proposed  that 
ihey  should  immediately  sally  forth  in  quest  of  the 
entfniy.  The  prudent  Don  Diego  remonstrated  at 
ttie  rashness  of  attacking  so  great  a  force  with  a  mere 
hindhil  of  men.  *'  Nephew,"  said  the  count,  "  I 
came  from  Vaena  with  a  determination  to  fi^ht  this 
Miwrish  king,  and  I  will  not  be  disappointed." 

"  At  any  rate,"  replied  Don  Diego,  "  let  us  wait 
but  two  hours,  and  we  shall  have  reinlbrcements 
•vhich  have  been  promised  me  from  Rambla,  .Santa- 
{\h.  Montilla,  and  other  pl.aces in  the  neighborhood." 
'  If  we  await  these,"  said  the  hardy  count,  "  the 
Moors  will  be  off,  and  all  our  trouble  will  have  been 
ir  vain.  You  may  await  them,  if  you  please  ;  I  am 
resolved  on  fighting." 

The  count  paused  for  no  reply  ;  but,  in  his  prompt 
and  rapid  manner,  sallied  forth  to  his  men.  The 
yoang  alcayde  de  los  Donzeles,  though  more  prudent 
than  his  ardent  uncle,  was  equally  brave  ;  he  deter- 
mined to  stand  by  him  in  his  rash  enteriirise,  and, 
summoning  his  little  force,  marched  forth  to  join  the 
count,  who  w:is  already  on  the  move.  They  then 
edcd  together  in  quest  of  the  enemy. 


The  Moorish  army  had  ceased  ravaging  the  coun- 
try,  and  were  not  to  be  seen, — the  neighborhood 
being  hilly,  and  broken  with  deep  ravines.  The 
count  dispatched  six  scouts  on  horseback  to  recon- 
noitre, ordering  them  to  return  with  all  speed  when 
they  should  have  discovered  the  enemy,  and  by  nc 
means  to  engage  in  skirmishing  witn  stragglert 
The  scouts,  ascending  a  high  liil!,  beheld  the  Moor- 
ish army  in  a  valley  behind  it,  tl.e  cavalry  ranged  ia 
five  battalions  keeping  g^ard,  while  the  foot-soldien 
were  seated  on  the  grass  .Tiaking  a  repast.  They 
returned  immediately  with  the  intelligence. 

The  count  now  ordered  -he  troops  to  march  in  the 
direction  of  the  enemy.  He  and  his  nephew  as- 
cended the  hill,  and  saw  that  the  five  battalions  of 
Moorish  cavalry  had  been  formed  into  two,  one  of 
about  nine  hundred  lances,  the  other  •.  f  about  six 
hundred.  The  whole  force  seemed  piepared  to 
march  for  the  frontier.  The  foot-soldiers  were  al- 
ready under  way,  with  many  prisoners,  and  a  g^eat 
train  of  mules  and  beasts  of  burden,  laden  with 
booty.  At  a  distance  was  Boabdil  el  Chico:  they 
could  not  distinguish  his  person,  but  they  knew  him 
by  his  superb  white  charger,  magnificently  capari- 
soned, and  by  his  being  surrounded  by  a  numerous 
guard,  sumptuously  armed  and  attired.  Old  Ali 
Atar  was  careering  about  the  valley  with  his  usua) 
impatience,  hurrymg  the  march  of  the  loitering 
troops. 

The  eyes  of  the  count  de  Cabra  glistened  with 
eager  joy,  as  he  beheld  the  royal  prize  within  hit 
reach.  The  immense  disparity  of  their  forces  never 
entered  into  his  mind.  "  By  Santiago  I  "  said  he  to 
his  nephew,  as  they  hastened  down  the  hill,  "  had 
we  wailed  for  more  forces,  the  Moorish  king  and  hia 
army  would  have  escaped  us  !  " 

The  count  now  harangued  his  men,  to  inspirit 
them  to  this  hazardous  encounter.  He  toid  them 
not  to  be  dismayed  at  the  number  of  Moors,  foi 
God  often  pennitied  the  few  to  conciuer  the  many  ; 
and  he  had  great  confidence,  that,  through  the  di- 
vine aid,  they  were  that  day  to  achieve  a  signal  vic- 
tory, which  should  win  them  both  riches  and  renown. 
He  commanded  that  no  man  should  hurl  his  lance 
at  the  enemy,  but  should  keep  it  in  his  hands,  and 
strike  as  many  blows  with  it  as  he  could.  He  warned 
them,  also,  never  to  shout  except  when  the  Moors 
did ;  for,  when  both  armies  shouted  together,  there 
was  no  perceiving  which  made  the  most  noise  and 
was  the  strongest.  He  desired  his  uncle  Lope  de 
Mendoza,  and  Diego  Cabrera,  alcayde  of  Menica,  to 
alight  and  enter  on  foot  in  the  battalion  of  infantry, 
to  animate  them  to  the  combat.  He  appointed,  also, 
the  alcayde  of  Vaena  and  Diego  de  Clavijo,  a  cava- 
lier of  his  household,  to  remain  in  the  rear,  and  not 
to  permit  any  one  to  lag  behind,  either  to  despoil  the 
de.ad,  or  for  any  other  purpose. 

Such  were  the  orders  given  by  this  most  adroit, 
active,  and  intrepid  cavalier,  to  his  little  army,  sup)- 
plying,  by  admirable  sagacity  and  subtle  manage- 
ment, the  want  of  a  more  numerous  force.  Hia 
orders  being  given,  and  all  arrangements  made,  he 
threw  asiiie  his  lance,  drew  his  sword,  and  com- 
manded his  standard  to  be  advanced  against  thfl 
"-emy. 


CHAPTER    XVL 

THE  BATTLE  OF   LUCENA. 

The  Moonkh  king  had  descried  the  Spanish  force* 
at  a  distance,  although  a  slight  fog  prevented  hia 
seeing  them  ilisimctly,  and  ascertaining  their  num- 
tiers.    His  old  fatherin-law    Ali  Atar,  was  bv  hia 


M!? 


fi)6 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


•-.-- 


ir= 


V' . 


a  ^ 


fii 


n^ 


1 


itl, 


l1»*'  ^z. 


sisi  ' 


side,  who,  being  a  veteran  marauder,  was  well  ac- 
quainted with  all  the  standanls  and  armorial  bear- 
'ngs  of  the  frontiers.  When  the  i<ing  beheld  the 
ancient  and  long-disused  banner  of  Cahra  emerj:;in>; 
from  the  mist,  he  turned  to  All  Atar,  and  demanded 
whose  ensign  it  was.  The  old  borderer  was  for 
mce  at  a  loss,  for  the  banner  had  not  been  dis- 
)hyed  fn  battle  in  his  time.  ".Sire,"  replied  he, 
fcftcr  a  pause,  "  I  have  been  considering  that  stand- 
«rd,  but  do  not  know  it.  It  appears  to  be  a  dog, 
'.fliich  device  is  borne  by  the  towns  of  liaeza  and 
"Jbeda.  If  it  be  so,  ail  Andalusia  is  in  movement 
kg.iinst  you ;  for  it  is  not  probable  that  any  smgle 
commander  or  community  would  venture  to  attack 
you.     I  would  advise  you,  therefore,  to  retire." 

The  count  de  Cabra,  in  winding  down  the  hill  to- 
wards the  Moors,  found  himself  on  much  lower 
ffround  than  the  enemy  :  he  ordered  in  all  haste 
ihat  his  standard  should  be  taken  back,  so  .as  to 
K-ain  the  v.intage  ground.  The  Moors,  mistaking 
fJhis  for  a  retreat,  rushed  impetuously  towards  the 
christians.  The  latter,  having  gained  the  height 
■proposed,  charged  down  upon  them  at  the  s.une 
moment,  with  the  battle-cry  of  "Santiago!"  and, 
dealing  the  first  blows,  laid  many  of  the  Moorish 
cavaliers  in  the  dust. 

The  Moors,  thus  checked  in  their  tumultuous 
assault,  were  thrown  into  contusion,  and  began  to 
five  w.ay,  the  christians  following  hard  upon  them. 
Hoabdil  el  Chico  endeavored  to  rally  them.  "  Hold  ! 
iiold  !  for  shame!"  cried  he;  "let  us  not  f1y,  at 
least  until  we  know  our  enemy."  The  Moorish 
chivalry  were  stung  by  this  reproof,  and  turned  to 
nake  front,  with  the  valor  of  men  who  feel  that 
they  are  fighting  under  their  monarch's  eye. 

At  this  moment,  Lorenzo  de  Porres,  alcayde  of 
Luque,  arrived  with  fifty  horse  and  one  hundred 
''cot,  sounding  an  Italian  trumpet  from  among  a 
.5v"pse  of  oak  trees,  which  concealed  his  force.  The 
juick  ear  of  old  Ali  Atar  caught  the  note.  "  That 
M  an  Italian  tnimpet,"  said  he  to  the  king  ;  "  the 
whole  world  seeins  in  arms  .against  your  m.ijesty  !  " 

The  trumpet  of  Lorenzo  de  I'orres  w.as  answered 
by  that  of  the  count  de  Cabra,  in  another  direction, 
and  it  seemed  to  the  .Moors  as  if  they  were  between 
two  aiTnies.  Don  Lorenzo,  sallying  from  among 
the  oaks,  now  charged  upon  the  enemy:  the  latter 
did  not  wait  to  ascertain  the  force  of  this  new 
foe ;  the  confusion,  the  variety  of  alarums,  the  at- 
tacks from  opposite  quarters,  the  obscurity  of  the 
fog,  all  conspired  to  deceive  ihein  as  to  the  number 
of  their  adversaries,  liroken  and  dismayed,  they 
retreated  fighting ;  and  nothing  but  the  presence 
and  remonstrance  of  the  king  prevented  their  retreat 
from  becoming  a  headlong  llight. 

This  skirmishing  retreat  l;isied  for  about  three 
leagues.  Man;;  were  the  acts  of  individual  prowess 
between  christiari  a;ul  Moorish  knigiits,  and  the  way 
was  strewed  with  the  flower  of  the  king's  guards 
and  of  his  royal  household.  At  length  they  came  to 
the  rivulet  of  Mingonzales,  the  verdant  hanks  of 
which  were  covered  with  willows  and  tamarisks. 
It  was  swoln  by  recent  rain,  and  was  now  a  deep 
and  turbid  torrent. 

Here  the  ):ing  made  a  courageous  stand  with  a  small 
'jcdy  of  cavalry,  while  his  baggage  crossed  the  stream. 
None  but  the  choicest  and  most  luyal  of  his  guards 
Jtood  by  their  monarch,  in  this  hour  of  extremity. 
The  foot-soldiers  took  to  flight,  the  moment  they 
passed  the  ford ;  many  of  the  horsemen,  partaking 
of  the  general  panic,  gave  reins  to  their  steeds  and 
scoured  for  the  frontier.  The  little  host  of  devoted 
cavaliers  now  serried  their  forces  in  front  of  their 
monarch,  to  protect  his  retreat.  They  fought  hand 
to  hand  with  the  christian  warriors,  disdaining  to 


yield  or  to  ask  for  Quarter.  The  ground  was  colored 
with  the  dead  and  dying.  The  king,  havini;  reticitcd 
along  the  river  banks,  and  gained  some  distance  Irotn 
the  scene  of  combat,  looked  back,  and  saw  die  loy:iJ 
band  at  length  give  way.  They  crossed  the  lord 
followed  pell-mell  by  the  enemy,  and  several  of  tln:;p 
were  struck  down  into  the  stream. 

The  king  now  d  sn.ounted  from  his  white  charj^er 
whose  color  and  rich  caparison  made  him  too  ni. 
spicuous,  and  endeavored  to  conceal  himself  ariMnii; 
the  thickets  which  fringed  the  river.  A  soUiicr  oi' 
Lucena,  'amed  Martin  I lurtado, discovered  him  ind 
attacked  'lim  with  a  pike.  The  king  defended  liini- 
self  with  scimitar  and  target,  until  another  soMicr 
assailed  him,  and  he  saw  a  third  approaching.  I'cr- 
ceiving  that  further  resistance  would  be  vain,  he 
drew  back  and  called  upon  them  to  desist,  oticrmg 
them  a  noble  ransom.  O.ie  of  the  soldiers  rusJud 
forward  to  seize  him,  but  the  king  struck  him  to  the 
earth  with  a  blow  of  his  scimitar. 

Don  Diego  femandez  de  Cordova  coming  up  at 
this  hiomcnt,  the  men  said  to  him, -'Senor,  here-  !sa 
Moor  that  we  have  taken,  who  seems  to  be  a  iiKia 
of  rank,  and  offers  a  large  ransom." 

"  Sl.ives  !  "  exclaimed  king  IJoahdil,  "  you  have  not 
taken  me,     I  surrender  to  this  cav.dier.  ' 

Don  Diego  received  him  with  kiughtly  couri'sy 
He  perceived  him  to  be  a  person  of  high  rank;  luit 
the  king  concealed  his  qu;.lity,  and  gave  himsi-ll  out 
as  the  son  of  Aden  Aleyzar,  a  nobleman  of  the  ruv.U 
household.*  Don  Diego  gave  him  in  charge  ol  live 
soldiers,  to  conduct  him  to  the  castle  of  Lucrr.i; 
then,  putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  he  h;istened  to  reinm 
the  count  de  Cabra,  who  w;is  in  hot  pursuit  ot  ihe 
enemy.  He  overtook  him  at  a  stream  called  Kia- 
naul ;  and  they  continued  to  press  on  the  skins  o'- 
the  flying  army,  during  the  remain<ler  of  the  day 
The  pursuit  w.as  almost  as  hazardous  as  the  b.iUlc; 
for,  h.'id  the  enemy  at  any  time  recovered  from  iln-it 
panic,  they  might,  by  a  sudden  reaction,  have  ov.r. 
whelmed  the  small  force  of  their  pursuers.  To  gu.ird 
against  this  peril,  the  wary  count  kept  his  batt  iliun 
.always  in  close  order,  and  had  a  body  of  a  huiuhe^d 
chosen  lancers  in  the  advance.  The  Moors  kept  up 
a  Parthian  retreat ;  several  times  thev  turned  to 
make  battle ;  but,  seeing  this  solid  botly  of  stecltd 
warriors  pressing  upon  them,  they  again  took  to 
flight. 

The  main  retreat  of  the  army  was  along  the  valley 
watered  by  the  Xenel,  and  opening  through  tt.t 
mount.ains  of  Algaringo  to  the  city  of  I.,oxa.  11. e 
alarm-tires  of  the  preceding  night  had  roused  the 
country ;  every  m.an  snatched  sword  and  biicUt  r 
from  the  wall,  and  the  towns  and  villages  pourH 
forth  their  v/arriors  to  harass  the  retreating  foe.  All 
Atar  kept  the  main  force  of  the  .army  together,  and 
turned  fiercely  from  time  to  time  upon  his  pursuers; 
he  was  like  a  wolf,  hunted  through  the  country  he 
had  often  m<ade  desolate  by  his  maraudings. 

The  .alarm  of  this  invasion  had  reached  the  city 
of  Antiquera,  where  were  several  of  the  cavalieii 
who  had  escaped  from  the  carnage  in  the  mounta'nr 
of  M;daga,  Their  proud  minds  were  festering  v'l 
their  late  disgrace,  and  their  only  prayer  was  It 
venge.ance  on  the  infidels.  No  sooner  did  they  hr.ii 
of  the  Moor  being  over  the  border,  than  they 
were  armed  and  mounted  for  action.  Don  Alor.io 
de  Aguilar  led  them  forth  ; — a  small  binly  ot  nut 
forty  horsemen,  but  all  cavaliers  o(  prowess,  and 
thirsting  for  revenge.  They  came  upon  the  foe  u\. 
tht;  banks  of  the  .\enel,  where  it  winds  through  ili« 
valleys  of  Cordova.  The  river,  swelled  by  the  Ut* 
rams,  was  deep  and  turbulent,  and  only  fordable  at 

*  Oaribar,  lib.  40,  c  »i. 


A  CHRONICLE  OF   THE  CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


197 


"  you  have  not 


certain  places.  The  main  body  of  the  army  was 
j/attiered  in  confusion  on  the  banks,  endeavoring  to 
loril  the  stream,  protected  by  thecavalry  of  AH  Alar. 

Nil  sooner  did  tiie  little  band  of  Alonzo  di;  Agiiilar 
cijnii'  in  sight  ot  the  Moors,  than  fury  flashed  from 
i!u  II  I'Vf  s.  "  Remember  the  mountains  of  Malaga  !  " 
th' \  ciifd  to  each  other,  as  they  rushed  to  combat. 
'I'hcir  cliarj^e  was  desperate,  but  was  gallantly  re- 
y  ml.  A  scrambling  and  bloody  fight  ensued,  hand 
^f  liuid  and  sword  to  sword,  sometimes  on  land, 
y)t.ii'iiines  in  the  water.  Many  were  lanced  on  the 
ii.inks ;  others,  throwing  themselves  into  the  river, 
sunk  with  the  weight  of  their  armor,  and  v/ere 
drowned  ;  some,  grappling  together,  fell  from  their 
hiiiscs,  but  continued  their  struggle  in  the  waves, 
anil  helm  and  turban  rolled  together  down  the 
siiiMin.  Tlie  Moors  were  far  greater  in  number,  and 
among  them  were  many  warriors  of  rank  ;  but  they 
were  disheartened  by  defeat,  while  the  christians 
wt-re  excited  even  to  desperation. 

All  Atar  alone  preserved  all  his  fire  and  energ>' 
aniiil  his  revfrscs.  He  had  been  enraged  at  the  de- 
•uii  of  the  army,  the  loss  of  the  king,  and  the  igno- 
niinious  tlight  he  had  been  obliged  to  make  through 
a  comitiy  which  had  so  often  been  the  scene  of  !iis 
exploits:  but  to  be  thus  impeded  in  his  flight,  and 
hiirassed  and  insulted  by  a  mere  handful  of  warriors, 
roused  the  violent  passions  of  the  old  Moor  to  per- 
fect Irenzy.  He  had  marked  Don  Alon/.ode  Aguilar 
de.iling  his  blows  (says  Agapida,)  with  the  pious 
v<l-.eiiience  of  a  righteous  knight,  who  knows  that  in 
every  wound  inflicted  upon  the  infidels,  he  is  doing 
Cod  service.  Ali  Atar  spurred  his  steed  along  the 
hank  of  the  river,  to  come  upon  Don  Alonzo  by 
surjirise.  The  back  of  the  warrior  was  towards  him  ; 
anil,  collecting  all  his  force,  the  Moor  huiIed  his 
lance  to  transfix  him  on  the  spot.  The  lance  was 
:ct  thrown  with  the  usual  accuracy  of  Ali  Atar;  it 
,;i  away  a  part  of  the  cuirass  of  Don  Alon?o,  but 
,.r.;(i  to  indict  a  wound.  The  Moor  rushed  upon 
!j ji'i  Alonzo  with  his  scimitar  ;  but  the  latter  was  on 
fhea'.ert,  and  pa  ried  his  blow.  They  fought  desper- 
ately uj>on  the  borders  of  the  river,  alternately  press- 
in;;  each  other  into  the  stream,  and  fighting  their  way 
a^ain  up  the  bank.  Ali  Atar  was  rejieatedly  wound- 
ed ;  and  Don  Alonzo,  having  pity  on  his  fige,  would 
have  span.'d  his  life  ;  he  called  upon  him  to  surrender. 
"  Never,"  cried  Ali  Atar, "  to  a  christian  dog  !  "  The 
words  were  scarce  out  of  his  mouth,  when  the  sword 
of  Don  Alonzo  clove  his  turbaned  head,  and  sank 
deep  into  the  brain.  He  fell  dead,  without  a  gro.m  ; 
liis  body  rolled  into  the  .Kenel,  nor  was  it  ever  found 
anil  recognised.*  Thus  fell  Ali  Atar,  who  had  long 
been  the  terror  of  Andalusia.  As  he  had  hated  and 
warred  ujxin  the  christians  all  his  life,  so  he  died  in 
(he  very  act  of  bitter  hostility. 

The  fall  of  Ali  Atar  put  an  end  to  the  transient 
st.md  of  the  cavalry.  Horse  and  foot  mingled  to- 
gether, in  the  desperate  struggle  across  the  Xenel ; 
and  many  were  trampled  down,  and  perished  be- 
neath the  waves.  Don  Alonzo  and  his  band  con- 
tinued to  harass  them  until  they  crossed  the  frontier ; 
luid  every  blow,  struck  home  to  the  Moors,  seemed 
lo  lighten  the  load  of  hi^miliation  and  sorrow  which 
Lad  weighed  heavy  on  their  hearts. 

In  this  tlisastrous  rout,  the  Moors  lost  upwards  of 
6ve  thousand  killed  and  made  prisoners;  many  of 
wh;)m  were  of  the  most  noble  lineages  of  Granada  : 
numbers  tied  to  rocks  and  mountains,  where  they 
were  subseipiently  taken. 

This  battle  was  called,  by  some,  the  battle  of 
Lucsna ;  by  others,  the  battle  of  the  Moorish  king, 
because  of  the  capture  of  Boabdil.     Twenty-two 


banners  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  christlAns  and 
were  carried  to  Vaena,  and  h  jng  up  ii  the  church  ; 
where  (says  a  historian  of  after  times,)  they  remain 
to  this  day.  Once  a  year,  on  the  day  of  St.  George, 
they  are  borne  about  in  procession,  by  the  inhab- 
itants, who  at  the  same  time  give  thanks  to  God  'bi 
this  signal  victory  granted  to  their  forefathers. 

Great  was  the  triumph  of  the  count  de  Cabre, 
when,  on  returning  from  the  pursuit  of  the  enemy, 
he  found  that  the  Moorish  king  had  fallen  into  his 
hands.  When  the  unfortunate  Boabdil  was  brouj.;ht 
before  him,  however,  and  he  beheld  him  a  dejected 
captive,  whom  but  shortly  before  he  had  seen  in 
royal  splendor,  surrounded  by  his  army,  the  generoua 
heart  of  the  count  was  touched  by  sympairiy.  Hs 
said  every  thing  that  became  a  courteous  ana  chris- 
tian knight,  to  comfort  him ;  observing  that  the 
same  mutability  of  things  which  had  suddenly  de 
stroyed  his  recent  prosperity,  might  cause  his  pres- 
ent misfortunes  as  rapidly  to  pass  away  ;  since  m 
this  world  nothing  is  stable,  aiid  even  sorrow  has 
its  allotted  term. 


CHAPTER  XVn. 


*  Con  d«  lot  PaSacioi. 


LAMENTATIONS  OF  THE  MOORS  FOR  THE   DATTI.K 
OF  LUCENA. 

The  sentinels  looked  out  from  the  watch-towers 
of  Loxa,  along  the  valley  of  the  Xenel,  which  passes 
through  the  mountains  of  Alg.iringo.  They  looked 
to  behold  the  king  returning  in  triumph,  at  the 
head  of  his  shining  host,  laden  with  the  spoil  of  the 
unbeliever.  Thev  looked  to  behold  the  standard 
of  their  warlike  idol,  the  fierce  Ali  Atar,  bonie  by 
the  chivalry  of  Loxa,  ever  foremost  in  the  wars  of 
the  border. 

In  the  evening  of  the  2ist  of  April,  they  descried 
a  single  horseman  urging  his  faltering  steed  along 
the  banks  of  the  Xeiul.  As  he  drew  near,  they  per- 
ceived by  the  Hash  of  arms,  that  he  w.is  a  warrior, 
and  on  nearer  approach,  by  the  richness  of  his  armor 
and  the  caparison  of  his  steed,  they  knew  him  to 
Ije  a  warrior  of  rank. 

He  reached  .Loxa,  faint  ;ind  aghast ;  his  Arabian 
courser  covered  with  foam,  and  dust,  and  blood, 
panting  and  staggering  with  fatigue,  and  gashed  with 
wounds.  Having  brought  his  master  in  safety,  he 
sunk  down  and  died  before  the  gale  of  the  city.  The 
soldiers  at  the  gate  gathered  round  the  cavalier,  as 
he  stood  mute  and  melancholy  by  his  expiring  steed ; 
they  knew  him  to  be  the  gallant  Cidi  Caleb,  nephew 
of  the  chief  alfaqui  of  the  Albaycin  of  Granada.  When 
the  people  of  Loxa  beheld  this  noble  cavalier,  thus 
alone,  haggard  and  dejected,  their  hearts  were  filled 
with  fearful  forebodings. 

"  Cavalier,"  said  tney,  "  how  fares  it  with  the 
king  and  army  ?  " 

He  cast  his  hand  mournfully  towaids  the  lan^  of 
the  christians.  "There  they  lie!"  exclaimei  ':.t. 
"  The  heavens  have  fallen  upon  them.  All  are  lost  I 
all  dead !  "* 

Upon   this,  there  was  a  gre.at  cry  of  consterna- 
tion among  the  people,  and  loud  wailings  of  wcnien 
for  the  flower  of  the  youth  of  Loxa  were  with  the 
army." 

An  old  Moorish  soldier,  scarred  in  many  a  bordei 
battle,  stood  leaning  on  his  lance  by  the  gateway. 
"  Where  is  Ali  Atar  ?  "  demanded  he  eagerly.  "  If 
he  lives,  the  army  cannot  be  lost.' 

"  I  saw   his   turban    cleaved   by    the   christiao 


IfS 


•  Cuia  de  1m  PaUcio*. 


198 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


nJa  'i  ■       ■■     ■••'■■ 
NT- '"'  J* -I  -^i 

•^  ■^  -■■it  V  ■ 


It.:'-. 


lip  - :-.  '^ 


y 


■-  •!    !'' 

l'.f.'.f> ',;-    X,_i" 

ll''  litis*  tim-ia'''. 

WW". 

.  .■>,>^  ^  ;  '^  ■, ," . 

#;* 


.>;■  '»;l:  "  . 
: .  Li   m*-  -^ 


sword,"  repVed  Cidi  Caleb.    "His  body  is  floating 
in  tli:  Xenel." 

When  tile  soldier  heard  these  words,  he  smote  his 
Lr;a«  and  threw  dust  upon  his  head  ;  lor  he  was  an 
old  follower  of  Ali  Atar. 

The  noble  Cidi  Caleb  gave  himself  no  repose,  but 
mounting  another  stecul,  hasicneil  to  carry  the  dis- 
astrous tidings  to  Granada.  As  he  passed  through 
U:f  villages  and  hamlets,  he  spread  sorrow  around  ; 
kii  their  chosen  men  had  followed  the  king  to  the 
T.rs. 

When  he  entered  the  gates  of  Granada,  and  an- 
i:ounced  the  loss  of  the  king  and  army,  a  voice  ot 
honor  went  throughout  tlie  city.  Everyone  thought 
but  of  his  own  share  in  the  general  calainity,  anil 
crowded  round  the  bearer  of  ill  tidings.  One  asked 
after  a  father,  another  after  a  brother,  some  after  a 
lover,  and  many  a  mother  alter  her  son.  His  replies 
were  still  of  woumis  and  death.  To  one  he  rc.-plied, 
"  I  saw  thy  father  pierced  with  a  lance,  as  he  de- 
fended the  person  of  the  king."  To  another,  "  Thy 
brother  fell  wounded  under  ttie  hoofs  of  the  horses  ; 
but  '.lere  w.as  no  time  to  aid  him,  for  the  christian 
Cavalry  were  upon  us."  To  another,  "  I  saw  the 
horse  of  thy  lover,  covered  with  blood  and  gallop- 
ing without  his  rider."  To  another,  "Thy  son 
fought  by  my  side,  on  the  hanks  of  the  Xenel:  we 
were  surrounded  by  the  enemy,  and  driven  into  the 
stream.  •!  heard  him  cry  ui)on  Allah,  in  the  midst 
of  the  waters  :  when  1  leached  the  other  bank,  he 
was  no  longer  by  my  side." 

The  noble  Ciili  Cahb  i).issed  on,  leaving  .ill  Gra- 
nada in  lamentation  ;  he  urged  his  steed  up  the  steep 
avenue  of  trees  and  fountains  that  leads  to  the  Al- 
h3unbra,  nor  stopped  until  he  .arrived  before  the  gate 
•>f  Justice.  Ayxa,  the  motlier  of  Hoabdil,  and  Mor.ay- 
',UX  his  beloved  and  tend'T  wift:,  had  daily  watched 
rom  the  tower  of  the  (iomeres,  to  behold  his  tri- 
anphant  return.  Who  shall  describe  their  afliiction, 
when  they  heard  the  tidings  of  Cidi  Caleb  ?  The  sul- 
tana Ayxa  sjiakc  not  much,  but  sate  as  one  entranced 
in  wo.  Evciy  now  and  then,  a  deep  sigh  burst  forth, 
but  si.e  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven :  "  It  is  the  will  of 
Allah  ! "  saiil  she,  and  with  these  words  endeavored 
to  repress  the  agonies  ot  a  mother's  sorrow.  The 
tender  .Morayma  threw  hers»;lf  on  the  earth,  and  gave 
way  to  the  full  turbulence  of  her  feelings,  bewailing 
her  husband  and  her  f.ither.  The  high-nnnded  Ayxa 
lebuked  the  violence  of  her  grief:  "  Moderate  these 
ransports.  my  daughter,"  said  she;  "remember 
.Tiagnanimity  should  be  the  attribute  of  princes;  it  be- 
comes not  them  to  give  way  to  clamorous  sorrow, 
like  common  and  vulgar  minds."  But  Morayma 
could  only  deplore  her  loss,  with  the  anguish  of  a 
lender  woman.  .She  shut  herself  up  in  her  mirador, 
and  gazed  all  day,  with  streaming  eyes,  upon  the  veg.a. 
Every  object  before  her  recalled  the  causes  of  her  af- 
fliction. The  river  .Xenel,  which  ran  shining  amidst 
the  groves  and  gardens,  w.as  the  same  on  whose 
banks  had  perished  her  lather,  Ali  Alar;  before  her 
lay  the  ro.ad  to  Loxa,  by  which  Hoabdil  had  dejiarted, 
in  martial  state,  surrounded  liy  the  chivalry  of  Gra- 
jada.  Ever  and  anon  she  would  burst  into  an 
igijny  of  gtief.  "  AI.is  !  my  father!  "  she  would  ex- 
rHiim  ;  "  the  river  runs  smiling  before  me,  that  covers 
ihy  mangled  remains;  who  will  gather  them  to  an 
I'lOTiored  tomb,  in  tlie  land  of  the  unbeliever?  And 
tliou,  oh  lioabdil,  ligiil  of  my  eyes  !  joy  of  my  heart  ! 
life  of  my  life  !  wo  the  day.  and  wo  the  hour,  that  I 
saw  thee  depart  from  these  w.ills.  The  road  by 
which  thou  hast  departed  is  solitary  ;  never  will  it  be 
gladdened  by  thy  return  !  the  mountain  thou  hast 
traversed  lies  like  a  cloud  in  the  distance,  and  all 
t)eyond  it  is  darkness." 

The  royal  minstrels  were  summoned  to  assuage 


the  sorrows  of  the  queen  :  they  attuned  Inelr  instni- 
ments  to  cheerful  strains ;  but  in  a  little  while  •.!;• 
anguish  of  their  hearts  prevailed,  and  turned  i  iieii 
songs  to  lamentations. 

"  Heautiful  Granada !  "  they  exclaimed,  "  hnw  ,3 
thy  glory  failed  I  The  Viv.arrambla  no  longer  ei  1  of  s 
to  the  tramp  of  steed  and  sound  of  trumpet  ;  no 
longer  is  it  crowded  with  thy  youthful  nobles,  e..t;,;r 
to  displ.iy  their  prowess  in  the  tourney  and  the  f-'-i  v? 
tilt  of  reeds.  Alas!  the  (lower  of  thy  chivalry  Ifs 
low  in  a  foreign  land  !  the  soft  note  of  the  lute  if,  1.0 
longer  tieard  in  thy  moonlight  streets;  the  li\(lv 
Castanet  is  silent  upon  thy  liills ;  and  the  gratclu'j 
dance  of  the  Zambra  is  no  more  seen  beneath  ttiv 
bowers,  liehold,  the  Alhanibra  is  forlorn  .md 
desolate!  in  vain  do  the  orange  and  myrtle  briMiiie 
their  perfumes  into  its  silken  chambers;  in  v.iin  docs 
the  nightingale  sing  within  its  groves ;  in  vain  av  <• 
marble  halls  refreshed  by  me  souno  ot  fountains  ami 
the  gush  of  limpid  rills,  Alas!  the  countenance  uf 
the  king  no  longer  shines  within  those  halls :  ilie 
light. of  the  Alhambra  is  set  for  ever  !  " 

Thus  all  Granada,  say  the  Arabian  chroniclers, 
gave  itself  up  to  lamentation  :  there  w.as  nothing  Imu 
the  voice  of  wailing,  from  the  palace  to  the  cott.ij;^:. 
All  joined  to  deplore  their  youthful  monarch.  1  ut 
down  in  the  freshn<;ss  and  promise  of  his  youiii 
many  feared  that  the  prediction  of  the  astrolo;,(r3 
was  about  to  be  fultilled,  and  th.it  the  downlall  ot  il-e 
kingdom  would  follow  the  ileath  of  ISoabdil ;  wliile 
all  decl.ired,  that  had  he  survived,  he  w.is  the  very 
sovereign  calculated  to  restore  the  realm  to  its  an 
cient  prosperity  and  glory. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


HOW    MtlLEY    ABEN     HASSAN    PROFITED   BY    IHl 
MISFORTUNES   OF   HIS  SON    UOABUIL. 

An  unfortunate  death  atones,  with  the  world,  foi 
a  multitude  of  errors.  While  the  populace  thou^;ht 
their  youthful  monarch  h.ad  perished  in  the  ticlil, 
nothing  could  exceed  their  grief  for  his  loss,  and 
their  adoration  of  his  memory  ;  when,  however,  tiny 
learnt  that  he  was  still  alive,  and  had  surrenJinil 
himself  captive  to  the  christians,  their  feelings  uiuK  r- 
went  an  instant  change.  They  decried  his  t  ilnit-i 
as  a  commander,  his  cour.age  as  a  soldier  ;  they  raiiei! 
at  his  expedition,  as  rash  and  ill  conducted  ;  and  thry 
reviled  him  for  not  having  dared  to  die  on  the  tukl 
of  battle,  r.ather  than  surrender  to  the  enemy. 

The  alfaquis,  as  usual,  mingled  with  the  popul.n  e 
and  artfully  guided  their  discontents.  "l}eh(M,' 
exclaimed  they,  "the  prediction  is  accomplisl.r<i, 
which  was  pronounced  at  the  birth  of  Uoabdil.  lie 
has  been  seated  on  the  throne,  and  the  kingdom  h.is 
suffered  downfall  ar.J  disgrace  by  his  defeat  and  c.ij)- 
tivity.  Comfort  yourselves,  O  Moslems!  The  t  wl 
day  has  passed  by ;  the  fates  are  siitistied  ;  the  sci-pi  re 
which  has  been  broken  in  the  feeble  hand  of  Hoahuil, 
is  destined  to  resume  its  former  power  and  swa\  in 
the  vigorous  grasp  of  At)en  Hassan." 

The  people  were  struck  with  the  wisdom  of  th<*s< 
words:  they  rejoiced  that  the  baleful  predictiorj, 
which  had  so  long  hung  over  them,  was  at  an  eiul ; 
and  declared,  that  none  but  Muley  Aben  Hassan  t  ..J 
the  valor  and  capacity  necessary  for  the  protect  lor 
of  the  kingdom,  in  tb-<-'  time  of  trouble. 

The  longer  the  captivity  of  Ho.ibdil  continued,  the 
greater  grew  the  popularity  of  his  father.  One  cit) 
at"ti;r  another  renewed  allegiance  to  him  ;  tor  povvci 
attracts  power,  and  fortune  creates  fortune.     Ai 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


199 


TED   BY 

THI 

)ABUIL. 

the  world 

.for 

ulace  tho 

'Kill 

1  in  the  t 

ic:M, 

his  loss, 

hiid 

however, 

tivy 

(1  surren.l 

Tf,) 

i;elings  uii 

Irr- 

:il  Ins  t.il 

cilli 

;r;  they  railed 
:te(l ;  and  thrv 

e  on  the 

tirkl 

enemy, 
the  popul 
"  llehi 

are 

M.' 

iccomphs 

.r.i, 

BohIhIiI. 

He 

kingdom 

h,lS 

'teiil  and 

:.v,y- 

is!     The 

cmI 

] ;  tlie  so.- 

lire 

id  of  lio.il 

lull. 

r  and  swa 

,  in 

idom  of  th(  <w! 

il    predict 

on, 

15  at  an  eiui ; 

1  Hassan 

l.,.d 

le  pro tec 

ior 

on*inued. 

the 

er.     t>ne 

Cil) 

n  ;  for  po 

IVC!     • 

lortuue. 

Al 

ength  he  was  enabled  to  return  to  Granada,  and 
»«t.il)li3h  himself  once  more  in  the  Alhambra,     At 

s  apiiroach,  his  repudiated  spouse,  the  sultana  Ayxa, 
jraihired  together  the  family  and  tre;isures  of  her 
capiive  son,  and  retired,  ^h  a  handlul  of  the  nobles. 
Into  the  Alhayciii,  the  rival  quarter  of  the  city,  the 
Inhabitants  of  which  still  retained  feelings  of  loyalty 
10  Hoahdil.  Here  she  fortified  herself,  anrl  held  the 
Hiiiliiance  of  a  court  in  the  name  of  her  sen.  The 
.-•iLt:  Muley  Aben  Hassan  would  have  willingly  car- 
rit  1  tire  anil  sword  into  this  factious  quarter  of  the 
aipital ;  but  he  dared  not  confiile  in  his  new  and  un- 
oi^rt.iin  popularity.  Many  of  the  nobles  detested  hiin 
f,,r  his  past  cruelty ;  and  a  large  portion  of  the 
soldiery,  beside  many  of  the  people  of  his  own  party, 
respected  the  virtues  of  Ayxa  la  Horra,  and  pitied 
the  misfortunes  of  Hoabdil. 

(iranada  therefore  presented  the  singular  spectacle 
of  two  sovereignties  within  the  same  city.  The  old 
king  fortified  himself  in  the  lofty  towers  of  the  Al- 
hambra, as  much  against  his  own  subjects  as  against 
the  christians;  while  Ayxa,  with  the  zeal  of  a  moth- 
er's alTection,  which  waxes  warmer  and  warmer 
towards  her  offspring  when  in  adversity,  still  main- 
tained the  standard  of  Hoabdil  on  the  rival  fortress 
ol  tne  Alcazaba,  and  kept  his  powerful  faction  alive 
within  the  walls  of  the  Albaycin, 


CHAPTER   XIX. 
CAPTIVITY  OF  BOABOIL  EL  CUICO. 

Thk  unfortunate  Boabdil  remained  a  prisoner, 
closely  guarded,  in  the  castle  of  Vaena  From  the 
lowers  of  his  prison,  he  beheld  the  town  below  tilled 
wiih  armed  men ;  and  the  lofty  hill  on  which  it  was 
bui!t,  girdled  by  massive  walls  and  ramparts,  on 
wiiich  a  vigilant  watch  was  maintained  night  and 
day.  The  mountains  arounu  were  studded  with 
AMich-towers,  overlooking  the  lonely  ro.ads  which 
led  to  Granada,  so  that  a  turban  could  not  stir  over 
the  border  without  the  alarm  being  given,  and  the 
whole  country  put  on  the  alert.  Hoabdil  saw  that 
there  was  no  hope  of  escape  from  such  a  fortress, 
and  that  any  attempt  to  rescue  him  would  be  equally 
in  vain.  His  heart  was  filled  with  anxiety,  as  he 
thought  on  the  confusion  and  ruin  which  his  captiv- 
ity must  cause  in  his  affairs ;  while  sorrows  of  a 
softer  kmd  overcame  his  fortitude,  as  he  thought  on 
the  evils  it  might  bring  upon  his  family.' 

The  count  de  Cabra,  though  he  maintained  the 
most  vigilant  guard  over  his  royal  prisoner,  yet  treat- 
ed him  with  profound  deference  ;  he  had  appointed 
the  nonlesl  apartments  in  the  castle  for  his  abode, 
anil  sought  in  every  way  to  cheer  him  during  his 
captivity.  A  few  days  only  had  passed  away,  when 
missives  .arrived  from  the  Castilian  sovereigns.  Fer- 
dinand had  been  transported  with  joy  at  hearing  of 
the  capture  of  the  Moorish  monarch,  seeing  the 
dtep  and  politic  uses  that  might  be  maile  of  such  an 
:v,int ;  but  the  magnanimous  spirit  of  Isabella  was 
'illed  with  compassion  for  the  unfortunate  captive. 
Their  messages  to  Boabdil  were  full  of  sympathy 
i,id  consolation,  breathing  that  high  and  gentle  cour- 
tesy which  dwells  in  noble  minds. 

This  magnanimity  in  his  foe  cheered  the  dejected 
jnirit  of  the  captive  monarch.  "  Tell  my  sovereigns, 
the  kmg  and  queen,"  said  he  to  the  messenger, 
"  that  I  cannot  be  unhappy,  being  in  iheupower  of 
such  high  .'ind  mighty  princes,  especially  since  they 
partake  so  largely  of  that  grace  and  goodness  which 
Allah  bestows  upon  the  monarchs  whom  he  greatly 
loves.  Tell  them  further,  that  I  had  long  thought  of 
8 


submitting  myself  to  their  sway,  to  receive  the  king 
dom  of  Granada  from  their  hands,  in  the  same  man- 
ner that  my  ancestor  received  it  from  king  John  11. 
father  to  the  gracious  uueen.  My  greatest  sorfow 
in  this  my  captivity,  is,  tnat  I  must  appear  to  do  that 
from-  force,  which  1  would  fain  have  done  from  in- 
clination." 

In  the  mean  time,  Muley  Aben  Hassan,  fiiid^ 
the  faction  of  his  son  still  formidable  in  Granada 
was  anxious  to  tunsolidaie  his  jjower,  by  gaining 
possession  of  the  person  of  Bo.ibdil.  For  this  pur- 
pose, he  sent  an  embassy  to  the  Catholic  monarchs, 
ottering  large  terms  for  tlie  ransom,  or  rather  the 
purchase,  of  his  son  ;  proposing,  among  other  con 
ilitions,  to  rele.ase  the  count  of  Cifuentes  and  nine 
other  of  his  most  distinguished  captives,  and  to  eniei 
into  a  treaty  of  confederacy  with  the  sovrreigns 
Neither  did  the  impl.acable  father  make  any  scruple 
of  testifying  his  indilTerence  whether  his  son  were 
delivered  up  alive  or  dead,  so  th.it  his  person  were 
placed  assuredly  within  his  power. 

The  humane  heart  of  Isjibella  revolted  a'  f  .e  idea 
of  giving  up  the  unfortunate  prince  into  t'le  hands 
of  his  most  unnatural  and  inveterate  enemy  :  a  dis- 
dainiul  refusal  was  therefore  returned  to  tht  old 
monarch,  whose  message  had  been  couched  in  a 
vaunting  spirit.  He  was  informed  that  the  Ca-siiliar. 
sovereigns  would  listen  to  no  proposals  of  peace  from 
Muley  Aben  Hassan,  until  he  should  lay  down  his 
arms,  and  offer  them  in  all  humility. 

Overtures  in  a  different  spirit  were  made  by  the 
mother  of  Boabdil,  the  Sultana  Ayxa  la  Horra,  with 
the  concurrence  of  the  party  which  still  remained 
faithful  to  him.  It  was  thereby  proposed,  that  Ma- 
homet Abdalla,  otherwise  called  Boabdil,  should 
hold  his  crown  as  vassal  to  the  Castilian  sovereigns, 
paying  an  annual  tribute,  and  releasing  seventy 
christian  captives  annually,  for  five  years :  that  he 
should,  moreover,  pay  a  large  sum,  upon  the  spot, 
for  his  ransom,  and  at  the  same  time  give  freedom 
to  four  hundred  christians  to  be  chosen  by  the  king : 
that  he  should  also  engage  to  be  .always  ready  to 
render  military  aid,  and  should  come  to  the  Cortes, 
or  assemblage  of  nobles  and  distinguished  vassals 
of  the  crown,  whenever  summoned.  His  only  son, 
and  the  sons  of  twelve  distinguished  Moorish  houses, 
were  to  ne  delivered  as  hostages. 

Kin.-^  Ferdinand  was  at  Cordova  when  he  received 
this,  proposition.  Queen  Is.abella  was  absent  at  the 
time.  He  was  anxious  to  consult  her  in  so  moment- 
ous an  affair  ;  or  rather,  he  w.os  fearful  of  proceeding 
too  precipitately,  and  not  r^rawing  from  this  fortu- 
nate event  .all  the  advant.age  of  which  it  was  sus- 
ceptible. Without  returning  .any  reply,  therefore,  to 
the  mission,  he  sent  missives  to  the  c;istle  of  Vaena, 
where  Bo.abdil  remained  m  courteous  durance  of  the 
brave  count  de  Cabra,  ordering  that  the  captive 
monarch  should  be  brought  to  Cordova. 

The  count  de  Cabra  set  put,  with  his  illustrious 
prisoner;  but  when  he  arrived  at  Cordova,  king 
Ferdinand  declined  seeing  the  Moorish  monarch. 
He  was  still  undetermined  what  course  to  pursue, — 
whether  to  retain  him  prisoner,  set  him  at  liberty  or 
ransom,  or  treat  him  with  politic  magnanimity  ;  an(< 
each  course  would  require  a  ditTerent  kind  of  recep^- 
tion.  Until  this  point  should  be  resolved,  therefore, 
he  gave  him  in  charge  to  Martin  de  Alarcon,  alcay-ie 
of  the  ancient  fortress  of  Porcun.a,  with  orders  to 
guard  him  strictly,  but  to  treat  him  with  the  distinc- 
tion and  deference  due  unto  a  prince.  These  com- 
mands were  strictly  obeyed  ;  and,  with  the  'xception 
of  being  restrained  in  his  liberty,  the  monarch  was 
as  nobly  entertained  as  he  couid  have  been  rn  his 
regal  palace  at  Granada. 
In  the  mean  time,  Ferdinand  availed  himself  oi 


m 


-  "11  a 

"a 


too 


WORKS  Of  WASillNGTON  IRVING. 


w1*-r\ 


M  r 


■il^lj 


i 


|« 


Vr'- 


this  critical  moment,  while  Granadii  was  distracted 
vith  factions  and  dissensions,  and  before  lie  liad 
concluded  any  tre.ity  with  lioabdil,  to  make  a  puis- 
sant and  ostentatious  inroad  into  the  very  heart  of 
the  kingdom,  at  the  head  of  his  most  illustrious 
aobles.  He  sacked  anri  destroyed  several  towns  and 
castles,  ancl  extended  his  ravages  to  the  very  gates 
of  Granada.  Old  Muley  Aben  Hassan  did  not  ven- 
ture to  oppose  him.  His  cit.y  was  tilled  with  troops, 
^ut  he  w.as  uncertain  of  their  affection.  He  dread- 
ed, that  should  he  sally  forth,  the  eates  of  Granada 
might  be  closed  against  him  by  Oie  faction  of  the 
Albaycin. 

The  old  Moor  stood  on  the  lofty  tower  of  the  Al- 
hambra,  (says  Antonio  Agnnida.)  grinding  his  leeth, 
and  foaming  like  a  tiger  .sliut  up  itrhis  cage,  as  he 
beheld  the  glittering  battalions  of  the  cnristians 
wheeling  about  the  vega,  and  the  standard  of  the 
cross  shining  forth  from  among  the  smoke  of  infidel 
villages  and  hamlets.  The  most  Catholic  king  (con- 
tinues Agapida,)  would  gladly  have  continued  this 
righteous  ravage,  but  his  munitions  began  to  f;iil. 
Satisfied,  therelore.  with  having  laid  waste  the  coun- 
try of  the  enemy,  and  insulted  old  Muley  Aben  Has- 
san in  his  very  capital,  i;*^  returned  to  Cordova 
covered  with  laurels,  and  his  anny  laden  with  spoils ; 
ind  now  bethought  hunself  of  coming  to  an  imme- 
diat«  decision,  in  regard  to  his  royal  prisoner. 


CHAPTER   XX. 


Of  THK  TREATMENT   OF     BOABDIL 
TIUAN   SOVKREICNS. 


BY   THK  CAS- 


A  STATELY  convention  was  held  by  king  Ferdi- 
oand  in  the  ancient  city  of  Coniova,  com|K)sed  of 
icveral  of  the  most  revereixl  prel.ites  and  renowned 
cavaliers  of  the  kingdom,  to  determine  upon  the  fate 
of  the  unfortunate  Uoabdil. 

Don  Alonzo  de  Cordena,  the  worthy  Master  of 
Santiago,  was  one  of  the  first  who  gave  his  counsel. 
He  was  a  pious  and  zealous  knight,  rigid  in  his  de- 
votion to  the  faith ;  and  his  holy  ze.d  had  been  in- 
flamed to  peculiar  vehemence,  since  his  dis.istrous 
crusade  among  the  mountains  of  Mal.iga.  He  in- 
veighed with  ardor  against  any  compromise  or  com- 
pact with  the  inlidels  :  the  object  of  this  war.  he  ol>- 
served,  was  not  the  subjection  of  the  Moors,  but 
their  utter  exjiulsion  from  the  land  ;  so  that  there 
might  no  longer  remain  a  single  stam  of  M.diomet- 
anism  throughout  christian  Spain.  He  gave  it  as 
his  opinion,  therefore,  that  the  captive  king  ought 
not  to  be  set  at  liberty. 

Roderigo  Ponce  de  Leon,  the  valiant  marques  of 
Cadiz,  on  the  contrary,  spoke  warmly  for  the  relea.se 
of  Boabdil.  He  pronounced  it  a  measure  of  sound 
policy,  even  if  done  without  conditions.  It  would 
tend  to  keep  up  the  civil  war  in  (Iranada,  which 
was  as  a  tire  consuming  the  entrails  of  the  enemy, 
and  effecting  more  for  the  interests  of  Spain,  without 
fjipense,  than  all  the  conquests  of  its  arms. 

The  grand  cardinal  of  Spain,  Don  Pedro  Gonzalez 
de  Mendoza,  coincided  in  opinion  with  the  marques 
of  Cadiz.  Nay,  (.added  that  pious  prelate  and  politic 
statesman,)  it  would  be  sound  wisdom  to  furnisii  the 
Moor  with  men  and  money,  ami  ail  other  necessaries, 
to  promote  the  civil  war  in  Granada:  by  this  me.ans 
would  be  produced  great  benefit  to  the  service  of 
God,  since  we  are  assured  by  his  infallible  word, 
that  "a  kingdom  divided  against  itself  cannot 
lUnd."* 

*  Salsumr     CroDka  del  Gian  Cardinal,  p   lU. 


Ferdinand  weighed  these  counsels  m  his  mind, 
but  was  slow  in  comin(^  to  a  decision  ;  he  was  re> 
ligiously  attentive  to  his  own  interests,  (obseivej 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida,^  knowing  himself  to  be  hut 
an  instrument  of  Providdlice  in  this  holy  war,  uk! 
that,  therefore,  in  consulting  his  own  advantage  h? 
was  promoting  the  interests  of  the  faith.  The  o|  n 
ion  of  uueen  I.saliella  relieved  him  from  his  perpl  x 
ity.  Tnat  high-minded  princess  was  zealous  for  hi 
promotion  of  the  faith,  but  not  for  the  extermin.iiiini 
of  the  inlidels.  The  Moorish  kings  had  held  ilim 
thrones  ;is  vassals  to  her  progenitors  ;  she  was  ci.n. 
tent  at  present  to  accord  the  same  privilege,  ami 
that  the  royal  prisoner  should  be  liberated  on  mn- 
dition  of  becoming  a  va.ssal  to  the  crown.  \,\ 
this  means  might  be  elfected  the  deliverance  of  niai,y 
ciiristian  captives,  who  were  languishing  in  Moorish 
chains. 

King  Ferdinand  adopted  the  magnanimous  nvas- 
urc  recomm-nded  by  the  queen  ;  but  he  aci;omp.u:ir(! 
it  with  several  shrewd  conditions;  exacting  trilmtf, 
military  services,  and  sale  ])ass.age  and  mainten.ni;^ 
for  christian  troops,  throughout  the  places  whi.h 
should  adhere  to  Hoabdil.  The  captive  king  n.nlily 
submitted  to  these  stipulations,  anu  swore,  altet  ihc 
manner  of  his  faith,  to  observe  them  with  exactitmic. 
A  truce  was  arranged  for  two  years,  during  wl.i.i, 
the  Castilian  sovereigns  engajjecl  to  maini.ain  him  on 
his  throne,  and  to  assist  him  in  recovering  all  phicts 
which  he  had  lost  during  his  captivity. 

When  Boabdil  el  Chico  had  solemnly  agreed  to 
this  arrangement,  fn  the  castle  of  Porcuna,  prepara- 
tions  were  made  to  receive  him  in  Cordova  in  rejjil 
style.  Sui)erb  steeds  richly  caparisoned,  and  rai- 
ment of  brocade,  and  silk,  and  the  most  costly  cl.-'.lr,, 
with  all  other  articles  of  sumptuous  array,  were  fur- 
nished to  him  and  fifty  Moorish  cavaliers,  who  had 
come  to  treat  for  his  ransom,  that  he  might  apprat 
in  stale  betiiiing  the  monarch  of  Granada,  and  ihe 
most  distinguished  v.assal  of  the  Castilian  bOverei,vis. 
Money  also  w;is  advanced  to  maintain  him  in  suit- 
able grandeur,  during  his  residence  at  the  Castili.m 
court,  and  his  return  to  his  dominions.  Fin;t!l>,  ,t 
was  ordered  by  the  sovereigns,  that  when  he  cune 
to  Cordova,  all  the  nobles  and  dignitaries  ol  ihe 
court  should  go  forth  to  receive  hiin. 

A  question  now  arose  among  certain  of  those  .in- 
cient  and  experienced  men,  who  grow  gray  about  a 
court  in  the  profound  study  of  fonns  and  ceremoniiils, 
with  whom  a  point  of  punctilio  is  as  a  vast  political 
right,  and  who  contract  a  sublime  and  awful  ide.i  ut 
the  external  dignity  of  the  throne.  Certain  of  thi  se 
court  sages  propounded  the  momentous  question 
whether  the  Moorish  monarch,  coming  to  do  homage 
as  a  vassal,  ought  not  to  kneel  and  kiss  the  luiiid 
of  the  king.  This  was  immediately  decided  in  the 
.afiirmative.  by  a  large  number  of  ancient  cavalieri 
accustomed  (says  Antonio  Agapida,)  to  the  lolty 
punctilio  of  our  most  dignified  court  and  transcend- 
ent sovereigns.  The  king,  therefore,  was  inforinco! 
by  tho.se  who  arranged  the  ceremonies,  that  when 
the  Moorish  monarch  ap()ea»ed  in  his  presence,  he 
was  exjiected  to  extend  his  royal  hand  to  receive  thr 
kiss  of  hom.age. 

"  I  should  certainly  do  so,"  replied  king  Ferdinand 
"  were  he  at  lilierty,  and  in  his  own  kinjjdom  ;  hut  1 
certainly  shall  not  do  so,  seeing  that  he  is  a  pnsone: 
and  in  mine." 

The  courtiers  loudly  applauded  the  magnanimity 
of  this  reply  ;  though  many  condemned  it  in  secret, 
as  savoring  of  too  much  generosity  towards  an  infi- 
del ;  antl  the  worthy  Jesuit,  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
fully  cone  urs  in  their  opinion. 

The  .Moorish  king  entered  Cordova  with  his  little 
train  of  faithful  kmghU,  and  escorted  by  all  the 


A  CHRONICLE   OK  THE  CONQUEST  OF   GKANAOA. 


2(A 


itaries  ol   the 


nohility  and  chivalry  of  the  Castilian  court.  He 
was  conducted,  with  great  state  and  ceremony,  to 
the  royal  palace.  Wlien  he  came  in  presence  of 
Ferilinand,  he  knelt  and  offered  to  kiss  his  hand, 
not  merely  in  homage  as  his  subject,  but  in  grati- 
tjcic  for  his  liberty.  Ferdinand  cfeclined  the  token 
!)f  vassalage,  and  raised  him  gr.iciously  from  the 
laith.  An  interpreter  began,  in  the  name  of  lioat)- 
:!il,  to  laud  the  magnanimity  of  the  Castilian  rnon- 
u(  1,  and  to  promise  the  most  implicit  submission, 
'liijugh,"  said  king  Ferdinand,  interrupting  the 
;:it  rpretcr  in  the  midst  of  his  harangue;  "there  is 
no  need  of  these  compliments.  I  tnist  in  his  in- 
If^rity.  that  he  will  dp  every  thing  becoming  a  good 
m.iii  and  a  good  king."  With  these  words,  he  re- 
ceivt'd  Boabdil  el  Chico  into  his  royal  friendship 
ind  protection. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 
•    RETURN  OF  BOABDIL   FROM  CAPTIVITY, 

In  the  month  of  August,  a  noble  Moor,  of  the  race 
of  the  Abencerragi's,  arrived  with  a  splendid  retinue 
It  the  city  of  Cordova,  bringing  with  him  the  son  of 
Boabdil  el  Chico,  and  other  of  the  noble  youth  of 
Granada,  as  hostages  for  the  fulfilment  of  the  terms 
of  ransom.  When  the  Ntoorish  king  b<-held  his  son, 
his  only  child,  who  was  to  remain  in  his  stead,  a  sort 
of  captive  in  a  hostile  land,  he  folded  him  in  his  arms 
an>i  wept  over  him.  "  Wo  the  day  that  I  was  born  ! " 
excl  limed  he,  "  and  evil  the  stars  that  presided  at  my 
birth !  Well  was  I  called  lil  Zogoybi,  or  the  un- 
lu.  ky  ;  for  sorrow  is  heaped  upon  me  by  my  father, 
wid  f.orrow  do  I  transmit  to  my  son  !  "  The  afflict- 
ed heart  of  Hoabdil,  however,  was  soothed  by  the 
IciMiliiess  of  the  christian  sovereigns,  who  received 
tt-.c  hostage  prince  with  a  tenderness  suited  to  his 
aj^(,  and  a  distinction  worthy  of  his  rank.  They 
(li  livered  him  in  charge  to  the  worthy  alcayde  Mar- 
tin (le  Alarcon,  who  had  treated  his  father  with  such 
courtesy  during  his  confinement  in  the  castle  of  I'or- 
cuna,  giving  orders,  that,  after  the  departure  of  the 
latter,  his  son  should  be  entertained  with  great  honor 
and  princely  attention,  in  the  srune  fortress. 

On  the  2d  of  September,  a  guard  of  honor  assem- 
bled at  the  giite  of  the  mansion  of  Boabdil,  to  escort 
him  to  the  I'ronticrs  of  his  kingiloin.  He  pressed  his 
child  to  his  heart  at  parting,  but  he  uttered  not  a 
word ;  for  thcrfe  were  many  christian  eyes  to  behold 
his  emotion.  He  mounted  his  steed,  and  never  turn- 
ed his  head  to  look  again  upon  the  youth  ;  but  those 
who  were  near  him  observed  the  vehement  struggle 
that  shook  his  frame,  wherein  the  anguish  of  the 
father  had  well  nigh  subdued  the  studied  equanim- 
ity of  the  king. 

I'.oalxlil  el  Chico  .and  king  Ferdinand  sallied  forth, 
side  by  side,  from  Cordova,  amidst  the  acclam.ations 
of  a  prodigious  multitude.  When  they  were  a  short 
distance  from  the  city,  they  separated,  with  many 
jracious  expressions  on  the  part  of  the  Castilian 
nionarch,  and  many  thankful  .acknowledgments  from 
his  late  captive,  whose  heart  had  been  humbled  by 
?d\ersity.  Ferdinand  den.arted  for  Guad.alupe,  and 
Boabdil  for  Granada.  The  latter  was  accompanied 
by  a  guard  of  honor  ;  and  the  viceroys  of  Andalusia, 
and  the  generals  on  the  frontier,  were  ordered  to 
runiish  him  with  escorts,  and  to  show  him  .all  possible 
honor  on  his  journey.  In  this  way  he  was  conducted 
in  royal  state  through  the  country  he  had  entered  to 
ravage,  an  J  was  placed  in  safety  in  his  own  do- 
nt'nions. 

He  was  met  on  the  frontier  by  the  principal  nobles 


and  cavaliers  of  his  court,  who  had  been  seci'Ctly  sent 
by  his  mother,  the  sultana  Ayxa,  to  escort  him  to  th< 
capital.  The  heart  of  Boabdil  was  lifted  up  for  • 
moment,  when  he  found  himself  on  his  own  territo- 
ries, surrounded  by  Moslem  knights,  with  his  own 
standards  waving  over  his  head ;  and  he  began  to 
doubt  the  predictions  of  the  astrolooers ;  he  soor 
found  cause,  however,  to  moderate  his  etultation, 
The  loy.al  train  which  had  come  to  welcome  him 
was  but  scanty  in  number,  and  he  missed  many  of 
his  most  zealous  and  obsequious  courtiers.  He  had 
returned,  indeed,  to  his  kingdom,  but  it  w;is  no  longer 
the  devoted  kingdom  he  had  left.  The  story  of  his 
v.assal.ige  to  the  cf  -istian  sovereigns  h.ad  been  made 
use  of  by  his  father  to  ruin  him  with  the  people.  He 
had  been  rcpre.ented  as  a  traitor  to  his  country,  a 
renegado  to  nis  faith,  and  as  leagued  with  the  ene- 
mies of  both,  to  subdue  the  Mosleinsj  of  Spain  to  the 
yoke  of  christian  bond.age.  In  this  w.ay,  the  mind 
of  the  public  had  been  turned  from  him  ;  the  greater 
part  of^the  nobility  had  thronged  round  the  throne 
of  his  father  in  the  Alhambra ;  and  his  mother,  the 
resolute  sultana  Ayxa,  with  difficulty  maintained  her 
faction  in  the  ojiposite  towers  of  the  Alca^.aba. 

Such  wasthe  melancholy  picture  of  .'ifTairs  given 
to  Bo.'ibdil  by  the  courtiers  who  had  come  forth  to 
meet  him.  They  even  informed  him  that  it  would 
be  an  enterjirise  of  difficulty  and  danger  to  make  his 
way  b.ack  to  the  capital,  and  regain  the  little  court 
which  still  rem.ained  faithful  to  him  in  the  heart  of 
the  city.  The  old  tiger,  Muley  Ahen  Hassan,  lay 
couched  within  the  Alhambra,  and  the  w.alls  and 
gates  of  the  city  were  strongly  guarded  by  his  troops. 
Boabdil  shook  his  head  at  these  tidings.  He  called 
to  miiul  the  ill  omi^n  of  his  breaking  his  lance  ag.ain»t 
the  gate  of  Klvira,  when  issuing  forth  so  vaingloriotij- 
ly  with  his  army,  which  he  now  s.aw  clearly  had  fore- 
boded the  destruction  of  that  anny  on  which  he  had 
so  confidently  relied.  "Henceforth,"  said  he,  "  let 
no  man  have  the  impiety  to  scoff  at  omens," 

Boabdil  approached  his  capital  by  stealth,  and  in 
the  night,  prowling  about  its  walls,  like  an  enemy 
seeking  to  destroy,  rather  than  a  monarch  returning 
to  his  throne.  At  length  he  seized  upon  a  jxistem- 
gate  of  the  Alb.aycin, — that  part  of  the  city  which 
had  always  been  in  his  favor ;  he  passed  rapidly 
through  the  streets  before  the  [XDpul.ace  were  arou.sed 
from  their  sleep,  and  re.ached  fn  safety  the  fortress 
of  the  Alcazaba.  Here  he  was  received  into  the 
embraces  of  his  intrepid  mother,  and  his  favorite  wife 
Morayma.  The  transports  of  the  latter,  on  the  safe 
irtum  other  husband,  were  mingled  with  tears  ;  for 
she  thought  of  her  father,  Ali  At.ar,  who  had  fallen  in 
his  cause,  and  of  her  nnlv  son,  who  was  left  a  hostage 
in  the  hands  of  the  christians. 

The  heart  of  Boabdil,  softened  by  his  misfortur.es, 
w.as  moved  by  the  changes  in  every  thing  round  him  ; 
but  his  mother  called  up  his  spirit.  "  This,"  said 
she,  "  is  no  time  for  tears  and  fondness.  A  king  must 
think  of  his  sceptre  and  his  throne,  and  not  yield  to 
'  softness  like  common  men.  Thou  hast  done  well, 
my  son,  in  throwing  thyself  resolutely  into  Granada : 
it  must  depend  upon  thyself,  whether  thou  remain 
here  a  king  or  a  captive.' 

The  old  king  Muley  Aben  Hassan  had  retired  tc 
his  couch  that  night,  in  one  of  the  strongest  towers 
of  the  Alhambra;  but  his  restless  anxiety  kept  bin 
lioin  repose.  In  the  first  watch  of  the  night,  he 
heard  a  shout  faintly  rising  from  the  quarter  of  the 
Albaycin,  which  is  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  deef 
valley  of  the  Darro.  Shortly  afterwards,  horsemen 
came  galloping  up  the  hill  that  leads  to  the  main  gate 
of  the  Alh.imbr<a,  spreading  the  alarm  that  Boabdi' 
had  entered  the  city  and  possessed  himself  of  tht 
.\lcazaba. 


\ 


i 


202 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


-<t 


"^hr: 


In  the  first  transports  of  hi<i  ra^e,  the  old  king 
would  have  struck  the  mi-ssenger  to  earth.  He 
hastily  summoned  his  counsellors  and  commanders, 
exhorting  them  to  stand  by  him  in  this  critical  mo- 
ment :  and,  during  the  night,  made  every  preparation 
10  enter  the  Albaycin  sword  in  hand  in  the  morning. 

In  the  mean  tune,  the  sultana  Ayxa  had  taken 
prompt  and  vigorous  measures  to  strengthen  her 

r;y.  The  Albaycin  was  the  part  ot  the  city  filled 
the  lower  orders.  The  return  of  OoalKiil  was 
^noclaimcd  throughout  the  streets,  and  large  sums 
<tt  money  were  distributed  among  the  populace.  The 
nobles,  assembled  in  the  Alcazab.!,  were  promised 
honors  and  rewards  by  Boabdil,  as  soon  as  he  should 
be  firmly  seated  on  the  throne.  These  well-timed 
measures  had  the  custonar)'  ettect ;  and,  by  d.iy- 
break,  all  the  motley  populace  of  the  Albaycin  were 
in  anus. 

A  doleful  day  succeeded.  AllGr-  .*.  .i  was  a  scene 
of  tumult  and  horror.  Drums  and  t:  anpets  resounded 
in  every  part ;  ail  business  was  interrupted  ;  the  shops 
were  shut,  the  doors  barricadoed.  Anne<l  hands 
paraded  the  streets,  sonic  shouting  for  Uoabdil,  and 
some  for  Mulcy  Alien  Hassan.  When  they  encoun- 
tered each  other,  they  fought  furiously  and  without 
mercy  ;  every  public  square  became  a  scene  of  bat- 
tle. The  great  mass  of  the  lower  orders  was  in  favor 
of  Boabdil,  but  it  was  a  multitude  without  discipline 
or  lofty  spirit ;  part  of  the  people  was  regularly  armed, 
but  the  greater  number  had  sallied  forth  with  the 
implements  of  their  trade.  The  troops  of  the  old 
king,  among  whom  were  many  cavaliers  of  pride  and 
valor,  soon  drove  the  |X)pulace  from  the  squares. 
They  fortified  themselves,  however,  in  the  streets 
and  lants,  which  they  barricadoed.  They  made 
fcrtresses  of  their  houses,  and  fought  desperately 
I'-om  the  windows  and  the  roofs,  and  many  a  war- 
lior  of  the  highest  blood  of  Granada  was  laid  low  by 
plebeian  hands  and  plebeian  weapons,  in  this  civic 
brawl. 

It  was  impossible  that  such  violent  convulsions 
should  last  long,  in  the  heart  of  a  city.  The  people 
soon  longed  for  repose,  and  a  return  to  their  peace- 
ful occupations ;  and  the  cavaliers  detested  these 
conflicts  with  the  multitude,  in  which  there  were  all 
the  horrors  of  war  without  its  laurels.  By  the  inter- 
ference of  the  alfaquis,  an  armistice  was  at  length 
effected.  Boabdil  \»as  persuaded  that  liiere  was  no 
dependence  upon  the  inconstant  favor  of  the  multi- 
tude, and  was  prevailed  upon  to  quit  a  capital  where 
he  could  only  maintain  a  precarious  seat  upon  his 
throne  by  a  |)erpetual  and  bloody  struggle.  He 
fixed  his  court  at  the  city  of  Almeria,  wnich  was 
entirely  devoted  to  him,  and  which,  at  that  time, 
vied  with  Granada  in  splendor  and  importance. 
This  compromise  of  grandeur  for  tranquillity,  how- 
ever, was  sorely  against  the  counsels  of  his  proud- 
spirited mother,  the  sultana  Ayxa.  Granada  ap- 
peared, in  her  eyes,  the  only  legitimate  seat  of 
dominion ;  and  she  observed,  with  a  smile  of 
disdain,  that  he  was  not  worthy  of  being  called  a 
nonarch,  who  was  not  master  of  his  capital. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 


rOBAIr    or   TUl    MOORISH    ALCAVDES,  AND   BAT- 
TLE OF  IX)PERA. 

Though  Muley  Aben  Hassan  had  regained  un- 
divided sway  over  the  city  of  Granada,  and  the  al- 
faquis, by  his  command,  had  denounced  his  son 
Boiabdil  as  an  apostate,  and  as  one  doomed  by 


Heaven  to  inisfortune,  still  the  lain  ha<  unnv  ^i 
herents  among  the  common  people.  Whnirver 
therefore,  any  act  of  the  old  monarch  wa*  displcas 
ing  to  the  turbulent  multitude,  they  were  proi  r:  tc 
give  him  a  hint  of  the  slippery  nature  of  his  siai'. 
ing,  by  shouting  out  the  name  of  Boabdil  el  LI  iru, 
Long  experience  had  instructed  Muley  Aben  iitit. 
.san  in  tne  character  of  the  inconstant  people  mtr 
whom  he  ruled.  "Alia  Achbart"  excLimn;  hi 
"God  is  grc.1t;  but  a  successful  inroad  inid  iiu 
country  of  the  unbelievers  will  make  more  coniTtj 
to  my  cause  than  a  thousand  texts  of  the  Kor m. 
ex|)oundcd  by  ten  thousand  alfaquis." 

At  this  time  king  Ferdin^ind  was  absent  'rn;i 
Andalusia  on  a  distant  expedition,  with  many  ol  hs 
troops.  The  moment  was  favorable  for  a  foray,  mi! 
Muley  Aben  Hassan  cast  about  his  thoughts  i  >t  ,i 
leader  to  conduct  it,  Ali  Atar,  the  terror  of  ihi: 
border,  the  scourge  of  Andalusia,  was  dead;  !iut 
there  was  another  veteran  general,  scarce  inferim  ti,- 
him  for  predatory  warfare.  This  was  old  Bexir,  iht 
gr.ay  anti  crafty  alcavde  of  Malaga;  and  the  jk- nle 
under  his  command  were  ripe  for  an  expeditii  n  ul 
the  Kind.  The  signal  defeat  and  slaughter  of  tUr 
Spanish  knights  in  the  neighboring  mountains  li;ul 
filled  the  people  of  Malaga  with  vanity  and  vii. 
conceit.  They  had  attributed  to  their  own  valor  ifie 
defeat  which  nad  been  caused  by  the  nature  ol  tlie 
country.  Many  of  them  wore  the  armor  ami  |);i. 
raded  in  public  with  the  horses  of  the  unforiiiuaie 
cavaliers  slain  on  that  occasion,  which  they  v.aint- 
ingly  displayed  as  the  trophies  of  their  boasted  vic- 
tory. They  had  talked  themselves  into  a  contempt 
for  the  chivalry  of  Andalusia,  and  were  inip.aict;t 
for  an  opportunity  to  overrun  a  country  defendci  b; 
such  troops.  This,  Muley  Aben  Hassan  consiuerit! 
a  favorable  state  of  mind  to  insure  a  daring  inroaii 
and  he  sent  orders  to  old  Bexir  to  gather  tcgrthci 
his  people  and  the  choicest  warriors  of  the  Iwriltrs, 
and  to  carry  fire  and  sword  into  the  very  hear!  ol 
Andalusia.  The  wary  old  Bexir  immediatel)  dis- 
patched his  emissaries  among  the  alcaydes  ol^  the 
border  towns,  calling  upon  them  to  assemble  ^ith 
their  troops  at  the  city  of  Ronda,  close  upuii  the 
christian  frontier. 

Ronda  was  the  most  virulent  nest  of  Moorish  dt  p- 
redators  in  the  whole  border  country.  It  was  situ- 
ated in  the  midst  of  the  wild  Serrania,  or  chain  of 
mountains  of  the  same  name,  which  are  uncom- 
monly lofty,  broken,  and  precipitous.  It  stood  on 
an  almost  isolated  rock,  nearly  encircled  by  a  dt -ep 
valley,  or  rather  cha.sm,  through  which  ran  the  lie:iu- 
tiful  river  called  Rio  Verrle.  The  Moors  of  this  city 
were  the  most  active,  robust,  and  warlike  of  all  the 
mountaineers,  and  their  very  children  discharged  the 
cross-bow  with  unerring  aim.  They  were  im  es- 
santly  harassing  the  rich  plains  of  Andalusia;  tluir 
city  abounded  with  christian  spoils,  and  their  dei  p 
dungeons  were  crowded  with  christian  captives,  who 
might  sigh  in  vain  for  de'iverance  from  this  impreg- 
nable fortress.  Such  was  Ronda  in  the  time  ot  the 
Moors;  and  it  has  ever  retained  something  of  th( 
same  character,  even  to  the  present  day.  Its  in 
habitants  continue  to  be  among  the  boldest,  fiercest 
and  most  adventurous  of  the  Andalusian  moun- 
taineers ;  and  the  Serrania  de  Ronda  is  famous  a.t 
the  most  dangerous  resort  of  the  bandit  and  thf 
contrabandista. 

Hamet  Zeli,  surnamed  El  Zegri,  was  the  com- 
mander of  this  belligerent  city  and  its  fierce  inhab- 
itants. He  was  of  the  tribe  of  the  Zegries,  and  one 
of  the  most  proud  and  daring  of  that  warlike  race 
Beside  the  inhabitants  of  Ronda,  he  had  a  legion  of 
African  Moors  in  his  immediate  service.  Thev  were 
if  the  tribe  of  the  Gomeres,  mercenary  troopSi  wheat 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


301 


not  African  blood  had  not  yet  been  tempered  by  the 
softer  livine  of  Spain,  and  whose  whole  business  was 
to  fight.  These  he  kept  always  well  amied  and  well 
ap[K)inted.  The  rich  pasturage  of  tne  valley  of  Ronda 
produced  a  breed  of  horses  famous  for  strength  and 
Sliced ;  no  cavalry,  therefore,  was  better  mounted 
tn.in  the  band  oi  Gomeres.  Rapid  on  the  march, 
fierce  in  the  attack,  it  would  sweep  down  upon  the 
Andalusian  plains  lil;e  a  sudden  blast  from  the  moun- 
">.int,  and  pass  away  as  suddenly,  before  there  was 
iuic  for  pursuit. 

T'lsre  was  nothing  that  stirred  up  the  spirit  of  the 
Mviorsof  the  frontiers  more  thoroughly  than  the  idea 
ol  a  foray.  The  summons  of  Uexir  was  gladly 
o')eyed  by  the  alcaydes  of  the  border  towns,  and  in 
a  little  while  there  was  a  force  of  fifteen  hundred 
horse  and  four  thousand  foot,  the  very  pith  and  mar- 
row of  the  surrounding  country,  assembled  within 
thr  walls  of  Ronda.  The  people  of  the  place  antic- 
Kitrd  with  eagerness  the  rich  s|X)ils  of  Andalusia 
were  soon  to  crowd  their  gates;  throughout 
the  flay,  the  city  res6unded  with  the  noise  of 
^rltle-<lrum  and  trumpet ;  the  high-mettled  steeds 
stamped  and  nei^'hed  in  their  stalls,  as  if  they 
shared  the  impatieft.c  for  the  foray ;  while  the 
christian  captives  sighed,  as  the  varied  din  of  prep- 
aration reached  to  their  rocky  dungeons,  denoting 
that  a  fresh  ravage  was  preparing  against  their  coun- 
tr)men. 

The  infidel  host  sallied  forth  full  of  spirits,  antici* 
paling  an  easy  ravage  and  abiiiulant  booty.  They 
encouraged  each  other  in  a  contempt  for  the  prowess 
ol  the  foe.  Many  of  the  warriors  of  Malajja,  and 
cf  some  of  the  mountain  towns  had  insultingly 
irrayed  themselves  in  the  splenrlid  armor  of  the 
.  hristian  knights  slain  or  taken  prisoners  in  the 
l^.mous  massacre,  and  some  of  them  rode  the  An- 
Oalusian  steeds  which  had  been  captured  on  that 
nccasion. 

The  wary  Bexir  had  concerted  his  plans  so  se- 
cretly and  expeditiously,  that  the  christian  towns  of 


ipatr 
that 


ascended  one  of  the  loftiest  clitfs,  and  jvrte  lo«)king 
out  like  birds  of  prey,  ready  to  pounce  upon  any 
thinv  that  might  offer  in  the  valley,  when  tney  des- 
cried the  Moorish  army  emerging  from  a  mountain 
glen.  They  watched  it  in  silence  aj  it  wound  below 
them,  remarking  the  standards  of  the  ^rarious  towni 
and  the  pennons  of  the  commanders.  Tiiey  hovered 
about  it  on  its  march,  skulking  from  clifl'  to  ciifl, 
until  they  saw  the  route  by  which  it  intended  to 
enter  the  christian  country.  They  then  dispersed, 
each  making  his  way  by  the  secret  p.asses  of  the 
mountains  to  some  different  alcayde,  that  they 
might  spread  the  alarm  far  and  widie,  and  each  get 
a  separate  reward. 

One  hastened  to  L.iis  Fernandez  Puerto  Carrero, 
the  same  valiant  alcayde  who  had  repulsed  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  from  tne  walls  of  Alhama,  and  who 
now  commanded  at  Ecija,  in  the  absence  of  the 
Master  of  Santiago.  Others  roused  the  town  of 
Uirer.i,  and  the  places  of  that  neighborhood,  putting 
them  all  on  the  alert. 

Puerto  Carrero  was  a  cavalier  of  consummate 
vigor  and  activity.  He  immediately  sent  courieis  to 
the  alc.iydes  of  the  neighboring  fortresses;  to  Mer- 
man Carrello,  captain  of  a  body  of  the  Holy  Brother- 
hood, and  to  certain  knights  of  the  order  of  Alcantara. 
Puerto  Carrero  w;is  the  first  to  take  the  field.  Know- 
ing the  hard  and  hungry  service  of  these  border 
scampers,  he  made  every  man  take  a  hearty  repast, 
and  see  that  his  horse  was  well  shod  and  perfectly 
appointed.  Then  all  being  refreshed  and  in  valiant 
heart,  he  sallied  forth  to  seek  the  Moors.  He  had 
but  a  handful  of  men,  the  retainers  of  his  household 
and  troops  of  his  captaincy;  but  they  were  well 
amied  and  mounted,  and  accustomed  to  the  sudden 
rouses  of  the  border ;  men  whom  the  cry  of  "  Arm 
and  out !  to  horse  and  to  the  field  I  "  was  suflici?nt 
at  any  time  to  put  in  a  fever  of  animation. 

While  the  northern  part  of  Andalusia  was  thus  on 
the  alert,  one  of  the  scouts  had  hastened  southward 
to  the  city  of  Xeres,  and  given  the  alarm  to  the 


1 

4 


Andalusia  had  not  the  least  suspicion  of  the  storm    v.diant  marques  of  Cadiz.    When  the  maruues  heard 


that  had  gathered  beyond  the  mountains.  The  vast 
and  rocky  range  of  the  Serrania  de  Ronda  extended 
like  a  screen,  covering  all  their  movements  from 
observation. 

The  army  made  its  way  as  rapidly  as  the  rugged 
nature  of  the  mountains  would  permit,  guided  by 
Hainot  el  Zegri,  the  bold  alcayde  of  Ronda,  who 
kmw  every  pass  and  tiefde  :  not  a  drum,  nor  the 
clash  of  a  cymbal,  nor  the  blast  of  a  trumiiet,  was 
permitted  to  be  heard.  The  mass  of  war  rolled 
quietly  on  as  the  gathering  cloud  to  the  brow  of  the 
mountains,  intending  to  burst  down  like  the  thunder- 
bolt upon  the  plain. 

Never  let  the  most  wary  commander  fancy  himself 
secure  from  discovery  ;  for  rocks  have  eyes,  and  trees 
have  ears,  and  the  birds  of  the  air  have  tongues,  to 
bciray  the  most  secret  enteqirise.  There  chanced 
at  this  time  to  be  six  christian  scouts,  prowling  about 
th'-  savage  heights  of  the  Serrania  de  Ronda.  They 
were  ol  that  kind  of  lawless  ruffians  who  infest  the 
Ivniders  of  belligerent  countries,  ready  at  aiw  time  to 
fight  for  i)ay,  or  prowl  for  plunder.  The  wild 
mountain  p.-issc5  Df  Sp.-un  have  ever  abounded  with 
k«sc  ramoling  vagabonds  of  the  kiiul, — soldiers  in 
m  ir,  robl)ers  m  peace ;  guides,  guards,  smugglers, 
01  cut-throats,  according  to  the  circumstances  of 
the  case. 

These  six  marauders  (says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida) 
were  on  this  occasion  chosen  instruments,  sanctified 
by  the  righteousness  of  their  cause.  They  were 
lurking  among  the  mountains,  to  entrap  Moorish 
cattle  or  Moorish  prisoners,  both  of  which  were 
iqually  saleable  in  tne  christian  market.     They  had 


that  the  Moor  was  over  the  border,  and  that  the 
standard  of  .Mala.t;a  was  in  the  advance,  his  heart 
bounded  with  a  momentary  joy  ;  for  he  remembered 
the  massacre  in  the  mountains,  where  his  valiant 
brothers  had  been  mangled  before  his  eyes.  The 
very  authors  of  his  calamity  were  now  at  Hand,  and 
he  flattered  himself  that  the  day  of  vengeance  had 
arrived.  He  made  a  hasty  levy  of  his  retainers  and 
of  the  fighting  men  of  Xeres,  and  hurried  off  with 
three  hundred  horse  and  two  hundred  foot,  all  reso- 
lute men  and  panting  for  revenge. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  veteran  Bexir  had  accom- 
plished his  march,  as  he  imagined,  undiscovered. 
From  the  openings  of  the  craggy  defiles,  he  pointed 
out  the  fertile  plains  of  Andalusia,  and  regaled  the 
eyes  of  his  soldiery  with  the  rich  country  they  were 
about  to  ravage.  The  fierce  Gomeres  of  Ronda 
were  flushed  with  joy  at  the  sight;  and  even  their 
steeds  seemed  to  prick  up  their  ears  and  snufT  the 
breeze,  as  they  beheld  the  scenes  of  their  frequent 
forays. 

When  they  came  to  where  the  mountain  defile 
opened  into  the  low  land,  Bexir  divided  his  force 
into  three  parts :  one,  composed  of  foot-soldiers  and 
of  such  as  were  weakly  mounted,  he  left  to  guard 
the  pass,  being  too  experienced  a  veteran  not  to  know 
the  importance  of  securing  a  retreat :  a  second  body 
he  placed  in  ambush,  among  the  groves  and  thicket* 
on  the  banks  of  the  river  Lopera :  the  third,  consist- 
ing of  light  cavalry,  he  sent  forth  to  ravage  the  Cam- 
pina,  or  great  plain  of  Utrera.  Most  of  this  lattei 
force  was  composed  of  the  fiery  Gomeres  of  Ronda, 
mounted  on  the  fleet  steeds  bred  among  the  mount. 


I 


'i'J 


;H 


•1 


W4 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


^U 

t'< .:,, 

Li 

*^-' 

■f|T- 

i>>'- 


ri^'S' 


•ins.  It  was  led  by  the  hold  alcayde  Hamet  el 
Zegi.,  who  was  e/tr  eager  to  he  loreinnst  in  the 
foratje.  Little  susncctiiig  tluit  the  country  ou  boti) 
lidcs  was  on  the  alarm,  aiitl  rushing  from  all  ilirei:- 
tiuns  (u  close  u|ic.i  thcin  in  rear,  this  fiery  troop 
dashed  forward  until  tlu-y  came  witliiit  two  le.ii^ui's 
of  LItrera.  Here  they  scattered  themselves  aljour 
Ibe  plain,  careering  round  the  };reat  her<ls  of  cattle 
i.nd  Hocks  of  sheej),  and  sweefiiiig  Iheni  into  droves, 
'C  bo  hurried  to  the  mountains. 

WLilc  they  were  thus  di.s|)crsctl  in  every  direction, 
k  tioop  of  horse  and  body  of  loot  from  l/trera  came 
V.iddenly  upon  then).  The  Mcors  rallied  together  in 
imall  parties,  and  endeavored  to  defend  thiinselves ; 
but  they  were  without  a  leader,  lor  ll.imet  el  Zejjri 
was  at  a  distance,  havit)^,  like  a  hawk,  m.ide  a  wide 
circuit  in  pursuit  of  prey.  The  maraudt^rs  soon 
gave  way  and  lied  towards  the  aiiihusli  on  the  banks 
of  the  Lopera,  being  hotly  pursued  by  the  men  of 
Ulrera. 

Whtn  they  reached  the  Lopera,  the  Moors  in  am- 
bush rushed  forth  with  furious  cries  ;  and  the  fujji- 
lives,  recovering  couraj^e  from  this  reinforcement, 
rallied  and  turned  upon  their  pursuers,  The  chris- 
tians stood  their  ground,  though  grc.itly  inferior  in 
number.  Their  lances  were  soon  broken,  and  they 
came  to  sharp  work  with  sword  and  scimitar.  The 
christians  fought  valiantly,  but  were  in  danger  of 
being  overwhelmed.  The  bold  llamet  had  collected 
a  handful  of  his  scattered  Gomeres,  and,  le.iving  his 

f)rey,  h.ad  galloped  towards  the  scene  of  action.  His 
ittle  troop  of  horsemen  had  reached  the  crest  of  a 
rising  ground  at  no  great  distance,  when  trumpets 
Were  heard  in  ar.other  direction,  anil  Luis  Fernandez 
Puerto  Carrero  and  his  followers  came  galloi)ing  into 
Uiff  tield,  and  charged  upon  the  inlidcls  m  llank. 

1  he  Moors  were  astounded  at  fmding  war  thus 
freaking  upon  them,  from  various  <)u;irters  of  what 
i.i'.'y  had  expected  to  find  an  unguarded  country. 
I'hey  fought  Inr  a  short  time  with  di'spcration,  and 
resisted  a  vehement  assault  from  the  knights  of  Al- 
cantara, and  the  men-at-anns  of  the  Holy  lirother- 
houd.  At  length  the  veteran  Hexir  was  struck  from 
his  horse  by  I'uerto  Carrero,  .-md  taken  prisoner,  and 
Uie  whole  force  g.ive  w.ay  and  lied.  In  their  flight, 
they  separated,  and  took  two  roa<ls  to  the  mount- 
ains, thinking,  by  dividing  their  forces,  to  distract 
the  enemy.  The  christi.ans  were  too  few  to  separate. 
Puerto  Carrero  kept  them  together,  pursuing  one 
division  of  the  enemy  with  great  slaughter.  This 
bittde  took  place  at  the  fountain  of  the  lig-tree,  near 
to  the  Lopera.  Six  hundred  Moorish  cavaiiers  wi;re 
slain,  and  many  taken  prisoners.  Much  s[X)il  was 
coiled'  d  on  the  field,  with  which  the  christians  re- 
turned in  triumph  to  their  homes. 

The  larger  body  of  the  enemy  had  retreated  along 
a  road  '.ciiding  more  to  the  south,  by  the  banks  of 
the  Gi.ad;dete.  When  they  reached  that  river,  the 
sound  of  pursuit  had  died  away,  and  they  rallied  to 
breathe  and  refresh  themselves  on  the  margin  of  the 
stream.  Their  force  was  reduced  to  aliout  a  thou- 
sand horse,  and  a  confused  multitude  of  foot.  While 
tliey  were  scattered  anil  partly  dismounted  on  the 
iunks  of  the  Guadalete,  a  fresli  siorm  of  war  burst 
il-'on  them  from  an  opposite  direction.  It  was  the 
tjdrques  of  Cac  "z,  leading  on  his  houst^hold  troops 
tr.d  the  fghting  len  of  Xeres.  When  the  christian 
Aurriors  came  in  sight  of  the  Mixjrs,  they  were 
roustd  to  fury  at  beholding  many  of  them  arrayed 
in  the  armor  of  the  cavaliers  who  had  been  slain 
among  the  mountains  of  Malaga.  Nay,  so.ne  who 
had  been  in  thai  defeat  beheld  their  own  armor, 
which  they  had  cast  away  m  their  flight,  to  eriat)!e 
tbernsrlves  to  clii^ib  the  mountains.  Exasperated 
«t  the  sight,  they  rushed  upon  the  foe  with  the  fe- 


rocity of  tigeri,  rather  than  the  temperate  count^^i 
of  cavaliers,  K.ich  man  felt  ai  if  he  were  aver  ((i^^ij 
the  death  of  a  relative,  or  wiping  out  hi*  own  tl.v 
grace.  The  good  marques,  himself,  beheld  a  pTA. 
erful  Moor  bestriding  the  horse  of  hin  brother  II.  j. 
tran  :  giving  a  cry  ol  rage  and  anguish  at  the  si,,l,i 
he  rushed  through  the  thickest  of  the  eneivy,  i 
tacked  the  Moor  with  resistless  fury,  and  aftti  i 
short  combat,  hurled  him  breathless  to  the  e.irth, 

The  Moors,  already  vani|uislu'd  in  spirit,  could  i.  : 
withstand  the  assault  of  men  thus  m.idly  exciini 
They  soon  gave  way,  and  fled  for  the  delde  of  t  «■ 
.Serrania  de  Honda,  where  the  body  of  troops  li ,  i 
been  stationed  to  secute  a  n  treat.  Thes>;,  si  'in.; 
them  come  galloping  wildly  up  the  delil  ,wilh  elm;- 
tian  banners  in  pursuit,  and  the  flar.h  of  weapon,  .n 
their  deadly  work,  thought  all  Andalusia  Wivs  tipi.n 
them,  and  lied  without  awaiting  an  attack.  Tin 
puisuit  continued  ainonj;  (j;lenb  and  defiles ;  for  i In 
christian  warriors,  eager  lor  revenge,  had  no  coin- 
passion  on  the  foe. 

When  the  pursuit  wai  over,  the  manjues  of  Cail , 
and  his  followers  reposed  themselves  U(K)n  the  b.mk, 
of  the  Ciuailalete,  where  they  divided  the  stio ,. 
Among  this  were  found  m.my  rich  corselets.  Ii  ■. 
mets,  and  weapons, — the  Moorish  trophies  of  I't 
dele.it  in  the  mountains  of  Malaga.  .Several  wi  iv 
claimed  by  their  owners  ;  others  were  known  to  linr 
belonged  to  noble  cavaliers,  who  had  been  slain  .r 
tiiken  prisoners.  There  were  several  horses  als  >. 
richly  caparisoned,  which  h.id  pranced  proudly  v.  lu 
the  unfortunate  warriors,  as  they  sallied  out  oi' 
Antiijuera  u[)on  that  f.ii.il  expedition.  Thus  the  i\ 
ullation  of  the  victors  sv;is  dashed  with  melancholy 
and  many  a  knisjht  was  seen  lamenting  over  the  )••; 
met  or  corselet  of  some  loved  companion  in  arms. 

The  good  marques  of  Cadiz  w.as  resting  unilei  ^ 
tree  on  the  banks  of  tin.'  Guadalete,  when  the  hi)i.> 
which  had  belonged  to  his  slau^;htered  biother  l.ti- 
tran  was  brougiit  to  him.  He  laid  his  hand  u(i  ,i 
the  mane,  and  looked  wistfully  at  the  empty  sacM;  . 
His  bosom  he.ived  with  violent  agitation,  and  hr,  K, 
quivered  and  was  pale.  "  Ay  de  mi  I  mihennaii.'! 
(wo  is  me  !  rrty  brother  !)  was  all  that  he  said  ;  It  i 
the  gnef  of  a' warrior  has  not  many  words.  Mr 
looked  round  on  the  tield  strewn  with  the  bodii  s  i,: 
the  enemy,  and  in  the  bitterness  of  his  wo  he  (.  li 
consoled  by  the  idea  that  his  brother  h.ad  not  bi.ci, 
unrevenged. 


NoTR— "  En  el  denpojo  de  la  BaUlU  le  ireran  muchw.  ricij  ro 
ra<a»  c  c.ipacetes,  i  burbeiai  de  lai  que  M  habias  prrdKlo  en  1 1  A  < 
an|uia,  e  oiras  muchaj  arma;,,  e  algunee  fueron  conoculas  ilr  ^.l 
Diiefioi  q.ie  Ian  haviaii  dejailo  per  luir,  e  otra»  fuerii  ciin.i  ilj 
que  eraii  inui  seflaladaade  nmnbrei  princi;jale«  quehiivUii  (jiif  U' 
muerto^  e  cauiivos,  i  fueron  tornadot  muchos  de  lo«  mismo^  ('.,'  il 
loi  con  >u>  rica>  ollan,  de  lut  que  quedaron  en  la  Axaiquia,  c  fun  i 
cuDocidok  cuios  eran.' 

Cnra  dt  Palaiiot,  cap.  67. 


CHAPTER  X.KIII. 


RETREAT  OP   HAMET  EL   ZEGKI,  ALCAYDE   Oi' 
RON  DA. 

The  bold  alcayde  of  Ronda,  Hanr.et  el  Zegri.  h.-'..! 
careered  wide  over  the  Campifia  of  Utrera,  eneoir.- 

Cassing  the  flocks  and  herds,  when  he  heard  lie 
urst  of  war  at  a  distance.  There  were  with  Imr. 
but  a  handlul  of  his  (iomeres.  He  saw  the  scampn 
and  pursuit  afar  otf.  and  beheld  the  christian  hurst 
men  spurring  madly  on  towards  the  ambuscade  01. 
the  banks  of  the  Lopera.  H.amet  tossed  his  hand 
trnnnphiintly  aloft,  for  his  men  to  follow  him.  "  T.it 
chpMi.in  dogs  are  ours  ! "  said  he,  as  he  put  spui3  tc 
his  horse,  to  take  the  enemy  m  rear. 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


30e 


lAVDE    Ot 


The  little  band,  which  followed  H&ni(>t,  scarcely 
iinounted  (o  thirty  horttcmnn.  They  Hiiurrcd  acrou 
ihi*  plain,  and  reached  a  riling  ground,  iuHt  as  the 
force  of  IHicrto  Carrcro  had  charged,  wiln  sound  of 
tiiimpet,  upon  the  Hank  of  the  party  in  nmlnish. 
Hamet  beheld  the  he.idlonfi  rout  of  the  army,  wiili 
Li^e  and  consternation.  He  found  the  country  was 
pDurif.g  forth  its  iejfions  from  every  (juarter,  and 
vrcri/ed  that  there  was  no  safety  but  in  preci|)itate 
!i:;Tht. 

Mut  wk.;ch  way  to  fly  ?  An  army  w.is  between 
In  and  the  mountain  pass;  all  the  frnrrs  of  the 
r;(  (^hborhood  were  rushine  to  the  borders ;  the 
wlmle  route  by  which  he  had  come,  w.is  by  this  time 
occupied  by  the  foe.  He  checl<cd  his  steed,  rose  in 
the  »tiri-u|)S,  and  roiletl  a  stem  and  lhou^;htful  eve 
over  the  country ;  then  sinking  into  his  s.iddle,  ne 
setined  to  commune  a  moment  with  himself,  Turn- 
ip>{  (|uickly  to  his  troop,  he  singled  out  a  renegado 
christian,  a  traitor  to  his  religion  and  his  king, 
"tome  hither."  said  Hamet.  "Thou  knowcst  all 
ilir  secret  passes  of  the  country."  "I  do,"  replied 
tlif  riMiegailo.  "  Dost  thou  know  any  circuitous 
mute,  solitary  and  untravelied,  by  which  we  can 
|).iss  wide  within  these  troops,  and  reach  the  Ser- 
r.inia?"  The  renegado  paused:  "Such  a  route  I 
lir;ow,  but  it  is  full  of  peril,  for  it  leads  throu>,di  the 

hc.irt    of  the   christian   land. fis    well."    said 

linnet;  "the  more  dan>,'erous  in  appearance,  the 
lt:is  it  will  be  suspcctcil.  Now  heark(Mi  to  me.  Ride 
by  my  side.  Thou  seest  this  purse  of  golil,  and  this 
mimitar.  Take  us,  by  the  route  thou  hast  men- 
tinned,  safe  to  the  pass  of  the  Serrania.  and  thi.s 
purse  shall  be  thy  reward ;  betray  us,  and  this 
scimitar  shall  cleave  thee  to  the  s.'ddle-liow."  • 

The  aneg.ido  obeyetl,  trembling,  Thi^  turned  olf 
troin  the  diiect  road  to  the  mountains,  and  struck 
luiilhward  towards  Lebrixa,  passing  by  the  most 
iijii.ary  roads,  and  along  those  ileep  rambias  and 
t -vines  by  which  the  country  is  intersected.  U  w.'is 
ii.deed  a  diiring  course.  Kvery  now  and  tlien  they 
hc.ird  the  distant  sound  of  trumpets,  and  the  alarm- 
b(!lls  of  towns  and  villa;;es,  and  found  that  tlie  war 
was  still  hiirr^'ing  to  the  borders.  They  hid  them- 
selves in  thickets,  and  in  the  dry  beds  of  rivers,  until 
the  ilanger  h.id  passed  by.  and  then  resunud  their 
ctjurse,  Hamet  el  Zegri  rode  on  in  silence,  his  hand 
u|)on  his  scimitar  and  his  eye  upon  the  renegado 
j;iiiili;.  prcparcil  to  sacrifice  him  on  the  le.-\st  sign  of 
iiiMihery;  while  his  band  followed,  gn.iwing  their 

I  { -.  with  rage,  at  having  thus  to  skulk  through  a 
KAiiury  they  had  come  to  ravage. 

When  nij;ht  fell,  they  stnick  into  more  practicable 
io.ids,  always  keeping  wide  of  the  villages  .iiul  ham- 
lits,  lest  the  waich-di<i;s  should  betray  them.  In 
this  w.-iy,  they  passed  in  deop  midnight  by  Airos, 
crossed  the  Guad.ilete,  and  etk-cied  their  retreat  lo 
ihc  mountains.  The  day  dawned,  as  tlu.-y  m.ule 
tlii  ir  way  up  the  savage  detiles.  Their  comrades 
hull  i)een  hunted  up  these  very  glens  by  ll>f  incmy. 
I'vcry  now  and  then,  they  came  to  where  I'uie  h.id 
[\-fn  a  partial  fight,  or  a  sl.iughter  of  the  ;u>;ilivfs; 
uul  the  rocks  were  red  with  blood,  and  strewcil  with 

II  angled  bodies.  The  alcayde  of  Ruiula  was  almost 
.Yaiiiic  with  rage,  at  seeing  many  ot  his  bravest  war- 
^ol•s  lying  stiff  and  stark,  a  prey  to  tSc  Vtwks  and  vul- 
:;(es  of  the  mountaiits.  Now  and  then  >ome  wretch- 
.•d  Moor  would  crawl  out  of  a  cave  or  glen,  whither 
he  had  fled  for  refuge;  for  in  the  retreat,  many  of 
the  horsemen  had  ab.indoned  their  steeds,  thrown 
away  their  armor,  and  clamhoied  up  the  cliffs, 
where  they  cculd  not  l)e  pursued  by  the  christian 
tavalry. 

*  Cuta  d*  los  PiUcio*.    Ubi  <iipk 


The  Moorish  army  h.id  s.illied  fortn  from  Rondt, 
amidst  shouts  and  .acclamations;  ))Lt  wili'igs  wen 
heard  within  its  walls,  as  the  akayde  %w\  his  broken 
band  returned  without  banner  or  tnimix-t,  and  hag- 
gard with  famine  and  fatigue.  The  tuim^'s  of  iheti 
disaster  had  preceded  them,  borne  h)-  tfic  fugitivei 
of  the  armv.  No  one  ventured  to  speak  to  the  stem 
Hamet  el  Zrgri,  as  he  entered  the  city  ;  for  ihcy  saw 
a  dark  cloud  gathered  upon  his  brow. 

It  seemed  (says  the  pious  Antonio  Agapida)  as  If 
heaven  meted  out  this  defeat  in  exact  retribution  for 
the  ills  inflicted  upon  the  chrsiian  warriors  in  the 
heights  of  Malaga.  It  was  equally  signal  and  dis- 
.asiroiis.  Of  the  brilliant  amy  of  .Moonsh  chivalry 
which  had  descended  .so  confidently  into  Aniialusia 
not  more  than  two  hundred  escaped.  Tne  choicest 
troops  of  the  frontier  were  either  taken  or  destroyed  ; 
the  Moorish  garrisons  enfeebled  ;  and  many  alcaydes 
and  cavaliers  of  noble  lineage  carried  Into  ■  aptivity, 
who  were  afterwards  obliged  to  redeem  thiinselves 
with  heavy  ransoms. 

This  was  called  the  battle  of  Loper.i,  and  was 
fought  on  the  17th  of  .September,  1483.  Frrdirand 
and  l.sabclla  were  at  Viltoria  in  old  Castile,  when 
they  received  news  of  the  victory,  and  the  standards 
taken  from  the  enei^iy.  They  celebrated  the  event 
with  priK:pssions,  illuminations,  and  other  festivities. 
Ferdinand  sent  to  the  marques  of  Cadiz  the  royal 
raiment  which  he  h.ad  worn  on  that  day,  and  con 
lerred  on  him,  and  on  all  those  who  should  inherit 
his  title,  the  privilege  of  wearing  royal  robes  on  our 
Lady's  day,  in  September,  in  commemoration  of  this 
victory, ♦ 

Queen  lsaf)ella  was  equ.ally  mindful  of  the  great 
services  of  Don  Luis  Femandei  Puerto  Carrero. 
Besides  many  encomiums  and  favors,  she  sent  lo  lis 
wife  the  royal  vestments  and  robe  of  brocade  which 
she  h.ad  worn  on  the  same  day.  to  be  worn  by  her, 
during  her  life,  on  the  anniversary  of  that  battle.* 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 


OK  THE  RECEPTION  AT  COURT  fir  THK  COUNT  DI 
CAIVtBRA  AND  THK  ALCAYDE  DK  LOS  DONZELES. 

In  the  midst  of  the  bustle  of  warlike  affairs,  the 
worthy  chwnicler  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  pauses 
to  notc>  with  curious  accuracy,  the  distinguished 
reception  given  to  the  count  de  Cabra  and  his 
nephew,  the  alcayde  de  los  Donreles.  at  the  stately 
and  ceremonious  court  of  the  Castilian  sovereigns, 
ill  reward  for  the  capture  of  the  Moorish  king  Bo- 
I  vIkIiI,  The  court  (he  observes)  was  held  at  the  time 
n  the  ancient  Moorish  palace  of  the  city  of  Cordova, 
and  the  ceremonials  were  arranged  by  that  vener- 
able prelate  Don  Pedro  Gonzalez  de  Mendoza,  bishop 
of  Toledo  and  grand  cardinal  of  Spain. 

It  was  on  Wednesd.ay,  the  14th  of  October,  (con- 
tinues the  precise  Antonio  Agapid.a,)  that  the  gcxxl 
count  de  Cabra,  according  to  arrangement,  appeared 
at  the  gale  i  f  Cordova.  Here  he  was  net  by  the 
grand  cardinal  and  the  duke  ot  Villahermosa,  illegiti- 
mate brother  of  the  king,  together  with  many  of  the 
hrsl  grandees  and  prel.iies  of  the  kingdom.  By  this 
august  train  was  he  attended  to  the  palace,  amidst 
triumphant  strains  of  martial  music,  and  the  shouts 
of  a  prodigious  multitude. 

When  the  funt  arrived  in  the  presence  of  the 
sovereigns,  who  were  seated  in  state  on  a  dais  ot 
raised  part  of  the  mil  ot  audience,  they  both  arose. 
The  king  advanced  exactly  five  steps  tow;iid  the 

*  MiruuM  AlMirca,  Zutito,  Pul{w,  Ac, 


I 

'i 

m 


1106 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


count,  who  knelt  and  kissed  his  majesty's  hanJ ;  but 
the  kin;;  would  not  receive  him  as  a  mere  vassal,  but 
embraced  him  with  affectionate  cordiality.  The 
queen  also  advanced  two  steps,  and  received  the 
count  with  a  coutuenance  full  of  sweetness  and  be- 
nignity :  after  he  had  kissed  her  hand,  the  kin};  and 
queen  returned  to  their  thrones,  and,  cushions  being 
brought,  they  ordered  the  count  de  Cabra  to  be 
seated  in  their  presence.  This  last  circumstance  is 
written  in  large  letters,  and  followeJ  by  several 
notes  of  admiration,  in  the  manuscript  of  the  worthy 
Fray  Antonio  Aj;:ipiiia,  who  considers  the  extr.ior- 
dinar)  privilege  of  sitting  in  presence  of  the  Catholic 
sovereigns  an  honor  well  worth  fighting  for. 

The  good  count  took  his  seat  at  a  short  distance 
from  the  king,  and  near  him  was  seated  the  duke  of 
Najera,  then  the  bishop  of  Palencia,  then  the  count 
of  Aguilar,  the  count  Luna,  and  Don  Gutierre  de 
Cardonas,  senior  commander  of  Leon. 

On  the  side  of  the  queen  were  seated  the  grand 
cardinal  of  Spain,  the  duke  of  Villahermosa,  the 
count  of  Monte  Key,  and  the  bishops  of  Jaen  and 
Cuenra,  each  in  the  order  in  which  they  are  named. 
The  Infanta  Isabella  was  prevented,  by  indisposition, 
from  attending  the  ceremony. 

And  now  festive  music  rcsounfled  through  the  hall, 
and  twenty  lailies  of  the  queen's  retinue  entered 
magnificently  attired  ;  upon  which  twenty  youthful 
cavaliers,  very  gay  and  galliard  in  their  array,  step- 
ped forth,  and,  each  seeking  his  fair  partner,  they 
commenced  a  stately  dance.  The  court  in  the  mean 
time,  (observes  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,)  looked  on 
with  lofty  and  becoming  gravity. 

When  the  dance  was  concluded,  the  king  and 
queen  rose  to  retire  to  supper,  and  dismissed  the 
toiint  with  many  gracious  expressions.  He  was  then 
attended  by  all  the  grandees  present  to  the  palace 
of  the  grand  cardinal,  where  they  partook  of  a  sump- 
tuous banquet. 

On  the  following  Saturd.ay,  the  alcayde  de  los 
Don^eles  was  received,  Ukewise,  with  great  honors  ; 
but  the  ceremonies  were  so  arranged,  as  to  be  a  de- 
<gree  less  in  dignity  than  those  shown  to  his  uncle  ; 
the  latter  being  considered  the  principal  actor  in  this 
great  achievement.  Thus  the  grand  cardinal  and 
the  duke  of  Villahermosa  did  not  meet  him  at  the 
gate  of  the  city,  but  received  him  in  the  palace,  and 
entertained  him  in  conversation  until  summoned  to 
the  sovereigns. 

When  the  alcayde  de  los  Donzeles  entered  the 
presence  chamber,  the  king  and  quct;n  rose  from  their 
chairs,  but  A'ithout  advancing.  They  greeted  him 
^aciously,  and  commanded  him  to  be  seated  next 
to  the  count  de  Cabra. 

The  Infanta  Isabella  came  forth  to  this  reception, 
and  took  her  seat  beside  the  queen.  When  the  court 
were  all  seated,  the  music  again  sounded  through  the 
hall,  and  the  twenty  ladies  came  forth  as  on  the  pre- 
ceding occasion,  richly  attired,  but  in  different  rai- 
ment. They  danced,  as  before ;  and  the  Infanta 
Isabella,  t.aking  a  young  Portuguese  d.amsel  for  a 
partner,  joined  in  the  dance.  VVhen  this  was  con- 
.;hvled,  the  king  and  queen  dismissed  the  alcayde 
k  los  Donzeles  with  great  courtesy  and  the  court 
0rokc  up. 

The  worthy  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  here  indulges 
in  a  long  eulogy  on  the  scrupulous  discrimination  of 
the  Castilian  court,  in  the  distribution  of  its  honors 
and  rewards,  by  which  means  every  smile,  and  gest- 
ure, and  word  of  the  sovereigns,  had  its  certain 
value,  and  conveyed  its  equivalent  of  joy  to  the  heart 
of  the  subject ; — a  matter  well  worthy  the  study 
(says  he)  of  all  monarch^,  who  are  too  apt  to  dis- 
tribute honoEs  with  a  heedless  caprice  that  renders 
tbero  of  no  avail. 


On  the  following  Sunday,  both  the  count  de  Cabr; 
and  the  alcayde  de  los  Donzeles  were  invited  to  sup 
with  the  sovereigns.  The  court  that  evening  w:ia 
attended  by  the  nighest  nobility,  arrayed  with  thii 
cost  and  splendor  for  which  the  Spanish  nobility  oi 
those  days  were  renowned. 

Before  supper,  there  was  a  st.itely  and  cereino:!; 
ous  dance,  befitting  the  dignity  of  so  august  a  coi'- 
The  king  led  forth  the  queen,  in  grave  and  graceli-,' 
measure  ;  the  count  de  Cabra  w.is  honored  with  i\:e. 
hand  of  the  Infanta  Isabella;  and  the  alcayde  de  kis 
Donzeles  dan:ed  with  a  daughter  of  the  marques  i!c 
Asforg.a. 

The  dance  being  concluded,  the  royal  party  re- 
paired to  the  supper-table,  which  was  placed  on  ,in 
elevated  part  of  the  saloon.  Here,  in  full  view  of 
the  court,  the  count  de  Cabra  and  the  alcayde  de  Ics 
Donzeles  supped  at  the  same  table  with  the  kinj;, 
the  queen,  and  the  Infanta.  The  royal  family  \vi  re 
served  by  the  marques  of  Villena.  The  cupbearer 
to  the  «ing  was  his  nephew  Fadrigue  de  Toledo,  smi 
to  the  duke  of  Alva.  Don  Alexis  de  EstaiMg.T  h:u\ 
the  honor  of  fulfilling  that  office  for  the  qi;ocn,  ami 
Tello  de  Aguilar  for  the  Infanta.  Other  cavaliers  (;t 
rank  and  distinction  waited  on  the  count  and  tlie 
alcayde  de  los  Donzeles.  At  one  o'clock,  the  two 
distinguished  g^uests  were  dismissed  with  many  cour- 
teous expressions  by  the  sovereigns. 

Such  (says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida)  were  the  grcit 
honors  paid  at  our  most  exalted  and  ceremonii  us 
court,  to  these  renowned  cavaliers :  but  the  gratitiiiie 
of  the  sovereigns  did  not  end  here.  A  few  d.iys 
afterwards,  they  bestowed  upon  them  large  revenuei 
for  life,  and  others  to  descend  to  their  heirs,  with  t^e 
privilege  for  them  and  their  descendants  to  prefix  tlii 
title  of  Don  to  their  n.ames.  They  gave  them,  moit- 
over,  as  armorial  bearings,  a  Moor  s  head  crownni; 
with  a  golden  chain  round  the  neck,  in  a  sangiiint 
field,  and  twenty-two  banners  round  the  margin  of 
the  escutcheon.  Their  descendants,  of  the  housf« 
of  Cabra  and  Cordova,  continue  to  bear  these  arma 
at  the  present  day,  in  memorial  of  the  victory  ot 
Lucena  and  the  capture  of  lioabdil  el  Chico.' 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


HOW  THE  MARQUES  OK  CADIZ  CONCERTED  TO 
SURPKISE  2AHAKA,  AND  THE  RESULT  OF  HI!. 
ENTERPRISE. 

The  valiant  Roderigo  Ponce  de  Leon,  manjuci 
of  Cadiz,  was  one  of  the  most  vigilant  of  command- 
ers. He  kept  in  his  pay  a  number  of  convert '•(! 
.Moors,  to  serve  as  adalides,  or  anned  guides.  These 
mongrel  christians  were  of  great  service,  in  procuriin,' 
inform.ation.  Availing  themselves  of  their  .VIouris:i 
character  and  tongue,  they  |)enetrated  into  tin- 
enemy's  country,  prowled  about  the  castles  .and  tor- 
tresses,  noticed  the  state  of  the  walls,  the  gates  ant' 
towers,  the  strength  of  their  garrison,  andthe  vii;i 
lance  or  negligence  of  their  commanders.  All  thi-^ 
they  reported  minutely  to  the  marques,  who  tii:;a 
knew  the  state  of  every  fortress  upon  the  frontit  r, 
and  when  it  might  be  attacked  with  advantage,  lit* 
side  the  various  towns  and  cities  over  which  he  held 
a  feudal  sway,  he  had  always  an  arrned  force  alwiit 
him,  ready  for  the  field.     A  host  of  retainers  fed  in 


*  The  accoiinl  given  by  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  of  thil  cerc.no- 
nial,  to  characierittic  of  the  old  Sp«niih  court,  agrees  in  uliuosi 
every  particular  with  au  ancient  inauutcnpt,  made  up  fruin  tlu 
chrouiotet  (A  the  curate  of  lor  Palacio*  and  jthct  eld  S|>ai.iii 
writon. 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


SOT 


his  hal],  who  were  ready  to  follow  him  to  danger  and 
death  itself,  without  inquiring  who  or  why  they 
fought.  The  armorirs  of  his  castles  were  supplied 
wih  helms  and  cuirasses  and  weapons  of  all  kinds, 
ready  burnished  for  use  ;  and  his  stables  were  tilled 
with  hardy  steeds,  that  could  stand  a  mountain 
scar.- per. 

The  marques  was  aware  that  the  late  defeat  of  the 
Miiors  on  the  banks  of  the  Lopera.  had  weakened 
l!i;-ir  whole  frontii^r ;  for  many  of  the  castles  and  for- 
;resses  had  lost  their  alcaydes,  and  their  choicest 
troops.  He  sent  out  his  war-hounds,  therefore,  upon 
the  range  to  a.scertain  where  a  successful  blow  might 
be  struck ;  and  they  soon  returned,  with  word  that 
Zahara  was  w  vikly  garrisoned  and  short  of  pro- 
risions. 

This  was  the  very  fortress,  which,  about  two  years 
before,  had  be#n  stormed  by  Muley  Aben  Hassan ; 
and  its  capture  had  been  the  first  blow  of  this  event- 
ful war.  It  had  ever  since  remained  a  thorn  in  the 
siile  of  Andalusia.  All  the  christians  had  been  car- 
ried away  captive,  and  no  civil  population  had  lieen 
introduced  in  their  stead.  There  were  no  women 
or  chiUlren  in  the  place.  It  was  kept  up  as  a  mere 
military  post,  commanding  one  of  the  most  important 
passes  of  the  mountains,  and  was  a  strong-hold  of 
Moorish  marauders.  The  marques  was  animated 
by  the  idea  of  regaining  this  fortress  for  his  sov- 
ereigns, and  wresting  from  the  old  Moorish  king 
this  boasted  trophy  of  his  prowess.  He  sent  missives 
therefore  to  the  hr.ave  Luis  Fernandez  Puerto  Car- 
rero,  who  had  distinguished  himself  in  the  late  vic- 
tory, and  to  Juan  Almaraz,  captain  of  the  men-at- 
arms  of  the  Holy  Brotherhood,  informing  them  of 
i'.is  designs,  and  inviting  them  to  meet  him  with  their 
lorccs  on  the  banks  of  the  Gaudalete. 

it  was  on  the  day  (says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida)  of 
the  glorious  apostles  St.  Simon  and  Judas,  the  twen- 
ty-eighth of  October,  in  the  year  of  grace  one  thou- 
sand four  hundretl  and  eighty-three,  tliat  this  chosen 
bind  of  christian  soldiers  assembled  suddenly  and 
secretly  at  the  appointed  place.  Their  forces,  when 
iniiied,  amounted  'o  six  hundred  horse  and  fifteen 
humlred  foot.  Their  gathering  place  was  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  delile  leading  to  Zahara.  That  ancient 
town,  renowned  in  Moorish  warfare,  is  situated  in 
one  of  the  roughest  passes  of  the  Serrania  de  Konda. 
It  is  built  round  the  craggy  ccne  of  a  hill,  on  the  lofty 
summit  of  which  is  a  strong  castle.  The  country 
arciund  is  broken  into  deep  barrancas  or  ravines, 
some  of  which  approach  its  very  walls.  The  place 
had  until  recently  Iwen  considered  impregnable ;  but 
(as  tlie  worthy  l  ray  Antonio  Agapida  observes)  the 
walls  of  impregnable  fortresses,  like  the  virtue  of 
self-confident  saints,  have  their  weak  points  of  attack. 

The  marques  of  Cadiz  advance<l  with  his  little 
army  in  the  dead  of  the  night,  marching  silently  into 
the  deep  and  dark  defiles  ot  the  mountains,  and 
stealing  up  the  ravines  which  extended  to  the  walls 
of  the  town.  Their  appro:ich  was  so  noiseless,  that 
tt;e  Moorish  sentinels  upon  the  walls  heard  not  a 
voire  or  a  footfall.  The  marques  was  accompanied 
by  his  old  escalador,  Ortega  de  Prado,  who  had  dis- 
linguished-himself  at  the  scaling  of  Alhama.  This 
l;'.rdy  veteran  was  stationed,  with  ton  men,  furnished 
w  th  scaling-ladders,  in  a  cavity  among  the  rocks, 
•J  se  to  the  walls.  At  a  little  distance,  seventy  men 
fifrc  hid  n  a  ravine,  to  be  at  hand  to  second  him, 
Alien  he  should  have  fixed  his  ladders.  The  rest  of 
thr  troops  were  concealed  in  another  ravine,  com- 
matiding  a  fair  approach  to  the  gate  of  the  fortress. 
A  shrewd  and  wary  adalid,  well  acquainted  with  the 
place,  was  appointed  to  give  sigTials ;  and  was  so 
stationed,  that  he  could  he  seen  ny  the  various  par- 
ties in  ambush,  but  was  hidden  from  the  garrison. 


The  remainder  of  the  night  passed  away  in  pro- 
found quiet.  The  Moorish  sentinels  could  be  heard 
tranquilly  patrolling  the  walls,  in  perfect  security 
The  day  dawned,  and  the  rising  sun  began  to  sl  ine 
against  the  lofty  peaks  of  the  Serrania  de  Rorda. 
The  sentinels  looked  trom  their  battlements  over  a 
savcage  but  quiet  mountain  country,  where  not  a  hu- 
man being  was  stirring ;  they  little  dreamt  of  the 
mischief  that  lay  lurking  in  every  ravine  and  chiin: 
of  the  rocks  around  them.  Apprehending  no  dan« 
ger  of  surprise  in  broad  day,  the  greater  part  of  the 
soldiers  abandoned  the  walls  and  towers,  and  de- 
scended into   he  city. 

By  orders  of  the  marques,  a  small  body  of  light 
cavalry  passed  along  the  glen,  and,  turning  round  a 
point  of  rock,  showed  themselves  before  the  town  : 
they  skirred  the  fields  almost  to  the  gates,  as  if  by 
way  of  bravado,  and  to  defy  the  garrison  to  a  skir- 
mish. 1  he  Moors  were  not  slow  in  rrplymg  to  it. 
Abcut  seventy  horse,  and  a  number  of  foot  who  had 
guarded  the  walls,  sallied  fprth  impetuously,  think- 
ing to  make  e.asy  prey  of  these  insolent  marauders. 
The  christian  horsemen  fled  for  the  ravine ;  the 
Moors  pursued  them  down  the  hill,  until  they  heard 
a  great  shouting  and  tumult  behind  them.  Looking 
round,  they  beheld  their  town  assailed,  and  a  scaling 
party  mounting  the  walls  sword  in  hand.  Wheeling 
about,  they  galloped  furiously  for  the  gate  ;  the  mar- 
ques of  Cacliz  and  Luis  Fernandez  Puerto  Carrero 
rushed  forth  at  the  same  time  with  their  ambuscade, 
and  endeavored  to  cut  them  off;  but  the  Moors  suc- 
ceeded in  throwing  themselves  within  the  walls. 

While  Puerto  Carrero  stormed  at  the  gate,  the 
marques  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  galloped  to  the 
support  of  Ortega  de  Prado  and  his  scaling  f>arr/. 
He  arrived  at  a  moment  of  imminent  perii.  when  t\yi 
party  was  assailed  by  fifty  Moors,  armed  Vitl«  cui- 
rasses and  lances,  who  were  on  the  point  of  thrusting 
them  from  the  walls.  The  marques  sprang  from  t't 
horse,  mounted  a  ladder,  sword  in  hand,  followed 
by  a  number  of  his  troops,  and  made  a  vigorous  at- 
tack upon  the  enemy.*  They  were  soon  driven 
iVom  the  walls,  r»nd  the  gates  and  towers  remained 
in  possession  of  the  christians.  The  Moors  de- 
fended themselves  for  a  short  time  in  the  streets, 
but  at  length  took  refuge  in  the  castle,  the  walls  of 
which  were  strong,  and  capable  of  holding  out  until 
relief  should  arrive.  The  marques  had  no  desire  to 
carry  on  a  siege,  and  he  had  not  provisions  sufficient 
for  many  prisoners;  he  granted  them,  therefore, 
favorable  terms.  They  were  permitted,  on  leaving 
their  arms  behind  them,  to  march  out  with  as  much 
of  their  etfects  as  they  con'd  carry ;  and  it  was 
stipulated  that  they  should  pass  over  to  Barbary. 
The  marques  remained  in  the  place  until  both  town 
an«l  castle  were  put  in  a  perfect  state  of  defence, 
and  strongly  garrisoned. 

Thus  did  Zahara  return  once  more  into  possession 
of  the  christians,  to  the  great  confusion  of  old  Muley 
Abcn  Hassan,  who,  having  paid  the  penalty  of  hit 
ill-timed  violence,  was  now  deprived  of  its  vaunted 
fruits.  The  Castilian  sovereigns  were  so  gratified 
by  this  achievement  of  the  valiant  Ponce  de  Leoa, 
that  they  authorized  him  thenceforth  to  entitle  him- 
self duke  of  Cadiz  and  marques  of  Zahara.  The 
warrior,  however,  was  so  proud  of  the  original  titJe, 
under  which  he  had  so  often  sienalized  himself,  that 
he  gave  it  the  precedence,  and  always  signed  him- 
self, marques,  duke  of  Cadiz.  As  the  reader  maj 
have  acquired  the  same  predilection  we  shah  con- 
tinue to  call  him  by  his  arcient  title 


h 


*Can  dc  lot  Palacioi,  c.  68. 


ml 
Ik 


108 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


i'#*- 


Or  THI  FORTRESS  OF  ALHAMA,  AND  HOW  WISE- 
LY IT  WAS  GOVERNED  BY  THE  COUNT  DE 
TENDILLA. 

In  this  part  of  his  chronicle,  the  worthy  father 
Fray  Antonio  Aeapida  indulges  in  triumphant  exul- 
tation over  the  downfall  of  Zahara :  Heaven  some- 
times speaks  (says  he)  through  the  mouths  of  false 
prophets  for  the  confusion  of  the  wicked.  By  the 
fall  of  this  fortress  was  the  prediction  of  the  santon 
of  Granada  in  some  measure  fulfilled,  that  "  the 
ruins  of  Zahara  should  fall  upon  the  heads  of  the 
,  infidels." 

Our  zealous  chronicler  scoffs  at  the  Moorish  al- 
cayde,  who  lost  his  fortress  by  surprise  in  broad  day- 
light ;  and  contrasts  the  vigilance  of  the  christian 
governor  of  Alhama,  the  town  taken  in  retaliation 
tor  the  storming  of  Zahara. 

The  important  post  of  Alhama  was  at  this  time 
confided  by  king  Ferdinand  to  Don  Inigo  Lopei  de 
Meridoza,  count  of  Tendilla,  a  cavalier  of  noble 
blood,  brother  to  the  grand  cardinal  of  Spain.  He 
hajl  been  instructed  by  the  king,  not  merely  to  main- 
tain his  post,  but  also  to  make  sallies  and  lay  waste 
the  surrounding  countr)'.  His  fortress  was  critically 
situated.  It  was  within  seven  leagues  of  Granada, 
and  at  no  g^eat  distance  from  the  warlike  city  of 
Loxa.  It  was  nestled  in  the  lap  of  the  mountains, 
commanding  the  high-road  to  Malaga  and  a  new 
over  the  extensive  vega.  Thus  situated,  in  the  heart 
of  the  enemy's  country,  surrounded  by  foes  ready  to 
a»sail  him,  and  a  rich  country  for  him  to  ravage,  it 
behoved  this  cavalier  to  be  for  ever  on  the  alert. 
He  was  in  fact  an  experienced  veteran,  a  shrewd 
and  wary  officer,  and  a  commander  amazingly 
prompt  and  fertile  in  expedients. 

On  assuming  the  command,  he  found  that  the  gac- 
risDn  consisted  but  of  one  thousand  men,  horse  and 
foot  They  were  hardy  troops,  seasoned  in  rough 
mountain  campaigning,  but  reckless  and  dissolute, 
as  soldiers  are  apt  to  be  when  accustomed  to  preda- 
tory warfare.  They  would  fight  hard  for  booty,  and 
then  gamble  it  heedlessly  away,  or  squander  it  in 
licentious  revelling.  Alhama  abounded  with  h.awk- 
ing,  sharping,  idle  hangers-on,  eager  to  profit  by 
the  vices  and  follies  of  the  garrison.  The  soldiers 
were  oftener  gambling  ancl  d;mcing  beneath  the 
walls,  than  keeping  watch  upon  the  battlements ; 
and  nothing  was  heard,  from  morning  till  night, 
but  the  noisy  contest  of  cards  and  dice,  mingled 
with  the  sound  of  the  bolero  or  fandango,  the 
drowsy  strumming  of  the  guitar,  and  the  rattling 
of  the  castanois ;  w'lile  often  the  whole  was  intcr- 
nipted  by  the  loud  brawl,  and  fierce  and  bloody 
contest. 

The  count  of  Tendilla  set  himself  vigorously  to 
reform  thtje  excesses ;  he  knew  that  laxity  of  morals 
Is  generally  attended  by  neglect  of  duty,  and  that 
the  Icist  breach  of  discipline  in  the  exposed  situa- 
tion of  his  fortress  might  be  tital.  "  Here  is  but  a 
bandful  of  men,'  said  he ;  "  it  is  necessary  that  each 
men  should  be  a  hero." 

He  enfleavored  to  awaken  a  proper  ambition  in 
the  minds  of  his  soldiers,  and  to  instil  into  them  the 
Bigh  principles  of  chivalry.  "  A  just  war,"  he  ob- 
served, "  is  often  rendered  wicked  ann  dis,-istrous  by 
the  manner  in  which  it  is  conducted  ;  for  the  right- 
eousness of  the  cause  i'?  not  sulVicient  to  sanction  the 
profligacy  of  the  means,  and  the  want  of  order  and 
subordination  among  the  troops  may  brin^  ruin  and 
disgrace  upon  the  best  concerted  plans.  "  But  we 
cannot  describe  the  character  and  conduct  of  this 
naowned  commander  in  more  forcible  language  than 


that  of  Fray  Antonio  Agipida,  excepting  t\ 
pious  father  places  in  the  K)reground  of  his 


that  th> 

his  hatred  of  the  Mccrs.  "  The  count  de  Tendilla, 
says  he,  "  was  a  mirror  of  christian  knighthood- 
watchful,  abstemious,  chaste,  devout,  and  thorough!) 
filled  with  the  spirit  of  ihe  cause.  He  laborctf  'n 
cessantly  and  strenuously  for  the  glorj-  of  the  f.iith 
and  the  prosperity  of  their  most  c&tholic  majesties 
and,  above  all,  he  hated  the  infidels  with  a  purj  ;; 
holy  hatred.  This  worthy  cav.alier  discountep.arci/.' 
all  idleness,  rioting,  chambering,  and  wantonr  ;s3 
among  his  soldiery.  He  kept  them  constantly  tr  ihc 
exercise  of  arms,  making  them  adroit  in  the  u' '  o' 
their  weapons  and  management  of  their  steeda  ard 
prompt  for  the  neld  at  a  moment's  notice.  Hr  per- 
mitted no  sound  of  lute  or  harp,  or  song,  or  othf-r 
loose  minstrelsy,  to  be  heard  in  his  fortri'ss,  del/iurh- 
ing  the  ear  and  softening  the  valor  of  the  sol(li>  r ;  nn 
other  music  was  allowed  but  the  wholesome  mlhiv^ 
of  the  drum  and  braying  of  the  trumpet,  an.1  surl' 
like  spirit-stirring  instruments  as  fill  the  mind  v.iih 
thoughts  of  iron  war.  All  wandering  minstrels, 
sharping  pedlars,  sturdy  trulls,  and  other  canip 
tnimpery,  were  ordered  to  pack  up  their  baggage,  ..mi 
were  drummed  out  of  the  gates  of  Alhama.  In  pi  ui: 
of  such  lewd  rabble,  he  introduced  a  train  ot  hoiy 
friars  to  inspirit  his  people  by  exhort.ation,  and  pra\  er, 
and  choral  chanting,  and  to  spur  them  on  to  tight  the 
good  fight  of  faith.  All  games  of  chance  were  pro- 
hihiled,  except  the  game  of  war  ;  and  this  he  lahoril, 
by  vigilance  and  vigor,  to  rerluce  to  a  g^ame  of  cer- 
tainty. Heaven  smiled  upon  the  efforts  of  this  rii^'v.- 
eous  cavalier.  His  men  became  soldiers  at  all  poiirs, 
and  terrors  to  the  Moors.  The  good  count  nr.v'f  r  :.c 
forth  on  a  ravage,  without  observing  the  rites  of  cr,. 
fcssion.  absolution,  and  communion,  and  ohtigini.;  ivt 
followers  to  do  the  same.  Their  banners  were  lilcs  r.': 
by  the  holy  friars  whom  he  maint2i:.«-i  in  Alhaiiu 
and  in  this  w.ay  success  was  secured  to  iiis  arms, .  ' 
he  was  en.ihled  to  lay  w.aste  the  land  of  the  heati 

The  fortress  of  Alhama  (continues  Fray  Anto 
Agapid.a)  overlooked  from  its  lofty  site  a  gre-ii  | 
of  the  fertile  vega,  watered  by  the  Ca/.in  an<l  t: 
Xenel :  from  this  he  made  frequent  sallies,  sweep;;  g 
away  the  flocks  and  herds  from  the  pasture,  tlic  i  • 
borer  from  the  field,  and  the  convoy  from  the  ro  ';i 
so  that  it  was  said  by  the  Moors,  that  a  beetle  cou!,: 
not  crawl  across  the  vega  without  being  seen  hv 
count  Tendilla.     The  peasantry,  ttierefore.  were  Wva 
to  betake  themselves  to  watch-towers  and  fortii"; 
hamlets,  where  they  shut  up  their  cattle,  garnet  i! 
their  com,  and  sheltered  their  wives  and  children 
Even  there  they  were  not  safe ;   the  count  wduIH 
storm  these  rustic  fortresses  with  fire  and  sword : 
make  captives  of  their  inh.abitants ;  carry  otT  the  corn, 
the  oil,  the  silks,  and  cattle ;   and  leave  the  niit,'; 
blazing  .and  smoking,  within  the  very  sight  of  Gran.id.i. 

"It  was  a  pleasing  and  refreshing  sight,"  contin- 
ues the  good  father,  "  to  behold  this  pious  knight  -itmI 
his  followers  returning  from  one  of  these  crusades 
leaving  the  rich  land  of  the  infidel  in  smoking  deso- 
lation behind  them  ;  to  behold  the  long  line  of  ninli ' 
and  asses,  Laden  with  the  plunder  of  the  Gentiie 
the  hosts  of  captive  Moors,  men,  wcmen,  and  clu' 
dren — droves  ot  sturdy  beeves,  lowing  kine,  ariv 
bleating  sheep;  all  winding  up  the  steep  accliv;;v 
to  the  gates  of  Alh.ama,  prickei  on  by  the  Catholic 
soldiery.  His  garrison  thus  thrived  on  the  fat  of  the 
land  ai\»l  the  sfxiil  of  the  infidel ;  nor  w.-us  he  unmind- 
ful of  the  pious  fathers,  whose  blessings  crowne'.l  \m 
enterprises  with  success.  A  large  jwriion  ol  thf 
spoil  was  always  dedicatwl  to  the  church ;  .and  t'n 
good  friars  were  ever  ready  at  the  gate  to  h.ail  hm 
on  his  ntum,  and  receive  the  share  alotted  td  •  ■ 
Beside  these  alloiment.s,  he  made  many  vo»'v    tf^' 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


309 


line  ot  miili  ? 


ingB,  either  In  time  of  peril  or  on  the  eve  of  a  foray  ; 
and  the  chapels  of  Alhama  were  resplendent  with 
clialices,  erodes,  and  other  precious  gifts  made  by 
this  Catholic  cavalier." 

Thus  elofjuently  does  the  venerable  Fray  Antonio 
Ag;ipida  dilate  in  praise  of  the  good  count  de  Ten- 
(lilla;  and  other  historians  of  equal  veracity,  but  less 
unction,  a^ee  in  pronouncing  him  one  of  the  ablest 
of  Spanish  generals.  So  terrible  in  fact  did  he  be- 
come in  the  land,  that  the  Moorish  peasantry  could 
not  venture  a  league  from  Granada  or  Loxa  to  labor 
in  the  fields,  without  peril  of  being  carried  into  cap- 
tl.ity.  The  people  of  Granada  clamored  against 
Muley  Aben  Hassan,  for  suffering  his  lands  to  be 
thus  outraged  and  insulted,  and  demanded  to  have 
this  hold  marauder  shut  up  in  his  fortress.  The  old 
monarch  was  roused  by  their  remonstrances.  He 
sent  forth  powerful  troops  of  horse,  to  protect  the 
country,  during  the  season  that  the  husbandmen 
were  abroad  in  the  fields.  These  troops  patrolled 
in  formidable  squadrons  in  the  neighborhood  of  Al- 
hama, keeping  strict  watch  upon  its  gates ;  so  that  it 
was  inifKissible  for  the  christians  to  make  a  sally, 
without  bring  seen  and  intercepted. 

While  Alhama  was  thus  blockaded  by  a  roving 
force  of  Moorish  cavalry,  the  inhabitants  were  awak- 
ened one  night  by  a  tremendous  crash,  that  shook 


be  as  willing  to  perform  the  one  prom.se  as  he  cer- 
tainly was  able  to  perform  the  other,  took  those 
curious  morsels  of  paper  without  hesitation  or  demur. 
Thus,  by  a  subtle  and  most  miraculous  kind' of  al- 
chymy,  did  this  Catholic  cavalier  turn  worthless 
paper  into  precious  gold,  and  make  his  late  im- 
poverished garrison  abour.  1  in  money  !  " 

It  is  but  just  to  add,  that  the  count  de  Tendill* 
redeemed  his  promises,  like  a  loyal  knight ;  and  this 
miracle,  as  it  appeared  in  the  eyes  of  Fray  Antonio 
Agapida,  is  the  first  instance  on  record  of  papei 
money,  which  has  since  inundated  the  ci/ilized  world 
with  unbounded  opulence. 


CHAPTER    XXV 


FORAY   OF  CHRISTIAN   KNIGHTS    INTO  THK 
TERRITORY  OF  THE  MOOAS. 

The  Spanish  cavaliers  who  had  survived  the  mem 
orable  massacre  among  the  mountains  of  Malaga, 
although  they  had  repeatedly  aver:jed  the  death  of 
their  companions,  yet  could  not  foiget  the  horror  and 
humiliation  of  their  defeat.     Nothing  would  satisfy 


the  fortress  to  its  foundations.    The  garrison  flew  to    them  but  to  undertake  a  second  expedition  of  the 


arms,  supposing  it  some  assault  of  the  enemy.  The 
alarm  proved  to  have  been  caused  by  the  rupture  of 
;■  portion  of  the  wall,  which,  undermined  by  heavy 
rains,  had  suddenly  given  way,  leaving  a  large  chasm 
yawning  towards  the  plain. 

The  count  de  Tendilla  was  for  a  time  in  great 
anxiety.  Should  this  breach  be  discovered  by  the 
blwkjiding  horsemen,  they  would  arouse  the  country, 
Granada  and  Loxa  would  pour  out  an  overwhelming 
feivce,  and  tliey  would  find  his  wails  ready  sapped  for 
t^.  assault.  In  this  fearful  einergency,  the  count  dis- 
vluyed  his  noted  talent  for  expedients.  He  orrlered 
a  quantify  of  linen  cloth  to  be  stretched  in  front  of 
the  breach,  painted  in  imitation  of  stone,  and  indent- 
ed with  battlements,  so  as  at  a  distance  to  resemble 
the  other  parts  of  the  wall .  behind  this  screen  he 
employed  workmen,  day  and  night,  in  repairing  the 
fracture.  No  one  was  permitted  to  leave  the  fortress, 
lest  information  of  its  defenceless  plight  should  be 
carried  to  the  Moor.  Light  squadrons  of  the  enemy 
were  seen  hovering  about  the  plain,  but  never  ap- 
proached near  enough  to  discover  the  deception ; 
and  thus,  in  the  course  of  a  few  days,  the  wall  was 
rebuilt  stronger  than  before. 

There  was  another  expedient  of  this  shrewd  vet- 
cr.Ti,  which  greatly  excites  the  marvel  of  Agapida. 
'•  It  happened,"  he  observes,  "  that  this  Catnolic 
cavalier  at  one  time  was  destitute  of  gold  and  silver, 
wherewith  to  pay  the  wages  of  his  troops ;  and  the 
soldiers  mmiured  greatly,  seeing  that  they  had  not 
the  means  of  purchasing  necessaries  from  the  people 
of  the  town.  In  this  dilemma,  what  does  this  most 
Eag;icious  commander  ?  He  takes  me  a  number  of 
little  morsels  of  paper,  on  the  which  he  inscribes 
van  IS  simis,  large  and  small,  according  to  the 
nature  of  the  case,  anfl  signs  me  them  with  his  own 
hand  and  name.  These  did  he  give  to  the  soldiery, 
in  earnest  of  their  pay,  '  How  I '  you  will  say,  '  are 
wldiers  to  be  paid  with  scraps  of  paper  ? '  Even  so, 
I  answer,  and  well  paid  too,  as  1  will  presently  make 
rianifest :  for  the  good  count  issued  a  proclamation, 
ordering  the  inhabitants  of  Alhama  to  take  these 
morsels  of  paper  for  the  full  amount  thereon  inscribed, 
promising  to  rcMleem  them  at  a  future  time  with 
silver  and  gold,  and  threatening  severe  punishment 
to  all  who  should  refuse.  The  people,  having  full 
confidence  in  his  word,  and  trusting  that  he  would 

u 


kind,  to  carry  fire  and  sword  throughout  a  wide  part 
of  the  Moorish  territories,  and  to  leave  all  those  re- 
gions which  had  triumphed  in  their  disaster  a  black 
and  burning  monument  of  their  vengeance.  Their 
wishes  accorded  with  the  policy  of  the  king,  who 
desired  to  lay  waste  the  country  and  destroy  the  re- 
sources of  tn^  enemy ;  every  assistance  was  ther©« 
fore  given  to  promote  and  accomplish  their  enter- 
prise. 

In  the  spring  of  1484,  the  ancient  city  of  Antiqueia 
again  resounded  with  arms ;  numbers  of  the  same 
cavaliers  who  had  assembled  there  so  gaily  the  pre- 
ceding year,  again  came  wheeling  into  the  gates 
with  their  steeled  and  shining  warriors,  but  with  a 
more  dark  and  solemn  brow  than  on  that  disastrous 
occasion,  for  they  had  the  recollection  of  their 
slaughtered  friends  present  to  their  minds,  whose 
deaths  they  were  to  avenge. 

In  a  little  while  there  was  a  chosen  force  of  sii 
thousand  horse  and  twelve  thousand  foot  assembled 
in  Antitjuera,  many  of  them  the  very  flower  of  Span- 
ish chivalry,  troops  of  the  established  military  and 
religious  orders,  and  of  the  Holy  Brotherhood. 

Every  precaution  had  bec"^  'aken  to  furnish  this 
army  with  all  things  needful  for  its  extensive  and 
perilous  inroad.  Numerous  surgeons  accompanied 
it,  who  were  to  attend  upon  all  the  sick  and  wound- 
ed, without  charge,  being  paid  for  their  services  by 
the  ([ueen.  Isabella,  also,  in  her  considerate  hu- 
manity, provided  six  spacious  tents  furnished  with 
beds  and  all  things  needful  for  the  wounded  and  in- 
firm. These  continued  to  be  used  in  all  great 
expeditions  throughout  the  war,  and  were  called 
the  Queen's  Hospital.  The  worthy  father.  Fray 
Antonio  Agapida,  vaunts  this  benignant  provision 
of  the  queen,  as  the  first  introduction  of  a  regular 
camp  hospital  in  campaigning  service. 

Thus  thoroughly  prepared,  the  cavaliers  issued 
forth  from  Antiquera  in  splendid  and  terrible  array, 
but  with  less  exulting  contklence  and  vaunting  os- 
tentation than  on  their  former  foray ;  and  this  was 
the  order  of  the  anny.  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar  led 
the  advance  guard,  accompanied  by  Don  Diego 
Fernandez  de  Cordova,  the  akayde  de  los  Donzeles, 
and  Luis  F'ernandez  I^ierto  Carrero,  count  of  Palma, 
with  their  household  troops.  They  were  followed 
by  Juan  de  Merlo,  Juan  de  Alinara^  and  Carlos  de 


il^l 


i 


II : 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


te^J^lUi'ij] 


;J^, 


;•*!.*-'" 


*l 

lil'' 

ff 

M' 

i 

M 

HI 

n 

Biezman,  of  the  Holy  Brotherhood,  with  the  men-at- 
arms  of  their  captaincies. 

The  second  battalion  was  commanded  by  the 
marques  of  Cadiz  and  the  Master  of  Santiago,  with 
the  cavaliers  of  Santiago  and  the  troops  of  the  house 
of  Ponce  Leon :  with  these  also  went  the  senior 
commander  of  Calatrava  and  the  i<nights  of  that 
order,  and  various  other  cavaliers  and  their  re- 
tainers. 

The  right  wing  of  this  second  battalion  was  led 
by  lionsah'o  de  Cordova,  afterwards  renowned  as 
{rand  captain  of  Spain ;  the'left  wing,  by  Diejjo  Lo- 
pez de  A  Vila.  They  were  accompanied  by  several 
distinguished  cavaliers,  and  cert.ain  captains  of  the 
Holy  Brotherhood,  with  their  .nen-at-arms. 

The  duke  of  Medina  Sidonia  and  the  count  de 
Cabra  commanded  the  third  battalion,  with  the 
troops  of  their  ;espective  houses.  They  were  ac- 
companied by  other  commanders  of  note,  with  their 
forces.  "• 

The  rear  guard  was  brought  up  by  the  senior 
commander  and  knights  of  Alcantara,  followed  by 
the  Andalusian  chivalry  from  Xerez,  Ecija,  and  Car- 
mona. 

Such  was  the  army  that  issued  forth  from  the  gates 
of  Antiquera,  on  one  of  the  most  extensive  /a/as,  or 
devastating  inroads,  that  ever  laid  waste  the  king- 
dom of  Granada. 

The  army  entered  the  Moorish  territorj'  by  the 
way  of  Alora,  destroying  all  the  cornfields,  vineyards, 
and  orchards,  and  plantations  of  olives,  round  that 
city.  It  then  proceeded  through  the  rich  valleys  and 
fertile  uplands  of  Coin.  Cazarabonela,  Almexia,  and 
Ciruma ;  and  in  ten  days,  all  those  fertile  regions 
were  a  smoking  and  frightful  desert.  From  hence 
h  pirsiied  its  slow  and  destructive  course,  like  the 
■tream  of  lava  of  a  volcano,  through  the  regions  of 
Fapiana  and  Alhendin,  and  so  on  to  the  vega  of 
Malaga,  laying  waste  the  groves  of  olives  and  al- 
mcnds,  and  the  fields  of  grain,  and  destroying  every 
gT5cn  thing.  The  Moors  of  some  of  these  places 
interceded  in  vain  for  their  groves  and  fields,  offering 
to  deliver  up  their  christian  captives.  One  part  of 
the  army  blockaded  the  towns,  while  the  other  rav- 
aged the  surrounding  country.  Sometimes  the 
Moors  sallied  forth  desperately  to  defend  their  prop- 
erty, but  were  driven  back  to  their  gates  with  slaugh- 
ter, and  their  suburbs  pilLiged  and  burnt.  It  was 
an  awful  spectacle  at  night  to  behold  the  volumes 
of  black  smoke  mingled  with  lurid  flames  that  rose 
from  the  burning  suburbs,  and  the  women  on  the 
walls  of  the  town  wringing  their  hands  and  shrieking 
at  the  desolation  of  their  dwellings. 

The  destroying  ariiiy,  on  arriving  at  the  sea-coast, 
found  vessels  lying  off  shore  l.iden  with  all  kinds  of 
provisions  and  munitions  for  its  use,  which  had  been 
sent  from  Seville  and  Xerez :  it  was  thus  enabled  to 
continue  its  desolating  career.  Advancing  to  the 
neighborhood  of  Malaga,  it  was  bravely  assailed  by 
the  Moors  of  that  city,  and  there  was  severe  skir- 
mishing for  a  whole  day ;  but  while  the  main  part 
of  the  army  encountered  the  enemy,  the  rest  rav- 
aged the  whole  vega  and  destroyed  all  the  mills. 
As  the  object  of  the  expedition  was  not  to  capture 

E;a:es,  but  merely  to  burn,  ravage,  and  destroy,  the 
OEt,  satisfied  with  the  mischief  they  had  done  in 
die  vega,  turned  their  backs  upon  Malaga,  and  again 
entered  the  mountains.  They  passed  by  Coin,  and 
through  the  regions  of  AUazayna,  and  Gatero.  and 
A'haurin ;  all  which  were  likewise  desolated.  In 
this  way  did  they  make  the  circuit  of  that  chain  of 
rich  and  verdant  valleys,  the  glory  of  those  mount- 
ains and  the  pride  and  delight  of  the  Moors.  For 
forty  days  did  they  continue  on  like  a  consuming 
fire,  leaving  a  smoking  and  howling  waste  to  mark 


their  course,  until,  weary  with  the  work  of  deatruc 
tion,  and  having  fully  sated  their  revenee  fur  the 
massacre  of  the  Axarquia,  they  returned  m  triumpi- 
to  the  meadows  of  Antiquera. 

In  the  month  of  June,  king  Ferdinand  lock  com- 
mand in  person  of  this  destructive  army;  he  in 
creased  its  force,  and  added  to  its  means  of  miscliki 
several  lom bards  and  other  heavy  artillery,  intencic.. 
for  the  battering  of  towns,  and  managed  by  engi 
neers  from  France  and  Germany.  With  these,  tl: 
martjues  of  Cadiz  assured  the  king,  he  would  scon 
be  able  to  reduce  the  Moorish  fortresses.  They  were 
only  calculated  for  defence  against  the  engines  an- 
ciently used  in  warfare.  Their  walls  and  toi.'iTs 
were  nigh  and  thin,  depending  for  security  on  their 
rough  and  rocky  situations.  The  stone  and  iron 
balls  thundered  from  the  lombards  would  soon  tum- 
ble them  in  ruins  upon  the  heads  of  their  defenders. 

The  fate  of  Alora  speedily  proved  the  truth  of  this 
opinion.  It  was  strongly  posted  on  a  rock  washed 
by  a  river.  The  artillery  soon  battered  down  two 
of  the  towers  and  a  part  of  the  wall.  The  Moors 
were  thrown  into  consternation  at  the  vehemence 
of  the  assault,  and  the  effect  of  those  tremendous  en- 
gines upon  their  vaunted  bulwarks.  The  roaring  of 
the  artillery  and  the  tumbling  of  the  walls  teniiieii 
the  women,  who  beset  the  alc.iyde  with  vociferous 
supplications  to  surrender.  The  place  was  given  up 
on  the  20th  of  June,  on  condiUon  that  the  inhabit- 
ants might  depart  with  their  effects.  The  people 
of  Malaga,  as  yet  unacquainted  with  the  power  of 
this  batteri.ig  ordnance,  were  so  inccnseJ  at  there 
of  Alora  for  what  they  considered  a  tame  surrenda, 
that  they  would  not  admit  them  into  their  city. 

A  similar  fate  attended  the  town  of  Setenil,  built 
on  a  lofty  rock  and  esteemed  impregnable.  Many 
times  had  it  been  besieged  under  former  cbiistLm 
kings,  but  never  had  it  been  taken.  Even  now,  for 
several  days  the  artillery  was  directed  againrt  it 
without  effect,  and  many  of  the  cavaliers  murmure-J 
at  the  marques  of  Cadiz  for  having  counselled  the 
king  to  attack  this  unconquerable  place.* 

On  the  same  night  that  these  reproaches  were  ut- 
tered, the  marques  directed  the  artillery  himself:  he 
levelled  the  lombards  at  the  bottom  of  the  walls,  and 
at  the  gates.  In  a  little  while,  the  gates  were  bat- 
tered to  pieces,  a  great  breach  w.is  effected  in  the 
walls,  and  the  Moors  were  fain  to  capitulate.  Twenty- 
four  christian  captives,  who  had  been  taken  in  tli<: 
defeat  of  the  mountains  of  Malaga,  were  rescued 
from  the  dungeons  of  this  fortress,  and  hailed  the 
marques  of  Cadiz  as  their  deliverer. 

Needless  is  it  to  mention  the  capture  of  various 
other  places,  which  surrendered  witnout  waiting  to 
be  attacked.  The  Moors  had  always  shown  great 
bravejy  and  perseverance  in  defending  their  towns ; 
they  were  formidable  in  their  sallies  and  skirmishes, 
and  patient  in  enduring  hunger  and  thirst  when  be- 
sieged ;  but  this  terrible  ordnance,  which  demolished 
their  .vails  with  such  ease  and  rapidity,  overwhelmed 
them  with  confusion  and  dismay,  ana  rendered  vain 
all  resistance.  King  Ferdinand  wa^  so  stiuck  with 
the  effect  of  this  artillery,  that  he  ordered  the  nurp 
ber  of  lombards  to  be  increased ;  and  these  potCAi 
engines  had  henceforth  a  great  influence  on  the  for 
tunes  of  this  war. 

The  last  operation  of  this  year,  so  disastrous  to 
the  Moors,  was  an  inroad  by  king  Ferdinand,  in  the 
latter  part  of  summer,  into  the  vega,  in  which  he 
rav.aged  the  country,  burnt  two  villages  near  to  Gra- 
nada, and  destroyed  the  mills  near  the  very  gaL-»  o( 
the  city. 

Old  Muley  Aben  Haasan  was  OTcrwhelnaed  wit) 

•  Cura  d«i  )«i  Palaaiot. 


ATTKMPT  or 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


Ill 


dinmay  at  this  desolation,  which,  during  the  whole 

Br,  had  been  raging  throughout  his  territories,  and 
1  now  reached  to  the  wnils  of  his  capital.  His 
fierce  spirit  was  broi<en  by  misfortunes  and  intirmity ; 
he  offered  to  purchase  a  peace,  and  to  hold  his 
crown  as  a  tributary  vassal.  Ferdinand  would  listen 
10  no  propositions :  the  absolute  conquest  of  Gra- 
nada was  the  great  object  of  this  war,  and  he  was 
resolved  never  to  rest  content  without  its  complete 
fjlti'.rrent.  Having  supplied  and  strenethened  the 
garrisons  of  the  places  he  had  taken  in  tne  heart  of 
the  Moorish  territories,  he  enjoined  their  commanders 
to  render  every  assistance  to  the  younger  Moorish 
king,  in  the  civil  war  against  his  father.  He  then 
returned  with  his  army  to  Cordova,  in  great  triumph, 
closing  a  series  of  ravaging  campaigns,  that  had 
filled  the  kingdom  of  Granada  witn  grief  and  con- 
itemation. 

t 


CHAPTER  XXVHI. 


ATTEMPT  or  EL  ZAGAL  TO  SURPRISE  BOABDIL 
IN  ALMERIA. 

During  this  year  of  sorrow  and  disaster  to  the 
Moors,  the  younger  king  Boabdil,  most  truly  called 
the  unfortunate,  held  a  diminished  and  feeble  court 
ia  the  maritime  city  of  Almeria.  He  retained  lilile 
more  than  the  name  of  king,  and  was  supported  in 
even  this  shadow  of  royalty,  by  the  countenance  and 
trciisures  of  the  Castilian  sovereigns.  Still  he  trust- 
ed, that,  in  the  fluctuation  of  events,  the  inconstant 
nation  might  once  more  return  to  his  standard,  and 
;  -place  him  on  the  throne  of  the  Alhambra. 

ills  mother,  the  high-spirited  sultana  Ayxa  la 
.HorTa.  endeavored  to  rouse  him  from  this  passive 
i;i;e.  "  It  is  a  feeble  mind,"  said  she,  "that  waits 
for  the  turn  of  fortune's  wheel ;  the  brave  mind 
kIjcs  upon  it,  and  turns  it  to  its  purpose.  Take  the 
field,  and  you  may  drive  danger  betbre  you  ;  remain 
cowering  at  home,  and  it  besieges  you  in  your  dwell- 
ing. By  a  bold  enterprise  you  may  regain  your 
spTenclid  throne  in  Granada ;  by  passive  forbearance, 
you  will  forfeit  even  this  miserable  throne  in  Al- 
meria." 

Boabdil  had  not  the  force  of  soul  to  follow  these 
cour.igeous  counsels,  and  in  a  little  time  the  evils  his 
mother  had  predicted  fell  upon  him. 

0V\  Muley  Aben  Hassan  vvas  almost  exting^uished 
by  age  and  infirmity.  He  had  nearly  lost  his  sight, 
and  was  completely  bedridden.  His  brother  Abdal- 
lah,  sumamed  £1  Zagal,  or  the  valiant,  the  same 
who  h.id  assist  d  in  the  massacre  of  the  Spanish 
chivalry  among  the  mountains  of  Malaga,  was  coin- 
mauiler-in-chief  of  the  Moorish  armies,  and  gradually 
took  upon  himself  most  of  the  cares  of  sovereignty. 
Among  other  things,  he  was  particularly  zealous  in 
apousing  his  brother's  quarrel  with  his  son  ;  and  he 
Dicsecuted  it  with  such  vehemence,  that  m.iny  af- 
nrn-,cd  there  was  something  more  than  mere  fra- 
tcmiJ  sympathy  at  the  bottom  of  his  zeal. 

The  disasters  and  disgraces  intlicted  on  the  co\m- 
^  by  the  christians  during  this  year,  had  wounded 
ihe  nation.ll  feelings  of  the  people  of  Almeria ;  and 
nviny  had  felt  indignant  that  Boalxiil  should  remain 
•jassive  at  such  a  time,  or  rather,  should  appear  to 
snake  a  common  cause  with  the  enemy.  His  uncle 
AbilalLih  diligently  fomented  this  feeling,  by  his 
agents.  The  Kinie  arts  were  made  r  .e  of,  that  had 
been  successful  in  Granada.  Boabdil  wa«  secretly 
out  actively  denounced  by  the  alfaquis  as  an  apos- 
tate, leagued  with  the  christians  <»g.iinst  his  country 
uid  his  early  faith ;  the  atT'^ctions  of  the  populace 


and  soldiery  were  gradually  alienated  from  him,  and 
a  deep  conspiracy  concerted  for  his  destruction. 

In  the  month  of  February,  1485,  £1  Zagal  sud 
denly  appeared  before  Almeria,  at  the  head  of 
troop  of  horse.  The  alfaquis  were  prepared  for  hi« 
arrival,  and  the  gates  were  thrown  open  to  him.  He 
entered  with  his  band,  and  gallopea  to  the  citadel. 
The  alcayde  would  have  made  resistance;  but  the 
garrison  put  him  to  death,  and  received  £1  Z»gal 
with  acclamations.  El  Zagal  rushed  through  the 
apartments  of  the  Alcazar,  but  he  sought  in  vain  for 
Boabdil.  He  found  the  sultana  Ayxa  la  Horra  in 
one  of  the  saloons,  with  Ben  Ahagete,  a  younger 
brother  of  the  monarch,  a  valiant  Abencerrage,  and 
several  attendants,  who  rallied  round  them  to  pro- 
tect them.  '■  Where  is  the  traitor  Boabdil?"  ex- 
claimed El  Zagal.  "  I  know  no  traitor  more  per- 
fidious than  thyself,"  exclaimed  the  intrepid  sultana ; 
"  and  I  trust  my  son  is  in  safety,  to  take  vengeance 
on  thy  treason."  The  rage  of  El  Zagal  was  without 
bounds,  when  he  learnt  that  his  intended  victim  had 
escaped.  In  his  fury  he  slew  the  prince  Ben  Aha- 
gete, and  his  followers  fell  upon  and  massacred  the 
Abencerrage  and  attendants.  As  to  the  proud  sultana, 
she  was  borne  away  prisoner,  and  loaded  with  revil- 
ings,  as  having  upheld  her  son  in  his  rebellion,  and 
fomented  a  civil  war. 

The  unfortunate  Boabdil  had  been  apprized  of  his 
danger  by  a  faithful  soldier,  just  in  time  to  make  his 
escape.  Throwing  himself  on  one  of  the  fleetest 
horses  in  his  stables,  and  followed  by  a  hantlful  of 
adherents,  he  had  galloped  in  the  confusion  out  of 
the  gates  of  Almeria.  Sevenal  of  the  cavalry  of  El 
Zagal,  who  were  stationed  without  the  *vafls,  per- 
ceived his  flight,  and  attempted  to  pursue  him ;  their 
horses  were  jaded  with  travel,  and  he  soon  left  theio 
far  behind.  Rut,  whither  was  he  to  fly  ?  Every 
lortress  and  castle  in  the  kingdom  of  Granada  was 
closed  against  him ;  he  knew  not  whom  among  the 
Moors  to  trust,  for  they  had  been  taught  to  detest 
him  as  a  traitor  and  an  apostate.  He  had  no  al- 
ternative but  to  seek  refuge  among  the  christians, 
his  hereditary  enemies.  With  a  heavy  heart,  he 
tume<l  his  horse's  head  towards  Cordova.  He  had 
to  lurk,  like  a  fugitive,  through  a  part  of  his  own  do- 
minions ;  nor  did  he  feel  himself  secure,  until  he  had 
passed  the  frontier,  and  beheld  the  mountain  barrier 
of  his  country  towering  behind  him.  Then  it  was 
that  he  became  conscious  of  .his  humiliating  state — 
a  fugitive  from  his  throne,  an  outcast  from  his  nation, 
a  king  without  a  kingdom.  He  smote  his  breast,  in 
an  agony  of  grief:  "Evil  indeed,"  exclaimed  he, 
"  was  the  day  of  my  birth,  and  truly  was  1  named 
El  Zogoybi,  the  unlucky." 

He  entered  the  gates  of  Cordova  with  downcast 
countenance,  and  with  a  train  of  but  forty  followers. 
The  sovereigns  were  absent ;  but  the  cavaliers  of 
Andalusia  manifested  that  sympathy  in  the  misfor- 
tunes of  the  monarch,  that  becomes  men  of  lofty  and 
chivalrous  souls.  They  received  him  with  great  dis 
tinction,  attended  him  with  the  utmost  courtesy,  ans'. 
he  was  honorably  entertained  by  the  civil  and  mili 
tary  commanders  of  that  ancient  city. 

In  the  mean  time.  El  Zagal  put  a  new  alcayde 
over  Almeria,  to  govern  in  the  name  of  his  brother , 
and,  having  strongly  garrisoned  the  place,  he  repair- 
ed to  Malaga,  where  an  att.ick  of  the  christians  was 
apprehended.  The  young  monarch  being  driven 
out  of  the  land,  and  the  old  monarch  blind  and  bed- 
ridcien,  El  Zagal,  at  the  head  of  the  armies,  was 
virtually  the  sovereign  of  Granada.  The  people 
were  pleased  with  having  a  new  idol  to  look  up  to. 
and  a  new  name  to  shout  forth  ;  and  El  Zagal  wa; 
hailed  with  acclamations,  as  the  main  bopc  of  the 
nation, 


'  ^1 


^!  ■:^%'-- 


U2 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


iff  ^;-|;i'.  • 

I  •*> '."  ;i  •  .i  •'  •- 


m^ 


lil 


tut 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

HOW  KINO  FERDINAND  COMMENCED  ANOTHER 
CAMPAIGN  AGAINST  THE  MUORS,  AND  HOW  HE 
LAID  SIEGE  TO  COIN   AND  CARTAMA. 

The  great  effect  of  the  battering  ordnance  in 
demolishing  the  Moorish  fortresses  in  the  preceding 
year,  induced  king  F'erdinand  to  procure  a  powerful 
train  for  the  campaign  of  1485,  in  the  course  of 
which  he  resolved  to  assault  some  of  the  most 
formidable  holds  of  the  enemy.  An  army  of  nine 
thousand  civalry  and  twenty  thousand  infantry 
assembled  at  Cordova,  early  in  the  spring ;  and  the 
king  took  the  field  on  the  5th  of  April.  It  had  been 
determined  in  secret  council,  to  attack  the  city  of 
Malaga,  that  ancient  and  important  sea-port,  on 
which  Granada  dejjended  for  foreign  aid  and  sup- 
plies. It  was  thought  proper  previously,  however, 
to  get  possession  of  various  towns  and  fortresses 
in  the  valleys  of  Santa  Maria  and  Cartania,  through 
which  pass  the  roads  to  M.ilaga. 

The  first  place  assailed  was  the  town  of  Benama- 
quex.  It  had  submitted  to  the  Catholic  sovereigns 
in  the  preceding  year,  hut  had  since  renounced  its 
allejriance.  King  P'ordinand  was  enraged  at  the  re- 
bellion of  the  inhabitants.  "  I  will  make  their  pun- 
ishment," said  he,  "a  terror  to  others:  they  shall  be 
loyal  through  force,  if  not  through  faith."  The 
place  was  carried  by  stonn  :  one  hundred  and  eight 
of  the  principal  inhabitants  were  either  put  to  the 
sword  or  hanged  on  the  battlements  ;  the  rest  were 
carried  into  captivity.* 

The  tovws  of  Coin  and  Cartama  were  Ixjsieged 
on  the  same  day ;  the  first  by  a  division  of  the  army 
led  on  by  the  marques  of  Cadiz,  the  second  by  an- 
other division  commanded  by  Don  Alonzo  de  Agui- 
Ur  and  Luis  Fernandez  Puerto  Carrero,  the  brave 
Senior  of  Palma.  The  king,  with  the  rest  of  the 
army,  remained  posted  between  the  two  places,  to 
render  assistance  to  either  division.  The  batteries 
opened  upon  both  places  at  the  s.ime  tinie,  .and  the 
thunder  of  the  lombards  was  muiu.illy  heard  from 
one  camp  to  the  other.  The  Moors  made  frequent 
sallies,  at>d  a  valiant  defence ;  but  they  were  con- 
founded by  the  trenu-nilous  uproar  of  the  batteries, 
and  the  destruction  of  their  walls.  In  the  mean 
time,  the  alami-tires  gathereil  together  the  Moorish 
mountaineers  of  all  the  Slerrania,  who  assembled  in 
ereat  numbers  in  the  city  of  MoikKi,  about  a  league 
from  Coin.  They  inade  several  attempts  to  enter 
the  besieged  town,  but  in  vain  ;  thev  svere  each  time 
intercepted  and  driven  back  by  the  christians,  and 
were  reducetl  to  ga/e  at  a  distance  in  despair  on  the 
destruction  of  the  place.  While  thus  situ.ued,  there 
rode  one  day  into  Monda  a  fierce  and  haughty 
Moorish  chit'l'tain,  at  the  head  of  a  band  of  swarthy 
African  horsemen ;  it  was  Hamet  el  Zegri,  the  liery- 
spirited  alcayde  of  Ronda,  at  the  hfjad  of  his  band 
of  Goir.eres.  He  had  not  yet  recovered  from  the 
(age  and  inortificatKJn  of  his  defeat  on  the  banks 
of  the  Lopera,  in  the  disastrous  foray  of  old  Bexir, 
when  he  had  l)een  obliged  to  steai  b.ick  furtively  to 
his  mountains,  with  the  loss  of  the  bravest  of  his 
followers.  He  had  ever  since  panted  tor  revenge. 
Hf  now  rode  among  the  host  of  warriors  .assenjbled 
at  Monda,  "  Who  amoni;  you,"  cried  he,  "  feels 
pity  for  the  women  and  children  of  Coin,  exposed  to 
captivity  and  death?  Whoever  he  is,  let  him  follow 
me,  who  am  ready  to  die  as  a  Moslem  for  the  relief 
of  Moslems."  So  saying,  iie  seized  a  white  banner, 
and,  waving  it  over  his  liead,  rode  forth  from  the 
town,  followed  by  the  Gomeres.     Man)  of  the  war- 


riors, roused  by  his  words  and  his  example,  spur  ti 
resolutely  after  his  banner.  The  people  of  Coin,  be. 
ing  prepared  for  this  attempt,  sallied  forth  .is  ihry 
saw  the  white  banner,  and  made  an  attack  upon  tht 
christian  camp;  and  in  the  confusion  of  the  inu- 
ment,  Hamet  and  nis  foUov/ers  galloped  into  the  g.iiM, 
This  reinforcement  animated  the  besieged,  and 
Hamet  exhorted  therr  to  hold  out  obstinately  in  d(. 
fence  of  life  and  town.  As  the  Gomeres  were  vet 
eran  warriors,  the  mere  they  were  attacktd  th,- 
aarder  they  fought. 

At  length,  a  great  breach  was  made  in  the  walls 
and  Ferdinand,  who  was  impatient  of  the  resistant 
of  the  place,  ordered  the  duke  of  Naxera  and  thr 
count  of  Benavente  to  enter  with  their  troops ;  and 
as  their  forces  were  not  sufficient,  he  sent  wor  I  ic 
Luis  de  Cerda,  duke  of  Medina  Culi,  to  send  ii  ^mh 
of  his  people  to  their  assistance. 

The  feudal  pride  of  the  duke  was  roused  at  thij 
demand.  "  Tell  my  lord  the  king,"  said  the  h:uii;hty 
gramlee,  "th.it  I  have  come  to  succor  him  with  try 
household  troops:  if  my  people  are  ordered  tn  an) 
pl.ice,  i  am  to  go  with  them  ;  but  if  I  am  to  rcni.in 
in  the  camp,  my  people  must  remain  with  me.  For 
the  trot)ps  cannot  serve  without  their  commaiuior 
nor  their  commander  without  his  troops." 

The  reply  of  the  high-spirited  grandee  perpl'-xw! 
the  cautious  Ferdinand,  who  knew  tlie  jealous  pnde 
of  his  powerful  nobles.  In  the  mean  time,  th',-  piu- 
ple  of  the  camp,  having  made  all  preparatiuns  for 
the  assault,  were  impatient  to  be  led  forward.  Upon 
this,  Pero  Ruyz  de  Alarcon  put  himself  at  titn 
head,  and,  seizing  their  mantas,  or  portable  hui- 
warks,  and  their  other  defences,  they  made  a  gall.uu 
assault,  and  fought  their  way  in  at  the  breach.  Tl  *. 
Moors  were  s»  overcome  by  the  fury  of  their  asF,auli, 
that  they  retreated  lighting  to  the  square  of  tht 
town.  Pero  Ruyz  de  Alarcon  thought  the  place 
was  carried,  when  suddenly  Hamet  and  his  Gonitres 
came  scouring  through  the  streets  with  wild  war- 
cries,  and  fell  furiously  upon  the  christians.  Tit 
latter  were  in  their  turn  beaten  back,  and,  wliii? 
attacked  in  front  by  the  Gomeres,  werr  assailtd  by 
the  irih.abitants  with  all  kinds  of  missiles  from  thnr 
roofs  and  windows.  They  at  length  gave  way,  and 
retreated  through  the  breach.  Hero  Ruyz  de  Al.n- 
con  still  maintained  his  groutid  in  one  of  the  [irn- 
cipal  streets — the  few  cav.aliers  that  stood  by  linn 
urged  him  to  fiy:  "No."  said  he;  "I  came  hen  to 
light,  and  not  to  fly."  He  was  presently  surrouinlid 
by  the  Gomeres;  his  companions  tied  for  their  livrs; 
the  last  they  saw  of  him,  he  was  covered  with 
wounds,  but  still  fighting  desperately  for  the  iiine 
of  a  good  cavalier.* 

The  resistance  of  the  inhabitants,  though  aidtd 
by  the  valor  of  the  Gomeres,  w.as  of  no  avail.  The 
battering  artillery  of  the  christians  demolished  thcit 
walls;  combustibles  were  thrown  into  their  tdwn, 
which  set  it  on  fire  in  various  places  ;  and  they  were 
at  length  compelled  to  capitulate.  They  were  p'^r- 
milled  to  depart  with  their  effects,  and  the  Goni-  rcj 
with  their  arms.  Hamet  el  Zegri  and  his  Aii  an 
band  sallied  forth,  and  rode  proudly  through  ;  t 
christian  camp;  nor  could  the  Spanish  tavaitr' 
refr.iin  from  regarding  with  admiration  ti.ii 
haughty  warrior  and  his  devoted  and  daunilta 
followers. 

The  capture  of  Coin  was  accompanied  by  thai 
of  Cartama:  the  fortifications  of  the  latter  were 
repaired  and  garrisoned ;  but  Coin,  bemg  too  ei- 
tensive  to  be  defended  by  a  motlcratc  force,  its 
walls  were  demolishetl.  Tnc  siege  of  these  places 
struck  such  terror    into  the  surrounding   country 


*  Pnlgu,  Oaribay,  Cura  de  lot  Ptiaciot 


'  Pulor,  put  3.  Ckp  4a>. 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA 


218 


that  the  Moors  of  many  of  the  neighboring  towns 
ib.-indoned  their  homes,  and  fled  with  such  of 
their  effects  as  they  could  carry  away ;  upon  which 
the  king  ga^  orders  to  demolish  their  walls  and 
tiwers 

King  Ferdinand  now  ted  his  camp  and  his  heavy 
trtilltry  near  Cartama,  and  proceeded  with  his 
ligliter  troops  to  reconnoitre  Malaga.  By  this  time, 
the  secret  plan  of  attack,  arranged  in  the  council  of 
par  at  Cordova,  was  known  to  all  the  world.  The 
ligi'.ant  warrior  El  Zagal  had  thrown  himself  into 
the  plac«; ;  he  had  put  all  the  fortifications,  which 
were  of  vast  strength,  into  a  state  of  defence ;  and 
had  sent  orders  to  the  alcaydes  of  the  mountain 
town,  to  hasten  with  their  forces  to  his  assistance. 

Tiie  very  day  that  Ferdinand  appeared  before  the 
place,  El  Zagal  sallied  forth  to  receive  him.  at  the 
head  of  a  thousand  cavalr)-,  the  choicest  warriors  of 
Grinada.  A  hot  skirmish  took  pl.^re  among  the  gar- 
dens and  olive-trees  near  the  city.  J4any  were  killed 
on  both  sides  ;  and  this  gave  the  christians  a  sharp 
foretaste  of  what  they  miyht  expect,  if  they  attempt- 
tii  to  besiege  the  place. 

When  the  skirmish  was  over,  the  marques  of  Ca- 
(Uj  h.id  a  private  conference  with  the  king.  He  rep- 
resented the  difficulty  of  besi-"  ng  Malaga  with  their 
picsfnt  force,  especially  .'is  ir  plans  h.id  been  dis- 
covered and  anticipated,  anil  the  whole  country  was 
marching  over  the  mountains  to  oppose  them.  The 
mar(|iies,  who  h.i<l  secret  intelligence  from  all  quar- 
ters, had  received  a  letter  from  Juceph  Xerife,  a 
Mdot  of  Ronda,  of  christian  lineage,  apprizing  him 
of  the  situation  of  that  import.int  place  and  its  gar- 
rison, which  at  that  moment  laid  it  open  to  attack ; 
ui(!  the  manjues  was  urgent  with  the  king  to  seize 
ipon  this  critical  moment,  and  secure  a  pl.ice  which 
:fas  one  of  the  most  powerful  Moorish  fortresses  on 
■  he  frontiers,  and  in  the  hands  of  Hamet  el  Zegri 
had  been  the  scourge  of  And.alusia.  The  good  mar- 
ques h.id  another  motive  for  his  advice,  becoming  of 
A  true  and  loyal  knight.  In  the  deep  dungeons  of 
Ronda  languished  several  of  his  companions  in  arms, 
who  had  been  captured  in  the  defeat  in  the  Axarqui.x 
To  break  their  chains,  and  restore  them  to  liberty 
and  light,  he  felt  to  be  his  p«CLili,ir  duty,  .is  one  of 
those  who  had  most  promoted  th.it  disastrous  en- 
terprise. 

King  Ferdinand  listened  to  the  advice  of  the  mar- 
ques. He  knew  the  importance  of  Ronda,  which 
was  considered  one  of  the  keys  to  the  kingdom  of 
Gran.ida  ;  and  he  was  disposed  to  punish  the  inhab- 
itants, for  the  aid  they  had  rendered  to  the  g.irrison 
of  Coin.  The  siege  of  Mal.iga,  therefore,  was  aban- 
doned for  the  present,  and  preparations  made  for  a 
rapid  and  secret  move  against  the  city  of  Ronda. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 
SIEGE  OF  RONDA. 


TliK  bold  Hamet  el  Zegri,  the  alcayde  of  Ronda, 
tad  returned  sullenly  to  his  strong-hold,  after  the 
surrender  of  Coin.  He  had  fleshed  his  sword  in 
battle  with  the  christians,  but  his  thirst  for  vengeance 
■vai  still  unsatisfied.  Hamet  gloried  in  the  strength 
of  his  fortress,  and  the  valor  of  his  people.  A  fierce 
and  warlike  popuLice  was  at  his  command  ;  his  sig- 
nal-fires could  summon  all  the  warriors  of  the  Ser- 
rania  ;  his  Gomeres  almost  subsisted  on  the  spoils  of 
Andalusia  and  in  the  rock  on  which  his  fortress  was 
buih,  were  hopeless  dungeons,  filed  witK  christian 
captives,  who  had  been  carried  off  by  these  war- 
hiwks  of  the  moiratains. 


Ronda  was  considered  as  impre^a.sle.  It  wai 
situated  in  the  heart  of  wild  and  rugged  mountains 
and  perched  upon  an  isolated  roc^,  crested  by  a 
strong  citadel,  with  triple  walls  and  towers.  A  deep 
riivine,  or  rather  a  perpendicular  chasm  of  the  rocks, 
of  frightful  depth,  surrounded  three  parts  of  the  city  • 
through  this  flowed  the  Rio  Verde,  or  Green  river 
There  were  two  suburbs  to  the  city,  fortified  by 
walls  and  towers,  and  almost  inaccessible,  from  the 
natural  asperity  of  the  rocks.  Around  this  rugged 
city  were  deep  rich  valleys,  sheltered  by  the  mount- 
ains, refreshed  by  constant  streams,  abounding  with 
grain  and  the  most  delicious  fruits,  and  yielding  ver- 
dant meadows,  in  which  was  reared  a  renowned 
breed  of  horses,  the  best  in  the  whole  kingdom  for  a 
foray. 

Hamet  el  Zegri  had  scarcely  returned  to  Ronda, 
when  he  received  intelligence  tnat  the  christian  army 
was  marching  to  the  siege  of  Malaga,  and  orders 
from  El  Zagal  to  send  troops  to  his  assistance. 
Hamet  sent  a  part  of  his  garrison  for  that  purpose  ; 
in  the  mean  time,  he  meditated  an  expedition  to 
which  he  w.is  stimulated  by  pride  and  revenge.  All 
Andalusia  w.if  now  drained  of  its  troops ;  there  w.is 
an  opportunity  therefore  for  an  inroad,  bv  which  he 
might  wipe  out  the  disgrace  of  his  defeat  at  the 
battle  of  Loper.i.  Apprehending  no  danger  to  his 
mountain  city,  now  that  the  storm  of  war  had  passed 
down  into  the  vega  of  Malaga,  he  left  but  a  remnant 
of  his  garrison  to  m.in  its  walls,  and  putting  himself 
at  the  head  of  his  band  of  Gomeres,  swept  down 
suddenly  into  the  plains  of  Andalusia.  He  careered, 
almost  without  resistance,  over  those  vast  campifiaa 
or  p-isture  lands,  which  formed  a  part  of  the  domains 
of  the  duke  of  Medina  .Sidoni.i.  In  vain  the  bell: 
were  nmg,  and  the  alarm-fires  kindled — the  band  of 
Hamet  had  passed  by,  before  any  force  could  be  as- 
sembled, and  was  only  to  be  traced,  like  a  hurricane, 
by  the  devastation  it  h.id  made. 

Hamet  regained  in  safety  the  Serrania  dc  Ronda, 
exulting  in  his  successful  inroad.  The  mountain 
glens  were  filled  with  long  droves  of  cattle  and  flocks 
of  sheep,  from  the  campifi.is  of  Medina  Sidonia. 
There  were  mules,  too,  laden  with  the  plunder  of 
the  villages ;  and  every  warrior  had  some  costly 
spoil  of  jewels,  for  his  favorite  mistress. 

As  the  Zegri  drew  near  to  Ronda,  he  was  roused 
from  his  dream  of  triumph  by  the  sound  of  hea\7 
ordnance  bellowing  through  the  mountain  defiles. 
His  heart  misgave  him — he  put  spurs  to  his  horse, 
and  galloped  in  .advance  of  his  lagging  cavalgada. 
As  he  proct-eded,  the  noise  of  the  ordnance  in- 
creased, echoing  from  cliff  to  cliff.  Spurring  his 
horse  up  a  craggy  height  which  commanded  an 
extensive  view,  he  beheld,  to  his  consternation,  the 
country  about  Ronda  white  with  the  tents  of  a 
besieging  army.  The  royal  standard,  displayed  be- 
fore a  proud  encampment,  showed  that  Ferdinand 
himself  was  present ;  while  the  incessant  blaze  and 
thunder  of  artillery,  and  the  volumes  of  overhang- 
ing smoke  told  the  work  of  destructicn  that  wai 
going  on. 

The  royal  army  had  succeeded  in  coming  upor 
Ronda  by  surprise,  during  the  .absence  of  its  alciydc 
and  most  of  its  garrison ;  hut  its  inhabitants  were 
warlike,  and  defended  themselves  bravely,  tmsting 
that  Hamet  and  his  Gomeres  would  soon  return  tc 
their  assistance. 

The  fancied  strength  of  their  bulwarks  h.id  been 
of  little  avail  against  the  batteries  of  the  besiegers. 
In  the  space  of  four  d.ivs.  three  towers,  and  great 
masses  of  the  walls  which  defended  the  suburbs, 
were  battered  down,  and  ihe  suburbs  taken  anc 
plundered.  Lombards  and  other  he.ivy  ordnanct 
were  now  levelled   at   the  walls   of  the  city,  and 


214 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


M 


it'i 


fJj 


ILi  -'v. 


'.  1 


Stones  and  cnissilM  of  all  kinds  hurled  into  the 
streets.  The  very  rocit  on  which  the  city  stood 
shoolt  with  the  tnunder  of  the  artillery;  and  the 
christian  captives,  deep  within  its  dungcuns,  hailed 
the  sound  as  the  promise  of  deliverance. 

When  Hamet  el  Zegri  beheld  his  city  thus  sur- 
rounded and  assailed,  he  called  upon  his  men  to  fol- 
low him,  and  make  a  dtsperate  attempt  to  cut  their 
way  through  to  its  relief.  They  proceeded  stealthily 
tiirough  the  mountains,  until  they  came  to  the  nearest 
hcivjhts  above  the  christian  camp.  When  night  fell, 
and  part  of  the  army  was  sunk  in  sleep,  they  de- 
tceiided  the  rocks,  and  rushing  suddenly  upon  the 
weakest  part  of  the  camp,  endeavored  to  break  their 
way  through  and  gain  the  city.  The  camp  was  too 
strong  to  be  forced ;  they  were  driven  back  to  the 
crags  of  the  mountains,  from  whence  they  defended 
themselves  by  showering  down  darts  and  stones 
upon  their  pursuers. 

Hamet  now  lit  alarm-fires  about  the  heights :  his 
standard  was  joined  by  the  neighboring  mountain- 
eers, and  by  troops  from  Malaga.  Thus  reinforced, 
he  made  r(;peatcu  assaults  upon  the  christians,  cut- 
ting off  all  stragglers  from  the  camp.  All  his  at- 
tempts, however,  to  force  his  way  into  the  city,  were 
fruitless  ;  many  of  his  bravest  men  were  slain,  and 
he  was  obliged  to  retreat  into  the  fastnesses  of  the 
mountains. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  distress  of  Ronda  was 
hourly  increasing.  The  marques  of  Cadiz,  h.-iving 
possession  of  the  suburbs,  was  enabled  to  approach 
to  the  very  foot  of  the  perpendicular  precipice  rising 
from  the  river,  on  the  summit  of  which  the  city  is 
built.  At  the  foot  of  this  rock  is  a  living  fountain  of 
limpid  water,  gushing  into  a  great  natural  basin.  A 
S!cret  mine  led  down  from  within  the  city  to  this 
fountain  by  several  htmdred  steps  cut  in  the  solid 
STOck.  From  hence  the  city  obtained  its  chief  supply 
of  water ;  and  these  steps  were  deeply  worn  by  the 
weary  feet  of  Christian  captives,  employed  in  this 
painful  labor.  The  marques  of  Cadiz  discovered 
this  subterranean  passage,  and  directed  his  ])ionecrs 
to  countermine  in  the  side  of  the  rock :  they  pierced 
to  the  shaft,  and,  stopping  it  up,  deprived  the  city 
of  the  benefit  of  this  precious  fount.ain. 

While  the  brave  marques  of  Cadiz  was  thus  press- 
mg  the  siege  with  zeal,  and  glowing  with  tlie  gener- 
ous thoughts  of  soon  delivering  his  companions  in 
arms  from  the  Moorish  dungeons,  far  other  were  the 
feelings  of  the  alcayde  Hamet  el  Zegri.  He  smote 
his  breast  an<l  gnashed  his  teeth  in  imjwtent  fury,  as 
he  beheld  from  the  mountain  cliffs  the  destruction  of 
the  city.  Every  thunder  of  the  christi.an  ordnance 
seemed  to  batter  against  his  heart.  He  saw  tower 
after  tower  tumbling  by  day,  and  at  night  the  city 
blazed  like  a  volcano.  "  They  fired  not  merely 
stones  from  their*  ordnance,"  says  a  chronicler  of 
the  times,  "  but  likewise  great  balls  of  iron,  cast  in 
moulds,  which  demolished  every  thing  they  struck." 
They  threw  also  balls  of  tow,  steeped  in  pitch  and 
oil  and  gunpowder,  which,  when  once  on  fire,  were 
not  to  be  extinguished,  and  which  set  the  houses  in 
flames.  Gre.at  was  the  horror  of  the  inhabitants : 
thoy  knew  not  where  to  fly  for  refuge  :  their  houses 
were  in  a  blaze,  or  shattered  by  the  ordnance ;  the 
rtirsts  were  perilous  from  the  falling  ruins  and  the 
bounding  balls,  which  dashed  to  pieces  every  thing 
ibty  encountered.  At  night,  the  city  looked  like  a 
fieiy  furnace  ;  the  cries  and  wailings  of  the  women 
were  heard  between  the  thunders  of  the  ordnance, 
and  reached  even  to  the  Moors  on  the  opposite 
mountains,  who  answered  them  by  yells  of  fury  and 
despair. 

AH  hope  of  external  succor  being  at  an  end,  the 
inhabitants  of  Ronda  were  compelled  to  cap'tulate. 


Ferdinand  was  easily  prevailed  upon  to  grant  then 
favorable  terms.  The  place  was  capable  of  longei 
issistance;  and  he  fe.ared  for  tlie  safety  of  his  cimp, 
as  the  forces  were  daily  augmenting  on  the  mouni. 
ains,  and  making  frequent  assaults.  The  inh .  bit  mu 
were  permitted  to  (fepart  with  their  effects,  e-.fiiei 
to  Barbary  or  elsewhere ;  and  those  who  chosr  to 
reside  in  Spain,  had  Lands  assigned  them,  and  vi  n^i 
indulged  in  the  practice  of  their  religion. 

No  sooner  did  the  place  surrender,  than  deta  h 
ments  were  sent  to  attack  the  Moors  who  hovi-reil 
about  the  neighboring  mountains.  H.amet  el  'I'-^u, 
however,  did  not  rem.ain  to  make  a  fruitless  hutle. 
He  gave  up  the  game  as  lost,  and  retreated  wiili  his 
Gomeres,  filled  with  grief  and  rage,  but  trustii  j;  to 
fortune  to  give  him  future  vengeance. 

The  first  care  of  the  gooti  marqups  of  Cad  7,  on 
entering  Ronda,  was  to  deliver  his  unfortunate  c  in- 
panions  in  arms  from  the  dungeons  of  the  fortr-ss. 
What  a  difference  in  their  looks  from  the  time  vs  lien, 
flushed  with  health  anrl  hope,  and  arrayed  in  mil '  irj 
pomp,  they  had  sallied  forth  upon  the  moimtain 
foray  I  Many  of  them  were  aliaost  naked,  with  irons 
at  their  ankles,  and  beards  reaching  to  their  w.iists. 
Their  meeting  with  the  marques  was  joyful ;  yet  it 
had  the  look  of  grief,  for  their  joy  w.as  mingle''  wiih 
many  bitter  recollections.  There  was  an  immense 
number  of  other  captives,  among  whom  were  sever- 
al young  men  of  noble  families,  who,  with  tlli.^l 
piety,  had  surrendered  themselves  prisoners  in  pi.ue 
of  their  fathers. 

The  captives  were  all  provided  with  mules,  and  sent 
to  the  queen  at  Cordova.  The  humane  heart  of  Isa- 
bella melted  at  the  sight  of  the  piteous  cavak\il». 
They  were  all  supplied  by  her  with  food  and  ni- 
ment,  and  money  to  pay  their  expenses  to  t'c,f 
homes.  Their  chains  were  hung  as  pious  trrpr:i« 
against  the  exterior  of  the  church  of  St.  Juan  dr  ioa 
Reyes,  in  Toledo,  where  the  christian  traveller  may 
regale  his  eyes  with  the  sight  of  them  at  this  very 
day. 

Among  the  Moorish  captives  was  a  jToung  ir'Mrl 
maiden,  of  great  l)eauty,  who  desired  to  become  a 
christian  and  to  rem.ain  in  .Spain.  She  had  been  i  i- 
spired  with  the  light  of  the  true  faith,  through  tht 
ministry  of  a  young  man  who  had  been  a  captive  in 
Ronda  He  was  anxious  to  complete  his  good  work 
by  marrying  her.  The  queen  consented  to  their 
pious  wishes,  having  first  taken  care  that  the  youug 
maiden  should  be  properly  purified  by  the  holy 
sacrament  of  baptism. 

"  Thus  this  pestilent  nest  of  warfare  an«'.  infidelity, 
the  city  of  Ronda,"  says  the  worthy  Fray  Antonio 
Agapicla,  "was  converted  to  the  tnie  faith  by  the 
thunder  of  our  artilleiy — an  example  which  was 
soon  followed  by  Casanbonela,  Alarbella,  and  other 
towns  in  these  parts,  insomuch  that  in  the  course  of 
this  expedition  no  less  than  seventy-two  places  were 
rescuea  from  the  vile  sect  of  Mahomet,  and  placed 
under  the  benignant  domination  of  the  cross.' 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


HOW  THE  PIOPLK  OF  GRANADA  INVIT«D  EI.  2A- 
GAL  TO  THE  THRONE,  AND  HOW  HE  llAKCiltO 
TO  THE  CAPITAL. 

THE  people  of  Granada  were  a  versatile,  unsteady 
race,  and  exceedingly  given  to  make  and  unm?A« 
kings.  They  had,  for  a  long  time,  vacillated  between 
old  Muley  Abcn  Hassan  and  his  son  Boabdil  el  Chico 
sometimes  setting  up  the  one,  scmetimes  the  other. 
and  sometimes  both  at  once,  according  to  the  winch 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


916 


tnd  pressure  of  eitemal  evils.  They  found,  how> 
(ver,  that  thv  evils  still  went  on  increasing,  in  defi- 
incr  of  every  change,  and  were  at  their  wits'  end  to 
devir.c  some  new  combination  or  arrangement,  by 
which  an  rfficient  government  might  i)e  wrougiit  out 
of  two  bad  kings.  When  the  tidings  arrived  of  the 
fell  of  Rond.i,  and  the  consequent  ruin  of  the  fron- 
tier, 1  tumultuous  assemblage  took  place  in  one  of 
the  public  squares  As  usual,  the  people  nttriliuted 
(hr  misfortunes  of  the  country  to  the  faults  of  their 
ulr-rs ;  for  the  populace  never  imagine  that  any  part 
of  thjir  miseries  can  originate  wiiii  themselves.  A 
trafiy  alfaqui,  namtd  Alyme  M.'izer,  who  had  watched 
ihf  current  of  their  discontents,  rose  and  harangued 
them :  "  You  have  been  choosing  and  changing," 
s.ii()  h(j,  "  between  two  monarchs — and  who  and 
what  are  they?  Muley  Aben  Hassan,  for  one;  a 
man  worn  out  by  age  and  intiimities,  unable  to  sally 
forth  against  the  foe,  even  when  ravaging  to  the  very 
gales  of  the  city : — and  Boabdil  el  Cliico,  for  the 
otiier ;  an  apostate,  a  traitor,  a  desert<T  from  his 
throne,  a  fugitive  among  the  enemies  of  his  nation,  a 
man  fated  to  misfortune,  and  proverbially  named 
'the  unlucky.'  In  a  time  of  overwhelming  war, 
like  the  present,  he  only  is  fit  to  sway  a  sceinre  who 
can  wield  a  sword.  Would  you  seek  such  a  man  ? 
You  need  not  look  far,  Allah  has  sent  such  a  one, 
in  this  time  of  distress,  to  retrieve  the  fortunes  of 
Granada.  You  already  know  whom  I  mean.  You 
linow  that  it  can  be  no  other  than  your  general,  the 
irvincible  Abdalla,  whose  surname  of  El  Zagal  has 
become  a  watch-word  in  battle,  rousing  the  courage 
of  the  faithful,  and  striking  terror  into  the  unbe- 
lievers." 

The  multitude  received  the  words  of  the  alfaqui 
with  acclamations ;  they  were  delighted  with  the 
kiea  of  a  third  king  over  Granada  ;  and  Abdalla  el 
Zaijal  being  of  the  royal  family,  and  already  in  the 
rirt'Kil  exercise  of  roy.il  power,  the  measure  had 
nothing  in  it  that  appeared  either  rash  or  violent.  A 
deputation  was  therefore  sent  to  £1  Zugal  at  Malaga, 
invitiiig  him  to  repair  to  Granada  to  receive  the 
crown. 

El  Zagal  expressed  great  surprise  and  repugnance, 
when  the  mission  was  announced  to  him  ;  and  noth- 
ing but  his  patriotic  zeal  for  the  public  safety,  and 
his  fraternal  eagerness  to  relieve  the  aged  Aben 
Hassan  from  the  cares  of  government,  prevailed  upon 
him  to  accept  the  offer.  Leaving,  therefore,  Rodovan 
Vanegas,  one  of  the  bravest  Moorish  generals,  in 
comm.ind  of  Malaga,  he  departed  for  (iranada,  at- 
tended by  three  hundred  trusty  cavaliers. 

Old  Muley  Aben  Hassan  did  not  wait  for  the  ar- 
rival of  his  broilier.  Unable  any  longer  to  buffet 
with  the  storms  ot  the  times,  his  only  solicitude  was 
to  seek  some  safe  and  quiet  harbor  of  repose.  In 
otii-  of  the  deep  v.illeys  which  indent  the  Mediter- 
ranean coast,  and  which  are  shut  up  on  the  l.ind 
liiie  by  stupendous  mountains,  stood  the  little  city 
cf  Almunecar.  I'he  valley  was  watered  by  the 
limpiil  river  1- rio.  and  abounded  with  fruits,  with 
era'.n  and  pasturage.  The  city  was  strongly  forti- 
fied, and  the  garrison  and  alcayde  were  devoted  to 
tliK  old  monarch.  This  was  tne  place  chosen  by 
Muk'v  Aben  Hassan  for  his  asylum.  His  first  care 
vas  to  send  thither  all  his  treasures ;  his  next  care 
WIS  to  take  refuge  there  liimself ;  his  third,  that  his 
iuitana  Zorayna,  and  their  two  sons,  should  follow 
him. 

In  the  mean  time,  Muley  Abdalla  el  Zagal  pursued 
his  journey  towards  the  capital,  attended  by  his 
three  hundred  cavaliers.  The  road  from  Malaga  to 
Grenada  win<ls  close  by  Alhama,  and  is  dominated 
by  that  lofty  fortress.  This  had  been  a  most  peril- 
ous pass  for  the  Moors,  during  the  time  that  Alnama 


was  commr.nded  by  the  count  de  Tendilla .  not  a 
traveller  could  escape  his  eagle  eye,  and  his  garrison 
was  ever  ready  for  a  sally.  The  count  de  'f  endilla, 
however,  had  been  relieved  from  this  arduous  post, 
and  it  h.ad  been  given  in  charge  to  Don  Gutieieile 
Padilla,  clavero,  pr  treasurer  of  the  order  of  Cala- 
trava ;  an  easy,  indulgent  n»an,  who  had  with  him 
three  hundred  gallant  knights  of  his  order,  beside* 
other  mercenary  troops.  The  garrison  had  fal..'<'n 
off  in  discipline ;  the  cavaliers  were  hardy  in  fighl 
and  daring  in  foray,  but  confident  in  themselves  and 
negligent  of  proper  precautions.  Just  before  the 
journey  of  El  Zagal.  a  number  of  these  cavaliers, 
with  several  soldiers  of  fortune  of  the  garrison,  in  all 
about  one  hundred  and  seventy  men,  had  sallied 
forth  to  harass  the  Moorish  country  during  its  pres- 
ent distracted  state,  and,  having  ravaged  the  val- 
leys of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  or  Snowy  Mountains, 
were  returning  to  Alhama  in  gay  spirits  and  laden 
with  booty. 

As  El  Zagal  passed  through  the  neip  iborhood  ol 
Alhama,  he  recollected  the  ancient  perils  of  the 
road,  and  sent  light  cerradors  in  advance,  to  inspect 
each  rock  and  ravine  where  a  foe  might  lurk  in  am- 
bush. One  of  these  scouts,  overlooking  a  narrow 
valley  which  opened  upon  the  road,  descried  a  troop 
of  horsemen  on  the  banks  of  a  little  stream.  They 
were  dismounted,  and  had  taken  ihe  bridles  from 
their  steeds,  that  they  might  crop  the  fresh  grass  on 
the  banks  of  the  river.  The  horsemen  were  scat- 
tered about,  some  reposing  in  the  shades  of  rocks 
and  trees,  others  gambling  for  the  spoil  they  had 
taken  :  not  a  sentinel  was  posted  to  keep  gi-.ard ; 
every  thing  showed  the  perfect  security  of  mm 
who  consider  themselves  beyond  the  reach  of  daa- 
ger. 

These  careless  cavaliers  were  in  fact  the  knigbti 
of  Calatrava,  with  a  part  of  their  companions  *n 
arms,  returning  from  their  foray.  A  part  of  theiJ 
force  had  passed  on  with  the  cavalgada  ;  ninety  cf 
the  principal  cavaliers  had  halted  to  refresh  them- 
selves in  tnis  valley.  El  Zagal  smiled  with  ferocious 
joy,  when  he  heard  of  their  negligent  security. 
"  Here  will  he  trophies,"  said  he,  "  to  grace  our  en- 
trance into  Granada." 

Approaching  the  valley  with  cautious  silence,, he 
wheeled  into  it  at  full  speed  at  the  head  of  his  troop, 
and  attacked  the  christians  so  suddenly  and  furiously, 
that  they  had  not  time  to  put  the  bridles  upon  their 
horses,  or  even  to  leap  into  the  saddles.  They  made 
a  confused  but  valiant  defence,  fighting  among  the 
rocks,  and  in  the  rugged  bed  of  the  river.  "Their 
defence  was  useless  ;  seventy-nine  were  slain,  and 
the  remaining  eleven  were  taken  prisoners. 

A  party  of  the  Moors  galloped  in  pursuit  of  the 
cavalgada  :  they  soon  overtook  it,  winding  slowly  up 
a  hill.  The  horsemen  who  conveyed  it.  perceiving 
the  enemy  at  a  distance,  made  their  escape,  and  left 
the  spoil  to  be  retaken  by  the  Moors.  El  Zagal 
gathered  together  his  captives  and  his  booty,  and 
proceeded,  elate  with  success,  to  Granada. 

He  paused  before  the  gate  of  Elvira,  for  as  yet  he 
had  not  been  proclaimed  king.  This  ceremony  W33 
immediately  performed  ;  for  the  fane  of  his  recent 
exploit  ha«l  preceded  him,  and  had  intoxicated  the 
minds  of  the  giddy  populace.  He  entered  Granaia 
in  a  sort  of  triumph.  The  eleven  captive  knights  of 
Calatrava  walked  in  front :  next  were  paraded  the 
ninety  captured  steeds,  bearing  the  armor  and  weap- 
ons of  their  late  owners,  and  led  by  as  many 
mounted  Moors :  then  came  seventy  Moorish  horse- 
men, with  as  many  christian  he.tds  hanging  at  theii 
saddle-bows :  Muley  Abdalla  el  Zagal  fr^Ilowed,  sur- 
rounded by  a  number  of  distinguished  cavaiicn 
splendidly  attired  :  and  the  pageant  was  closed  by  a 


i 


nb 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


long  cavalgrada  of  the  flocks  and  herds,  and  other 
booty,  recoveiea  from  the  christians.* 

Tl'ie  populace  gazed  with  almost  savage  triumph 
at  thfisc  captive  cavaliers  and  the  gory  heads  of  their 
companions,  knowing  them  to  have  been  part  of  the 
fo'miiiabic  garrison  of  Alhatna,  so  long  tne  scourge 
of  Granada  and  the  terror  of  the  vega.  They  hailed 
this  petty  triumph  as  an  auspicious  opening  of  the 
rc.gn  of  their  new  monarch ;  for  several  days,  the 
lomes  of  Muley  Aben  Hassan  and  Bqahdil  el  Chico 
vtrc.  never  mentioned  but  with  contempt,  and  the 
whole  city  resounded  with  the  praises  ot  El  Zagal, 
or  tic  valiant 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


HOW  THE  COUNT  DE  CABKA  ATTEMPTED  TO  CAP- 

TU^IR    ANOTHER   KING,  AND    HOW    HE    FARED 

IN  HIS  ATTEMPT. 

• 

The  elevation  of  a  bold  and  active  veteran  to  the 
throne  oi  Granada,  In  place  of  its  late  In-dridden 
king,  made  an  important  difference  in  the  aspect  of 
the  war,  and  called  for  some  blow  that  should  tlash 
the  contidtnce  of  the  Moors  in  their  new  monarch, 
and  animate  the  christians  to  fresh  exertions. 

Don  Diego  de  Cordova,  the  brave  count  de  Cabra, 
was  at  this  time  in  his  castle  of  Vaena,  wh^re  lie 
kept  a  wary  eye  upon  the  frontier.  It  was  now  the 
latter  part  of  August,  and  he  grieved  that  the  sum- 
mer should  p\ss  away  without  an  inroad  into  the 
countrj-  of  the  foe.  He  sent  out  his  scouts  on  the 
pnvvl,  and  they  brought  him  word  that  the  impor- 
tir.t  post  of  Moclin  was  but  weakly  garrisoned.  This 
was  a  istellated  town,  strongly  situated  upon  a  high 
twuntain,  partly  surrounded  by  thick  forests,  and 
p^irtly  girdled  by  a  river.  It  (lefended  one  of  the 
pjgged  and  solitary  passes,  by  which  the  christians 
were  wont  to  make  their  inroads  ;  insomuch  that  the 
Moors,  in  their  figurative  way,  denominated  it  the 
shield  of  Granada. 

The  count  de  Cabra  sent  word  to  the  monarchs 
of  the  feeble  state  of  the  garrison,  and  gave  it  as  his 
opinion,  that,  by  a  secret  and  rapid  expedition,  the 
place  might  be  surprised.  King  Ferdinand  asked 
the  advice  of  his  counsellors.  Some  cautioned  him 
against  the  sanguine  temperament  of  the  count,  and 
his  heedlessness  of  danger ;  Moclin,  they  observed, 
was  near  to  Granada,  and  might  be  promptly  rein- 
forced. The  opinion  of  the  count,  however,  pre- 
vailed; the  king  considering  him  almost  infallible,  in 
matters  of  border  warfare,  since  his  capture  of  Hoab- 
dil  ei  Chico. 

The  king  departed,  therefore,  from  Cordova,  and 
took  post  at  Alcala  la  Real,  for  the  purpose  of  being 
near  to  Moclin.  The  queen,  also,  proceeded  to 
Vaena,  accompanied  by  her  children,  prithee  Juan 
and  the  princess  Isabella,  and  her  great  counsellor 
tn  all  matters,  public  and  private,  spiritual  and  tem- 
poral, the  venerable  grand  cardinal  of  Spain. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  pride  and  satisfaction 
of  the  loyal  count  de  Cabra,  when  he  saw  this  stately 
train  winding  along  the  dreary  mountain  roads,  and 
^•ntering  the  g.ates  of  Vaena.  He  received  his  royal 
guests  with  all  due  ceremony,  and  lodged  them  in 
the  best  apartments  that  the  warrior  castle  afforded, 
being  ihe  same  that  had  formerly  been  occupied  by 
tlie  royal  cajitive  Boabdil. 

King  Ferdinand  had  concerted  a  w.ary  plan,  to  in- 
sure the  succ(.'ss  of  the  enterprise.     The  count  de 


■ZuriU,  lib,   90. 
40al«f  dt  Aragos. 


Sf     Mariaikat  Hiit.  de   Kspafia,    Abv«&, 


Cabra  and  Don  Martin  Alonzo  de  Montemavor  wen 
to  set  forth  with  their  troops,  so  as  to  reach  Moclin 
by  a  certain  hour,  and  to  intercept  all  who  should 
aitempt  to  enter,  or  shoidd  sally  from  the  town.  The 
Master  of  Calatrava,  the  troops  of  the  grand  canlinai 
commanded  by  the  count  of  Buendia,  and  the  forcei 
of  the  bishop  of  Jaen,  led  by  that  belligerent  prelate 
amounting  in  all  to  four  thousand  horse  and  six  thou^ 
sand  foot,  were  to  set  off  in  time  to  co-operav  with 
the  count  de  Cabra,  so  as  to  surround  th«  'own, 
The  king  was  to  follow  with  his  whole  fotce,  and 
encamp  before  the  pl.ice. 

And  here  the  worthy  padre  Fray  Antonio  Af^ipi^a 
breaks  forth  into  a  tnumphant  eulogy  of  thcpiom 
prelates,  who  thus  minglea  personally  in  thesi-  scrn«j 
of  warfare.  As  this  was  a  holy  crus.a(le  (s.ivs  Ik) 
undertaken  for  the  .advancement  of  the  faith  aivl  the 
glory  of  the  church,  so  was  it  always  counten  meed 
and  upheld  by  saintly  men  :  for  the  victories  nf  their 
most  Catholic  majesties  were  not  followed,  like  those 
of  mere  worldly  sovereigns,  by  erecting  castles  .ind 
towers,  and  appointing  alc.aydes  and  garrisons ;  but 
by  the  foimding  of  convents  and  cathedrals,  and  the 
establishment  of  wealthy  bishoprics.  VVherefor'-  their 
m.ijesties  were  alw.ays  surrounded,  in  court  01  cimn. 
in  the  cabinet  or  in  the  f  tld,  by  a  crowd  of  I'hostk' 
advisers,  inspiriting  them  to  the  prosecution  ot  this 
most  righteous  war.  Nay,  the  holy  men  of  the 
church  did  not  scruple,  at  times,  to  buckle  on  the 
cuirass  over  the  cassock,  to  exchange  the  crosier 
for  the  lance,  and  thus,  with  corporal  hands  nnd 
temporal  weapons,  to  fight  the  good  fight  of  the 
faith. 

But  to  return  from  this  rhapsody  of  the  worth) 
friar.  The  count  de  Cabra,  bemg  instructed  in  th: 
complicated  arrangements  of  the  king  nTir:hr.; 
forth  at  midnight  to  execute  them  punctually.  H; 
led  his  troops  by  the  little  river  that  winds  Iri'^v 
Vaena.  and  so  up  the  wild  defiles  of  the  mount.n  ns, 
marching  all  night,  and  stopping  only  in  the  h'-x. 
of  the  following  day,  to  repose  under  the  sh.idow) 
cliffs  of  a  deep  barr.anca,  calculating  to  arrive  r, 
Moclin  exactly  in  time  to  co-operate  with  the  nthit 
forces. 

The  troops  had  scarcely  stretched  themselves  on 
the  earth  to  take  re|)ose,  when  a  scout  arrival, 
bringing  word  that  El  Zagal  had  suddenly  sallied 
out  of  Granada  with  a  strong  force,  and  h.id  er 
catnped  in  the  vicinity  of  Moclin.  It  w.as  plain  that 
the  w.ary  Moor  had  received  infonn.ation  of  the  n 
tended  attack.  This,  however,  was  not  the  idei 
that  presented  itself  to  the  mind  of  the  count  1!^ 
Cabra.  He  had  captured  one  king — here  was  ,1  f.iii 
opportunity  to  secure  another.  VVhat  a  triuniph,  to 
lodge  another  captive  monarch  in  his  castle  of 
Vaena  ! — what  a  prisoner  to  deliver  into  the  hands 
of  his  roy.al  mistress !  '  Fired  with  the  thoughts,  the 
good  count  forgot  all  the  arrangements  of  the  king ; 
or  rather,  blinded  by  former  success,  he  trust- (! 
every  thing  to  courage  and  fortune,  and  tlio'.:^hi 
that,  hy  one  bold  swoop,  he  might  again  I)ear  otl  the 
royal  prize,  and  wear  his  laurels  without  conif  ti 
tion.*  His  only  fear  w.as  that  the  Mastei  af  C^l  ■ 
trava,  and  the  l)elligerent  bishop,  might  come  up  iu 
time  to  share  the  glory  of  the  victory  ;  so,  ori.Jr.rins 
every  one  to  horse,  this  hot-spirited  cavalier  pushed 
on  for  Moclin,  without  allowing  his  troops  the 
necessary  time  for  rejiose. 

The  evening  closed,  as  the  count  arrived  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Moclin.  It  was  the  full  of  the 
moon,  and  a  bright  and  cloudless  night.  The  connl 
was  marching  through  one  of  those  deep  valleys  oi 
ravines,  worn  in  the  Spanish  mountains  by  tht  bnd 

*  Muiaaa,  lib.  aj.  c.  17.    Aka/ca,  ZuriU,  Cc 


*  Zuriia,  lib.  *i 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


IIT 


out  tremendous  torrents  which  prevail  during  the 
lutiiiiinal  rains.  It  was  walled  on  each  side  by  lolty 
;incl  limost  perpendicular  cliflii,  but  great  m.isseii  of 
mooiiii^ht  were  thrown  into  the  liottom  of  the  glen, 
giit'.ering  on  the  armor  of  the  shining  scjuadrons,  as 
l^iey  silently  passed  throuj^h  it.  Suddenly  the  war- 
cry  ol  the  Moors  rose  in  various  parts  of  the  valley; 
'•  El  Zagal !  El  Zagal !  "  was  sliouted  from  every 
tiiif,  nccompanii-d  by  showers  of  missiles,  that  struck 
Hrwn  several  of  the  christian  warriors.  '1  he  count 
lilted  up  his  eyes,  and  behehl,  by  the  light  of  the 
moon,  every  clifT  glistening  with  Moorish  soldiery. 
Ihr  cieadly  shower  fell  thickly  round  hini,  and  the 
shiiiiM),'  armor  of  his  tollowers  made  them  fair  ob- 
jects I'lr  the  aim  of  the  enemy.  The  count  saw  his 
brother  ( '.on/alo  struck  deail  by  his  side ;  his  own 
horse  sunk  under  him,  pierced  by  four  Moorish 
lances;  and  he  received  a  wounil  in  the  hand  from 
an  ar(juibuss.  He  remembered  the  horrible  ma.ss;i- 
cre  111  the  mountains  of  Malaga,  and  fearetl  a  similar 
calastmiihe.  Thtrre  was  no  time  to  pause.  His 
broihi-r's  horse,  freed  from  his  slaughtered  rider, 
.  was  running  at  large ;  seizing  the  reins,  he  sjirang 
into  the  saifdie,  called  upon  his  men  to  follow  him, 
ind,  wheeling  round,  retreated  out  of  the  fatal 
wiiey. 

Tlio  Moois,  rushing  down  from  the  heights,  pur- 
jucd  the  retreating  christians.  The  chase  endured 
for  ;i  league,  but  it  was  a  league  of  rough  and  broken 
ro.td,  where  the  christians  had  to  turn  and  tight  at 
almost  every  step.  In  these  short  but  fierce  com- 
ti.its,  the  enemy  lost  many  cavaliers  of  note  ;  but  the 
loss  of  the  christians  was  inhnitely  more  grievous, 
comprising  numbers  ot  the  noblest  warriors  of  Vaena 
and  Its  vicinity.  Many  of  the  christians,  disabled  by 
wounds  or  exhausted  by  fatigue,  turned  aside  and 
ende.ivored  to  conceal  them.sefves  among  rocks  and 
thickets,  but  never  more  rejoined  their  companions, 
l;emg  slain  or  captured  by  the  Moors,  or  perishing 
3  thtir  wretched  retreats. 

The  arrival  of  the  troops  led  by  the  Master  of 
"liitrava  and  the  bishop  of  Jaen,  put  an  end  to  the 
uui.  fcll  Zagat  contented  himself  with  the  laurels 
li»  had  gained,  and,  ordering  the  trumpets  to  call  off 
h's  men  from  the  pursuit,  returned  in  great  triumph 
to  Moclin,* 

Queen  Isabella  was  at  Vaena,  awaiting  with  great 
an.<icty  the  result  of  the  expedition.  She  was  in  a 
stately  apartment  of  the  castle,  looking  tow.irds  the 
road  th.u  winds  through  the  mountains  from  .Moclin, 
and  regarding  the  watch-towers  that  crowned  the 
neighboring  heights,  in  hopes  of  favorable  signals. 
The  prince  and  princess,  her  children,  were  with 
her,  and  her  venerable  counsellor,  the  grand  cardin.al. 
All  shared  in  the  anxiety  of  the  moment.  At  length 
couriers  were  seen  riding  towards  the  town.  They 
entcied  its  gates,  but  before  they  reached  the  castle, 
the  nature  of  their  tidings  was  known  to  the  queen, 
by  the  shrieks  and  wailings  that  rose  from  the  streets 
below.  The  messengers  were  soon  followed  by 
wounded  fugitives,  h.astening  home  to  be  relieved,  or 
to  die  among  their  friends  and  families.  The  whole 
town  resounded  with  lamentations ;  for  it  had  lost 
the  tlower  of  its  youth,  and  its  bravest  warriors. 
Isa!)ella  was  a  woman  of  courageous  soul,  but  her 
(cetin^  were  overpowered  by  the  spectacle  of  wo 
"iiicli  presented  itself  on  every  side ;  her  maternal 
aiu!l  mourned  over  the  death  of  so  many  loyal  sub- 
jects, who  so  shortly  before  had  rallied  round  her 
with  devoted  affection ;  and,  losing  her  usual  self- 
co!i!nKn)d,  she  sunk  info  deep  despondency. 

in  this  gloomy  slate  of  mind,  a  thousand  appre- 
hensions crowded  upon  her.     She  dreaded  the  confi- 


*  Zuiiu,  lib.  w,  c.  4.    Fulitai,  Crsoica. 


dence  which  this  luccess  would  impart  to  the  Moora 
she  feared  also  for  the  important  fortress  of  Alhama, 
the  garri-son  of  which  had  not  been  reinforced,  sinca 
its  h>raging  party  had  been  cut  off  by  this  samie  El 
Zagal.  On  every  side  the  queen  saw  danger  and 
disaster,  .-ind  feared  that  a  general  reverse  was  about 
to  attend  the  Castilian  arms. 

The  grand  cardinal  comforted  her  with  bctb 
spiritual  and  worldly  counsel.  He  tolri  her  to  recol 
lect  that  no  country  w.is  ever  conquered  without  oc« 
casional  reverses  to  the  concjuerors  ;  that  the  Moots 
were  a  warlike  ]ieople,  fortified  in  a  rough  and 
moimtainous  country,  where  they  never  could  be 
conquered  by  her  ancestors, — .'in<l  that  in  fact  hei 
armies  had  .already,  in  three  years,  taken  more  cities 
than  those  of  any  of  her  prerlecessors  had  been  able 
to  do  in  twelve.  He  concluded  by  offering  himself 
to  take  the  field,  with  three  thousand  cavalry,  his 
own  retainers,  paid  and  maint.-iined  by  himself,  and 
either  h.isten  to  the  relief  of  Alhama,  or  undortake 
any  other  expedition  her  m.ajesty  might  comiiiand. 
The  discreet  words  of  the  cardinal  soothed  the  •jpirit 
of  the  <|ueen,  who  always  looked  to  him  for  con.soLa- 
tion  ;  and  she  soon  recovered  her  usual  ecjuanimity. 

Some  of  the  counsellors  of  Isabella,  of  tnat  politic 
class  who  seek  to  rise  by  the  faults  ol  others,  were 
loud  in  their  censures  of  the  r.ashiH'ss  of  the  count. 
The  queen  defended  him,  with  prompt  generosity, 
"  The  enterprise,"  said  she,  "  was  rash,  but  not  more 
rash  than  that  of  Liicena,  which  w^s  1  rcjwned  with 
success,  and  which  we  have  all  applauded  as  the 
height  of  heroism.  H.ad  the  count  de  Cabra  suc- 
ceeded in  capturing  the  uncle,  as  he  did  the  nephew, 
who  is  there  that  would  not  have  praised  him  to  the 
skies  ?  " 

The  m.agnanimous  words  of  the  queen  put  a  stojf 
to  all  invidious  remarks  in  her  presence;  but  certain 
of  the  courtiers,  who  had  envied  the  count  the  glory 
gained  by  his  former  achievements,  continued  to 
magnify,  among  themselves,  his  present  imprudence, 
and  we  are  told  by  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  that  they 
snceringly  gave  the  worthy  cavalier  the  appellation 
of  count  de  Cabra,  the  king-catcher. 

Ferdin.and  had  reached  the  place  on  the  frontier 
called  the  Fountain  of  the  King,  within  three  leagues 
of  Moclin,  when  he  heard  of  the  late  disaster.  He 
greatly  lamented  the  precipitation  of  the  count,  but 
forbore  to  express  himself  with  severity,  for  he  knew 
the  value  of  that  loyal  and  valiant  cavalier.*  He 
held  a  council  of  war,  to  det»Tmine  what  course  was 
to  be  pursued.  Some  of  his  cavaliers  advised  him 
to  abandon  tfie  attempt  upon  Moclin,  the  pl.ace  be- 
ing strongly  reinforced,  and  the  enemy  inspirited  by 
his  recent  victory.  Certain  old  Spanish  hidalgos 
reminded  him  that  he  had  but  few  Castilian  troops 
in  his  army,  without  which  staunch  soldiery  his  pre- 
decessors never  presumed  to  enter  the  Moorish  terri- 
tory; while  others  remonstrated  that  it  would  be 
beneath  the  dignity  of  a  king  to  retire  from  an  enter- 
prise, on  account  of  the  defeat  of  a  single  cavalier 
and  his  retainers.  In  this  w,iy  the  king  W3S  dis- 
tracted by  a  multitude  of  counsellors,  when  fortu- 
nately a  letter  from  the  queen  put  an  end  to  his  per- 
plexities. Proceed  we,  in  the  next  cl  .<pler,  to  matt 
what  was  the  purport  of  that  letter. 


CHAPTER  XXXII!. 


EXPEDITION   AGAINST  THE    CASTLKS    OF  CAIIBIL 
AND  ALBAHAR. 

"Happv  are  those  princes,"  exclaims  the  worthy 
padre  Fray  .Antonio  Agapida,  "who  have  wome* 

*  Abarra,  Ana!*  da  Aiacon. 


118 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING 


m 


^■l 


tnd  prints  to  advlBe  thetn,  for  in  thcM  dwrlleth  the 
spirit  of  counsel.  While  Ferdinand  and  his  captains 
were  confounding  each  other  in  their  deliberations 
at  the  Fountain  of  the  Kln^;,  a  quiet  but  deep  little 
council  of  war  was  h«M  in  the  state  aiMrtnient  of 
the  old  casHe  of  Vaena,  between  queen  Isabella,  (he 
venerable  Pedro  Gon/alni  de  Mendoza,  grand  car- 
dinal of  Spain,  and  Don  (larcia  Osorio,  the  belliger- 
ent bishop  of  Jaen.  This  last  worthy  prelate,  who 
had  exchanged  his  mitre  for  a  helm,  no  sooner  brheld 
the  defeat  of  the  enterprise  against  Moclin,  than  he 
turned  the  reins  of  his  slcelc,  stall-fed  steed,  and 
hastened  back  to  Vacua,  full  of  a  project  for  the  ein- 
plovinent  of  the  anny,  the  advancement  of  the  faith, 
ana  the  benefit  of  his  own  diocese.  He  knew  that 
the  actions  of  the  king  were  intluenced  by  the  opin- 
ions of  the  queen,  and  that  the  queen  always  inclined 
a  listening  ear  to  the  counsels  of  saintly  men  :  he  laid 
his  plans,  therefore,  with  the  customary  wisdom  of 
his  cloth,  to  turn  the  ideas  of  the  queen  into  the 
proper  channel;  and  this  was  the  purport  of  the 
worthy  bishop's  suggestions. 

The  bishopric  ol  Jaen  h-id  for  a  long  time  been 
harassed  by  two  Moorish  castles,  the  scourge  and 
terror  of  all  that  part  of  the  country.  They  were 
situated  on  the  frontiers  of  the  kingdom  of  Ciranada, 
about  four  leagues  from  Jaen,  in  a  deep,  narrow, 
and  rugged  valley,  surri)unde<l  by  lofty  mountains. 
Througli  this  valley  runs  the  Rio  Frio,  (or  Cold 
river,)  in  a  deep  channel,  worn  l)etween  hipfh  pre- 
cipitous banks.  On  each  side  of  the  stream  rise  two 
vast  rocks,  nearly  perpendicular,  within  a  stone's- 
ihrow  of  each  otner ;  blocking  up  the  gorge  of  the 
valley.  On  the  summits  of  these  rocks  stood  the  two 
formidable  castles,  Cambil  and  Albahar,  fortified  with 
battlements  and  towers  of  great  height  and  thickness. 
They  were  connected  together  by  a  bridge  thrown 
from  rock  to  rock  across  tne  river.  The  road,  which 
(tassed  through  the  valley,  traversed  this  bridge,  and 
was  completely  commanded  by  these  castles.  They 
stood  like  two  giants  of  romance,  guarding  the  pass, 
and  dominating  the  valley. 

The  kings  of  Granada,  knowing  the  import.ince 
of  these  castles,  kept  them  always  well  garrisoned, 
and  victualled  to  stand  a  siege,  with  fleet  steeds  and 
hard  riders,  to  forage  the  country  of  the  christians. 
The  warlike  race  of  the  Abencerrages,  the  troops 
of  the  royrA  household,  and  others  of  the  choicest 
chivalry  of  Granada,  made  them  t'heir  strong-holds, 
or  posts  of  amis,  from  whence  to  sally  forth  on  those 
predator)'  and  roving  entfq)rises  which  were  the 
delight  of  the  Moorish  cavaliers.  As  the  we.ilthy 
bishopric  of  Jaen  lay  immediately  at  hand,  it  suffered 
more  peculiarly  from  these  marauders.  They  drove 
off  the  fat  beeves  and  the  flocks  of  sheep  from  the 
pastures,  and  swept  the  laborers  from  the  field  ;  they 
scoured  the  country  to  the  very  gates  of  Jaen.  so 
that  the  citizens  could  not  venture  from  their  wiills, 
without  the  risk  of  lieing  borne  off  captive  to  the 
dungeons  of  these  castles. 

The  worthy  bishop,  like  a  good  pastor,  beheld  with 
grief  of  heart  his  fat  bishopric  daily  waxing  leaner 
and  leaner,  and  poorer  and  poorer ;  and  his  nol^  ire 
was  kindled  at  the  thoughts  that  the  possessions  of 
the  church  should  thus  be  at  the  mercy  of  a  crew  of 
infidels.  It  was  the  urgent  counsel  of  the  bishop, 
therefore,  that  the  military  force,  thus  providentially 
{issembled  in  the  neighborhood,  since  it  was  appar- 
ently foiled  in  its  attempt  upon  Moclin,  shouM  be 
turned  against  these  insolent  castles,  and  the  country 
delivered  from  their  domination.  The  grand  canliiial 
supported  the  suggestion  of  the  bishop,  and  declared 
that  he  had  long  meditated  the  policy  of  a  measure 
of  the  kind.  Tncir  united  opinions  found  favor  vrith 
'be  queen,  and  she  di:ipatched  a  letter  on  the  subject 


to  the  king.  It  came  Jnst  In  time  le  relierr  Mn 
from  the  'hstraction  of  a  multitude  of  counsfil'in 
and  he  immediately  undertook  the  reduction  of  thoM 
castles. 

The  marques  of  Cadiz  was  accordingly  sent  in  ad 
vance.  with  two  thousand  horse,  to  keep  i\  watob 
upon  the  garrisons,  ar.d  prevent  all  entrance  or  ?» t, 
until  the  king  should  arrive  with  the  main  unny  and 
the  battering  artillery.  The  queen,  to  be  nnr  ».; 
hand  in  case  of  need,  inoved  her  quarters  to  thf  citj 
of  Jaen,  where  she  was  received  with  martial  luinnri 
by  ,the  belligerent  bishop,  who  had  buckled  on  his 
cuirass  and  girded  on  his  sword,  to  fight  !n  the  <  huk 
of  his  diocese. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  marques  of  Cadiz  arrived  in 
the  valley,  and  completely  shut  up  the  Moors  within 
their  walls.  The  c.istles  were  under  the  cominind 
of  Mahomet  Lentin  Ben  Usef,  an  Abencerrage,  ami 
one  of  the  bravest  cavaliers  of  Granada.  In  his  y,Mr> 
risons  were  many  troops  of  the  fierce  African  tribe 
of  Gomeres.  Mahomet  Lentin,  confident  in  the 
strength  of  his  fortresses,  smiled  as  he  looked  down 
from  his  battlements  upon  the  christian  cavalry,  [ler- 
plexed  in  the  rough  and  narrow  valley.  He  sent 
forth  skirmishing  parties  to  harass  them,  and  there 
were  many  sharp  combats  between  small  panies  and 
single  knights ;  but  the  Moors  were  driven  back  to 
their  castles,  and  all  attempts  to  send  intellii^rnce  of 
their  situation  to  Granada,  were  frustrateil  by  the 
vigilance  of  the  marques  of  Cadiz. 

At  length  the  legions  of  the  royal  army  came  pour- 
ing, with  v.aunting  trumpet  anu  fluttering  banner, 
along  the  defiles  of  the  mountains.  They  halted  be- 
fore the  castles,  but  the  king  could  not  find  ronm  in 
the  narrow  and  rugged  valley  to  form  his  camp :  lie 
had  to  divide  it  into  three  parts,  which  were  poT'r) 
on  different  heights ;  and  his  tents  whitened  the  swit: 
of  the  neighlwring  hills.  When  the  encampi  "cnt  wns 
formed,  the  army  remained  gazing  idly  at  the castlis. 
The  artillery  w.is  upwards  of  four  le.agues  in  the  rc.u, 
and  without  artillery  all  attack  would  be  in  vain. 

The  alcayde  Mahomet  Lentin  knew  the  nature  ot 
the  roail  by  which  the  artillery  had  to  be  brou^^it. 
It  was  merely  a  narrow  and  rugged  path,  at  tnnri 
scaling  almost  |K'rpendiciilar  cr.ags  and  precipiirs, 
up  which  it  was  utterly  impossible  for  wheel  car- 
riages to  pass  ;  neither  was  it  in  the  power  of  man  or 
beast  to  draw  up  the  lombards,  and  other  [>onderuus 
ordnance.  Me  felt  assured,  therefore,  th.at  they  luvet 
could  be  brought  to  the  camp;  and,  without  their 
aid,  wh.it  coulathe  christians  effect  against  his  rock- 
built  castles?  HescotTedatthem,  therefore,  as  hts.iw 
their  tents  by  dav  and  their  fires  by  night  coveruiR 
the  surrounding  heights.  "  Let  them  linger  Id  re  :> 
little  while  longer,"  said  he,  "and  the  autumnal  tor- 
rents will  wash  them  from  the  mountains." 

While  the  alcayde  was  thus  closely  mewed  up 
within  his  walls,  and  the  christians  remained  inactive 
in  their  camp,  he  noticed,  one  calm  autninnal  (l.ty, 
the  sound  of  implements  of  labor  echoing  among  t  he 
mount.ains,  and  now  and  then  the  crash  of  a  lallin),' 
tree,  or  a  thundering  report,  as  if  some  rock  hai' 
been  heaved  from  its  bed  and  hurled  into  the  vali*y 
The  alcayde  was  on  the  battlements  of  his  t.^'ile, 
surrounded  by  his  knights.  "  Methinks,"  s;  id  he, 
"  these  christians  are  making  war  upon  the  rocki 
and  trees  of  the  mountains,  since  they  nnd  our  cuilci 
unassailable." 

The  sounds  did  not  cease  even  during  the  night : 
every  now  and  then,  the  Moorish  sentinel,  as  he 
paced  the  battlements,  heard  some  crash  echoing 
among  the  heights,  The  return  of  day  explained  the 
mystery.  Scarcely  did  the  sun  shine  against  the 
summits  of  the  mountains,  than  shouts  burst  from  the 
cliffs  opposite  to  the  castles,  and  were  answered 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


Ill 


Ifon  ^^  cunp,  with  joyftil  kcund  of^  kettle-drumi 
1^  trufnpeti. 

I  The  ,'istoni»hed  Moors  lifted  up  their  eyes,  and 
Ibehelil.  '^"^  ■'  were,  a  lorrent  of  war  l>r«*iilcin|{  out  of 

II  narw*  dffile.  There  wa«  a  nuilmude  of  men, 
Ifilh  pick.uet,  spades,  and  bars  of  iron,  clearing 
liway  every  obstr.cic  ;  while  hehiiul  thrnn  slowly 
Inovrd  tlong  8^''*^»l  teams  of  oxen,  dracKin^  heavy 
Id'iiniiit^c,  and  all  the  rniinitioni  uf  luittcriiiu;  artillery. 
I  iiyVhat  cannot  women  and  priests  effect,  when 
I  w  unite  in  council  ?"  exclaims  again  the  worthy 
JAnlonio  At^apida.  The  queen  had  held  another  con- 
l|ullatii>n  with  the  grand  cardin.d  and  the  lielliL'erent 
IbiiHop  of  Jaen.  It  was  clear  that  the  heavy  oninance 
Icoulil  never  be  conveyed  to  the  camp  by  the  regular 
l-Qjilof  the  country;  and  without  battering  .irtillery, 
Igotliing  could  Iw  effected.  It  was  suggested,  how- 
le'Cr,  l>y  die  zciilous  bishop,  th.it  another  ro.id  might 
■Ik  opened,  through  a  more  practicable  part  of  the 
linount.ii'i«'  It  would  be  an  undertaking  extravagant 
lind  chimerical,  with  ordin.iry  means ;  and,  therulore, 
Ignlookeil  for  by  the  enemy ;  but  what  could  not 
Ikings  etfect,  who  had  treasures  and  armies  at  com- 
Inand  ? 

The  project  struck  the  enterprising  spirit  of  the 
louetn.  Six  thousand  men,  with  pickaxes,  crowbars, 
lind  every  other  necess.»ry  implement,  were  s**'.  to 
Ifoik  il.iy  and  night,  to  break  a  ro.ul  through  the 
Imy  centre  of  the  mountains.  No  time  WP3  to  b" 
llost,  for  It  W.-IS  rumored  th.it  El  Zagal  was  about  to 
Imarch  with  a  mighty  host  to  the  relief  of  the  castlus. 
Ijhe  bustling  bishop  of  Jaen  acted  as  pioneer,  to 
Igiark  the  route  an<I  sup«rintend  the  laborers  ;  and 
Ijiie  grand  cardinal  took  care  that  the  work  should 
lltvcr  languish  through  lack  of  means.* 

"When  kings'  treasures,"  says  Fray  Antonio  Aga- 
"are  dispensed  by  priestiv  hands,  there  is  im; 
■ilint,  as  the  glorious  annals  of  .Spain  l)ear  v,it»>c>s," 
lUnder  the  guidance  of  these  ghostly  men,  it  •.  -iincd 

III  if  mir.icles  were  effected.  Almost  an  entire  moiii  i- 
■lin  was  levelled,  valleys  filled  up,  trees  hewn  vlown, 
|tD:ks  broken  and  overtunied  ;  m  short,  all  the  ob- 
Ijtiicles  which  nature  had  heaped  around,  entire!/ 
lind  promplly  vanished.  In  little  more  than  twelve 
■days,  this  gigantic  work  w.is  elfecti.'d,  and  the  ord- 
inance (Ir.igged  to  the  camp,  to  the  great  triumph  of 

ihe  christians  and  confusion  of  the  Moors.f 

.No  sooner  was  the  heavy  artillery  arrived,  than  it 
Iwas  mounted,  in  all  haste,  upon  the  neighboring 
Iheights ;  Francisco  Kamirez  dc  Madrid,  the  first  en- 
'fineeriii  .Spain,  superintended  the  batteries,  and  soon 
Epened  a  destructive  fire  upon  the  castles. 

When  the  v.iliant  alcayde,  Mahomet  Lentin,  found 
liis  towers  tumbling  about  hirT\  and  his  bravest  men 
Jda-sh-.d  from  the  walls,  without  the  power  of  intlict- 
|ing  a  wound  upon  the  foe,  his  haughty  spirit  w  i5 
jfaily  ex.isperated.  "Of  what  av.aiT,"  said  he.  bit- 
herly,  "  is  all  the  prowess  of  knighthood  againsi  these 
■owardiy  engjncs,  that  munlcr  from  afar.  ' 

For  A  whole  day,  a  tremendous  fire  kept  thunder- 
ing upon  the  castle  of  Albahar.    The  lombards  dis- 
Jriur),'c(l  large  stones,  which  demcilished  two  o*"  ih-.' 
Ilcwers,  and  all  the  battlements  which  g^i:!  lied  '.h.; 
cital.    If  any  Moors  attempted  to  dt-en'.    he  walls 
repair  the  breaches,  they  were  fho'  u  iwn  by  li- 
frad3(|uines,  and  other  small  nio.es  of  iirtillery.   The 
pristian  soldit'/y  issued  fort.i  from  the  camp,  under 
p,*r  of  this   fire,   arxl,   approaching   the  castles, 
pch.trgei".  tlif  fits  cl  arrows  and  stones  through  the 
ifiritigs  made  by  the  ordnance. 
At  length,  to  bring  the  siege  to  a  conclusion.  Fran- 
|qsco  llamirci  elevated  some  of  the  heaviest  artillery 

*2uriu.  Aiule*  de  %i*gua,  lib.  ao,  c.  tt*.   Pulcar,  pnrt  3,  cay.  ji. 
M4«m. 


on  ■  mount  th«t  roie  In  form  of  k  cone  or  pyramid, 
on  the  side  of  the  river  near  to  Alb.-thar,  and  com- 
manded buih  castles.  This  was  an  operation  uf  great 
■kill  and  excessive  labor,  but  it  was  repaid  by  com- 
plete success;  for  the  Moors  did  not  dare  to  wait 
until  this  terrible  battery  should  discharge  Its  fury. 
Satisfied  that  all  further  resistance  was  vain,  lh« 
valiant  alcayde  made  signil  for  a  parley.  The 
articles  of  capitulation  were  soon  arranged.  The 
alcayde  and  his  garrisons  were  pi-rmitted  to  rctuin 
in  safety  to  the  city  of  Granada,  and  the  castles  wrre 
delivered  into  the  possession  of  king  Ferdinand,  on 
the  day  of  the  festival  of  St.  Matthew,  in  the  month 
of  September.  They  w»re  immediately  repaired, 
strongly  garrisoned,  and  delivered  in  charge  to  the 
city  of  Jaen. 

The  effects  of  this  triumph  were  immediately  ap- 
parent. Quiet  and  security  once  more  settled  u|x>n 
the  bishopric.  The  husfandmen  tilled  their  fields  in 
peace,  the  herds  and  Hocks  fattened  unmolested  in 
the  pastures,  and  the  vineyards  yielded  corpulent 
skinsful  of  rosy  wine.  The  gooil  bishop  enjoyed,  in 
the  gratitude  of  his  people,  the  approbation  of  his 
conscience,  the  incre.ose  of  h>s  revenues,  and  the 
abundance  of  hh  table,  a  reward  for  ull  his  toils  and 
perils  "This  glorious  victory,"  ("xclaims  Fray  An- 
tonii  Aga))ida.  "achined  by  such  extraordinary 
man;i:7'*iiient  tv,  iJitin;«  bbor,  is  a  shining^  example 
,  jf  whr.i  ••  l),>,h.  p  cm  :•'<•<•,  for  the  promotion  of  the 
l.ii*.ti  anu  tlw-  go?*!  at  ins  diocese." 


HIAFTER    XXXIV. 
j  KK  vj;ri'IUS£   of    VHE    K'.ivJHr:'  or   C.Vt.ATJti.TA 

i  AOAL-'S:    IAIS.A, 

W'.'M?,  thes»  cv':ni5  wtte  ^il.Inff  .•iicc  on  the 
northern  frcn'-.c.r  of  tbn  ic'ujfdoiii  1  r.rar,ad«i,  t)* 
iiUlwrt.im  I  rt.'ss  rf  AIii.txi  •.'.■.:';  ;\*gieoted,  and 
Its  :\'mpii.'dir  l.on  fiv't.f.rc  'h  Pft.'.'.i.o, ':l;;rrro  of 
Calatrav?,  rei'.v[;e\l  fa  fjrrdt  pipfplexity.  Tiif.  'c.P' 
•i.;iit  91  '.he  for.igiiig  par'y,  whicf.  h,Tf  hris  t- 
piisi:d  uid  M..3  ".cted  by  tne  .^cn.e  EI  '^-^/jil  wbcn 
on  hi',  wa"  to  Ciraradi  to  iec.?ivs  the  crowri,  hs-.i 
retiiri'.ed  irs  confrtsion  anei  dismay  to  'he  t'ortiess. 
They  could  oi'iy  speak  of  thoir  own  dihi^iart',  being 
obliged  to  .\bandon  tiv'ir  *  avAlgad."5,  iind  lo  A/,  pur- 
su<(T  Ny  a  suw-^rior  force:  of  lie  rtov.cr  d  ineir 
party,  ifh<.'  gi  ia:il  >(uiqht.'  f  C'al.iitrav;i.  who  had 
rcmai"^td  behind  in  ♦l\e  ralir;y,  i^ey  knew  nothing. 
A  few  days  cle-an'M  uj.  !«Jll  ihe  mysi  -ry  cf  their  fate : 
tidings  were  brought  J-if  •hitir  l.loody  heads  had 
been  )>ome  in  triumph  intc  t  r.'*nata  by  the  ferocious 
El  'Aug A.  The  surviving  'rnviMi  o,'  C.Utrava,  who 
for?vied  a  p;n;  'yf  the  gardsfn  burned  to  revenge 
the  death  of  their  comrades,  .ind  to  wipe  out  the 
;  .ti>-r.ia  of  this  defeat ;  but  the  clavcro  had  been 
'  reiiicfL-i*  cauiiuus  by  disaster, — he  resisted  all  their 
fkUi-f  uiei  foi'  a  foray.  His  garrison  was  weakened 
by  the  losi  of  so  many  of  its  bravest  men  ;  the  vcga 
wai;  pat.  oiled  by  numerous  and  pcwttftil  squadjsns, 
r.ent  forth  by  tne  warlike  £1  Zagal;  above  all,  la.: 
movements  of  the  garrison  were  watched  by  th: 
warriors  of  Zalea,  a  strong  town,  only  two  leag>,.  •% 
distant,  on  the  road  towards  Loxa.  1  his  place  was 
a  continual  check  upon  Alhama  when  in  its  most 
powerful  state,  placing  ambuscades  to  entrap  the 
christian  cavaliers  in  the  course  of  their  sallies. 
FVequent  and  bloody  skirmishes  had  taken  place,  in 
consequence ;  and  the  troops  of  Alhama,  when  re- 
turning from  their  forays,  had  often  to  fight  their 
way  back  through  the  squadrons  of  Zalea.  Thui 
surrounded  by  uangers,  Don  Gutiere  de  Padillaje- 


^U' 


Ml 


«■■•  . 


iao 


■:r?'»- 


<«  ! 


•  'iTi 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


ftrained  the  eagerness  of  his  troops  for  a  sally, 
knowing  that  any  additional  disaster  might  be  foU 
lowed  by  the  loss  of  Alhama. 

In  the  meanwhile,  provisions  began  to  gfrow 
scarce ;  they  were  unable  to  forage  the  country  as 
asual  for  supplies,  and  depended  for  relief  upon  the 
Cisiilian  sovereigns.  The  defeat  of  the  count  de 
Cabra  tilled  the  measure  of  their  perplexities,  as  it 
i.":i'erniptcd  the  intended  reinforcements  and  sup- 
,lLcs.  To  such  extremity  were  they  reduced,  that 
!hey  were  compelled  to  kill  some  of  their  horses  for 
provisions. 

The  worthy  clavero,  Don  Gutiere  de  Padilla,  was 
pondering  one  day  on  this  gloomy  state  ot  affairs, 
when  a  Moor  was  brought  before  him  who  had  sur- 
rendered himself  at  the  gate  of  Alhama,  and  claimed 
an  audience.  Don  Gutiere  was  accustomed  to  visits 
of  the  kind  from  renegado  Moors,  who  roamed  the 
country  as  spies  and  adahdes ;  but  the  count'-'iance 
of  this  man  was  quite  unknown  to  him.  He  had  a 
box  strapped  to  his  shoulders,  containing  divers  arti- 
cles of  traffic,  and  appeared  to  be  one  of  those 
itinerant  traders,  who  often  rcsoried  to  Alhama  and 
the  other  garrison  towns,  under  pretext  of  vending 
trivial  merchandise,  such  as  amulets,  perfumes, 
and  trinkets,  but  who  often  produced  rich  shawls, 
^oiden  chains  and  necklaces,  and  valuable  gems  and 
jewels. 

The  Moor  requested  a  private  conference  with 
the  clavero :  "  I  have  a  precious  jewel,"  said  he, 
"  to  dispose  of." 

'•  I  want  no  jewels,"  replied  Don  Gutiere. 

"  For  the  sake  of  him  who  dieti  on  the  cross,  the 
great  prophet  of  your  faith,"  said  the  Moor,  sol- 
emn.y,  "  refuse  not  my  request ;  the  jewel  I  speak 
of  you  alone  can  purchase,  but  1  can  only  treat 
about  it  in  secret." 

Don  Gutiere  perceived  there  was  something  hid- 
d-in  under  these  mystic  and  figurative  terms,  in 
wnich  the  Moors  were  often  accustomed  to  talk. 
He  niotioned  to  his  attendants  to  retire.  When 
they  were  alone,  the  Moor  looked  cautiously  round 
the  apartment,  and  then,  approaching  close  to  the 
knight,  demanded  in  a  low  voice,  "  What  will  you 
give  me,  if  I  deliver  the  fortress  of  Zalea  into  your 
hands  ?  " 

Don  Gutiere  looked  with  surjirise  at  the  humble 
individu:d  that  made  such  a  suggestion. 

"  What  means  have  you,"  said  he,  "  of  effecting 
such  a  pro|X)sition  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  brother  in  the  garrison  of  Zalea," 
replied  the  Moor,  "  who,  for  a  proper  compensation, 
would  admit  a  body  of  troops  into  the  citadel." 

Don  Gutiere  turned  a  scrutinizing  eye  upon  the 
Moor.  "  What  right  have  I  to  helieve,"  said  he, 
"  that  thou  wilt  be  truer  to  me,  than  to  those  of  tliy 
blood  and  thy  religion?" 

"  I  renounce  all  ties  to  them,  either  of  blood  or 
leligion,"  replied  the  Moor;  "my  mother  was  a 
christian  captive;  her  country  shall  henceforth  be 
my  countr)',  and  her  faith  my  faith."* 

The  doubts  of  Don  Gutiere  were  not  dispelled  by 
(his  profession  of  mongrel  Christianity.  "Granting 
Uie  sincerity  of  thy  conversion,"  said  he,  "  art  thou 
nnder  no  obligations  of  gp-atitude  or  duty  to  the  al- 
cayde  of  the  fortress  thou  wouldst  betray  ?  " 

The  eyes  of  the  Moor  flashed  fire  at  the  words ; 
he  gnashed  his  teeth  with  fury.  "The  alcayde," 
cried  he,  "is  a  dog!  He  has  rieprived  my  brother 
of  his  just  share  of  booty ;  he  h;is  robl)ed  me  of  my 
merchandise,  treated  me  worse  than  a  lew  when  I 
munnurcd  at  his  injustice,  and  ordered  me  to  be 
thrust  forth  ignominiously  from  his  walls.     May  the 

*  Can  <Sc  lo*  Pitlncio>  '        ' 


curse  of  God  fall  upon  my  head,  if  I  test  ccitqi 
until  I  have  full  revenge  I " 

"Enough,"  said  Don  Gutiere:  "1  trust  «ioreti 
thy  revenge  than  thy  religion." 

The  good  clavero  called  a  council  of  his  i^fhi-tn 
The  knights  of  Calatrava  were  unanimous  for  thj  I 
enterprise — zealous  to  appease  the  manes  of  thcjt 
slaughtered  comrades.  Don  Gutiere  remindcil  themj 
of  the  state  of  the  garrison,  enfeebled  by  IhrirJaiJ 
loss,  and  scarcely  sufficient  for  the  defence  of  the] 
walls.     The  cavaliers  replied   that   there  v,ns  no 
achievement  without  risk,  and  that  there  wo'.ld  have 
been  no  great  actions  recorded  in  history,  hii  1  thcrj 
not  been  t.arng  spirits  ready  to  peril  life  to  gnin 
renown. 

Don  Gut.erc  \nelded  to  the  wishes  of  his  knights, 
for  to  have  resisted  any  further  might  have  ijruvn 
on  him  the  imputaticn  of  timidity  he  asccitmncd 
by  trusty  spies  that  every  thine  in  Zalea  reiniuial  ij 
the  usual  state,  and  he  madealT  the  requisite  ;lrrang^ 
ments  for  the  attack. 

When  the  appointed  night  arrived,  all  thecan. 
liers  were  anxious  to  eng.-ige  in  the  enterprise;  bm  I 
the  individuals  were  decided  by  lot.  Thev  set  out. 
under  the  guidance  of  the  Moor;  and  when  ihw 
had  arrived  in  the  vicinity  of  Zalea,  they  houiKJ  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  and  their  leader  \',\'-('cti 
his  knightly  word  to  strike  him  dead  on  tl:c  ilrst  | 
sign  of  treachery.  He  then  bade  him  to  ieail  the  wty. 

It   was   near  midnight,  when   they  reacl-.ed  the  I 
walls  of  the  fortress.     They  p<issed  silently  along 
until  they  found  themselves  below  the  citadel.    H^rt 
their  guide  made  a  low  and  preconcerted  signal:  It 
was  answered  from  above,  and  a  cord  let  down  itj;ij 
the  vail.   The  knights  attached  to  it  a  laddpr,  which 
was  drawn  up  and   fastened.    Gutiere  Mufozviil 
the  first  that  mounted,  followed  by  Pedro  df  Ai- 
vanado,  both  brave  and  hardy  soldiers.     A  hantl'ul  I 
succeeded  ;  they  were  attacked  by  a  party  of  guards, 
but  held  them  at  bay  until  more  of  their  cornmles 
ascended  ;  with  their  assistance,  they  gained  possev 
sion  of  a  tower  and  part  of  the  wall.    The  garrison, 
by  this  time,  was  arouseil ;   but  before  thvy  could  I 
reach   the   scene  of  action,   n'ost   of  the  cavaliers 
were  within   the   battlements.      A   bloody  contest 
raged   for  about  an  hour — several  of  the  christians 
were  slain,  but  many  of  the  Moors ;  at  lenj,nh  the 
whole  cit.idel  was  carried,  and  the  town  subniittd  | 
without  resistance. 

Thus  did  the  g.allant  knights  of  Calafniva  gMn  i 
the  strong  town  of  Zalea  with  scarcely  any  loss,  inil 
atone  for  the  inglorious  defeat  of  their  companions 
by  El  Zagal.  They  found  the  magazines  of  the 
place  well  stored  with  provisions,  and  were  cnahlfd 
to  carry  a  seasonable  supply  to  their  own  famishing 
garrison. 

The  tidings  of  this  event  reached  the  sovenimM 
just  after  the  surrender  of  Cambil   and    Alh.ihar 
They  were  greatly  rejoiced  at  this  .additional  success  | 
of  their  anns,  an(l  immediately  sent  strong  reinforce- 
ments and  ample  supplies  for  both  Albania  and  Za- 
lea.    They  then  dismissed  the  army  for  the  wirttr,  I 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella  retired  to  Alcalade  Henurrj. 
where  the  queen,  on  the   i6th  of  Decemlier,  u-j 
gave  birth  to  the  princess  Catharine,  afterw-irds  wife  I 
of  Henry  VIII.    of   Engt.and.    ThiiS   wosptn  usij  | 
terminated  the  checkered  campaign  of^this  impor 
tant  year. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

DKATH  or  MULKY  ABEN   HASSAN. 

MuLSY  Abdalla  £l  Zaoal  b«d  been  received  I 
with  great  acclamations  at  Granada,  on  bJA  letun 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


221 


j^ifi  defeating  the  count  de  Cabra.  He  had  en- 
deavored to  turn  his  victory  to  the  greatest  advantage, 
^th  liis  subjects;  giving  tilts  and  tournaments,  and 
Qther  public  festivities,  in  which  the  Mcors  de- 
lighted. The  loss  of  the  castles  of  Cambil  and  Al- 
bahar,  and  of  the  fortress  of  Zalea,  however,  checked 
ihis  sudden  tide  of  popularity;  and  some  of  the 
fickle  populace  began  to  doubt  whether  they  had  not 
titen  rather  precipitate  in  deposing  his  brother, 
Muley  Aben  Hjissan, 

That  superannuated  monarch  remained  in  his 
faithful  town  of  Almunecar,  on  the  border  of  the 
Mediterranean,  surrountled  by  a  few  adherents,  to- 
gether with  his  wife  Zorayna  and  his  children  ;  and 
he  hail  all  his  treasures  safe  in  his  possession.  The 
fiery  heart  of  the  old  king  was  almost  burnt  out,  and 
all  his  powers  of  doing  either  harm  or  good  seemed 
at  an  end. 

While  in  this  passive  and  helpless  state,  his  brother 
El  Zai;al  manifested  a  sudden  anxiety  for  his  health. 
He  had  him  removed,  with  all  tenderness  and  care, 
to  Saliibreila,  another  fortress  on  the  Mediterranean 
coast,  famous  for  its  p'.ire  and  salubrious  air ;  and 
ihealipyde,  who  was  a  devoted  adherent  toElZagal, 
Wis  charged  to  have  especial  care  that  nothing  was 
ivantiii;;  to  the  comfort  and  solace  of  his  brother. 

Salohrefia  was  a  small  town,  situated  on  a  lofty 
and  rocky  hill,  in  the  midst  of  a  beautiful  and  fer- 
tile vtt;a,  shut  tip  on  three  sides  by  mountains,  and 
openiiiL,'  on  the  fourth  to  the  Meiliterranean.  It  was 
protected  by  strong  walls  an^l  a  powerful  castle,  and, 
bemg  (h;emed  impregnable,  was  often  used  by  the 
Moorisli  kings  as  a  place  of  deposit  for  their  treas- 
ures. They  were  accustomed  also  to  assign  it  as  a 
residence  for  such  of  their  sons  and  brothers  as 
m^\:\  endanger  the  security  of  their  reign.  Here 
;be  princes  lived,  in  luxurious  repose  :  they  had  de- 
iiciti'.is  gardens,  perfumed  baths,  a  harem  of  beauties 
It  their  command — nothing  was  denied  them  but  the 
liberty  to  depart ;  that  alone  was  wanting  to  render 
this  abode  an  earthly  paradise. 

Such  was  the  delightful  place  appointed  by  El 
l.ij^\  for  the  residence  of  his  brother  ;  but,  notwith 
standing  its  wonderful  salubrity,  the  old  monarch 
hill  not  beer  removed  thither  many  days  before  he 
expired.  There  was  nothing  extraordinary  in  his 
(ie.ath :  life  with  him  had  long  been  glimmering  in 
the  socket,  and  for  some  time  past  he  might  rather 
have  been  numbered  with  the  dead  than  with  the 
living.  The  public,  however,  ar  ■  fond  of  seeing 
things  in  a  sinister  and  mysterious  point  of  view, 
and  there  were  many  dark  surmises  as  to  the  cause 
of  this  event.  El  Zagal  acted  in  a  manner  to  heighten 
these  suspicions :  he  caused  the  treasures  of  his  de- 
ceased brother  to  be  packed  on  mules  and  brought 
to  Granada,  where  he  took  possession  of  them,  to 
the  exclusion  of  the  children  of  Aben  Hassan.  The 
sultanu  Zorayna  and  her  two  sons  were  lodged  in  the 
Alhanibra,  in  the  tower  of  the  Cimares.  This  was  a 
residence  in  a  palace — but  it  had  proved  a  royal 
priwn  to  the  sultana  Ayxa  la  Horra,  and  her  youthful 
«rn  Boabdil.  There  the  imhappy  Zorayna  had  time 
'j)  meditate  upon  the  disappointment  of  all  those 
mbitious  schemes  tor  herself  and  children,  for  which 
ihe  h.ad  stained  her  conscience  with  so  many  critnes, 
v.d  induced  her  cruel  husband  to  imbrue  his  hands 
:.T  the  blood  of  his  other  offspring. 

The  corpse  of  old  Mulcy  Aben  Hassan  was  also 
biOught  to  Granada,  not  in  a  state  becoming  the  re- 
mains of  a  oncc-powerl'ul  sovereign,  but  transported 
on  a  mule,  like  the  corps'!  of  the  poorest  peasant.  It 
received  no  honor'  or  ceremonial  from  El  Z.agal,  and 
appears  to  have  been  interred  obscurely,  to  prevent 
any  popular  sensation  and  it  is  recorded  by  an  an- 
cient and  faithful  chronicler  of  the  time,  that  the 


body  of  the  old  monarch  was  deposited  by  twd 
christian  captives  in  his  osario,  or  charnel-house.* 
Such  was  the  end  of  the  turbulent  Muley  Aben 
Hassan,  who,  after  passing  his  life  ;n  constant  con- 
tests lor  empire,  could  scarce  gain  quiet  admission 
into  the  comer  of  a  sepulchre. 

No  sooner  were  the  populace  well  assurefl  th»t 
old  Muley  Aben  Hassan  was  dead,  and  beyond  »«• 
covery,  than  they  all  began  to  extol  his  memory  and 
deplore  his  loss.  They  admitted  that  he  had  been 
fierce,  and  cruel,  but  then  ho  had  been  brave ;  he 
had,  to  be  sure,  pulled  this  war  upon  their  heads, 
but  he  had  likewise  been  crushed  by  it.  In  a  word, 
Ae  was  dead ;  and  his  death  atoned  for  every  fault 
for  a  king,  recently  dead,  is  generally  either  a  hero 
or  a  saint. 

In  proportion  as  they  ceased  to  hate  old  Muley 
Aben  Hassan,  they  began  to  hate  his  brother  El  Za- 
gal. The  circumstances  of  the  old  king's  death,  the 
eagerness  to  appropriate  his  treasures,  the  scandal- 
ous neglect  of  his  corpse,  and  the  imprisonment  of 
his  sultana  and  children,  all  filled  the  public  mind 
with  gloomy  suspicions  ;  and  the  epithet  of  Fratra- 
cide  !  was  sometimes  substituted  for  that  of  El  Zagal, 
in  the  low  murmurings  of  the  people. 

As  the  public  must  always  have  some  object  to 
like  as  well  as  to  hate,  there  began  once  more  to  b« 
an  inquiry  after  their  fugitive  king,  Boabdil  el  Chico. 
That  unfortunate  monarch  was  still  at  Cordova,  ex- 
isting on  the  cool  courtesy  and  meagre  friendship  of 
Ferdinand ;  which  had  waned  exceedingly,  ever 
since  Hoabdil  h.ad  ceased  to  have  any  influence  in 
his  l.ale  dominions.  The  reviving  interest  expressed 
in  his  fate  by  the  Moorish  public,  and  certain  secret 
overtures  made  to  him,  onCe  more  aroused  the  svm- 
^..viliy  of  Ferdinand  :  he  immediately  advised  BoabUU 
again  to  set  up  his  standard  within  the  frontiers  of 
Granada,  and  furnished  him  with  money  and  means 
for  the  jiurpose.  Boabdil  advanced  but  a  little  way 
into  his  late  territories  ;  he  took  up  his  post  at  Ve'".i 
el  Blanco,  a  strong  town  on  the  confines  of  Murcia ; 
there  he  established  the  shadow  of  a  court,  and 
stood,  as  it  were,  with  one  foot  over  the  border,  and 
ready  to  draw  that  back  upon  the  least  alarm.  His 
presence  in  the  kingdom,  however,  and  his  assump- 
tion of  royal  state,  gave  life  to  his  faction  in  Granada. 
The  inhabitants  of  the  Albaycin,  the  poorest  but 
most  warlike  part  of  the  populace,  were  generallji 
in  his  favor  :  the  more  rich,  courtly,  and  aristocrati- 
cal  inhabitants  of  the  quarter  of  the  Alhambra,  ral- 
lied round  what  appeared  to  be  the  most  stable 
authority,  and  supported  the  throne  of  El  Zagal.  So 
it  is,  in  the  admirable  order  of  sublunary  affairs ; 
every  thing  seeks  its  kind  ;  the  rich  befriend  the  rich, 
the  powerful  stand  by  the  powerful,  the  poor  enjoy 
the  patronage  of  thfc  poor — and  thus  a  universal 
harmony  prevails. 


CHAPTER  XXXVl. 


OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  ARMY  WHICH   ASSBMBLKD 
AT  THE  CITY  OF  C0Ri)OVA. 

Great  and  glorious  was  the  style  with  which  thi 
Catholic  sovereigns  opened  another  year's  campaig" 
of  this  eventful  war.  It  was  like  commencing  an  • 
other  act  of  a  stately  and  heroic  drama,  whrre  the 
curtain  rises  to  the  inspiring  sound  of  martial  mel- 
ody, and  the  whole  stage  glitters  with  the  array  of 
warriors 'and  the  pomp  of  arms.  The  ancient  citj 
of  Cordova  was  the  place  appointed  by  the  sover- 
eigns for  the  assemblage  of  the  troops ;  and  ea?l)  is 


*  Cun  it  lot  Pijteioi.  c.  n- 


trt: 


132 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


R,>  .-,'. 


k  rt<*  '    >  , 


K  l^ 


■u  ir 


the  ipring  of  i486  the  fair  valley  of  the  Guadalquivir 
resounded  with  t'.ie  shrill  blast  of  trumpet,  end  the 
impatient  neijhing  ot  the  war-horse.  In  this  splen- 
did era  of  Spanish  chivalry,  there  was  a  rivalship 
among;  the  nobles  wito  most  should  distinguish  him- 
self by  the  splendor  oT  his  appearance,  and  the  num- 
ber and  oatnpnients  of  his  feudal  followers.  Every 
day  beheld  some  cavalier  of  note,  the  representative 
oi  some  proud  and  powerful  house,  entering  the  gates 
of  Cordova  with  sound  of  trumpet,  and  displaying 
^ij  banner  and  device,  renowned  in  many  a  contest, 
ill  would  appear  in  sumptuous  array,  surrounded  by 
passes  and  lackeys  no  less  gorgeously  attired,  and 
followed  by  a  host  of  vassals  and  retainers,  horse  and 
foot,  all  aclmirably  equipped  in  burnished  artnor. 

Such  w.as  the  state  of  Don  Inigo  Lopez  de  Men- 
doza,  duke  of  Infantado ;  who  may  be  cited  as  a  pic- 
ture of  a  warlike  noble  of  those  times.  He  brought 
with  him  five  hundred  men-at-arms  of  his  house- 
hold, armed  and  mounted  A  !a  gineta  and  <}  la  i^utm. 
The  cavaliers  who  atten<led  him  were  magnificently 
armed  and  dressed.  The  housings  of  fifty  of  his 
horses  were  of  rich  cloth,  embroidered  with  gold  ; 
and  others  were  of  brocade.  The  sumpter  mules 
had  housings  of  the  same,  with  halters  of  silk  ;  while 
the  bridles,  head-pieces,  and  all  the  harnessing,  glit- 
tered with  silver. 

The  camp  equipage  of  these  noble  and  luxurious 
warriors  was  cijiially  magnificent.  Their  tents  were 
gay  pavilion?  jf  various  colors,  fitted  up  with  -silken 
hangings  and  decorated  with  fluttering  pennons. 
They  had  vessels  of  gold  and  silver  for  the  service 
of  their  tables,  as  "f  tney  were  about  to  engage  in  a 
course  of  stately  feasts  and  courtly  revels,  instead  of 
the  stem  encounters  of  rugged  and  mountainous 
warfare.  Sometimes  they  passed  through  the  streets 
of  Cordova  at  night,  in  splendid  cavalcade,  with  great 
numbers  of  lighted  torches,  the  rays  of  which  falling 
\;pon  polished  armor  and  nodding  plumes,  and  silken 
*c7rfs,  and  trappings  of  golden  embroidery,  filled  all 
beholders  with  admiration.* 

But  it  was  not  the  chivalry  of  Spain  alone  which 
throngetl  the  streets  of  Cordova.  The  fame  jf  this 
war  had  spread  throughout  Christendom :  it  was 
considered  a  kind  of  crusade;  and  Catholic  knights 
from  all  parts  hastened  to  signalize  themselves  in  so 
holy  a  cause.  There  were  several  valiant  chevaliers 
from  France,  among  whom  the  most  tlistinguished 
was  Gaston  du  Leon,  Seneschal  of  Toulouse.  Witl; 
him  came  a  gallant  train,  well  armed  and  mounted, 
and  decorated  wuh  rich  surcoats  and  panaches  of 
feathers.  These  cavaliers,  it  is  said,  eclipsed  all 
others  in  the  light  festivities  of  the  court:  they  were 
devoted  to  the  fair,  but  not  after  the  solemn  and 
passionate  manner  of  the  Spanish  lovers;  they  were 
gay,  gall.int  and  joyous  in  th^ir  amours,  and  capti- 
vated by  the  vivacity  of  their  attacks.  They  were  at 
first  held  in  liLrht  estimation  by  the  grave  and  stately 
Spanish  knights,  until  they  m.ade  themselves  to  be 
'espectcd  by  their  wonderful  prowess  in  the  field. 

The  most  conspicuous  of  the  volunteers,  however, 
who  appeared  in  Cordova  on  this  occasion,  was  an 
English  knight  of  royal  connexion.  This  was  the 
lord  Scales,  carl  of  Rivers,  brother  to  the  queen  of 
England,  wife  of  Henry  VII.  He  had  distinguished 
himself  in  the  preceding  year,  at  the  battle  of  Bos- 
•vcrth  field,  where  Henry  "tudor,  then  e.arl  of  Rich- 
riOn<l,  overcatne  Richard  HI.  That  decisive  battle 
having  left  the  country  at  peace,  the  earl  of  Rivers, 
having  conceived  a  passion  for  warlike  scenes,  re- 
paired to  the  Castilian  cou-t,  to  keep  his  arms  in 
exercise,  in  a  campaign  against  the  Moors.  He 
brought  with  him  a  hundred   archers,  ail  dexter- 


*  Pulgw  part  ■%,  cap.  41.  jA, 


ous  with  the  lone-bow  and  the  cloth-yard  arrow 
also  two  hundrea  yeomen,  armed  cap-a-pie,  w)m  ] 
fought  with  pike  and  battle-axe, — men  rolmst  ol 
frame,  and  of  prodigious  strength.  The  wnnh. 
padre  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  describes  this  •itrrmg^ 
Icnight  and  his  followers,  with  his  accustomed  accu.  \ 
racy  and  minuteness. 

"  This  cavalier,"  he  observes,  "was  from  the  &, 
island  of  England,  and  brought  with  him  a  trail  o( 
his  vassals ;  men  who  had  been  hardened  in  Cfrttin 
civil  wars  which  r.aged  in  their  countiy.  Thiy  wert  1 
a  comely  race  of  men,  but  too  fair  and  fresh  tor  war. 
riors,  not  having  the  sun-burnt  warlike  hue  of  out 
old  Castilian  soldiery.  They  were  huge  feeders  also 
and  deep  carousers,  and  could  not  accoirunodatt 
themselves  to  the  sober  diet  of  our  troops,  hut  n-.ust 
fain  eat  and  drink  after  the  manner  of  thiir  own 
countr)'.  They  were  often  noisy  and  unruly,  iko,  m 
their  w.assail ;  and  their  Quarter  of  the  cani|)  was 
prone  to  be  a  scene  of  loud  revel  and  sudden  brawl, 
They  were,  with.al,  of  great  pride,  yet  it  was  net  likt 
our  inflammable  Spanish  pride  ;  they  stooti  mil  much 
upon  the  fiundonor,  the  high  punctilio,  and  rardy 
drew  the  stiletto  in  their  disputes ;  but  thcii  pridj 
was  silent  and  contumelious.  Though  from  a  re. 
mote  and  somewhat  barbarous  island  tney  believed 
themselves  the  most  perfect  men  upon  enrth,  and 
magnitied  their  chieftain,  the  lord  Scales,  besiTid  tht 
greatest  of  their  grandees.  With  all  this,  it  nmsi  bj 
said  of  them  that  they  were  marvellous  good  iii»n  in 
the  field,  dexterous  archers,  and  powerful  v.ith  tht 
battle-axe.  In  their  great  pride  and  self-will,  they 
always  sought  to  press  in  the  advance  and  t.ike  the 
post  of  danger,  trying  to  outvie  our  Spanish  chivalry, 
They  did  not  rush  on  fiercely  to  the  fight,  nnr  nuke 
a  brilliant  onset  like  the  Moorish  and  Spanish  troopj, 
but  they  went  into  the  fight  deliberately  and  persisted 
obstinately,  and  were  slow  to  find  out  when  they 
were  beaten.  Withal  they  were  much  esteennd.yet 
little  liked  by  our  soldiery,  who  considered  them 
staunch  companions  in  the  field,  yet  coveted  bul 
little  fellowship  with  them  in  the  camp. 

"  Their  commander,  the  lord  Scales,  was  an  ac- 
complished cavalier,  of  gracious  and  noble  p-esence 
and  fair  speech  ;  it  was  a  marvel  to  see  so  nmch 
coil  lesy  in  a  knight  brought  up  so  far  from  our  Cas- 
tilian court.  He  was  much  honored  by  the  king  and 
queen,  and  found  great  favor  with  the  fair  d  inies 
about  the  court,  who  indeed  .are  rather  prone  10  he 
pleased  with  foi.'ign  cavaliers.  He  went  .iKvays  in 
costiy  state,  attended  by  pages  and  e.squires,  and  ac- 
companied by  noble  young  cavaliers  of  his  country, 
who  had  enrolled  thentselves  under  his  l>:inmr,  to 
learn  the  gentle  exercise  of  arms.  In  all  p.n;cants 
and  festivals,  the  eyes  of  the  populace  were  attracted 
by  the  singular  bearing  and  rich  array  ol  the  Enijlish 
earl  and  his  train,  who  prided  themselves  in  always 
appearing  in  the  garb  and  manner  of  their  coiintry— 
and  were  indeed  something  very  magnificer.t.  d^ 
lectable,  and  strange  to  behold." 

The  worthy  chronicler  is  no  less  elaborate  in  his 
description  of  the  M.asters  of  Santiago,  CaJatrava, 
and  Alcantara,  and  their  valiant  knij.nts,  an.  e;i  at 
all  points,  and  decorated  with  the  badges  ot  thfii 
orders.  These,  he  affirms,  were  the  flower  of  clirj. 
tian  chivalry:  being  con.stantly  in  service,  they  I  ^ 
came  more  stedfast  and  accomplished  in  diseiplinc, 
than  the  irregular  and  temporary  levies  of  the  leiida'. 
nobles.  Calm,  solemn,  and  stately,  they  sat  Itke 
towers  upon  their  powerful  chargers.  On  parades, 
they  manifested  none  of  the  show  and  ostentation  of 
the  other  troops ;  neither,  in  battle,  did  they  endeavor 
to  signalize  themselves  by  any  fiery  vivacity,  or 
desperate  and  vain-glorious  exploit— every  tl.mg, 
witfj  them,  was  measured  and  sedate ;  yet  il  wu 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


iQgerved,  that  none  were  more  warlike  in  their  ap- 
pearance in  the  canp,  or  more  terrible  for  their 
ichievements  in  the    M. 

The  gorgeous  magnificence  of  the  Spanish  nobles 

iDund  but  little  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  s«vereigiis. 

They  sa^v  that  it  caused  a  competilidn  in  expense, 

ruinous  to  cavaliers  of  moderate  fortune ;  and  they 

fearwl  tliat  a  soilness  and  efleminacy  niijjht  thus  be 

iniroJuced,  incomj)atible  with  th?  stern  nature  of  the 

!V.ir.    They  signihcd  their  disapprobation  to  several 

jf  the  principal  noblemen,  and  recoin mended  a  more 

^!)er  aiul  soldierlike  display  while  in  actual  service. 

"Tliese  are  rare  troops  lor  a  foumey,  my  lord," 

I  laid  Ferdinand  to  the  duke  of  Infantado,  as  he  be- 

'  held  his  ri'tainers  glittering  in  gold  and  embroidery  ; 

I  "but  gold,  though  gorge ;ius,  is  soft  and  yielding: 

I  Iron  is  the  metal  for  the  field." 

"Sire,"  replied  the  duke,  "  if  my  n  en    larade  in 
gold,  your  majesty  will  find  they  fi},'h;  wi.h  steel." 
The  king  smiled,  but  shook  his  head,  aiid  the  duke 
I  treasund  up  his  speech  in  his  heart. 

It  remains  now  to  reveal  the  iiinnediate  object  of 
'Jiismijjhiy  and  chivalrous  preparation;  which  had, 
in  fact,  the  gratification  of  a  royal  pi(iue  at  bottom. 
The  severe  lesson  which  Ferdinand  had  received 
from  the  veteran  Ali  Atar,  bf/fore  the  walls  of  Loxa, 
thou(;!i  it  had  been  of  great  service  in  rendering  him 
war\-  111  his  attack.s  upon  fortified  places,  yet  rankled 
»rdy  in  his  mind  ;  and  he  had  ever  since  held  Loxa 
Id  peculiar  odium.  It  was,  in  truth,  one  of  the  most 
.belligerent  and  troublesome  cities  on  the  Iwrders  ; 
incessantly  harassing  And.ilusia  by  its  incursions.  It 
also  intervened  between  the  christian  territories  and 
Alhania.  and  other  imi)ortant  places  gained  in  the 
kingdom  of  Granada.  F'or  rtU  these  reasons,  king 
Ferdma.ul  had  determined  to  make  another  grand 
jlttemiit  upon  this  warrior  city;  and  tor  this  purpose,  he 
1  tol  summoned  to  the  field  his  most  powerful  chiv.ilry. 
It  was  in  the  month  of  May.  that  the  king  sallied 
I  from  Cordova,  at  the  head  of  iiis  army.  He  had 
twelve  ihou:..4nd  cavalry  and  forty  thousand  foot- 
soldiers,  armed  with  cross-bows,  lances,  and  arque- 
busses.  There  were  six  thousand  pioneers,  with 
hatchets,  pickaxes,  and  crowbars,  for  levelling  roads. 
He  took  with  him,  also,  a  great  train  of  lombards 
and  other  heavy  artillery,  with  a  body  of  Germans 
ikilleil  in  the  service  of  ordnance  and  the  art  of  bat- 
|lcring  walls. 

It  was  a  glorious  spectacle  (says  Fray  Antonio 
|Ag;ipiila)  to  behold  this  |X)mpous  pageant  issuing 
I  forth  Irom  Cordova,  the  pennons  and  devices  of  the 
1  proudest  houses  of  Spain,  with  those  of  gallant 
jitRnger  knights,  fluttering  above  a  sea  of  crests 
I  and  plumes;  to  see  it  slowly  moving,  with  fla.sh  of 
I  helm,  and  cuirass,  .and  buckler,  across  the  ancient 
bridge,  and  reflecteil  in  the  waters  of  the  Guadal- 
quivir, while  the  neigh  of  steed  and  blast  of  trumijet 
ribrated  in  the  air.  and  resounded  to  the  distant 
I  mountains.  "But,  above  all,"  concludes  the  good 
|lal.her,  with  his  accustomed  leal,  "  it  was  triumphant 
I  to  behold  the  standard  of  the  faith  every  where  dis- 
I played,  and  to  reflect  that  this  was  no  worldly- 
lirinded  .army,  intent  upon  some  temporal  scheme 
lirf ambition  or  revenge  ;  but  a  christian  host,  bound 
Iota  ;rjsade  to  extirp,ate  the  vile  seed  of  Mahomet 
lliom  the  land,  and  to  extend  the  pure  dominion  of 
|fo  cnurch." 

CHAPTER  XXXVn. 

IBOW  KIESH  CC»MMOriONS  BRUKE  OUT  IN  GRA- 
NADA, AND  HOW  THK  PEOPLK  UNDERTOOK  TO 
KUuAV  THEM. 

While  perfect  unity  of  obicct  and  harmony  of 
Inetation  gave  {wwet  tc  the  christian  arms,  the  de- 


voted kingdom  of  Granada  continued  a  prey  to  tn« 
ternal  feuds.  The  transi..iit  popularity  cf  Kl  Zaga. 
had  declined  ever  since  the  deatn  of  his  brother,  and 
the  party  of  Boabdil  el  Chico  was  daily  gaining 
strength :  the  Albaycin  and  the  Alhambra  we.re 
again  arrayed  against  each  other  in  deadly  strifi. 
and  the  streets  of  unhappy  Granada  were  dailv  dyed 
in  the  blood  of  her  chiUlren.  In  the  midst  of  thc>.« 
dissensions,  tidings  arrived  of  the  formidable  Siiay 
a.ssembling  at  Cordova.  The  rival  factions  paused 
in  their  infatuated  brawls,  and  were  roused  to  a 
temporary  sense  of  the  common  danger.  They  forth- 
with resorted  to  their  old  expedient  of  new-rhodel- 
ling  their  government,  or  rather  of  making  and  un- 
making kmgs.  The  e' ovation  of  El  Zagal  to  the 
throne  had  not  produced  the  desired  eflect — what 
then  was  to  be  dene  ?  Recall  Boabdil  el  Chico,  and 
acknowledge  him  again  as  sovereign  ?  While  they 
were  in  a  popular  tumult  of  deliberation,  Hamet 
Abcn  Zarrax,  sur.iamed  El  Santo,  arose  among 
them.  This  was  the  same  wild,  melancholy  man, 
who  had  predicted  the  woes  of  Granada.  He  issued 
from  one  of  the  caverns  of  the  adjacent  height  which 
overhangs  the  Darro,  and  has  since  been  called  the 
Holy  Mountain.  His  appearance  was  more  haggard 
than  ever ;  for  the  unheeded  spirit  of  prophecy 
seemed  to  have  turned  inwardly,  and  preyed  upon 
his  vitals.  "  Beware,  oh  Moslems,"  exclaimed  he, 
"  of  men  who  are  eager  to  govern,  yet  are  unable  to 
protect.  Why  slaughter  each  other  for  El  Chico  or  El 
Zagal  ?  Let  your  kings  renounce  their  contests,  unite 
for  the  salvation  of  Granada,  or  let  them  be  deposed." 

Hamet  Aben  Zarrax  had  long  been  revered  as  a 
saint — he  was  now  considered  an  or.icle.  The  old 
men  and  the  nobles  immediately  consulted  together, 
how  the  two  rival  kings  might  be  brought  to  accord 
They  had  tried  most  expedients  :  it  was  now  deter- 
mined to  divide  the  kingdom  between  them  ;  giving 
Granada,  Malaga,  Velez  Malaga,  Almeria,  Almune- 
car,  and  their  dependencies,  to  El  Zag.'U — and  the 
residue  to  Bo.abdil  el  Chico.  Among  the  cities 
granted  to  the  latter,  Loxa  was  partieularly  specified, 
with  a  condition  that  he  should  immediately  take 
command  of  it  in  person  ;  for  the  council  thought 
the  favor  he  enjoyed  with  the  Castilian  monarchs 
might  avert  the  threatened  attack. 

El  Zagal  readily  accorded  to  this  arrangement ;  he 
had  been  hastily  elevated  to  the  throne  by  an  ebul- 
lition of  the  people,  and  might  be  as  hast  ly  cast 
down  again.  It  secure<l  him  one-half  of  a  kiigdom 
to  which  he  had  no  hereditary  right,  and  he  trusted 
to  force  or  fraud  to  gain  the  other  half  hfreafter. 
The  wily  old  monarch  even  sent  a  deputatioi  to  his 
nephew,  making  a  merit  of  offering  him  cheerfully 
the  half  which  he  had  thus  been  compelled  to  relin- 
quish, and  inviting  him  to  enter  into  an  a.nicable 
coalition  for  the  good  of  the  country. 

The  heart  of  lio.abdil  shrunk  from  all  co  inexion 
with  a  man  who  hi!  sought  his  life,  and  wuorn  h« 
regarded  as  the  miiiderer  of  his  kindred.  He  ac- 
cepted one-half  of  the  kingdom  as  an  cffei  ft  im  the 
n.ation,  not  to  be  rejected  by  a  prince  who  t-carcclj 
held  possession  of  the  ground  he  stood  (m.  He  as- 
serted, nevertheless,  his  absolute  right  to  the  whole, 
and  only  submitted  to  the  partition  out  of  ani'tty  fof 
the  present  good  of  his  people.  He  assemb'ed  his 
handful  of  adherents,  and  prepared  to  has'en  to 
Loxa.  As  he  mounted  his  horse  to  depart,  /lamet 
Al)en  Zarrax  stood  suddenly  before  him.  "T*  true 
to  thy  country  and  thy  faith,"  cried  he  :  "  hi  id  no 
further  communication  with  these  christian  dogs. 
Trust  not  the  hollow-hearted  friendship  of  th'  Cas- 
tihan  king  ;  he  is  mining  the  earth  beneath  tb  r  feet 
CItoose  one  of  two  things  ;  be  a  sovereign  or  a  Mit 
— thou  canst  not  be  both." 


■*» 


[*  * 


a4 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


;"';< 


Bo^bdil  ruminated  on  these  words ;  he  made  many 
wise  resolutions,  but  he  was  prone  always  to  act 
from  tlie  impulse  of  the  moment,  and  was  unfortu- 
nately ^ven  to  temporize  in  his  policy.  He  wrote 
to  Fenlimnd,  informing  him  that  Loxa  and  certain 
other  cities  had  returned  to  their  allegiance,  and 
that  he  held  them  as  vassal  to  tiie  Castilian  crtjwn, 
fcccordi.ig  to  their  convention.  He  conjured  him, 
thrrefore,  to  refrain  from  any  meditated  attack,  of- 
fering free  passas;e  to  the  .Spanish  army  to  Mal.aga, 
a  any  other  pLtce  under  the  dominion  of  his  uncle.* 

Ferdmand  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  entreaty,  and 
ici  all  [)rofcssions  of  friendship  and  vassalage.  Boab- 
dt!i  was  nothing  to  him,  but  as  an  instrument  for 
Stirring  up  the  Hames  of  civil  war.  He  now  insisted 
that  he  had  entered  into  a  hostile  league  with  his 
uncle,  and  had  conseauently  forfeited  all  claims  to 
his  indulgence  ;  and  he  prosecuted,  with  the  greater 
earnestness,  his  campaign  against  the  city  of  Loxa. 

"  Thus,"  observes  the  worthy  Fray  Antonio  Agap- 
ida,  "  thus  did  this  most  S'ljacious  sovereign  act 
upon  the  text  in  the  eleventh  chapter  of  the  livan- 
gelist  St.  Luke,  that  'a  kingdom  divided  again  t  it- 
self cannot  stand.'  He  had  induced  these  intidels 
to  waste  and  destroy  themselves  by  internal  dissen- 
sions, and  finally  cast  forth  the  survivor ;  while  the 
Moorish  nionarchs,  by  their  ruinous  contests,  made 
good  the  old  Castilian  proverb  in  cases  of  civil  v.  i, 
•  El  vencido  vencido,  y  el  vencidor  perdido,'  (the 
conquered  conquered,  and  the  conqueror  undone.)"! 


CHAPTER    XXXVHL 


UOft  XING  FEKIJINAND  HELD  A  COUNCIL  OF  WAR, 
AT   THE   ROCK   OK  THE   LOVERS. 

Ths  royal  anny,  on  its  march  against  Loxa,  lay 
c.Ticamped,  one  pleasant  evening  in  May,  in  a  meadow 
on  the  banks  ol  the  river  Yeguas,  around  the  foot  of 
a  iofty  clitf  called  the  Rock  of  the  Lo\ers.  The 
quarters  of  each  nobleman  formed  as  it  were  a 
separate  little  encampment ;  his  stately  pavilion,  sur- 
mounted by  his  fluttering  pennon,  rising  above  the 
surrounding  tents  of  his  vassals  and  retainers,  A 
little  apart  from  the  others,  as  it  were  in  proud  re- 
scn'e,  was  the  encampment  of  the  English  earl.  It 
was  sumptuous  in  its  furniture,  and  complete  in  all 
its  munitions.  Archers,  and  soldiers  armed  with 
battle-axes,  kept  guard  around  it ;  while  above,  the 
stand.ird  of  England  rolled  out  its  ample  folds,  and 
flapped  in  the  evening  breeze. 

The  mingled  sounds  of  various  tongues  and  na- 
tions were  heard  from  the  soldiery-,  as  they  watered 
their  horses  in  the  stream,  or  busied  t'ltmselves 
round  the  fires  which  began  to  glow,  here  and  there, 
in  the  twilight :  the  gay  chanson  of  the  Frenchman, 
ringing  of  his  amours  on  the  pleasant  banks  of  the 
Loire,  or  the  sunny  regions  of  the  Garonne ;  the 
broad  guttural  tones  of  the  German,  chanting  some 
doughty  kriei^er  lied,  or  extolling  the  vintage  of  the 
Rhine  ;  the  wild  romance  of  the  Spaniard,  reciting 
the  achievemi-nts  of  the  Cid,  and  many  a  famous 
U*£rage  of  the  Moorish  wars ;  and  the  long  and 
melancholy  ditty  of  the  Englishman,  treating  of 
some  feudal  hero  or  redoubtable  outlaw  of  his  dis- 
tant island. 

On  a  rising  ground,  commanding  a  view  ot  the 
whole  encampment,  stood  the  ample  and  maj^nificent 
pavilion  of  the  king,  with  the  banner  of  Castile  and 
Arragon,  and  the  holy  standard  of  the  cross,  erected 


*  ZariU.  lib.  ao.  c.  61. 


t  Gtribay,  lib.  40,  c.  33. 


before  it.  In  this  tent  were  assembled  the  prlndpii 
commanders  of  the  army,  having  lieen  summoned  by 
Ferdinand  to  a  council  of  war,  on  receiving  tiillnn 
that  Boabdil  had  thrown  himself  into  Loxiwithj 
considerable  reinforcement.  After  sone  ■  '::M;lti. 
tion,  it  w;is  determined  to  invest  Loxa  on  botS  side, 
one  part  of  the  army  should  seize  upon  the  d,;i,gt;roy,  I 
but  commaiiding  height  of  Santo  Albohacen,  \:\  ft;);,; 
of  the  city  ;  while  the  remainder,  making  a  tircuii, 
should  encamp  on  the  opposite  side. 

No  sooner  was  this  resolved  upon,  than  i!ie  tna. 
Ques  of  Cadiz  stood  forth  and  claimed  the  postot 
danger  in  behalf  of  himself  ar.d  those  cav.-.licrs,  hii 
companions  in  arms,  who  had  been  compellfd  to  r^ 
linquish  it  by  the  get  eral  retreat  of  the  anny  on  the 
former  siege.  The  enemy  had  exulted  over  them, 
as  if  driven  from  it  in  disgrace.  To  re^^uin  that 
perilous  height,  to  pitch  their  tents  upon  it.  and  to 
avenge  the  blood  of  their  valiant  compeer,  the  M.ister 
of  Calatrava,  who  had  fallen  upon  it,  was  duf-  lo  their 
fame ;  the  marques  demanded  therefore  il;,ii  they 
.might  lead  the  advance  and  secure  that  hei^'ht,  en- 
gaging to  hold  the  enemy  employed  until  the  main 
army  should  take  its  position  on  the  opposite  side  of  | 
the  city. 

King  Ferdinand  readily  granted  his  periTiission 
upon  which  the  count  de  Cabra  entreated  to  l)e  ad- 
mitted to  a  share  of  the  enterprise.     He  had  ;il\vays  I 
been  accustomed  to  serve  in  the  advance  ;  ami  now 
that  Boabdil  was  in  the  field,  and  a  kinc  v...s  to  be 
taken,  he  could  not  content  himself  with  reitiaininf  j 
in  the  rear.     Ferdinand  yielded  his  consent,  for  h{  f 
was  disposed  to  give  the  good  count  evtr>-  oppor- 
tunity to  retrieve  his  late  dis.ister. 

The  English  earl,  when  he  heard  there  w.'.s  at.  en.  1 
terprise  of  danger  in  question,  v^ai  hot  to  be  .uiii, ;;«]  | 
to  the  p.     V ;    hut    the  king  restrained    hi     ari:or, 
"These  cavaliers,"    said   he,    "conceive  t'l.it  thq  I 
have  an  account  to  settle  with  their  pride  ;  i-i  iheni 
have  the  enterprise  to  themselves,  my  lord  ;  if  joa 
follow  these  Moorish  wars  long,  you  will  find  no  lack  | 
of  perilous  service." 

The  marques  of  Cadiz,  and  his  companions  in  I 
anns,  struck  their  tents  before  daybreak ;  tiuv  -vere 
five  thousand  horse  and  twelve  thousand  t(,Qi,  and| 
marched  rai)idly  along  the  defiles  of  the  nionni.iins; 
the  cavaliers  being  anxious  to  strike  the  hliw,  and  I 
get  possession  of  the  height  of  Albohacen,  bft.ireiht 
king  with  the  main  army  should  arrive  to  their  as- 
sistance. 

The  city  of  Loxa  st.ands  on  a  high  hill,  tietwitn  | 
two  mountains,  on  the  banks  of  the  Xenel.  To  at- 
tain the  height  of  Albohacen,  the  troops  h.id  to  p.ia] 
over  a  tract  of  rugged  and  broken  count r\,  .ind a | 
deep  valley,  intersected  by  those  can.als  and  witer- 
courses  with  which  the  Moors  irrigated  their  lands:! 
they  were  extremely  embarrassed  in  this  part  of  theii  I 
march,  and  in  imminent  risk  of  being  cut  up  in  Jeiail  I 
before  they  could  reach  the  height. 

The  count  de  Cabra,  with  his  usual  eagerness,  «• 
deavored  to  push  across  this  valley,  in  detiance  of  I 
every  obstacle:   he,  in  consequence,  soon   tx'cainel 
entangled  with  his  cav.alry  among  the  canals  ;  Imt  hii 
impatience  would  not  pennit  him  to  retrai-c  his  steps 
and  choose  a  more  practicable  but  circuitou.s  route  [ 
Others  slowly  crossed  another  pirt  of  the  v;,lley,  uyl 
the  aid  of  pontoons  ;  while  the  marques  ol  C.uli:,  I 
Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  and  the  count  df-  Urcfiil 
being  more  experienced  in  the  ground  fnmi  iheii 
former  campaign,  made  a  circuit  round  the  bottoir  I 
of  the  height,  and,  winding  up  it,  began  to  dispiaj  I 
their  squadrons  and  elevate  their  banners  on  ther^| 
doubt:'.ble  post,  which,  in  the  fonner  siege  theyhai] 
been  compelled  so  reluctantly  lo  abandon. 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF   GRANADA. 


S3B 


nceive  t' 


CHAPTER  XMXIX. 

gOW  THE  ROYAL  ARMY  APPRARED  BEFORE  THE 
CITV  OF  LOXA,  AND  HOW  IT  WAS  RECEIVED  ; 
AND  OF  THE  DOUGHTY  ACHIEVEMENTS  OF  THE 
{Ni.LISH   EARL. 

The  advance  of  the  christian  army  upon  Loxa, 
^re,v  the  wavering  Boabdil  el  Ciiico  into  one  of  his 
jjual  dilemmas ;  and  he  was  greatly  perplexed  he- 
iveen  his  oath  of  allegiance  to  the  Spanish  sover- 
tigns,  and  his  sense  of  duty  to  his  subjects.  His 
doubts  were  determined  by  the  sijjht  of  the  enemy 
glittering;  upon  the  height  of  Albohacen,  and  by  the 
claniois  of  the  people  to  be  led  forth  to  battle.  " Al- 
ijli !"  exclaimed  he,  "  thou  knowest  my  heart :  thou 
linowc'St  I  have  been  true  in  my  faith  to  this  chris- 
tian inonarch.  I  have  offered  to  hold  Loxa  as  his 
vassal,  but  he  has  preferred  to  approach  it  as  an  ene- 
my—on his  head  be  the  infraction  of  our  treaty  !  " 

Boabilil  was  not  wanting  in  courage ;  he  only 
nei'iled  decision.  When  he  had  once  made  up  his 
mind,  he  acted  vigorously ;  the  misfortune  was,  he 
cither  did  not  make  it  up  at  all,  or  he  made  it  up  too 
kiie.  He  who  decides  tardily  generally  acts  rashly, 
ewleavoriiig  to  make  up  by  hurry  of  action  for  slow- 
ness cit  deliberation.  Boabdil  hastily  buckled  on  his 
anu'jr.  and  sallit-d  forth,  surrounded  by  his  guards, 
an'l  At  the  head  of  five  hundred  horse  and  four  thou- 
sand iiiot,  the  flower  of  his  army.  Some  he  detached 
to  skirmish  with  the  christians  who  were  scattered 
and  pi  rplexed  in  the  valley,  and  to  prevent  their 
concentrating  their  forces ;  while,  with  his  main 
body,  he  pressed  forward  to  drive  the  enemy  from 
ihc  hei,i,'ht  of  Albohacen,  before  they  had  time  to  col- 
lect there  in  any  number,  or  to  fortify  themselves  in 
that  important  position. 

The  worthy  count  de  Cabra  was  yet  entangled 
with  his  cavalry  among  the  water-courses  of  the 
valley,  when  he  heard  the  war-cries  of  the  Moors, 
and  saw  their  army  rushing  over  the  bridge.  He 
rt-cognizfd  Boabdil  himself,  by  his  splendid  armor, 
the  mai^nificent  caparison  of  his  steed,  and  the  bril- 
liant guard  which  surrounded  him.  The  royal  host 
swept  on  toward  the  height  of  .'Mbohacen  :  an  inter- 
veninj;  hill  hid  it  from  his  sight ;  but  loud  shouts  and 
cries,  the  din  of  drums  and  trumpets,  and  the  reports 
ofaruiiebusses,  gave  note  that  the  battle  had  begun 

He'^e  w.is  a  royal  prize  in  the  field,  and  the  count 
de  Cahra  unable  to  get  into  the  action  !  The  good 
cavalier  w.is  in  an  agony  of  impatience ;  every  at- 
tempt ;c>  force  his  way  across  the  valley,  only  plunged 
him  into  new  difficulties.  At  length,  after  many  eager 
but  ineffectual  efforts,  he  was  oblit^ed  to  order  his 
troops  to  dismount,  at\d  slowly  and  carefully  to  lead 
their  horses  b.ick,  along  slippery  paths,  and  amid 
plashes  of  mire  and  water,  where  often  there  w.is 
scarce  a  foothold.  The  goixl  count  groaned  in  spirit, 
and  sw(?it  with  mere  impatience  as  ne  went,  fearing 
the  battle  might  be  fought,  and  the  prize  won  or  lost, 
Ivfore  he  could  reach  the  field.  Having  at  length 
toijfully  unraveled  the  mazes  of  the  valley,  and  ar- 
tifcd  at  firmer  ground,  h..  ordered  his  troops  to 
(SJur.t,  and  led  them  full  gallop  to  the  height.  Part 
if  the  gtxxi  count's  wishes  were  s.itisfied.  but  the 
I  di'.rest  were  disappointed :  he  came  in  se.ison  to 
partake  of  the  very  hottest  of  the  fight,  but  the  royal 
prize  was  no  longer  in  the  field. 

floab<lil  had  led  on  his  men  with  impetuous  valor. 
or  rather  with  hurried  rashness.  Heedlessly  exposing 
himself  in  the  front  of 'the  battle,  he  received  two 
wunds  in  the  veiy  first  encounter.  His  guards  ral- 
lied round  him.  defended  him  with  matchless  valor, 
and  bore  him,  bleeding,  out  of  the  action.  The  count 
de  Cabra  arrived  just  in  time  to  see  the  loyal  squadron 
16 


crossing  the  bridge,  and  slowly  conveying  their  di» 
abled  monarch  towards  the  gate  of  the  city. 

The  departure  of  Boabdil  made  no  difftrence  in 
the  fury  of  the  battle.  A  Moorish  warrior,  dark  and 
terrible  in  aspect,  mounted  on  a  black  charger  amid 
followed  by  a  band  of  savage  Gomeres.  rushed  'ur- 
ward  to  take  the  lead.  It  was  Hamet  ei  Zegri,  the 
fierce  alcayde  of  Ronda.  with  the  remnant  ol  h^lt 
once  redoubtable  garrison.  Animated  by  his  exairv 
pie,  the  Moors  renewed  their  assaults  upon  the 
height.  It  was  bravely  defended,  on  one  side  hj  the 
marques  of  Cadiz,  on  another  by  Don  Alonzo  de 
Aguilar ;  and  as  fa.st  as  the  Moors  ascended,  tlrey 
were  driven  back  and  dashed  down  the  declivities. 
The  count  de  Urena  took  his  stand  upon  the  fatal 
spot  where  his  brother  had  fallen  ;  his  followers  en- 
tered with  zeal  into  the  feelings  of  their  comm.inder 
and  heaps  of  the  enemy  sunk  beneath  their  weapons 
— sacrifices  to  the  manes  of  the  lamented  Master  of 
Calatrava. 

The  battle  continued  with  incredible  obstinacy. 
The  Moors  knew  the  importance  of  the  height  to  the 
safety  of  the  city ;  the  cavaliers  felt  their  honors 
staked  to  maintain  it.  Fresh  supplies  of  troops  were 
poured  out  of  the  city ;  some  battled  on  the  height, 
while  some  attacked  the  christians  who  were  still  in 
the  valley  and  among  the  orchards  and  gardens,  to 
prevent  their  uniting  their  forces.  The  troops  in  the 
valley  were  gradually  driven  back,  and  the  whole 
host  of  the  Moors  swept  around  the  height  of  Albo- 
hacen. The  situation  of  the  marques  de  Cadiz  and 
his  companions  was  perilous  in  the  extreme :  tJiey 
were  a  mere  handful ;  and,  while  they  were  fighting 
hand  to  hand  with  the  Moors  who  .assailed  the 
height,  they  were  galled  from  a  distance  by  the 
cross-bows  and  arquebusses  of  a  host  that  augment- 
ed each  moment  in  number.  At  this  critical  junctur<^, 
king  Ferdinand  emerged  from  the  mountains  with 
the  main  body  of  the  army,  and  advanceci  tc  n.n  emi- 
nence comm.-inding  a  full  view  of  the  field  cf  actiott. 
By  his  side  w.is  the  noble  English  cavalier,  the  earl 
of  Rivers.  This  was  the  first  time  he  had  witnessed 
a  scene  of  Moorish  warfare.  He  looked  with  eager 
interest  at  the  chance  medley  fight  before  him,  where 
there  was  the  wild  career  of  cavalry,  the  irregular 
and  tumultuous  rush  of  infantry,  and  where  christian 
helm  and  Moorish  turban  were  intermingled  in  dead- 
ly struggle.  The  high  blood  of  the  English  knieht 
mounted  at  the  sight,  and  his  soul  was  stirred  within 
him,  by  the  confused  war-cries,  the  clangor  of  drums 
and  trumpets,  and  the  reports  of  arquebusses,  that 
came  echoing  up  the  mountains.  Seeing  that  the 
king  was  sending  a  reinforcement  to  the  field,  he  en- 
treated permission  to  mingle  in  the  affray,  and  fight 
according  to  the  fashion  of  his  country.  His  request 
being  granted,  he  alighted  from  his  steed  :  he  was 
merely  anned  en  blanio,  that  is  to  s;iy.  with  morion, 
back-piece,  and  breast-plate ;  his  sword  was  girded 
by  his  side,  and  in  his  hand  he  wielded  a  powerful 
battle-axe.  He  was  followed  by  a  body  of  his  yeo- 
men, armed  in  like  manner,  and  by  a  band  of  arcners 
with  bows  m.-ide  of  the  tough  English  yew-tree.  The 
e.irl  turned  to  his  troops,  and  addressed  them  briellj 
and  bluntly,  according  to  the  mani^er  of  his  country, 
"  Remember,  my  merry  men  all,"  said  he,  "  the  eyes 
of  strangers  are  upon  you  ;  you  are  in  a  foreign  land, 
fighting  for  the  glory  of  Go<l,  and  the  honor  of  merry 
old  England  1 "  A  loud  shout  was  the  rr^ly.  The 
earl  waved  his  battle-axe  over  his  head  :  "  ijt.  George 
for  England  !  "  cried  he  ;  and  to  the  inspiring  sound 
of  this  old  English  war-cry,  he  and  his  followers 
rushed  down  to  the  battle  with  manly  and  courage- 
ous heart.*    They  soon  made  their  way  mto  tn« 

*  Cure  de  lo>  Palaciot. 


I 


(f 


+'  1  If  ■'   • ' ' 


•J2fl 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


m 


,  * 


P 


IK. 


..T^^/l.^ 


■"i.  f. 


:* 


mw^ 


midst  of  the  enemy ;  but  when  engaged  in  the  hottest 
of  the  fight,  they  made  no  shouts  or  outcries.  They 
prsssed  steadily  forward,  dealing  their  blows  to  right 
and  left,  hewing  down  the  Moors,  and  cutting  their 
way,  with  their  battle-axes,  like  woodmen  in  a  lorest ; 
while  the  archers,  pressing  into  the  opening  thev 
nnadc,  plied  their  bows  vigorously,  and  spread  deatn 
or  ever)'  side. 

Vv'hcn  the  Castilian  mountaineers  beheld  the  valor 
of  >hr  English  yeomanry,  they  would  not  be  outdone 
in  hardihood.  They  could  not  vie  with  them  in 
wcight  01  bulk,  but  for  vigor  and  activity  they  were 
surp.'^sscd  by  none.  They  kept  pace  with  them, 
therefore,  with  equal  heart  and  rival  prowess,  and 
gave  a  brave  support  to  the  stout  Englishmen. 

The  Moors  were  confounded  by  the  fury  of  these 
assaults,  and  disheartened  by  the  loss  of  Hamet  el 
Zegri,  who  was  carried  wounded  from  the  fuld. 
They  gradually  fell  back  upon  the  bridge  ;  the  chris- 
tians followed  up  their  advantage,  and  drove  then) 
over  it  tumultuously.  The  Moors  retreated  into  the 
suburb  ;  and  lord  Rivers  and  his  troops  entered  with 
them  pell-mell,  fighting  in  the  streets  and  in  the 
houses.  King  Ferdinand  came  up  to  the  scene  of 
action  with  his  royal  guard,  and  the  infidels  were 
driven  within  the  city  walls.  Thus  were  the  suburbs 
gained  by  the  hardihood  of  the  English  lord,  without 
such  an  event  having  been  premeclitated.* 

The  earl  of  Rivers,  notwithst.-inding  he  had  re- 
ceived a  wound,  stdl  urged  forward  in  the  attack. 
He  penetrated  almost  to  the  city  gate,  in  defiance  of 
a  shower  of  missiles  that  slew  many  of  his  followers. 
A  stone,  hurled  from  the  battlements,  checked  his 
impetuous  career  :  it  struck  him  in  the  face,  dashed 
out  two  of  his  front  teeth,  and  laid  him  senseless  on 
the  eaith.  He  was  removed  to  a  short  distance  by 
his  men  ;  but,  recovering  his  senses,  refused  to  per- 
mit himself  to  be  taken  from  the  suburb. 

When  the  contest  was  over,  the  streets  presented 
%  piteous  spectacle — so  many  of  their  inhabitants 
had  dii-d  in  the  defence  of  their  thresholds,  or  been 
slaughtered  without  resistance.  Among  the  victims 
was  a  poor  weaver,  who  had  been  at  work  in  his 
dwelling  at  this  turbulent  moment.  His  wife  urged 
him  to  tly  into  the  city.  "  Why  should  I  fly  ?  "  said 
the  MiJOr— "  to  be  reserved  for  hunger  and  slavery  ? 
I  tell  you,  wife,  I  will  await  the  foe  here  ;  for  better 
is  it  to  die  quickly  by  the  steel,  than  to  perish  pic'ce- 
meal  in  chains  and  tiungeons."  He  said  no  mere, 
but  resumed  his  occupation  of  weaving ;  and  in  the 
indiscriminate  fury  of  the  assault,  was  slaiightered  at 
his  loom.t 

The  christians  remained  masters  of  the  field,  and 
proceeded  to  pitch  three  encampments  for  the  prose- 
cution of  the  siege.  The  king,  with  the  great  botly 
of  the  army,  took  a  position  on  the  side  of  the  city 
next  to  Granada :  the  marques  of  Cadiz  and  his 
brwe  companions  once  more  pitched  their  tents 
upon  the  height  of  Sancto  Albohacen :  but  the  En- 
gli.sh  earl  planted  his  standard  sturdily  within  the 
suburb  be  had  taken. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

CONCLUSION   OF  THE  SIEGK  OF  LOXA. 

Having  possession  of  the  heights  of  Albohacen 
and  the  suburb  of  the  city,  the  christians  were  en- 
atiled  to  choose  the  most  favorable  situations  for 
their  batteries.  They  immediately  destroyed  the 
Btone  bridge,  by  which  the  garrison  had  made  its 


*  Cui*  de  lot  FtUcio*. 
t  Pulgar,  pairt  3,  c,  58. 


MS. 


sallies  ;  and  they  threw  two  wooden  bridges  atro^  I 
the  river,  and  others  over  the  canals  and  streams,  ^  I 
as  to  establish  an  easy  communication  between  ihi  I 
different  camps.  I 

When  all  was  arranged,  a  heavy  fire  was  optm^l 
upon  the  city  (rom  various  points.  They  threw,  not] 
only  balls  ol  stone  and  iron,  but  great  carc.xsscsolf 
fire,  wh-ch  burst  like  meteors  on  the  houses,  wra> 
ping  them  instantly  in  a  blaze.  The  walls  wettl 
shattered,  and  the  towers  toppled  down,  by  ir'uien.l 
dous  discharges  from  the  lombards.  Thro.i^h  thtl 
openings  thus  made,  they  could  behold  the  iiiterioti 
of  the  city — houses  tumbling  or  in  flanus— mtnl 
women,  and  children,  tlying  in  terror  thminjli  thj 
streets,  and  slaughtered  by  the  shower  of  missiles,  I 
sent  through  the  openings  horn  smaller  artillery, and  I 
from  cross-bows  and  arquebusses.  I 

The  Moors  attempted  to  repair  the  breaches,  but  I 
fresh  discharges  from  the  lombards  buried  them  be.  I 
neath  tha  ruins  of  the  walls  they  were  inendiii);.    [gl 
their  despair,  many  of  the  inhabitants  rushid  fonjl 
into  the  narrow  streets  of  the  suburbs,  and  assailed 
the  christians  with  darts,  scimitars,  and  pnniards, 
seeking  to  destroy  rather  than  defend,  and  IcciHessI 
of  death,  in  the  confidence  that  to  die  fighting  with 
an  unbeliever,  was  to  be  translated  at  once  to  para- 
dise. 

For  two  nights  and  a  day  this  awful  scene  con- 
tinued ;  when  certain  of  the  principal  inhabit. mts  b^  I 
gan  to  reflect  upon  the  hopelessness  of  the  CDriftict;! 
their  king  w,as  disabled,  their  principal  ca|)t,uns  were  I 
either   killed   or   wounded,  their  fortifications  little  | 
better  than  heaps  of  ruins.    They  had  urged  the  un. 
fortunate  Boabdil  to  the  conflict ;  they  now  rl.iinored  I 
for  a  capitulation.     A  parley  was  procurct  f:  on  the 
christian  monarch,  and  the  terms  of  surrender  wat  | 
soon  adjusted.     They  were  to  yield  up  the  ciiy  im- 
mediately, with  all  their  christian  captives,  anj  to  I 
sally  forth  with  as  much  of  their  property  as  they 
could  take  with  them.     The  marques  of  Cailu,  on 
whose  honor  and  humanity  they  had  great  reliance,  I 
was  to  escort  them  to  Granada,  to  j)rotect  their,  from  I 
assault  or  robbery  :  such  as  chose  to  remain  in  .Spain  I 
were  to  be  permitted  to  reside  in  Castile,  Arr  igon,  I 
or  Valencia.     As  to  Boalxlil  el  Chico,  he  was  to  do 
homage  as  vassal  to  king.  Ferdinand,  but  no  charge 
w.as  to  be  urged  against  him  of  having  viol.iteil  his 
former  pledge.     If  ne  should  yield  up  all  pretensions  I 
to  Granada,  the  title  of  duke  of  Guadix  was  to  be  I 
assigned  to  him,  and  the  territory  thereto  annexed, | 
provided  it  should  be  recovered  from  El  Zagal  with- 
in six  months. 

The  capitulation  being  arranged,  they  j,'ave  ail 
hostages  the  alcayde  of  the  city,  and  the  principal! 
officers,  together  with  the  sons  of  their  late  chietiiin,! 
the  veteran  Ali  Atar.  The  warriors  of  Loxa  theiil 
issued  forth,  humbled  and  dejected  at  havir.j;  to  sur- 
render those  walls  which  they  had  so  long  m.i  •laineil  I 
with  valor  and  renown  ;  and  the  women  and  ctiildrenl 
filled  the  air  with  lamentations,  at  being  exiled  iron  | 
their  native  homes. 

Last  came  forth  Boabdil,  most  tnily  called  F.i| 
Zogoybi,  the  unlucky.  Accustomed,  as  he  was,  tol 
be  crowned  and  uncrowned,  to  l>e  ransoined  and  I 
treated  as  a  matter  of  bargain,  he  had  acceded  of  I 
course  to  the  capitulation.  He  was  enfeebled  b;| 
his  wounds,  and  had  an  air  of  dejection ;  yet  ii  ill 
Siiid,  his  conscience  acquitted  him  of  a  breath  of  I 
faith  towards  the  C.istilian  sovereigns,  and  the  per-f 
son.-il  valor  he  h.id  displayed  had  caused  a  syinpathjj 
for  him  among  many  of  tht  christian  cavaliers.  Htl 
knelt  to  Ferdinand  according  to  the  form?  ot  vas-j 
salage,  and  then  departed,  in  melancholy  mood,  foi| 
Fricgo,  a  town  about  three  ;eag;:es  distant- 
Ferdinand  immediately  ordered  Loxa  to  be  r»| 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


22) 


pi'red,  and  strongly  garrisoned.  He  was  greatly 
eli.ted  at  the  capture  of  this  place,  in  consequence 
of  his  former  defeat  before  its  walls.  He  passed 
jreat  encomiums  u|  on  the  commanders  who  had  dis- 
tinguished themselves;  and  historians  dwell  p.irticu- 
larji  upon  his  visit  to  the  tent  of  the  English  earl. 
H)£  '■■-  ij'!Sly  consoled  him  for  the  loss  of  his  teeth,  by 
Iht  :  T.iideration  that  he  might  otherwise  have  lost 
Ihtiii  by  natural  decay;  whereas  the  lack  of  them 
would  now  be  esteemed  a  beauty,  rather  than  a  de- 
Ixi,  serving  as  a  trophy  of  the  glorious  cause  in 
fi\i\ch  he  hail  been  engaged. 

The  earl  replied,  that  lie  gave  thanks  to  God  and 
to  the  holy  virgin,  for  being  thus  honored  by  a  visit 
from  the  most  potent  king  in  Christendom  ;  that  he 
accepted  with  all  gratitude  his  gracious  consolation 
lor  ill'-  I'jss  of  his  teeth,  though  he  held  it  little  to 
lose  two  teeth  in  the  service  of  God,  who  had  given 
hmi  ^di :— "  A  speech,"  says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
"  full  of  most  courtly  wit  and  christian  piety  ;  and 
one  only  marvels  that  it  should  have  been  made  by 
a  native  of  an  island  so  far  distant  from  Castvle." 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

CAPTURE  OF  ILLORA. 


KiN<;  Ferdinand  followed  up  his  victory  at  Loxa, 
hy  laying  siege  to  the  strong  town  of  Illora.  This 
i.-douljiable  fortress  w.-is  perched  upon  a  high  rock, 
in  ihe  midst  of  a  spacious  valley.  It  was  within  four 
leaijiies  of  the  Moorish  capital ;  and  its  lofty  castle, 
keeping  vigilant  watch  over  a  wide  circuit  of  coun- 
Uy,  w.is  termed  the  right  eye  of  Granada. 

The  alcayde  of  Illora  was  one  of  the  bravest  of  the 
Moorish  commanders,  and  made  every  preparation 
»  deli-nd  his  fortress  to  the  last  extremity.  He 
jent  the  women  and  children,  the  aged  and  infirm, 
to  the  metropolis.  He  placed  barricades  in  the 
suburbs,  ojjened  doors  of  communication  from  house 
to  house,  and  pierced  their  walls  with  loop-holes 
for  the  discharge  of  cross-bows,  arquebusses,  and 
other  missiles. 

King  Ferdinand  arrived  before  the  place,  with  all 
his  forces;  he  stationed  himself  upon  the  hill  of 
Encinilla,  and  distributed  the  other  encampments 
in  various  situ..tions,  so  as  to  invest  the  fortress. 
Knowing  the  valiant  character  of  the  alcayde, 
and  the  desperate  courage  of  the  Moors,  he  ordered 
the  encampments  to  be  fortified  with  trenches  and 
paliisadoes,  the  guards  to  be  doubled,  and  sentinels 
to  be  placed  in  all  the  watch-towers  of  the  adjacent 
heights. 

When  all  was  ready,  the  duke  del  Infantado  de- 
manded the  attack  ;  it  was  his  first  campaign,  and 
he  was  anxious  to  disprove  the  royal  insinuation 
made  ajjainst  the  hardihood  of  his  embroidered  chiv- 
ilry.  King  Ferdinand  granted  his  demand,  with  a 
tsconung  compliment  to  his  spirit ;  he  ordered  the 
count  df  Cabra  to  make  a  simult.ineous  attack  upon 
a  different  quarter.  Both  chiefs  led  forth  their 
troops ; — those  of  the  duke  in  fresh  and  brilliant 
Jrmor,  richly  om,imented,  and  as  yet  uninjured  by 
the  service  of  the  field ;  those  of  the  count  were 
reailiei beaten  veterans,  whose  armor  was  dented 
and  hacked  in  many  a  hard-fought  battle.  The 
joutht  il  duke  blushed  at  the  contr.ist.  "Cavaliers," 
cried  he,  "  we  have  been  reproached  with  the  finery 
I  of  our  array :  let  us  prove  that  a  trenchant  blade 
may  rrsf  in  a  gilded  sneath.  Forward  I  to  the  foe  ! 
I  and  I  trust  in  God,  that  as  we  enter  th's  affray 
knights  well  accoutred,  so  we  shall  leave  it  cava- 
liers well  proved."    His  men  responded  oy  eager 


acclamations,  and  the  duke  led  them  forward  to  tha 
assault.  He  advanced  under  a  tremundoiu  shower 
of  stones,  darts,  balls,  and  arrows ;  but  nothing  could 
check  his  career ;  he  entered  the  suburb  sword  in 
hand  ;  his  men  fought  furiously,  though  with  great 
loss,  for  every  dwelling  had  been  turned  into  a  f<ir- 
tress.  After  a  severe  conflict,  they  succeeded  in 
driving  the  Moors  into  the  town,  about  the  saine 
time  that  the  other  subuio  was  carried  by  the  count 
de  Cabra  and  his  veterans.  The  troops  of  the  dukt 
del  Infantado  came  out  of  'he  contest  thinned  in 
number,  and  covered  with  blood,  and  dust,  and 
wounds:  they  received  the  highest  encomiums  of 
the  king,  and  there  was  never  afterwards  any  sneei 
at  their  embroidery. 

The  suburbs  being  taken,  three  batteries,  each  fur- 
nished with  eight  huge  lon.bards,  were  opened  upon 
the  fortress.  The  damage  and  havoc  were  tremen- 
dous, for  the  fortifications  had  not  been  constructed 
to  withstand  such  engines.  The  towers  were  over 
thrown,  the  walls  battered  to  pieces ;  the  interior  of 
the  place  was  all  exposed,  houses  demolished,  and 
many  people  slain.  The  Moors  were  terrified  by  the 
tumbling  ruins,  and  the  tremendous  din.  The  al- 
cayde had  resolved  to  defend  the  place  until  the  last 
extremity ;  he  beheld  it  a  heap  of  rubbish ;  there 
was  no  prospect  of  aid  from  ur,in.ida;  his  people 
had  lost  all  spirit  to  fight,  and  were  vociferous  for  a 
surrender ;  with  a  reluctant  heart,  he  capitulated. 
The  inhabitants  were  permitted  to  depart  with  all 
their  etTects,  excepting  their  arms  ;  and  were  escorted 
in  safety  by  the  duke  del  Infantado  and  the  count  de 
Cabra,  to  the  bridge  of  Pinos,  within  two  leagues  ol 
Granada. 

King  Ferdincind  gave  directions  to  repair  the  forti- 
fications of  Illora,  and  to  place  it  in  a  strong  state  of 
defence.  He  left,  as  alcayde  of  the  town  and  for- 
tress, Gonsalvo  de  Cordova,  younger  brother  of  Don 
Alonzo  de  Aguilar.  This  gallant  cavalier  was  cap- 
tain of  the  royal  guards  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella, 
and  gave  already  proofs  of  that  prowess  which  after- 
wards rendered  him  so  renowned. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 


OF  THE  ARRIVAL  OF  QUEEN  ISABELLA  AT  THK 
CAMP  BEFORE  MOCLIN  ;  AND  OF  THK  PLEAS- 
ANT SAYINGS  OF  THE   ENGLISH   EARL. 

The  war  of  Granada,  however  poets  may  em- 
broider it  with  the  flowers  of  their  fancy,  was  cer- 
tainly one  of  the  sternest  of  those  iron  conflicts 
which  have  been  celebrated  under  the  name  of  holy 
wars.  The  worthy  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  dwells 
with  unsated  delight  upon  the  succession  of  rugged 
mountain  enterprises,  bloody  battles,  and  merciless 
sackings  and  ravages  which  characterized  it ;  yet  we 
find  him  on  one  occasion  pausing  in  the  full  career 
of  victory  over  the  infidels,  to  detail  a  stately  pageant 
of  the  Catholic  sovereigns. 

Immediately  on  the  capture  of  Loxa,  Ferdinand 
had  written  to  Isabella,  soliciting  her  presence  at  the 
camp,  that  he  might  consult  with  her  as  to  the  dis- 
position of  their  newly-acquired  territories. 

It  was  in  the  early  part  of  June  that  the  queen 
departed  from  Cordova,  with  the  princess  Isabella 
and  numerous  ladies  of  her  court.  She  had  a  glori- 
ous attendance  of  cavaliers  and  pages,  with  many 
guards  and  domestics.  There  were  forty  mules,  for 
the  use  of  the  queen,  the  princess,  and  their  train. 

As  this  courtly  cavalcade  approached  the  Rock  of 
the  Lovers,  on  the  banks  of  tne  river  Yeguas,  thej 
beheld  a  splendid  train  of  knights  advancing  to  meet 


m 


rjs 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Hf 


.* ' 


!■■ 


them.  It  wiu  headed  by  that  accomplished  cavalier 
the  marques  duke  de  Cadiz,  accompanied  by  the 
adelai\tado  of  Andalusia.  He  had  lett  the  camp  the 
day  after  tht^  capture  of  lllora.  and  advanced  thus 
far  to  receive  the  queen  and  escort  her  over  the  bor- 
ders. The  queen  received  the  marques  with  distin- 
guished honor ;  for  he  was  esteemed  the  mirror  of 
chivalry.  His  actions  in  this  war  h;«l  become  the 
theme  ot  every  tonijue,  and  niany  hesitated  not  to 
iTompare  him  in  prowess  to  the  immortal  Cid.* 

Thus  pallanily  atttrded,  the  queen  entered  the 
»anquished  frontier  of  Granada  ;  journeying  securely 
along  the  pleasant  banl<s  of  the  Xenel,  so  lately  sub- 
ject to  the  scourings  of  the  Moors.  She  stopped  at 
Loxa,  where  she  administered  aid  and  consolation  to 
the  wounded,  distributing  money  among  them  for 
tl'.;;ir  stipport,  according  to  their  rank. 

The  king,  after  the  capture  of  lllora,  had  removed 
his  camp  before  the  fortress  of  Moclin,  with  an  in- 
tention of  besieging  it.  Thither  the  queen  proceeded, 
still  escorted  through  the  mountain  roads  by  the 
marques  of  Cadiz.  As  Isabella  drew  near  to  the 
camp,  the  duke  del  Infantado  issued  forth  a  league 
and  a  half  to  receive  her,  magnificently  arrayed,  and 
followed  by  all  his  chivalry  in  glorious  attire.  With 
him  came  the  standard  of  Seville,  borne  by  the  men- 
at-amis  of  th.at  renowned  city;  anti  the  Prior  of  St. 
Juan,  with  his  followers.  They  arrayed  themselves 
in  order  of  battle,  on  ihe  left  of  the  road  by  which 
the  queen  was  to  pass. 

The  worthy  Agapida  is  loyally  minute,  in  his  de- 
scrii>tion  of  the  state  and  grantlfur  of  the  Catholic 
sovereigns.  The  queen  rode  a  chestnut  mule,  seate<l 
in  a  magnificent  sadille-chair  decorated  with  silver 
gih.  The  housings  of  the  mule  were  of  tine  crimson 
cloth  ;  the  borders  embroidereil  with  gold  ;  the  reins 
■ind  head-piece  were  of  satin,  curiously  embossed 
with  needlework  of  silk,  and  wrought  with  golden 
tetters.  The  queen  wore  a  bri.il.  or  regal  skirt  of 
velvet,  under  which  were  others  of  brocade  ;  a  scar- 
let mantle,  ornamented  in  the  Moresco  fashion  ;  and 
a  black  hat,  embroidered  round  the  crown  and  brim. 

The  Infanta  was  likewise  mounted  on  a  chestnut 
mule,  richly  caparisoned  :  she  wore  a  brial  or  skirt 
of  black  brocade,  and  a  black  mantle  ornamented 
like  that  of  the  queen. 

When  the  royal  cavalcade  passed  by  the  chivalry 
of  the  duke  del  Infantado,  which  was  drawn  out  in 
battle  array,  the  queen  made  a  reverence  to  the  stand- 
ard of  Seville,  and  ordered  it  to  pass  to  the  right 
hand.  When  she  approached  the  camp,  the  multi- 
tuiie  ran  forth  to  meet  hei,  with  great  demonstra- 
tions of  joy  ;  for  she  was  universally  beloved  by  her 
subjects.  All  the  battalions  sallied  forth  in  military 
array,  bearing  the  various  standards  and  banners  of 
the  camp,  which  were  lowered  in  salutaticn  as  she 
passed. 

The  king  now  came  forth  in  royal  state,  mounted 
on  a  superb  chestnut  horse,  and  attended  by  many 
grandees  of  Castile.  He  wore  a  jubon  or  close  vest 
of  crimson  cloth,  with  cuisses  or  short  skirts  of  yel- 
low satin,  a  loose  cassock  of  brocade,  a  rich  Moorish 
Kimifar,  and  a  hat  with  plumes.  The  grandees  who 
attended  him  were  arrayed  with  wonderful  magniti- 
'-noc,  each  .according  to  his  taste  and  invention. 

These  high  and  mighty  princes  (says  Antonio 
Asrapida)  regard  each  other  with  great  deference, 
as  allied  sovereigns,  rather  than  with  connubial  fa- 
il Iliarity  as  mere  husband  and  wife.  When  they 
approached  each  other,  therefore,  before  embracing, 
they  made  three  profound  reverences ;  the  queen 
biking  otT  her  hat,  ind  remaining  in  a  silk  net  or 
cawl,  with  her  face  uncovered.     The  king  then  ap- 

*  Cun  de  lot  PaUcioi. 


proached  and  embraced  her,  :  ad  kiiued  her  respect 
fully  on  the  cheek.  He  also  tmhraced  his  d.u;;^h!ei 
the  princess  ;  and,  rwaking  the  sign  of  the  ch>m,  hj 
blessed  her,  and  kissed  her  on  the  lips.* 

The  good  Agapida  seems  scarcely  to  have  beci 
more  struck  witJi  the  appearance  of  the  sovireignj, 
th.m  with  th.at  of  the  Engli.sh  earl.  He  -ollowei] 
(says  he)  immediately  after  the  king,  wi;  grnai 
pomp,  and,  in  an  extraordinary  manner,  tak  :  g'p^. 
cedence  of  all  the  rest.  He  was  mouiitLcl  "  ,j  it, 
ffu/'sa,"  or  with  long  stirrups,  on  a  superb  cl  rstnui 
horse,  with  trappings  of  azure  silk  which  rr  k  herl  to 
the  ground.  The  housings  were  of  mulberry,  pow. 
dercd  with  stars  of  gold.  He  was  armed  in  proof, 
and  wore  over  his  irmor  a  short  French  m.inilenf 
nlack  brocade ;  he  had  a  white  French  h.a  »,% 
plumes,  and  carried  on  his  left  arm  a  small  round 
buckler,  banded  with  gold.  Five  pjiges  .iticiulci 
him.  apparelled  in  silk  and  brocade,  and  nuninud 
on  horses  sumptuously  caparisoned  ;  he  had  also  a 
tr.ain  of  followers,  bravely  attired  after  the  fashion 
of  his  country. 
.  He  advanced  in  a  chivalrous  and  courteous  man- 
ner, making  his  reverences  first  to  the  queen  and  in- 
fanta, and  afterwards  to  the  king.  Queen  Isabella 
received  him  graciously,  complimenting  him  on  liij 
courageous  conduct  .it  Loxa,  and  condoling;  with 
him  on  the  loss  of  his  teeth.  The  earl,  luiwtver, 
made  light  of  his  disfiguring  wound  ;  sayin;.r,  that 
"  our  bletsed  Lord,  who  had  built  all  that  house, 
had  opened  a  window  there,  that  he  might  sec,  more 
re-ulily  what  passed  within  :"t  whereupon  the 
worthy  F'r.ay  Antonio  Agapida  is  more  th.in  ever 
astonished  at  the  pregnant  wit  of  this  island  cavsl'er, 
The  earl  continued  some  little  distance  by  the  sit!;; 
of  the  roy.al  family,  complimenting  them  all  vitl: 
courteous  speeches,  his  horse  curvetting  and  caii. 
coling,  but  being  managed  with  great  gia^  e  ami 
de.xtcrity;  leaving  the  grandees  and  the  people  at 
large,  not  more  tilled  with  admiration  at  thesinnge- 
ness  and  m.agnificence  of  his  state,  than  at  the  ex- 
cellence of  his  horsemanship. t 

To  testify  her  sense  of  the  gallantry  and  services 
of  this  noble  English  knight,  vviio  had  conu-  from  so 
far  to  assist  in  their  wars,  the  queen  sent  hini  the 
next  day  presents  of  twelve  horses,  with  stately 
tents,  fine  linen,  two  beds  with  coverings  of  ^'old 
brocade,  and  many  other  articles  of  great  value. 

Having  refreshed  himself,  as  it  were,  with  tlie 
description  of  this  progress  of  queen  Isabella  to  the 
camp,  and  the  glorious  pomp  of  the  Catholic  sover. 
eigns,  the  worthy  Antonio  Agapida  returns  with 
renewed  relish  to  his  pious  work  of  discointjting  the 
Moors. 

The  description  of  this  roy.al  pageant,  and  the  par- 
ticulars concerning  the  English  earl,  thus  givon  from 
the  manuscript  of  Fray  Antonio  Agapid.%  agn-e  pr^ 
cisely  with  the  chronicle  of  Andres  BemaUhs,  the 
curate  of  los  Falacios.  The  English  earl  makes  no 
further  ligure  in  this  war.  It  appears  from  vanous 
histories,  that  he  returned  in  the  course  of  tlie  )'ji 
to  England.  In  the  following  year,  his  passion  'a 
fighting  took  him  to  tfie  ccntinent  .at  the  head  of 
four  hundred  a<lventuiers,  in  aid  of  Francis,  duke  of 
Britt.any,  against  Louis  XI.  of  France.  He  va 
killed  in  the  same  ye.ir  [1488]  in  the  battle  of  bl 
Alban's,  between  the  Bretons  and  the  French. 


•  Cure  d*  Ids  P»I»cio«.  t  PieUO  Mutyr,  Eput  61. 

t  Cun  de  lot  P»Udoi. 


A  CHRONICLB  OF  THB  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

aO«  I^INS  KERUINAND  ATTACKED  MOCLIN,  AND 
07  THE  STRANGE  EVENTS  THAT  ATTENDED 
ITS  CAPTURE. 

"The  Citholic  sovereigns,"  says  Fray  Antonio 
Agapida,  "  had  l)y  this  time  closely  clipped  the  riy;ht 
i^ing  of  the  Moorish  vulture."  In  other  words,  most 
jf  the  strong  (onri-sses  along  the  western  frontier  of 
fjianaii.i  had  fallen  beneath  the  christian  artillery. 
Tie  iinny  now  lay  encamped  before  the  town  of 
Uxhn,  on  the  frontier  ol  Jaen,  one  of  the  most 
fiiilitiiif"  fortresses  of  the  border.  It  stood  on  a 
(iijjh  riicky  hill,  the  base  of  which  w.is  nearly  girdled 
bv  a  river:  a  thick  forest  protected  the  back  part 
of  the  to\;n,  towards  the  mountain.  Thus  strongly 
situated,  it  domineered,  with  it's  frowning  baltle- 
ment!i  and  massive  towers,  all  the  mountain  p<-isses 
intotli.it  part  of  the  country,  and  was  called  "the 
jiiielil  of  Granada."  It  had  a  double  arrear  of  blood 
to  settle  with  the  christians  ;  two  hundred  years  be- 
fore, a  M.ister  of  Santia^^o  and  all  his  cavaliers  had 
been  lanced  by  the  Moors  before  its  gates.  It  h.a«l 
recently  made  terrible  slaughter  among  the  troops 
of  the  good  count  de  Cabra,  in  his  precipitate  attempt 
tocntr.ip  the  old  .Moorish  monarch.  The  pride  of 
Feriiiii.inil  had  been  piqued  by  being  obligee!  on  that 
occasion  to  recede  from  his  plan,  and  abandon  his 
concerted  attack  on  the  place  ;  he  was  now  prepared 
to  take  a  full  revenge. 

El  Zagal,  the  old  warrior  king  of  Granada,  antici- 
pating a  second  attempt,  had  provided  the  place 
»itli  ample  ammunitions  and  provisions  ;  h.id  ordered 
trenches  to  be  digged,  anil  additional  bulwarks  thrown 
up;  and  caused  all  the  old  tnen,  the  women,  and  the 
children,  to  De  removed  to  the  capital. 

Such  was  the  strength  of  the  fortress,  and  the 
liif.culties  of  its  position,  that  Ferdinand  anticipated 
iijch  trouble  in  reducing  it,  and  made  every  prepar.i- 
lim  tor  a  regidar  siege.  In  the  centre  of  his  camp 
wore  two  great  mounds,  one  of  sacks  of  Hour,  the 
other  of  grain,  which  were  called  the  royal  granary. 
Three  batteries  of  heavy  ordnance  were  opened 
I  against  the  citadel  and  principal  towers,  while  sinall- 
[  er  artillery,  engines  for  the  discharge  of  missiles,  ar- 
quebusses  and  cross-bows,  were  distributed  in  various 
places,  to  keep  up  a  tire  into  any  breaches  that  might 
K  made,  and  upon  those  of  the  garrison  who  should 
appear  on  the  battlements. 

The  lombards  soon  made  an  impression  on  the 
I  works,  demolishing  a  part  of  the  wall,  and  tumbling 
down  several  of  those  haughty  towers,  which  from 
Uieir  hei);ht  had  been  impregnable  before  the  inven- 
tion of  ),niii|)o«der.     The  Moors  repaireil  their  walls 
as  well  as  they  were  able,  and,  still  confiding  in  the 
jtreiitfth  of  their  situation,  kept  up  a  resolute  defence, 
nring  down  from  their  lofty  battlements  and  towers 
upon  the  christian  camp.    For  two  nights  and  a  day 
in  incessant  fire  was  kept  up,  so  that  there  was  not 
lamonient  in  which  the  roaring  of  ordnance  was  not 
I  heard,  or  some  damage  sustained  by  the  christians  or 
I  the  Moors.     It  was  a  conflict,  however,  more  of 
engineers  and  artillerists  ih.an  of  gallant  cavaliers ; 
Ihire  v.as  no  s-ally  of  troops,  or  shock  of  armed  men, 
K  .Tish  and  charge  of  cavalry.     The  knights  stood 
coking  on  with   idle  weajions,  waiting   until  they 
jhoukl  have  an  opportunity  of  signalizing  their  prow- 
tusbv  staling  the  walls,  or  storming  the  breaches. 
As  the  place,  however,  was  assailaole  only  in  one 
I  part,  mere  was  every  prospect  of  a  long  and  obsti- 
|naie  resistance. 

The  engineers,  as  usual,  discharged  not  merely 
I  balls  of  stone  and  iron,  to  demolish  the  walls,  but 
I  darning  balls  of  inextinguishable  combustibles,  de- 


signed to  set  fire  to  the  houses.  One  of  tltese,  which 
passed  high  through  the  air  like  a  meteor,  sen<ling 
out  sparks  and  crackling  as  it  went,  entered  the  win- 
dow of  a  tower  which  was  used  as  a  magazine' of 
gunpowder.  The  tower  blew  up,  with  a  tremendous 
explosion ;  the  Moors  who  were  upon  its  battlenkeati 
were  hurled  into  the  air,  and  fell  mangled  in  varirta 
parts  of  the  town;  and  the  houses  in  its  vicii>tiy 
were  rent  and  overthrown  as  with  an  earthquake. 

The  Moors,  who  had  never  witnessed  an  explosion 
of  the  kind,  .ascribed  the  destruction  of  the  tower  to  a 
miracle.  Some  who  had  seen  the  descent  of  the  flarr- 
ing  ball,  imagined  that  fire  had  fallen  from  heaven  to 
punish  them  for  their  pertinacity.  The  pious  Agap- 
ida,  himself,  believes  tliat  this  tiery  missive  was  con- 
ducted by  divine  agency  to  coiilbuiid  the  infidels  ;  an 
opinion  in  which  he  is  supported  by  other  Catholic 
historians.* 

Seeing  heaven  and  earth  as  it  were  combined 
against  them,  the  Moors  lost  all  heart ;  they  capitu- 
lated, and  were  permitted  to  depart  with  their  effects, 
leaving  behind  all  ar  is  and  munitions  of  war. 

The  Catholic  army  (savs  Antonio  Agapida)  entered 
Moclin  in  solemn  state,  :-.ot  as  a  licentious  host,  in- 
tent upon  plunder  and  desolation,  but  as  a  band  of 
christian  warriors,  coming  to  purify  and  regenerate 
the  land.  The  standard  of  the  cross,  that  ensign  of 
this  holy  crusade,  was  borne  in  the  advance,  followed 
by  the  other  banners  of  the  army.  Then  came  the 
king  and  queen,  at  the  head  of  a  vast  number  of 
armed  cavaliers.  They  were  accompanied  by  a 
band  of  priests  and  friars,  with  the  choir  of  the  royal 
cha[x;l,  chanting  the  canticle  "Te  dcum  laudamus." 
As  they  were  moving  through  the  streets  in  this  sol. 
cmn  manner,  every  sound  hushed  excepting  th»  an- 
them of  the  choir,  they  suddenly  heard,  issuing  as  it 
were  from  under  ground,  a  chorus  of  voices  chant- 
ing the  solemn  response,  "  Brmtiulum  ijtii  venit «'« 
nomine  domini."\  The  procession  p.'uised  in  wonder. 
The  sounds  arose  from  christian  captives,  and  among 
them  several  priests,  who  were  confined  in  subteira- 
neous  dungeons. 

The  heart  of  Isabella  was  greatly  touched.  She 
ordered  the  captives  to  be  diawn  forth  from  their 
cells,  and  was  still  more  moved  at  beholding,  by  their 
wan,  discolored,  and  emaciated  appearance,  how 
much  they  had  suffered.  Their  hair  and  beards 
were  overgrown  and  shagged  ;  they  were  wasted  by 
hunger,  half  naked,  and  in  chains.  She  ordered  that 
they  should  be  clothed  and  cherished,  and  money 
furnished  them  to  bear  them  to  their  homes.t 

Several  of  the  captives  were  brave  cavaliers,  wno 
had  been  wounded  and  made  prisoners,  in  the  defeat 
of  the  count  de  Cabra  by  El  Zagal,  in  the  preceding 
year.  There  were  also  found  other  melancholy 
traces  of  that  disastrous  affair.  On  visiting  the  narrow 
p.ass  where  the  defeat  had  taken  place,  the  remains 
of  several  christian  warriors  were  found  in  thickets, 
or  hidden  behind  rocks,  or  in  the  clefts  of  the  mount- 
ains. These  were  some  who  had  been  struck  from 
their  horses,  and  wounded  too  severely  to  fly.  They 
had  crawled  away  from  the  scene  of  aciiun,  and 
concealed  themselves  to  avoid  falling  into  the  hands 
of  the  enemy,  and  had  thus  perished  miserably  and 
alone.  The  remains  of  those  of  note  were  known 
by  their  annor  and  devices,  and  were  mourned  over 
by  their  companions  who  had  shared  the  disasters 
of  that  day.§ 

The  queen  had  these  remains  piously  collected, 
as  the  relics  of  so  many  martyrs  who  had  fallen  in 


i 


*  PuVar.    Cianbay.  Ludo  Mkrino  Sicuio,  Com  MwaoiaL  d« 
Hi>t>u>,  lib.  oo. 

t  Mahno  Sicuio.  %  lUcicai,  Hist.  Pontif.  lib.  t.  c.  a*  1 1 

I  Pulgw,  put  3.  cap.  4i. 


Si»0 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


Ihe  cause  of  the  faith.  They  were  interred  with 
Kreat  solemnity  in  the  mosques  of  Moclin,  which  had 
Dccn  purified  and  consecrated  to  christian  worship. 
"  There,"  says  Antonio  Ag^ipida,  "rest  the  bones  of 
those  truly  Catholic  knights,  in  the  holy  ground 
which  in  a  mannor  luid  heen  s.inctified  by  their  blood  ; 
and  all  pilgrims  passing  through  those  mountains 
offer  up  prayers  and  nvisses  tor  the  repose  of  their 
loulr. 

The  queen  remained  for  some  time  at  Moclin, 
lalniinisterin^  comfort  to  the  wounded  and  the  pris- 
oners, bringing  the  newly  ac(|uirc(l  territory  into 
»(der,  and  tounding  churches  and  monasteries  and 
Other  pious  institutions.  "  While  the  king  marched 
in  front,  laying  waste  the  land  of  the  I'hilistiries," 
says  the  figurative  Antonio  Agapida,  "queen  Isabella 
followed  his  tr.aci:s  as  the  binder  follows  the  reaper, 
gathering  and  garnering  the  rich  harvest  that  has 
fallen  beneath  his  sickle.  In  this  she  w.is  greatly 
assisted  by  the  counsels  of  that  cloud  of  bishops, 
friars,  and  other  saintly  men,  which  continually  sur- 
rounded her,  garnering  the  tirst  fruits  of  this  infidel 
land  into  the  granaries  of  the  church."  Lciving  her 
thus  piously  employed,  the  king  pursued  his  career 
of  conquest,  determined  to  lay  waste  the  vega,  and 
:arry  fire  and  sword  to  the  very  gates  of  Granada. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 


HOW  KINO  FERDINAND  FOKAGED  THE  VIGA  ; 
AND  OF  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BRIDGE  OF 
PINOS,  AND  THE  FATE  OF  THE  TWO  MOORISH 
BROTHERS. 

MULEY  Abdalla  el  Zagal  had  been  under  a 
spell  of  ill  fortune,  ever  since  the  suspicious  death 
of  the  old  king,  his  brother.  Success  had  deserted 
his  standard ;  and,  with  his  tickle  subjects,  want  of 
success  was  one  of  the  greatest  crimes  in  a  sovereign. 
He  found  his  popularity  declining,  and  he  lost  all  con- 
fidence in  his  people.  The  christian  army  marched 
in  open  defiance  through  his  territories,  and  sat  down 
delil>erately  before  his  fortresses ;  yet  he  dared  not 
lead  forth  his  legions  to  oppose  them,  lest  the  inhab- 
itants of  the  Albaycin,  ever  ripe  for  a  revolt,  should 
rise  and  shut  the  gales  of  Granada  against  his  return. 

Every  few  days,  some  melancholy  train  entered 
the  metropolis,  the  inhabitants  of  some  captured 
town,  be.inng  the  few  effects  that  had  Iwen  spared 
them,  and  weeping  and  bewailing  the  desolation  of 
their  homes.  When  the  tidings  arrived  that  lllora 
and   Moclin  had  fallen,  the  people  were  seized  wiih 


consternation.  "The  right  eye  of  Granada  is  extin 
guishecl,"  exclaimed  they ;  "  the  shield  of  Granada  is 
Broken  :  what  shall  protect  us  from  the  inroad  of  the 
foe  ?  "  When  the  survivors  of  the  garrisons  of  those 
towns  arrived,  with  downcast  looks,  bearing  the 
marks  of  battle,  and  destitute  of  arms  and  standards, 
the  populace  reviled  them  in  their  wrath  ;  but  they 
answered,  "  we  fouglit  as  long  as  we  had  force  to 
fight,  or  walls  to  shelter  us  ;  but  the  christians  laid 
our  towns  and  battlements  in  ruins,  and  we  looked 
in  vain  for  aid  from  Granada. " 

1  he  alcaydes  of  lllora  and  .Moclin  were  brothers; 
Lhcy  were  alike  in  prowess,  and  the  bravest  among 
thic  Moorish  chev.iliers.  Tliey  h,ad  been  the  most 
distinguished  in  all  tilts  and  tourneys  which  graced 
the  happier  days  of  Granada,  and  had  distinguished 
themselves  in  the  st'.rn«-r conflicts  of  the  field.  Ac- 
clamation had  always  fullowed  their  b.mners,  and 
they  had  long  been  the  delight  of  the  people.  Yet 
now,  when  they  returned  after  the  capture  of  their 
torti  esses,  they  were  followed  by  the  unsteady  popu- 


lace with  execrations.  The  hearts  of  the  nlcijiiei 
swelled  with  intlignation  ;  they  found  the  inijiaiinde 
of  their  countrymen  still  more  intolerable  than  lV 
hostility  of  the  christians. 

Tidings  came,  that  the  enemy  was  .advancin^^  with 
his  triumphant  legions  to  lay  waste  the  count  r>  ibom 
Granada.  Still  El  Zagal  did  not  dare  to  take  the 
field.  The  two  alcaydes  of  lllora  antl  Mociin  sto'x 
before  him:  "We  have  defended  your  foitrrsiri, 
said  they,  "until  we  were  almost  buried  under  thcii 
ruins,  .and  for  our  reward  we  receive  scolliii.;s  anc 
revilings;  give  us,  oh  king,  an  o|)portunity  whcj 
knightly  v.ilor^nay  signalize  itself,  not  shut  up  lnhinc 
stone  walls,  but  in  the  o^ien  conflict  of  tlie  titid 
The  enemy  approaches  to  lay  our  country  desolite: 
give  us  men  to  meet  him  in  the  advance,  mil  Iti 
shame  light  upon  our  heads  if  we  be  found  wanting 
in  the  battle  !  ' 

The  two  brothers  were  sent  forth,  with  a  larm 
force  of  horse  and  foot;  El  Z.agal  intended,  should 
they  be  successful,  to  issue  forth  with  his  wholt 
force,  and  by  a  decisive  victory,  repair  the  losses  h{ 
had  suffered.  When  the  |)ecple  saw  the  well-kiiov,ii 
st.andards  of  the  brothers  going  forth  to  battle,  ihcrt 
was  a  feeble  shout ;  but  the  alcaydes  pjissed  on  with 
stem  countenances,  for  they  knew  the  same  voirfj 
would  curse  them  were  they  to  return  unfoitnnaie. 
They  cast  a  farewell  loo',  upon  fair  Granada,  and 
upon  the  beautiful  fields  of  their  infancy,  as  if  for 
these  they  w^re  willing  to  lay  down  their  lives,  but 
not  for  an  ungrateful  people. 

The  army  of  Ferdinand  had  arrived  within  twa 
leagues  of  Granada,  at  the  liridge  of  Pinos,  a  p.isi 
famous  in  th"  wars  of  the  Moors  and  christi.ins  foj 
many  a  bloody  conflict.  It  was  the  pass  by  which 
the  Castilian  monarchs  generally  made  their  inrozils, 
and  was  capable  of  great  defence,  from  the  ruj;^:;t(l. 
ness  of  the  country  and  the  difficulty  of  the  l-rul,;.. 
The  kine,  with  the  main  body  of  the  army,  hail  i, 
tained  the  brow  of  a  hill,  when  they  beheld  the  an 
vance  guard,  under  the  marques  of  Cadiz  anil  th« 
"Master  of  Santiago,  furiously  attacked  by  the  eneiuy, 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  briilge.  The  Moors  fished  lo 
the  assault  with  their  usual  shouts,  but  wah  more 
than  usual  ferocity.  There  was  a  hard  stni;,'gleat 
the  bridge ;  both  parties  knew  the  importance  of 
that  pass. 

The  king  particularly  noted  the  prowess  of  two 
Moorish  cavaliers,  .alike  in  arms  and  devices,  and 
whom  by  their  beanng  and  attentiance  he  p-rccivcd 
to  be  commanders  of  the  enemy.  They  were  the 
two  brothers,  the  alcaydes  of  lllora  and  Moclin. 
Wherever  they  turned,  they  carried  confusion  and 
death  into  the  ranks  of  the  christians ;  but  they 
fought  with  desperation,  rather  than  valor.  Tht 
count  de  Cabra,  and  lii->  brother  Don  M.artin  ile  Cor- 
dova, pressed  forward  with  eagerness  against  them; 
but  having  advanced  too  precipitately,  were  sur- 
rounded by  the  foe,  and  in  imminent  dan^jer.  A 
young  christian  knight,  seeinjj  their  peril,  h-istersd 
with  his  followers  to  their  relief.  The  king  ncng- 
nized  him  for  Don  Juan  de  Arragon,  cojnt  ut  Ribir- 
goza,  his  own  nephew ;  for  he  was  illegitimate  son 
of  the  duke  of  Villaherinosa,  illegitimate  brother  "-i 
king  Ferdinand.  The  splendid  armor  of  Don  |i.,ii, 
an<l  the  sumptuous  caparison  of  h's  steed,  u-.id.tcu 
him  a  brilliant  object  of  attack.  Ke  was  ;u-.-.;;lcil  o.^ 
all  sides,  and  his  superb  steed  slain  under  hiiii ;  y«  j 
still  he  fought  valiantly,  bearing  for  a  time  the  brunt 
of  the  fight,  and  giving  the  exhausted  forces  of  ihe 
count  de  Cabra  time  to  recover  breath. 

Seeing  the  pcr.l  of  these  troops  and  the  general 
obstinacy  of  the  fight,  the  king  ordered  the  ro\il 
stanilard  to  be  advanced,  and  hastened,  with  allliJ  I 
forces,  to  the  relief  of  the  count  de  Cabra.     M  hu  | 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


•M) 


appioach,  the  enemy  gave  way.  and  retreated  to- 
wards the  bridge.  The  two  Moorish  conimandera 
endiavoreil  to  rally  their  troops,  and  animate  them 
tu  <!i  lend  this  pasa  to  the  utmost :  they  used  prayers, 
ri'iiionstranccs,  nien.ices — but  almost  in  vain.  They 
cuiilil  only  collc-ct  a  scanty  handlul  of  cavalit-rs  ;  with 
thisc  they  planted  themselves  at  the  hea^i  of  the 
fttui^r..  and  disputed  it  inch  by  inch.  The  tijjht  was 
hot  and  obstinate,  (or  but  few  could  cnnteiul  hand  to 
biiiil,  yet  m.iny  discharged  cross-bows  and  arque- 
jus-.fs  from  the  b.inks.  The  river  was  covered  with 
the  floating  bodies  of  the  sl.iin.  The  Moorish  band 
ol  c.ivaliers  w.is  almost  entirely  cut  to  pieces  ;  the 
two  brothers  fell,  covered  with  wounds,  upon  the 
bnii^'^  they  had  so  resolutely  del'ende«l.  Tliey  had 
given  up  the  battle  for  lost,  but  h.id  determined  not 
to  It-turn  alive  to  ungrateful  Granada. 

When  the  people  of  the  capital  heard  how  de- 
voti'liy  they  had  fallen,  they  lamented  greatly  their 
(loailis,  and  extolled  their  memory:  a  column  was 
erected  to  their  honor  in  the  vicinity  of  the  bridge, 
winch  long  went  by  the  name  of  "  the  Tomb  of  the 
bro'hers.' 

The  army  of  Ferdinand  now  marched  on,  and  es- 
tahlished  its  camp  in  the  vi(  iniiy  of  Granada.  The 
worthy  Ag.apida  gives  many  triumphant  details  of  the 
rav.i^'es  commuted  in  the  vega,  which  was  ag.ain  laid 
w.i.ste  ;  the  grain,  fruits,  and  other  productions  of  the 
earth,  destroyed — and  that  earthly  paradise  render- 
eii  .1  dreary  desert.  He  narrates  several  fierce  but 
inrl'^i'Ctual  sallies  .and  skirmishes  of  the  Moors,  in 
delcnce  of  their  favorite  plain ;  among  which,  one 
df.si:r\es  to  be  mentioned,  as  it  records  the  achieve- 
tnctits  of  one  of  the  saintly  heroes  of  this  war. 

During  one  of  the  movements  of  the  chnsti.an 
lUTiiy,  near  the  walls  of  Granada,  a  batt.alion  of  hf- 
leeii  hunilred  cavalry,  and  a  large  force  of  foot,  had 
willed  from  the  city,  and  posted  themselves  near 
Willie  gardens,  which  were  surrounded  by  a  canal. 
mil  traversed  by  ditches,  lor  the  purpose  of  irriga- 
tion. 

The  Moors  beheld  the  duke  del  Infantado  pass  by, 
with  his  two  splendid  battalions  ;  one  of  men-at-arms, 
the  other  of  light  cavalry,  armed  ,i  la  f^ifwta.  In  com- 
piiiy  with  him,  but  following  as  a  rear-guard,  was 
Uoii  Garcia  Osorio,  the  belligerent  bishop  ol  jaen, 
attended  by  Francisco  bovatlillo,  the  corregiilor  of 
his  city,  and  followed  by  two  squadrons  of  men-at- 
arms,  from  Jaen,  Aneluxar,  Ulicda,  and  Bacza.*  The 
success  of  last  year's  campaign  had  given  the  good 
bishop  an  inclination  for  warlike  all'airs,  and  he  had 
once  m^~re  buckled  on  his  cuirass. 

The  Moors  were  much  given  to  strat,agpin  in  war- 
fare. They  looked  wistfully  at  the  magnificent 
S()uadrons  of  the  duke  del  Infantado;  but  their  mar- 
tial (lis(;ii)line  precluded  ail  attack:  lite  good  bishop 
proriiised  to  be  a  more  easy  prey.  Suffering  the 
duke  and  his  troops  to  pass  unmolested,  they  ap- 
proached the  sijiLadrons  of  the  bisho)),  and,  making 
a  pretended  att.ack,  skirmished  slightly,  and  Hed  in 
apparent  confusion.  The  bishop  considered  the  d,ay 
his  own,  and,  seconded  by  his  corregidor  Hovadillo, 
billowed  with  valorous  precipitation.  The  Moors 
B»(l  into  the  Hueria  del  Key,  or  on  harrl  of  the  king  ; 
the  troops  of  the  bishop  followed  liitly  after  them. 

\yhen  the  Moors  perceived  their  pursuers  fairly 
Kiibarrassed  among  the  intricacies  of  the  garden, 
they  turned  fiercely  upon  them,  while  some  of  their 
nu.-it)er  threw  o[)en  the  sluices  of  the  Xenel.  In  .an 
instant,  the  canal  which  encircletl  ami  the' ditches 
which  traversed  the  garden,  were  filled  with  water, 
an',  the  valiant  bishop  and  his  followers  found  them- 
wlvc  J  overwhelmed  by  a  dcluge.t    A  scene  of  great 


confusion  succeeded.  Some  of  the  men  of  Jaen 
stoutest  of  heart  and  hand,  Initght  with  the  Moors  ia 
the  garden,  while  others  struggled  with  the  watet 
endeavoring  to  csc.tpe  across  tlie  canal,  in  whi^h  at- 
tempt many  horses  were  drowned. 

Fortunately,  the  duke  del  lid.tntado  |)erceived  th« 
snare  into  which  his  compamoiiit  had  f.tllen,  and  di*> 
patched  his  hghi  cavalry  to  their  assistance.  Th« 
Moors  werecnmpelli'd  to  flight,  and  driven  along  liie 
xosaX  of  Klvira  up  to  the  gales  ol  (iranaiki.*  Several 
christian  cavaliers  perisheil  in  this  atfray  ;  the  bishop 
himself  escajied  with  dilticulty,  having  slipped  Irom 
his  sadille  in  crossing  the  caii.il,  but  saving  liim.self 
by  holding  on  to  the  tail  of  his  charger.  Ihis  peiil- 
ous  achievement  seems  to  have  satisfied  the  good 
bishop's  belligerent  propensities.  He  retired  on  his 
laurels,  (says  Agapida.)  to  his  city  of  Jaen  ;  whcr^ 
in  the  truiiion  of  all  good  things,  he  gradually  waxeo 
too  corpulent  for  his  corselet,  which  was  hung  up  in 
the  hall  of  his  episcopal  palace  ;  and  we  hear  no 
more  of  Itis  milit.iry  deeds,  throughout  the  ret  .ue 
of  the  holy  war  of  (iranada.f 

King  Ferdinand,  having  completed  his  rav.age  of 
the  vega,  and  kept  Kl  Zag.al  shut  up  in  his  caiiital, 
conducted  his  army  b.ick  through  the  pass  ul  Lope 
to  rejoin  queen  lsal)clla  at  Moclin.  The  fortresses 
lately  taken  being  well  garrisoned  and  supplied,  h<> 
gave  the  command  of  the  frontier  to  his  cousin 
Don  F.idrique  de  Toledo,  afterwards  so  famous  in 
the  NetherlaiiiU  as  the  duke  of  Alva.  The  cant* 
paign  being  thus  completely  crowned  with  success, 
the  sovereigns  returned  in  triumph  to  the  city  of 
Cordova. 


CHAPTER   XLV. 


ATTEMPT     OF     KL     ZAUAL     UPON 
BiJAHDIL.      AND        HOW        THK 
ROU.SKD    TO    ACTION. 


THK     Lirt    Ol 
LAl'lKR       WAt 


*  Pultac,  put  },  cap.  6a. 
9 


tPidgai. 


No  sooner  did  the  last  squadron  of  christian  cav- 
alry disap|)ear  behind  the  mountain  of  Elvira,  and 
the  note  of  its  trumpets  die  away  upon  the  ear, 
than  the  long-suppressed  wrath  of  old  Muley  El 
Zag.al  hurst  forth.  He  determined  no  longer  to  be 
h.ilf  a  king,  reigning  over  a  divided  kingilom,  in  a 
diviiled  capital;  but  to  exterminate,  by  any  means, 
f.iir  or  foul,  his  nephew  Uoabdil  and  his  faction.  He 
turned  furiously  upon  those  whose  factious  conduct 
had  deterred  him  from  sallying  upon  the  foe ;  some 
he  punished  by  confiscations,  others  by  b;inishment 
others  by  de.ith.  Once  undisputed  monarch  of  the 
entire  kiiigiiom,  he  trusted  to  his  military  skill  to  re- 
tneve  his  fortunes,  and  drive  the  christians  over  the 
frontier. 

Uoabdil,  however,  had  again  retired  to  Velez  el 
Blanco,  on  the  confines  of  Murci.i,  where  he  could 
avail  himself,  in  case  of  emergency,  of  any  assist- 
ance or  protection  afforded  him  by  the  policy  of 
Ferdinand.  His  defeat  had  blighted  his  reviving 
fortunes,  for  the  people  considered  him  as  inevitably 
doomed  to  misfortune.  Still,  while  he  lived,  Kl  Za- 
gal  knew  he  would  be  a  ralUing  point  for  lactioI^ 
and  li.ible  at  any  moment  to  be  elevated  into  powet 
by  the  capricious  multitude.  He  had  recourse, 
therefore,  to  the  most  pertidioiis  means  to  compass 
his  destruction.  He  sent  emliassadurs  to  him,  rep- 
resenting the  necessity  of  concord  for  the  salvation 
of  the  kingdom,  luid  even  olfering  to  resign  the  title 


•  PuIrmt. 

t  '*  Don  Luis  Osorio  fiie  obUpo  d«  Jaen  devie  el  afio  <l«  148).  9 
presKliu  in  esta  Iflc&ia  hoAta  el  dc  1406  in  ^^ue  muno  co  FUuidaa,  • 
ilonile  fue  acompuAindo  ■  la  phi.ii:.^  Uofl*  j>un.i,  etpoM  oal 
archiduquelJon  heliiie."— Ai/>anu  '<ikfadi.^nVt.\A  Kiaco.tov 
41,  Wat.  77,  cap.  4. 


i 


«n 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


d 


of  king,  and  to  becone  itihjcct  to  hit  iwny,  on  re- 
ceivitiK  Mime  estate  on  whicli  he  could  live  in  tran- 
auil  retirement.  But  while  the  emlias»ador!i  bore 
these  words  of  peace,  they  were  furnished  with  poi- 
soned herbs,  which  they  were  to  administer  secretly 
to  HoaImIII  ;  and  if  they  failed  in  this  attempt,  thry 
had  pled|;ed  themselves  to  dispatch  him  openly, 
while  eni^aged  in  conversntinn.  They  were  instigit- 
led  10  this  treason  by  promises  of  (Treat  reward,  and 
by  assurances  from  tne  alfa((uis  that  Bo.ilxlil  was 
m  apostate,  whose  death  would  be  acceptable  to 
Heaven. 

The  young  monarch  w.-u  secretly  apprized  of  the 
concerted  treason,  and  refused  an  audience  to  the 
embass;idors.  He  denounced  his  uncle  as  the  mur- 
deier  of  his  father  and  his  kindred,  and  the  usurtx-T 
of  his  throne;  an<!  vowed  never  to  relent  in  hostility 
to  him,  until  he  should  place  his  head  on  the  walls 
of  the  Alhambra. 

Open  war  again  broke  out  between  the  two  mon- 
archs,  though  feebly  earned  on,  in  const-quence  of 
their  mutual  embarrassments.  ■  Ferdinand  again 
extended  his  assistance  to  Boabdil,  or(l(rnng  I'e 
commanders  of  his  fortresses  to  aid  him  in  all  en- 
terprises against  his  uncle,  and  against  such  places 
as  refused  to  acknowledge  him  as  king ;  and  IJon 
Juan  de  Bonaviilcs,  who  commanded  in  Lorr.v  even 
made  inroads  in  his  name,  into  the  tertitorii's  of  Al- 
meria,  Haza,  and  Guadix,  which  owned  allegiance  to 
£1  Zagal. 

The  unfortunate  Uoabdil  had  three  great  evils  to 
•contend  with — the  inconstancy  of  his  sul)jec!s.  the 
hostility  of  his  uncle,  and  the  friendshi|>  of  F'erdi- 
nand.  The  i^ist  was  by  far  the  must  bimeful :  his 
fortunes  withered  under  it.  He  was  lookeit  upon  ;is 
the  enemy  of  his  faith  and  of  his  country.  The  cities 
shut  their  gates  against  him  ;  the  people  cursed  him  ; 
niM  the  scanty  band  of  cavaliers,  who  had  hitherto 
ollowed  his  ill-starred  banner,  began  to  desert  him  ; 


for  he  had  not  wherewithal  to  rewtrd.  or  evrn  ti 
support  them.  His  spirits  sunk  with  his  fortune,  and 
he  fenred  that  in  a  little  time  he  should  not  have  if 
spot  of  earth  whereon  to  plant  hii  standard,  nur  aa 
adherent  to  rally  under  it. 

In  the  midst  of  his  despondency,  he  receivid  i 
mesH.'ige  from  his  lion-hearted  ir  ither,  the  suli.^ni 
Ayxa  la  llorra.  "  F'or  shame,"  sa  d  she,  "to  Un^:! 
timorously  about  the  bonlers  of  your  kingdom,  win- n 
a  usurper  is  seated  in  your  c.ipital.  Whvlook  at  u^.l 
(or  perfidious  aid,  when  you  have  loyal  hearts  !»■  u- 
ing  true  to  you  in  Granada?  The  AHiaycin  is  n  niy 
to  throw  o|K-n  its  gates  to  receive  you.  Strike  lioiiie 
vigorously — a  siuulen  blow  may  mend  all,  or  iiinkc 
an  end.  A  throne  or  a  grave  ! — for  a  king,  there  ii 
no  lionoraiile  medium," 

Ho  ib<lil  was  o''  an  undecided  character,  but  ilirre 
are  circumstances  which  bring  the  most  wavi  rm^ 
to  a  decision,  and  when  once  resolved  ihey  arr  apt 
to  act  with  a  daring  impulse  unknown  to  sti  .ulicr 
judgments.  The  message  o*'  the  sultana  unt,,n\ 
mm  from  a  dream.  Granai'a,  beautiful  Granula, 
with  its  stately  Alh.imbra,  its  delicious  gardens,  a\ 
gushing  and  limpid  fountains  sparkling  .Hinong 
groves  of  orange,  citron,  and  myrtle,  ruse  Ijddre 
niiii.  "What  have  I  done,"  exclaimed  he,  "iliai 
I  should  be  an  exile  from  this  paradise  ol  my 
forefathers — a  wanderer  and  fugitive  in  my  own 
kingdom,  while  a  murderous  usurper  sits  pruully 
upon  my  thione?  Surely  Allah  will  befriend  ilic 
righteous  cause  ;  one  blow,  and  all  may  be  my  o'aii." 

He  summoned  his  scanty  band  of  cavaliers. 
"  Who  is  ready  to  follow  hia  monarch  unto  the 
deuih  ?  "  said  he :  and  every  one  laid  his  hand  upcr. 
his  scimitar.  "  Enough  ! "  said  he ;  "  let  each  uua 
nrm  himself  and  prepare  his  steed  in  secret,  lui  aa 
enterprise  of  loil  and  peril :  if  we  succeed,  our  ir 
ward  is  empire." 

[KND  or  VOL.  ONI.] 


A  Chronicli-  of  the  Conquest  of  Granada. 


VOLUME    SECOND. 


:'■.!■ 


i  CHAPTER  I. 

HOW     BOABDIL     RKTURNKD     SECRKTI.V    TO    GRA- 
;  NADA,   AND   HOW   HE   WAS  RECKIVED. 

«•;  "  In  the  hand  of  God,"  exclaims  an  old  Ar.ibian 

:  ii  ♦  chronicler,  "  is  the  destiny  of  princes  ;  he  alone  giv- 

[•  etn  empire.     A  single  Moorish  horseman,  mounted 

i  „  ,  on  a  flee*  Arabian  steed,  was  one  day  traversing  the 

;*'v  mountains  which  extend  between  Granada  and  the 

I  I'l ;  homier  of  Murcia.     He  galloped  swiftly  through  the 

S  Ij:  rallcys,  but  paused  and  looked  out  cautiously  from 

,;i*'  the  summit  of  every  height.     A  squ.idron  of  cava- 

liers followed  warily  at  a  distance.   There  were  fifty 
!<#';•  lances.      The    richness  of  their  armor  and   rutire 

[  jf  ^  showed  them  to  be  warriors  of  noble  rank,  and  their 

-^  '  leader  had  a  lofty  and  prince-like  demeanor."    The 

squadron  thus  described  by  the  Arabian  chronicler, 
was  the  Moorish  king  Boabdil  and  his  devoted  fol- 
lowers. 

For  twn  nijrhts  and  a  day  they  pursu&l  their  ad- 
venturous journey,  avoiding  all  populous  parts  of  the 


country,  and  choosing  the  most  solitary  passes  ol 
the  mountains.  They  suffercil  severe  hardships  ,ind 
fatigues,  but  they  suffered  without  a  murmur :  thry 
were  accustome(l  to  rugged  campaigiiing,  and  thcli 
steeds  were  of  generous  and  unyielding  spirit.  It 
was  midnight,  and  all  was  dark  and  silent  as  thq 
descended  from  the  mountains,  and  approached  iht 
city  of  Granada.  They  passed  along  quietly  under 
the  sh.idow  of  its  walls,  until  they  arrived  ne:ii  th« 
gate  o!  the  Albaycin.  Here  Bo  bdil  ordered  his  to! 
lowers  to  halt,  and  remain  concealed.  Taking  but 
four  or  five  with  him,  he  advanced  resolutely  to  thr 
gate,  and  knocked  with  the  hitt  of  his  scimitar.  Tin 
guards  dcm.inded  who  sought  to  enter  at  tliat  im 
seasonable  hour.  "  Your  kine  ! "  exclaimed  Bo^U 
dil,  "  open  the  gate  and  admit  nim  ! " 

The  guards  held  forth  a  light,  and  recognized  tht 
person  of  the  youthful  monarch.  Thry  were  struck 
with  sudden  awe.  and  threw  open  the  gates ;  and 
Boabdil  and  his  followers  entered  unmolested.  Thry 
galloped  to  the  dwellings  of  the  principal  inhabitants 
of  the  Albaycin,  thundering  at  their  portals    and 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUKST  OF  GRANADA. 


2a& 


;ter,  bui  ilnre 
nosi  waviriui' 


laninioning  them  to  rise  and  take  arms  for  their 
rj^htful  lotrcrcign.  Thr  summona  wai  instantly 
obeyed  :  trumpets  resounded  thrnutfhout  the  streets 
—the  Kiram  of  torches  and  the  flash  of  anus  showed 
ji<>  Moors  hurrying  to  their  gathering-places — and 
by  diyltreak,  the  whole  force  ol  the  AU>Hycin  was 
rallied  under  the  standard  of  Hoalxlil.  Such  was  the 
nicx-ss  of  this  sudden  and  desperate  act  of  the 
^uii)'  ir.onarch ;  for  we  are  assured  by  contempo- 
'try  liistorians,  that  there  had  been  no  previous  con- 
:cn  or  arrangement.  "  As  the  guards  opened  the 
|-itrs  of  the  cit^  to  admit  him,  observes  a  uious 
cludiiicler,  "  so  God  opened  the  hearts  of  the  I^Ioors 
to  receive  him  as  their  king."* 

In  the  morning  early,  the  tidings  of  this  event 
rousftl  HI  Zagal  Irom  his  slumbers  in  the  Alhambra. 
The  liery  old  warrior  assembled  his  guard  in  haste, 
and  niaae  his  way  sword  in  hand  to  the  Alliaycin, 
hoping  to  come  ujran  his  nephew  by  surprise.  He 
W.U  vigorously  met  by  Uoabdil  ami  his  adherents, 
and  driven  b.ick  into  the  tjuarter  of  the  Alhambra. 
An  encounter  took  place  between  the  two  kings,  in 
the  sijuare  before  the  principal  mosque  ;  here  they 
rou^lit  hand  to  hand  with  implacable  fury,  as  thougn 
it  had  been  agrei-d  to  decide  their  competition  (or 
the  crown  by  single  combat.  In  the  tumult  of  this 
chance  medley  atfray,  however,  they  were  separated, 
md  the  party  of  £1  Zagal  was  ultiiDatcly  driven  from 
the  square. 

Tt>e  battle  raged  for  some  time  in  the  streets  and 
places  of  the  city,  but  fmdmg  their  powers  of  mis- 
chief iramped  within  such  narrow  limits,  both  par- 
ties sallied  forth  into  the  tields,  and  fought  beneath 
the  ualls  until  evening.  Many  fell  on  both  sides, 
and  at  night  each  party  withdrew  into  its  quarter, 
mitii  the  morning  gave  them  light  to  renew  the  un- 
iitiiral  contlict.  For  several  days,  the  two  grand 
1. visions  of  the  city  remained  like  hostile  powers 
«r  lyed  against  each  other.  The  party  of  the  Al- 
)\aiiibta  w.is  more  numerous  than  that  of  the  Albay- 
ciii.  and  contained  most  of  the  nobility  and  chivalry  ; 
but  the  adherents  of  Boabdil  were  men  h.irdeneil 
and  strengthened  by  labor  and  habitually  skilled  in 
the  fxercise  of  arms. 

The  Albaycin  underwent  a  kind  of  siege  by  the 
forces  of  El  /agal ;  they  effected  breaches  in  the 
wails,  and  made  repeated  attempts  to  carry  it  sword 
in  hind,  but  were  as  often  repulsed.  The  troops  of 
bualidil,  on  the  other  hand,  made  frequent  sallies ; 
and  111  the  contlicts  which  took  place,  the  hatred  of 
the  combatants  arose  to  such  a  pitch  of  fury,  that  no 
quarter  was  given  on  either  side. 

Koalnlil  perceived  the  inferiority  of  his  force  ;  he 
dreaded  also  that  his  adherents,  being  for  the  most 
part  tradesmen  and  artisans,  would  i)ecome  impa- 
tient ol  this  interru|)tion  6l  tlieir  gainful  occup.itions, 
and  disheartened  by  these  continual  scenes  of  car- 
naj;e.  He  sent  missives,  therelore,  in  all  haste,  to 
Don  F.idrique  de  Toledo,  who  commanded  the 
christian  forces  on  the  frontier,  entreating  his  as- 
listance. 

I)cn  Fadrique  had  received  instructions  from  the 

iiiic  Ferdinand,  to  aid  the  youthful  monarch  in  all 
lis  contests  with  his  uncle.  He  advanced,  therefore, 
w:ih  a  body  of  troops  near  to  Granada,  but,  wary 
Vit  some  treachery  might  be  intended,  he  stood  for 
xiine  time  aloof,  watching  the  movements  of  the 
parties.  The  furious  and  sanguinary  nature  of  the 
cortli-fs  which  districted  unhappy  Granada,  soon 
convinced  him  that  there  was  no  collusion  between 
the  monarchs.  He  sent  Hoabdil,  therefore,  a  rein- 
forcement of  christian  foot-soldiers  and  arquebusiers, 
under  Feman   Alvarez  dc  Sotomayer,  alcayde  of 

•Palcw. 


Colomera.  This  was  as  a  firebrand  thrown  In  tc 
light  up  anew  the  llames  of  war  in  the  city,  which 
remained  raging  between  the  Moorish  inhabitant! 
fur  the  space  of  fifty  days. 


CHAPTER   H. 


HOW    KINO 


rKIlUIN4ND    LAID 
WALAUA. 


91  BOB    TO  VILU 


ES 


HiTHRRTO,  the  events  of  this  renowned  war  h.ive 
been  little  else  than  a  succession  of  brilliant  bul  brief 
exploits,  such  as  sudden  forays  and  wild  skirmishes 
among  the  mountains,  or  the  surprisals  of  castles, 
fortresses,  and  frontier  towns.  VVe  appro.ach  now 
to  more  important  and  prolonged  operations,  in 
which  ancient  anil  mighty  cities,  the  Dulwarks  of 
Granada,  were  invested  by  powerful  armies,  subdued 
by  slow  and  regular  sieges,  and  thus  the  capital  lett 
naked  and  alone. 

The  glorious  triumphs  of  the  Catholic  sovereigns 
(says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida)  had  resounded  through- 
out the  east,  and  filled  all  heathenesse  with  alarm. 
The  Grand-Turk  Hajazet  II.  and  his  deadly  foe,  the 
grand  soldan  of  Egypt,  suspending  for  a  time  their 
bloody  feuds,  entered  into  a  league  to  protect  the 
rt;Iigion  of  Mahomet  and  the  kingdom  of  Granada 
from  the  hostilities  of  the  christians.  It  was  concert- 
ed between  them,  that  liajazet  should  send  a  power- 
ful annada  against  the  island  of  Sicily,  then  apper- 
taining to  the  Spanish  crown,  for  the  purpose  of 
disti'.ixting  the  attention  of  the  Caslilian  sovereigin ; 
while,  at  the  same  time,  great  bodies  of  troops  should 
be  poured  into  Granada,  from  the  opposite  coast  of 
Africa. 

Ferdinand  and  Isabella  received  timely  intelligence 
of  these  designs.  They  resolved  at  once  to  carry  the 
war  into  the  seaboard  of  Granada,  to  possess  tnem- 
selves  of  its  ports,  and  thus,  as  it  were,  to  bar  the 
gates  of  the  kingdom  ag.ainst  all  extem.-il  aid.  Mal- 
aga was  to  be  tlie  main  object  of  attack :  it  was  the 
principal  sea-port  of  the  kingdom,  and  almost  neces- 
sary to  its  existence.  It  had  long  been  the  seat  of 
opulent  commerce,  sending  many  ships  to  the  coasts 
of  Syria  and  Egypt.  It  was  also  the  great  channel 
of  communication  with  Africa,  through  which  were 
intnxluced  supplies  of  money,  troops,  arms,  and 
steeds,  from  Tunis,  Tripoli,  Fez,  Tremezan,  and 
other  IJarbary  powers.  It  was  emphatically  called, 
therefore,  "  the  hand  and  mouth  of  Granada."  Be- 
fore laying  siege  to  this  redoubtable  city,  however, 
it  was  deemed  necessary  to  secure  the  neighboring 
city  of  Velez  M.daga  and  its  dependent  places,  which 
might  otherwise  harass  the  besieging  army. 

For  this  important  campaign,  the  nobles  of  the 
kingdom  were  again  summoned  to  take  the  field  with 
their  forces,  in  the  spring  of  1487.  The  menaced 
invasion  of  the  infidel  powers  of  the  east  had 
awakened  new  ardor  in  the  bosoms  of  all  true  chris- 
tian knights ;  and  so  zealously  did  they  respond  to 
the  summons  of  the  sovereigns,  that  an  anny  of 
twenty  thousand  cavalry  and  hity  thousand  foot,  the 
flower  of  Spanish  warriors,  led  by  the  bravest  of 
Spanish  cavaliers,  thronged  the  renowned  city  of 
Cordova,  at  the  appointed  time. 

On  the  night  before  this  mighty  host  set  forth 
upon  its  march,  an  earthquake  shook  the  city.  The 
inhabitants,  awakened  by  the  shaking  of  the  walls 
and  rocking  of  the  towers,  fled  to  the  courts  and 
squares,  fearing  to  be  oven\'helmed  by  the  ruir>s  of 
their  dwellings.  The  earthquake  WM  most  violent 
in  the  quarter  of  the  royal  residence,  'he  site  of  the 
ancient  palace  of  the  Moorish  kings     Many  looked 


iiH 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


'iir* 


4hV 


:f^;*' 


.;'-K 


il 


upon  1I..S  as  an  omen  of  some  impehdin);  evil ;  but 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  in  that  mfallible  spirit  of 
divination  whicii  succeeds  an  event,  plainly  reads  in 
It  a  presage  that  the  empire  of  the  Moors  was  about 
tc  1)6  shaken  to  its  centre. 

It  was  on  Saturday,  the  eve  of  the  Sunday  of 
Palms,  (says  a  worthy  and  loyal  chronicli^r  of  the 
lime.)  that  the  most  Catholic  monarch  departed  with 
ais  army,  to  render  service  to  Heaven,  an<l  make  war 
'jpon  the  Moors.*  Heavy  rains  had  swelled  all  the 
Ureams,  and  rendered  the  roads  deep  and  dirticult. 
The  king,  therefore,  divided  his  host  into  two  bodies. 
In  one  he  put  all  the  artillery',  guarded  by  a  strong 
body  of  horse,  and  commandetl  by  the  Master  of 
.Mcantara  and  Martin  Alonzo,  Senior  of  Monte- 
mayor.  This  division  was  to  proceed  by  the  road 
through  the  valleys,  where  pasturage  abounded  for 
the  oxen  which  drew  the  ordnance. 

The  main  body  of  the  army  was  led  by  the  king 
in  person.  It  was  divided  into  numerous  battalions, 
each  commanded  by  some  distinguished  cavalier. 
The  king  took  the  rough  and  perilous  road  of  the 
mountains,  and  few  mountains  are  more  rugged  and 
difficult  than  those  of  Andalusi.a.  The  roads  are 
mere  mule-paths,  straggling  amidst  rocks  and  along 
the  verge  of  precipices,  clambering  vast  craggy 
heights,  or  descending  into  frightful  chasiis  and 
ravines,  with  scanty  and  uncertain  foothold  for  either 
man  or  steed.  Four  thousand  piont;crs  were  sent  in 
advance,  under  the  alcayde  de  los  Donzeli's,  to  con- 
quer, in  some  degrt^e,  the  asperities  of  the  road. 
Some  had  pickaxes  and  crowbars  to  break  the  rocks, 
others  had  implements  to  construct  bridges  over  the 
mountain  torrents,  while  it  was  the  duty  of  others  to 
la'  epping-stones  in  the  smaller  streams.  As  the 
cu  tr}'  was  inh.ibited  by  fierce  Moorish  mountain- 
eer.., Don  Diego  de  Castrillo  was  dispatched,  with  a 
body  of  horse  and  foot,  to  take  possession  of  the 
ieigbts  and  passes.  Notwithstanding  every  precau- 
tion, the  royal  army  suffered  excessively  on  its  march. 
At  one  time,  there  was  no  place  to  encamp,  for  live 
leagues  of  the  most  toilsome  and  mountainous 
country ;  and  many  of  the  beasts  of  burden  sunk 
down,  and  iicrished  on  the  ro.ad. 

It  was  with  the  greatest  joy,  therefore,  that  the 
royal  army  emerged  from  these  stern  and  Irightful 
defiles,  and  came  to  where  they  looked  down  upon 
the  vega  of  Velez  Malaga.  The  region  before  them 
was  one  of  the  most  deioctable  to  the  eye  that  ever  | 
was  ravaged  by  an  army.  .Sheltered  from  every  rude 
blast  by  a  screen  of  mountains,  and  sloping  and  ex- 
panding to  the  south,  this  lovely  valley  was  quick- 
ened by  the  most  generous  sunsliine,  watered  by  the 
silver  meanderings  of  the  X'elez,  and  refreshed  by 
cooling  breezes  from  the  Medilerrane.in.  The  slop- 
ing hills  were  covered  with  vineyards  and  olive- 
trees;  the  distant  fields  waved  with  grain,  c,r  were 
irerdant  with  pasturage ;  while  arounil  the  city  were 
delightful  gardens,  ih(  favorite  retreats  of  the  Moors, 
where  their  white  pavilions  gleamed  among  groves 
of  oranges,  citrons,  and  pomegranates,  and  Wf-re  sur- 
mounted by  stately  palms — those  plants  of  southern 
rrowth,  bespeaking  a  generous  cUmate  and  a  cloud- 
It  ss  sky. 

In  the  upper  part  of  this  delightful  valley,  the  city 
cf  Velez  Malaga  reared  its  warrior  battlements  in 
stern  contrast  to  the  landscape.  It  was  built  on  the 
declivity  of  a  steep  and  insulated  hill,  and  strongly 
fortified  by  walls  and  towers.  The  crest  of  the  hill 
»i.se  high  above  the  town,  into  a  mere  crag,  inacces- 
sible on  every  other  side,  and  crowned  by  a  power- 
ful castle,  which  domineered  over  the  surrounding 
rountr)'.    Tsvo  suburbs  swept  down  into  the  valley, 

*  Pul^tar.     Cromca  de  lot  Reyes  Ciitliolicot. 


from  the  skirts  of  the  town,  and  were  defended  bj 
bulwarks  and  deep  ditches.  The  vast  ranges  0/ 
gray  mountains,  often  capped  with  clouds,  which 
rose  to  the  north,  were  inhabited  by  a  hardy  and 
warlike  race,  whose  strcng  fortresses  of  Coinares, 
Camillas,  Competa,  and  Benemarhorga,  frowned 
down  from  cragged  heights. 

At  the  time  that  the  christian  host  arrived  in  sight 
of  this  valley,  a  squadron  was  hovering  on  the  smooth 
sea  before  it,  d.splaying  the  banner  of  Castile.  This 
was  commanded  by  the  count  of  Trevento,  and  con- 
sisted of  four  anned  galleys,  conveying  a  number  of 
caravels,  laden  with  supplies  for  the  army. 

After  s'  rveying  the  ground,  king  F"erdinand  en 
camped  on  the  'side  of  a  mountain  which  advancpd 
close  to  the  city,  and  which  was  the  last  of  a  nii.;yed 
sierra,  or  chain  of  heights,  that  extended  quite  to 
Granada.  On  the  summit  of  this  moiintain,  and 
overlooking  the  camp,  was  a  Moor'.,li  - -»wn,  power- 
fully  fortified,  called  Bentomiz,  anu  .inch,  from  its 
vicinity,  had  been  considered  capable  of  yieliling 
great  assistance  to  Velez  Malaga.  Several  of  the 
generals  remonstrated  with  the  king,  for  choosing  a 
post  so  exposed  to  assaults  from  the  mountaineers, 
Ferdinand  replied,  that  he  should  thus  cut  olf  all 
commimic.'ition  between  the  town  and  the  city;  and 
that  ;is  to  the  danger,  his  soldiers  must  keep  the 
more  vigilant  guard  against  surprise. 

King  Ferrlinand  rode  forth,  attended  by  several 
cavaliers  and  a  small  number  of  cuirassiers,  app  int- 
ing  the  various  stations  of  the  camp.  While  a  body 
of  foot-soldiers  were  taking  possession,  as  an  ad- 
vanced guard,  of  an  important  height  which  over- 
looked the  city,  the  king  retired  to  a  tent  to  t.ike  re- 
freshment. \Vhile  at  table,  he  was  startled  iiv  a 
sudden  uproar,  and,  looking  forth,  beheld  his  soldie.j 
(lying  before  a  superior  I'orce  of  the  enemy.  The 
king  had  on  no  other  armor  but  a  cuira^>s  ;  seizin);  a 
lanee,  however,  he  sprang  upon  his  horse  and  ;;:il- 
lopeil  to  protect  the  fugitives,  followed  by  his  Ii.imI- 
fill  of  knights  and  cuirassiers.  When  the  Spaniards 
saw  the  liing  hastening  to  their  aid,  they  turned  u[)- 
on  their  pursuers.  Ferdinand,  in  his  e.agerness, 
threw  himself  into  the  midsl  of  the  foe.  One  of  liis 
grooms  was  killed  beside  him  ;  but,  before  the  Moor 
who  slew  him  could  escape,  the  king  transfixed  li::n 
with  his  lance.  He  then  sought  to  tlraw  his  sword, 
which  hung  at  his  saddle-how — but  in  vain.  Nevei 
had  fie  been  exposed  to  such  peril  ; — he  was  si:r- 
rounded  bv  the  enemy,  without  a  weapon  wherewith 
to  defend  dirtiself. 

In  this  moment  of  awful  jeopardy,  the  mat(j.ies  ot 
Cadiz,  the  qount  de  Cabra,  the  adelantado  ol  .Mur- 
cia,  with  two  other  cavaliers,  named  (iarcikisso  de 
la  Vega  and  Diego  de  Atayde,  came  galloping  to  the 
scene  of  action,  and,  surrounding  the  king,  nunie  a 
loyal  rampart  of  their  Ixidies  against  the  assaults  of 
the  Moors.  The  horse  of  the  marques  was  pierrrd 
by  an  arrow,  and  that  worthy  cavalier  exposed  to 
imminent  d.in(;er ;  but,  with  tlie  aid  of  his  vaionins 
companions,  he  quickly  put  the  enemy  to  Highl,  ar.i 
pursued  them,  with  slaughter,  to  the  very  gales  cf 
the  city. 

When  those  loy.al  warriors  returned  from  the  f.ir 
s;iit,  they  re:nonstrated  with  the  king  for  expoiji.), 
his  lite  in  personal  conflict,  seeing  that  he  had  -j. 
many  valiant  captains  whose  business  it  was  to  fv^^\. 
They  reminded  him  that  tin'  life  of  a  prince  was  ihe 
life  of  his  peoiile,  and  that  m.any  a  brave  aniiv  w:is 
lost  by  the  loss  of  its  commander.  They  entreaied 
him,  therefore,  in  lutiire,  to  protect  them  wit'i  the 
force  of  his  mind  in  the  cabinet,  rather  than  of  his 
arm  in  the  field. 

Ferdinand  acknowledged  the  wistlom  of  their  ad- 
vice, but  declared  that  he  cot'  J  not  see  bis  propi< 


A   CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST    DF  GRANADA. 


23e 


n  peril  without  vcnturine  his  person  to  assist  them : 
-  a  reply  (aays  the  old  cnroniclers)  which  delighted 
the  whole  army,  inasmuch  as  they  saw  that  he  not 
only  governed  them  as  a  good  king,  but  protected 
them  as  a  valiant  captain.  Ferdinand,  nowever, 
was  conscious  of  the  extreme  peril  to  which  he  had 
been  exposed,  and  made  a  vow  never  again  to 
venture  into  battle  witho'it  having  his  sword  girt  to 
lljs  side.* 

When  this  achievement  of  the  king  was  related  to 
lii.ihe'lla,  she  trembled  amidst  her  joy  at  his  safety; 
iid  afterwards,  in  memorial  of  the  event,  she  grant- 
ed to  Velez  Malaga,  as  the  arms  of  the  city,  the 
fipire  of  the  king  on  horseback,  with  a  groom  lying 
deail  at  his  feet,  and  the  Moors  flying.t 

Ttie  camp  was  formed,  but  the  artillery  was  yet 
on  the  road,  advancing  with  infinite  labor,  at  the 
rate  of  merely  a  league  a  day ;  for  heavy  rains  had 
converted  the  streams  of  the  valleys  into  raging  tor- 
rents, and  completely  broken  up  the  roads.  In  the 
mean  time,  kinw  Ferilinand  ordered  an  assault  on 
the  suburbs  of  tlie  city.  They  were  carried,  after  a 
sanpuinary  conflict  of  six  hours,  in  which  many 
christian  cavaliers  were  killed  and  wounded,  and, 
amonj?  the  latter,  Don  Alvaro  of  Fortu<^al,  son  of  the 
duke  of  Braganza.  The  suburbs  were  then  fortified 
towards  the  city,  with  trenches  and  palisades,  and 
garrisoned  by  a  chosen  force,  under  iJon  Kadri(|ue 
de  Tok'do.  Other  trenches  were  digged  round  the 
city,  and  from  '.he  suburbs  to  the  royal  camp,  so  as 
to  cut  off  all  communication  with  the  surrounding 
country. 

Bodies  of  troops  were  also  sent  to  take  possession 
of  ilie  mountain  passes,  by  which  the  supplies  for 
the  army  had  to  be  brouijht.  The  niount.iins,  how- 
ever, were  so  steep  and  rugged,  and  so  full  of  dcfilfs 
snii  lurking-pl.ices,  tliat  the  Moors  could  sally  forth 
and  retreat  in  perfect  security  ;  fretpiently  swooping 
iown  upon  christian  convoys,  and  bearing  off  both 
oooty  and  prisoners  to  their  strong-holds.  Some- 
times the  Moors  would  light  fires  at  night,  on  the 
sides  of  the  mountains,  which  would  be  answered 
by  rtres  from  the  watch-towers  and  fortresses.  Hy 
these  signals,  Ihcy  would  concert  assaults  u()on  the 
christian  camp,  which,  in  consequence,  was  obliged 
to  he  continually  on  the  alert,  and  ready  to  fly  to  arms. 

King  Ferdinand  flattered  himselt  that  the  mani- 
festation of  his  force  had  struck  sufficient  terror  in- 
to the  city,  antl  that  by  olfers  of  cicirency  it  might 
be  induced  to  capitulate.  He  wrote  a  letter,  there- 
fore, to  the  comnian<lers,  promising,  in  case  of  im- 
mediate surrender,  that  all  the  inhabitants  should  be 
permitted  to  depart  with  their  etlt-cts  ;  but  threaten- 
inj,'  thcin  V  ith  hre  anil  sword,  if  they  persisted  in 
detence.  This  letter  was  dispa  ched  by  a  cavalier 
named  Carvag.al,  who.  putting  it  on  the  end  of  a 
lance  gave  it  to  the  Moors  who  were  on  the  walls 
of  the  city.  The  commanders  replied,  th.tt  the  king 
Wis  too  noble  and  magnanimous  to  put  such  i  threat 
in  execution,  and  that  they  should  not  surrender,  as 
tliey  knew  the  artillery  could  not  be  brought  to  the 
camp,  and  they  were  promised  succor  by  the  king 
if  dranada. 

At  the  same  time  that  he  received  this  reply,  the 
king  l::aml  iliat  at  the  strong  town  of  Comares,  upon 
I  heiv,lit  aboisl  two  leagues  distant  from  the  camp,  a 
'ai^r  number  of  warriors  h.-id  assembled  from  the 
Aiar^uia,  the  same  mountains  in  which  the  chris- 
tian cavaliers  had  been  massacred  in  the  beginiung 
of  the  war  ;  others  were  daily  ex|)ecteil,  lur  this 
rugged  sierra  was  capable  of  furnishing  tifteen  thou- 
land  tighting  men. 


King  Ferdinand  felt  that  his  army,  thus  disjointed, 
and  inclosed  in  an  enemy's  country,  was  in  a  peril- 
ous situation,  and  that  the  utmost  discipline  and  vigi- 
lance were  necessary.  He  put  the  camp  under  tne 
strictest  regulations,  forbidding  all  gaming,  blasphe- 
my, or  br.awl,  and  expelling  all  loose  women  and 
their  attendant  bully  ruffians,  the  usual  fomenters  of 
riot  and  contention  among  soldiery.  He  ordered 
that  none  should  sally  forth  to  skiimish,  without  per- 
mission from  their  commanders ;  that  none  should 
set  fire  to  the  woods  on  the  neighboring  mountains ; 
and  that  al  word  of  security  given  to  Moorish  places 
or  individuals,  should  be  inviolably  observed.  These 
regulations  were  enforced  by  severe  p'.nalties,  anrt 
had  such  salutary  effect,  that,  though  a  vast  host  of 
various  people  was  collected  together,  not  an  oppro- 
brious epithet  was  heard,  nor  a  weapon  drawn  in 
quarrel. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  cloud  of  war  went  on, 
gathering  about  the  summits  of  the  mountains ; 
multitudes  of  the  fierce  warriors  of  the  sierra  de- 
scended to  the  lower  heights  of  Kentomii,  which 
overhung  the  camp,  intending  to  force  their  way  to 
the  city.  A  detachment  was  sent  against  them, 
which,  after  sharp  fighting,  drove  them  to  the  higher 
clitfs  of  the  mountain,  where  it  was  impossible  to 
pursue  them. 

Ten  days  had  el.ipsed  since  the  encampment  of 
the  army,  yet  still  the  artillery  had  not  arrived.  The 
lombards  and  other  hea\-y  ordnance  were  left  in 
despair,  .it  Antiquera  ;  the  rest  came  groaning  slowly 
through  the  narrow  valleys,  which  were  filled  with 
long  trains  of  artillery,  and  cars  laden  with  munitions. 
At  length  part  of  the  smaller  ordnance  arrived  within 
half  a  league  of  the  camp,  and  the  christians  were 
animated  with  the  hopes  of  soon  being  able  to  make 
a  regular  attack  upon  the  fortifications  of  the  city. 


lUaccu,  Hilt.  Pontif.  lib.  6,  c.  jo.     Wmtrnw,  Hut.  Velet  Malaga. 


tlJi 


CHAPTER    Ii:. 

HOW  KING  FERDINAND  AND  H»S  ARMY  WERE 
EXPOSED  TO  IMMINENT  PERIL  BEFORE  VELE2 
MALAGA. 

While  the  stamlard  of  the  cross  waved  on  the 
hills  before  Velez  Malaga,  and  every  height  and  cii.*T 
bristled  with  hostile  aiTiis,  the  civil  war  between  the 
factions  of  the  Alhambra  and  the  Albaycin,  or  rather 
between  El  Zagal  and  El  Chico,  continuetl  to  con- 
vulse the  city  of  Granada.  The  tidings  of  the  invest- 
ment of  Velez  MaKiga  at  length  roused  the  attention 
of  the  old  men  and  the  alfaquis,  whose  heads  were 
not  heated  by  the  daily  broils.  They  spread  them- 
selves through  the  city,  and  endeavored  to  arouse 
the  people  to  a  sense  of  their  common  danger. 

"  Why,"  sai<l  thiy,  "  continue  these  brawls  be- 
tween brethren  and  kindred  ?  what  battles  are  these, 
where  even  triumph  is  ignominious,  and  the  victor 
iilushes  and  conceals  his  scars?  liehold  the  christians 
ravaging  the  land  won  by  the  valor  and  blood  of 
your  forefathers;  dwelling  in  the  houses  they  have 
built,  sitting  uniler  the  tree:3  they  have  planted,  whilf 
your  brethren  wander  about,  houseless  and  desolate. 
IJo  you  wish  to  seek  your  real  foe  ? — he  is  encarrped 
on  the  mountain  of  Bentomiz.  Do  you  want  a  field 
lor  the  display  of  your  valor  ?— -you  will  find  it  before 
the  walls  of  Velez  Mal.aga." 

When  they  had  roused  the  spirit  of  the  people, 
they  m.ade  their  way  to  the  rival  k'-igs,  and  address- 
ed them  'vith  liks  remonstrances.  Hamet  Aben 
Zarrax,  the  inspired  santon,  reproached  VA  Za,;a 
with  his  blind  and  senseless  ambition :    "  You  <^re 


i 


f 
i 


IU6 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


irij  ;■  •:  if*      ,■ 
Itli-  '^  ■  •  •■■■-  ■*  ' 
I'W*^"'  -J  2  .'1   - 

i■,;:^;■  .-5  i-,  ..4 


•trivinfj  to  be  king,"  said  he,  bitterly,  "  yet  suffer  the 
kingdom  lo  be  lost ! " 

El  Zagal  found  himself  in  a  perplexing  dilemma. 
He  had  a  double  war  to  wage, — with  the  enemy 
without,  and  the  enemy  within.  Should  the  chris- 
tiajis  gain  possession  of  the  sea-coast,  it  would  be 
ruinous  to  the  kinj^dom ;  should  he  leave  Granada 
to  oppose  them,  his  vacant  throne  might  be  seized 
on  by  his  nephew.  He  made  a  merit  of  necessity, 
and,  pretending  to  yield  to  the  remonstrances  of  the 
alfaquis,  endeavored  to  compromise  with  Boabdil. 
Ha  expressed  deep  concern  at  the  daily  losses  of  the 
country,  caused  by  the  dissensions  of  the  capital ;  an 
opportunity  now  presented  to  retrieve  all  by  a  blow. 
The  christians  had  in  a  manner  put  themselves  in  a 
tomb  between  the  mountains — nothing  remained  but 
to  throw  the  earth  upon  them.  He  otfered  to  resijjn 
the  title  of  king,  to  submit  to  the  government  of  his 
nephew,  and  fight  under  his  standard  ;  all  he  desired 
was  to  hasten  to  the  relief  of  Vclez  Malaga,  and  to 
lake  full  vengeance  on  tlie  christians. 

Boabdil  spurned  his  proposition,  as  the  artifice  of 
a  hypocrite  and  a  traitor.  "How  sliall  I  trust  a 
man,"  said  he.  "  who  has  murdered  my  father  and 
my  kindred  by  treachery,  and  has  repeatedly  sought 
my  own  life,  both  by  violence  and  stratagem  ?  " 

El  Zagal  boiled  with  rage  and  vexation — but  there 
was  no  time  to  be  lost.  He  was  beset  by  the  alfaijuis 
and  the  nobles  of  his  court ;  the  youthhil  cavaliers 
were  hot  for  action,  the  common  people  loud  in  their 
complaints  that  the  richi'St  cities  w('ie  abaniloned  to 
ihe.  mercy  of  the  enemy.  The  old  warrior  was 
naturally  fond  of  fighting  ;  he  saw  also  that  to  remain 
inactive  would  endanger  both  crown  and  kingdom, 
whereas  a  succusslul  blow  would  secure  his  popu- 
larity in  Granaila.  He  had  a  much  more  powerful 
;Drce  than  his  nephew,  having  lately  received  rein- 
forcements from  baza,  Guailix,  and  Almeria ;  he 
:i-nld  march  with  al.irge  force,  therefore,  to  the  re- 
lief cl  Velez  Malaga,  and  yet  leave  a  strong  garrison 
In  the  Alhambra.  He  took  his  measures  according- 
ly, and  departed  sucklei.ly  in  the  night,  at  the  head 
of  one  thousand  horse  and  twenty  ihousanil  foot.  He 
took  the  must  unfreiju<;nicd  roads,  along  the  chain 
of  n  ountains  extending  from  Gran.ada  to  the  height 
of  Bentomiz,  and  proceeded  with  such  rapidity,  as 
to  arrive  there  before  king  Ferdinand  had  notice  of 
his  approach. 

The  christians  were  alarmed  one  evening  by  the 
sudden  blazing  of  great  fires  on  the  mountains  about 
the  fortress  of  Beniuniiz.  By  the  ruddy  light,  they 
beheld  the  flash  uf  M,ea|)ons  and  the  array  of  troops, 
and  they  heard  the  distant  sound  of  Moorish  drums 
and  trunipets.  The  lircs  ol  lientomiz  were  answered 
by  fires  on  the  towers  o!  Velez  .Mal.iga.  The  shouts 
of  "  El  Z.igal  !  El  Zagal ! "  echoed  along  the  clilTs, 
and  resounded  from  tlie  city  ;  and  the  chrisiiaiis 
found  that  the  old  warrior  king  of  Granada  was  >ji\ 
the  mountain  i^aove  thtir  cainp. 

The  spin's  ot  tlic  Mnors  were  suddenly  raised  to  a 
pitch  of  the  greatest  exultation,  while  the  chrisii.iiis 
were  asiomslied  to  see  this  storm  of  war  ready  to 
burst  upon  their  heads.  The  count  de  Cabra,  with 
tiis  accustomed  eagerness  when  ih.ere  was  a  king  in 
tlie  field,  would  fain  have  scaled  the  heights,  and 
attacked  El  Z.igal  before  he  had  time  'o  form  his 
CA.Tip  ;  but  Ferdinand,  who  was  more  cool  and  wary, 
restrained  him.  To  attack  the  height,  would  be  to 
abandon  the  siejje.  He  ordered  every  one.  there- 
fore, to  keep  vigilant  watch  at  his  post,  ;vnd  to  stand 
ready  to  detcnd  it  to  the  utmost,  but  on  no  account 
to  s.'illy  forth  and  attack  the  enemy. 

All  night  the  signal-fires  kept  bl.azing  along  the 
mountains,  rousing  and  animating  the  whole  coimtry. 
The  morning  sun  rose  over  the  lofty  summit  of  Ben- 


tomiz on  a  scene  of  martial  spiendot  As  its  t:iyi 
glanced  down  the  mountain,  they  lighted  up  th: 
white  tents  of  the  christian  cavaliers,  cresting  it; 
lower  prominences,  their  pennons  and  ensigns  tlut' 
tering  in  the  morning  breeze.  The  sumptuous  pa 
vilions  of  the  kinc,  with  the  holy  standard  of  tl„ 
cross  and  the  royal  banners  of  Castile  and  ArMi,on 
dominated  the  encampment.  Beyond  Lay  the  citv. 
its  lofty  castle  and  numerous  towers  glistening  w  tjj 
arms  ;  while  above  all,  and  just  on  the  profile  of  ih( 
height,  in  the  full  blaze  of  the  rising  sun,  were  de- 
scried the  tents  of  the  Moor,  his  turbaned  troop- 
clustering  about  them,  and  his  infidel  banners  filiat- 
ing against  the  sky.  Columns  of  smoke  rose  wiiep; 
the  night-fires  had  blazed,  and  the  chish  of  the  Moor 
ish  cymbal,  the  bray  of  trumpet,  and  the  neigh  ol 
steed,  were  faintly  heard  from  the  airy  heights.  Sc 
pure  and  transparent  is  the  atmosphere  in  this  re- 
gion, that  every  object  can  be  distinctly  seen  at; 
great  distance ;  antl  the  christians  were  able  to  be 
hold  the  formidable  hosts  of  foes  that  were  gather- 
ing" on  the  summits  of  the  surrounding  mountains. 

One  of  the  first  measures  of  the  Moorish  king,  was 
to  detach  a  large  force,  under  Rodovan  de  Vanei;as, 
alc.ayde  of  Granada,  to  fall  ujxin  the  convoy  of  (ird- 
nance,  which  stretched,  for  agreal  distance,  thr.)u;;h 
the  mountain  defiles.  Ferdinand  had  anticipa'tii 
this  attempt,  .and  sent  the  con)mander  of  Leon,  \viih 
a  body  of  horse  and  foot,  to  reinforce  the  M.tstc! 
of  Alcantara.  El  Zagal,  from  his  mountain  hci,;iu, 
beheld  the  detachment  issue  from  the  camp,  and 
immediately  recalled  Rodovan  de  Vanegas.  Ths 
armies  now  remained  quiet  for  a  time,  the  M(,o: 
looking  grimly  down  upon  the  christian  camp,  l.ke  a 
tiger  meditating  a  bound  upon  his  prey.  The  chri;- 
tians  were  in  fearful  jeopartly — a  hostile  city  helow 
them,  a  powerful  army  al)ove  them,  and  on  every 
side  mountains  fillctl  with  implacable  foes. 

Alter  El  Z.agal  hatl  maturely  considered  the  situa- 
tion of  the  christian  camp,  and  informed  himsiu  of 
all  the  passes  of  the  mountain,  he  conceived  a  uUn 
to  surprise  the  enerny,  which  he  flattered  hinist-il 
would  insure  their  rum,  and  perhaps  the  captuie  cl 
king  Ferdinand.  He  wrote  a  letter  to  the  ali,i\ile 
of  the  city,  commaniling  him,  in  the  dead  of  the  mgiit, 
on  a  sl};nal-fire  being  made  from  the  mount. mi,  to 
sally  (urth  with  all  his  troops,  and  fall  furiously  upci: 
the  christian  camp.  The  king  would,  at  the  s.i:i,e 
time,  rush  down  with  his  army  from  the  mountain, 
and  assail  it  on  the  opposite  side;  thus  overwhelm- 
ing it,  at  the  hour  of  deep  repose.  This  letter  l.e 
dispatched  by  a  renegado  cnristian,  who  knew  all  the 
secret  roads  of  the  country',  and,  if  taken,  could  pasi 
hini.self  lor  a  christian  who  h.ui  escapeil  from  cai.iiviiy. 

The  fierce  El  Zagal,  confident  in  his  strat.;i;eni 
k'oked  down  U|)on  the  christians  as  his  devoleil  mc 
tiiiis.  As  the  sun  went  down,  and  the  long  sha.lowi 
ol  the  mount.iin  stretched  across  the  vega,  he  innutei 
with  exultation  to  the  camp  below,  apparentiv  u' • 
conscious  of  the  im|)endiiig  d.mger.  "Allah  Acli.ir '. 
exclaimed  he,  "  (iod  is  great !  Behold  the  unbelievei 
are  delivered  into  our  h.uuls  ;  their  king  and  clior  es 
chivalry  will  so(jn  be  at  our  mercy.  Now  is  th 
time  to  show  the  cou"-age  ol  men,  and,  by  one  ^lun 
ous  victorv,  retrieve  all  th.it  we  have  lost.  Hipp 
he  who  fills  fighting  in  the  cause  of  the  I'rophet  :  !.i 
will  at  once  be  transimrted  to  the  paradise  of  tli; 
futhl'.il,  and  suirounded  by  immortal  liouris.  Ihipp) 
he  who  shall  survive  victorious!  he  will  belicitl 
Granada, — an  earthly  p.iradise  I — once  more  dcLv- 
ered  from  its  dies,  and  restored  to  all  its  glory."  Tli. 
words  of  El  Zag.d  were  received  with  accla:naiiot!s 
by  his  troops,  who  waited  iir.patien'.l)  for  the  an 
jiointed  hour,  to  pour  down  from  their  mountain  liolil 
upon  the  christians. 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


281 


CHAPTER  IV. 

mSUtT  or     THE    STRATAGEM  OF    EL  ZAGAL    TO 
SURPRISE  KING  FERDIN  >.ND. 

QUKKN  Isabella  and  her  court  had  remained  at 
(orrlova,  in  great  anxiety  for  the  result  of  the  royal 
erpc'.ition.  Every  day  brought  tidings  of  the  diffi- 
culti'^s  which  attended  the  transportation  of  the  ord- 
tiance  and  munitions,  and  of  the  critical  state  of  the 
jrmy. 

While  in  this  state  of  anxious  suspense,  couriers 
arrived  with  all  speed  from  the  frontiers,  bringing 
tidings  of  the  sulden  sally  of  El  Zagal  from  Granada, 
ID  surprise  the  camp.  All  Cordova  was  in  conster- 
naiiiin.  The  destruction  of  the  Andalusian  chivalry. 
amonp  the  mountains  of  this  very  neighborhood,  was 
callcil  10  mind  ;  it  was  feared  that  similar  ruin  was 
about  to  burst  forth,  from  rocks  and  precipices,  upon 
Ferdinand  and  his  army. 

Queen  Isabella  shar-jd  in  the  public  alarm,  hut  it 
served  to  rouse  all  the  energies  of  her  heroic  mind. 
Instead  of  Uttering  idle  apprehensions,  she  sought 
only  how  to  avert  the  danger.  She  called  upon  all 
ihr  miT  of  Andalusia,  under  the  age  of  seventy,  to 
,irin  and  hasten  to  the  relief  of  their  sovereign  ;  and 
she  prop.ired  to  set  out  with  the  first  levies.  The 
(jr.-ind  cardinal  of  Spain,  old  Pedro  Gonzalez  de 
Memlo^a,  in  whom  the  piety  of  the  saint  .md  the 
wihiliiin  of  the  counsellor  were  mingled  with  the  lire 
()l  the  cavalier,  offered  high  pay  to  all  horsemen  who 
wmiiil  tollow  hitn  to  aid  their  king  and  the  christian 
aiisi- :  and,  buckling  on  armor,  prepared  to  lead 
the:n  to  the  scene  of  danger. 

The  summons  of  the  queen  roused  the  quick  An- 
daiiriian  spirit.  Warriors  who  had  long  since  given 
.:p  ti;;hting,  and  h,%il  sent  their  sons  to  battle,  now 
!(i/i;d  the  sword  and  l.ance  that  were  rusting  on  the 
,v.ill,  .'irid  marshalled  forth  their  gray-hi!adcii  domes- 
!i::s  .i:id  their  grandchildren  lor  the  tield.  The  grt-at 
dread  was.  that  all  aid  would  arrive  too  late ;  El 
Zii,m1  ^m\  his  host  had  passed  like  a  storm  through 
the  mnuntains,  and  it  w.as  feared  the  tempest  had 
alreidv  hurst  upon  the  christian  camp. 

In  ilie  mean  time,  the  night  had  closed  which  had 
been  appointed  by  F.l  Zag.-d  for  the  execution  of  his 
pliii.  He  had  watched  the  last  light  of  day  expire, 
.iiul  all  the  Spanish  camp  remained  tranquil.  As  'he 
hours  wore  away,  the  camp-tires  were  gradually 
e^tHi^juished.  N'o  drum  or  trumpet  sourided  from 
bih)w.  Nothing  was  heard,  but  now  and  then  the 
:li;:l  heavy  tread  of  tro(i()S,  or  the  echoing  tramp 
of  iiDrses — the  usual  patrols  of  the  cainp,  and  the 
ch  infjes  of  the  guards.  El  Zagal  restrained  his  own 
ini|iaii('nce,  and  that  of  his  troops,  until  the  night 
shc'jid  be  advanced,  atid  the  camp  sunk  in  tfiiit 
h'-.ivy  sli-ep  from  which  men  are  with  ditliciilty 
;nvikened  ;  and,  when  awakened,  so  prone  to  lie 
bewildered  and  dismayed. 

At  leng"'i,  the  appointed  hour  arrived.  Hy  order 
fit  !:u-  Mo  <rish  king,  a  bright  flame  sprung  up  from 
th.p  lu'ight  of  ISenloiniz  ;  hut  Kl  Zagal  looked  in  vain 
Hn  the  responding  light  f-om  the  city.  His  impa- 
i!Ciu:e  would  brook  no  longer  delay  ;  he  oril-;red  the 
adv.ir.ce  of  the  army,  to  descend  the  mountain  ietile 
tiiid  attack  the  camp.  The  defile  was  narrow,  and 
ivul-.ung  by  rocks :  as  the  troops  proceeded,  tin  v 
'aiiie  suddenly,  in  a  shadowy  hollow,  upon  a  dark 
iii.iss  !' christian  warriors,  A  loud  shout  burst  forth, 
and  t  le  christians  ni-.hed  to  .assail  them  ;  the  Moors, 
suiprise.d  and  disconcerted,  retreated  in  confusion  to 
the  iieight.  When  El  Zagal  heard  there  was  a  chris- 
tian force  pos'ed  in  the  defile,  he  doubted  some 
coimter-plan  of  the  enemy.  He  gave  orders  to  light 
the  nioimtain  tir^^s.     On  a  sign.al  given,  bright  tiaiues 


spning  out  on  every  height,  from  great  pyies  ol 
wood,  prepared  for  the  purpose :  cliff  blazed  out 
after  cliff,  until  the  whole  atmosphere  was  in  a  glow 
of  furnace  light.  The  ruddy  glare  lit  up  the  glens 
and  passes  of  the  mountain,  and  fell  stro.igly  upon 
the  christian  camp,  revealing  all  its  tents  and  every 
post  and  bulwark.  Wherever  El  Zagal  turned  his 
eyes,  he  beheld  the  light  of  his  fires  flashed  bad* 
from  cuirass,  and  helm,  and  sparkling  lance  ;  he  be- 
held a  grove  of  spears  planted  in  every  pass,  every 
assailable  point  bristling  with  arms,  and  squadrons 
of  horse  and  foot  in  battle  array,  awaiting  his  attack. 

In  fact,  the  letter  of  El  Zagal  to  the  alcayde  of 
Velez  Malaga  had  been  intercepted  by  the  vigilarU 
Ferdinand  ;  the  renegado  messenger  nanged  ;  and 
secret  measures  taken,  after  the  night  had  closed  in, 
to  give  the  enemy  a  warm  reception.  El  Zagal  saw 
th.at  his  plan  of  surprise  was  discovered  and  foiled ; 
furious  with  disappointment,  he  ordered  his  troops 
forward  to  the  attack.  They  rushed  down  the  de- 
file, but  were  again  encountered  by  the  mass  of 
christian  warriors,  being  the  advance  guard  of  the 
army,  commanded  by  Don  Hurtado  de  Mendoza, 
brother  of  the  grand  cardinal.  The  Moors  were 
again  repulsed,  and  retreated  up  the  height.  Don 
Hurtado  would  have  foHowed  them,  but  the  ascent 
was  steep  and  rugged,  and  easily  defended  by  the 
Moors.  A  sharp  action  was  kept  up,  through  the 
night,  with  cross-bows,  (iaits,  and  arquebusses.  The 
cliffs  echoed  with  deafening  upro.ar,  while  the  fires 
bla/.ing  upon  the  mountains  threw  a  lurid  and  un- 
certain light  upon  tlie  scene. 

When  the  day  dawned,  and  the  Moors  saw  that 
there  w.as  no  co-operation  Irom  the  city,  they  began 
to  slacken  in  their  ardor:  they  Ix-held  also  every 
pass  of  the  mount;!in  tilled  with  christian  troops, 
and  began  to  apprehend  an  assault  in  return.  Just 
then  king  Ferdinand  sent  the  manjues  of  Cadiz, 
with  horse  and  foot,  to  s^ize  upon  a  height  occu- 
pied by  a  baitalio'i  of  the  enemy.  The  marques 
assailed  the  Moors  with  his  usual  intrepidity,  and 
soon  put  them  to  flight.  The  others,  who  were 
above,  seeing  their  comrades  fiying,  were  seized  with 
a  sudden  alarm  :  they  threw  down  their  arms,  and 
retreated.  One  of  those  unaccountable  panics, 
which  now  and  then  seize  upon  great  bodies  of 
people,  and  to  which  the  light-spirited  Moors  were 
very  prone,  now  spread  throughout  the  camp.  They 
were  terrified,  they  knew  not  why,  or  at  what.  They 
threw  away  swords,  lances,  breasi-plates,  cross- 
bows, every  thing  that  could  burthen  or  impede 
their  Hight;  and,  spreading  themselves  wildly  over 
the  mountains,  ded  headlong  down  the  defiles 
They  fled  without  pursuers — from  the  glimpse  oi 
ear!  oilier's  arms,  from  the  sound  of  each  other's 
footsteps.  Rodovan  tie  Vanegas,  the  brave  alcayde 
of  litan.ad.i,  aione  succeeded  in  collecting  a  body  of 
the  fugitives;  he  made  a  circuit  with  them  through 
the  p.tiiKes  of  the  mountain,  and  forcing  his  way 
across  u  wiak  part  of  the  christian  lines,  galloped 
towanls  Velez  >ialaga.  The  rest  of  the  Moorish 
host  was  coinplelely  scattered.  In  vain  did  El  Za- 
g  il  and  his  kniglits  attempt  to  r^lly  them  ;  they  were 
left  almost  alone,  and  had  to  consult  their  own  se- 
curity by  flight. 

The  marques  of  Cadiz,  finding  no  opposition,  as- 
cended  from  height  to  height,  cautxusly  rei;onno>- 
tring,   and  fearful  of  some  stratagem  or  ambush. 
All,    however,    was   quiet.       He    reached    with    his 
men  the  place  which  the   Moorish  armv  had  occu- 
pied :    the   heights  were  .ab.indoned,    and    strcwe'' 
I  with    cuir.asses,    sc'mitars,    cross-bows,    and    oth 
I  weapons.     His  force  was  too  small  to  pursue  the 
i  enemy,  but   (elurned  to  the  royaj  camp  laden  witk 
:  the  spoils. 


■^88 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


'Mm 


ni' 


'■> 


*x' 


,T-7 


n. 


l!m 


•■r  t'.i; 


a  ■ :  ? 


5-C1B/;!' 
■"•'^T- 


King  Ferdinand  ^  first,  could  not  credit  so  sig- 
nal and  miraculous  a  defeat:  he  suspected  some 
lurkiag  stratagem.  He  ordered,  therefore,  that  a 
strict  watch  should  be  mamtained  throughout  the 
camp,  and  every  one  be  ready  for  instant  action. 
The  following  night,  a  thousand  cavaliers  and 
hidalgos  kept  guard  about  the  royal  tent,  as  thty 
had  done  fir  sever.d  preceding  nights ;  nor  did  llie 
king  relax  this  vigilance,  uniil  he  received  cer- 
tain intelligence  that  the  enemy  was  completely 
scattered  and  El  Z.-igal  (lying  in  confusion. 

The  tidings  of  this  rout,  and  of  the  safety  of  the 
christian  army,  arrived  at  Cordova  just  as  reinforce- 
ments were  on  the  point  of  setting  out.  The  anx- 
iety and  alarm  of  the  queen  and  the  public  were 
turned  to  transports  ol  joy  and  gratitude.  Tin, 
forces  were  disbanded,  solemn  processions  were 
made,  and  /<?  ti^ums  chanted  in  the  churches,  for  so 
signal  a  victory. 


CHAPTER    V. 


HOW  THE  PEOPLE  OK  GRANADA   REWARDED   THE 
VALOR  OF   EL   ZAGAL. 

The  d.aring  spirit  of  the  old  warrior,  Muley  Ab- 
dalla  El  Zag.il,  in  sallying  forth  to  defend  his  lerri- ; 
tories,  while  he  left  an  armed  rival  in  his  cajjital, 
had  struck  the  people  of  Granada  with  admiration, 
rh'.'v  recalled  his  former  exploits,  and  again  antici- 
pated some  hardy  achievement  from  his  furious 
valor.  Couriers  from  the  army  reported  its  formid- 
able position  on  the  height  of  Bentomiz.  For  a 
time,  there  was  a  pause  in  the  bloody  commotions 
of  the  city;  all  attention  was  turned  to  the  IjIow 
about  to  be  struck  at  the  christian  camp.  The 
same  considerations  which  diffused  anxiety  and  ter- 
ror through  Cordova,  swelled  every  bosom  witii  ex- 
alting confidence  in  ("irunada.  The  Moi)rs  expected 
to  hear  of  another  massacre,  like  that  in  the  mount- 
ains of  Malaga.  "  LI  Zagal  h.is  a^ain  entrappeil 
the  enemy  !  "  \»as  the  cry.  "  The  power  ol  the  un- 
oelicvers  is  about  to  be  struck  to  the  heart.  We 
shall  soon  see  the  christian  king  led  captive  to  the 
capital."  Thus  the  name  of  El  Za^Ml  was  on  every 
lont^jue.  He  was  extolled  as  the  savior  of  the  coun- 
try ;  the  only  one  w(-rtliy  ol  wearing  the  .Moorish 
crown.  Boabdil  was  reviled  as  basely  remaining 
passive  while  his  country  w.is  invadtiil ;  and,  so  vio- 
lent became  the  cl.unor  of  the  populace,  that  his  ad- 
herents trembled  for  his  safety. 

While  the  people  of  Granada  were  impatiently 
looking  out  for  tidings  of  the  anticipated  vniory, 
scattered  horseini'ii  came  s[>urring  across  ihc  vega. 
They  were  fugitives  from  the  Moorish  army,  and 
brought  the  first  incoherent  account  of  its  defeat. 
Every  one  who  attempted  to  tell  the  tale  of  thjs  un- 
accountable panic  and  dispersion,  w  is  as  if  hevni- 
dered  by  the  broken  recollection  of  some  fright:«l 
drc"*":..  He  knew  not  how  or  why  i'  .ame  to  pass. 
He  ta.ked  of  a  battle  in  the  night,  among  rocks  and 
precipices,  by  the  glare  of  baie-iiies;  ol  iriullituiles 
ef  armed  foes  in  every  pass,  seen  by  glcitiiis  and 
Sashes  ;  of  the  sudden  horror  that  seued  upon 
'.he  as  Tiy  at  daybreak;  its  headlong  flight,  and 
fetal  dis|vrsion.  Hour  after  hour,  the  arrival  of 
other  fugitives  confirmed  the  story  of  ruin  and  dis- 
grace. 

In  proportion  to  tlieir  recent  vaunting,  w,as  the 
humiliation  that  now  tell  upon  the  people  of  Gra- 
nada. There  was  a  umverrial  hurst,  n-.^t  of  grief. 
But  indignation.  They  confounded  the  leader 
A'lth  the  army  -the  de;ierted,  with  those  who  h.ad 
iba.'sdoned  hitn  ;    and   £1   Zagal,  trom  being  their 


idol,  became  suddenly  the  object  of  theit  csecra. 
tion.  He  had  sacrihced  the  army ;  he  had  dis, 
graced  the  nation ;  he  had  betrayed  the  country, 
He  was  a  dastard,  a  traitor ;  he  was  unwortiiy  to 
reign  ' 

On  a  sudden,  one  among  the  multitude  shouted, 
"  Long  live  Bo.ibdil  el  Chico  I  "  the  cry  was  echoed 
on  all  sides,  and  every  one  shouted,  '  Long  li,-. 
lioabdil  el  Chico!  long  live  the  legitimate  kinj;  of 
Gran.ada:  and  death  to  all  usurpers  ! "  In  itiecj> 
citement  of  the  moment,  they  thronged  to  the  Al- 
baycin ;  and  those  who  had  lately  besieged  Hoah 
dil  with  arms,  now  surrounded  his  palace  with  ac 
clamations.  The  keys  of  the  city,  and  of  all  the 
fortresses,  were  laid  at  his  feet ;  he  was  borne  in 
.state  to  the  Alhambra,  .and  once  more  seated, 
with  all  due  cerem  my,  on  the  throne  of  his  an- 
cestors. 

boabdil  had  by  this  time  become  so  accustomed 
to  be  crowned  and  uncrowned  by  the  multitude,  that 
he  put  no  great  faith  in  the  duration  of  their  loyalty. 
He  knew  that  he  w.as  surrounded  by  hollow  hearts, 
and  th.at  most  of  the  courtiers  of  the  Alhambra  were 
secretly  devoted  to  his  uncle.  He  ascendeii  the 
throne  as  the  rightful  sovereign,  who  had  been  dis- 
possessed of  it  l)y  usurpation ;  and  he  orderi-ii  the 
heads  of  four  of  the  principal  nol)ies  to  be  stnirk  oif, 
who  had  been  most  zealous  in  support  of  the  usurps^r. 
Executions  ot  the  kind  were  matters  of  course,  on 
any  change  in  Moorish  government :  and  Boabdil 
was  lauded  for  his  moderation  and  humanity,  in  In  ing 
content  with  so  small  a  sacrifice.  The  faction?  were 
awed  into  obedience ;  the  jiopulace,  delighteel  with 
any  change,  extolled  IJoabdil  to  the  skies  ;  and  the 
name  of  Muley  Abdalla  El  Z.igal  was  for  a  time  a  by- 
word  of  scorn  and  opprobrium  throughout  tnr  c.ty. 

Never  w.us  an^  commander  more  astonished  I'-.d 
confounded  by  a  sudden  reverse  of  fortune,  than  K! 
Zagal.  The  evening  had  seen  him  with  a  powuhil 
army  at  his  command,  his  enemy  within  his  j^r  i';;). 
and  victory  about  to  cover  him  with  glory,  and  lo 
consolidate  his  [)ower : — the  morning  beheld  him  a 
tuguive  among  the  mountains,  his  army,  his  |;ii)s- 
jierity,  his  power,  all  dispelleii,  he  knew  not  h'w— 
gone  like  a  ilrcam  of  the  night.  In  vain  had  he  iried 
to  stem  the  headlong  flight  of  the  army.  He  s  iv,  his 
squadrons  breaking  and  dispersing  among  the  liiffs 
of  the  mountains,  until,  of  all  his  host,  only  a  hmd- 
ful  of  cavaliers  remained  faithful  to  him.  Witii  ihcsi; 
lie  made  a  gloomy  retreat  towards  Granada,  but  win 
a  heart  lull  of  foreboding.  When  he  drew  la-ir  tu 
the  city,  he  paused  on  the  banks  of  the  Xenel,  and 
sent  tonh  scouts  to  collect  intelligence.  Tlity  re- 
turned with  dejected  countenances:  "The  gaus  ol 
Granada,"  sa.d  they.  "  are  closed  against  you.  The 
banner  of  Boaudil  floats  on  the  lower  of  the  Al- 
hambra." 

fA  Zagal  turned  his  steed,  and  departed  in  sih.  nee. 
H#-  retreated  to  the  town  of  Almunecar,  a:ul  iroai 
tl.e»ce  to  Aiineria,  which  plac  s  still  remained  laitli- 
ful  to  him.  Restless  and  uneasv  at  being  so  distant 
from  the  cajiilal,  h-:  ig.ain  changed  his  atnide,  and 
repatircd  to  the  city  of  Guadix,  within  a  few  leai,aies 
of  trran.ada.  Here  he  remained,  enUeavo.ii.g  to 
r.illy  hjs  tones,  and  preparing  lo  avail  hiriiseil  ct 
any  siKfden  change  in  the  fluctuating  politics  of  the 
mctroiAihs. 

CHAPTER  VL 

SURRENDER  OK   VEI.PIZ    MALAGA    *SD   OTHIl 
PLA(  ES. 

The  people  of  Velez  Malaga  had  beheld  the  ramt 
of  Muley  Abdalla  El  Z«gal,  covering  the  siimmii  of 


A  CHRONICLE  OF   THE  CONQUEST  OF   GRANADA. 


S8V 


Bento.Tiii,  and  plitterinjf  in  the  last  rays  of  the  set- 
ting sun.  Dunng  the  night,  they  had  beer  n!armed 
and  perplexed  oy  signal-tires  on  the  mountain,  and 
by  the  soind  of  distant  battle.  When  the  morning 
broke,  the  Moorish  army  had  vanished  as  if  by  en- 
chantment. While  the  inhabitants  were  lost  in  won- 
der .11x1  conjecture,  a  body  of  cavalry,  the  fragment 
of  th''  anny  saved  by  Kodovan  de  Vanegas,  the 
biave  alcayde  of  Granada,  came  galloping  to  the 
rates.  Thfi  tidings  of  the  strange  discomfiture  of 
l^c  host,  filled  the  city  with  consternation  ;  but  Ro- 
d(ivin  exhorted  the  |K;ople  to  continue  their  resist- 
anct!.  He  was  devoted  to  El  Zagal,  and  confident 
in  his  skill  and  prowess ;  and  felt  assure. 1  that  he 
wouiii  soon  collect  his  scattered  forces,  and  return 
with  fresh  troops  from  Granada.  The  people  were 
comforted  by  the  words,  and  encouraged  by  the 
presence, of  Rodovan  ;  and  they  had  still  a  lingering 
hope  that  the  heavy  artillery  of  the  christians  might 
be  locked  up  in  the  impassable  defiles  of  the  inount- 
ains.  This  hope  was  soon  at  an  end.  The  very 
next  'l.iy,  they  beheld  long  laborious  lines  of  ordnance 
slowly  moving  into  the  Spanish  camp,  lombards, 
rib.Kioquiiits,  catapultas,  and  cars  laden  A'ith  muni- 
tions,— while  the  escort,  under  the  brave  Master  of 
Alcantara,  wheeled  in  gre.at  tiattalions  into  the  camp, 
to  aujjment  the  force  of  the  besiegers. 

The  intelligence  that  Gianada  h.id  shut  its  gates 
against  Kl  Zagal,  and  th;.t  no  reinforci:ments  were 
to  be  expected,  completed  the  (les|)air  of  the  inhab- 
itants; even  Rodovan  himself  lost  contidence,  and 
advised  capitulation. 

The  lerms  were  arranged  between  the  alcayde 
and  the  noble  count  de  Cifuentes ;  the  latter  had 
bt«n  prisoner  of  Rodovan  ai  Granada,  who  had 
treated  him  with  chivalrous  courtesy.  They  had 
conceived  a  mutual  esteem  for  each  olh^r,  ai-.d  met 
15  ancient  friends. 

Ferdinand  granted  favorable  conditions,  for  he 
v:v-,  eager  to  proceed  against  Mal.iga.  'I'he  inhab- 
itams  were  permitted  to  depart  with  their  etfects, 
txcept  their  arms,  and  to  reside,  it  they  chose  it,  in 
Spam,  in  any  jilace  dist.irit  from  the  sea.  One  hiin- 
dr«i  and  twenty  christians,  of  both  sexes,  were  res- 
cued from  captivity  by  the  surrender  of  Velez  Mal- 
ag.'i,  and  were  sent  to  Cordova,  where  they  were  re- 
ceived with  great  tenilerness  by  the  cpieen  and  her 
dau^-hter  the  Infanta  Isabella,  in  the  1:  iiious  cathe- 
dral, in  the  midst  of  public  rejoicings  for  the  victory. 

The  cajjture  of  Velez  Mal.aga  was  followed  by  the 
surrender  of  Hentoiniz,  Comares.  anil  all  the  towns 
and  fortresses  of  the  Axarquia,  which  were  strongly 
garrisonefl,  and  discreet  and  valiant  cavaliers  ap- 
pointed as  their  alcaydes.  The  inhabitants  of  nearly 
forty  towns  of  the  Alpaxarra  mout.tains,  also,  sent 
deputations  to  the  Castilian  sovereigns,  taking  the 
oith  of  allegiance  as  Mudeharrs,  or  Moslem  vassals. 

About  the  same  time  came  letters  from  Boabdil  el 
Chico,  announcing  to  the  sovereigns  the  revolution 
of  Granada  in  his  favor.  He  solicited  kindness  and 
protection  tor  the  inh.abitants  who  had  returned  to 
their  allegimce.  and  for  those  of  all  other  places 
which  should  renounce  adherence  to  his  uncle.  By 
this  means  (he  observed)  the  whole  kingdom  of  Gra- 
cidd  would  soon  be  induced  to  acknowledge  his 
iwa^,  anu  would  be  held  by  him  in  faithful  vassalage 
to  the  Casti'iian  crown. 

The  Catholic  soverrigr-.s  complied  with  his  re- 
qi.'«!l.  Protection  was  immediately  extended  to  the 
!r,h.»ij;tanl3  of  Granad.a,  permitting  them  to  cultivate 
their  fields  in  peace,  and  to  trade  with  the  christian 
tfrritories  in  all  articles  excepting  arms  ;  being  priv 
nde<l  with  letters  of  surety,  from  some  christian 
captain  or  alcayde.  The  same  favor  was  proniised 
to  all  other  places,  vvhieh,  Nrit'nn  six  months,  should 


renounce  El  Zag^l  and  come  under  allegisnce  to  the 
younger  king.  Should  they  not  do  so  within  thai 
time,  the  sovereigns  threatened  to  make  war  upon 
them,  and  coniiuer  them  for  themselves.  This  meas* 
ure  had  a  great  effect,  it:  inducing  many  to  return  to 
the  standard  of  Boabdil. 

Having  made  even'  necess.\ry  arrangerr.ent  for  the 
government  and  security  of  the  newly  conquered 
territory,  Ferdinand  turned  his  attention  to  the  great 
object  of  his  campaign,  the  reduction  of  Malaga. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


OF  THE  CITY  OF  MALAGA,  AND   ITS  INHABIT- 
ANTS. 

The  city  of  Malaga  lies  in  the  lap  of  a  fertile  val- 
ley, surrounded  by  mountains,  excepting  on  the  part 
which  lies  open  to  the  sea.  As  it  was  one  of  the 
most  important,  so  it  was  one  of  the  strongest,  cities 
of  the  Moorish  kingdom.  It  was  fortified  by  walls 
of  prodigirtus  strength,  studded  with  a  great  number 
of  huge  towers.  On  the  land  side,  it  was  protected 
by  a  natural  barrier  of  mountains  ;  and  on  the  other, 
the  waves  of  the  Mediterranean  beat  against  the 
foundations  of  its  massive  bulwarks. 

At  one  end  of  the  city,  near  the  sea,  on  a  high 
mound,  stood  the  Alcazaba  or  citadel, — a  fortress  of 
great  strength.  Immediately  above  this,  rose  a  steep 
and  rocky  mount,  on  the  top  of  which,  in  old  times, 
had  been  a  I'haro  or  light-house,  from  which  the 
height  derived  its  ruime  of  Gibralfaro.*  It  was  at 
present  ciowned  by  an  immense  castle,  which,  trom 
Its  lofty  and  cragged  situation,  its  vast  walls  and 
mighty  towers,  was  deemed  impregnable.  It  com- 
municated vilh  the  Alcazaba  by  a  covered  way,  sii 
paces  bto?,:,  leading  down  between  two  walls,  along 
the  profile  or  ridge  of  the  rock.  The  castle  of  Gil)- 
ralfaro  commanded  both  citadel  and  city,  and  was 
capable,  if  both  were  taken,  of  maintaining  a  siege. 
Two  large  suburbs  .adjoined  the  city  :  in  the  one  to- 
wards the  sea,  were  the  dwelling-houses  of  the  most 
opulent  inhabitants,  adorned  with  hanging  gardens  ; 
the  other,  on  the  land  siile,  was  thickly  peopled,  and 
surrounded  by  strong  walls  and  towers. 

■Malaga  possessed  a  brave  and  numerous  garrison 
and  the  common  people  were  active,  hardy,  anc 
resolute;  but  the  city  was  rich  and  commercial,  and 
under  the  habitual  control  of  numerous  opulent 
merchants,  who  dreaded  the  ruinous  consequencej 
of  a  siege.  They  were  little  zealous  for  the  warlike 
renown  of  their  city,  and  longed  rather  to  pii^'ci- 
pate  in  the  enviable  security  of  property,  and  the 
lucrative  privileges  of  safe  traffic  with  the  christian 
territories,  granted  to  all  places  which  declared  tor 
Boabdil.  At  the  head  of  these  gainful  citizens  was 
All  Dorilux,  a  mighty  merchant  of  uncounted  wealth, 
whose  ships  traded  to  every  part  of  the  Levant,  and 
whose  word  was  as  a  law  in  M.alaga.  Ali  Dordux  as- 
sembled the  most  opulent  and  important  of  his 
commercial  brethren,  and  they  repaired  in  a  body  to 
the  Alcazaba,  where  they  were  received  by  the  al- 
cayde, Alt)o/.en  Connixa,  with  that  deference  gen 
crally  shown  to  men  of  their  great  local  dignity  .and 
power  of  purse.  Ali  Uordux  w;is  ample  and  stately 
in  his  form,  and  fluent  an<l  emphatic  in  his  discourse 
his  eloquence  had  an  e^Tect  therefore  ujion  the  al- 
cayde, as  he  represented  the  hopelessness  of  a  de- 
fence of  Malaga,  the  misery  that  must  atterd  3 
siege,  .and  the  ruin  that  must  follow  a  capture  by 
force  of  arms.    On  the  other  hand,  he  set  forth  thj 


m 


*  A  -.crruotion  of  Gihl-/are;  the  hill  of  the  lisht-hoaM. 


«4( 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


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grace  th^t  might  be  obtained  from  the  Castiliaii 
tovereigns,  by  an  early  and  vuluntary  acknowledg- 
ment ot  ISoalxlil  as  king ;  the  pt^aceful  possession  of 
their  property,  and  the  profitable  commerce  with  the 
christian  ports,  that  would  be  allowed  them.  He 
was  seconded  by  his  weighty  and  imporlrmt  coadju- 
tors ;  and  the  alcayde,  accustomed  to  regard  ihcm 
IS  the  arbiters  of  the  affairs  of  the  place,  yieliled  to 
their  united  counsels.  He  departed,  therefore,  with 
ill  speed,  to  the  christian  camp,  empowered  to  ar- 
range a  capitulation  with  the  Castilian  inonarcli ; 
ind  in  the  mean  time,  his  brothei  remained  in  com- 
mand of  the  Alc.uaba. 

There  was  at  this  time,  as  alcayde,  in  the  old 
crag-built  castle  of  Gibralfaro,  a  warlike  and  fiery 
Moor,  an  implacable  enemy  of  the  christians.  This 
was  no  other  than  Hamet  Zeli,  surnamed  El  Zfgri, 
the  once  formidable  alcayde  of  Ronda,  and  the  ter- 
ror of  its  mountains.  He  had  never  forgiven  the 
capture  of  his  favorite  fortress,  and  panted  for  ven- 
geance on  the  christians.  Notwitiisianding  his  re- 
verses, he  had  retained  the  favor  of  El  Z,i.f;al,  who 
knew  how  to  appreciate  a  bold  warrior  ol  the  kind, 
and  had  placed  him  in  command  of  this  important 
fortress  of  Gibralfaro. 

Hamet  el  Zttfri  had  gathered  round  him  the  rem- 
nant of  his  band  of  Gomert-s,  with  others  of  the  same 
tribe.  These  fierce  warriors  were  nestled,  like  so 
many  war-hawks,  about  their  lofty  cliff.  They  looked 
down  with  m.artial  contempt  upon  the  commercial 
city  of  Malaga,  which  they  were  pl.iced  to  protect ; 
or  rather,  they  esteemed  it  only  for  its  military  im- 
portance, and  its  capability  of  defence.  They  held 
no  communion  with  its  trading,  gainful  inhabitants, 
and  even  considered  the  garrison  of  the  Alcazaba  as 
-heir  inferiors.  War  was  their  pursuit  antl  passion  ; 
:hey  rejoiced  in  its  turbulent  and  perilous  scenes  ; 
:iiul,  cor.fideiit  in  the  strength  of  the  city,  and,  above 
~.\\,  of  iheir  castle,  they  set  at  defiance  the  menace 
of  christian  invasion.  There  were  among  them,  also, 
many  apostate  Moors,  who  had  once  embraced  Chris- 
tianity, but  had  since  recanted,  and  had  fled  from 
the  vengeance  of  the  hxjuisition.  These  were  des- 
peradoes, who  h.ad  no  mercy  to  expect,  should  they 
again  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 

.Such  were  the  fierce  elements  of  the  garrison  of 
Gibraltaro ;  and  its  raije  may  easily  be  conceived,  at 
hearing  that  Malaga  was  to  be  given  up  without  a 
blow;  that  they  were  to  sink  into  christian  vassals, 
under  the  intermeiliate  sway  of  Hoahilll  el  Cliico; 
and  that  the  alcayde  of  the  Alcazaba  had  departed, 
to  arrang'j  the  terms  of  capitulation. 

Hamet  el  Zeijri  (Icifniiiiifd  to  avert,  by  desperate 
means,  the  threatmid  (li_;;radation.  He  knew  that 
there  was  a  lar^'e  p.'Tty  in  the  city  faitht'ul  to  El 
Zagal,  being  coni|)i  sfd  of  warlike  mtii.  who  had 
taken  refiige  from  tiie  various  mountain  towns  which 
had  been  ca[;tured  :  their  fei-iinf^s  were  des[x.Tate  as 
their  fortunes,  and,  like  Hamet,  they  p.inted  for 
reveiige  upun  the  chr;stians.  With  ihcse  he  had  a 
secret  cOidrTence,  anu  receivc<l  assurances  of  their 
adhcreni  e  to  him  in  a,iy  nu-asurcs  of  defeme.  As 
to  the  counsel  of  the  peaceful  inhabitants,  he  con- 
-iiJcred  it  unworthy  the  consideration  of  a  sol.lier; 
X.ld  he  spurned  at  the  interference  of  the  wealthy 
merchant  Ali  Dordux,  in  mn'ters  of  warfare. 

"Still,"  saiil  Hamet  el  Zegri,  "let  us  proceed 
regularly."  So  he  descended  with  his  (ioiiieres  to 
the  citadel,  entered  it  suddenly,  put  to  death  the 
brother  of  the  alcayde,  and  sucn  of  the  garnson  as 
made  any  demur,  and  then  summoned  the  piincip.il 
inhabitants  of  Malaga,  to  deliberate  on  measures  for 
the  welfare  of  the  city.*     The  we.althy  merchants 


*  Ciira  Ue  los  PkUcioi.  c.  8t. 


again  mounted  to  the  citadei  excepting  Aii  Dordm, 
wmo  refused  to  obey  the  summons.  They  eini  icd 
with  hearts  filled  with  awe,  for  they  found  II  mihi 
surrounded  by  his  grim  African  guard,  and  all  the 
stern  array  ol  military  power,  and  they  beheld  thp 
bloody  traces  of  the  recent  massacre. 

Hamet  el  Zegri  rolled  a  dark  and  scatrhiii^;  py? 
upon  the  .assembly,  "  Who,"  said  he,  "  is  loy  il  d, ; 
ilevoted  to  Muley  Abdaila  el  Z.agal?"  Eveiy  or; 
present  asserted  his  loyalty.  "  Good  !  "  said  H.iiiu  t ; 
"  and  who  is  ready  to  prove  his  devotion  to  his  sc.  cr- 
eign,  by  deiending  this  his  important  city  to  the  I  is; 
extremity?"  Every  one  present  declared  his  niiii. 
ness.  "  Enough  !  "  observed  Hamet ;  "  the  aicavlf 
Albozen  Connixa  has  proved  himself  a  tiaitor  ui  his 
sovereign,  and  to  you  all ;  for  he  has  conspirnl  ly 
deliver  the  place  to  the  christians.  It  behoves  \ou 
to  choose  some  other  commander  capable  of  dciind- 
ing  your  city  against  the  approaching  enemy."  The 
assembly  declared  unanimously,  that  there  was  no 
one  so  worthy  of  the  command  as  hitnselt.  So 
Hamet  el  Zegri  was  appointed  alcayde  of  M.ilii;:i. 
and  immediately  proceedeil  to  man  the  forts  ,ii  ,j 
towers  with  his  partisans,  and  to  make  every  |it:;),,. 
ration  for  a  desperate  resistance. 

Intelligence  ot  these  occurrerces  put  an  end  lo  the 
negotiations  between  king  Ferdinand  and  the  scpr  r- 
seded  alcayde  Albozen  Connixa,  and  it  w.is  jup|iii.til 
there  was  no  alternative  but  to  lay  siege  in  the 
place.  The  marqties  of  Cadiz,  however,  found  ;u 
Velez  a  Moorish  cavalier  of  some  note,  a  nid'c- 
of  Malaga,  who  offered  to  tamper  with  Han.ct  c! 
Zegri  for  the  surrender  of  the  city,  or  at  least  r.!  ti  c 
castle  of  Gibralfaro.  The  marques  communicuci' 
this  to  the  king:  "  1  put  this  business,  and  ilic  kf\ 
of  my  treasury,  into  your  hands,"  said  Fcrdin  ;iiil 
"  act,  stipulate,  and  diiburse,  in  my  name,  ;.s  w:.. 
think  proper." 

The  marques  armed  the  Moor  with  his  own  I, .nee 
cuir.ass,  and  target,  and  mounted  him  on  one  ol  his 
own  horses.  He  equipjied  in  similar  st\le,  alio, 
another  Moor,  his  comp.mion  and  rel.ition.  I  hr\ 
bore  secret  letters  to  Hamet  from  the  mar<jup^, 
otTering  him  the  town  of  Coin  in  peqietual  iiihcnt- 
ance,  and  four  thousand  dobl.is  in  gold,  if  he  wnulil 
deliver  up  Gibralf.iro  ;  together  with  large  sums,!;; 
be  distributed  among  his  olVicers  and  soldier-; :  and 
he  offered  unlimited  rewards  for  the  surreii<lei  ol  ih; 
city.* 

II  imet  had  a  warrior's  admiration  of  the  inar(;;i!-- 

of  C.idiz.  and  received  his  mes.sengers  witii  cihhIc-.'. 

in  his  forirt'ss  of  (iibralf.tro.     He  even  listciiid  t> 

their  jiro] positions  with  patience,  .ind  dismissed  ih  i; 

in    s.ilety,  thouj^h   with   an    absolute    rclus:u.     The 

marques  thought  his  reply  w.is  not  Sf)  peien.|ii  r\ 

as   to   discourage   anotlier   effort.     The   eniis^irin 

I  were   disp.itched,    therefore,    a   second    time,   wii; 

I  lurther   pio|)ositions.     They  ap]'r(;;iched  Ma!.is::i  in 

j  tlie   niglit,   but   found  the  g:i.ir(is   doui.k-.l,  p,;T3:.s 

lal)i\>,i(i,  and   the  whole   place  on  the  alert.      Ihcy 

were    disco\cied,    pursued,   aiai   only   saved    thiir.- 

Selves   by   the   Heetness   of   th<ir    Meeds,   and    ihfi: 

knowled^^c  vif  the  passes  of  the  mountains. 

F'"inding  ill  attetipts  to  tamper  with  the  l.ulh  o' 
Hamet  el  Zegri  ii.lerly  futile,  King  Ferdinand  p,vy 
liciy  summoned  the  city  to  surrender,  otl-niii;  ih,' 
most  favorable  terms  in  case  of  imtnedi.ite  ci-ni 
pliance;  but  threatening  captivity  to  all  the  inh,.hi! 
ants,  'n  case  of  resistancr. 

'l"he  mess.ige  w.ts  delivered  in  pre";ence  v\  th.t' 
principal  inhabitants,  who,  however,  were  too  ;:!i;ii 
in  awe  of  the  stem  alcayde  to  utter  a  word,  ti  •■  ir.' 
el  Zegri  then  rose  haughtily,  and  replied,  th.i:  'i;' 

*  Cun  de  los  Pulacios,  c.  Ss. 


ADVANCl 


•  i'ulRar,  p«r 


A  CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST  OF   GRANADA. 


241 


vith  H. Ill, It  f! 


eity  of  Mala^ra  had  not  been  confided  to  him  to  be 
surrendered,  but  defended ;  and  the  king  should  wit- 
ncs'j  how  he  acquitted  himself  of  his  charge.* 

The  messengers  returned  with  formidable  accounts 
of  the  force  of  the  garrison,  tiie  strength  of  the  forti- 
fic.itions,  and  the  determined  spirit  of  the  commander 
ii'ul  liis  men.  The  king  immediately  sent  orders  to 
have  the  heavv  .TrtilJi.Ty  forwarded  from  Antirjuera  ; 
and,  on  the  7in  of  May,  marched  with  his  army  to- 
KirJs  MaUga. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

ADVANCE    OF    KINO    FERDINAND    AGAINST 
MALAGA. 

The  army  of  Ferdinand  advanced  in  lengthened 
linr,  glittering  along  the  foot  of  the  mountains  which 
holder  the  Mediterranean  ;  while  a  tleet  of  vessels, 
frili^ht«*d  with  heavy  artillery  and  warlike  munitions, 
kept  pace  with  it  at  a  short  distance  from  the  land, 
ciivering  the  sea  with  a  thousand  gleaming  sails. 
A'lun  ilamet  el  Zcj^ri  saw  this  force  approaching, 
he  set  tire  to  the  houses  of  the  suburbs  which  ail- 
ioiiu'fl  the  walls,  and  sent  forth  three  battalions  to 
eiK'oiiiiier  the  advance  guard  of  the  enemy. 

The  christian  army  drew  neaf  to  the  city,  at  that 
t:ml  where  the  castle  and  rocky  hei,u;ht  of  tlibralfaro 
fielVnil  the  seaboard.  Immediately  opposite,  at  about 
two  t)OW"Shots'  distance,  stood  the  castle  ;  and  be- 
iwei.n  it  -ind  the  high  chain  of  mountains,  was  a  strep 
(pI  rocky  hill,  cominnniling  a  pass  through  which  the 
c'-istians  must  march  to  penetrate  to  the  vega  and 
surround  the  city.  Hamet  el  Zegri  ordered  the  three 
l:m:i!ionK  to  t.ike  their  stations,  one  on  this  hill,  an- 

'uT  it)  thve  [lass  near  the  castle,  and  a  third  on  the 
,,.li-  ol  the  mountain  near  the  sea. 

A  body  of  Spanish  foot-soldiers,  of  the  advance 
f7,;:ird,  sturdy  mountaineers  of  Gallicia.  sprang  for- 
A  11(1  t'l  climb  the  side  of  the  lieight  next  the  sea  ; 
:1  ihf  same  lime,  a  numt)er  of  cavaliers  and  hidalgos 
o<  the  royal  household  attacked  the  Moors  who 
r;ti:irdfd  the  pass  below.  The  Moors  defended  ttit-ir 
|ii..s:s  with  obstinate  valor.  The  Gallicians  were  re- 
pvitedly  overpowered  and  driven  down  the  hill,  but 
as  ul'tcn  rallied,  and  being  reinforced  by  the  hidalgos 
:;iiil  civ.diers,  returnt'd  ti)  the  assault.  This  obstinate 
'■•riij.^ijle  lasted  ior  six  hours  :  the  strife  was  of  a  dead- 
' .  kiiul,  not  merely  with  cross-bows  and  arqeebusscs, 
hut  hand  to  hand,  with  swords  and  daggers;  no 
(iuirter  was  claiined  or  given,  on  either  side — they 
!  '!!.;iu  not  to  make  captives,  but  to  slay.  It  was  but 
li;   ailvaiice  of  the  christian  army  that  was  engaged  ; 

>  narrovv  was  the  pass  .iloiig  the  coast,  that  the  army 
^  juld  proceed  only  in  tile  :  horse  and  toot,  and  beasts 
ul  liurden,  were  crowded  one  upon  anollier,  iiiiped- 
ir.i;  c.ich  other,  and  1  locking  up  ihe  narrow  and  rug- 
L'(l  delile.  The  soldiers  iuard  the  uproar  of  the 
cattle,  the  sound  of  trumpets,  and  the  war-cnes  of 
i'e  Moors — but  tried  in  v., in  to  press  forward  to  the 
I. ('Stance  of  their  ioti,,<anions. 

r  t  length  a  body  ol  fnpt-soldiers  ol  the  Holy 
I'rotherliood  climlieif.  with,  great  ditVioulty,  the  steep 

ie  '>f  the  mountain  which  overhung  the  pass,  and 
•I'aanced  with  seven  baUiiers  ilisplayed.    The  Moots, 

:■  ng  this  force  above  ihein,  abandoned  the  jiass  in 

■  p-ur.  The  battle  was  still  rai;ing  on  the  he'ght  , 
'.■■'■  Gvllicians,  though  siii)i)orte(l  by  Castilian  troo()s 
'  M.lc'r  Don  Hurtado  de  Mendoza  and  i".,ircilasso  de 
! '  '.'ei^ia,  were  severely  pressed  and  roughly  handled 
:  the  Moors;  at  lenjjth  a  brave  stand<ard-l)earer, 
L.i;,  s  Mazedo  by  name,  threw  himself  into  the  midst 

*  PiilRar,  part  j.  :ap.  74 

Hi 


of  the  enemy,  and  planted  his  banner  on  tht  lummlt, 
The  Gallicians  and  Castilians,  stimulated  by  this  no- 
ble self-devotion,  followed  him  fighting  desperately, 
atid  the  Moors  were  at  length  driven  to  their  castle 
of  Gibralfaro.* 

This  imiwrtant  height  being  taken,  the  pass  lay 
open  to  the  anny;  but  by  this  time  evening  was  ad- 
vancing, and  the  host  was  too  wea»7  and  exhausted 
to  seek  proper  situations  for  the  encampment.  The 
king,  attended  by  several  grandees  and  ca\»!iers, 
went  the  rounds  at  night,  stationing  outposts  towarrls 
the  city,  and  guards  and  patrols  to  give  the  alarm  on 
the  least  movement  of  the  enemy.  All  night  the 
christians  lay  upon  their  arms,  lest  there  should  b« 
some  attempt  to  sally  forth  and  attack  them. 

When  the  morning  dawned,  the  king  gazed  with 
admiration  at  this  city,  which  he  hoped  soon  to  add 
to  his  dominions.  It  was  surrounded  on  one  side  by 
vineyards,  gardens,  and  orchards,  which  covered  the 
hills  with  verdure  ;  on  the  other  side,  its  walls  were 
bathed  by  the  smooth  and  tranquil  sea.  Its  vast  and 
lofty  towers  and  prodigious  castles,  hoary  with  age, 
yet  unimpaired  in  strength,  showed  the  labors  of 
magnanimous  men  in  former  times  to  protect  their 
favorite  abode.  Hanging  gardens,  groves  of  oranges, 
citrons,  and  pomegranates,  with  tall  cedars  anti 
stately  palms,  were  mingled  with  the  stem  battle- 
ments and  towers — bespeaking  the  opulence  and 
luxury  that  reigned  within. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  christian  army  poured 
through  the  pass,  and,  throwing  out  its  columns  and 
extending  its  lines,  took  possession  ol  every  vantage- 
ground  around  the  city.  King  Ferdinand  surveyed 
the  ground,  and  appointed  the  stations  of  the  differ- 
ent commanders. 

The  imi)oriant  mount  which  had  cost  so  violent  a 
struggle,  anil  faced  the  powerful  fortress  of  Gibral- 
laro,  w.as  given  in  charge  to  Roderigo  Ponce  de 
Leon,  maniues  of  Cadiz,  who,  in  all  sieges,  clain.ed 
Ihe  post  of  danger.  He  had  several  noble  cavaliers 
with  their  retainers  in  his  encampment,  which  con- 
sisted of  fifteen  hundrerl  horse  and  fourteen  thousand 
toot ;  and  extendefl  from  the  summit  of  the  mount 
to  the  margin  of  the  sea,  completely  blocking  up  the 
approach  to  the  city  on  that  side.  From  this  post, 
a  line  of  encampments  extended  quite  round  the 
city  to  the  seaboard,  fortified  by  bulwarks  and  deep 
ditches  ;  while  a  fleet  of  armed  ships  and  galleys 
stretched  before  the  harbor ;  so  that  the  place  was 
completely  invested,  by  sea  and  land.  The  various 
parts  of  the  valley  now  resounded  with  the  din  of 
preparation,  and  were  filled  with  artificers  preparing 
warlike  engines  and  tnunitions :  annorers  and  smiths, 
with  glowing  forges  and  deafening  hammers ;  car- 
penters and  engineers,  constructing  machines  where- 
with to  assail  the  walls  ;  stone-cutters,  shaping  stone 
balls  for  the  ordnance ;  and  burners  of  charcoal, 
preparing  fuel  for  the  furnaces  and  forges. 

When  the  encampment  was  formed,  the  heavy 
ordnance  was  landed  from  the  ships,  and  mounted 
in  various  parts  of  the  cainp.  Five  huge  lombards 
were  placed  on  the  mount  commanded  by  the  mar- 
ques of  Cadiz,  so  as  to  bear  upon  the  castle  of  Gib- 
ralfaro. 

The  Moors  made  strenuous  efforts  to  impede  these 
preparations.  They  kept  up  a  heavy  tire  from  their 
ordn.ance.  ipon  the  men  employed  in  digging  trenches 
or  constructing  batteries,  so  that  the  latter  had  to 
work  principally  in  the  night.  The  royal  tents  had 
been  stationed  conspicuously,  and  within  reach  of 
the  Moorish  batteries  ;  but  were  so  warmly  assilled, 
that  they  h.ad  to  be  removed  behind  a  hill. 

When   the  works   were  completed,  the  christiit 


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*  Puigw,     CroDica. 


242 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


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batteries  opened  in  return,  and  kept  up  a  tremendous 
cannonade;  while  the  fleet,  a|)pro;iching  the  land, 
as&uk-d  the  city  vij^orously  on  the  opposite  side. 

"  It  was  a  glorious  and  delectable  sight,"  observes 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "to  hrlujld  this  intidel  city 
thus  surrounded  by  sea  and  land,  by  a  mighty  chris- 
tian force.  Every  mound  in  its  circuit  was,  as  it 
were,  a  little  city  of  tents,  hearing  the  standard  of 
some  renowned  Catholic  w.irrior.  Heside  the  war- 
like ships  and  galU-ys  which  lay  before  the  place,  the 
sea  was  covered  with  inmiineraiile  sails,  passing  and 
repassing,  appearing  and  (lisaii|)caiing,  being  en- 
gaged in  bring  ng  sup[ilies  for  tlie  subsistence  of  the 
army.  It  seen  eu  a  vast  spectacle  contrived  to  rec- 
reate the  eye,  did  not  the  volleying  bursts  of  tlame 
and  smoke  Crom  the  ships,  which  seeincil  to  lie 
asleep  on  '.lie  auiet  sea,  and  the  thunder  of  ordn.mce 
from  c.inp  and  city,  from  tower  and  battlement,  tell 
th;,  deadly  warfare  that  was  ragino;. 

"  At  night,  the  scene  was  far  more  direful  than  in 
the  day.  The  cheerful  light  of  the  sun  was  gone ; 
there  w.as  nothing  lint  the  dashes  of  artillery,  or  the 
i^ileful  gleams  rf  combustdes  thrown  into  the  city, 
and  ti.e  confl.igration  of  the  houses.  The  (ire  kept 
up  from  the  christian  batteries  was  incessant ;  tlicre 
were  seven  great  loinbards  in  p.irticular,  called  The 
Seven  Sisters  of  Ximenes,  wiiich  did  tremendous 
execution.  The  Moorish  orilnance  replied  in  thun- 
der from  the  walls ;  Gibralfaro  w.as  wrapped  in 
volumes  of  smoke,  rolling  about  its  base ;  and  lia- 
met  el  Zegri  and  his  Gomeres  looked  out  with  tri- 
umph upon  the  tempest  of  war  they  had  awakened. 
Truly  they  were  so  many  demons  incarnate,"  con- 
cludes the  pious  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "  who  were 
permitted  ty  Heaven  to  enter  into  and  possess  this 
in£del  city,  lor  its  perdition." 


CHAPTER  IX. 
SIEGE    OF   MALAGA. 

The  attack  on  Malaga,  by  sea  and  land,  was  kept 
up  for  several  days  with  tremendous  violence,  but 
without  producing  any  great  impression,  so  strong 
were  the  ancient  bulwarks  of  tlie  city.  The  count 
de  Cifuentes  was  the  first  to  signalize  himself  by  any 
noted  achii'vement.  A  main  tower  of  the  suburb 
had  fK;en  shattered  by  the  ordnance,  and  the  battle- 
ments demolished,  so  as  to  yield  no  shi-lter  to  its  de- 
fenders. .Seeing  this,  the  count  assembled  a  gallant 
band  of  cavaliers  of  the  royal  household,  and  ad- 
vanced to  take  it  by  storm.  They  applied  scaling- 
ladders,  and  mounted,  sword  in  liand.  The  Moors, 
having  no  longer  battlements  to  protect  them,  de- 
scended to  a  lower  door,  and  made  furious  resist- 
ance from  the  windows  and  loop-holes.  They  poured 
down  boiling  pitch  and  rosin,  and  hurled  stones  and 
darts  and  arrows  on  the  assailants.  Many  of  the 
christip.ns  v/ere  slain,  their  ladders  were  destroyed 
by  filming  combustibles,  and  the  count  was  obliged 
to  retreat  from  before  the  tower.  (Jn  the  following 
diy  he  renewed  the  attack  with  superior  force,  and, 
ahir  a  severe  combat,  succeeded  in  planting  his 
flktcrious  banner  on  the  tov/er. 

The  Mwirs  now  assailed  the  tower  in  their  turn. 
They  undermined  the  part  towards  the  citv,  placed 
props  of  wood  under  the  foundation,  and,  setting 
fire  to  them,  drew  off  to  a  distance.  In  a  little  while 
tne  pro[)s  gave  way,  the  foundation  sunk,  and  the 
tower  was  rent  ;  part  of  its  wall  fell,  with  a  tremen- 
ilous  noise ;  many  of  the  christians  were  thrown  out 
headlong,  ind  tlie  rest  were  laid  open  to  the  missiles 
of  the  en*!tny. 


By  this  time,  however,  a  breach  had  f)c;n  ma»le  lo 
the  wall  .adjoining  the  tower,  antl  troops  poured  m  to 
the  assistance  of  their  comrades.  A  continued  liattle 
was  kept  up,  for  two  davs  and  a  night,  by  reinloirt*. 
mcnts  Irom  camp  and  city.  The  parties  fought  b.u  k 
wards  and  forwards  through  the  breach  of  iht  wall. 
with  alternate  success  ;  and  the  vicinity  of  the  tower 
was  stiewn  with  the  dfad  and  wounded.  At  Irm^ili 
tlie  Moors  gradually  gave  way,  ilispiit.ng  evciy  i;uh 
of  ground,  until  thev  were  driven  into  the  city;  .ind 
the  christians  remained  m.asters  of  the  greater  p.iri 
of  the  suburb. 

This  partial  success,  though  gained  with  fH'eai  toil 
.and  bloodshed,  gave  teinporary  anini.ition  to  tin: 
christic.ns  they  so  on  found,  however,  that  the  aun  k 
on  the  mf.:n  works  of  the  city  was  a  much  uwitt 
arduous  task.  The  garrison  contained  veterans  wlic 
h.ul  served  'n  many  of  the  towns  captured  by  lie 
chri.stians.  Th;y  were  no  longer  confounded  and 
dismayed  by  the  battering  ordnance  and  other  sirtni,'e 
engines  of  foreign  invention,  and  had  become  expert 
in  parrying  their  effects,  in  repairing  breaches,  and 
erecting  counter-works. 

The  christians,  accustomed  of  late  to  speed*  -ot- 
iiU'.'sts  of  Moorish  fortresses,  became  impatiei  r,: 
i.ne  slow  progress  ol  the  siege.  Manv  were  iip,  'f- 
hensive  of  a  scarcity  of  provisions,  from  the  >iii  i. 
culty  of  subsisting  so  numerous  a  host  in  the  htirt 
of  the  enemy's  country,  where  it  was  necessary  to 
transport  supplies  across  rugged  an<l  hostilr  mount- 
ains, or  subjected  to  the  uncertainties  of  the  sea. 
Many  also  were  alarmed  at  a  p»-stilence  whi(  h  brok* 
out  in  the  neighboring  vill.iges  ;  and  some  were  so 
overcome  by  these  apprehensions,  as  to  abiu  <\(.m  the 
camp  and  return  to  their  homes. 

Several  of  the  loose  and  worthless  hanger»on  li'  it 
infest  all  great  armies,  hearing  these  r/,uni.,;r5 
thought  th.it  the  siege  would  soon  be  Pi.ted,  .ind 
desciied  to  the  enemy,  hoping  to  make  tl  f.i.  iortunri. 
They  gave  exaggerated  accouius  of  thr  ;aarms  ,ind 
discontents  of  the  army,  ami  represeniC'i  the  troops 
as  daily  returning  home  m  liands.  A^jove  all,  they 
declare'!  that  the  gunpowder  was  neatly  exhausted, 
so  that  the  artillery  would  soon  be  useless.  They  .is- 
sured  the  Moors,  therelore,  that  if  ihty  persisted  a 
little  longer  in  their  detence,  the  king  would  be 
obliged  to  draw  of!"  his  forces  and  aban<lon  the  siege. 

The  reports  of  these  renegadoes  (rave  fresh  cour,iL;e 
to  the  g.irrison  ;  they  made  vig.irous  sallies  up<in  tlic 
camp,  h.irassing  it  by  night  and  day,  and  oliii^ing 
evciy  part  t>  be  guardr.l  with  the  most  painliil  vigi- 
lance. They  fortilied  the  we,ik  parts  of  tlieir  w.iils 
with  ditches  and  palisailoes,  and  gave  every  mani- 
festation of  a  determined  and  unyielding  spirit. 

Ferdinand  soon  received  intelligence  of  the  re- 
ports which  had  been  carried  to  the  Moors;  he  un- 
derstood that  they  had  been  informed,  likewise,  tl.at 
the  (jueen  was  alanned  for  the  safety  of  the  camp, 
and  had  written  repeatedly  urging  him  to  abandon 
the  siege.  As  the  best  means  of  disproving  all  these 
falsehoods,  and  of  destroying  the  vain  hopes  o!  the 
enemy,  Ferdinand  wrote  to  the  queen,  entreating  her 
to  come  and  lake  up  her  residence  in  the  camp. 


CHAPTER   X. 


SIEGE    OK    MALAGA    CONTINUED— OB.ST  NACY  Of 
HAMET   EL  ZEGRI. 

Great  was  the  enthusiasm  of  the  anny,  when  they 
Ijeheld  their  patriot  queen  advancing  in  state,  to 
share  the  toils  and  dangers  of  her  people.  Isabcila 
entered  the  camp,  attcnili?d  by  the  dignitaries  and 


ilir'ning  a  rt 


A  CHRONICLE  OF   THE  CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


2i^ 


IT  NACV  01 


me  whole  retinue  of  her  court,  to  manircst  that  this 
was  no  temporary  visit.  On  one  side  of  her  was  her 
liaii^htcr,  the  Infanta ;  on  the  other,  the  erand  cardi- 
nal of  Spain,  Hernando  de  Talavera,  tne  prior  of 
prado,  confessor  to  the  queen,  followed,  with  a  great 
ir.iin  of  prelates,  courtiers,  cavaliers,  and  ladies  of 
distinCiC'ii.  The  cavalcade  moved  in  calm  and 
nately  ordiT  through  the  camp,  softening  the  iron 
!,');ict  of  war  by  this  array  of  courtly  grace  and 
/."-ale  beauty. 

Isabella  had  commanded,  that  on  her  coming  to 
'.he  camp,  the  horrors  of  war  should  be  suspended, 
ind  fresh  offers  of  peace  made  to  the  enemy.  On 
her  arrival,  therefore,  there  had  been  a  general  ces- 
sation of  firing  throughout  the  camp.  A  messenger 
tv.is,  at  the  same  time,  dispatched  to  the  besieged, 

rming  them  of  her  being  in  the  camp,  and  of  the 

cnnination  of  the  sovereigns  to  make  it  their  set- 
tled residence  until  the  city  should  be  taken.  The 
nine  terms  were  offered,  in  case  ul  immediate  sur- 
rtndiT,  that  had  been  granted  to  Velez  Malaga ;  but 
tin;  iiihabitants  were  threatened  with  captivity  and 
llir  sword,  should  they  persist  in  their  defence. 

I  latnet  el  /egri  recei  ;ed  this  message  with  h.iughty 
contempt,  ancl  dismissed  the  messenger  witiiout 
i|cij;iiing  a  reply.  "The  christian  sovereigns,"  said 
he,  "  have  made  this  offer  in  conse(|uence  of  their 
|;;i:iir.  The  silence  of  their  batteries  proves  the 
iriiiii  of  what  has  been  told  us,  that  their  jwwder  is 
exh.uisted.  They  have  no  longer  the  means  of  de- 
rv.t  li'^hing  our.w.ills  ;  and  if  they  remain  much  long- 
er, the  autumnal  rains  will  interrupt  tiieir  Cimvoys, 
1(1  till  their  camp  with  fniiniit:  and  dise.ase.  The 
list  storm  will  disperse  ^heir  lleet,  which  has  no 
;.;:;;!iboring  i)ort  ol  shelter  :  Africa  will  then  be  open 
tc  as,  to  procure  reinforcements  and  supplies." 

The  words  of  Hainet  el  Zegri  were  hailed  as 
oracular,  by  his  adherents.  M.iny  of  the  peaceful 
iati  of  the  community,  however,  ventured  to  remon- 
s'.r.ile,  and  to  implore  him  to  .iccept  the  proffered 
n-.ercy.  'I'lie  stern  H.imet  silenced  them  with  a 
territic  threat:  he  declared,  th.it  whoever  should 
t.ilk  of  capitulating,  or  should  hold  any  communica- 
tion with  the  christians,  should  be  put  to  death.  The 
tierce  Gomeres,  like  true  men  of  the  sword,  acted 
upon  the  menace  of  their  chieftain  as  upon  a  written 
l,iw,  and  having  detected  several  of  the  inhabitants 
m  secret  corresiondence  with  the  enemy,  they  set 
upi^n  and  slew  them,  and  then  confiscated  their  ef- 
iVcts.  This  struck  such  terror  into  the  citizens,  that 
those  who  had  been  loudest  in  their  murmurs  be- 
came siuldeiily  mute,  and  were  remarked  as  evincing 
the  greatest  bustle  and  alacrity  in  the  defence  of  the 
city. 

Wlien  thn  messenger  returned  to  the  camp,  and 
reported  tlie  contemptuous  reception  of  the  rojal 
message,  king  Ferdin.md  was  exceedingly  indignant. 
Finding  the  cess.ition  of  liriiig,  on  the  queen's  ar- 
rival, had  encouraged  a  belief  among  the  enemy  that 
there  was  a  scarcity  of  p(jwder  in  the  camp,  he  or- 
if-^A  a  general  discharge  Irom  all  the  batteries. 
The  sudden  burst  of  w.ir  from  every  quarter  soon 
convinced  the  Moors  of  their  error,  and  completed 
ihf  confusion  of  the  citi/cns,  who  knew  not  which 
;rj:;3t  to  dread,  their  assailants  or  their  defenders, 
'h'.  christians  or  the  Gomeres. 

Ihat  evening  the  sovereigns  visited  the  encamp- 
."VTit  of  the  martjues  of  Cadiz,  which  commanded  a 
vi.;vv  over  a  great  part  of  the  city  and  the  camp. 
The  tent  of  the  matques  was  of  great  magnitude, 
fiirnished  with  hangings  of  rich  brocade  and  French 
Cloth  ot  the  rare.t  texture.  It  was  in  the  oriental 
style  ;  and,  as  it  crov/ned  the  height,  with  the  sur- 
rounding tents  of  other  cavaliiirs,  all  sumptuously 
furnished,  piesented  a  gay  and  silken  contrast  to  the 


opposite  towers  of  Gibralfaro.  Here  a  splendid  col- 
lation was  served  up  to  the  sovereigns;  and  th< 
courtly  revel  that  prevailed  in  this  chivalrous  en- 
campment,  the  glitter  of  pwgeantry,  and  the  bursl> 
of  festive  music,  maile  more  striking  the  gloom  and 
silence  that  reigned  over  the  Moorish  castle. 

The  marques  of  Cadiz,  while  it  was  yet  light,  con- 
ducted his  royal  visitors  to  every  pomt  that  com- 
manded a  view  of  the  warlike  scene  below.  Ht 
caused  the  heavy  lorn  bards  also  to  be  discharged, 
that  the  queen  and  ladies  of  the  court '  tight  witncM 
the  effect  of  those  '.remendous  engines.  The  fait 
dames  were  filled  v'.th  awe  and  admiration,  as  the 
moimtain  shook  beneath  their  feet  with  the  thundei 
of  the  artillery,  and  they  beheld  great  fragments  of 
the  Moorish  walls  tumbling  down  the  rocks  and 
precipices. 

While  the  goc<l  marques  w.as  displaying  these 
things  to  his  royal  guests,  he  lifted  up  his  eyes,  and 
to  his  astonishment  beheld  his  own  banner  hanging 
out  from  the  neanist  tower  of  Gibralfaro.  The  blood 
mantled  in  his  cheek,  for  it  was  a  banner  which  he 
had  lost  at  the  time  of  the  memorable  massacre  of 
the  heights  of  Malag.a.*  To  make  this  taunt  more 
evident,  several  of  the  Gomeres  displayed  themselves 
iil>on  the  battlements,  arrayed  in  the  helmets  and 
cuirasses  of  some  of  the  cavaliers  slain  or  captured 
on  that  occasion.  The  marques  of  Cadiz  restrained 
his  indignation,  and  held  his  peace  ;  but  several  of 
his  cavaliers  vowed  loudly  to  reveny,»  this  cruel  bra- 
vado, on  the  ferocious  ^arrLson  of  Gibralfaro. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


ATTACK    OK   THK   MARQUES   OF  CADIZ    UPON 
GIBRALFARO. 

The  marques  ot  Cadiz  w.as  not  a  cavalier  that 
reailily  forgave  an  injury  or  an  insult.  On  the  morn- 
ing after  the  royal  banquet,  his  batteries  opened  a 
tremendous  tire  ujion  Gibralfaro.  All  day,  the  en- 
campment was  wrappeii  in  wreaths  of  smoke  ;  not 
did  the  .assault  cease  with  the  day — but,  throughout 
the  night,  there  was  an  incessant  tlashitig  and  thun- 
dering of  the  lombards,  and,  the  following  morning, 
the  ass.iult  rather  increased  than  slackened  in  fury. 
The  Moorish  bulwarks  were  no  proof  against  those 
formi<lable  engines.  In  a  few  days,  the  lofty  tower 
on  which  the  taunting  banner  had  been  displ.ayed, 
was  shattered  ;  a  smaller  tower  in  its  vicinity  reduced 
to  ruins,  and  a  great  breach  made  in  the  intervening 
walls. 

Several  of  the  hot-spirited  cavaliers  were  eager  for 
storming  the  breach,  sword  in  hand  ;  others,  more 
cool  and  war/,  pointed  out  the  rashness  of  such  an 
attempt ;  for  the  Moors  had  worked  invlefatigably  in 
the  nigh'. ;  they  had  digged  a  deep  ditch  within  the 
breacli,  and  had  fortifieU  it  with  palisadces  and  a 
j  high  breastwork.  All,  however,  agreed  that  the 
c.imp  might  safely  be  advanced  near  to  the  ruined 
walls,  and  that  it  ought  to  be  done  so,  in  return  for 
the  insolent  defiance  of  the  enemy. 

The  marques  of  Cadiz  felt  the  temerity  of  the 
me.asure,  but  he  was  unwilling  to  dampen  the  zeal 
of  these  high-spirited  cavaliers;  and  having  chosen 
the  post  of  danger  in  the  camp,  it  did  not  become 
him  to  decline  any  service,  merely  because  it  might 
appear  perilous.  He  ordered  his  outposts,  therefore, 
to  be  advanced  within  a  stone's-throw  of  the  breach, 
but  exhorted  the  soldiers  to  maiilain  t'he  u'nios* 
vigilance. 

*  Diet u  d«  Valeta.     Oranica.  MS. 


*f  : 


ill 


*f . 


W'^ij, 


,<  1  T"!     'J'' 


m^,..,.. 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


l: 


fci^i 


U,Pi- 


;(.'!, 


;v  -u 


The  thunder  of  the  batterifs  hart  ceased ;  the 
troops,  exhausti-d  hy  two  niRhts'  fatiRxie  an<l  watch- 
fulni-ss,  and  approhcrulinij  no  (l;in>;«'r  Irmn  the  (hs- 
manllrd  walls,  wtre  hall  of  tluin  aslei-p  ;  the  rest 
were  scattered  about  in  neglit;^!  Sfiurity.  On  a 
sudden,  upwards  of  two  thousand  Moors  saliii-d  forth 
from  the  caslle,  leii  on  by  Alrahan  Zenftt;,  the  prin- 
cipal captain  umler  Mamet.  They  fell  with  fearful 
havoc  u|)on  the  advaiucd  ffuard,  slaying  many  of 
ihcm  in  their  sleep,  and  putting  the  rest  to  headlong 

The  manjues  was  in  his  tent,  about  a  bow-shot 
distance,  when  he  heard  the  tumult  ol  the  onset,  and 
beheld  his  men  flying  in  confi-sion.  He  rushed  forth, 
followed  by  his  standard-bearer,  "  Turn  again, 
cavaliers!"  exclaimed  he;  "1  am  here,  I'once  dc 
Leon  !  to  the  foe  I  to  the  foe  ! "  The  Hying  troops 
stopi)cd  at  hearing  his  well-known  voice,  rallir;d  un- 
der his  banner,  and  turned  upon  the  eneiny.  The 
encampment,  by  this  time,  was  roused  ;  severiM  cav- 
aliers from  the  .adjoining  stations  had  hastened  to 
the  scene  of  action,  with  a  number  of  ("laiiicians  and 
soldiers  of  the  Holy  Bn-therhood.  An  olistinate  and 
bloody  contest  ensued  ,  the  ruggt.'dness  of  the  jiKace, 
the  rocks,  ch.isms,  and  declivities,  broke  it  into  nu- 
merous combats  :  christian  and  Moor  fought  hand  to 
hand,  with  swords  and  dajr  ;ers  ;  and  often,  grappling 
and  struggling,  rolled  together  (l(jwn  the  precipices. 

The  banner  of  the  marques  was  in  danj;t;r  of  lieing 
t.iken :  he  h.astcned  to  its  rescue,  loliowed  by  some 
of  his  bravest  cavalier^.  They  were  surroundefl  by 
the  enemy,  and  several  of  tliein  cut  down.  Don 
Pisgo  Ponce  de  Leon,  brother  to  the  m.mpies,  wis 
wounded  by  an  anow  ;  and  tii.s  son-in-law,  Luis 
Pance,  was  likewise  wounded  :  thev  succeeded,  how- 
ever, in  rescuing  the  banner,  and  be.iring  it  otT  in 
safety.  The  battle  lasted  for  an  hour;  the  height 
was  covered  with  killed  ant'  wounded,  and  the  blooil 
flowed  in  streams  down  the  rocks  ;  at  length,  Alt-i- 
har.  Zenete  being  disabled  by  the  thrust  of  a  lance, 
ifie  Moors  gave  way  and  retreated  to  the  castle. 

They  now  opened  a  galling  lire  from  their  battle- 
ments and  towers,  approaching  the  bre.iches  so  as 
to  discharge  their  cross-bows  and  ai(|uebiisses  into 
the  advanced  guard  of  the  enranipment.  The  mar- 
()ues  was  singled  out ;  the  shot  fell  tliick  about  him, 
and  one  passed  through  his  bucl.ier,  and  struck  upon 
his  cuirass,  but  without  doing  him  any  injury.  Every 
one  now  saw  the  danger  and  inutility  of  api)ro,aching 
the  camp  thus  near  to  the  ca-^tle  ;  ami  those  who 
had  counselled  it,  were  now  urgent  that  it  should  be 
withdrawn.  It  was  accordingly  removed  b.ick  to  its 
original  ground,  from  which  the  niiinjues  had  most 
reluctantly  advanced  it.  Nothing  iiut  his  v.alor  and 
timely  aid  had  prevented  this  attack  on  his  outpost 
from  ending  in  a  total  rout  of  all  that  part  of  the  army. 

Many  cavaliers  of  distinction  fell  in  this  contest ; 
but  the  loss  of  none  was  felt  more  deeply  than  that 
of  Ortega  de  Hnulo,  captain  of  escaladors.  He  was 
one  of  the  bravest  men  in  the  service  ;  the  same  who 
had  devised  the  first  successful  blow  of  the  war,  the 
4'ionning  of  Alhama,  where  he  was  the  first  to  plant 
nr.d  mount  the  scaling-ladders.  He  had  aUv.ays  been 
I'igh  :n  the  favor  and  confidence  of  the  noble  Ponce 
5e  Leon,  who  knew  how  to  appreciate  and  avail 
liimsclf  of  the  merits  of  all  able  and  v.aliant  men.* 


CHAPTER   XIL 


SIKCB  or   MALAGA  CONTINUKD.— -STRATAGEMS 
OF   VARIOUS   KINDS. 

GrkaT  were  the  exertions  now  made,  both  by  the 
S«siegcrs  and  the  besieged  to  carry  en  this  contest 

*  Zuriu.     Marijmi.     Abarca. 


with  the  utmost  v'gor.  ITamet  el  Zegri  went  m, 
roumls  of  the  walls  and  towers,  doubling  the  gi.'.iidj 
and  putting  every  thing  in  the  best  posture  of  ile. 
fen:e.  The  garrison  was  divided  into  parties  of  i 
hiind  'd,  to  each  of  which  a  capLiin  was  appointed 
Some  were  to  paiiol,  others  to  sally  forth  an<'  sk;r. 
mi'  h  with  til  •  enemy,  and  others  to  hold  them'clvfa 
armed  am!  in  reserve.  Six  albatozas,  or  f^oatini;  brt 
teries,  were  mriitned  and  arntcd  with  pieces  01  aiii\ 
lery,  to  attack  tlie  lleet. 

tJn  the  other  hantl,  the  Castili.in  sovereigns  k  pi 
open  a  communication  by  sea  with  various  p.ir '^  o( 
.Spain,  from  which  they  received  provisions  oi  I 
kinds;  they  ordered  supplies  of  powd'.rr  also  fimi; 
Valencia,  H-ircelona,  Sicily,  and  I'ortugal.  Tluy 
made  great  preparations  also  for  storming  the  (it, 
Towers  of  wood  were  constructed,  to  movr  i-i; 
wheels,  each  capable  of  holding  one  hundred  n  rn 
they  were  lijrnished  with  ladders,  to  be  thrown  Iimih 
theii  sunimits  to  the  tops  of  the  walls;  and  witlii!i 
those  ladders,  others  were  encased,  to  be  let  di'vn 
for  the  descent  of  the  troops  into  the  city.  Tht;rt 
were  gallipagos  or  tortoises,  also,  being  gre.it  wooden 
shieliis,  covered  with  hides,  to  protect  the  assailants, 
and  those  who  undermined  the  walls. 

Secret  mines  were  commenced  in  various  places ; 
some  were  intendeil  to  reach  to  the  foundations  of 
the  walls,  which  were  to  be  propped  up  with  wood 
ready  to  be  set  on  tire;  others  were  to  pass  in  let 
the  walls,  and  remain  ready  to  be  broken  open  sc 
as  to  give  entrance  to  the  besiegers.  At  tl  st 
mines  the  aniiy  worked  day  and  night ;  and  dr.r:  g 
these  secret  preparations,  the  ordnance  kept  ec  a 
fire  upon  the  city,  to  divert  the  attention  of  t!.-  tc- 
siege<{. 

In  the  mean  time,  Hamet  el  Zegri  c'isphyed  w^n- 
dert'ul  vigor  and  ingenuity  in  defending  the  city,  ii i 
in  repairing  or  fortilying,  by  deep  ditches,  the  brt- ichr» 
made  by  the  enemy.  He  noted,  also,  every  [  .ice 
where  the  camp  might  be  assailed  with  advar.i  n^t 
and  gave  the  besieging  anny  no  repose  night  ord.iy. 
While  his  troons  sallied  on  the  land,  his  tloatin  ;  tvit- 
teries  attacked  the  besiegers  on  the  sea;  sc  t  at 
there  w;»s  incessant  skirmishing.  The  tents  cnllfd 
the  (Queen's  Hospital  were  crowded  with  woiinilnl, 
and  the  whole  army  suffered  from  constant  waic  t'- 
fulness  and  fatigue.  To  guard  ag.iinst  the  sudden 
assaults  of  the  Moors,  the  trenches  were  deepeiud, 
and  palisadot.,  erected  in  front  of  the  camp  ;  and  in 
that  p)art  facing  (libralfaro,  where  the  rocky  heiL;hts 
did  not  admit  of  such  defences,  a  high  rampart  o! 
earth  was  thrown  up.  The  cavaliers  Garcilasso  de 
la  Vega,  Juan  de  Ziiiliga,  and  Diego  de  Atayde,  wi-re 
appointed  to  go  the  rounds,  and  keep  vigilant  wa'eh 
that  these  fortifications  we/i  maintained  in  good 
order. 

In  a  little  while,  Hamet  discovered  the  mines  se- 
cretly commenced  by  the  chiistians  :  he  immedi.-'.tciv 
ordered  coiinter-mint-s.  The  soldiers  mutually  vimi-.- 
ed  until  they  met,  and  fought  hand  to  hand,  in  tlier-e 
subterranean  p.assages.  T!  e  christians  were  driven 
out  of  one  of  their  mines  ;  fire  was  set  to  the  woo(len 
framework,  and  the  mine  destroyed,  Encouraj^ec' 
by  this  success,  the  Moors  attempted  a  general  at- 
tack upon  the  camp,  the  mines,  and  the  besi(  idiii; 
tleet.  The  b.attle  lasted  for  six  hours,  on  land  ancJ 
water,  above  and  below  ground,  on  bulwark,  and  in 
trench  and  mine;  the  Moors  displayed  wonderlul 
intrepidity,  but  were  finally  repulsed  at  all  {xiinls, 
and  obliged  to  retire  into  the  city,  where  they  weie 
closely  invested,  without  the  means  of  receiving  any 
assist,ance  from  abroad. 

The  horrors  of  famine  wer'  now  added  to  the 
other  miseries  of  Malaga.  Hamet  el  Zegri,  with  th{ 
spirit  of  a  man  bred  up  to  war,  considered  cver> 


''■|5!^:-: 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


94( 


went  I  hi 
thegu.iuli 
'lire  of  (!e. 
)artirs  of  i 
appointed 
h  atifl  skir- 
•  heiTiji'lvcj 
f>atinj;  brf 
res  01  Mtl\ 

Pigns  k<pi 
18  pans  o( 
ions  oi  ,ii: 

also  frriTT; 
al.  Tlu-y 
g  tlH"  city 

niovr  i.ii 
I  It'll  II  fii 
irown  litiin 
ami  wiihin 
lt:t  il'iwn 
ty.  Tlu:rt 
1'  wooden 
ashail.iiits, 


thing  u  subservient  to  the  wants  of  the  solilirr,  and 
onl-rid  all  the  grain  in  the  city  to  be  gathered  and 
jarrered  up  for  the  sole  unv  of  thoHe  u  lo  fought. 
Evei\  this  w  .3  dealt  out  sparingly,  and  each  soldier 
reccivi^  four  ounces  of  bread  in  ihp  iiioming,  and 
l»  "  ill  the  evening,  for  his  daily  allow.mce. 

1 1  c  wealthy  inhabitants,  an<l  all  (hose  peacefully 
ificliiied,  mourned  over  a  resistance  whii  h  hnuighl 
(kstruction  upon  their  hous«;s.  tieath  into  their  faini- 
llfs.  and  which  they  saw  must  end  in  their  ruin  and 
ca;j'.ivity  :  stiU  none  of  them  dared  to  speak  openly 
J)!  capitulation,  or  even  to  manifest  their  grid,  lest 
tlii)  should  awaken  the  wrath  of  their  fierce  defend- 
ers. They  surrounded  their  civic  champion,  Ali 
n«rilux,  tne  great  and  opulent  merchant,  who  had 
b'li  kicd  on  snielrl  and  cuirass,  and  taken  spear  in 
h?ii(i,  for  the  defence  of  his  native  city,  and,  with  a 
|?r^e  iKxIy  of  the  braver  citizens,  had  charge  of  one 
of  tiie  gates  and  a  considerable  portion  of  the  walls. 
Di.iwin^  Ali  iJordux  aside,  they  poured  forth  their 
grids  to  him  in  secret.  "  Why,  said  they,  "  should 
wv  suffer  our  native  city  to  be  made  a  mere  bulwark 
and  tighting-place  for  foreign  barbarians  antl  dcs- 
pcr.ite  men  f  They  have  no  families  to  care  for,  no 
property  to  lose,  no  love  for  the  soil,  and  no  value 
lor  their  lives.  They  tight  to  gratify  a  thirst  for 
blood  or  a  desire  for  revenge,  and  will  fight  on  until 
Malaga  become  a  ruin  and  us  i)eople  slaves.  Let  us 
tliink  and  .tcl  for  ourselves,  our  Wives,  and  our  chil- 
dren. Let  us  make  private  tenns  with  the  christians 
bi'lore  it  is  too  late,  and  save  ourselves  from  destruc- 
tion." 

The  bowels  of  Ali  Dordux  yearned  towards  his 
fellow-citi/ens ;  he  bethought  hiiu  also  of  the  sweet 
security  of  peace,  and  the  bloodless  yet  gratifying 
iriiimphs  of  gainful  trallic.  The  idea  also  of  a  secret 
negotiation  or  bargain  with  the  Castillan  sovereigns, 
for  the  rcdeinptii  ii  of  his  native  city,  was  more  con- 
formable to  fiis  accustoincil  habits  than  this  violent 
lippcal  to  anus  ;  lor  though  he  had  for  a  time  assum- 
!<\  the  warrior,  he  h.id  not  forgotten  the  merchant. 
.lil  iJordux  communed,  therefore,  with  the  citizen- 
so!(..ers  unilar  his  command,  and  they  readily  con- 
formed to  his  opinion.  Concerting  together,  thsy 
wrote  a  proposition  to  the  Castilian  sovereigns,  ol- 
fenng  to  admit  the  army  into  the  part  of  the  city 
intrusted  to  their  care,  on  receiving  assurance  of 
protection  for  the  lives  and  properties  of  the  inhabit- 
ants. This  writing  they  delivered  to  a  trusty  emis- 
5;*ry  to  take  lo  the  christian  camp,  appointing  the 
iiour  and  place  of  his  return,  that  they  might  be 
ready  to  acfmit  him  un|)erceived. 

The  Moor  made  his  way  in  safety  to  the  camp, 
and  w.as  admitted  to  the  presence  of  the  sovereigns. 
E.iger  to  gain  the  city  without  further  cost  of  blood 
or  treasure,  they  g.ive  a  written  promise  to  grant  the 
conditions  ;  and  the  Moor  set  out  joyfully  on  his  re- 
turn. As  he  appro.iched  the  walls  where  Ali  Dor- 
flux  and  his  confederates  were  waiting  to  receive 
him,  he  was  descried  by  a  patrolling  band  of  Go- 
meres,  and  considered  a  spy  coining  from  the  camp 
of  the  besiegers.  They  issued  forth  and  seized  him, 
la  sight  of  his  employers,  who  gave  themselves  up 
hi  lost.  The  Gomercs  had  conducted  him  nearly 
10  the  gate,  when  he  escaped  from  their  grasp  and 
fled.  They  endeavored  to  overtake  him,  but  were 
incumbered  with  armor;  he  was  lightly  clad,  and 
ne  tied  for  his  life.  One  of  the  Gomercs  paused, 
and,  levelling  his  cross-bow,  let  fly  a  bolt,  which 
pierced  the  fugitive  between  the  shoulders ;  he  fell, 
and  was  nearly  within  their  grasp,  but  rose  again, 
and  with  a  desperate  cfibrt  attamed  the  christian 
camp.  The  Gomeres  gave  over  the  pursuit,  and  the 
citizen*  rettjrned  thanks  to  Allah  for  their  deliver- 
ance from  this  fearful  peril.     As  to  the  faithful  mes- 


senger, he  died  of  his  wound  shortly  aMer  leachiiiH 
the  camp,  consoled  with  the  idea  that  he  had  pre- 
served the  secret  and  ihi  lives  of  his  emplojers. 


CHAPTER  .XIIL 


SUFFKRINGS  OF   THE   PKUPLB   Of  MALAGA. 

The  sufTcrings  of  Malaga  spread  sorrow  and  am- 
iety  among  the  Moors ;  and  they  dreaded  lest  this 
beautiful  city,  once  the  bulwark  of  the  kingdom, 
should  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  unbelievers.  The 
old  warrior  king,  Abtlalla  el  Zagal.  was  still  sheltered 
in  Guadix,  where  he  was  slowly  gathering  together 
his  shattered  forces.  When  the  people  of  Guadix 
heard  of  the  d.imjer  and  distress  of  Mal.ig.i,  they 
urged  to  be  led  to  its  relief;  and  the  alfaquis  admon- 
ished El  Zagal  nyt  to  ilesert  so  righteous  and  loyil  a 
city,  in  its  extremity.  His  own  warlike  nature  m.ide 
him  feel  a  symp.ithy  for  a  place  that  made  so  gal- 
lant a  resistance ;  ami  he  dispatched  as  powerful  a 
reinforcement  .is  he  could  S|)are,  under  conduct  of  a 
chosen  captain,  with  orders  lo  throw  themselves  into 
the  city. 

Iiiklligcnce  of  this  reinforcement  reached  Boab- 
dil  el  Chico,  in  his  royal  pal.tce  of  the  Alhambra. 
Filled  with  hostility  against  his  uncle,  and  desirous 
of  proving;  his  loyalty  to  the  Castilian  sovereigns,  he 
immediately  sent  forth  a  superior  ibrt  e  of  horse  and 
foot,  under  an  able  commander,  to  intercept  the 
det.achmcnt.  A  sharp  conflict  ensued  ;  the  troops  of 
El  Z.ig.il  were  routed  with  great  loss,  and  fled  back 
in  contusion  to  Guadix. 

IJnaodil.  not  being  accustomed  to  victories,  was 
Husheil  with  his  mel  incholy  triumph.  He  itW 
tidings  of  it  to  the  Castilian  scvreigis.  accompaniw'. 
with  rich  silks,  boxes  of  Arabian  perfume,  a  cup  ct 
gold,  richly  wrought,  and  a  female  captive  of  Ubeila, 
as  presents  to  the  iiiiecn;  and  four  Arabian  steeds 
magnificently  caparisoned,  a  sword  and  dagger  richly 
iiiounteil,  and  several  alborno-es  antl  Mlu-t  robcs 
sumptuously  embroidered,  for  the  king.  He  entreat- 
ed thi-m,  at  the  same  time,  always  to  look  upon  him 
with  favor  as  their  devoted  vassal. 

Hoahdil  was  fated  to  be  unfortunate  even  in  his 
victories.  His  defeat  of  the  forces  of  his  uncle,  des- 
tined to  the  relief  of  unhappy  Malaga,  shocked  the 
feelings  and  cooled  the  loyalty  of  many  of  his  best 
ailherents.  The  mere  men  of  tratbc  might  rejoice 
in  their  golden  interval  of  peace;  but  the  chivalro'is 
spirits  of  Granada  spurned  a  security  purchased  by 
such  sacritkes  of  i)ride  and  affection.  The  people 
at  large,  having  gratified  their  love  of  change,  began 
to  question  whether  they  h.ad  acteil  generously  by 
their  old  fighting  monarch.  "El  Zagal,"  said  they, 
"  was  fierce  and  bloody,  but  then  he  was  true  to  his 
country ;  he  was  an  usurper,  it  is  true,  but  then  he 
maintained  the  glory  of  the  crown  which  he  usurped. 
If  his  sceptre  was  a  rod  of  iron  to  his  subjects,  it 
W.1S  a  sword  of  steel  against  their  enemies.  This 
Uoahdil  sacrifices  religion,  friends,  country,  every 
thing,  to  a  mere  shadow  of  royalty,  and  is  content 
to  holv!  a  rush  for  a  sceptre." 

These  factious  murmurs  soon  reached  the  ears  of 
Bo.abdil,  and  he  apprehended  another  of  his  custotn- 
ary  reverses.  He  sent  in  all  haste  to  the  Castilian 
sovereigns,  beseeching  military  aid  to  keep  him  on 
his  throne.  Ferdinand  graciously  complied  with  a 
request  so  much  in  unison  with  his  policy.  A  de- 
tachment of  one  thousand  cavalry,  and  two  thousand 
infantry,  was  sent,  under  the  command  of  Don  Fer- 
nandez Gonsalvo  of  Cordova,  subsequently  renown- 
ed as  the  great  captain.    With  this  succor.  Boabdi' 


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WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


.*• 


ixpelled  from  the  city  all  those  who  were  hostile  to 
tiim,  and  in  favor  ot  his  uncle.  He  felt  secure  in 
these  trnrips,  from  their  being  distinct  in  manners, 
lanipiafre,  and  religion,  from  his  siit>'?cts ;  and  com- 
pr.«nl8ed  with  his  pride,  in  thus  ^^nibitinp;  that  most 
ui.natural  and  humiliating  of  ail  regal  spectacles,  a 
monarch  supported  on  his  tiirone  by  toreign  weapons, 
and  by  soldiers  hostile  to  his  people. 

Nor  was  Boabdil  el  Chico  the  only  Moorish  sover- 
Blgii  that  sought  protection  from  F'erdinand  and 
Isabella.  A  splendid  galley,  with  latine  sails,  and 
leveral  banks  of  oars,  displaying  the  standard  of  the 
crescent,  but  likewise  a  white  flag  in  sign  of  amity, 
came  one  day  into  the  harbor.  An  ambassador 
landed  from  it,  within  the  christian  lines.  He  ca?ne 
from  the  king  of  Tremezan,  and  brought  presents 
similar  to  those  of  Boabdil,  consisting  of  Arabian 
coursers,  with  bits,  stirrups,  and  other  furniture  of 
gold,  together  with  costly  Moorish  mantks :  for  the 
queen,  there  were  sumptuous  shawls,  robes,  and 
silken  stuffs,  ornaments  of  gold,  and  exquisite  oriental 
perfumes. 

The  king  of  Tremezan  had  been  alarmed  at  the 
lapid  conquests  of  the  Spanish  arms,  and  startled  by 
the  descent  of  several  Spanish  cruisers  on  the  coast 
of  Africa.  He  craved  to  be  considered  a  vassal  to 
the  Castilian  sovereigns,  and  that  they  would  extend 
such  favor  and  security  to  his  ships  and  subjects  as 
had  been  shown  to  other  Moors  who  had  submitted 
to  their  sway.  He  requested  a  painting  of  their 
arms,  that  he  and  his  subjects  might  recognise  and 
respect  their  standard,  whenever  they  encountered 
it.  At  the  same  time  he  implored  their  clemency 
towards  unhappy  Malaga,  and  that  its  inhabitants 
might  experience  the  same  favor  that  had  been 
shown  towards  the  Moors  of  other  captured  cities. 

The  embassy  was  graciously  received  by  the  chris- 
tian sovereigns.  They  granted  the  protection  re- 
<juired  ;  ordering  their  commanders  to  respect  the 
2ag  of  Tremezan,  unless  it  should  be  found  render- 
ing assistance  to  the  enemy.  They  sent  also  to  the 
Barbary  monarch  their  royal  anns,  moulded  in  es- 
cutcheons of  gold,  a  hand's-breadih  in  size.* 

While  thus  the  ch.-inces  of  assistance  from  with- 
out daily  decreased,  famine  raged  in  the  city.  The 
inhabitants  were  compelled  to  eat  the  flesh  of  horses, 
and  many  died  of  hunger.  What  made  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  citizens  the  more  intolerable,  was,  to  be- 
hold the  sea  covered  with  ships,  daily  arriving  with 
provisions  for  the  besiegers.  Day  after  day,  also, 
they  saw  herds  of  fat  cattle,  aiuf  flocks  of  sheep, 
driven  into  the  camp.  Wheat  and  flour  were  piled 
in  huge  mounds  in  the  centre  of  the  encampments, 
glaring  in  the  sunshine,  and  tantalizing  the  wretched 
citizens,  who,  while  they  and  their  children  were 
perishing  with  hunger,  beheld  prodigal  abundance 
reigning  within  a  bow-shot  of  their  walls. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


HOW  A  MOORISH  SANTON  UNDERTOOK  TO  DELIVER 
THE  CITY  OF  MALAGA  FROM  THE  POWER  OF  ITS 
ENEMIES. 

There  lived  at  this  time,  in  a  hamlet  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Guadix,  an  ancient  Moor,  of  the  name  of 
Abrahin  Algerbi.  He  was  a  native  of  Guerba,  in  the 
kingdom  of  Tunis,  and  had  for  several  years  led  the 
life  of  a  santon  or  hermit.  The  hot  sun  of  Africa 
had  dried  his  blood,  and  rendered  him  of  an  exalted 
yet  melancholy  temperament.    He  passed  most  of 

*  Con  d*  V»  Palactot,  c,  84.    Pulgu,  put  3.  c.  M. 


bis  time  in  meditation,  prayer,  and  rigotxras  abstt. 
ncnce,  until  his  body  was  wasted  and  his  mind  \k. 
wildered,  and  he  fancied  himself  favored  with  divine 
revelations.  The  Moors,  who  have  a  great  rever- 
ence  for  all  enthusiasts  of  the  kind,  looked  upon  him 
as  inspired,  listened  to  all  his  ravings  as  veritabit 
prophecies,  and  denominated  him  el  santo,  or  the 
saint. 

The  woes  of  the  kingdom  of  Granada  had  loi\g 
exas|)erated  the  gloomy  spirit  of  this  man,  and  hr 
had  beheld  with  mdignation  this  beautiful  country 
wrested  from  the  dominion  of  the  faithful,  and  he- 
coming  a  prey  to  the  unbelievers.  He  had  implored 
the  blessings  of  Allah  on  the  troops  which  issued 
forth  from  Guadix  for  the  relief  of  Malaga;  but 
when  he  saw  them  return,  routed  land  scattered  i)y 
their  own  countrymen,  he  retired  to  his  cell,  shut 
himself  up  from  the  world,  and  was  plunged  for  a 
time  in  the  blackest  melancholy. 

On  a  sudden,  he  made  his  appearance  again  in 
the  streets  of  Guadix,  his  face  haggard,  his  form 
emaciated,  but  his  eye  beaming  with  fire.  He  said 
that  Allah  had  sent  an  angel  to  him  in  the  solitude 
of  his  cell,  revealing  to  him  a  mode  of  delivering 
Malaga  from  its  perils,  and  striking  horror  and  con- 
fusion into  the  camp  of  the  unbelievers.  The  Moors 
listened  with  eager  credulity  to  his  words :  four  hun- 
dred of  them  offered  to  follow  him  even  to  the  death, 
and  to  obey  implicitly  his  commands.  Of  this  num- 
ber many  were  (iomeres,  anxious  to  relieve  their 
countrymen,  who  formed  part  of  the  garrison  of 
Malaga. 

They  traversed  the  kingdom  by  the  wild  and  lonely 
passes  of  the  mountains,  concealing  themselves  in 
the  day  and  travelling  only  in  the  night,  to  elude  the 
christian  scouts.  At  length  they  arrived  at  tht 
mountains  which  tower  above  M.alaga,  and,  looking 
down,  beheld  the  city  completely  invested  ;  a  chain 
of  encampments  extending  round  it  from  shore  to 
shore,  and  a  line  of  ships  blockading  it  by  se.i; 
while  the  continual  thunder  of  artillery,  and  the 
smoke  rising  in  various  parts,  showed  that  the  siege 
was  pressed  with  great  activity.  The  hermit  scanned 
the  encampments  warily,  from  his  lofty  height.  He 
saw  that  the  part  of  the  encampment  of  the  m.irques 
of  C.idiz  which  was  at  the  foot  of  the  height,  and  on 
the  margin  of  the  sea,  was  most  assailable,  the  roclcy 
soil  not  admitting  ditches  or  palisadoes.  Remaining 
concealed  all  day,  he  descended  with  his  followers 
at  night  to  the  sea-coast,  and  approached  silently  to 
the  outworks.  He  had  given  them  their  instruc- 
tions ;  they  were  to  rush  suddenly  upon  the  camp, 
fight  their  way  through,  and  throw  themselves  into 
the  city. 

It  was  just  at  the  gray  of  the  dawning,  when  olv 
jects  are  obscurely  visible,  that  they  made  this 
desperate  attempt.  Some  sprang  suddenly  upon  the 
sentinels,  others  rushed  into  the  sea  and  got  round 
the  works,  others  clambered  over  the  breastworks. 
There  was  sharp  skirmishing ;  a  great  part  of  the 
Moors  were  cut  to  pieces,  but  about  two  hundred 
succeeded  in  getting  into  the  gates  of  Malaga. 

The  santon  took  no  part  in  the  conflict,  nor  did 
he  endeavor  to  enter  the  city.  His  plans  were  of  a 
different  nature.  Drawing  apart  from  the  battle,  he 
threw  himself  on  his  knees  on  a  rising  ground,  and, 
lifting  his  hands  to  Heaven,  appeared  to  be  absorbed 
in  prayer.  The  christians,  as  they  were  searching 
for  fugitives  in  the  clefts  of  the  rocks,  found  him  at 
his  devotions.  He  stirred  not  at  their  approa^.i,  but 
remained  fixed  as  a  statue,  without  changing  colot 
or  moving  a  muscle.  Filled  with  surprise  not  un- 
mingled  with  awe,  they  took  him  to  the  marques  of 
Cadiz.  He  was  wrapped  in  a  coarse  albomoz,  01 
Moorish  mantle ;  his  beard  was  long  and  irrizzled 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


241 


ft/i  there  was  somethinj^  wild  and  melancholy  in  his  I  armed ;  no  Moor  was  allowed  to  enter  the  camp^ 


look,  that  inspired  curiosity.  On  being  examined, 
Ik  gave  himself  out  as  a  saint' tu  whom  Allah 
had  revtaietl  the  events  that  were  to  take  place  in 
that  siej^e.  The  marques  demanded  when  and  how 
Malaga  was  to  Ije  taken.  He  replied  that  he  knew 
fiill  well,  but  he  was  forbidden  to  reveal  those  im- 
cofant  secrets  except  to  the  king  and  queen.  The 
jood  marques  was  not  more  given  to  superstitio«is 
fancies  than  other  commanders  of  his  time,  yet  there 
>xme(l  something  singular  and  mysterious  about 
tfisman  ;  he  might  have  some  important  intelligence 
to  communicate;  so  he  was  persuaded  to  send  him 
to  the  king  and  queen.  He  was  conducted  to  the 
royal  tent,  surrounded  by  a  curious  multitude,  ex- 
claiming ".Ei  Mora  Santo  f"  for  the  news  had 
spread  through  the  camp,  that  they  had  taken  a 
Moorish  prophet. 

The  king,  having  dined,  was  taking  his  siesta,  or 
afternoon's  sleep,  in  his  tent ;  and  the  queen,  though 
curious  to  see  this  singular  man,  yet,  from  a  natural 
delicacy  and  rescr\'e,  delayed  until  the  king  should 
be  present.  He  was  taken  therefore  to  an  adjoining 
teiii,  in  which  were  UoiSa  Beatrix  de  Bovadilla, 
maichioness  of  Moya,  and  Don  Alvaro  of  Portugal, 
son  of  the  duke  of  Braganza,  with  two  or  three 
attendants.  The  Moor,  ignorant  of  the  .Spanish 
tongue,  Ind  not  understood  the  conversation  of  the 
guar  Is,  and  supposed  from  the  magnificence  of  the 
fuiTiiture  and  the  silken  hangings,  that  this  was  the 
rcyal  tent.  From  the  respijct  paid  by  the  attendants 
to  Don  Alvaro  and  the  marchioness,  he  concluded 
tliat  they  were  the  king  and  queen. 

He  now  asked  for  a  draught  of  water  ;  a  jar  was 
brought  to  him,  and  the  guard  released  his  arm  to 
tnahle  him  to  drink.  .The  marchioness  perceived  a 
Kdden  change  in  his  countenance,  and  something 
sinister  in  the  expression  of  his  eye,  and  shifted  her 
position  to  a  more  remote  part  of  the  tent.  Pretend- 
ag  to  raise  the  water  to  his  lips,  the  Moor  unfolded 
his  albornoz,  so  as  to  grasp  a  scimitar  which  he  wore 
concealed  beneath ;  then,  dashing  down  the  jar,  he 
drew  his  weapon,  and  gave  Don  Alvaro  a  blow  on 
the  head,  that  struck  him  to  the  earth,  and  nearly 
deprived  him  of  life.  Turning  then  upon  the  mar- 
chioness, he  made  a  violent  blow  at  her ;  but  in  his 
eagemess  and  agitation,  his  scimitar  caught  in  the 
drapery  of  the  tent  ;  the  force  of  the  blow  was 
broken,  and  the  weapon  struck  harmless  upon  some 
golden  ornainents  of  her  head-dress.* 

Ruy  Lopez  de  Toledo,  treasurer  to  the  queen,  and 
)uan  de  Helalcazar,  a  sturdy  friar,  who  were  pres- 
ent, grappled  and  struggled  with  the  desperado; 
and  immediately  the  guards,  who  had  conducted 
him  from  the  marques  de  Cadiz,  fell  upon  him  and 
cut  him  to  pieces.t 

The  king  and  queen,  brought  out  of  their  tents 
by  the  noise,  were  filled  with  horror  when  they 
Itamed  the  imminent  peril  from  which  they  had  es- 
caped. The  mangled  body  of  the  Moor  was  taken 
by  the  people  to  the  camp,  and  thrown  into  the  city 
frGm  a  catapult.  The  Gomeres  gathered  up  the 
bcdy  with  deep  reverence,  as  the  remains  of  a  saint ; 
they  washed  and  perfumed  it,  and  buried  it  with 
((reat  honor  and  loud  lamentations.  In  revenge 
of  his  death,  they  slew  one  of  their  principal  chris- 
tian captives,  and,  having  tied  his  body  upon  an  ass, 
lliey  drove  the  animal  forth  into  the  camp. 

From  this  time,  there  was  appointed  an  addi- 
tional guard  around  the  tents  of  the  king  and 
queen,  composed  of  twelve  hundred  cavaliers  of 
nmk,  of  the  kingdoms  of  Castile  and  Arragon. 
No  person  was   admitted  to  the  royal    presence 


without  a  previous  knowledge  of  his  charactei 
and  business ;  and  on  no  account  was  any  Moot 
to  be  introduced  into  the  presence  of  the  sov?r- 
eigns. 

An  act  of  treachery  of  such  ferocious  natuie, 
gave  rise  to  a  train  of  gloomy  apprehensions. 
There  were  many  cabins  and  sheds  about  the 
camp,  constructed  of  branches  of  trees  which  had 
become  dry  and  combustible ;  and  fears  were  en- 
tertained that  they  might  be  set  on  fire  by  the  Mu- 
dexares,  or  Moorish  vassals,  who  visited  the  army. 
Some  even  dreaded  that  attempts  might  be  made  to 
poison  the  wells  and  fountains.  To  quiet  these  dis- 
mal alarms,  all  Mudexares  were  ordered  to  leave  the 
camp ;  and  all  loose,  idle  loiterers,  who  could  not 
give  a  good  account  of  themselves,  vere  taken  into 
custody. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


HOW  HAMET  EL  ZF.OR.  WAS  HARDRNED  IN 
OBSTINACY,  BY  THE  ARTS  OF  A  MOORISH 
TROLOOER. 


HIS 
AS- 


Among  those  followers  of  the  santon  that  had 
effected  their  entrance  into  the  city,  was  a  dark 
African  of  the  tribe  of  the  Gomeres,  who  was  like- 
wise a  hermit  or  dervise,  and  passed  among  the 
Moors  for  a  holy  and  inspired  man.  No  sooner 
were  the  mangled  remains  of  his  predecessor  buried 
with  the  honors  of  martyrdom,  than  this  dervise 
elevated  himself  in  his'  place,  and  professed  to  be 
gifted  with  the  spirit  of  prophecy.  He  displayed  a 
white  banner,  which,  he  assured  the  Moors,  was  sa- 
cred ;  that  he  had  retained  it  for  twenty  years  fo» 
some  signal  purpose,  and  that  Allah  had  revealed  tt 
him  that  under  that  banner  the  inhabitants  of  Mal- 
aga should  sally  forth  upon  the  camp  of  the  unbe- 
lievers, put  it  to  utter  rout,  and  banquet  upon  the 
provisions  in  which  it  abounded.*  The  hungry  and 
credulous  Moors  were  elated  at  this  prediction,  and 
cried  out  to  be  led  forth  at  once  to  the  attack ;  but 
the  dervise  told  them  the  time  was  not  yet  ar- 
rived, for  every  event  had  its  allotted  day  in  the  de- 
crees of  fate:  they  must  wait  patiently,  therefore, 
until  the  appointed  time  should  be  revealed  to  him 
by  Heaven.  Hamet  el  Zegri  listened  to  the  dervise 
with  profound  reverence,  and  his  example  had  great 
effect  in  increasing  the  awe  and  deference  of  his  fol- 
lowers. He  took  the  holy  man  up  into  his  strong- 
hold of  Gibralfaro,  consulted  him  on  all  occasions 
and  hung  out  his  white  banner  on  the  loftiest  tower, 
as  a  signal  of  encouragement  to  the  people  of  the 
citv. 

in  the  mean  time,  the  prime  chivalry  of  Spain 
was  gradually  assembling  before  the  walls  of  Malaga. 
The  army  which  had  commenced  the  siege  had  been 
worn  out  by  extreme  hardships,  having  had  to  con 
struct  immense  works,  to  dig  trenches  and  mines,  ti 
mount  guard  by  sea  and  land,  to  Patrol  the  mount- 
ains, and  to  sustain  incessant  conflicts.  The  sover- 
eigns were  obliged,  therefore,  to  call  upon  varioiu 
distant  cities,  for  reinforcements  of  horse  and  foot 
Many  nobles,  also,  assembled  their  vassals,  and  rt- 
paireid,  of  their  own  accord,  to  the  royal  camp. 

Every  little  while,  some  stately  galley  or  galbnt 
caravel  would  stand  into  the  harbor,  displaying  the 
well-known  banner  ot  some  Spanish  cavalier,  and 
thundering  from  its  artillery  a  salutation  to  the 
sovereigns  and  a  defiance  to  the  Moor«.  On  the 
land  side  also,  reinforcements  would  be  se'ra,  v:r» 


*KttnlIwtniKpb(  te. 


tCundalMPdwiM. 


•  Cuim  d«  lot  Fabdoii. 


M8 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


f^ 


U- 


ing  down  froiA  the  mountains  to  the  sound  of 
drum  and  trumpet,  and  marching  into  the  camp 
with  glistening  arms,  as  yet  unsullied  by  the  toils 
of  war. 

One  morning,  the  whole  sea  was  whitened  by  the 
sails  and  vexed  by  the  oars  of  ships  and  galleys 
bearing  towards  the  port.  One  hundred  vessels  of 
various  kinds  and  sizes  arrived,  some  armed  for  war- 
!>ke  service,  others  deep  freighted  with  provisions. 
At  the  same  time,  the  clangor  of  drum  and  trumpet 
bespoke  the  arrival  of  a  powerful  force  by  land,  which 
'wkme  pouring  in  lengthening  columns  into  the  camp. 
This  mighty  reinforcement  was  furnished  by  the 
duke  of  Medina  Sidonia,  who  reigned  like  a  pettv 
monarch  over  his  vast  possessions.  He  came  with 
this  princely  force,  a  volunteer  to  the  royal  standard, 
not  having  been  summoned  by  the  sovereigns ;  and 
he  brought,  moreover,  a  loan  of  twenty  thousand 
doblas  of  gold. 

When  the  camp  was  thus  powerfully  reinforced, 
Isabella  advised  that  new  offers  cf  an  indulgent  kind 
should  be  made  to  the  inhabitants ;  for  she  was  anx- 
ious to  prevent  the  miseries  of  a  protracted  siege,  or 
the  effusion  of  blood  that  must  attend  a  general  at- 
tack. A  fresh  summons  was,  therefore,  sent  for  the 
city  to  surrender,  with  a  promise  of  life,  liberty,  and 
property,  in  case  of  immediate  compliance ;  but  de- 
nouncing all  the  horrors  of  war,  if  the  defence  were 
obstinately  continued. 

Hametel  Zepn  again  rejected  the  offer  with  scorn. 
His  main  fortifications  as  yet  were  but  little  impaired, 
and  were  capable  of  holding  out  much  longer ;  he 
trusted  to  the  thousand  evils  and  accidents  that  be- 
set a  besieging  army,  and  to  the  inclemencies  of  the 
approaching  season ;  and  it  is  said  that  he,  as  well 
as  his  followers,  had  an  infatuated  belief  in  the  pre- 
dictions cf  the  dervise. 

The  worthy  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  does  not  scru- 
^'li  10  affinn,  that  the  pretended  prophet  of  the  city 
v.'as  an  arch  nigromancer,  or  Moorish  magician, 
"  cf  which  there  be  countless  many,"  says  he,  "  in 
the  filthy  sect  of  Mahomet ; "  and  that  he  was 
leagued  with  the  prince  of  the  powers  of  the  air,  to 
endeavor  to  work  the  confusion  and  defeat  of  the 
christian  anny.  The  worthy  father  asserts,  also, 
that  Hamet  t'mployed  him  in  a  high  tower  of  the 
Gibralfaro,  which  commanded  a  wide  view  over  sea 
and  land,  wht^re  he  wrought  spells  and  incantations 
with  astrolabes  and  other  diabolical  instruments,  to 
defeat  the  christian  ships  and  forces,  whenever  they 
were  engaged  with  the  Moors. 

To  the  potent  spells  of  this  sorcerer,  he  ascribes 
the  perils  and  losses  sustained  by  a  party  of  cavaliers 
of  tne  royal  household,  in  a  desperate  combat  to 
gain  two  towers  of  the  suburb,  near  the  gate  of  the 
city  called  la  Puerto  de  Granada.  The  christians, 
led  on  by  Ruy  Lopez  de  Toledo,  the  valiant  treas- 
urer of  the  queen,  took,  and  lost,  and  retook  the 
towers,  which  were  finally  set  on  fire  by  the  Moors, 
and  abandoned  to  the  flames  by  both  parties.  To  the 
same  malignant  influence  he  attributes  the  damage 
done  to  the  christian  fleet,  which  was  so  vigorously 
assailed  by  the  albatozas,  or  floating  batteries  of  the 
Moors,  that  one  ship,  belonging  to  the  duke  of  Me- 
dina Sidonia,  was  sunk,  and  the  rest  were  obliged  to 

•  Hamet  el  Zegri,"  says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
"  ztood  on  the  top  of  the  high  tower  of  Gibralfaro, 
and  beheld  this  injury  wrought  upon  the  christian 
force,  and  his  proud  heart  was  puffed  up.  And  the 
Moorish  nigromancer  stood  beside  him.  And  he 
pointed  out  to  him  the  christian  host  below,  en- 
camped on  every  eminence  around  the  city,  and 
covering  its  fertile  valley,  and  the  many  ships  float- 
ing ufioa  the  tranquil  sea ;  and  he  bade  him  be  strong 


of  heart,  for  that  in  a  few  days  all  this  mighty  Reel 
would  be  scattered  by  the  wmds  of  Heaven ;  and 
that  he  should  sally  forth,  under  guidance  of  the 
sacred  banner,  and  attack  this  host  and  utterly  d^ 
feat  it,  and  make  spoil  of  those  sumptuous  tents 
and  Malaga  should  be  triumphantly  revenf^ed  upon 
her  assailants.  So  the  heart  of  Hamet  was  li.irdened 
like  that  of  Pharaoh,  and  he  persisted  in  settings 
defiance  the  Catholic  sovereigns  and  their  army  ol 
saintly  warriors." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


SIEGK  or  MALAGA  CONTINUED.— DESTRUCTION 
OK  A  TOWER,  BY  FRANCISCO  RAMIRKZ  DI 
MADRID. 

Seeing  the  infatuated  obstinacy  of  the  besieped, 
the  christians  now  approached  their  works  to  the 
walls,  gaining  one  position  after  another,  preparatory 
to  a  general  assault.  Near  the  barrier  of  the  ciiy 
was  a  bridge  with  four  arches,  defended  at  each  end 
by  a  strong  and  lofty  tower,  by  which  a  part  of  the 
army  would  have  to  pass  in  making  an  attack.  The 
commander-in-chief  of  the  artillery,  Francisco  Ram- 
irez de  Madrid,  was  ordered  to  take  possession  of 
this  bridge.  The  apprOfich  to  it  was  perilous  in  the 
extreme,  from  the  exposed  situation  of  the  assailants, 
and  the  number  of  Moors  that  garrisoned  the  tow- 
ers. Francisco  Ramirez,  therefore,  secretly  exca- 
vated a  mine  leading  beneath  the  first  tower,  and 
placed  a  piece  of  ordnance  with  its  mouth  upwards, 
immediately  under  the  foundation,  with  a  train  of 
powder  to  produce  an  explosion  at  the  necessary 
moment. 

When  this  was  arranged,  he  advanced  sVwij 
with  his  forces  in  face  ofthe  towers,  erecting  bul- 
warks at  every  step,  and  gradually  gaining  e^round; 
until  he  anived  near  to  the  bridge.  He  then  planted 
several  pieces  of  ^artillery  in  his  works,  and  be t;an  to 
batter  the  tower.  The  Moors  replied  bravtly  from 
their  battlements;  but  in  the  heat  of  the  combat, 
the  piece  of  ordnance  under  the  foundation  was  dis- 
charged. The  earth  was  rent  open,  a  part  of  the 
tower  overthrown,  and  several  of  the  Moors  torn  to 
pieces;  the  rest  took  to  flight,  overwhelmed  with 
terror  at  this  thundering  explosion  bursting  iicneath 
their  feet,  and  at  beholding  the  earth  vomiting  llames 
and  smoke ;  for  never  before  had  they  witnessed 
such  a  stratagem  in  warfare.  The  christians  rushed 
forward  and  took  possession  of  the  abantloncd  post, 
and  immediately  commenced  an  attack  upon  the 
other  tower  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  brid^je,  to 
which  the  Moors  had  retired.  An  incessant  tire  of 
cross-bows  and  arquebusses  was  kept  up  between 
the  rival  towers,  volleys  of  stones  were  discharj^ed, 
and  no  one  dared  to  venture  upon  the  inierinediate 
briflge. 

Francisco  de  Ramirez  at  length  renewed  his  for 
mer  mode  of  approach,  making  bulwarks  Ftep  bv 
step,  while  the  Moors,  stationed  .it  the  other  end 
swept  the  bridge  with  their  artillery.  The  coin^al 
was  long  and  bloody, — furious  on  the  part  of  lb: 
Moors,  patient  and  persevering  on  the  part  of  the 
christians.  By  slow  degrees,  they  acconiplisheo 
their  advance  across  the  bridge,  drove  the  enemy 
before  them,  and  remained  masters  of  this  iinporunt 
pass. 

For  this  valiant  and  skilful  achiex'ement  king 
Ferdinand,  after  the  surrender  of  the  city,  conferred 
the  dignity  of  knighthood  upon  Francisco  Ramirei, 
in  the  tower  which  he  had  so  gloriously  gaind.' 

■MfcCtl* 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


941 


rhe  worthy  padre  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  indulges 
In  more  than  a  pace  of  extravag;ant  eulogy,  upon 
this  invention  of  bbwing  up  the  foundation  of  the 
tower  by  a  piece  of  ordnance,  which  he  affirms  to 
be  the  first  instance  on  record  of  gunpowder  being 
gted  in  a  mine. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


now   rut    PEOPLE    OF    MALAGA    EXPOSTULATED 
WITH   HAMET  EL  ZEGRL 

While  the  dervise  was  deluding  the  garrison  of 
Malaga  with  vain  hopes,  the  famine  increased  to  a 
terrible  degree.  The  Gomeres  ranged  afiout  the 
city  as  though  it  had  been  a  conquered  place,  taking 
Dy  force  whatever  they  found  eatable  in  the  houses 
of  the  peaceful  citizens ;  and  breaking  open  vaults 
and  cellars,  and  demolishing  walls,  wherever  they 
thought  provisions  might  be  concealed. 

The  wretched  inhabitants  had  no  longer  bread  to 
eat ;  the  horse-flesh  also  now  failed  them,  and  they 
were  fain  to  devour  skins  and  hides  toasted  at  the 
fire,  and  to  assuage  the  hunger  of  their  children  with 
/ineleaves  cut  up  and  fried  in  oil.  Many  perished 
of  famine,  or  of  the  unwholesome  food  with  which 
tlit-y  endeavored  to  relieve  it ;  and  many  took  refuge 
in  ihf.  christian  camp,  preferring  captivity  to  the 
harrors  which  surrounded  them. 

At  length  the  sufferings  of  the  inhabitants  became 
50  great,  as  to  conquer  even  their  fears  of  Hamet  and 
his  Gomeres.  They  assembled  before  the  house  of 
Ali  Uordux,  the  wealthy  merchant,  whose  stately 
mansion  was  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  of  the  Alcazaba, 
und  they  urgefl  him  to  stand  forth  as  their  le.ider, 
and  to  inter;sde  with  Hamet  el  Zegri  for  a  surrender. 
r\!i  Hordux  was  a  njan  of  courage,  as  well  as  policy ; 
l\c  liirceived  also  that  hunger  was  giving  boldness  to 
the  citizens,  while  he  trusted  it  was  subduing  the 
fierceness  of  the  soldiery.  He  armed  himself,  there- 
fore, cap-a-pie,  and  undertook  this  dangerous  parley 
with  the  alcayde.  He  associated  with  him  an  alfaqui 
named  Abrahen  Alharis,  and  an  important  inhabitant 
named  Amar  ben  Am.ir ;  and  they  ascended  to  the 
fortress  of  (libralfaro,  followed  by  several  of  the 
t.-embling  merchants. 

They  found  Hamet  el  Zegri,  not,  as  before,  sur- 
rounded by  ferocious  guards  and  all  the  implements 
of  war  ;  but  in  a  chamber  of  one  of  the  lofty  towers, 
at  a  table  of  stone,  covered  with  scrolls  traced  with 
strange  characters  and  mystic  di.igrams ;  while  instru- 
ments of  singular  and  unknown  form  lay  about  the 
room.  Beside  Hamet  el  Zegri  stood  the  prophetic 
dervise,  who  appeared  to  have  been  explaining  to 
him  the  mysterious  inscriptions  of  the  scrolls.  His 
presence  filled  the  citizens  with  awe,  for  even  Ali 
Dordux  considered  him  a  man  inspired. 

The  alfaqui  Abrahen  Alharis,  whose  sacred  char- 
acter gave  him  boldness  to  speak,  now  lifted  up  his 
voioe,  and  addressed  Hamet  el  Zegri.  "  We  implore 
f'ou,"  said  he,  solemnly,  "  in  the  name  of  the  most 
powerful  God,  no  longer  to  persist  in  a  vain  resist- 
ance which  must  end  in  our  destruction,  but  deliver 
rsi  the  city  while  clemency  is  yet  to  be  obtained. 
Think  hew  many  of  our  warriors  have  fallen  by  the 
swoid ;  do  not  suffer  those  who  survive  to  perish  by 
famine.  Our  wives  and  children  cry  to  us  for  bread, 
and  we  have  none  to  give  them.  We  see  them  ex- 
pire in  lingering  agony  liefore  our  eyes,  while  the 
enemy  mocks  our  misery  by  displaying  the  abundance 
of  his  camp.  Of  what  avail  is  our  defence  ?  Are  our 
walls  pcradventure  more  strong  than  the  walls  of 
Ronda  ?  Are  our  warriors  more  brave  than  the  de- 
fenders of  Loxa  ?     The  walls  of  Ronda  were  thrown 


down,  and  the  warriors  of  Loxa  had  to  surrender, 
Do  we  hope  for  succor? — from  whence  arc  we  to 
receive  it  ?  The  time  for  hope  is  gone  by,  Granada 
has  lost  its  power ;  it  no  longer  possesses  chivalry, 
commanders,  or  a  king.  Boabdil  sits  a  vassal  in  the 
degraded  halls  of  the  Alhambra ;  £1  Zagal  is  a  fvigi- 
tive,  shut  up  within  the  walls  of  Guadix.  The  king- 
dom is  divided  against  itself, — its  strength  is  gone,  its 
pride  fallen,  its  very  existence  at  an  end.  In  the 
name  of  Allah,  we  conjure  thee,  who  art  our  captain, 
be  not  our  direst  enemy ;  but  surrender  these  ruins 
of  our  once  happy  Malagja,  and  deliver  us  from  these 
overwhelming  horrors." 

Such  was  the  supplication  fcrced  from  the  inhab- 
itants by  the  extremity  of  their  sufferings.  Hamel 
el  Zegri  listened  to  the  alfaqui  without  anger,  for  he 
respected  the  sanctity  of  his  office.  His  heart,  too, 
was  at  that  moment  lifted  up  with  a  vain  confidence. 
"  Yet  a  few  days  of  patience,"  said  he,  "  and  all  these 
evils  will  suddenly  have  an  end.  I  have  been  con- 
ferring with  this  holy  man,  and  find  that  the  time  of 
our  deliverance  is  at  hand.  The  decrees  of  fate  ai  s 
inevitable ;  it  is  written  in  the  book  of  destiny,  thsit 
we  shall  sally  forth  and  destroy  the  camp  of  the  un- 
believers, and  banquet  upon  those  mountains  of  grain 
which  are  piled  up  in  the  midst  of  it.  So  Allah  hath 
promised,  by  the  mouth  of  this  his  prophet.  Allah 
Acbar  1  God  is  grerat.  Let  no  man  oppose  the  de- 
crees of  Heaven ! " 

The  citizens  bowed  with  profound  reverence,  for 
no  true  Moslem  pretends  to  struggle  against  whatever 
is  written  in  the  book  of  fate.  Ali  Dordux,  who  had 
come  prepared  to  champion  the  city  and  to  brave 
the  ire  of  Hamet,  humbled  himself  bJefore  this  hol^ 
man,  and  gave  faith  to  his  prophecies  as  the  revela- 
tions of  Allah.  So  the  deputies  returned  to  the  citi-- 
zens,  and  exhorted  them  to  be  of  good  cheer :  "  A  few 
days  longer,"  said  they,  "and  our  sufferings  are  to 
terminate.  When  the  white  banner  is  removed  from 
the  tower,  then  look  out  for  deliverance ;  for  the  hour 
of  sallying  forth  will  have  arrived."  The  people  re- 
tired to  their  homes,  with  sorrowful  hearts;  they 
tried  in  v.iin  to  quiet  the  cries  of  their  famishing 
children ;  and  d.iy  by  day,  and  hour  by  hour,  their 
anxious  eyes  were  turned  to  the  sacred  banner,  which 
still  continued  to  wave  on  the  tower  of  Gibralfaro. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


HOW  HAMET  EL  ZEGRI  SALLIED  FORTH  WITH  THE 
SACRED  BANNER,  TO  ATTACK  THE  CHRISTIAN 
CAMP. 

"  The  Moorish  nigromancer,"  ot)serves  the  worthy 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida, "  remained  shut  up  in  a  towei 
of  the  Gibralfaro,  devising  devilish  means  to  work 
mischief  and  discomtiture  upon  the  christians.  He 
was  daily  consulted  by  Hamet  el  Zegri,  who  had 
great  faith  in  those  black  and  magic  arts,  which  he 
had  brought  with  him  from  the  bosom  of  heathen 
Africa," 

From  the  account  given  of  this  dervise  and  hi» 
incantations  by  the  worthy  father,  it  would  appear 
that  he  was  an  astrologer,  and  was  studying  the  stars, 
and  endeavoring  to  calculate  the  day  and  hour  wbeo 
a  successful  attack  might  be  made  upon  the  christian 
camp. 

Famine  had  now  increased  to  such  a  degree  as  to 
distress  even  the  garrison  of  Gibralfaro,  although  the 
Gomeres  had  seized  upon  all  the  provisions  they 
could  find  in  the  city.  Their  passions  were  sharpen- 
ed by  hunger,  and  they  became  restless  and  turbu 
lent,  and  impatient  for  action. 


m) 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


'«>  ■ 


Hamet  el  Zegri  was  one  day  in  council  with  his 
captains,  perplexed  by  the  pressure  ot  events,  when 
the  dervise  entered  among  them.  "  The  hour  of  vic- 
tory," excl.iimed  he,  "  Is  at  hand.  Allah  has  com- 
manded that  to-morrow  morning  ye  shall  sally  forth 
to  the  fight.  I  will  bear  before  you  the  sacred  ban- 
ner, and  deliver  your  enemies  into  your  hands.  Re- 
member, however,  that  ye  are  but  instruments  in 
the  hands  of  Allah,  to  take  venjs^eance  on  the  ene- 
mies of  the  faith.  Go  into  battle,  therefore,  with 
pure  hearts,  forgiving  each  other  all  past  ofTences ; 
for  those  who  are  charitable  t6wards  e.ich  other, 
will  be  victorious  over  the  foe."  Tne  words  of  the 
dervise  were  received  with  rapture :  all  Gibralfaro 
and  the  Alcazaba  resounded  immediately  with  the 
din  of  arms;  and  Hamet  sent  throughout  the  towers 
and  fortifications  of  the  city,  and  selected  the  choic- 
est troops  aiul  most  distinguished  captains  for  this 
eventual  combat. 

In  the  morning  early,  the  rumor  went  throughout 
the  city  that  the  sacred  banner  had  disappeared  from 
the  tower  of  Gibr.-ilfaro,  and  all  Malaga  was  roused 
to  witness  the  sally  that  was  to  destroy  the  unl)e- 
lievers.  Hamet  descended  from  his  strong-hold,  ac- 
companied by  his  principal  captain,  Abrahen  Zenete, 
and  followed  by  his  Gomeres.  The  dervise  led  the 
way,  displaying  the  white  banner,  the  sacred  pledge 
of  victory.  The  multitude  shouted  "Allah  Acbar !  " 
and  prostrated  themselves  before  the  banner  as  it 
passed.  Even  the  dreaded  Hamet  was  hailed  with 
praises  ;  for  in  their  hopes  of  speedy  relief  through 
the  prowess  of  his  arm,  the  populace  forgot  every 
thing  but  his  bravery.  Every  jjosom  in  Malaga  was 
agitated  by  hope  and  fear — the  old  men,  the  women 
and  children,  and  all  who  went  not  forth  to  battle, 
mounted  on  tower  and  battlement  and  roof,  to  watch 
1  combat  that  was  to  decide  their  fate. 

Before  sallying  forth  from  the  city,  the  dervise  ad- 
dressed the  troops,  reminding  them  of  the  holy  nat- 
ure of  this  enterprise,  and  warning  them  not  to  for- 
feit the  protection  of  the  sacred  banner  by  any 
unworthy  act.  They  were  not  to  pause  to  make 
spoil  nor  to  take  prisoners :  they  were  to  press  for- 
ward, fighting  valiantly,  and  granting  no  quarter. 
The  gate  was  then  thrown  open,  and  the  dervise 
issuecT  forth,  followed  by  the  army.  They  directe<l 
their  assaults  upon  the  encampments  of  the  Master 
of  Santiago  and  the  M.ister  of  Alcantara,  and  came 
upon  them  so  suddenly  that  they  killed  and  wounded 
several  of  the  guards.  Abrahen  Zenete  made  his 
way  into  one  of  the  tents,  where  he  beheld  several 
christian  striplings  just  starting  from  their  slumber. 
The  heart  of  the  Moor  was  suddenly  touched  witn 
pity  for  their  youth,  or  perhaps  he  scorned  the  weak- 
ness of  the  foe.  He  smote  them  with  the  flat,  instead 
of  the  edge  of  the  sword.  "Away,  imps,"  cried  he, 
"  awav  to  your  motht-rs."  The  fanatic  dervise  re- 
proached him  with  his  clemency — "I  did  not  kill 
them,"  replied  Zenete,  "  because  I  s.-\w  no  beards  !  "♦ 

The  alarm  was  given  in  the  camp,  and  the  chris- 
tians rushed  from  all  (juarters  to  defend  the  gates  of 
the  bulwarks.  Don  Pedro  Puerto  Carrero,  Senior 
of  Moguer,  and  his  brother  Don  Alonzo  P.icheco, 
planted  themselves,  with  their  followers,  in  the  gate- 
way of  the  encampment  of  the  Master  of  Santiago, 
and  bore  the  whole  brunt  of  battle  until  they  were 
reinforced.  The  gate  of  the  encampment  of  the 
Master  of  Calatrava  was  in  like  manner  defended 
by  Lorenzo  Saurez  de  Mendoza.  Hamet  el  Zegri 
was  furious  at  being  thus  checked,  where  he  had 
expected  a  miraculous  victory.  He  led  his  troops 
repeatedly  to  the  attack,  hoping  to  force  the  gates 
betore  succor  should  arrive  :  they  fought  with  vehe- 

*CMa  dc  lot  PalacioK,  r.  (4. 


ment  ardor,  but  were  as  often  repulsMi ;  ami  even 
time  they  returned  to  the  assault,  they  tbund  theii 
enemies  doubled  in  number.  The  christians  cpened 
a  cruss-hre  of  all  kinds  of  missiles,  from  their  bul- 
warks ;  the  Moors  could  effect  but  little  damaije  upon 
a  foe  thus  protected  behind  their  works,  while  they 
themselves  were  exposed  from  head  to  loot.  Th{ 
christians  singled  out  the  most  conspicuous  cavilicrs, 
the  greater  part  of  whom  were  either  slain  or  wi)ut,(j. 
ed.  Still  the  Moors,  infatuated  by  the  predictions  oi 
the  prophet,  fought  desperately  and  devotetlK,  ar.d 
they  were  furious  to  revenge  the  slaughter  ot  thtji 
leaders.  They  rushed  upon  certain  death,  endcivor. 
irg  madly  to  scale  the  bulwarks,  or  force  tln!  u.nej 
and  fell  amidst  showers  of  darts  and  lances,  niling 
the  ditches  with  their  mangled  bodies. 

Hamet  el  Zegri  raged  aJong  the  front  of  the  bul. 
warks,  seeking  an  opening  for  attack.  He  gnashed 
his  teeth  with  fury,  as  he  saw  so  many  of  his  ch.osen 
warri/>rs  slain  around  him.  He  seemed  to  have  a 
charmed  life  ;  for,  though  constantly  in  the  hmtest 
of  the  fight,  amidst  showers  of  missiles,  he  still  es- 
caped uninjured.  Blindly  confiding  in  the  prophecy 
of  victory,  he  continued  to  urge  on  his  devoted 
troops.  The  demse,  too,  ran  like  a  maniac  throufjh 
the  ranks,  waving  his  white  banner,  and  incitiif;  the 
Moors  by  bowlings  rather  than  by  shouts.  In  the 
midst  of  his  frenzy,  a  stone  from  a  catapult  struck  him 
on  the  head,  and  dashed  out  his  bewildered  hrains* 

When  the  Moors  beheld  their  prophet  slam,  and 
his  banner  in  the  dust,  they  were  seized  with  despair, 
and  fled  in  contusion  to  the  city.  Hamet  cl  Zegri 
made  some  effort  to  rally  them,  but  was  himself 
confounded  by  the  fall  of  the  dervise.  He  covered 
the  flight  of  nis  broken  forces,  turning  repeatedly 
upon  their  pursuers,  and  slowly  making  his  retreat 
into  the  city. 

The  inhabitants  of  Mal.iga  witnessed  from  thtii 
walls,  with  trembling  anxiety,  the  whole  of  this  ('.ij- 
astrous  conflict.  At  the  first  onset,  when  they  be- 
held the  guards  of  the  camp  nut  to  lliglit,  they  ex- 
claimed, "  Allah  h.is  given  us  the  victory  ! "  ami  they 
sent  up  shouts  of  triumph.  Their  exultation,  how- 
ever, was  soon  turned  into  doubt,  when  they  beheld 
their  troops  repulsed  in  repeated  att.icks.  Ihev 
could  see,  from  time  to  time,  some  distinjjuished 
warrior  Laid  low,  and  others  brought  back  bleeding 
to  the  city.  When  at  length  the  sjicred  banner  fell, 
and  the  routed  troops  came  flying  to  the  g;»tes,  pur- 
sued and  cut  down  by  the  foe,  horror  and  despair 
seized  upon  the  populace. 

As  Hamet  el  Zegri  entered  the  gates,  he  heari 
nothing  but  loud  lamentations  :  mothers,  whose  sons 
had  been  slain,  shrieked  curses  after  him  as  he  n.iss- 
ed  ;  some,  in  the  angtiish  of  their  hciris.  tliruw 
down  their  famishing  Iwhes  before  him,  exclaiming, 
"  Trample  on  them  with  thy  horse's  feet ;  for  we 
have  no  food  to  give  them,  and  we  cannot  endure 
their  cries,"  All  heaped  execrations  on  h.s  head,  as 
the  cause  of  the  woes  of  Malaga. 

The  warlike  part  of  the  citizens  also,  and  many 
warriors,  who,  with  their  wives  and  chililren,  had 
taken  refuge  in  Malaga  from  the  mountain  fortresscr, 
now  joinc<l  in  the  popul.ir  clamor,  for  their  heili 
were  overcome  by  the  sufferings  0/ their  famili^.i. 

Hamet  el  Zegri  found  it  impossible  to  withstand 
this  torrent  of  lamentations,  curses,  and  :e[tro.!ch?s. 
His  military  ascendancy  was  at  an  eud  ;  for  most  of 
his  officers,  and  the  prime  warriors  of  his  African 
band,  had  fallen  in  this  disastrous  sally.  Turning 
his  back,  therefore,  upon  the  city,  and  abandoniiij; 
it  to  its  own  councils,  he  retired  with  »he  remnant 
of  his  Gomeres  tc  his  strong-hold  in  the  Gibralfaro. 


*OHibay,  Itb.  il,  c.  u. 


*  Ctin  ia  lot  P 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


281 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

BOW  THI  CITY  or  MALAGA  CAPITULATED. 

THB  people  of  Malaga,  being  no  longer  overawed 
|w  Hamet  el  Zegri  and  his  Gomeres,  turned  to  All 
Dordux,  the  magnanimous  merchant,  and  pAt  the 
bte  of  the  city  mto  his  hands.  He  had  already 
pined  the  alcaydes  of  the  castle  of  the  Genoese,  and 
jf  the  citadel,  into  his  party,  and  in  the  late  confu- 
lion  had  gained  the  sway  over  those  important  for- 
tnJSfs,  Ht  now  associated  himself  with  the  alfaqui, 
yibr.ilien  A.hariz  and  four  of  the  principal  inliabii- 
jnts,  and,  forming  a  provisional  junta,  they  sent 
heralds  to  the  christian  sovereigns,  offering  to  sur- 
rendti  the  city  on  certain  lierms,  protecting  the  per- 
sons and  property  of  tht  inhabitants,  permitting 
them  to  reside  as  Mudexares  or  tributary  vassals, 
either  in  Malaga  or  elsewhere. 

Wlien  the  heralds  arrived  at  the  camp,  and  made 
known  their  mission  to  king  Ferdinand,  his  anger 
was  kindled.  "  Return  to  your  fellow-citizens,"  said 
he,  "  anil  tell  them  that  the  day  of  grace  is  gone  by. 
They  have  persisted  in  a  fruitless  defence,  until  they 
are  driven  by  necessity  to  capitulate  ;  they  must  sur- 
render unconditionally,  and  abide  the  fate  of  the 
vanquished.  Those  who  merit  death  shall  suffer 
death;  those  who  merit  captivity  shall  be  made 
captives." 

This  stern  reply  spread  consternation  among  the 
people  of  Malaga ;  but  Ali  Dordux  comforted  tnem, 
and  undertook  to  go  in  person,  and  pray  for  favor- 
able terms.  When  the  people  beheld  this  great  and 
wealthy  merchant,  who  was  so  eminent  in  their  city, 
departing  with  his  associates  on  this  mission,  they 
plucked  up  heart ;  for  they  said,  "  Surely  the  chris- 
tisn  king  will  not  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  such  a  man  as 
Ali  D(jrdux  I " 

Ferdinand,  however,  would  not  even  admit  the 
mbissadors  to  his  presence.  "  Send  them  to  the 
devil ! "  said  he,  in  a  great  passion,  to  the  com- 
nander  of  Leon  ;  "  I'll  not  see  them.  Let  them  get 
back  to  their  city.  They  shall  all  surrender  to  my 
mercy,  as  vanquished  enemies."* 

To  give  emphasis  to  this  reply,  he  ordered  a  gen- 
eral discharge  from  all  the  artillery  and  batteries ; 
and  there  was  a  great  shout  throughout  the  camp, 
and  all  the  lombards  and  catapults,  and  other  en- 
gines of  war,  thundered  furiously  upon  the  city,  do- 
ing great  damage. 

Ali  Dordux  and  his  companions  returned  to  the 
ci;y  with  downc.ist  countenances,  and  could  scarce 
make  the  reply  of  the  christian  sovereign  be  heard, 
for  the  roaring  of  the  artillery,  the  tumbling  of  the 
walls,  and  the  cries  of  women  and  children.  The 
citizens  were  greatly  astonished  and  dism.ayed,  when 
they  lound  the  little  respect  paid  to  their  most  enrii- 
nent  man ;  but  the  warriors  who  were  in  the  city 
exclaimed,  "  What  has  this  merchant  to  do  with 
questions  between  men  of  b.ittle?  Let  us  not  ad- 
dress the  enemy  as  abject  suppliants  who  have  no 
power  to-  injure,  but  as  valiant  men,  who  have  weajv 
ons  in  their  hands." 

So  they  dispatched  another  message  to  the  chris- 
Ifan  sovereigns,  oflfering  to  yield  up  the  city  and  all 
'Jieir  effects,  on  condition  of  being  secured  in  their 
pci'soi'al  liberty.  Should  this  be  denied,  they  de- 
tlarid  they  would  hang  from  the  battlements  fifteen 
hundred  christian  captives,  male  and  female ;  that 
Ihev  would  put  all  their  old  men,  their  women  and 
children  fnto  the  citadel,  set  fire  to  the  city,  and  sally 
forth  swcrd  in  hand,  to  tight  until  the  last  gasp.  "  In 
this  way,"  said  they,  "  the  Spanish  sovereigns  shall 

*  Cun  it  loi  PaUoio*,  cap.  I*. 


gain  a  bloody  victory,  and  the  fall  of  Malaga  be  n- 
nowned  while  the  world  endures." 

To  this  fierce  and  swelling  message,  Ferdinand 
replied,  that  if  a  single  chrisdan  captive  were  injitred, 
not  a  Moor  in  Malaga  but  should  be  put  to  the 
edge  of  the  sword. 

A  great  conflict  of  counsels  now  arose  in  Malaga, 
The  warriors  were  for  following  up  their  menaca  Dy 
some  desperate  act  of  vengeance  or  of  self-devotion. 
Those  who  had  families  looked  with  anguish  upon 
their  wives  and  daughters,  and  thought  it  better  to 
die  than  live  to  see  ihem  captives.  By  degrees,  how- 
ever, the  transports  of  p.ission  and  despair  subsided, 
the  love  of  life  resumed  its  sway,  and  they  turned 
once  more  to  Ali  Dordux,  as  the  man  most  prudent 
in  council  and  able  in  negotiation.  By  his  advice, 
fourteen  of  the  principal  inhabitants  were  chosen 
from  the  fourteen  districts  of  the  city,  and  sent  to  the 
camp,  bearing  a  long  letter,  couched  in  terms  of  the 
most  humble  supplication. 

Various  debates  now  took  place  in  the  christian 
camp.  Many  of  the  cavaliers  were  exasperated 
ag.iinst  Malaga  for  its  long  resistance,  which  had 
caused  the  death  of  many  of  their  relations  and 
favorite  companions.  It  had  long  been  a  strong-hold 
also  for  Moorish  depredators,  and  the  mart  where 
most  of  the  warriors  captured  in  the  Axarquia  had 
been  exposed  in  triumph  and  sold  to  slavery.  They 
represented,  moreover,  that  there  were  many  Moor- 
ish cities  yet  to  be  besieged ;  and  that  an  example 
ought  to  be  made  of  Malaga,  to  prevent  all  obstinate 
resistance  thereafter.  They  advised,  therefore,  that 
all  the  inhabitants  should  be  put  to  the  sword  1  ♦ 

The  humane  heart  of  Isabella  revolted  at  such 
sanguinary  counsels :  she  insisted  th.it  their  triumph 
should  not  be  disgraced  by  cruelty.  Ferdinand,  how- 
ever, w.is  inflexible  in  refusing  to  grant  .iny  prelimi* 
naiy  terms,  insisting  on  an  unconditional  surrender. 

The  people  of  Malaga  now  abandoned  themselvei 
to  paroxysms  of  despair ;  on  the  one  side  they  saw 
famine  and  death,  on  the  other  slavery  and  chains. 
The  mere  men  of  the  sword,  who  had  no  families  to 
protect,  were  loud  for  signalizing  their  fall  by  some 
illustrious  action.  "  Let  us  sacrifice  our  christian 
captives,  and  then  destroy  ourselves,"  cried  some. 
"  Let  us  put  all  the  women  and  children  to  death, 
set  fire  to  the  city,  fall  on  the  christian  tamp,  and  die 
swonl  in  hand,"  cried  others. 

Ali  Dordux  gradually  made  his  voice  be  heard, 
amidst  the  general  clamor.  He  addressed  himself  to 
the  principal  inhabitants,  and  to  those  who  had  chil- 
dren. "  Let  those  who  live  by  the  swonl,  die  by  the 
sword,"  cried  he ;  "  but  let  us  not  follow  their  des- 
perate counsels.  Who  knows  what  sjxirks  of  pity 
may  be  awakened  in  the  bosoms  of  the  christian 
sovereigns,  when  they  behold  our  unoffending  wives 
and  daughters,  and  our  helpless  little  ones  1  The 
christian  queen,  they  say,  is  full  of  mercy." 

At  these  words,  the  hearts  of  the  unhappy  people 
of  Malaga  yearned  over  their  famihes,  and  they  em- 
powered Ali  Dordux  to  deliver  up  their  city  to  the 
mercy  of  the  Castilian  sovereigns. 

The  merchant  now  went  to  and  fro,  and  had  sev- 
er.ll  communications  with  Fertlinrjid  and  Isabella, 
and  interested  sever.>l  principal  cavaliers  in  his 
cause ;  and  he  sent  rich  presents  to  the  king  and 
queen,  of  oriental  merchandise,  and  silks  and  stufb 
of  gold,  and  jewels  and  precious  stones,  and  spicet 
and  perfumes,  and  many  other  sumptuous  things 
which  he  had  accumulated  in  his  great  tradings  with 
the  east ;  and  he  gradually  found  favor  in  the  eyei 
of  the  sovereigns.f  Finding  that  there  was  nothing 
to  be  obtained  fcr  the  city,  he  now,  like  a  pru  len) 


•PolSM 


rill.  CkToa.arVal«n 


isa 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING 


man  and  able  merchant,  begun  to  negotiate  for  him- 
lelf  and  his  immediate  friends.  He  represented  that 
from  the  first  tiiev  hrtd  been  desirous  of  yielding  up 
the  city,  but  had  been  prevented  by  warlike  and 
liigh-hande«i  men,  who  had  thre.ifened  their  lives : 
TC  entreated  thrrrfore,  that  mercy  mi^ht  be  extend- 
ed to  them,  and  that  they  might  not  be  confounded 
whh  the  guilty. 

The  sovereigns  hail  acceptcfl  the  presents  of  AH 
.irrdux — how  could  they  then  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  his 
pr.tlHon  ?  So  they  granted  a  pardon  to  him,  and  to 
mrty  families  which  he  named  ;  ami  it  was  agreed 
that  they  should  be  protected  in  their  liberties  and 
property,  and  permitted  to  reside  in  Malaga  as  Mu- 
oexares  or  Moslem  vassals,  and  to  follow  their  cus- 
tomary pursuits.*  All  this  being  arranged,  Ali  Dor- 
dux  deiivere«l  up  twenty  of  the  principiu  inhabitants, 
to  renwin  as  hostages,  until  the  whole  city  should  be 
placed  in  the  possession  of  the  christians. 

Don  Gutiere  de  Cardenas,  senior  commander  of 
Leon,  now  entered  the  city,  armed  cap-a-pie,  on 
hoiseback,  and  took  possession  in  the  name  of  the 
Cy.stilian  sovereigns.  He  was  followed  by  his  re- 
tainers, and  by  the  captains  and  cavaliers  of  the 
army ;  and  in  a  little  while,  the  standards  of  the 
cross,  and  of  the  blessed  Santiago,  and  of  the  Cath- 
lic  sovereigns,  were  elevated  on  the  principal  tower 
of  the  Alcaiaba.  When  these  standards  were  Iwheld 
from  the  camp,  the  queen  and  the  princess  and  the 
ladies  of  the  court,  and  all  the  royal  retinue,  knelt 
down  and  gave  thanks  and  praises  to  the  holy  virgin 
and  to  Santiago,  for  this  great  triumph  of  the  faith  ; 
and  the  bishops  and  other  clergy  who  were  present, 
and  the  choristers  of  the  royal  chapt*l,  chanted  "  TV 
lUum  Laudi'mus,"  and  "  Gloria  in  Excelsis." 


CHAPTER  XX. 


rUtTILMENT  OF  THE  PROPHECY  OF  THE  DERVISE. 
—FATE  OF  HAMET   EL  ZEURI. 

No  sooner  was  the  city  delivered  up,  than  the 
wretched  inhabitants  implored  permission  to  pur- 
chase bread  for  themselves  and  their  children,  from 
the  heajJS  of  grain  which  they  had  so  often  gazeil  at 
wistfully  from  their  walls.  Their  prayer  w.is  grant- 
eel,  and  they  issued  forth  with  the  famished  eagerness 
of  starving  men.  It  w.is  piteous  to  behold  the  strug- 
gles of  those  unhappy  people,  as  they  contended  who 
first  should  have  tneir  necessities  relieved. 

"  Thus,"  says  the  pious  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
"  thus  are  the  predictions  of  false  prophets  some- 
times permitted  to  be  verified,  but  always  to  the 
confusion  of  those  who  trust  in  them  :  for  the  words 
of  the  Moorish  nigromancer  came  to  pass,  that  the 

Eeople  of  Malaga  should  eat  of  those  heaps  of  bread ; 
ut  they  aie  in  humiliation  and  defeat,  and  with  sor- 
row and  bitterness  of  heart." 

Dark  and  fierce  were  the  feelings  of  Hamet  el 
Zegri,  as  he  looked  down  from  the  castle  of  Gibral- 
faro  and  beheld  the  christian  legions  pouring  into 
the  city,  and  the  standard  of  the  cross  supplanting 
the  crescent  on  the  citat*-!.  "  The  people  of  Malaga,  ' 
31";  J  he,  "  have  trusted  to  a  man  of  trade,  and  he  has 
ii*«fiicked  them  away ;  but  let  us  not  suffer  ourselves 
o  be  bound  hand  and  foot,  and  delivered  up  as  part 
of  his  bargain.  We  have  yet  strong  walls  arouna  us, 
and  trusty  weapons  in  our  hands.  Let  us  fight  until 
buried  beneath  the  last  tumbling  tower  of  Gibral- 
faro,  or,  rushmg  down  from  among  its  ruins,  carry 
havoc  among  the  unbelievers,  as  they  throng  the 
streets  of  Malaga ! " 

*  Can  A*  lr<  PaUciM. 


I 


The  fierceness  of  the  Gomeres,  however,  w^i 
broken.  They  could  have  died  in  the  breacli,  hid 
their  castle  been  assailed ;  but  the  slow  advances  of 
famine  subdued  their  strength  without  rousing 
their  passions,  and  sapped  the  force  both  of  iiou 
and  body.  They  were  almost  unanimous  for  1 
surrender. 

It  was  a  hard  struggle  for  the  proud  spirit  0' 
Hamet,  to  bow  itself  to  ask  for  terms.  Still  he  tr<ut. 
ed  that  the  valor  of  his  defence  would  gain  him  re 
spect  in  the  eyes  of  a  chivalrous  foe.  "  Ali,"  sml  Ik. 
"  hiis  negotiated  like  a  merchant ;  I  will  capuii'af 
as  a  soldier."  He  sent  a  herald,  therefore,  to  Ktnii. 
nand,  ofTering  to  yield  up  his  castle,  but  deni.tnihnD 
a  separate  treaty.*  The  Cf.st  lian  sovereign  ma.lf  i 
laconic  and  stem  reply:  "  He  shall  receive  no  tt:ms 
but  such  as  have  been  granted  to  the  community  01 
Malaga." 

For  two  days  Hamet  el  Zegri  remained  broodlnj; 
in  his  castli,  after  the  city  was  in  possession  of  tiie 
christians ;  Ht  length,  the  clamors  of  his  followers 
compelled  him  to  surrender.  When  the  broken 
remnant  ol  this  fierce  African  garrison  descnded 
from  their  cragged  fortress,  they  were  so  worn  by 
watchfulness,  famine,  and  battle,  yet  carried  such  a 
lurking  fury  in  their  eyes,  th.it  they  looked  more  like 
fiends  than  men.  They  were  all  condemned  to  slav^ 
ry,  e^cepting  Abrahen  Zenete.  The  instance  ol 
clemency  which  he  had  shown  in  refraining  to  hanr. 
the  Spanish  striplings,  on  the  last  sally  from  Malaga, 
won  him  favorable  terms.  It  was  cited  as  a  mapian- 
imous  act  by  the  Spanish  cavaliers,  .and  all  ac'.mitied, 
that  though  a  Moor  in  blood,  he  possessed  thechrii- 
tian  heart  of  a  Castilian  hidalgo.t 

As  to  Hamet  el  Zegri,  on  being  asked  what  movtil 
him  to  such  hardened  obstinacy,  he  replied,  "  Wher.  1 
undertook  my  command,  I  pledged  myself  to  tij^htij 
defence  of  my  faith,  my  city,  and  my  sovereign,  until 
slain  or  made  prisoner;  and  depend  upon  i'.,  had  1 
had  men  to  stand  by  me,  1  should  have  dieil  fi^rhimg, 
instead  of  thus  tamely  surrendering  mysell  without  a 
weapon  in  my  haml." 

"Such,"  savs  the  pious  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
"was  the  diabolical  h.itred  and  st'lT-nccked  opposi- 
tion of  this  infidel  to  our  holy  cause.  But  he  was 
justly  served  by  our  most  Catholic  and  high-minded 
sovereign,  for  his  pertinacious  defence  ot  the  city ; 
for  Ferdinand  ordered  that  he  should  l)e  loaded  with 
chains,  and  thrown  into  a  dungeon.'^ 


CHAPTER  XXL 

HOW  THE  CASTILIAN  SOVEREIGNS  TOOK  PdSSM- 
SiON  OF  THE  CITY  OF  MALAGA,  AND  HOW  KIN(5 
FERDINAND  SIGNALIZED  HIMSELF  BY  HISSKIIL 
IN  BARGAINING  WITH  THE  INHABITANTS  FOK 
THEIR  RANSOM. 

One  of  the  first  cares  of  the  conquerors,  on  enter- 
ing Malaga,  was  to  search  for  christian  captives. 
Nearly  sixteen  hundred  men  and  women  were  lound, 
and  among  them  were  persons  of  distinction.  Soiiie 
of  them  had  been  ten,  fifteen,  and  twenty  years  in 
captivity.  Many  had  been  servants  to  the  Mcoi?,  ot 
laborers  on  public  works,  and  some  had  passed  their 
time  in  chains  and  dungeons.  Preparations  were 
made  to  celebrate  their  deliverance  as  a  christiaD 
triumph.  A  tent  was  erected  not  far  from  the  city, 
and  furnished  with  an  altar  and  all  the  solemn  deco- 
rations of  a  chapel.  Here  the  king  a  ad  queen  waited 


*  Cun  d«  loa  Ptlacio*. 


t  Cun  d«  Im  Palacim  np  It 
Croaiea. 


A  CHRONICLE  of   THB  CONQUEST  OP  GRANADA 


168 


Im  PalacMH  cup  It 


to  receive  the  christian  captives.  They  were  assem- 
bled  in  the  city,  and  marshalled  forth  in  piteous  pro- 
cession. Many  of  them  had  still  the  chains  and 
ihackieson  their  \cga ;  they  were  wasted  with  famine, 
their  hair  and  beards  overfrrown  and  matted,  and 
their  faces  pale  and  haggard  from  lon|;  confinement. 
When  thuy  beheld  themselves  restored  to  liberty, 
ind  surrounded  by  their  countrymen,  some  stared 
wildly  about  as  if  in  a  dream,  others  gave  way  to 
iiin'ic  transports,  but  most  of  them  wept  for  joy. 
\\\  present  were  moved  to  tears,  by  so  touching  a 
',,)ectacle.  When  the  procession  arrived  at  what  is 
..^IJed  the  Gate  of  Gmnada,  it  was  met  by  a  great 
concourse  from  the  camp,  with  crosses  and  pennons, 
who  turned  and  followed  the  captives,  singing  hymns 
of  praise  and  thanksgiving.  When  they  came  in 
presence  of  the  king  and  queen,  they  threw  them- 
selves on  thejr  knees  and  would  have  kissed  their 
feet,  as  their  saviors  and  deliverers  ;  but  the  sover- 
eigns prevented  such  humiliation,  and  graciously 
extended  to  them  their  hands.  They  then  prostrated 
themselves  before  the  altar,  and  all  present  joined 
them  in  giving  thanks  to  God  for  their  liberation 
from  this  cruelbondage.  Hy  orders  of  the  king  and 
queen,  their  chains  were  then  taken  off,  and  they  were 
clad  in  decent  raiment,  and  food  was  set  before  them. 
After  they  had  ate  and  drunk,  and  were  refreshed 
and  invigorated,  they  were  provided  with  money  and 
all  things  necessary  for  their  journey,  and  were  sent 
joyfully  to  their  homes. 

While  the  old  chroniclers  dwell  with  becoming 
enthusiasm  on  this  pure  and  affecting  triumph  of 
humanity,  they  go  on,  in  a  strain  of. equal  eulogy,  to 
cifscrilie  a  spectacle  of  a  far  different  nature.  It  so 
ha|)|>entd,  that  there  were  found  in  the  city  twelve 
of  those  renegado  christians  who  h.-id  deserted  to  the 
Moors,  and  conveyed  false  intelligence,  during  the 
siege :  a  barbarous  species  of  punishment  was  inflict- 
ed upon  them,  borrowed,  it  is  said,  from  the  Moors, 
and  peculiar  to  these  wars.  They  were  tied  to  stakes 
in  a  pjblic  place,  and  horsemen  exercised  their  skill 
in  transpiercing  them  with  pointed  reeds,  hurled  at 
them  while  careering  at  full  speed,  until  the  miser- 
able victims  expired  beneath  their  wounds.  Several 
a|)ostate  Moors,  also,  who,  having  embraced  Chris- 
tianity, had  afterwards  relapsed  into  their  early  faith 
and  had  taken  refuge  in  Malaga  from  the  vengeance 
of  he  Inquisition,  were  publicly  burnt.  "  1  nese," 
says  an  old  Jesuit  historian,  exultingly,  "  these  were 
the  tilts  of  reeds  and  the  illuminations  most  pleasing 
lor  this  victorious  festival,  and  for  the  Catholic  piety 
of  our  sovereigns!"* 

When  the  city  was  cleansed  from  the  impurities 
and  otiensive  odors  which  h:id  collected  during  the 
siege,  the  bishops  and  other  clergy  who  accompanied 
the  court,  and  the  choir  of  the  royal  chapel,  walked 
in  procession  to  the  principal  mosque,  which  was 
consecrated,  and  entitled  Santa  Maria  de  la  Incama- 
cion.  This  done,  the  king  and  queen  entered  the 
city,  accompanied  by  the  grand  cardinal  of  Spain, 
and  t<ie  principal  nobles  and  cavaliers  of  the  amray, 
and  heard  a  solemn  mass.  The  church  was  then 
elevated  into  a  cathedral,  and  Malaga  was  made  a 
Uihopric,  and  many  of  the  neighboring  towns  were 
comprehended  in  its  diocese.  The  queen  took  up 
her  residence  in  the  Alcazaba,  in  the  apartments  of 
her  valiant  treasurer,  Ruy  Lopez,  from  whence  she 
Lad  a  view  of  the  whole  city ;  but  the  kin^  establish- 
ed his  quarters  in  the  warrior  castle  of  Gibralfaro. 

And  now  came  to  be  considered  the  disposition 
of  the  Moorish  prisoners.  All  those  who  were  stran- 

*  "  Lo>  rmegadot  fuaron  acaHaTamidot ;  j  tot  :onvenoi  que- 
mulot;  T  (iioi  (ueroD  \u  ullas,  y  iuminanss  ma*    alegres,  por 
*  (etu  ia  la  vitoria,  pan  la  piedM  Calholica  de  nuestrot  Keyes." 
Aifrta.  AnttUt  <U  /lr<V",  tool.  a.  Rejr  aax,  c,  3. 


eers  in  the  city,  and  had  either  taken  refuge  there,  oi 
had  entered  to  defend  it,  were  at  once  considered 
slaves.  They  were  divided  into  three  lots :  one  wot 
set  apart  for  the  service  of  God,  in  redeeming  <ihris- 
tian  captives  from  bond.ige,  either  in  the  kingdom  ol 
Granada  or  in  Africa ;  tne  second  lot  was  divided 
among  those  who  had  aided  either  in  field  or  cabinet, 
in  the  present  sie^^e,  according  to  their  rank ;  the 
third  was  appropriated  to  defray,  by  their  sale,  the 
great  expenses  incurred  in  the  reduction  of  the 
place.  A  hundred  of  the  Gomeres  were  sent  as 
presents  to  Pope  Innocent  Vlll.,  and  were  led  in 
triumph  through  the  streets  of  Rome,  and  after- 
wards converted  to  Christianity.  Fifty  Moorish 
maidens  were  sent  to  the  queen  Joanna  of  Naples, 
sister  to  king  Ferdinand,  and  thirty  to  the  queen  of 
Portugal.  Isabella  made  presents  of  others  to  the 
ladies  of  her  household,  and  of  the  noble  families 
of  Spain. 

Among  the  inhabitants  of  Malaga  were  four  hun- 
dred and  fifty  Moorish  Jews,  for  the  most  part 
women,  speaking  the  Arabic  language,  and  dressed 
in  the  Moresco  lashion.  These  were  ransomed  by 
a  wealthy  lew  of  Castile,  farmer-general  of  the  royal 
revenues  dlerived  from  the  Jews  of  Spain.  He  agreed 
to  make  up,  within  a  certain  time,  the  sum  of  twenty 
thoustind  doblas,  or  pistoles  of  gold  ;  all  the  money 
and  jewels  of  the  captives  being  taken  in  part 
payment.  They  were  sent  to  Castile,  in  two  armed 
galleys. 

As  to  the  great  mass  of  Moorish  inhabitants,  they 
implored  that  they  might  not  be  scattered  and  sold 
into  captivity,  but  might  be  permitted  to  ransom 
themselves  by  an  amount  paid  within  a  c(  itain  time. 
Upon  this,  king  Ferdinand  took  the  adncc  of  certain 
of  his  ablest  counsellors:  they  said  to  him,  "If  you 
hold  out  a  prospect  of  hopeless  captivity,  the  intidela 
will  throw  all  their  gold  and  jewels  into  wells  and 
pits,  and  you  will  lose  the  greater^ part  of  the  spoil; 
but  if  you  fix  a  general  rate  of  ransom,  and  receive 
their  money  and  jewels  in  part  payment,  nothing  will 
be  destroyed."  The  king  relished  preatly  this  advice ; 
and  it  was  arranged  that  all  the  inhabitants  should 
be  ransomed  at  the  general  rate  of  thirty  doblas  or 

Cistoles  in  gold  for  each  individual,  male  or  female, 
irge  or  small ;  that  all  their  gold,  jewels,  and  other 
valuables  should  be  received  immediately  in  part 
payment  of  the  general  amount,  and  that  the  residue 
should  be  paid  within  eight  months ;  that  if  any  ot 
the  number,  actually  living,  shotild  die  in  the  interim, 
their  ransom  should  nevertheless  be  paid.  If,  how- 
ever, the  whole  of  the  amount  were  not  paid  at  tht 
expiration  of  the  eight  months,  they  should  all  be 
considered  and  treated  a    -laves. 

The  unfortunate  Moor:-  -vc'-e  eager  to  catch  at  the 
least  ho|)e  of  future  liberty,  nd  consented  to  these 
hard  conditions.  The  most  rigorous  precautions 
were  taken  to  exact  them  to  the  uttermost.  The  in- 
habitants were  numbered  by  houses  and  families, 
and  their  names  taken  down ;  their  most  precious 
effects  were  made  up  into  parcels,  and  sealed  and 
inscribed  with  their  names ;  and  they  were  ordered 
to  repair  with  them  to  certain  large  corrales  oi 
indosures  adjoining  the  Alcazaba,  which  were  sur- 
rounded by  nigh  walls  and  overlooked  by  watch> 
towers,  to  whicTi  pl.aces  the  cavalgadas  of  christian 
captives  had  usually  been  driven,  to  be  confined 
until  the  time  of  sale,  like  cattle  in  a  market.  The 
Moors  were  obliged  to  leave  their  houses  one  l) 
one;  all  their  money,  necklaces,  bracelets,  and 
anklets  of  gold,  pearl,  coral,  and  precious  stones, 
were  taken  from  them  at  the  threshold,  and  thdi 
persons  so  rigorously  searched  tl-at  they  carried  ofi 
nothing  concealed. 
Then  might  be  seen  old  men  and  bripless  wonea 


IM 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


'i^'S 


!•;  '■■ 


and  tender  matdens,  some  of  hijfh  birth  and  (jentle 
conilition,  passing  through  the  streets,  heavily  bur- 
thened,  towards  the  AlcazalM.  At  they  left  their 
homes,  they  smote  their  breasts,  and  wrung  their 
hands,  and  raised  their  weeping  eyes  to  heaven  in 
anguish;  and  this  is  recorde<l  as  tneir  plaint:  "Oh 
Maiiga!  city  so  renowned  and  beautiful!  when; 
■ow  is  the  strength  ol  thy  castles,  where  the  grand- 
eur of  thy  towers?  Of  what  .ivjiil  have  l>cen  thy 
:r:gnty  walls,  for  the  protection  of  thy  children) 
Rrnold  them  driven  Irom  thy  pleasant  atiodes, 
doomed  to  drag  out  a  life  of  lK)n<laL'e  in  a  forei>;n 
land,  ami  to  die  far  from  the  home  of  their  infancy  I 
What  will  become  of  thy  old  men  and  matrons, 
when  their  gray  hairs  shall  be  no  longer  reverenced  ? 
What  will  become  of  thy  maidens,  so  delicately 
reared  and  tenderly  cherished,  when  reduced  to 
hard  and  menial  servitude  ?  Behold,  thy  once  happy 
families  are  scattcntd  asunder,  never  .igain  to  l)e 
united ;  sons  are  separated  from  their  fathers,  hus- 
bands from  their  wives,  and  tender  children  from 
their  mothers:  they  will  bewail  each  other  in 
foreign  lands,  but  their  lamentations  will  be  the 
Kotfof  the  stranger.  Oh  Malaga !  city  of  our  birth  I 
who  can  behold  thy  desolation,  antl  not  shed  tears 
of  bitterness  ?  "• 

When  Malaga  w.is  completely  secured,  a  detach- 
ment was  sent  against  two  fortresses  near  the  sea, 
called  Mix.is  and  Osuna,  which  had  frequently  har- 
assed the  christian  camp.  The  inhabitants  were 
threatened  with  the  sword,  unless  they  instantly 
surrendered.  They  claime<l  the  same  terms  that 
had  been  granted  to  Malaga,  imagining  them  to  be 
free<loin  of  person  and  security  ol  propi^rly.  Their 
claim  was  granted ;  they  were  transported  to  Malaga 
with  all  their  riches,  and,  on  arriving  there,  were 
Sjverwiielint-d  with  consternation  at  tinding  them- 
»jlves  captives.  '•  Ferdinand,"  observes  Kray  An- 
toato  Agapida,  "  was  a  man  of  his  word  ;  they  were 
i.*5ut  up  in  the  inclosure  at  the  Alc.ual»a  with  the 
people  of  Malaga,  and  shared  tSeir  fate." 

The  unhappy  captives  remained  thus  crowded  in 
the  court-yards  of  the  Alcazaba,  like  sheep  in  a  fold. 
until  they  could  l»e  sent  by  sea  and  land  to  Seville. 
They  were  then  distributed  alx)Ul  in  city  and  coun- 
try, each  christian  family  having  one  or  more  to  Iced 
and  maintain  as  servants,  until  the  term  fixed  for 
the  payment  ot  the  rt-sidue  of  the  ransom  should  ex- 
pire. The  captives  had  obtained  permission  that 
several  of  their  number  should  go  about  among  the 
Moorish  towns  of  the  kingdom  of  Granada,  collect- 
ing contributions  to  aid  in  the  purchase  of  their 
liberties ;  but  these  towns  were  too  much  impover- 
ished by  the  war,  and  engrossed  by  their  own  dis- 
tresses, to  lend  a  listening  ear:  so  the  time  expired 
without  the  residue  of  the  ransom  t)eing  paid,  and 
all  the  captives  of  Malaga,  to  the  numlier,  as  some 
say,  of  eleven,  and  others  of  tifteen  thousand,  became 
slaves !  "  Never,"  excl.iiins  the  worthy  Fray  An- 
tonio Agapida,  in  one  of  his  usual  bursts  of  zeal  and 
iovalty,  "never  has  there  been  recorded  a  more 
(ufroit  and  sagacious  arrangement  than  this  made 
by  the  Catholic  monarch,  by  which  he  not  only 
(Mcured  all  the  property  and  half  of  the  ransom  of 
these  infidels,  but  finally  got  possession  of  their  per- 
sons into  the  bargain.  This  truly  may  be  considered 
one  of  the  greatest  triumphs  of  the  pious  and  politic 
Ferdinand,  and  as  raising  him  above  the  generality 
of  conquerors,  who  have  merely  the  valor  to  gain 
victories,  but  lack  the  prudence  and  management 
■ecessary  to  tiirn  them  to  accc  At." 


iPolgM. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

HOW  KINO  rCRDINAND  PREPARED  TO  CAIIBI 
THR  WAR  INTO  A  DirrF.RENT  PART  OP  Thi 
TERRITORIES  OP  THE  MOORfl. 

The  westtrn  part  of  the  kingdom  of  Gran.ida  hii\ 
now  been  coniiuered  by  the  christian  arms,  rt,; 
sea-imrt  of  Malaga  was  captured :  the  tierce  .in(i 
warliki;  inhabitants  of  the  Scrrania  de  Roiid  i,  ami 
the  other  mountain  hoUls  of  the  frontier,  vvi  ip  ali 
disarmed,  and  reduced  to  [leaceful  ami  lahonuiis 
vassalge;  their  h.iughty  fortresses,  which  htd  si 
long  over.iwetl  the  valleys  of  Andalusia,  now  ihv 
playerl  the  standard  of  Castile  and  Arr.ag()?i ;  ihe 
watch-towers,  which  crowned  cveiy  height, aid  iroir. 
whence  the  infidels  ha<l  kept  a  vulture  eye  over  the 
christian  territories,  were  now  cither  disinantlcij,  or 
garrisoned  with  Catholic  troops.  "  What  sign  ili/tnJ 
and  sanctified  this  great  triumph,"  adds  the  wnrthy 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "  were  the  emblems  of  n  i  le. 
siasticil  domination  which  every  where  appcinil. 
In  every  direction  arose  stately  convents  and  nionas- 
teries,  those  fortres.ses  of  the  faith,  garrisoned  by  lu 
spiritual  st)ldiery  of  monks  and  friars.  The  s;urid 
melody  of  christian  bi-lls  was  again  heard  amom,'  ih« 
mountains,  c.dlins  to  early  matins,  or  soundin},'  the 
Angeles  at  the  solemn  hour  of  evening." 

While  this  part  of  the  kingdom  was  thus  rcdncptl 
by  the  christian  sword,  the  central  part,  round  the 
city  of  Granada,  forming  the  heart  of  the  Monrish 
territory,  was  held  in  v.ossalage  of  the  Castilian  i:ion 
arch,  by  iioabdil  surnamed  d  Chico.  That  unfoitu- 
nate  prince  lost  no  occasion  to  propitiate  the  con- 
qut-rors  of  his  country  by  acts  of  homage,  ami  by 
professions  that  must  have  been  foreign  to  his  hem 
No  sooner  had  he  heard  of  the  capture  of  M;il.i>;.% 
than  he  sent  congratulations  to  the  Catholic  sover- 
eigns, accompanied  with  presents  of  horse*;  richiy 
caparisoned  for  the  king,  and  precious  cloth  o/  (joli 
ami  oriental  perfumes  for  the  queen.  His  corj^Tiitu- 
lations  and  lus  presents  were  received  with  the  ut- 
most graciousness ;  and  the  short-sighted  princr, 
lulled  by  the  tcm|>orary  and  politic  forbearance  of 
Ferdinand,  flattered  himself  that  he  was  st-curing 
the  lasting  friendship  of  that  monarch. 

The  policy  of  Boabdil  had  its  transient  and  super- 
ficial advantages.  The  portion  of  Moorish  territory 
under  his  immediate  sway  bad  a  respite  from  the 
calamities  of  war :  the  husbandmen  cultivated  their 
luxuriant  fields  in  security,  and  the  vega  of  Gran.uia 
once  more  blossomed  like  the  rose.  The  merchants 
again  carried  on  a  gainful  traffic  :  the  gates  of  the 
city  were  thronged  with  beasts  of  burden,  brinjimg 
the  rich  products  of  every  clime.  Yet,  while  the 
people  of  Granada  rejoiced  in  their  teeuiiiig  fields 
and  crowded  marts,  they  secretly  dcsjiised  the  policy 
which  had  procured  them  these  advantages,  and  held 
Boabdil  for  little  better  than  an  apostate  and  an  un- 
believer. Muley  Abdalla  el  Z;igal  w.as  now  the  h(  pe 
of  the  unconquered  part  of  the  kingdom  ;  and  every 
Moor,  whose  spirit  was  not  quite  subdued  with  tiis 
fortunes,  lauded  the  valor  of  the  old  monarch  and 
his  fidelity  to  the  faith,  and  wished  success  to  hj 
standard. 

El  Zagal,  though  he  no  longer  sat  enthroned  in 
the  Alhambra,  yet  reigned  over  more  considcralile 
domains  than  his  nephew.  His  territories  extended 
from  the  frontier  of  Jacn  along  the  borders  of  Murcia 
to  tlie  Mediterranean,  and  reached  into  the  centre 
o*^  the  kingdom.  On  the  north-east,  he  held  the  cities 
of  Biiza  and  Guadix,  situated  in  the  midst  of  fertile 
regions.  He  had  the  important  sea-port  of  Alir.cria, 
also,  which  at  one  time  rivalled  Granada  itself  io 
wealth  and  populatiop     Beside  these,  his  territohei 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


S68 


iKliKfed  a  great  part  of  the  Alpuxarra  mountaini, 
wDicli  eitenii  across  the  kinK<l»in  aiul  shoot  out 
arar.ches  towards  the  sea-c<iaAt.  This  moiint- 
tinous  region  was  a  stron|{-hol(t  of  wealth  and 
power.  Its  stern  and  rocky  heights,  rising  to  the 
cluuds,  seemed  to  set  invasion  at  dftiiince  ;  yet 
witliin  their  ruKged  cinhraccs  were  sheUered  delight- 
ful valleys,  of  the  happiest  tem|)ernture  and  ri  '  eitt 
fertility.  The  cool  springs  and  liinpiu  nils  wiiich 
jtu:ihcd  out  in  all  parts  of  the  mountains,  anil  the 
ibimdant  streams,  which,  for  a  j;rcat  i):irt  of  the 
year,  were  supplied  by  the  Sierra  Nevmli,  spre.ul  a 
wri)ttual  verdure  over  the  skirts  and  slopes  of  the 
hills,  and.  collecting  in  silver  rivers  in  the  valleys, 
woiiiul  along  among  plantations  of  mulberry  trees, 
ami  proves  of  oranges  and  citrons,  of  almonds,  tigs, 
and  [wmegranates.  Here  was  produced  the  finest 
silk  ol  Spain,  which  gave  employment  to  thousands 
orinanulacturers.  The  sun-burnt  sieves  of  the  hills, 
also,  were  covered  with  vineyards;  the  abundant 
herbage  of  the  mountain  ravines,  and  the  rich  jias- 
luratjc  of  the  valleys,  fed  vast  flocks  and  herds ;  and 
even  the  arid  and  rocky  bosoms  of  the  heights 
teemed  with  wealth,  from  the  mines  of  various 
metals  with  which  they  were  impregnated.  In  a 
word,  the  Alpuxarra  moimtains  had  ever  been  the 
great  source  of  revenue  to  the  monarchs  of  Granada. 
Thiir  inhabitants,  also,  \vere  hardy  and  w.irlike,  and 
a  sudilen  summons  from  the  Moorish  king  could  at 
any  tune  call  forth  fifty  thousand  fighting  men  from 
ll'cir  rocky  fastnesses. 

Such  was  the  rich  but  rugged  fragment  of  an  em- 
pire which  lemained  under  the  sway  of  the  old  war- 
ncT  monarch  El  Zagal.  The  mountain  barriers  by 
*l.ich  it  was  locked  up,  had  protected  it  from  most 
cf  ilif  ravages  of  the  present  war.  VA  Zagal  prejiared 
liimsilf,  by  strengthening  every  fortress,  to  battle 
tiercfly  for  its  mamtenance. 

The  Catholic  sovereigns  saw  that  fresh  troubles 
im!  toils  awaite<l  them.  The  war  h.id  to  be  carried 
jnlo  a  new  tiuarter,  demanding  immense  expendi- 
tures ;  and  new  ways  and  means  must  be  devised  to 
replenish  their  exhausted  cotTers.  "  As  this  was  a 
holy  war,  however,"  s.avs  Fr.iy  Antonio  Agapida, 
"and  peculiarly  redounded  to  the  prosi)erily  of  the 
church,  the  clergy  were  full  of  zeal,  and  contributed 
vast  sums  of  money  and  large  bodies  of  troops.  A 
pious  lund  w.is  also  produced,  from  the  first  fruits 
of  tiiat  glorious  institution,  the  Inquisition." 

It  so  happened,  th.it  about  this  time  there  were 
nany  families  of  wealth  and  dignity  in  the  kingdoms 
of  Arragon  and  Valentia,  and  the  principality  of 
Catalonia,  whose  forefathers  h.'id  been  Jews,  but  had 
bten  converted  to  Christianity.  Notsvithsianding  the 
outward  piety  of  these  families,  it  w.is  sunnised,  and 
soon  came  to  be  strongly  suspecte<l,  th.it  many  of 
them  had  a  secret  hankering  alter  Judaism  ;  and  it 
was  even  whispered,  that  some  of  them  practised 
Jewish  rites  in  private. 

The  Catholic  monarch  (continues  Agapida)  had  a 
rghteous  abhorrence  of  all  kinds  of  heresy,  and 
I  fc'vent  zeal  for  the  faith  ;  he  ordered,  therefore, 
I  strict  investigation  of  the  conduct  of  these  pseudo 
'.'ir^itians.  Inquisitors  were  sent  into  these  prov- 
'x;s  for  the  purpose,  who  proceeded  with  their  ac- 
.ustorned  zeal.  The  consequence  was,  that  many 
amilies  were  convictetl  of  apostasy  from  the  chris-, 
tian  faith,  and  of  the  private  practice  of  Judaism, 
liome,  who  had  grace  and  policy  sutVicient  to  reform 
in  time,  were  again  received  into  the  christian  fold, 
after  licing  severely  mulcted  and  condemned  to 
heavy  penance ;  others  were  bunit  at  nuto  da  f^s, 
for  the  edification  of  thi.  public,  and  their  property 
vas  confiscated  for  the  good  of  the  state. 

As  these  Hebrews  were  of  great  wealth,  and  had 


a  hereditary  passion  for  jewelry,  there  wu  found 
abundant  store  in  their  possession  of  gold  and  silver, 
of  rings  and  necklaces,  and  strings  of  |iearl  and  coral, 
and  precious  stones ; — treasures  easy  of  transporta- 
tion, and  wonderfully  adapted  for  the  emergenciea 
of  war.  "  In  this  w.iy,"  concludes  the  pious  Agap- 
ida, '•  these  backsliders,  by  the  all-seeing  contrivance* 
of  Providence,  were  made  to  serve  the  righteoun 
cause  which  they  had  so  treacherously  deserted  i 
and  their  apostate  we.ilth  was  s;tnclilied  by  beiag 
devoted  to  the  service  of  Heaven  and  the  crown,  In 
this  holy  crusade  against  the  infidels," 

It  must  be  added,  however,  that  these  pious  finan- 
cial  expedients  received  vme  check  from  the  inter- 
ference of  queen  ls.-ibella.  Her  penetrating  eyes  dis- 
covered th.1t  many  encrn.ities  n.id  Ijeen  committed 
under  color  of  rcligiou  zeal,  and  many  innocent  per- 
sons accused  by  mise  witnesses  of  apostasy,  either 
through  malice  or  a  hope  of  obtaining  their  wealth : 
she  caused  strict  investigation,  therefore,  into  the 
proceedings  which  had  been  held ;  many  of  which 
were  reversed,  and  suborners  punished  in  proportion 
to  their  guilt.' 


CHAPTER  XXllI. 


HOW  KINO  rRROINANI)  INVADED  THE  KASTKKN 
RIDE  OP  THE  KINGDOM  OP  UKANADA,  AND  HOW 
HE   WAS   KECEIVKU   BY    EL  ZAGAL. 

"Mui.EV  Abdalla  EL  Zaoal,"  says  the  vener- 
able  Jesuit  father,  Pedro  Abarca,  "w.xs  the  most 
venomous  Mahometan  in  all  Morisma : "  and  tha 
worthy  Fray  Antonio  Agapitla  most  devoutly  ecboel 
his  opinion  ;  "  Certainly,"  adds  the  latter,  "  none  VftS 
opixised  a  more  heathenish  and  diabolical  obztiaaAy 
to  the  holy  inroads  of  the  cross  and  sword." 

£1  Zagal  fell  that  it  was  necessiiry  to  do  something 
to  quicken  his  popularity  with  the  people,  and  that 
nothing  was  more  efl°ectual  than  a  successful  inroad. 
The  Moors  loved  the  stirring  call  to  arms,  and  a  wild 
for.ay  among  the  mountains;  and  delighted  more  in 
a  hasty  spoil,  wrested  with  hard  fighting  irom  the 
christians,  than  in  all  the  steady  and  certain  gains 
secured  by  i^aceful  traffic. 

There  reigned  at  this  time  a  careless  security  along 
the  frontier  of  Jaen.  The  alcaydes  of  the  christian 
fortresses  were  confident  of  the  friendship  of  Bcab- 
dil  el  Chico,  and  they  fancied  his  uncle  too  distant 
and  too  much  engrossed  by  his  own  perplexities,  to 
think  of  molesting  them.  On  a  sudden.  El  Zagal 
issued  out  of  Guadix  with  a  chosen  band,  passed 
rapidly  through  the  mountains  which  extend  behind 
Granada,  and  fell  like  a  thunderbolt  upon  the  territo- 
ries in  the  neighborhood  of  Alcala  la  Real.  Before 
the  alarm  could  be  spread  and  the  frontier  roused, 
he  had  made  a  wide  career  of  destruction  through 
the  country,  sacking  and  burning  villages,  sweeping 
otT  flocks  and  herds,  and  carrying  away  captives. 
The  warriors  of  the  frontier  assembled ;  but  El  Zagal 
was  already  far  on  his  return  through  the  mountains, 
and  he  re-entered  the  gates  of  GuaJix  in  triumph, 
his  army  laden  with  christian  spoil,  and  conducting 
an  immense  cavalgada.  Such  was  one  of  the  fiero* 
El  Zagal's  preparatives  for  the  ex|)ected  invasion  kA 
the  christian  king,  exciting  the  warlike  spirit  of  hit 
people,  and  gaining  for  himself  a  transient  popu- 
larity. 

King  Ferdinand  assembled  his  army  at  Murcia  in 
the  spring  of  14.88.  He  left  that  city  en  the  fifth  of 
June,  with  a  flying  camp  of  four  thousand  horse  and 


*  Palfu,  (MM  \t  c  100. 


iWf 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON     RVINO. 


iMuKfti  thouMnd  loot.  The  maniuet  of  Cadit  led 
the  van,  followed  by  the  ailelantado  of  Murcia.  The 
•rmy  entered  the  Moorish  trontier  by  the  se.i-coaM, 
ipreadini/  terror  throu(;h  the  land  ;  whercvrr  it  ap- 
peared, the  towns  iiurrcndcred  without  a  liluw,  so 
gr;at  was  the  drend  of  experiencing  the  woes  which 
nad  dcs()late<l  the  opposite  frontier.  In  this  wny, 
Vera,  Velez  el  Kubio,  Veiez  el  Ulanco,  and  many 
towns  of  inferior  note,  to  the  number  of  sixty,  yield- 
ed at  the  tiriit  summons. 

it  was  not  until  it  approached  Almeria,  that  the 
trmy  met  with  resistance.  This  importitnt  city  was 
commanded  by  the  prince  Zolim,  a  relation  of  Kl 
Zagal.  He  led  forth  his  Moors  bravely  to  the  en- 
counter, and  skirmished  fiercely  with  the  .idvance 
l^ard  in  the  gardens  ni-ar  the  city.  King  Ferdinand 
came  up  with  the  main  body  of  the  army,  and  called 
off  his  trouns  from  the  skinnish.  He  saw  that  to 
attack  the  place  with  his  present  force  was  fruitless. 
Having  reconnoitred  the  city  and  its  environs,  there- 
fore, against  a  future  campaign,  he  retired  with  his 
army  and  marched  towanls  Baza. 

The  old  warrior  El  Zagal  was  himself  drawn  up 
in  the  citv  ol  Uaza,  with  a  powerful  garrison.  He 
felt  coniiflencc  in  the  strength  of  the  place,  and  re- 
joiced when  he  heard  that  the  christian  king  w.is 
approaching.  In  the  valley  in  front  of  Uaza,  there 
extended  a  great  trr^ct  of  gardens,  like  a  continued 
erove,  and  intersected  by  canals  and  water-courses. 
In  this  lie  stationed  a  powerful  ambuscade  of  arque- 
busters  and  cross-bow-men.  The  vangu.ird  of  the 
christian  army  came  marching  gaily  up  the  valley, 
with  grent  sound  of  drum  and  trumpet,  and  led  on 
by  the  maniues  of  Cadiz  and  the  adclantado  of 
Muixia.  As  they  drew  near,  El  Zagal  sallied  forth 
with  horse  and  foot,  and  attiicked  them  for  a  time 
with  great  spirit.  Gradually  falling  back,  as  if  press- 
sd  by  their  superior  valor,  he  drew  the  exulting 
christians  among  the  gardens.  Suddenly  the  Moors 
in  ambuscade  burst  from  their  concealment,  and 
opened  such  a  terrible  fire  in  flank  and  rear,  that 
many  of  the  christians  were  slain,  and  the  rest 
thrown  into  confusion.  King  Ferdinand  arrived  in 
time  to  see  the  disastrous  situation  of  his  troops,  and 
gave  signal  for  the  vanguard  to  retire. 

El  Z.igal  did  not  perinit  the  foe  to  draw  off  un- 
molested. Ordering  out  fresh  squadrons,  he  fell  upon 
the  rear  of  the  retreating  troops  with  loud  and  tri- 
umphant shouts,  driving  them  before  him  with  dre.id- 
ful  havoc.  The  old  war-cry  of "  El  Zag-il  I  El  Za- 
gal 1 "  was  again  put  up  by  the  Moors,  and  was  echoed 
with  transport  from  the  walls  of  the  city.  The  chris- 
tians were  for  a  time  in  imminent  peril  of  a  complete 
route,  when  fortunately  the  adelantado  of  Murcia 
threw  himself  with  a  large  body  of  horse  and  foot 
between  the  pursuers  and  the  pursued,  covering  the 
retreat  of  the  Litter,  and  giving  them  time  to  rally. 
The  Moors  were  now  attacke<rso  vigorously  in  turn, 
that  they  gave  over  the  uneoual  contest,  and  drew 
back  slowly  into  the  city.  Many  valiant  cav.-iliers 
were  slain  in  this  skinnish,  among  the  number  of 
whom  was  Don  Philip  of  Arr.igon,  Master  of  the 
chivalry  of  St.  George  of  Montesor ;  he  was  illegiti- 
mate son  of  the  king's  illegitimate  brother  Don 
Carlos,  and  his  death  was  greatly  bewailed  by  Fer- 
tjinand.  He  had  formerly  been  archbishop  of  Pa- 
lertno,  but  had  doffed  the  cassock  for  the  cuirass. 
Mid  had  thus,  according  to  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
^ined  a  glorious  crown  of  martyrdom  by  falling  in 
.  this  holy  war. 

The  warm  reception  of  his  advanced  guard  by  the 
old  warrior  £1  Zagal,  brought  king  Ferdinand  to  a 
pause :  he  encamped  on  the  banks  of  the  neighbor- 
ine  river  Guadsuquiton,  and  began  to  consider 
wbether  he  had  acted  wisely  in  undertaking  this 


campaign  with  hit  present  force.  Hit  late  iuccr<sMf 
had  probably  rendered  him  over-confident :  El  Za:a 
had  again  schooled  him  into  his  characteristic  cm 
tion.  He  saw  that  the  old  warrior  was  too  fo-mid. 
ably  ensconced  in  Baza,  to  be  dislodged  by  any  thing 
except  a  twwerful  .army  and  battering  artillery  ;  n.d 
he  fearen,  that  shouUl  he  persist  in  his  inuison 
some  dis.astcr  might  befall  his  army,  either  fror..  tii, 
enteri)rise  of  the  foe,  or  from  a  pestilence  which  |  n; 
vailed  in  various  parts  of  the  country. 

Ferdinand  retired,  therefore,  from  before  Ba/ 1,  .it 
he  had  on  a  former  occasion  from  liefore  Lox.i,  all 
the  wiser  for  a  wholesome  lesson  in  warfare,  but  t/y 
no  means  grateful  to  those  who  had  given  it.  iid 
with  a  solemn  determination  to  have  his  rrvcn;;; 
upon  his  teach'>rs. 

He  now  took  measures  for  the  security  of  thr 
places  gained  in  this  campaign;  placing  in  tlnti 
strong  garrisons,  well  armed  and  supplied,  chnr^;ing 
their  alcaydes  to  be  vigilant  on  their  posts  and  iq 
give  no  rest  to  the  enemy.  The  whole  of  the  fron 
tier  was  placed  under  the  command  of  the  Inave 
Luiz  Fernandez  Puerto  Carrero.  As  it  was  ev»liiu, 
from  the  warlike  character  of  El  Zag.il,  that  tlun: 
would  be  abundance  of  active  service  and  hard  ti^in- 
ing,  many  hidalgos  and  young  cavaliers,  e.ijir  tor 
distinction,  remained  with  Puerto  Carrero. 

All  these  dispositions  being  made,  king  Fenlirand 
closed  the  dubious  campaign  of  this  year,  mt.  a 
usual,  by  returning  in  triumph  at  the  he.->d  of  ),ii 
army  to  some  important  city  of  his  dominions,  but 
by  disbanding  the  troops,  and  repairing  to  pray  ti 
the  cross  of  Caravaca. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


HOW  THE    MOORS    MADR  VARIOUS    ENTERFRISU 
AOAIKST  THE  CHRISTIANS. 

"While  the  pious  king  Ferdinand,"  observM 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "was  humbling  himself  be- 
fore the  cross,  and  devoutly  praying  for  the  destnJ^ 
tion  of  his  enemies,  that  tierce  p<-igan  El  Zagal,  de- 
pending merely  on  his  arm  of  flesh  and  swonl  ol 
steel,  pursued  his  di.ibolical  outrages  upon  the  cliris- 
tians.  No  sooner  w.as  the  invading  anny  disUinded, 
than  EI  Zagal  sallied  forth  from  his  strong-hold,  and 
carried  fire  and  sword  into  all  those  parts  that  had 
submitted  to  the  Spanish  yoke.  The  castle  of  Nixar, 
being  carelessly  guarded,  was  taken  by  surprise,  and 
its  garrison  put  to  the  sword.  The  old  warrior  ra^d 
with  sanguinary  fury  about  the  whole  frontier,  attack- 
ing convoys,  slaying,  wounding,  and  making  prison- 
ers, and  coming  by  surprise  upon  the  christians 
wherever  they  were  off  their  guard. 

The  alcayde  of  the  fortress  of  Cullar,  confidin(j  in 
the  strength  of  its  walls  and  towers,  and  in  its  ditti 
cult  situation,  being  built  on  the  summit  of  a  lot!\ 
hill,  and  surrounded  by  precipices,  ventured  to  .d> 
sent  himself  from  his  post.  The  vigilant  El  Zv;-'}. 
was  sudd'.-nly  before  it,  with  a  powerful  i'or'"e .  i.c 
stormed  the  town  sword  in  hand,  fought  thr  crrij- 
tians  froin  street  to  street,  and  drove  them  *:'h 
great  slaughter,  to  the  ciUdeL  Here  a  veteran  crp 
Jain,  by  the  name  of  Juan  dc  Avalos,  a  gray-headed 
warrior  scarred  in  many  a  battle,  assumed  the  com- 
mand and  made  an  obstinate  defence.  Neither  thf 
multitude  of  the  enemy,  nor  the  vehemence  of  thei 
attacks,  though  led  on  by  the  terrible  El  Zagal  him 
self,  ha<l  power  to  shake  the  fortitude  of  this  dought) 
old  soldier. 

The  Moors  undermined  the  outer  walls  and  on« 
of  the  towers  of  the  fortress,  and  made  their  way  inu 


A  CHRONICLE  O)   THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


261 


Ok  exterior  court.    The  alcayile  manned  the  tops  of 

hn  tcwf rt,  pouring  down  tni'ltrd  pitch,  and  ihowcr- 
Ing  ilarts,  arrows,  itoiies,  and  all  kinds  uf  miitHiles, 
open  the  assailants.  The  Moors  were  driven  out  of 
the  court ;  hut,  hcing  reinforced  with  fresh  troops, 
reiumcd  repeatedly  to  the  assault.  For  five  days  the 
coml>at  was  kept  up :  the  christians  were  nearly  ex- 
hausted, but  thcv  were  sustained  l>y  the  cheerinKS  of 
Jieir  staunch  olcl  alcayde ;  and  they  feared  death  from 
ihe  cruel  El  Zajfal,  should  they  surrender.  At  len^h 
»Jje  approach  of  a  (wwcrful  force  uniler  Puerto  Car- 
r{.-a  relieved  them  from  this  fearful  |>eril.  El  Zaeal 
ilian(lon':d  the  assault,  but  set  fire  to  the  town  in  nis 
mc  and  disappointment,  and  retired  to  his  strong- 
hJ.I  ol  Guadix. 

The  example  of  El  Zagal  roused  his  adherents  to 
Mtion.  Two  bold  Moorish  alcaydes,  Alt  Altar  an<l 
V;a  Altar,  commanding  the  fortresses  of  Alhendcn 
mil  S.tlobrena,  laid  waste  the  country  of  the  subjects 
oi  Uoatxlil,  and  the  places  which  had  recently  sub- 
mitteil  to  the  christians:  they  swept  off  the  cattle, 
carried  off  captives,  and  harassed  the  whole  of  the 
ncwiy  conquered  frontier. 

The  Moors  also  of  Almeri.a,  and  Tavernas,  and 
I'ur>:hena,  made  inroads  into  Murcia,  and  carried  lire 
iiid  sword  into  its  most  fertile  regions.  On  the  op- 
pv)siie  frontier,  also,  among  the  wilfl  valleys  and  rug- 
^id  recesses  of  the  Sierra  Uorinejt, .Or  Red  Mount- 
ains, many  of  the  Moors  who  had  lately  submitted 
i^wx  flew  to  anns.  The  marqm.-s  of  Cadiz  suppressed 
by  timely  vigilance  the  rebellion  of  the  mountain 
town  of  Gausin,  situated  on  a  high  peak,  almost 
irnung  the  clouds;  but  others  of  the  .Mocirs  fortilied 
ihemselves  in  rock-built  towers  and  c.istles,  inli.ibit- 
ii  solely  by  warriors,  from  whence  they  carried  on 
1  continual  war  of  forage  and  depreil.ition  ;  sweep- 
!".i;  suddenly  down  Into  the  valleys,  and  carrying  otr 
Aoclis  and  herds  and  all  kinds  of  booty  to  these 
.t^k  nests,  to  which  it  was  perilous  and  fruitless  to 
pursue  there 

Ihe  worthy  father  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  closes 
his  history  of  this  checkered  year,  in  quite  a  different 
struii  from  those  triuirpVnt  periods  with  which  he 
15  accustomed  to  wind  up  the  victorious  campaigns 
of  the  sovereigns.  "Great  and  mighty,"  says  this 
venerable  chronicler,  "  were  the  (loous  and  tenipt^sts 
which  prevailed  throughout  the  kingdoms  of  Castile 
and  Arragon,  about  this  time.  It  seemed  as  though 
the  windows  of  Heaven  were  again  opened,  and  a 
second  deluge  overwhelming  the  lace  of  nature.  The 
clouds  burst  as  it  were  in  cataracts  upon  the  earth ; 
torrents  rushetl  down  from  the  mountains,  overtlow- 
ing  the  valleys;  brooks  were  swelled  into  raging 
rivers ;  houses  were  undermined ;  mills  were  swept 
aw.iy  by  their  own  streams ;  the  affrighte<l  shepherds 
saw  their  Hocks  drowned  in  the  midst  of  the  pasture, 
and  were  fain  to  take  refuge  for  their  lives  in  towers 
and  high  places.  The  Guadalquivir  for  a  time  be- 
came a  roaring  and  tumultuous  sea,  inundating  the 
immense  plain  of  the  Zablada,  and  tilling  the  fair 
city  of  Seville  with  atTright. 

"  A  vast  black  cloud  moved  over  the  land,  accom- 
panied by  a  hurricane  and  a  trembling  of  the  earth. 
lloases  were  unroofed,  the  walls  and  battlements  of 
fonresses  shaken,  and  lofty  towers  rocked  to  their 
Foundations.  Ships,  riding  at  anchor,  were  either 
itranded  or  swallowed  up ;  others,  under  sail,  were 
tossed  to  and  fro  upon  mountain  waves,  and  cast 
upon  the  land,  where  the  whirlwind  rent  them  in 
pieces  and  scattered  them  in  fragments  in  the  air. 
Doleful  was  the  rxiin  and  gre.al  the  tenor,  where  this 
baleful  cloud  passed  by ;  and  it  left  a  'ong  track  of 
desolation  over  sea  and  land.  Son.e  of  the  faint- 
hearted," adds  Antonio  Agapida. "  looked  upon  this 
torment  of  the  elements  as  a  prodigious  event,  ou* 
17 


of  the  courae  of  nature.  In  the  wealuiets  of  (hcti 
fears,  they  connected  it  with  those  troubles  which 
occurred  in  vanous  places,  considering  it  a  portem 
of  some  great  calamity,  about  to  be  wrcjughl  by  Iha 
violence  of  the  blocKly-handed  El  /ag,il  ai.u  his  ncrc« 
adherents." 


CHAF'TFR    XXV. 


I 


HOW  KINO  PERDINAN)  PKF.PARKt)  TO  RBSIKOt 
THE  CITY  Ot  HA/.K,  A.M)  HUW  IIIKCITY  PRC- 
PAKBO   POH   DCI'KNCR. 

Thb  Stormy  winter  had  passed  away,  and  the 
spring  of  1489  w.ns  advancing;  )et  the  he.ivy  rains 
had  broken  up  the  roads,  the  i.ioutitain  brooks  were 
swoln  to  raging  torrents,  and  Ihe  late  shallow  and 
pc.aceful  rivers  were  deep,  turbuU:nt,  and  dangerous. 
The  christian  troops  had  been  summoned  to  assem- 
ble in  early  spring  on  the  frontiers  of  Jaen,  but  were 
slow  In  arriving  at  the  appointed  place.  They  were 
entangled  in  tlie  miry  dthles  of  the  mountains,  or 
fretted  impatient. y  on  the  banks  of  imp.issabic  Hoods. 
It  was  late  in  the  month  of  .May,  before  they  assem- 
bled in  sufficient  force  to  attempt  the  pro[>osed  in- 
vasion ;  when,  at  length,  a  valiant  army,  ol  thirteen 
thousand  horse  and  forty  thousiind  foot,  marched 
merrily  over  the  border.  The  i)ui:eii  remained  at  the 
city  of  Jaen,  with  the  prince-royal  and  the  princesses 
her  children,  accompanied  and  supiiortcd  by  the 
venerable   cardin.U  of  Spain,   anr'.   iluisc   reverend 

K relates  who  assisted  in  her  councils  throughout  '±19 
oly  w.ir. 

The  plan  of  king  Ferdinand  wj«  to  lay  siege  19 
the  city  of  Ba/a.  the  key  of  the  remaining  posae^t- 
sions  ol  the  Moor.  That  important  fortress  taker., 
Guadix  and  Alincria  must  soon  lollow,  and  then'tht 
power  of  £1  Zagal  would  Im:  at  an  end.  As  the 
Catholic  king  advanced,  he  had  first  to  secure  vari- 
ous castles  and  strong-holds  in  the  vicinity  of  Baza, 
which  might  otherwise  harass  his  army.  Some  of 
these  made  obstinate  resistance,  especially  the  town 
of  Cuxar.  The  christians  assailed  the  walls  with 
various  nvachines,  to  sap  them  and  batter  them  down. 
The  brave  alcayde,  Hubec  Adalgan,  opposed  force 
to  force  anil  engine  to  engine.  He  manned  his  tow- 
ers with  his  bravest  warriors,  who  rained  down  an 
iron  shower  upon  the  enemy ;  and  he  linked  caul- 
drons togc'her  by  strong  chains,  antl  cast  fire  from 
them,  consuming  the  wooden  engines  of  their  assail- 
ants, and  those  who  managed  them. 

The  siege  was  protracted  for  several  days:  the 
bravery  of  the  alcayde  could  not  save  his  fortress 
from  an  overwhelming  foe,  but  it  gained  him  honor- 
able terms.  Ferdinand  permitted  the  garrison  and 
the  inhabitants  to  repair  with  their  effects  to  Baza; 
and  the  valiant  Hubec  Ailalgan  marched  forth  with 
the  remnant  of  his  force,  and  took  the  way  to  that 
devoted  city. 

The  delays  which  had  been  caused  to  the  invading 
army  by  these  various  circumstances,  had  been  dili- 
gently improved  by  the  old  Moorish  monarch  CI 
Zagal ;  who  felt  that  he  was  now  making  his  last 
stand  for  empire,  and  that  this  campaign  would  de- 
cide, whether  he  should  continue  a  kint;.  or  sink  into 
a  vassal.  £1  Zagal  was  but  a  few  leagues  from 
ttiiA,  at  the  city  of  Guadix.  This  last  was  the  most 
important  point  of  his  remaining  territories,  being  a 
kind  of  bulwark  between  them  and  the  hostile  city 
of  Granada,  the  seat  of  his  nephew's  power.  Though 
he  heard  of  the  tide  of  war.  therefore,  that  was  col- 
lecting and  rolling  towards  the  city  of  Baza,  he 
dared  not  go  in  peison  to  its  assistance.    He  dread* 


I 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


ed  that,  should  he  leave  Guadix,  Boabdil  would  at- 
tack him  in  rear  while  the  christian  anny  was  bat- 
tling with  him  in  front.  £1  Za^ai  trusted  in  the 
great  strenj^th  of  Baza,  to  defy  any  violent  assault ; 
and  he  prohted  by  the  delays  of  the  christian  army,. 
to  supply  It  with  ail  possible  means  of  defence.  He 
sent  thither  all  the  troops  he  could  spare  from  his 
garrison  of  Guadix,  ai'.d  dispatched  missives  throuj^h- 
Oiit  his  territones,  calling  upon  true  Moslems  to 
hasten  to  Baza,  to  make  a  devoted  stand  in  defence 
5f  flteir  homes,  their  liberties,  and  their  religion. 
The  cities  of  T.avernas  and  Purchena,  and  the  sur- 
rounding heights  and  valleys,  responded  to  his  or- 
ders, and  sent  forth  their  fighting  men  to  the  held. 
The  rocky  fastnesses  of  the  Alpuxarras  resoundetl 
with  the  din  of  arms :  troops  of  horse  and  bodies  of 
foot-soldiers  were  seen  winding  down  the  rugged 
cliffs  and  dehles  of  those  marble  mountains,  and 
hastening  towards  Baza.  Many  brave  cavalierr  of 
Granada  also,  spuming  the  uuiet  and  security  of 
christian  vassalage,  secretly  left  the  city  and  hasten- 
ed to  join  their  lighting  countrymen.  The  great  de- 
pendence of  HI  Zagal,  however,  w.as  upon  the  valor 
and  loyalty  of  his  cousin  and  brother-in-law,  Cidi 
Yahye  AInayar  Al)en  Zelim,  who  was  alcayde  of 
Almeria, — a  cavalier  experienced  in  warfare,  and 
redoubtable  in  the  ticld.  He  wrote  to  him  to  leave 
Almeria,  and  repair,  with  all  S|x;cd,  at  the  head  of 
hi?  troops,  to  Baza.  Cidi  Yahye  departed  imme- 
d'ateiy,  with  ten  thousand  of  the  br.avest  Moors  in 
the  kins,'floni.  These  were  for  the  most  part  hardy 
mountaineers,  tempered  to  sun  and  storm,  and  tried 
in  many  a  combat.  None  equalled  them  for  ,»  sally 
or  a  skirmish.  They  were  adroit  in  executing  a 
thousand  stratagems,  amhuscailoes,  and  evolutions. 
lmp"tuous  in  tlieir  assaults,  yet  governed  in  their 
atmost  fury  by  a  word  or  sign  from  their  coin- 
iRii^Irr,  at  the  sound  of  a  truin|)et  they  would  check 
themselves  in  the  midst  of  their  career,  wheel  otV 
ir:J  disperse;  and  at  another  sound  of  a  truin|)et, 
they  would  as  suddenly  re  assemble  and  return  to 
the  attack.  They  were  upon  the  enemy  when 
least  expected,  coming  like  a  rushing  blast,  spread- 
ing havoc  and  const  crnalion,  and  then  passing  away 
in  an  instant ;  so  that  when  one  recovered  from  the 
shock  and  looked  around,  behold  nothing  was  to  be 
seen  or  heard  of  this  tempest  of  war,  but  a  cloud 
of  dust  and  the  clatter  ol  rctre.ating  hool's. 

When  Cidi  Yahye  led  his  train  of  ten  thous.and 
valiant  warriors  into  the  gates  of  Baza,  the  city  rang 
with  acclamations,  and  for  a  time  the  inhabitants 
thought  themselves  secure.  El  Zag.al,  also,  felt  a 
glow  of  confidence,  nolwitlistanding  his  own  absence 
from  the  city.  "  Cidi  Yahye,"  said  he,  "  is  my  cousin 
and  my  brother-in-law ;  rel.ated  to  me  by  blood  and 
marriage,  he  is  a  second  self:  happy  is  that  monarch 
who  has  his  kindred  to  command  his  armies." 

With  all  these  remforcements,  the  garrison  of 
Baza  amounted  to  above  twenty  thousand  men. 
There  were  at  this  time  three  principal  leaders  in 
the  city : — Moh.ammed  ben  Hassan,  surnamed  the 
veteran,  who  was  military  governor  or  alcayde,  an 
old  Moot  of  great  experience  and  discretion ;  the 
second  was  Hamet  Abu  Zali,  who  was  captain  of 
the  troops  st.ationed  in  the  place;  and  the  third  was 
Ifubec  Adaigan,  the  valiant  alcay<le  of  Cuxar,  who 
bad  repaired  hither  with  the  remains  of  his  garrison. 
Orrer  all  these  Cidi  Yahye  exercised  a  supreme  com- 
.'iiacd,  in  consequence  of  his  being  of  the  blocxl- 
royal,  and  in  the  especial  conhdence  of  Muley  Ab- 
dalla  el  Zagal.  He  was  eloquent  and  ardent  in 
couTicd.  and  tond  of  striking  and  splendid  achieve- 
men'.s  ;  but  he  was  a  little  prone  to  be  carried  away 
by  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  and  the  warmtn 
of  bis  imagination.    The  councils  of  war  of  these 


commanders,  therefore,  were  more  frequently  ceo 
trolled  by  the  opinions  of  the  old  alcayde  Moham- 
med ben  Hassan,  for  whose  shrewdness,  caution,  and 
experien'.:e,  Cidi  Yahye  himself  felt  the  greatest 
deference. 

The  city  of  Baza  was  situated  in  a  great  valley, 
eight  leagues  in  length  and  three  In  breadth,  cal!«i 
the  Hoya,  or  basin  of  Baza.  It  was  surrounil^(',  by 
a  range  of  mountains,  called  the  Sierra  of  XalMlco 
hoi,  the  streams  of  which,  collecting  themselves  into 
two  rivers,  watered  and  fpitilized  the  country.  The 
city  was  built  in  the  plaui  ;  but  one  part  of  it  was 
protected  by  the  rocky  precipices  of  -.he  mounLiin, 
and  by  a  powerful  citadel ;  tne  other  part  w;ls  de- 
fended by  massive  walls,  studded  with  imiiiL'nse 
towers.  It  had  suburbs  towards  the  plain,  imper- 
fectly fortiried  by  earthen  walls.  In  front  of  these 
suburbs  extended  a  inxt  of  orchards  and  gardens 
nearly  a  league  in  length,  so  thickly  planted  as  >o 
resemble  a  continued  forest.  Here,  every  citizen 
\Yho  could  afford  it,  h.id  his  little  plantation,  nm\  hij 
garden  of  fruits  and  flowers  and  vegetables,  watered 
by  canals  and  rivulets,  and  dominated  by  a  sin.ill 
tower  to  serve  for  recreation  or  defence.  This  wil- 
derness of  groves  and  gardens,  intersected  in  all  parts 
by  canals  anil  runs  of  water,  and  studded  by  above 
a  thousand  sn\all  towers,  formed  a  kind  of  i)rotec- 
tion  to  this  sitfe  of  the  city,  rendering  all  approach 
extremely  difficult  and  perplexed,  and  atiording 
covt!rt  to  the  defenders. 

While  the  christian  army  had  been  detained  before 
the  frontier  posts,  the  city  of  B.aza  h.^d  been  a  scene 
of  hurried  and  unremitting  preparation.  All  the 
grain  of  the  surrounding  valley,  though  yet  unripe, 
was  hastily  reaped  and  borne  into  the  city,  to  pre- 
vent it  from  yielding  sustenance  to  the  enemy.  The 
country  w;is  drained  of  all  its  supplies ;  flocks  and 
herds  were  driven,  bleating  and  bellowing,  into  the 
gates  ;  long  trains  of  beasts  of  burthen,  some  l.ulen 
with  food,  others  with  lances,  darts,  and  arms  of  al! 
kinds,  kept  pouring  into  the  place.  Already  there 
were  munitions  collected  sufficient  for  a  siege  of  fif- 
teen months ;  yet  still  the  eager  and  hasty  prepara- 
tion was  going  on,  when  the  army  of  Ferdinand 
came  in  sight. 

On  one  side  might  be  seen  scattered  parties  of  looi 
and  horse  spurring  to  the  gates,  and  muleteers  hi:r- 
rying  lor^^■ard  their  burthened  animals,  all  anxious  to 
get  under  shelter  before  the  gathering  storm  ;  on  the 
other  side,  the  cloud  of  war  came  sweeping  down 
the  valley,  the  roll  of  drum  or  clang  of  trumpet  re- 
sounding occa.sionally  from  its  deep  bosom,  oi  the 
bright  glance  of  arms  tlashing  forth,  like  vivid  li^;ht- 
ning,  from  its  columns.  King  Ferdinand  pitched  hij 
tents  in  the  valley,  beyond  the  green  labyrinth  of 
gardens.  He  sent  his  heralds  to  summon  the  city  to 
surrender,  promising  the  most  favorable  terms  in  case 
of  immediate  compliance,  and  avowing  in  the  most 
solemn  terms  his  resolution  never  to  abandon  the 
siege  until  he  had  possession  of  the  place. 

Upon  receiving  this  summons,  the  f4oorish  com- 
manders heUl  a  council  of  war.  The  prince  C:di 
Yahye,  indignant  at  the  menace  of  the  king,  was  fct 
retorting  by  a  declaration  that  the  garrison  nrvei 
would  surrender,  but  would  fight  untiT  buncd  urnlei 
the  ruins  of  the  walls.  "Of  what  avail,"  said  the 
veteran  Monammed,  "  is  a  declaration  of  the  kind, 
which  we  may  falsify  by  our  deeds  ?  Let  us  threaten 
what  we  know  we  can  perform,  and  let  us  endeavor 
to  perform  more  than  we  threaten." 

In  conformity  to  the  advice  of  Mohammed  ben 
Hassan,  thereiore,  a  laconic  reply  was  sent  to  tht 
chnstian  monarch,  thanking  him  for  his  offer  of  favor- 
able terms,  but  infonning  him  that  they  were  placed 
ia  the  citv  to  defend,  not  to  surrender  it. 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


881 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Tfll  BATTLE  or  THE  GAKDEKS  BEFORE   BAZA. 

When  the  reply  of  the  Moorish  commanders  was 
brought  to  king  Ferdinand,  he  prepared  to  press  the 
liege  with  the  utmost  rigor.  Fincling  the  camp  too 
(jr  frorr  the  city,  and  that  the  intervening  orchards 
ifibrd  d  shelter  for  the  sallies  of  the  Moors,  he  deter- 
ained  to  advance  it  beyond  the  gardens,  in  the  space 
tetwcen  them  and  the  suburbs,  where  his  batteries 
would  have  full  play  upon  the  city  walls.  A  detach- 
ment was  sent  in  advance,  to  take  possession  of  the 
prdens,  and  to  keep  a  check  upon  the  suburbs,  op- 
posing any  sally,  while  the  encampment  should  be 
fomied  and  fortified.  The  various  commanders  en- 
tered the  orchards  at  different  points.  The  young 
cavaliers  marched  fearlessly  forward,  but  the  expe- 
rienced veterans  foresaw  infinite  peril  in  the  mazes 
of  this  verdant  labyrinth.  The  Master  of  St.  Jago, 
as  he  led  his  troops  into  the  centre  of  the  gardens, 
exhorted  them  to  keep  by  one  another,  and  to  press 
fonvard  in  defiance  of  all  diliiculty  or  danger  ;  assur- 
ing them  that  God  would  give  them  the  victory,  if 
they  attacked  hardily  and  persisted  resolutely. 

Scarce  had  they  entered  the  verge  of  the  orchards, 
when  a  din  of  drums  and  trumpets,  mingled  with 
war-cries,  was  heard  from  the  suburbs,  and  a  legion 
of  Moorish  warriors  on  foot  poured  forth.  They 
were  led  on  by  the  prince  Cidi  Yahye.  He  saw  the 
imminent  d.-inger  of  the  city,  should  the  christians 
giin  possession  of  the  orchards.  "  Soldiers,"  he  cried, 
"we  ti^ht  lor  life  and  liberty,  for  our  families,  our 
country,  our  religion  ;*  nothing  is  left  for  us  to  depend 
upon,  but  the  strength  of  our  hands,  the  courage  cf 
our  ht-arts,  and  the  almighty  protection  of  Allah." 
The  Moors  answered  him  with  shouts  of  war,  and 
nished  to  the  encounter.  The  two  hosts  ntet  in  the 
Midst  of  the  gardens.  A  chance-medley  combat  en- 
lued,  with  lances,  arquebusses,  cross-bows,  and  scimi- 
tars; the  perplexed  nature  of  the  ground,  cut  up  and 
intersected  by  canals  and  streams  the  closeness  of 
the  trees,  the  multiplicity  of  t<Jw>  .a  and  petty  edifices, 
eave  greater  advanl.iges  to  the  Moors,  who  were  or 
foot,  than  to  the  christians,  who  were  on  horseback. 
The  Moors,  loo,  knew  the  ground,  with  all  its  alleys 
and  passes  ;  and  were  thus  enabled  to  lurk,  to  sally 
fonh,  to  attack,  and  to  retreat,  almost  without  in- 
jury. 

The  christian  commanders,  seeing  this,  ordered 
many  ol  the  horsemen  to  dismount  and  fight  on  foot. 
The  battle  then  became  fierc";  and  deadly,  each  dis- 
regarding his  own  life,  provided  he  could  slay  his 
en-iniy.  It  was  not  so  much  a  general  battle,  as  a 
multitude  of  petty  actions ;  for  every  orchard  and 
rarden  had  its  distinct  contest.  No  one  could  see 
further  than  the  little  scene  of  fury  and  bloodshed 
around  him,  nor  know  how  the  general  battle  fared. 
In  vain  the  captains  exerted  their  voices,  in  vain  the 
tnimpets  brayed  forth  signals  and  commands — all 
»'is  confouiMled  and  unheard,  in  the  universal  din 
ind  uproar.  No  one  kept  to  his  standard,  but  fought 
)s  his  oviii  lury  or  fear  dictated.  In  some  places  the 
.hrislians  had  the  advantige,  in  others  the  Moors  ; 
iten,  a  victorious  party,  pursuing  the  vanquished, 
Lsme  upon  a  superior  and  triumphant  force  of  the 
siemy,  and  the  fugitives  turned  back  upon  them  in 
in  overwhelming  wave.  Some  broken  remnants,  in 
their  terror  and  confusion,  fied  from  their  own  coun- 
trymen and  sought  refuge  among  their  enemies,  not 
bowing  friend  from  foe,  in  the  obscurity  of  the 
groves.  The  Moors  were  more  adroit  in  these  wild 
uirmishings,  from  their  flexibility,  lightness,  and  agil- 

*  '  Illi  (Mauri)  pro  fortiinU,  pro  liberUte,  pro  laribiu  patriii,  pro 
•«  iKiqu*  Qatibaau"—fiHrt  Martyr,  Bpiil.  yo. 


ity,  and  the  rapidity  with  which  they  would  disperse 
rally,  and  return  again  to  the  charge.* 

The  hardest  fighting  was  about  the  small  garden 
towers  and  pavilions,  which  served  as  so  many  i  etty 
fortresses.  Each  party  by  turns  gained  them,  aeund- 
ed  them  fiercely,  and  were  driven  out ;  m.wy  of  the 
towers  were  set  on  fire,  and  increased  the  horrors  ol 
the  fight  by  the  wreaths  ">f  stroke  and  flame  in  whick 
they  wrapped  the  groves,  ar.4  by  the  shiieks  of  those 
who  were  burning. 

Several  of  the  christian  cavaliers,  bewildered  bj 
the  uproar  and  confusion,  and  shocked  at  the  C2.mag« 
which  prevailed,  would  have  led  the  r  rnen  out  of 
the  action  ;  but  they  were  entangled  in  a  labyrinth, 
and  knew  not  which  way  to  retreat.  While  in  this 
perplexity,  the  standard-bearer  of  one  of  the  squad- 
rons of  tne  grand  cardinal  had  his  arm  carried  off  by 
acannon-ball ;  the  standard  was  well-nigh  falling  into 
the  hands  of  the  enemy,  when  Roderigo  de  Mendoza, 
an  intrepid  youth,  natural  son  of  the  grand  cardinal, 
nished  to  its  rescue,  through  a  shower  of  balls, 
lances,  and  arrows,  and,  bearing  it  aloft,  dashed  for- 
ward with  it  into  the  hottest  of  the  combat,  followed 
by  his  shouting  soldiery. 

King  Ferdinand,  who  remained  in  the  skirts  of  th« 
orchard,  was  in  extreme  anxiety.  It  was  impossible 
to  see  much  of  the  action,  for  the  multiplicity  of  trees 
and  towers,  and  the  wreaths  of  smoke  ;  and  those 
who  were  driven  out  defeated,  or  came  out  wounded 
and  exhausted,  gave  different  accounts,  according  to 
the  fate  of  the  partial  conflicts  in  which  they  had 
been  engap  d.  Ferdinand  exerted  himself  to  the 
utmost,  to  animate  and  encourage  his  troops  to  this 
blind  encounter,  sending  .einforcements  of  horse  and 
foot  to  those  points  where  the  battle  w.is  most  san 
guinary  and  doubtful. 

Among  those  who  were  brought  fcth  mortaUy 
wounded,  was  Don  Juan  de  Luna,  a  vouth  of  un- 
common merit,  greatly  prized  by  the  king,  belovec 
by  the  army,  and  recently  married  to  Donna  Catalina 
de  Urrea,  a  young  lady  of  distinguished  beauty.t 
They  Uiu  him  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  and  endeavored 
to  stanch  and  bind  up  his  wounds  with  a  scarf  which 
his  bride  had  wrought  for  him ;  but  his  life-bji  1 
flowed  too  profusely  ;  and  while  a  holy  friar  was  ,  _t 
administering  to  him  the  last  sacred  offices  of  the 
church,  he  expired,  almost  at  the  feet  of  his  sovereign. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  veteran  alcayde  Moham- 
med ben  Hassan,  surrounded  by  a  little  t>and  ot 
chieftains,  kep«  an  anxious  eye  upon  the  scene  of 
combat  from  the  walls  of  the  city.  For  nearly  twelve 
hours,  the  battle  had  raged  without  intermissioa 
The  thickness  of  the  foliage  hid  all  the  particulars 
from  their  sight ;  but  they  could  see  the  flash  of 
swords  and  glance  of  helmets  among  the  trees. 
Columns  of  smoke  rose  in  every  direction,  while  t)ie 
clash  of  arms,  the  thundering  of  ribadoquines  and 
arquebusses,  the  shouts  and  cries  of  the  combatants, 
and  the  groans  and  supplications  of  the  wounded, 
bespoke  the  deadly  conflict  that  was  waging  in  the 
bosom  of  the  groves.  They  were  harassed,  too,  by 
the  shrieks  and  lamentations  of  the  Moorish  women 
and  children,  as  their  wounded  n  lations  were  brought 
bleeding  from  the  scene  of  actit  . ;  and  were  stunned 
by  a  general  outcry  of  wo  on  tlu;  part  of  the  inhabit- 
ants, as  the  body  of  Redoan  Zalfarga,  a  reAegadc 
christian,  and  one  of  the  bravest  of  their  generals, 
was  borne  breathless  into  the  city. 

At  length,  the  din  of  battle  approached  nearer  to 
the  skirts  of  the  orchards.  They  beheld  their  war- 
riors driven  out  from  among  the  groves  by  fresh 
squadrons  of  the  enemy,  and,  after  disputing  the 
ground  inch  by  inch,  obliged  to  retire  to  a  place  be* 

*  Muiut*.  lib.  IS,  cav.  I],  tMuiaaa,    P.  Mattn-    Zaiila. 


'% 


al60 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


iti'.T 


tween  the  orchards  and  the  suburbs,  which  was 
fortified  with  palisadoes. 

The  christians  immediately  planted  opposing  pali- 
•adoes,  and  established  strong  outposts  near  to  this 
retreat  of  the  Moors ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  king 
Ferdinand  ordered  that  his  encampment  should  be 
pitched  within  the  hard-won  orchards. 

Mohammed  ben  Hassan  sallied  forth  to  the  aid  of 
the  prince  Cidi  Yahye,  and  made  a  desperate  at- 
len'pt  to  dislodge  the  enemy  from  this  tormulable 
position :  but  the  night  had  closed,  and  the  darkness 
'Tendered  it  impossible  to  make  any  impression.  The 
floors,  however,  kept  up  constant  assaults  and 
alarms,  throughout  the  night ;  and  the  weary  chris- 
tians, exhausted  by  the  toils  and  sufferings  of  the 
day,  were  not  allowed  a  moment  of  repose.* 


CH.\PTER    XXVII. 


SIKUB  OP  BAZA.— EMBARRASSMENTS  OP  THE  ARMY. 

The  morning  sun  rose  upon  a  piteous  scene,  be- 
fore the  walls  of  Baza.  The  christian  outposts,  har- 
assed throughout  the  night,  were  pale  and  haggard  ; 
while  the  multitudes  of  slain  which  lay  before  their 
palisadoes,  showed  the  fierce  attacks  they  had  sus- 
tained, and  the  bravery  of  their  defence. 

Beyond  them  lay  the  groves  and  gardens  of  Baza ; 
once,  the  favorite  resorts  for  recreation  and  delight — 
now,  a  scene  of  horror  and  desolation.  The  towers 
and  pavihuns  were  smoking  ruins;  the  canals  and 
water-courses  were  discolored  with  blood,  and  choked 
with  the  bodies  of  the  slain.  Here  and  there,  the 
ground,  deep  diiited  with  the  tramp  of  man  and 
fteed,  and  phished  and  slippery  with  gore,  showed 
whire  there  had  been  some  tierce  and  mortal  con- 
lict :  while  the  bodies  of  Moors  and  christians, 
ghastly  in  death,  lay  half  concealed  among  the  mal- 
ted and  trampled  shrubs,  and  dowers,  and  herbage. 

Amidst  these  sanguinary  scenes  arose  the  chris- 
tian tents,  which  had  been  hastily  pitched  among 
the  gardens  in  the  preceding  evening.  The  expe- 
rience of  the  night,  however,  and  the  forlorn  as- 
pect of  every  thing  in  the  morning,  convinced  king 
Ferdinand  of  the  perils  and  hardships  to  which  his 
camp  must  be  exposed,  in  its  present  situation  ;  and, 
after  a  consultation  with  his  principal  cavaliers,  he 
resolved  to  abandon  the  orchards. 

It  was  a  dangerous  movement,  to  extricate  his 
army  from  so  entangled  a  situation,  in  the  face  of  so 
alert  and  daring  an  enemy.  A  bold  front  was  there- 
fore kept  up  towards  the  city  ;  additional  troops  were 
ordered  to  the  advanced  posts,  and  works  begun  as 
if  for  a  settled  encampment.  Not  a  tent  was  struck 
in  the  gardens;  but  in  the  mean  time,  the  most 
acdve  and  unremitting  exertions  were  made  to  re- 
move all  the  baggage  and  furniture  of  the  camp 
back  to  the  original  station. 

All  day,  the  Moors  beheld  a  formidable  show  of 
war  maintiiined  in  "front  of  the  gardens  ;  while  in  the 
rear,  the  tops  of  the  christian  tents,  and  the  pennons 
of  the  different  commanders,  were  seen  rising  above 
the  groves.  Suddenly,  towards  evenin?,  the  tents 
(unk  and  disappeared;  the  outposts  broke  up  their 
stations  and  withdrew,  and  the  whole  shadow  of  an 
encampment  was  fast  vanishing  from  their  eyes. 

The  Moors  saw  too  late  the  subtle  manoeuvre  of 
king  Ferdinand.  Cidi  Yahye  again  sallied  forth  with 
ft  large  force  of  horse  and  foot,  and  pressed  furiously 
upon  the  christians.  The  latter,  however,  experi- 
enced  in   Moorish  attack,   retired    in  close  order. 


•  Pulnr,  put  ),  cap.  ia6,  tor,    Cota  da  lot  Paladot,  cap.  va. 
tiaiu  Ub.  M.  K*f).  I>. 


sometimes  turning  upon  the  :xiemy  and  drivinc;  them 
to  their  barricadoes,  and  then  pursuing  their  retreat 
In  this  way  the  army  was  extricated,  without  much  fur 
ther  loss,  from  the  perilous  labyrinths  of  the  gardens, 

The  camp  was  now  out  of  danger ;  but  it  was  also 
too  distant  from  the  city  to  do  mischief,  while  the 
Moors  could  sally  forth  and  return  without  hindrance. 
The  king  called  a  council  of  war,  to  consider  in  whai 
manner  to  proceed.  The  marques  of  Cadiz  was  fcj 
abandoning  the  siege  for  the  present,  the  place  bcin? 
too  strong,  too  well  garrisoned  and  provided,  and 
too  extensive,  to  be  either  carried  by  assault  or  in- 
vested  and  reduced  by  famine,  with  their  limited 
forces ;  while,  in  lingering  before  it,  the  army  would 
be  exposed  to  the  usual  maladies  and  suffering's  of 
besieging  armies,  an<l,  when  the  rainy  season  came 
on,  would  be  shut  up  by  the  swelhng  of  the  nvers. 
He  recommended,  instead,  that  the  king  siiould 
throw  garrisons  of  horse  and  foot  into  all  the  towns 
captured  in  the  neighlwrhood,  and  leave  tlnin  to 
keep  up  a  predatory  war  upon  Baza,  while  he  should 
overrun  and  ravage  all  the  country ;  so  that,  in  the 
following  year,  Almeria  and  Guadix,  having  all  their 
subject  towns  and  territories  taken  from  them,  nught 
be  starved  into  submission. 

Don  Gutiere  de  Cardenas,  senior  commander  of 
Leon,  on  the  other  hand,  m.iintained  that  to  abandon 
the  siege  would  be  construed  by  the  enemy  into  a 
sign  of  weakness  and  ir.csolution.  It  would  j^ive 
new  spirits  to  the  partisans  of  El  Zagal,  and  would 
gain  to  his  standard  many  of  the  wavering  subjects 
of  Boabdil,  if  it  did  not  encourage  the  fickle  popu 
lace  of  Gran-ada  to  open  rebellion.  He  advised  iliere- 
fore  that  the  siege  should  be  prosecuted  with  \ij;or. 

The  pride  of  Ferdinand  pleaded  in  f^vor  ol  the 
last  opinion;  for  it  would  be  doubly  hu.v.21iiing 
again  to  return  from  a  campaign  in  this  part  of  the 
Moorish  kingdom,  without  effecting  a  blow.  But 
when  he  reiiected  on  all  that  his  army  had  sutiered, 
and  on  all  that  they  must  sufler  should  the  sie^;; 
continue — es|)ecially  from  the  difficulty  of  obtamii.g 
a  regular  supply  of  provisions  for  so  numerous  a  host, 
across  a  great  extent  of  rugged  and  mountainous 
country — ^ne  determined  to  consult  the  satety  of  lui 
people,  and  to  adopt  the  advice  of  the  marques  of 
Cadiz. 

When  the  soldiery  heard  that  the  king  w.is  al)oui 
to  raise  the  siege  in  mere  consideration  of  ihcr  suf- 
ferings, they  were  filled  with  generous  enthusiasm, 
and  entreated,  as  with  one  voice,  that  the  siege 
might  never  be  abandoned  until  the  city  surren- 
derel. 

Perplexed  by  conflicting  counsels,  the  king  dis 
patched  messengers  to  the  queen  at  Jaen,  recjueiting 
her  advice.  Posts  had  been  stationed  between  their, 
in  such  manner  that  missives  from  the  camp  cuuld 
reach  the  queen  within  ten  hours.  Isabella  sent  in- 
suntly  her  reply.  She  left  the  policy  of  rais.ng  oi 
continuing  the  siege  to  the  decision  of  the  kinj>  and 
his  captains ;  but  should  they  determine  to  persevere, 
she  pledged  herself,  with  the  aid  of  God,  to  forward 
them  men,  money,  provisions,  and  all  other  supphes. 
until  the  city  should  be  taken. 

The  reply  of  the  queen  determined  Ferdinand  to 
persevere ;  and  when  his  detennination  was  made 
known  to  the  arm^,  it  was  hailed  with  as  much  joy 
as  if  it  had  been  tidings  of  a  victory. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

SIEGE  OP   BAZA  CONTINUED.— HOW   KlVr.  flR- 
OINAND  Ct^MPLETELY  INVESTED  THE  CITY. 

The   Moorish   prince  Cidi  Yahye   had  received 
tidings  of  the  doubts  and  discussions  in  thit  chnitiu 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


961 


^(•np,  sind  flattered  himself  with  hopes  that  the  be- 
;  lie^Pg  anny  would  soon  retire  in  despair,  though 
the  v'teran  alcayde  Mohammed  shook  his  head  with 
;  tacred'ility  at  .he  suggestion.  A  sudden  movement, 
one  morning,  n  the  christian  camp,  seemed  to  con- 
jrni  the  sanguine  hopes  of  the  prince.  The  tents 
«re  struck,  the  artillery  and  baggage  were  conveyed 
tway.  iind  bodies  of  soldiers  began  to  march  along 
the  valley.  The  momentary  gleam  of  triumph  was 
njcn  dispelled.  The  .Catholic  king  had  merely  di- 
lided  his  host  into  two  camps,  the  more  effectually 
(0  distress  the  city.  One,  consisting  of  four  thousand 
horse  and  eight  thousand  foot,  with  all  the  artillery 
jnd  battering  engines,  took  post  on  the  side  of  the 
nty  towards  the  mounuiin.  This  w.as  commanded 
by  the  valiant  marques  of  Cadiz,  with  whom  were 
Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  Luis  Fernandez  Puerto 
Carrero.  and  many  other  distinguished  cavaliers. 

The  other  camp  was  commanded  by  the  king, 
|i;iving  six  thousand  horse  and  a  great  host  of  foot- 
soldiers,  the  hardy  mountaineers  of  Biscay,  Guipus- 
con,  G.illicia,  and  the  Asturi.is.  Among  the  cava- 
Itn  who  were  with  the  king  were  the  brave  count 
de  Tendilla,  Don  Roderigo  de  Mendoza,  and  Don 
Alonzo  (le  Cardenas,  Master  of  Santiago.  -The  two 
camps  were  wide  asunder,  on  opposite  sides  of  the 
diy,  and  between  them  lay  the  thick  wilderness  of 
t.rch.irds.  Both  camps  were  therefore  fortified  by 
peat  trenches,  breastworks,  and  palisadoes.  The 
veteran  Mohammed,  as  he  saw  these  two  formidable 
camps  glittering  on  each  side  of  the  city,  and  noted 
the  well-known  nennons  of  renowned  commanders 
Buttering  above  tnem,  still  comforted  his  companions: 
"These  camps."  said  he.  "  are  too  far  removed  from 
each  other,  for  mutual  succor  and  co-operation  ;  and 
the  forest  of  orchards  is  as  a  gulf  between  them." 
Th.s  consolation  v/ns  but  of  short  continuance. 
Scarcely  were  the  christi.in  camps  fortified,  when  the 
:>rs  of  the  Moorish  garrison  were  startled  by  the 
MUiid  of  innumerable  axes,  and  the  crash  of  falling 
trees.  They  looked  with  anxiety  from  their  highest 
towers,  and  behold,  their  favorite  groves  were  sinking 
beneath  the  blows  of  the  christian  pioneers.  The 
Moors  sallied  forth  with  fiery  zeal  to  protect  their 
beloved  gardens,  and  the  orchards  in  which  they  so 
much  dciiijhtcd.  The  christians,  however,  were  too 
well  siipiKirted  to  be  driven  from  their  work.  Day 
after  day,  the  gardens  became  the  .scene  of  incessant 
and  blo<)<ly  skirmishings ;  yet  still  the  devastation 
of  the  groves  went  on,  for  king  Ferdinand  was  too 
well  aware  of  the  necessity  of  clearing  away  this 
screen  of  woods,  not  to  bend  all  his  forces  to  the 
undert.iking.  it  was  a  work,  however,  of  gigantic 
toil  and  patience.  The  trees  were  of  such  m.agnitude, 
and  so  closely  set  together,  and  spread  over  so  wide 
an  extent,  that  notwithstanding  four  thousand  men 
were  employed,  they  could  scarcely  clear  a  strip  of 
land  ten  paces  broad  within  a  day ;  and  such  were 
the  interruptions  from  the  incessant  assaults  of  the 
Moors,  that  it  was  full  forty  days  before  thC  orchards 
were  completely  levelled. 

The  devoted  city  of  Baza  now  lay  stripped  of  its 
beautiful  covering  of  groves  and  gardens,  at  once  its 
ornament,  its  delight,  and  its  protection.  The  be- 
siegers went  on  ^owly  and  surely,  with  almost  in- 
credible labors,  to  invest  and  isolate  the  city.  They 
wnnected  their  camps  by  a  deep  trench  across  the 
plain,  a  le.igue  in  length,  into  which  they  diverted 
the  ivaters  of  ■  the  mountain  streams.  They  pro- 
tected this  trench  by  pa]is.adoes,  fortified  by  fifteen 
castles,  at  regular  aistances.  They  dug  a  deep 
trench,  also,  two  leagues  in  length,  across  the 
mountain  in  the  rear  of  the  city,  reaching  from 
canp  to  camp,  and  fortified  it  on  each  side  with 

tils  of  earth,  and  stone,  and  wood.     Thus  the 


Moors  were  Inclosed  on  all  sides  fay  ttenches,  pad 
isadoes,  walls,  and  castles ;  so  that  it  was  impossibk 
for  them  to  sally  beyond  this  great  line  of  circuin* 
vallation — nor  could  any  force  enter  to  their  succor. 
Ferdinand  made  an  attempt,  likewiu,  to  cut  off  thi 
supply  of  water  from  the  city;  "for  water,"  ob- 
serves  the  worthy  Agapida,  "is  more  necessary 
to  these  infidels  than  bread,  making  use  of  it  in 
repeated  daily  ablutions  enjoined  by  their  damn- 
able religion,  and  employing  it  in  baths  and  in  a 
thousand  other  idle  and  extravagant  modes,  of 
which  we  Spaniards  and  christians  make  but  little 
account." 

There  was  a  noble  fountain  of  pure  water,  which 
gushed  out  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  Albohacen,  just  be- 
hind the  city.  The  Moors  had  almost  a  superstitious 
fondness  for  this  fountain,  and  chiefly  depended  upon 
it  for  their  supplies.  Receiving  intimation  from  some 
deserters,  of  the  plan  of  king  Ferdinand  to  get  pos- 
session of  this  precious  fountain,  they  sallied  forth 
at  night,  and  threw  up  such  powerful  works  upon 
the  impending  hill,  as  to  set  all  attempts  of  the 
christian  assailants  at  defiance. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


EXPLOIT  OF  HERNANDO  PEREZ  DEL  PVLOAR 
AND  OTHER  CAVALIERS. 

The  Diege  of  Baza,  while  it  displayed  the  skill 
and  science  of  the  christian  commanders,  gave  but 
little  scope  for  the  adventurous  spirit  and  fiery  valor 
of  the  young  Spanish  cavaliers.  They  repined  at  the 
tedious  monotony  and  dull  security  of  their  fortified 
camp,  and  longed  for  some  soul-stirring  exploit  of 
difficulty  and  danger.  Two  of  the  most  spirited  of 
these  youthful  cavaliers  were  Francisco  de  Bazan 
and  Antonio  de  Cue^a  **'e  latter  of  whom  was  son 
to  the  duke  of  Albuquerque.  'As  they  were  one  day 
seated  on  the  ramparts  of  the  camp,  and  venting 
their  impatience  at  this  life  of  inaction,  they  were 
overheard  by  a  veteran  adalid,  one  of  those  scouts 
or  guides  who  are  acquainted  with  all  parts  of  the 
country.  "  Sefiors,"  said  he,  "if  you  wish  for  a  serv- 
ice of  peril  and  profit,  if  you  are  willing  to  pluck  the 
fiery  old  Moor  by  the  beard,  1  can  lead  you  to  where 
you  may  put  your  mettle  to  the  proof.  Hard  by 
the  city  of  Guadix,  are  certain  hamlets  rich  in 
booty.  I  can  conduct  you  by  a  way  in  which  you 
may  come  upon  them  by  surprise ;  and  if  you  are  as 
cool  in  the  head,  as  you  are  hot  in  the  spur,  you 
may  bear  off  your  spoils  from  under  the  very  eyes 
of  old  El  Zagal." 

The  idea  of  thus  making  booty  at  the  very  gates 
of  Guadix,  pleased  the  hot-spirited  youths.  These 
predatory  excursions  were  frequent  about  this  time ; 
and  the  Moors  of  Padul,  Alhenden,  and  other  towns 
of  the  Alpuxarras,  had  recently  harassed  the  chris- 
tian territories  by  expeditions  of  the  kind.  Fran- 
cisco de  Bazan  and  Antonio  de  Cueva  soon  found 
other  young  cavaliers  of  their  age,  eager  to  join  m 
the  adventure;  and  in  a  Uttle  while,  they  had  neatly 
three  hundred  horse  and  two  hundred  foot,  ready 
equipped  and  eager  for  the  foray. 

Keeping  their  destination  secret,  they  sallied  oil 
of  the  camp  on  the  edge  of  an  evening,  and, 
guided  by  the  adalid,  made  their  way  by  star-light 
through  the  most  secret  roads  of  the  mountains. 
In  this  way  they  pressed  on  rapidly  d.iy  and  night, 
until  early  one  morning,  before  cock-crowing,  they 
fell  suddenly  upon  the  hamlets,  made  prisoners  of 
the  inhabitants,  sacked  the  houses,  ravaged  the  fields, 
and.  sweeping  through  the  meadows,  gathered  to* 


'■^    ' 


.■:s 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


"'••.- 


.C  i- 


S'ii. 


gether  all  the  flocks  and  herds.  Without  giving 
themselves  time  to  rest,  they  set  out  upon  their 
return,  makinj^  with  all  speed  for  the  mountains, 
before  the  alann  should  be  given  and  the  country 
roused. 

Several  of  the  htTdsmen,  however,  had  fled  to 
Guadix,  and  carried  tidings  of  the  ravage  to  £1  Za- 
yal.  The  beard  of  old  Muley  trembled  with  rage ; 
F.e  iinme<liately  sent  out  six  hundred  of  his  choicest 
!;orse  and  foot,  with  orders  to  recover  the  booty, 
ind  ti  bung  those  insolent  marauders  captive  to 
Guadix. 

The  christian  cavaliers  were  urging  their  caval- 
gada  of  cattle  and  sheep  up  a  mountain,  as  fast  as 
their  own  weariness  would  permit,  when,  looking 
back,  they  beheld  a  great  cloud  of  dust,  and  pres- 
ently descried  the  turbaned  host  hot  upon  their 
traces. 

They  saw  that  the  Moors  were  superior  in  num- 
ber; they  were  fresh  also,  both  man  and  steed, 
whereas  both  they  and  their  horses  were  fatigued  by 
two  days  and  two  nights  of  hard  marching.  Several 
of  the  horsemen  therefore  gathered  round  the  com- 
manders, and  proposed  that  they  should  relinquish 
their  spoil,  and  save  themselves  by  flight.  The  cap- 
tains, Francisco  de  Bazan  and  Antonio  de  Cueva, 
spumed  at  such  craven  counsel.  "  What !  "  cried 
they,  "  abandon  our  prey  without  striking  a  blow  ? 
Leave  our  foot-soldiers  too  in  the  lurch,  to  be  over- 
whelmed by  the  enemy  ?  If  any  one  gives  such  coun- 
sel through  fear,  he  mistakes  the  course  of  safety ; 
for  there  is  less  danger  in  presenting  a  bold  front  to 
the  foe,  than  in  turning  a  dastard  back ;  and  fewer 
men  are  killed  in  a  brave  advance,  than  in  a  cow- 
udly  retreat." 

Some  of  the  cavaliers  were  touched  by  these  words, 
and  declared  that  they  would  stand  by  the  foot-sol- 
iliers  like  true  companions  in  arms :  the  great  mass 
of  the  party,  however,  were  volunteers,  broujjht  to- 
gether by  chance,  who  received  no  pay,  nor  had  any 
common  tie  to  keep  them  together  in  time  of  danger. 
The  pleasure  of  the  expedition  being  over,  each 
thought  out  of  his  own  safety,  regardless  of  his  com- 
panions. As  the  enemy  approached,  the  tumult  of 
opinions  increased,  and  every  thing  was  in  confusion. 
The  captains,  to  put  an  end  to  the  dispute,  ordered 
the  standard-bearer  to  advance  against  the  Moors, 
well  knowing  that  no  true  cavalier  would  hesitate  to 
follow  and  defend  his  banner.  The  standard-bearer 
hesitated — the  troops  were  on  the  point  of  taking  to 
flight. 

Upon  this,  a  cavalier  of  the  royal  guards,  named 
Hernando  Perez  del  Fulgar,  alcayde  of  the  fortress 
of  Salar,  ro<le  lo  the  front.  He  took  off  a  handker- 
chief which  he  wore  round  his  head,  after  the  Anda- 
lusian  fashion,  and,  tying  it  to  the  end  of  his  lance, 
elevated  it  in  the  air.  "Cavaliers,"  cried  he,  "  why 
do  ye  take  weapons  in  your  hands,  if  you  de[)end 
upon  your  feet  for  safety?  This  day  will  determine 
who  is  the  brave  man,  and  who  the  coward.  He 
who  is  disposed  to  fight,  shall  not  want  a  standard : 
let  him  follow  this  handkerchief."  So  saying,  he 
waved  his  banner,  and  spurred  bravely  against  the 
Moors.  His  example  shamed  some,  and  hlled  others 
with  generous  emulation :  all  turned  with  one  ac- 
fonl,  and,  following  the  valiant  Fulgar,  rushed  with 
sh  luts  upon  the  enemy.  The  Moors  scarcely  waited 
to  receive  the  shock  of  their  encounter.  Seized  with 
a  sudden  panic,  they  took  to  flight,  and  were  pursued 
for  a  considerable  distance,  with  great  slaughter. 
Three  hundred  of  their  dead  strewed  the  road,  and 
were  stripped  and  despoiled  by  the  conquerors; 
many  were  taken  prisoners,  ami  the  christian  cava- 
liers returne<l  in  triumph  to  the  camp,  with  a  long 
cavalgada  ot  sheep  and  cattle  and  mules  laden  with 


booty,  and  bearing  before  them  the  singular  standaii 
which  had  conducted  them  to  victory.  i 

When  king  Ferdinand  was  informed  of  the  gallant 
action  of  Hernando  Perez  del  Pulgar,  he  imnitdiateji 
conferred  on  him  the  honor  of  knighthood,  and  or- 
dered,  that  in  memory  of  his  achievement,  he  should 
bear  for  arms  a  lance  with  a  handkerchief  at  the  end 
of  it,  together  with  a  castle  and  twelve  lirr.i.  Tiiii 
is  but  one  of  many  hardy  and  heroic  deeds  <':p,sbj 
this  brave  cavalier,  in  the  wars  against  the  Muois- 
by  which  he  gained  great  renown,  and  the  uiaJn- 
guished  appellation  of  "  El  de  las  hazanas,"  or  "  He 
of  the  exploits."* 


CHAPTER  X.XX. 


CONTINUATION  OT  THE  SIEGE  OF   BAZA. 

ThIE  old  Moorish  king  El  Zagal  mountei!  a  towet 
and  looked  out  eagerly  to  enjoy  the  sight  of  the  ctirij. 
tian  marauders  brought  captive  into  the  j^iies  of 
Guadix ;  but  his  spirits  fell,  when  he  beheld  his  own 
troops  stealing  back  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  in 
broken  and  dejected  parties.  i 

The  fortune  of  war  bore  hard  against  the  oki  mon- 
arch; his  mind  was  harassed  by  the  dis.astroiistniingj 
brought  each  day  from  Baza,  of  the  suffering!,  ot  the 
inhabitants,  and  the  numbers  of  the  garrison  sl.iin  in  I 
the  frequent  skirmishes.  He  dared  not  go  in  pi  rson 
to  the  relief  of  th'j  place,  for  his  presence  w;is  neces- 
sary in  Gaudix,  to  keep  a  check  upon  his  nephew  in 
Granada.  He  made  efforts  to  send  reinforcfir.enis 
and  supplies ;  but  they  were  intercepted,  and  either 
captured  or  driven  back.  Still  his  situation  was  in 
some  respects  preferable  to  that  of  his  neph'w  Boab- 
dil.  The  old  monarch  was  battling  Hki  i.  i,  urior, 
on  the  last  step  of  his  throne;  El  Cnico  i!.-..n.ine:ls 
kind  of  pensioned  vassal,  in  the  luxurious  ahode  ol 
the  Alhambra.  The  chivalrous  part  of  the  inhabit- 
ants of  Granada  could  not  but  compare  the  generous 
stand  made  by  the  warriors  of  Baza  for  their  country 
and  their  faith,  with  their  own  timeserving  submission 
to  the  yoke  of  an  imbeliever.  Every  account  they 
received  of  the  woes  of  B.ua,  wrung  tluMr  hearts 
with  agony ;  every  account  of  the  exploits  of  its  d^ 
voted  defenders,  brought  blushes  to  their  cheeks. 
Many  stole  forth  secretly  with  their  weapons,  and 
hastened  to  Join  the  besieged ;  and  the  partisans  of 
El  Zagal  wrought  upon  the  patriotism  and  p.i:.sionj 
of  the  remainder,  until  another  of  those  conspiracies 
was  formed,  that  were  continually  menacing  tiic  un- 
steady throne  of  Granada.  It  was  concerted  by  the 
conspirators,  to  assail  the  Alhambra  on  a  sudden;  to 
slay  Boabdil;  to  assembu  .1  the  troops,  and  march 
to  Guadix  ;  where,  being  reinforced  by  the  garrison 
of  that  place,  and  led  on  by  the  old  warrior  monarch, 
they  might  fall  with  overwheUning  power  upon  the 
christian  army  before  B.-ua. 

Fortunately  for  Boabdil,  he  discovered  the  con- 
spiracy in  time,  and  had  the  heads  of  the  leaders 
struck  ofl",  and  placed  upon  the  walls  of  the  Alham- 
bra.— an  act  of  severity  unusual  with  this  n.ild  and 
wavering  monarch,  which  struck  terror  into  the  di* 
atfectetl,  and  produced  a  kind  of  mute  tranqiiilHtj 
throughout  the  city. 

King  Ferdinana  had  full  information  of  all  thew 
movements  and  measures  for  the  relief  of  Baza,  and 
took  timely  precautions  to  prevent  them.  Bodies  of 
horsemen  held  watch  in  the  mountain  passes,  to 
prevent  all  supplies,  and  to  intercept  any  generoui 

•  Hemando  del  Pulnr  the  hhtorian,  secreUiy  to  queen  lubtlU, 
is  confouuOed  with  lhi»  cavalier,  by  wme  wnteit.  He  wu  auc 
present  at  the  siege  uf  Haia,  and  has  recounled  this  ttiiiiaciiontt 
bit  chronicle  of  the  Catholic  wvoreigtUi  FenAnand  <Ji^  Isabella 


A  CHRONICLE  OP  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


GE  OF   BAZA. 


K)lunteen  firom  Granada;  and  watch-towers  were 
erected,  or  scouts  were  i  'iced  on  every  command- 
ing height,  to  give  the  alarm  at  the  least  sign  of  a 
hostile  turban. 

The  prince  Cidi  Yahye  and  his  brave  companions 
In  arms,  were  thus  gradually  wailed  up.  as  it  were, 
from  the  rest  of  the  world.  A  line  of  lowers,  the 
liattlements  of  which  bristled  with  troops,  eirdied 
tbfir  city ;  and  behind  the  intervening  bulwarks  and 
palisadoes,  passed  and  repassed  continual  squadrons 
of  troops.  Week  after  week,  and  month  after  month, 
passed  away,  but  Ferdinand  waited  in  vain  for  the 
garrison  to  be  either  terrified  or  starved  into  surren- 
der. Every  day  they  sallied  forth  with  the  spirit  and 
alacrity  of  troops  high  fed,  and  flushed  with  confi- 
dence. "  The  christian  monarch,"  said  the  veteran 
Mohammed  ben  Hassan,  "  builds  his  hopes  upon  our 
growing  faint  and  desponding — we  must  manifest 
unusual  cheerfulness  and  vigor.  What  would  be 
rashness  in  other  service,  becomes  prudence  with 
us."  The  prince  Cidi  Yahye  agreed  with  him  in 
opinion,  ana  sallied  forth  with  his  troops  upon  all 
kinds  of  harebrained  exploits.  They  laid  ambushes, 
concerted  surprises,  and  made  the  most  desperate 
assaults.  The  great  extent  of  the  christian  works 
rendered  them  weak  in  many  parts :  against  these 
the  .Moors  directed  their  attacks,  suddenly  breaking 
into  them,  making  a  hasty  ravage,  and  bearing  off 
their  booty  in  triumph  to  the  city.  Sometimes  they 
would  sally  forth  by  the  passes  and  clefts  of  the 
mountain  m  the  rear  of  the  city,  which  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  guard,  and,  hurrying  down  into  the  plain, 
would  sweep  off  all  cattle  and  sheep  that  were  grazing 
near  the  suburbs,  and  all  stragelers  from  the  camp. 

These  partisan  saUies  brought  on  many  sharp  and 
bloody  encounters,  in  some  of  which  Don  Alonzo  de 
Aguilar  and  the  alcayde  de  los  Donzeles  distinguish- 
kI  themselves  greatly.  During  one  of  these  hot 
jkirinishes,  which  happened  on  the  skirts  of  the 
mountain,  about  twilight,  a  valiant  cavalier,  named 
Martin  Galindo,  beheld  a  powerful  Moor  dealing  dead- 
ly blows  al>out  him,  and  making  great  havoc  among 
the  christians.  Galindo  pressed  forward,  and  chal- 
lenged him  to  single  combat.  The  Moor,  who  was 
of  the  valiant  tribe  of  the  Abencerrages,  was  not 
slow  in  answering  the  call.  Couching  their  lances, 
tliey  rushed  furiously  upon  each  other.  At  the  first 
shock  the  Moor  was  wounded  in  the  face,  and  borne 
out  of  his  saddle.  Before  Galindo  could  check  his 
steed,  and  turn  from  his  career,  the  Moor  sprang 
upon  his  feet,  recovered  his  lance,  and,  rushing  upon 
him,  wounded  him  in  the  head  and  the  arm.  '1  hough 
Galindo  was  on  horseback  and  the  Moor  on  foot, 
yet  such  was  the  prowess  and  address  of  the  latter, 
that  the  christian  knight  beinp  disabled  in  the  arm, 
was  in  the  utmost  peril,  when  his  comrades  hastened 
to  his  assistance.  At  their  approach,  the  valiant  pa- 
gan retreated  slowly  up  the  rocks,  keeping  them  at 
bay,  until  he  found  himself  among  his  companions. 

Several  of  the  young  Spanish  cavaliers,  stung  by 
the  triumph  of  this  Moslem  knight,  would  have  chal- 
lenged others  of  the  Moors  to  single  combat ;  but 
king  Ferdinand  prohibited  all  vaunting  encounters 
01  the  kind.  He  forbade  his  troops,  also,  to  provoke 
skirmishes,  well  knowing  that  the  Moors  were  more 
Jettrous  than  most  people  in  this  irregular  mode 
of  fighting,  and  were  better  acquainted  with  the 
ground. 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

ROW  TWO   FRIARS   ARRIVED  AT  THE  CAMP,   AND 
HOW  THKY  CAME    FROM   THE   HOLY    LAND. 

While  the  holy  christian  army  (says  Fn-jy  Anto- 
nio Agapida)  was  ttius  beleaguring  this  infidel  city 
10 


of  Baza,  there  rode  into  the  camp,  one  day,  two  rever- 
end friars  of  the  order  of  Saint  Francis.  One  was 
of  portly  person,  and  authoritative  air :  he  bestrode 
a  goodly  steed,  well  conditioned  and  well  caparison- 
ed ;  while  his  companion  rode  beside  him,  upon  a 
humble  hack,  poorly  accoutred,  and,  as  he  rode,  he 
scarcely  raised  his  eyes  from  the  ground,  but  main- 
tained a  meek  and  lowly  air.  ' 

The  arrival  of  two  friars  in  the  camp  was  not  a 
matter  of  much  note,  for  in  these  holy  wais  the 
church  militant  continually  mingled  in  the  affray, 
and  helmet  and  cowl  were  always  seen  together; 
but  it  was  soon  discovered  that  these  worthy  saints- 
errant  were  from  a  far  country,  and  on  a  mission  of 
great  import. 

They  were,  in  truth,  just  arrived  from  the  Holy 
Land,  being  two  of  the  saintly  men  who  kept  vigil 
over  the  sepulchre  of  our  blessed  Lord  at  /erusalem. 
He  of  the  tall  and  portly  form  and  co  nmanding 
presence,  was  Fray  Antonio  Millan,  piior  of  the 
Franciscan  convent  in  the  holy  city.  He  had  a  full 
and  florid  countenance,  a  sonorous  voice,  and  was 
round,  and  swelling,  and  copious  in  his  periods,  like 
one  accustomed  to  harangue,  and  to  be  listened  to 
with  deference.  His  companion  was  small  and  spare 
in  form,  pale  of  visage,  and  soft  and  silken  and  al- 
most whispering  in  speech.  "  He  had  a  humble  and 
lowly  way,"  says  Agapida,  "evermore  bowing  the 
heacl,  as  became  one  of  his  calling."  Yet  he  wai 
one  of  the  most  active,  zealous,  and  effective  broth- 
ers of  the  convent ;  and  when  he  laised  his  small 
black  eye  from  the  earth,  there  was  a  keen  glance 
out  of  the  comer,  which  showed,  that  though  harm- 
less as  a  dove,  he  was  nevertheless  as  wise  as  a 
sirpsat. 

These  holy  men  had  come  on  a  momentous  ero- 
bassy  from  the  grand  soldan  of  Egypt ;  or,  as  Aeap' 
ida  terms  him  in  the  language  of  the  day.  the  soTdan 
of  Babylon.  The  leagfue  which  had  been  made  be- 
tween that  potentate  and  his  arch-foe  the  Grand- 
Turk  Bajazet  II.,  to  unite  in  arms  for  the  salvation 
of  Granada,  as  has  been  mentioned  in  a  previous 
chapter  of  this  chronicle,  had  come  to  nought.  The 
infidel  princes  had  again  taken  up  arms  against  each 
other,  and  had  relapsed  into  their  ancient  hostility. 
Still  the  grand  soldan,  as  head  of  the  whole  Moslem 
sect,  considered  himself  bound  to  preserve  the  king- 
dom of  Granada  from  the  grasp  of  unbelievers.  He 
dispatched,  therefore,  these  two  holy  friars  with 
letters  to  the  Castilian  sovereigns,  as  well  as  to  the 
pope  and  to  the  king  of  Naples,  remonstrating  against 
the  evils  done  to  the  Moors  of  the  kinedoin  of  Gra- 
nada, who  were  of  his  faith  and  kindred  ;  whereas  it 
was  well  known  that  great  numbers  of  christians 
were  indulged  and  protected  in  the  full  enjoyment  of 
their  property,  their  liberty,  and  their  faith,  in  his 
dominions.  He  insisted,  therefore,  that  this  war 
should  cease ;  that  the  Moors  of  Granada  should  be 
reinstated  in  the  territory  of  which  they  had  been 
dispossessed;  otherwise  he  threatened  to  put  tc 
death  all  the  christians  beneath  his  sway,  to  de- 
molish their  convents  and  temples  and  to  destroj 
the  holy  sepulchre. 

This  fearful  menace  had  spread  constematior 
among  the  christians  of  Palestine ;  and  when  t\u 
intrepid  Fray  Antonio  Millan  and  his  lowly  compar 
ion  departed  on  their  mission,  they  were  accom 
panied  far  from  the  gates  of  Jerusalem  by  an  anx- 
ious throng  of  brethren  and  disciples,  who  remained 
watching  them  with  tearful  eyes,  as  they  journeyed 
over  the  plains  of  Judea. 

These  holy  ambassadors  were  received  with  great 
distinction  by  king  Ferdinand  ;  for  men  of  their  cloth 
had  ever  high  honor  and  consideration  in  his  court 
He  had  long  and  frequent  conversations  with  them, 


M4 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVINO. 


m 


■•".J 


:*  *• 


ftbout  the  Holy  Land;  he  state  of  the  christian 
church  in  the  dominions  of  the  grand  soldan,  and  of 
the  policy  and  condact  of  that  arch-infidel  towards 
It.  The  portly  prior  of  the  Franciscan  convent  was 
bll,  and  round,  and  oratorical,  in  his,  replies ;  and 
(he  ling  expressed  himself  much  pleased  with  the 
doquence  of  his  periods ;  but  the  politic  monarch 
vas  observed  to  lend  a  close  and  attentive  ear  to  the 
whispering  voice  of  the  lowly  companion,  "  whose 

iscourse,  adds  Agapida,  "  though  modest  and  low, 
/as  clear  and  fluent,  and  full  of  subtle  wisdom." 
t'hese  holy  friars  had  visited  Rome  in  their  joumey- 
ng,  where  they  had  delivered  the  letter  of  the  sol- 
Jan  to  the  sovereign  pontiff.  His  holiness  had  writ- 
ten by  them  to  the  Castilian  sovereigns,  requesting 
to  know  what  reply  they  had  to  offer  to  this  demand 
of  the  oriental  potentate. 

The  king  of  Naples  also  wrote  to  them  on  the 
subject,  but  in  wary  tenns.  He  inquired  into  the 
cause  of  this  w.ar  with  the  Moors  o^  Granada,  and 
expressed  gre.it  marvel  at  its  events,  as  if  (says 
Agapida)  Irath  were  not  notorious  throughout  all  the 
christian  world.  "  Nay,"  adds  the  worthy  friar  with 
becoming  indignation,  "  he  uttered  opinions  savoring 
of  httle  better  than  damnable  heresy ; — for  he  ob- 
served, that  although  the  Moors  were  of  a  different 
sect,  they  ought  not  to  be  maltreated  without  just 
cause;  and  hinted  that  if  the  Castilian  sovereigns  did 
not  suffer  any  crying  injury  from  the  Moors,  it  would 
be  improper  to  do  any  thing  which  might  draw  great 
damage  upon  the  christians :  as  if,  when  once  the 
sword  of  the  faith  was  drawn,  it  ought  ever  to  be 
sheathed  until  this  scum  of  heathendom  were  utterly 
destroyed  or  driven  from  the  land.  But  this  mon- 
arch," he  continues,  •'  was  more  kindly  disposed 
towards  the  intidels  than  was  honest  and  lawful  in 
a  christian  prince,  and  was  at  tliat  very  time  in 
kagiie  with  the  suldan  against  tiieir  common  enemy 
the  Grand-Turk." 

These  pious  sentiments  of  the  truly  Catholic 
Agapida,  are  echoed  by  I'atire  Mariana,  in  his  histo- 
ry ;*  but  the  worthy  chronicler  Pedro  Abarca  attrib- 
utes the  interference  of  the  king  of  Naples,  not  to 
lack  of  orthodoxy  in  religion,  but  to  an  excess  of 
worldly  policy  ;  he  being  apprehensive  that,  should 
Ferdinand  conquer  the  Moors  of  Granada,  he  might 
have  time  and  means  to  assert  a  claim  of  the  house 
of  Arragon  to  the  crown  of  Naples. 

"  King  Ferdinand,"  continues  the  worthy  father 
Pedro  Abarca,  "  was  no  less  master  of  dissimulation 
than  his  cousin  of  Naples ;  so  he  replied  to  him  with 
the  utmost  suavity  of  manner,  going  into  a  minute 
and  patient  vindication  of  the  war,  and  taking  gre.it 
apparent  pains  to  inform  him  of  those  things  which 
all  the  world  knew,  but  of  which  the  other  pretended 
to  be  ignorant."!  At  the  s.ime  time  he  soothed  his 
M)iicitude  about  the  fate  of  the  christians  in  the  em- 
pire of  the  grand  soldan,  assuring  him  that  the  great 
rrvenue  extorted  from  them  in  rents  and  tributes, 
would  be  a  certain  protection  against  the  tiueatened 
violence. 

To  the  pope  he  made  the  usual  vindication  of  the 
war ;  that  it  was  for  the  recovery  of  ancient  terri- 
tory, usurped  by  the  Moors  ;  AtSr  the  punishment  of 
wais  ani  violences  inflicted  upon  tne  christians; 
and  tmallf,  that  it  was  a  holy  crusade  for  the  glory 
and  advancement  of  the  church. 

"  It  was  a  truly  edifying  sight,"  says  Ag.ipi<la,  "  to 
behold  these  friars,  after  they  had  had  their  audience 
of  the  king,  moving  about  the  camp  always  sur- 
rounded by  nobles  and  cavaliers  of  high  and  martial 
renown.     These  were  insatiable  in  their  questions 


•  lllii«n«,  Ub.  15.  cap.  15. 

t  Abaiacm,  Aaale*  da  Angon,  R<1  va.  cap.  j. 


about  the  Holy  Land,  the  state  of  the  sepulchre  of 
our  Lord,  and  the  sufferings  of  the  devoted  brrthaa 
who  guarded  it,  and  the  pious  pilgrims  who  resorted 
there  to  pay  their  vows.  The  portly  prior  of  the 
convent  would  stand  with  lofty  and  shining  cou^t^ 
nance  in  the  midst  of  these  iron  warriors,  and  (Je. 
claim  with  resounding  eloquence  on  the  history  of 
the  sepulchre ;  but  the  humbler  brother  would  ever 
and  anon  sigh  deeply,  and  in  low  tones  utter  some 
tale  of  suffering  and  outrage,  at  which  his  stcel-dau 
hearers  would  grasp  the  hilts  of  their  swords,  and 
mutter  between  their  cUnched  teeth  prayers  for  an- 
other crusade." 

The  pious  friars,  having  finished  their  mission  to 
the  king,  and  been  treated  with  all  due  distinction, 
took  their  leave  and  wended  their  way  to  Jaen,  to 
visit  the  most  Catholic  of  queens.  Isabella,  whcse 
heart  was  the  seat  of  piety,  received  them  as  sacred 
men,  invested  with  more  than  human  digjiity.  Durng 
their  residence  at  Jaen,  they  were  continually  in  the 
royal  presence  ;  the  respectable  prior  of  the  convent 
moved  atid  melted  the  ladies  of  the  court  by  ills 
florid  rhetoric,  but  his  lowly  companion  was  ol)serv- 
ed  to  have  continual  access  to  the  royal  e:ir.  I  hat 
saintly  and  soft-spoken  messenger  (says  Aj;  ipid?) 
received  the  reward  of  his  humility ;  for  the  ijueen, 
moved  by  his  frequent  representations,  made  in  all 
modesty  and  lowliness  of  spirit,  granted  a  ye:irly  sum 
in  perpetuity,  of  one  thousand  ducats  in  gold,  tor  •he 
support  of  the  monks  of  the  convent  of  the  holy 
sepulchre.* 

Moreover,  on  the  departure  of  these  holy  amba* 
sadors,  the  excellent  and  most  Catholic  queen  deliv. 
ered  to  them  a  veil  devoutly  embroidered  with  her 
own  royal  hands,  to  be  placed  over  the  holy  sejiul- 
chre; — a  precious  and  inestimable  present,  which 
called  fortn  a  most  eloquent  tribute  of  thanks  Irom 
the  portly  prior,  but  which  brought  tears  into  me 
eyes  of  his  lowly  companion,! 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


HOW  QUEEN   ISABELLA  DEVISED  MEANS  TO  SUF 
PLY  THE  ARMY   WITH   PROVISION.S. 

It  has  been  the  custom  to  laud  the  conduct  and 
address  of  king  Ferdinand,  in  this  most  arduous  and 
protracted  war  ;  but  the  sage  Agapida  is  more  dis- 
posed to  give  credit  to  the  counsels  and  inea5L,res  of 
the  queen,  who,  he  observes,  though  less  ostpnsihle 
in  action,  was  in  truth  the  very  soul,  the  vital  pnn- 
ciple,  of  this  great  enterprise.  While  king  Fenliiiind 
w.is  bustling  in  his  camp  and  making  a  glitteriti^'  dis- 
play with  his  gallant  chivalry,  she,  surroundtil  tiy 
her  saintly  counsellors,  in  the  episcopal  palace  of 
Jaen,  was  devising  ways  and  means  to  keep  the  king 
and  his  army  in  existence.  She  had  pledged  htrselt 
to  keep  up  a  supply  of  men,  and  money,  and  provis- 


lin 


*  "  La  Reyna  dio  a  los  Frayles  mil  ducadoi  de  renu  cado  ala 
rra  el  lauaiito  de  los  religiosos  del  unto  MpulcTu,  que  t%  l>  raejji 
.imoKna  y  sustarito  que  hiA«u  nuestroft  diai  ka  qtirdado  a  e^toi  re- 
iifliotas  <1e  Gertisalem  :  paradnnde  les  dio  la  Rayua  un  veto  Uhridc 
poi  suk  manot,  paia  ounei  encimade  la  tanta  icpulturadel  Sc<or," 
—Cariiay,  Compend.  Hist.,  lib.  18,  cap.  36. 

t  It  is  pn>per  to  mention  the  result  of  thia  mission  of  the  t«i 
frian,  and  which  the  wunhy  Acapida  has  nenlecled  to  record 
At  a  subsequent  period,  the  Cailiolic  soveIel((I>^  sent  the  disiin 
guished  historian,  Vieiru  Martyr,  of  AnKleria.  as  ambassad^'r  to  thi 
grand  soldan.  That  able  man  made  such  represeulaliurs  u  »ctt 
perfectly  tatisfactory  to  the  uhental  potentate.  He  al»o  ohiaineJ 
Irum  him  the  1  emission  of  many  eiactions  and  estortiont  hrreio- 
fore  uraciitcd  u|>on  christian  pilgrims  visiting  the  huly  sc;>ulclire ; 
whicn,  11  IS  presumed,  had  been  gently  but  cogently  detailed  to  ih< 
monarcli  by  the  lowly  friar,  Pietro  Alartyr  wrote  an  account  of  hii 
embassy  to  the  grand  soldan— a  work  greatly  esteemed  by  thi 
learned,  and  containing  much  curious  information.  It  is  cutitlad. 
De  LtpUhtu  Bahltniem. 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


20e 


ion5.  until  the  city  should  be  taken.  The  hardships 
of  the  siege  caused  a  fearful  waste  of  life,  but  the 
supply  of  men  was  the  least  difTicult  part  of  her  un- 
Jtrt.iKing.  So  beloved  was  the  queen  by  the  chivalry 
of  Spain,  that  on  her  calling  on  them  for  assistance, 
not  a  grandee  or  cavalier  that  yet  lingered  ai  home, 
but  either  repaired  in  person  oi  sent  forces  to  the 
(xnp ;  the  ancient  and  warlike  families  vied  with 
:Kh  other  in  marshalling  forth  their  vassals,  and 
thus  the  besieged  Moors  beheld  each  day  fresh  troops 
rriving  before  their  city,  and  new  ensigns  and  pen- 
,n:ns  displayed,  emblazoned  with  arms  well  known 
to  the  veteran  warriors. 

But  the  most  arduous  task  was  to  keep  up  a  regu- 
lar supply  of  provisions.  It  was  not  the  army  alone 
that  had  to  be  supported,  but  also  the  captureil  towns 
and  their  garrisons ;  for  the  whole  country  around 
them  had  been  ravaged,  and  the  conquerors  were  in 
danger  of  starving  in  the  midst  of  the  land  they  had 
desolated.  To  transport  the  daily  supplies  for  such 
immense  numbers,  was  a  gigantic  undertaking,  in  a 
country  where  there  was  neither  water  conveyance 
nor  roads  for  carriages.  Every  thing  had  to  be  borne 
by  beasts  of  burthen  over  rugged  and  broken  paths 
of  the  mountains,  and  through  dangerous  detiles,  ex- 
posed to  the  attacks  and  plunderings  of  the  Moors. 

The  wary  and  calculating  merchants,  accustomed 
to  supply  the  army,  shrunk  from  engaging,  at  their 
own  risk,  in  so  hazardous  an  undertaking.  The 
queen  therefore  hired  fourteen  thousand  be.asts  of 
burthen,  and  ordered  all  the  wheat  and  barley  to  be 
bou^lit  up  in  Andalusia,  and  in  the  domains  of  the 
kniyhts  of  Santiago  and  Calatr.ava.  She  distributed 
the  administration  of  these  supplies  among  al)le  and 
confidential  persons.  Some  were  employed  to  col- 
lect the  grain  ;  others,  to  take  it  to  the  mills  ;  others, 
to  jui)erintentl  the  grinding  and  delivery  ;  and  others, 
to  convey  it  to  the  camp.  Tc  every  two  hundred 
«r,imals  a  muleteer  was  allotted,  to  take  charge  of 
them  on  the  route.  Thus,  great  lines  of  convoys 
were  in  constant  movement,  traversing  to  and  fro, 
wirded  by  large  bodies  of  troops,  to  defend  them 
from  hovering  parties  of  the  Moors.  Not  a  single 
Jay's  intermission  was  allowed,  for  the  army  de- 
pended upon  the  const.ant  arrival  of  these  supplies 
for  daily  food.  The  grain,  when  brous^ht  into  the 
camp,  was  desposited  in  an  immense  granary,  and 
sold  to  the  army  at  a  fixed  price,  which  was  never 
either  raised  or  lowered. 

incredible  were  the  expenses  incurred  in  these  sup- 
plies ;  but  the  queen  had  ghostly  ailvisers,  thoroughly 
versed  in  the  art  of  getting  at  the  resources  of  the 
country.  Many  worthy  prelates  opened  the  deep 
purses  of  the  church,  and  furnished  loans  from  the 
revenues  of  their  dioceses  and  convents ;  and  tlieir 
pious  contributions  were  eventually  rewarded  by 
he  ideiice  an  hundred  fold.  Merchants  and  other 
weailhy  individuals,  confident  of  the  punctual  faith 
of  the  queen,  advanced  large  sums  on  the  security 
of  her  word ;  many  noble  families  lent  their  plate, 
without  waiting  to  be  asked.  The  queen  also  sold 
n:rt:i!n  annual  rents  in  inheritance  at  great  sacrifices, 
irvjjning  the  revenues  of  towns  ancf  cities  IVir  tfie 
Wiuent.  Finding  all  this  insullicient  to  satisfy  the 
ir.orncus  expenditure,  she  sent  her  gold  and  plate 
»nd  all  hei  jewels  to  the  cities  of  Valci.iia  and  Bar- 
ftlor_i,  where  they  were  pledj^ed  for  a  great  amount 
of  money,  which  was  iinmeiTiatcly  appropriated  to 
keep  up  the  supplies  of  the  army. 

Thus,  through  the  wonderful  activity,  judgment, 
and  enteqirise  of  this  heroic  and  magnanimous 
woman,  a  great  host,  encamped  in  the  heart  of  a 
warlike  country,  accessible  only  over  mountain  roads, 
was  maintained  in  continual  abundance.  Nor  was 
it  supplied  mexely  with  the  necessaries  and  comforts 


of  life.  The  powerful  escorts  drew  merih.tnts  and 
artificers  from  all  parts,  to  repair,  as  if  in  caravans, 
to  this  great  military  market.  In  a  little  while,  the 
camp  aljounded  with  tradesmen  and  a.tists  of  al 
kinds,  to  administer  to  the  luxury  and  ostentation  of 
the  youthful  chivalry.  Here  might  be  seen  cunn'ng 
artihcers  in  steel,  and  accomplished  armorers,  achicv 
ing  those  rare  and  sumptuous  helmets  and  cuirasses 
richly  gilt,  inlaid,  and  etnbossed,  in  which  the  Span 
ish  cavaliers  delighted.  Saddlers  and  hamcsa 
makers  and  horse-milliners,  also,  were  there,  whose 
tents  glittered  with  gorgeous  housings  and  capari- 
sons. The  merchants  spread  forth  their  sumptuous 
silks,  cloths,  'jrocades,  tine  linen,  and  tapestry.  The 
tents  of  the  nobility  were  prodigally  decorated  with 
all  kinds  of  the  richest  stutTs,  and  dazzled  the  eye 
with  their  magnificence:  nor  could  the  grave  looks 
and  grave  speeches  of  king  Ferdinand  prevent  his 
youthful  cavaliers  from  vying  with  each  other  in  'he 
splendor  of  their  dresses  and  caparisons,  on  all  oc- 
casions of  parade  and  ceremony. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 


OP  THE  DISASTERS  WHICH   BEFKLL  THE  CAMP. 

Whilk  the  christian  camp,  thus  gay  and  gor- 
geous, spread  itself  out  like  a  holyday  pageant  befort 
the  walls  of  Baza — while  a  long  line  of  beasts  of  bur- 
then. Laden  with  provisions  and  luxuries,  were  seen 
descending  the  valley  from  morning  till  night,  .and 
pouring  into  the  camp  a  continued  stream  of  abun- 
dance,— the  unfortunate  garrison  found  their  re- 
sources rapidly  wasting  away,  and  famine  alreadjf 
began  to  pinch  the  peaceful  part  of  the  community. 

Cidi  Yahye  had  acted  with  great  spirit  and  valor, 
as  long  as  there  was  any  prospect  of  success  ;  bat  he 
began  to  lose  his  usual  tire  and  animation,  and  was 
olwerved  to  pace  the  walls  of  Baza  with  a  pensive 
air,  casting  many  a  wistful  look  towards  the  chris- 
tian camp,  and  sinking  into  profound  reveries  and 
cogitations.  The  veteran  alcayde,  Mohammed  ben 
H.issan,  noticed  these  desponding  moods,  and  en- 
deavored to  rally  the  spirits  of  the  prince.  '•  The 
rainy  season  is  at  hand,'  would  he  cry  ;  "  the  floods 
will  soon  pour  down  from  the  mountains  ;  the  rivers 
will  overflow  their  b.anks,  and  inundate  the  valleys. 
The  christian  king  already  begins  to  waver  ;  he  dare 
not  linger,  and  encounter  such  a  season,  in  a  plain 
cut  up  tjy  canals  and  rivulets.  A  single  wintry  stonn 
from  our  mountains  would  wash  away  his  canvas 
city,  and  sweep  off  those  gay  pavilions  like  wreaths 
of  snow  before  the  blast." 

The  prince  Cidi  Yahye  took  heart  at  these  words, 
and  counted  the  days  as  they  passed  until  the  stormy 
season  should  commence.  As  he  watched  the  chris- 
tian camp,  he  beheld  it  one  morning  in  universal 
commotion:  there  was  an  unusual  sound  of  ham- 
mers in  every  part,  as  if  some  new  engines  of  war 
were  constructing.  At  length,  to  his  astonishment, 
the  walls  and  roofs  of  houses  began  to  appear  above 
the  bulwarks.  In  a  little  while,  there  were  above  s 
thousand  edifices  of  wood  and  plaister  erected,  cot- 
ered  with  tiles  taken  from  the  demolished  towers  of 
the  orchards,  and  bearing  the  pennons  of  various 
commanders  and  cavaliers ;  while  the  common  sol- 
diery constructed  huts,  of  clay  and  branches  of  trees, 
thatched  with  straw.  Thus,  to  the  dismay  of  the 
Moors,  within  four  days  the  light  tents  and  gay  pa- 
vilions which  had  whitened  their  hills  and  plains, 
passed  away  like  summer  clouds;  and  the  unsub- 
stantial camp  assumed  the  solid  appearance  of  a  citj 


-^66 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING 


>.  KM 

4 


?f 


w 


laid  out  into  streets  &nd  squares.  In  the  centre  rose 
>  iarge  edifice  which  overlooked  the  whole ;  antl  the 
royal  standard  of  Arragon  and  Gtstile,  proudly  float- 
ing above  it.  showed  it  to  be  the  palace  of  the 
kinj.* 

{■erdinand  had  taken  the  sudden  resolution  thus 
tc  turn  his  camp  into  a  city,  partly  to  provide  against 
ihe  approaching  season,  and  partly  to  convince  the 
Moors  of  his  hxed  deterntination  to  continue  the 
■icge.  In  their  haste  to  erect  their  dwellings,  how- 
ever, the  Spanish  cavaliers  had  not  properly  consid- 
ered the  nature  of  the  climate.  For  the  greater  part 
of  the  year,  there  scarcely  tails  a  drop  of  rain  on  the 
thirsty  soil  of  Andalust;i.  The  ramblas,  or  dry  chan- 
nels of  the  torrents,  remain  deep  and  arid  gashes  and 
clefts  in  the  sides  of  the  mountains ;  the  perennial 
streams  shrink  up  to  mere  threads  of  water,  which, 
tinkling  down  the  bottoms  of  the  deep  barrancas  or 
ravines,  scarce  (txd  and  keep  alive  the  rivers  of  the 
valleys.  The  rivers,  almost  lost  in  their  wide  and 
naked  beds,  seem  like  thirsty  rills,  winding  in  ser- 
pentine mazes  throu^^h  deserts  of  sand  and  stones  ; 
and  so  shallow  and  tranquil  in  their  course,  as  to  be 
forded  in  safety  in  almost  every  part.  One  autuntnal 
tempest  of  rain,  however,  changes  the  whole  face  of 
nature  : — the  clouds  break  in  deluges  among  the  vast 
congregation  of  mountains ;  the  ramblas  are  sud- 
denly hlled  with  raging  floods ;  the  tinkling  rivulets 
swell  to  thundering  torrents,  that  come  roaring  down 
from  the  mountains,  tumbling  gre.it  masses  of  rocks 
in  their  career.  The  late  meandering  river  spreads 
over  its  once  naked  bed,  lashes  its  surges  against  the 
banks,  and  rushes  like  a  wide  and  foaming  inunda- 
tion through  the  valley. 

Scaicely  had  the  christians  finished  their  slightly 
built  edifices,  when  an  autumnal  tempest  of  the  kind 
caine  scouring  from  the  mountains.  The  camp  was 
hnn\ediatcly  overflowed.  Many  of  the  houses,  un- 
dermined by  the  floods  or  beaten  by  the  rain,  crum- 
bled away  and  fell  to  the  earth,  bur)'ing  man  and 
beast  beneath  their  ruins.  Several  valuable  lives 
were  lost,  and  great  numbers  of  horses  and  other 
animals  perished.  To  add  to  the  distress  and  con- 
fusion of  the  camp,  the  daily  supply  of  provisions 
suddenly  ceased ;  for  the  rain  haa  broken  up  the 
roads,  and  rendered  the  rivers  impassable.  A  panic 
seized  upon  the  army,  for  the  cessation  of  a  single 
day's  supply  produced  a  scarcity  of  bread  and  prov- 
ender. Fortunately,  the  rain  was  but  transient :  the 
torrents  rushed  by,  and  ceased ;  the  rivers  shrunk 
back  again  to  their  narrow  channels,  and  the  convoys 
that  had  been  detained  upon  their  banks  arrived 
safely  in  the  crir..,/. 

No  sooner  di<l  queen  Isabella  hear  of  this  interrup- 
tion of  her  supplies,  than,  with  her  usual  vigilance 
and  activity,  she  provided  against  its  recurrence. 
She  dispatched  six  thousand  foot-soldiers,  under  the 
command  of  ex|)erienced  officers,  to  repair  the  roads, 
and  to  make  causeways  and  bridges,  for  the  distance 
of  seven  Spanish  leagues.  The  troops,  also,  who 
had  been  stationed  in  the  mountains  by  the  king  to 
guard  the  defiles,  made  two  paths, — one  for  the  con- 
voys going  to  the  camp,  and  the  other  for  those  re- 
turning, that  they  might  not  meet  and  impede  each 
frthcr.  The  edifices  which  had  been  demolished  by 
the  late  floods  were  rebuilt  in  a  firmer  manner,  and 
precautions  were  taken  to  protect  the  camp  from 
niture  inundations. 


•  CcK«  d«  \Bt  Paladoi,  Pulcsr,  Ac. 


11 


CHAPTER  XXXlV. 

ENCOUNTER.S  BKTWEEN  THE  CHRISTIANS  ANC 
MOORS,  BEFORE  BAZA ;  AND  THE  DEVoriOM 
OP  THE  INHABITANTS  TO  THE  DIPENCK  01 
THEIK    CITY. 

When  King  Ferdinand  beheld  the  ravage  anii 
confusion  pro<luced  by  a  single  autumnal  stonr.  ;tx\i 
bethought  him  of  all  the  maladies  to  which  a  b^ 
sieging  camp  is  cx,»oscd  in  inclement  seasons,  tit 
began  to  feel  his  compassion  kindling  for  the  sut];-:inf 
people  of  Baza,  and  an  inclination  to  grant  ihen 
more  favorable  terms.  He  sent,  therefore,  scvera. 
messages  to  the  alcayde  Mohammed  ben  Hxssan. 
oflering  liberty  of  person  and  security  of  propert 
for  the  inhabitants,  and  large  rewards  for  hin 
he  would  surrender  the  city. 

The  veteran  Mohammed  was  not  to  be  dazzled  hy 
the  splendid  offers  of  the  monarch ;  he  had  received 
exaggerated  accounts  of  the  damage  done  to  tht 
christian  camp  by  the  late  stonn,  and  of  the  siitTer- 
in.ijs  and  discontents  of  the  army  in  conseqiit  net-  of 
the  transient  interruption  of  supplies;  he  considered 
the  overtures  of  Ferdinand  as  proofs  of  the  desprnte 
state  of  his  affairs.  "  A  little  more  patience,  a  little 
more  patience,"  said  the  shrewd  old  warrior,  ",ind 
we  shall  see  this  cloud  of  christian  locusts  driven 
away  before  the  winter  storms.  When  they  onc! 
turn  their  backs,  it  will  be  our  turn  to  strike ;  and 
with  the  help  of  Allah,  the  blow  shall  be  decisive." 
He  sent  a  firm  though  courteous  refusal  to  the 
Castilian  monarch,  and  in  the  mean  time  aniinat*^ 
his  companions  to  sally  forth  with  more  spirit  tliw 
ever,  to  attack  the  Spanish  outposts  and  those  l.^lior- 
ing  in  the  trenches.  The  consequence  was,  a  dailj 
occurrence  of  the  most  daring  »nd  bloody  skirmishei 
that  cost  the  lives  of  many  of  the  bravest  and  mosi 
adventurous  cavaliers  of  either  army. 

In  one  of  these  sallies,  nearly  three  hundred  horse 
and  two  thousand  foot  mounted  the  heights  lieliird 
the  city,  to  capture  the  christians  who  were  employ- 
ed upon  the  works.  They  came  by  surprise  u]wn  a 
body  of  guards,  esquires  of  the  count  de  Uren  i,  liill- 
ed  some,  put  the  rest  to  flight,  and  pursued  thena 
down  the  mountain,  until  they  came  in  sight  of  a 
small  force  under  the  count  (le  Tendilla  and  (ion- 
salvo  of  Cordova.  The  Moors  came  rushing  down 
with  such  fury,  that  many  of  the  men  of  the  count 
de  Tendilla  betook  themselves  to  flight.  The  brave 
count  considered  it  less  dangerous  to  fight  than  tc 
fly.  Bracing  his  buckler,  therefore,  and  grasping 
his  trusty  weapon,  he  stood  his  ground  wiih  his 
accustomed  prowess.  Gonsalvo  of  Cordova  r.i!iged 
himself  by  his  side,  and,  marshalling  the  troops  which 
remained  with  them,  they  made  a  valiant  front  to  the 
Moors. 

The  infidels  pressed  them  hard,  and  were  gaininc 
the  advantage,  when  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  hearing  of 
the  danger  of  his  brother  Gonsalvo,  flew  to  hii  as 
sistance,  accompanied  by  the  count  of  Uretia  and  9 
body  of  their  troops.  A  hot  fight  ensued,  from  chfl 
to  cliff  and  glen  to  glen.  The  M«  ors  were  fewer  ia 
number,  but  they  excelled  in  the  d  sxterity  and  ignt- 
ness  requisite  for  their  scrambling  skirmishes.  Thev 
were  at  length  driven  from  their  vantage-ground, 
and  pursued  by  Alonzo  de  Aguilar  and  his  brother 
Gonsalvo  to  the  very  suburbs  of  the  city,  leaving 
many  of  the  bravest  of  their  men  upon  the  field. 

Such  was  one  of  innumerable  rough  encounten 
which  were  daily  taking  place,  in  which  many  brave 
cavaliers  were  slain,  without  any  apparent  benefit  to 
either  party.  The  Moors,  notwithstanding  repented 
defeats  and  losses,  continued  to  sally  forth  daily 
vith  astonishing  spirit  and  vigor,  and  the  obstinai^ 


A  'CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA, 


20'} 


RISTtANS  ANC 
HR  DBVCMIOM 
:    DIFENCK    01 


the  ravage  anff 
nnal  stonr.  ^tnj 
to  which  a  \}f 
ent  seay;ns,  ht 
forthesutU'rin^ 
to  gram  iheit 
hereforr,  st-vera, 
ed  ben  H.uss.in. 
rity  of  propcrt 


3 


Js  for  hiinscli 


to  be  dazzled  liy 
he  had  reicivec! 
tge  done  to  tht 
nd  of  the  siitfer- 
i  consequence  of 
i :  he  consi'lcred 
i  of  the  despTitt 
patience,  a  littlt 
Id  warrior,  ".ind 
,n  locusts  (Iriveii 
When  they  onct 
•n  to  strike ;  and 
lall  be  decisive." 
s  refusal  to  the 
n  time  animat»^ 
more  spirit  tliin 
,  and  those  lalwr- 
ence  was,  a  da:!j 
iloody  skirrri'.bha 
bravest  and  nioii 

Iv. 

!e  hundred  horse 
»e  heights  lieliind 
ho  were  employ- 
surprise  ii[Kjn  a 
it  de  Uren.i,  Ikiil- 
pursucil  tliern 
me  in  siglu  of  a 
indiUa  and  ("jon- 
me  rushing  down 
nen  of  the  (.oiint 
ijjht.     The  brave 
to  fight  than  to 
re,  and  grasping 
ground  wiih  his 
Cordova  ranged 
the  troops  which 
aliant  front  lo  iht 


and  were  gainine 
{uilar,  hearing  at 
0,  flew  to  his  as 

of  Ureiia  and  a 
ensued,  from  cbfi 
ors  were  fewer  in 
scterityand  igni- 
ikirmishes.    I'hev 

vantage-ground, 

and  his  IJroiher 
the  city,  leaving 
pon  the  field. 
rough  cncounten 
vhich  many  brave 
pparent  benefit  to 
standing  repe.ited 

sally  forth  daily 
>d  the  obstinaii 


It  their  defence  teemed  to  increase  with  their  sufTer- 


rhc  prince  Cidi  Yahve  was  ever  foremost  in  these 
tallies,  but  he  grew  daily  more  despairing  of  success. 
All  the  money  in  the  military  chest  was  expended, 
ind  'here  was  no  longer  wherewithal  to  pay  the 
hired  troops.  Still  the  veteran  Mohammed  ben  Has- 
uii  undertook  to  provide  for  this  emergency.  Suin- 
lOcning  the  principal  inhabitants,  he  represented  the 
UKtiiity  of  some  exertion  and  sa=riiice  on  their  part, 
>0  maintain  the  defence  of  the  city.  "  The  enemy," 
it'd  iie,  "dreads  ih".  approach  of  winter,  and  our 
peisevrrance  drives  him  to  despair.  A  little  longer, 
and  hft  will  leave  you  in  quiet  enjoyment  of  your 
homes  and  families.  But  our  troops  must  be  paid, 
to  keep  them  in  good  heart.  Our  money  is  exhausted, 
tnd  all  our  supplies  are  cut  off.  It  is  impossible  to 
continue  our  defence,  without  your  aid." 

U|)on  this  the  citizens  consulted  together,  and  they 
collected  all  their  vessels  of  gold  and  silver,  and 
brou|,'ht  them  to  Mohammed  ben  Hassan:  "Take 
these,"  said  they,  "  and  coin  them,  or  sell  them,  or 
pltdK'e  them,  for  money  wherewith  to  iwy  the  troops." 
The  women  of  Baza  also  were  seized  with  generous 
emulation :  "  Shall  we  deck  ourselves  with  gorgeous 
apparel,"  said  they,  "  when  our  country  is  desolate, 
and  its  defenders  in  want  of  bread  ?  "  So  they  took 
their  collars,  and  bracelets  and  anklets,  and  other 
oman'.ents  of  gold,  and  all  their  jewels,  and  put  them 
in  the  hands  of  the  veteran  alcayde :  "  Take  these 
spoils  of  our  vanity,"  said  they,  "  and  let  them  con- 
ttibute  to  the  defence  of  our  homes  and  families.  If 
Baza  l>e  delivered,  we  need  no  jewels  to  grace  our 
rejoicing ;  and  if  Baza  fall,  of  what  avail  are  orna- 
iticnis  to  the  captive  ?  " 

Ky  these  contributions  was  Mohammed  enabled  to 
f  ly  the  soldiery,  and  to  carry  on  the  defence  of  the 


Ciy  with  unabated  spirit. 

Tiding 


1^  were  speedily  conveyed  to  king  Fer<li- 
liand,  ot  this  generous  devotion  on  the  part  of  the 
people  of  Uaza,  .and  the  hopes  which  the  Moorish 
coniinanilers  gave  them  that  the  christian  army  would 
soon  abandon  the  siege  in  desj)air.  "  They  shidl  have 
a  convincing  proof  of  the  fallacy  of  such  hopes,"  said 
the  politic  monarch :  so  he  wrote  forthwith  to  queen 
Isahiella,  praying  her  to  come  to  the  camp  in  state, 
with  all  her  train  and  retinue,  and  publicly  to  take 
up  her  residence  there  for  the  winter.  By  this 
means,  the  Moors  would  be  convinced  of  the  settled 
determination  of  the  sovereigns  to  persist  in  the 
siege  until  the  city  should  surrender,  and  he  trusted 
they  would  be  brought  to  speedy  capitulation. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


HOW  QUEEN    ISABELLA  ARRIVED    AT   THE  CAMP, 
AND  THE  CONSEQUENCES  Or    HER  ARRIVAL. 

Mohammed  ben  Hassan  still  encouraged  his 
companions  with  hopes  that  the  royal  anny  would 
toon  relinquish  the  siege ;  when  they  heard,  one  day, 
itic'Jts  of  joy  from  the  christian  cainp,  and  thunder- 
aij;  salvos  of  artillery.  Word  was  brought,  at  the 
un.e  time,  from  the  sentinels  on  the  watch-towers, 
tkkt  a  christian  army  was  approaching  down  the 
Tailey.  Mohammed  and  his  fellow-commanders  as- 
cended one  of  the  highest  towers  of  the- walls,  and 
beheld  in  truth  a  numerous  force,  in  shining  array, 
descending  the  hills,  and  heard  the  distant  clangor  of 
the  trumpet  and  the  faint  swell  of  triumphant  music. 

As  the  host  drew  nearer,  they  descried  a  stately 
dame  magnificently  attired,  whom  they  soon  dis- 
covered to  be  the  queen.    She  was  riding  on  s>.  mule. 


the  sumptuous  trappings  of  which  were  resplendent 
with  gold,  and  reached  to  the  ground.  On  her  right 
hand  rode  her  daughter,  the  prmcess  Isabella,  equally 
splendid  in  her  array ;  and  on  her  left,  the  venerable 
grand  cardinal  of  Spain.  A  noble  train  of  ladies  and 
cavaliers  followed  her,  together  with  pages  and 
esquires,  and  a  numerous  guard  of  hidalgos  of  high 
rank,  arrayed  in  superb  armor.  When  the  ve^cras 
Mohammed  ben  Hassan  beheld   that  this  was  the 

3ueen  Isabella,  arnving  in  state  to  take  up  her  rcsi- 
ence  in  the  camp,  his  heart  failed  him ;  he  shook 
his  hc.-id  mournfully,  and,  turning  to  his  capt.ains, 
"  Cavaliers,"  said  he,  "  the  fate  of  Baza  is  decided  !  " 

The  Mocrish  commanders  remained  gazing  with 
a  mingled  feeling  of  grief  and  admiration  at  this 
magnihcent  pageant,  which  foreboded  the  fall  of 
their  city.  Some  of  the  troops  would  have  sallied 
forth  on  one  of  their  desperate  skirmishes,  to  attack 
the  royal  guard ;  but  the  prince  Cidi  Yahye  forbade 
them  ;  nor  would  he  allow  any  artillery  to  be  dis- 
charged, cr  any  molestation  or  insult  to  be  offered  ; 
for  tTie  character  of  Isabella  was  venerated  even  by 
the  Moors ;  and  most  of  the  commanders  possessed 
that  high  and  chivalrous  courtesy  which  belongs  to 
heroic  spirits — for  they  were  among  the  noblest  and 
bravest  cavaliers  of  the  Moorish  nation. 

The  inhabitants  of  Baza,  when  they  learnt  that  the 
christian  queen  was  approaching  the  camp,  eagerly 
sought  every  eminence  that  could  command  a  view 
of  the  plain  ;  and  ever)-  battlement,  and  tower,  and 
mosque,  was  covered  with  turbaned  heads  gazing  at 
the  glorious  siJcctaclc.  They  beheld  king  Ferdinand 
issue  forth  in  royal  state,  attended  by  the  mar()uea 
of  Cadiz,  the  Master  of  Santiago,  the  duke  of  Alva 
the  admiral  of  Castile,  and  many  other  nobles  of  r^ 
nown ;  while  the  whole  chivalry  of  the  camp,  sump 
tuously  arrayed,  followed  in  his  train,  and  the  pcpu 
lace  rent  the  air  with  acclamations  at  the  sig!  it  of 
the  patriot  queen. 

When  the  sovereigns  had  met  and  embraced  each 
other,  tlie  two  hosts  mingled  together  and  entered 
the  camp  in  martial  pomp ;  and  the  eyes  of  the  in- 
fidel beholders  were  dazzled  by  the  Hash  of  annor, 
the  splendor  of  golden  caparisons,  the  gorgeous  dis- 
play of  silks  and  brocades  and  velvets,  of  tossing 
plumes  and  fluttering  banners.  There  was  at  the 
same  time  a  triumphant  sound  of  drums  and  trump- 
ets, clarions  and  sackbuts,  mingled  with  the  sweet 
melotly  of  the  dulcim'r,  which  came  swelling  in 
bursts  of  harmony  'uiat  seemed  to  rise  up  to  the 
heavens.* 

On  the  arr^al  of  the  queen,  (says  the  historian 
Hernando  del  Pulgar,  who  was  present  at  the  time,) 
it  wa«  .iiarvellous  to  behold  how  all  at  once  the  rigor 
.»n(l  turbulence  of  war  were  softened,  and  the  storm 
of  passion  sunk  into  a  calm.  The  sword  was  sheath- 
ed ;  the  cross-bow  no  longer  lanched  its  deadly 
shafts ;  and  the  artillery,  which  had  hitherto  kept  up 
an  incessant  uproar,  now  ceaserl  its  thundering.  On 
both  sides,  there  was  still  a  vigilant  guard  kept  up ; 
the  sentinels  bristled  the  walls  of  Bjza  with  their 
lances,  and  the  guards  patrolled  the  christian  camp, 
but  there  was  no  sallying  forth  to  skirmish,  nor  any 
wanton  violence  or  carnage. 

Prince  Cidi  Yahye  saw,  by  the  arrival  of  the 
queen,  that  the  christians  were  determined  to  ccfw 
tinue  the  siege,  and  he  knew  that  the  city  wo  aid 
have  to  capitulate.  He  had  been  prodigal  of  vhe 
Uves  of  his  soldiers,  as  long  as  he  thought  a  military 
good  was  to  be  gained  by  the  sacrifice ;  but  he  wai 
sparing  of  their  blood  in  a  hopclesf  cause,  and 
weary  of  exasperating  the  enemy  by  an  obstinate  yd 
hopeless  defence. 


•  Cun  d<  los  PalaoM. 


m 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


hi! 


At  the  requf  St  ol  prince  CJdl  Yahye,  a  parley  was 

OTan.ed,  antl  the  Mnster  commander  of  Leon,  Don 
Gutiere  de  Cardenas,  was  appointed  to  confer  willi 
the  veteran  akayde  Molu\mmc<l.  They  met  at  an 
appointed  place,  within  vit^w  of  both  camp  and  city, 
honorably  aittiiditl  by  cavaliers  of  either  army. 
Thrir  niertinfj  w.is  hi;;hly  courteous,  for  they  had 
learnt,  f-«m  r()Uj;h  encounters  in  the  licld,  to  admire 
each  other's  pnmess.  The  commander  ol  Leon,  in 
tn  tarnejt  speech,  pointed  out  the  hopelessness  of 
my  further  defence,  and  w;irncil  Mohamnied  of  the 
J^i  which  Malaga  had  incurred  by  its  obstinacy,  "  I 
promise,  in  the  name  of  my  sovereigns,"  said  he, 
"  that  if  you  surrender  inwnediately,  the  inhahitants 
shall  be  treated  as  subjects,  and  protected  in  prop- 
erty, liberty,  and  religion.  If  you  refuse,  you,  who 
are  now  renowned  as  an  ible  and  judicious  com- 
mander, will  Ijc  eli.irfj 'icli  with  the  contiscalions, 
captivities,  and  ileaths,  which  may  be  sulfered  by 
the  people  of  Baza." 

The  commander  ceased,  and  Mohammed  returned 
to  the  city  to  consult  with  his  companions.  It  was' 
evident  that  all  further  resistance  was  hopeless;  but 
the  Moorish  commanders  felt  that  a  cloud  might 
rest  upon  their  names,  should  they,  of  their  own  dis- 
creiion,  surrender  so  important  a  place  without  its 
having  sustained  an  assault.  Prince  Cidi  Yahye  re- 
quested permission,  therefore,  to  sen<l  an  envoy  to 
Guadix,  with  a  letter  to  the  old  monarch  El  Zagal, 
treating  of  the  surrender ;  the  request  was  granted, 
a  safe-conduct  assured  to  the  envoy,  and  the  veteran 
alcayde  Mohammed  ben  Hassan  departed  upon  this 
mojnenious  mission. 


CHAPTER  XXXVL 

SURRENDER  OK   BAZA. 


The  old  warrior  king  was  seated  in  an  inner  cham- 
ber of  the  castle  of  liuadix,  much  cast  down  in  spirit, 
and  ruminating  on  his  gloomy  fortunes,  when  an  en- 
voy from  B.'iza  was  annoimced,  anil  the  veteran  al- 
cayde Mohammed  stood  before  him.  El  Zagal  saw- 
disastrous  tidings  written  in  his  countenance  :  "  How 
■'ares  it  with  Ha7..i  ?  "  said  he,  sun^moning  up  his  spirits 
to  the  question.  '•  Let  this  inform  thee,"  replied 
Mohammed  ;  and  he  delivered  into  his  hands  the 
letter  from  the  prince  Cidi  Yahye. 

This  letter  spoke  of  the  desperate  situation  of 
Baza  ;  the  impossibility  of  holding  out  longer,  with- 
out assistnnce  from  El  Zagal;  and  the  favorable 
terms  held  out  by  the  Castili.-in  sovereigns.  Had  it 
been  written  by  any  other  person,  El  Z.ag:d  might 
have  received  it  with  distrust  and  indignation  ;  hut 
he  contided  in  Cidi  Yahye  as  in  a  second  self,  and 
the  words  of  his  letter  sunk  deep  in  his  heart.  When 
he  had  finished  reading  it,  he  sighed  deeply,  and  re- 
mained for  some  time  lost  in  thought,  witti  his  head 
drooping  u^on  his  bosom.  Recovering  himself,  at 
length,  he  called  together  t|^e  alfa(juis  and  the  old 
men  of  Guadix,  and,  communicating  the  tidings  from 
Baza,  solicited  their  advice.  It  was  a  sign  of  sore 
trouble  of  mind  and  dejection  of  iieart,  when  El  Zagal 
sought  the  advice  of  others  ;  but  his  fierce  courage 
was  tamed,  fr  r  he  saw  the  end  of  his  power  approach- 
ing. The  altaquis  and  the  old  men  did  but  increase 
the  .listraction  of  his  mind  by  a  variety  of  counsel, 
none  of  which  appeared  of  any  avail ;  for  unless  Baza 
were  succoreil,  it  was  impossible  that  it  should  hold 
out ;  and  every  attempt  to  succor  it  had  proved  inef- 
fectual. 

El  Zagal  dismissed  his  council  in  despair,  and 
•uirimoned  the  veteran  Moha/i.r."-sd  before  hmi.  "  Al- 


lah Acbar  t "  exclaimed  he,  "  God  Is  great  there  It 
but  one  (lOd,  and  M.ihomet  is  his  prophet.  Rctnrr 
to  my  cousin,  Cidi  Yahye  ;  tell  him  it  is  out  of  mj 
power  to  aid  him  ;  he  must  do  as  seems  to  hiin  foi 
the  best.  The  pi.ople  of  Baza  have  perfornieil  ijctdj 
worthy  of  immortal  fame;  I  cannot  ask  ;hei:i  lu  ^n. 
counter  further  ills  and  jHsrils,  in  niaint.'iining  a  I  ore 
less  defence," 

The  reply  of  El  Zagal  determined  the  fate  o(  ihj 
city.  Ciili  Yahye  .and  his  fellow  commanders  'm\:!\i. 
diatcly  capitulaii-d.  and  were  granted  the  most  favjr, 
able  terms.  The  cav;diers  and  soldiers  who  hi  J 
come  from  other  p.irts  to  the  deferre  of  th(;  pl.ic,, 
weie  pcmitted  to  depart  freely  with  thrir  .irir.j, 
horses,  and  effects.  The  inhabitants  had  their  chuice, 
cither  to  depart  with  their  property,  or  to  ilwdl  nj 
the  s'jhurbs,  in  the  enjoyment  of  their  nli^jijn  and 
laws,  taking  an  oath  of  fealty  to  the  sovereii^ns,  nml 
p.iying  the  same  tribute  they  had  paid  to  tin-  Moor- 
ish kings.  The  city  and  cit.idel  were  to  he  il'  livertd 
up  in  six  days,  within  which  period  the  inli'lmants 
were  to  remove  all  their  effects;  and  m  ilu'  ni-an 
time,  they  were  to  place,  as  hostages,  filteen  Moorish 
youths,  sons  of  the  principal  inh.d)itants,  in  thi:  hands 
of  the  commander  of  l.eon.  When  Cidi  Y,i'i\t  and 
the  alcayde  Mohammed  came  to  deliver  up  tlu'  hus- 
t.'iges,  among  whom  were  the  sons  of  the  latter,  they 
paid  homage  to  the  king  and  (pieen,  who  received 
them  with  the  utmost  courtesy  and  kindness,  and  or- 
dered m.ignificent  presents  to  be  given  to  tlicin,  and 
likewise  to  the  other  ,MfX)rish  cavaliers,  consisting 
of  money,  robes,  horses,  and  other  things  ol  grrat 
value. 

The  prince  Cidi  Yahye  was  so  captivated  by  tin 
grace,  the  dignity,  and  generosity  of  Isabella,  arcl  ;ht 
princely  courtesy  of  FerdinantI,  that  he  vowed  nevtf 
again  to  draw  his  sword  against  such  magnaniiTiQui 
sovereigns.  The  queen,  charmed  with  his  j^allanl 
bearing  and  his  animated  profi-ssions  of  devotion,  aj- 
sured  him,  tliat,  h.aving  him  on  her  side,  she  alr^j.idy 
considered  the  war  terntinated  which  had  desoiaid 
the  kingdom  of  Gninada. 

Mighty  and  irresistible  are  words  of  praise  frcra 
the  lips  of  sovereigns.     Cidi  Yahye  w.as  entirely  sub- 
dued by  this  fair  speech  from  the  illustrious  Isabeili 
His  heart  burned  with  a  sudilen  tlame  of  Iny.ilty  to- 
wards the  sovereigns.      He  begged  to  be  iiirollcd 
amongst  the  most  devoted  of  their  subjects ;  aiul.  in 
the  fervor  of  his  sudden  zeal,  engaged  not  nieielv  to 
dedicate  his  sword  to  their  service,  but  to  exert  all 
his  inrtuence,  which  w.is   great,  in  persiiuimi;  his 
cousin,  Muley  Abdalla  el   Ziig.'d,  to   surrender  tlit 
cities  of  Guadix  and  Almeria,  and  to  give  up  all  fur- 
ther hostilities.      Nay.  so  powerful  was   the  etTtct 
produced  upon  his  mind  bv  his  conversation  with  tht  I 
sovereigns,  that  it  extended  even   to   his  religion; 
for   he   became  immediately  enlightened   as  to  iht  | 
heathenish  abominations  of  the  vile  sect  of  .Mahumel, 
and  struck  with  the  truths  of  Christianity,  as  ilhjsira- 
ted  by  such  pt)werful  monarchs.  He  consented,  there- 
fore, to  be  baptized,  and  to  be  gathered  into  the  lold  I 
of  the  church.      The  pious  Agapida  iialuiges  in  > 
triumphant  strain  of  exultation,  on  the  suiiden  ;ind 
surprising  conversion  of  this  princely  infidel :  he  cm- 
siders  it  one  of  the  greatest  achievements  of  the  Cath- 
olic sovereigns,  and  indeed  one  of  the  niarvelloiHl 
occurrences  of  this  holy  w.ir :  "  But  it  is  given  to  | 
saints  and  pious  monarchs,"  says  he,  "  to  work  niirs- 
cles  in  the  cause  of  the  faith  ;  and  such  did  the  moill 
Catholic  Ferdinand,  in  the  conversion  of  the  prince  | 
Cidi  Yahye." 

Some  of  the  Arabian  writers  have  sought  to  lessen  I 
the  wonder  of  this  miracle,  by  alluding  to  great  rev^  [ 
nues  granted  to  the  prince  and  his  heirs  by  the  Cas- 1 
tiiian  monarchs,  together  with  a  territory  in  Marche*  { 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


260 


na,  with  towni,  lands,  and  vaiuals ;  but  in  this  (says 
Agnpida)  w(;  only  see  a  wise  precaution  of  king  Fer- 
dininii.  to  clincti  and  secure  tiie  conversion  of  liis 
proselyte.  Tiie  policy  of  the  Catholic  monarch  was 
It  2II  times  equal  to  his  piety.  Instead  also  of  vaunt- 
ing of  this  great  conversion,  and  making  a  public 
Einiilc  of  the  entry  of  the  prince  into  the  church, 
iijr  Ferdinand  ordered  that  the  baptism  should  be 
rtwoimed  in  private,  and  kept  a  profound  secret. 
Hj  feared  that  Cidi  Yahye  might  otherwise  be  de- 
DOiincfd  as  an  apostate,  and  abhorred  and  ahandon- 
ed  hy  the  Moors,  and  thus  his  influence  destroyed  in 
briiiK'"!?  ^^*^  **'" '"  *  sp<'tdy  termination.* 

Tlie  veteran  Mohammed  ben  Hassan  was  likewise 
won  hy  the  magnanimity  and  munificence  of  the 
Casiili.in  sovereigns,  and  entreated  to  be  received 
into  their  service ;  and  his  example  was  followed  by 
many  other  Moorish  cavaliers,  whose  services  were 
gem  rously  accepted  and  magnificently  rewarded. 

Thus,  alter  a  siege  of  six  months  and  twenty  days, 
the  ciiy  of  Baza  surrendered  on  the  4th  of  Decem- 
ber, 14S9 ;  the  festival  of  the  glorious  Santa  Barbara, 
who  is  said,  in  the  Catholic  calendar,  to  preside  over 
thunder  and  lightning,  fire  and  gunpowder,  and  all 
iiinds  of  cuml)Ustious  expldsions.  The  king  and 
queen  made  their  solemn  and  triumphant  entry  on 
the  following  day  ;  and  the  public  joy  was  heighten- 
ed by  the  sight  of  upwards  of  five  hundred  christian 
captives,  men,  women,  and  children,  delivered  from 
the  Moorish  dungeons. 

The  loss  of  the  christians  in  this  siege  amounted 
to  twenty  thousand  men,  of  whom  seventeen  thou- 
sand (lied  of  disease,  and  not  a  few  of  mere  cold, — 
1  kind  of  death  (says  the  historian  Marian<i)  pecul- 
iarly uncomfortable ;  but  (adds  the  venerable  Jesuit) 
ai  these  latter  were  chiefly  people  of  ignoble  rank, 
baggage-carriers  and  such  like,  the  loss  was  not  of 
peat  importance. 

The  surrender  of  Baza  was  followed  by  that  of 
Almunecar,  Tavernas,  and  most  of  the  fortresses  of 
the  Alpuxarra  mountains  ;  the  inhabitants  hoped,  by 
prompt  and  voiuntarj'  submission,  to  secure  equally 
Bvornble  tej'ms  with  those  granted  to  the  captured 
city,  and  the  alcaydes  to  receive  similar  rewards  to 
those  lavished  on  its  commanders ;  nor  were  either 
of  them  disappointed.  The  inhabitants  were  per- 
mitted to  remain  as  Mudexares,  in  the  quiet  enjoy- 
ment of  their  property  and  religion  ; '  and  as  to  the 
alcaydes,  when  they  came  to  the  camp  to  render  up 
their  charges,  they  were  received  by  Ferdinand  witn 
distinguished  favor,  and  rewarded  with  presents  of 
money  in  proportion  to  the  importance  ot  the  places 
they  Had  commanded.  Care  was  taken  by  the  politic 
monarch,  however,  not  to  wound  their  pride  or  shock 
their  delicacy ;  so  these  sums  were  paid  under  color 
of  arrears  due  to  them  for  their  services  to  the  former 
government.  Ferdinand  hiid  conquered  bv  dint  of 
sword,  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  war ;  but  ne  found 
gold  as  potent  as  steel,  in  this  campaign  of  Baza. 

With  several  of  these  mercenary  chieftains  came 
one  named  Ali  Aben  Fahar,  a  seasoned  warrior,  who 
hiid  held  many  important  commands.  He  was  a 
Moor  of  a  lofty,  stem,  and  melancholy  aspect,  and 
Jtood  silent  and  apart,  while  his  companions  surren- 
dered their  several  Ibrtresses  and  retired  laden  with 
aeasure.  When  it  came  to  his  turn  to  speak,  he  ad- 
dicssed  the  sovereigns  with  the  frankness  of  a  sol- 
iitr,  but  with  a  tone  of  dejection  and  despair. 

"  I  a.ii  a  Moor,"  said  he,  "  and  of  Moorish  iine.ige, 
cid  iun  alcayde  of  the  fair  towns  and  castles  of  Fur- 
chena  and  Hatenia.  These  were  intrusted  to  me  to 
defend ;  but  those  who  should  have  stood  by  me 
bare  lost  all  strength  and  courage,  and  seek  only  for 

*CM(i«,  ton.  s,  cap.  40. 


security.  These  fortresses,  therefore,  in  st  potent 
sovereigns,  are  yours,  whenever  you  will  send  tl 
take  possession  of  them." 

Large  sums  of  gold  were  immediately  ordered  bf 
Ferdinand  to  be  delivered  to  the  alcayde,  ts  a  recom- 
pense for  so  important  a  surrender.  The  Moor, 
nowever,  put  back  the  gift  with  a  firm  u.ad  haughty 
demeanor:  "  I  came  not,"  said  he,  "  to  sell  what  ia 
not  mine,  but  to  yield  wh.-it  fortune  has  made  youu ; 
and  your  majesties  may  rest  assured  that,  had  I  beei 
properly  seconded,  death  woulel  have  been  the  price 
at  which  I  would  have  sold  my  fortresses,  and  not 
the  gold  you  offer  me." 

The  Castilian  monarchs  were  struck  with  the  lofty 
and  loyal  spirit  of  the  Moor,  and  desired  to  engage  a 
man  of  such  fidelity  in  their  service  ;  but  the  proud 
Moslem  could  not  be  induced  to  serve  the  enemies 
of  his  nation  and  his  faith. 

"  Is  there  nothing  then,"  said  queen  Isabella, 
"  that  we  can  do  to  gratify  thee,  and  to  prove  to 
thee  our  regard  ?  "  "  Yes, '  replied  the  Moor ;  "  I 
have  left  behind  me,  in  the  towns  and  valleys  which  I 
have  surrendered,  many  of  my  unhappy  countrymen, 
with  their  wives  and  children,  who  cannot  tear  them- 
selves from  their  native  abodes.  Give  me  your  royai 
word  th<at  they  shall  be  protected  in  the  peaceable 
enjoyment  of  their  religion  and  their  homes."  "  We 
promise  it,"  said  Is.ibella ;  "  they  shall  dwell  in  peace 
and  security.  But  for  thyself — what  dost  thou  ask 
for  thyself?  "  "  Nothing,"  replied  Ali,  "  but  permis- 
sion to  pass  unmolested,  with  my  horses  and  effects, 
into  Africa." 

The  Castilian  monarchs  would  fain  have  forced 
upon  him  gold  and  silver,  and  superb  horses  richly 
caparisoned,  not  as  rewards,  but  .as  marks  of  per- 
sonal esteem ;  but  Ali  Aben  F'ahar  declined  aii 
presents  and  distinctions,  as  if  he  thought  it  criminal 
to  flourish  individually  during  a  time  of  pubhc  c'ii»>' 
tress ;  and  disdained  all  prosperity  that  seemed  to 
grow  out  of  the  ruins  of  his  country. 

Havinjf  received  a  royal  pass{X)rt,  he  gathered  to- 
gether his  horses  and  servants,  his  armor  and  weap- 
ons, and  all  his  warlike  effects ;  bade  adieu  to  hit 
weeping  countrymen  with  a  brow  stamped  with  an- 
guish, but  without  shedding  a  tear  ;  and,  mounting 
his  Barbary  steed,  turned  his  back  upon  the  delight- 
ful v.dleys  of  his  conquered  country,  departing  on  his 
lonely  way,  to  seek  a  soldier's  fortune  amidst  the 
burning  sands  of  Africa.* 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

SUBMISSION    OF    EL   ZAGAL    TO    THK    CASTILIAN 
SOVEREIGNS. 

Evil  tidings  never  fail  by  the  way,  through  lack 
of  messengers ;  they  are  wafted  on  the  wings  of  the 
wind,  and  it  is  as  if  the  very  birds  of  the  air  would 
bear  them  to  th^  ear  of  the  unfortunate.  The  old 
king  El  Zagr  juried  himself  in  the  recesses  of  hisi 
castle,  to  hide  himself  from  the  light  of  day,  which 
no  longer  shone  prosperously  upon  him ;  but  every 
hour  brought  missives,  thunclering  at  the  gate,  with 
the  tale  of  some  new  disaster.  Fortress  after  fotress 
had  laid  its  keys  at  the  feet  of  the  christian  sover- 
eigns :  strip  by  strip,  of  warrior  mountain  and  green 
fruitful  valley,  was  torn  from  his  domains,  and  added 
to  the  territories  of  the  conquerors.  Scarcely  a 
remnant  remained  to  him,  except  a  tract  of  the 
Alpuxarras,  and  the  noble  cities  of  Guadix  and 
Almeria.  No  one  any  longer  stood  in  av.e  of  th» 
fierce  old  monarch ;  the  terror  of  his  frown  had  do- 


•  Pulgar.    Guibsy,  lib.  40.  cap.  40,    C  «  da  lof  Paiadoa. 


170 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING 


r-*. 


T  i  ■ 


ellned  with  hn  power.  He  had  arrived  at  that  itage 
of  adversity,  when  a  mnn's  friend*  feel  emboldened 
to  tell  him  hard  truths,  and  to  ffive  him  unpalatable 
advice  ;  and  when  his  spirit  is  bowed  down  to  listen 
quietly,  if  not  meekly. 

£1  Zasal  was  seated  on  his  divan,  his  whole  s|>irit 
absorU:!!  in  rumination  on  the  transitory  nature  uf 
human  glory,  when  his  kinsman  .ind  brothrr>in-law, 
the  prince  Cidi  Yahye,  was  announced.  That  illus- 
trious convert  to  the  true  faith  and  the  interests  of 
die  conquerors  of  his  country,  had  hastened  to  Gua- 
■iia  with  all  the  fervor  ot  a  new  proselyte,  eager  to 
prove  his  zeal  in  the  service  of  Heaven  and  'he  Cas- 
lilian  sovereigns,  by  persuading  the  old  monarch  to 
abjure  his  faith  an<l  surrender  his  possessions. 

Cidi  Yahye  still  bore  the  guise  of  a  Moslem,  for 
his  conversion  was  as  yet  a  secret.  The  stern  heart 
of  El  Z.igal  softened  at  beholding  the  face  of  a  kms- 
man,  in  tliis  hour  of  adversity.  He  folded  his  cousin 
to  his  bosom,  and  gave  thanks  to  Allah  that  amidst 
all  his  troubles  he  nad  still  a  friend  and  counsellor 
on  whom  he  might  rely. 

Cidi  Yahye  soon  entered  upon  the  real  purpose  of 
his  mission.  He  represented  to  El  Zagal  the  des- 
perate state  of  affairs,  and  the  irretrievable  decline 
of  .Moorish  power  in  the  kingdom  of  Granada. 
"Fate,"  said  he,  "is  against  our  arms;  our  ruin  is 
written  in  the  hea\cns.  Kenieinber  the  prediction 
of  the  astrologers,  at  the  birth  of  your  nephew 
Boalnlil.  We  had  hoped  that  their  prediction  svas 
accomplished  by  his  capture  at  Lucena ;  but  it  is 
now  evident  that  the  stars  portended  not  a  tempo 
rary  and  passing  reverse  of  the  kmgdom,  but  a  fmal 
overthrow.  The  constant  succession  of  disasters 
which  have  attended  our  eflorts,  show  that  tlie 
iceptre  of  Granada  is  doomed  to  pass  into  the 
hands  of  the  cluistian  monarchs.  Such,"  concluded 
Ac  prince  emphatically,  and  with  a  profound  and 
pious  reverence,  "  such  is  the  almighty  will  ol  God  !  " 

El  Zagal  listened  to  these  worils  in  mute  atten- 
tion, without  so  much  as  moving  a  muscle  of  his 
face,  or  winking  an  eyelid.  When  the  ])rince  had 
concluded,  he  remainetl  for  a  long  time  silent  and 
pensive  ;  at  length,  heaving  a  profound  sigh  from 
the  very  bottom  of  his  heart,  "  Alahuma  subahana 
hu  I "  exclaimed  he,  "  the  will  of  God  be  done  !  Yes, 
my  cousin,  it  is  but  too  evident  that  such  is  the  will 
of'^AIIah ;  and  what  he  wills,  he  fails  not  to  accom- 
plish. H.ad  he  not  decreed  the  fall  of  Grana<la,  this 
arm  and  this  scimitar  woultl  have  maintained  it."* 

"  Whiit  then  remains,"  said  Cidi  Yahye,  "  but  to 
draw  the  most  advant.ige  from  the  wrecK  of  empire 
that  is  left  you  ?  To  persist  in  a  war  is  to  bring  com- 
plete desolation  upon  the  land,  and  ruin  and  death 
upon  its  faithful  inhabitants.  Are  you  disposed  to  yield 
up  your  remaining  towns  to  your  nephew  El  Chico, 
that  they  may  augment  his  power,  and  derive  protec- 
tion from  his  alliance  with  the  christian  sovereigns?  " 

The  eye  ot  El  Zagal  flashed  fire  at  this  suggestion. 
He  grasped  the  hilt  of  his  scimitar,  and  gnashed 
his  teeth  in  fury.  "  Never,"  cried  he,  "  will  I  make 
terms  with  th.at  recreant  and  slave  !  Sooner  would  1 
dte  the  banners  of  the  christian  monarchs  floating 
t!x)ve  my  walls,  than  they  should  add  to  the  posses- 
wens  of  the  vassal  Boabflil  I  " 

Cidi  Yahye  immediately  seized  upon  this  idea,  and 
urged  El  Zagal  to  make  a  frank  and  entire  surren- 
der :  "  Trust,"  said  he,  "  to  the  magnanimity  of  the 
Castilian  sovereigns ;  they  "ill  doubtless  grant  you 
high  and  honorable  terms.  It  is  better  to  yieUl  to 
them  as  friends,  what  they  must  infallibly  and  before 
long  wrest  from  you  as  enemies ;  for  such,  my  cousin 
is  the  almighty  will  of  God ! " 

*C0«d«    .r.ai.  a.  C.  49. 


"Alahuma  ■ubahana  hut"  repeated  El  Z\rti 
"the  will  of  God  be  done  I"  So  the  old  n,  ihuI, 
bowed  his  haughty  neck,  and  ag<-^d  to  smr'n^et 
his  territories  to  the  enemies  of  his  faith,  railn  r  th.^n 
suffer  them  to  augment  the  Moslem  power  undci 
the  sway  of  his  nephew. 

Cidi  Yahye  now  retumetl  to  Baza,  empom  rtd  hy 
El  Z.igal  to  treat  on  his  behalf  with  the  chrintiac 
sovereigns.  The  prince  felt  a  species  of  exult. iiio^, 
as  he  exp.-itiated  on  the  rich  relics  of  enipiic  which 
he  w.is  authorized  to  cede.  There  was  a  m-;!'  pari 
of  that  line  of  mountains  which  extends  Irdm  th{ 
metropolis  to  the  Mediterranean  se.i,  with  thcii 
series  of  beautiful  green  valleys,  like  preciou .  i uer. 
aids  set  in  a  golden  chain.  Above  all,  thi k  wire 
Gu.ndix  and  Almeria,  two  of  the  most  ine.siimablt 
jewels  in  the  crown  of  Gran.ida. 

In  return  for  these  possessions,  and  for  the  i  l.iim 
of  El  Zag.ll  to  the  rest  of  the  kingdom,  the  so\  i n  ivjns 
received  him  into  their  friendship  and  iilli.um,  ,nii 
gave  him  in  pcrpetu.al  inheritance  the  tcrnii  ry  of 
Andarax  and  the  valley  of  Alh.iurin  in  the  Al;niVir. 
ras,  with  half  of  the  salinas  or  salt-nits  of  Mali  ha, 
He  was  to  enjoy  the  title  of  king  of  AiuIumx,  with 
two  thousand  Mudexares,  or  conquered  Monrs.  for 
subjects ;  and  his  revenues  were  to  be  maiii  up  lo 
the  sum  of  lour  millions  of  mf.revedies.*  All  ih  sc 
he  w;is  to  hold,  as  a  vassal  of  the  Castilian  crown, 

These  arrangements  being  m.ade,  Cidi  Y.iluf  re- 
turned  with  them  to  Muley  Abdalla,  and  it  vmi 
concerted  th.it  the  ceremony  of  surrender  and  hom- 
age should  take  place  .it  the  city  of  Almeria. 

On  the  17th  of  December,  king  Ferdinami  de 
parted  from  K.iza  with  a  part  of  his  army,  and  ths 
queen  soon  followed  with  the  remainder.  Ferdintnd 
passed  in  triumph  by  several  of  the  newly-iuMjuirtd 
towns,  exulting  in  these  trophies  of  his  policy  r.ither 
than  his  valor.  As  he  drew  near  to  Alnxri.i.  tin 
Moorish  king  came  forth  to  meet  him,  accomp  initd 
by  the  nrince  Cidi  Yahye,  and  a  number  ot  ilit  prin. 
cipal  inhabitants  on  horseb.ick.  The  fierce  biow  ct 
El  Zagal  was  clouded  with  a  kind  of  forced  humilny 
but  there  w.is  an  impatient  curl  of  the  lip,  will,  now 
and  then  a  swelling  of  the  bosom  and  an  iii(lij,'n.>ni 
breathing  from  the  distended  nostril.  It  was  cMden 
he  considered  himself  conuuered,  not  by  liic  nowci 
of  man,  but  by  the  hand  of  Heaven ;  and,  uinlc  ht 
bowed  to  the  decrees  of  fate,  it  galled  his  proud 
spirit  to  have  to  humble  himself  before  its  niurt.il 
agent.  As  he  approached  the  christian  kir.-,  h? 
anghted  from  his  horse,  and  advancetl  to  ki.s  hu 
hand  in  token  of  homage.  Ferdinand,  how.ner.  re 
spected  the  royal  title  which  the  Moor  had  held,  and 
would  not  permit  the  ceremony;  but,  bendn;;  from 
his  saddle,  graciously  embraced  him,  and  nqm  sted 
him  to  remount  his  steed. t  .Sevenl  coniiroui 
speeches  passed  between  them;  and  die  foiirt-si 
and  city  of  Almeria,  and  all  the  remaining  ttrri 
tories  of  El  Z.igal,  were  delivered  up  in  torni. 
When  all  was  accomplished,  the  old  warrior  Moor 
retired  to  the  mountains  with  a  handful  of  adher- 
ents, to  seek  his  petty  territory  of  Andarax,  to  burj 
his  humiliation  from  the  world,  and  to  console  him- 
self with  the  shadowy  title  of  a  king-t 


CHAPTER  XXXVni. 

BVBNT8  AT  GRANADA.  SUBSEQUENT  TO  THI 
SUBMISSION  or  RL  ZAGAL. 

Who  can  tell  when  to  rejoice,  in  this  fluctuating 
world  ?    Every  wave  of  prosperity  has  its  reactinj 

*  Cun  (U  lot  PalMKM.  cap.  94.      t  Cun  de  lot  Palacioi  op  tt 
tPulgar  Oaribay,  Ac,,  te. 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


m 


firgr,  iind  wfl  are  often  overwhelmed  bv  the  very 
IHIlow  on  which  we  thought  to  b«  wafted  into  the 
haven  of  our  hones.  VVnrn  Yusef  Aben  Comixa, 
the  vi/ier  ol  Uo.iixlil,  Humaiiifd  El  Chico,  entrrcil 
ihe  royal  saloon  of  ihe  Alliainl)r.-i  and  announced 
Ibc  wmtuLilion  of  K!  Z.»;{.»l,  the  he.irt  of  the  voiith- 
hil  nio.iarch  leaped  fjr  j'»y.  His  great  winh  was 
iCConi]iIished ;  his  uncle  was  deieatc<l  and  de- 
ibioned,  and  he  rcicned  without  a  rival,  sole  mon- 
irch  of  Granada.  At  length,  he  was  aSout  (p  «*njoy 
Ih;  ri'iitsof  his  htiniiiation  and  vnsH.-d.i(;e.  Ue  Itc- 
Jtlil  his  throne  fortified  by  the  fricndsliip  and  aill- 
l.ice  ol  the  Castilian  monarclis ;  there  could  l)e  no 
qufsium,  therefore,  of  its  stability,  "Allah  Af  ■ 
bar!"  i-xcl.iimed  he,  "God  is  grcal  t  Rejoice  with 
me, oil  Yusef;  the  stars  have  ceased  thiir  persecu- 
tion. Henceforth  let  no  man  c.ill  me  El  Zoguy! 

In  ilie  tlrst  moment  of  his  exult.ition,  UoHtMJil 
woulil  have  ordered  public  rejoicin(;s;  hut  the 
ihrcwil  Yusef  shook  his  head.  "  The  tempest  h.is 
ceased,"  said  he,  "  from  one  jxiint  of  the  he.ivens, 
but  It  may  licein  to  rase  from  another.  A  troubled 
lea  is  bcneatn  us,  anilwe  are  surrounded  by  rocks 
and  tjiiicksands :  let  my  lord  the  kinj{  defer  rcioic- 
irgs  uiuil  all  has  settled  into  a  calm."  El  Chico, 
however,  could  not  remain  tranquil,  in  this  day  of 
ejult.ition  :  he  ordereil  his  steed  to  be  sumptuously 
caparisoned,  and,  issuing  out  of  tlie  K'dte  of  the  Al- 
haiiiiira,  descended,  with  a  flittering  retinue,  along 
the  avenue  of  trees  and  fountains,  into  the  city,  to 
receive  the  acclamations  of  the  populace.  As  he 
entiTL'd  the  great  square  of  the  VivarrambKi,  he  be- 
hciii  crowds  of  people  in  violent  agitation ;  but,  as 
he  approaclied,  whit  was  his  surprise,  to  hear  groans 
and  murmurs  and  bursts  of  execration  !  The  tidings 
hd  spread  through  (>ranad.a,  that  Muley  Abdalla 
:1  Za^jal  h.id  been  driven  to  capitulate,  and  that  all 
i»  tirritories  had  fallen  into  the  h.inds  of  the  chris- 
Hans.  No  one  had  inciuired  into  the  particulars,  but 
ill  Granada  had  been  thrown  into  a  ferment  of  grief 
and  iiKiign.ition.  In  the  heat  of  the  moment,  old 
Muley  was  extolled  to  the  skies  as  a  |)atriot  prince, 
wiio  had  fought  to  the  last  for  the  salivation  of  his 
country  -as  a  mirror  of  monarchs,  scorning  16  com- 
promise the  dignity  of  his  crown  by  any  act  of  vas- 
salage. Uoabdil,  on  the  contrary,  had  looked  on  ex- 
uliiiiKly  at  the  hopeless  yet  heroic  struggle  of  his 
unr le ;  he  had  rejoiced  in  the  defeat  of  the  faithful, 
and  the  triumph  of  unbelievers ;  he  had  aided  in  the 
disii'.enit)erment  and  downfall  of  the  empire.  When 
the)'  beheld  him  riding  forth  in  gorgeous  state,  on 
what  they  considered  a  day  of  humiliation  for  all 
inie  Moslems,  they  could  not  cont.iin  their  r.ige ;  and 
amidst  the  clamors  that  met  his  ears,  Boahdil  more 
than  once  heard  his  name  coupled  with  the  epithets 
of  traitor  and  renegado. 

Shocked  and  discomfited,  the  youthful  monarch 
returned  in  confusion  to  the  Alhambra.  He  shut 
himself  up  within  its  innermost  courts,  and  rem.'iined 
a  kind  of  voluntary  prisoner  until  the  first  burst  of 
popular  feeling  should  subside.  He  trusted  that  it 
would  soon  pass  away ;  that  the  people  would  be  too 
Knsible  of  the  sweets  of  peace,  to  repine  at  the  price 
lit  v;hich  it  was  obtained  ;  at  any  rate,  he  trusted  to 
tL;  strong  friendship  of  the  christian  sovereigns,  to 
Hcure  him  even  against  the  factions  of  his  subjects. 

The  first  missives  from  the  politic  Ferdinand  show- 
id  BoalMlil  the  value  of  his  friendship.    The  Catholic 
I  noi.arch  reminded  him  of  a  treaty  which  he  had  made 
ulien  captured  in  the  city  of  Loxa.    By  this,  he  h.id 
j  engaged,  that  in  case  the  Catholic  sovereigns  should 
capture  the  cities  of  Guadix,  Baza,  and  Almeria,  he 
I  tkould  surrender  Granada  into  their  hands  within  a 
imited  time,  and  accept  in  exchange  certain  Moorish 
towns,  to  be  held  by  him  as  their  vaual.    Ferdinand 


now  Infonned  him  th.it  GaudU,  Bua,  ami  Almwli 
had  fallen ;  he  called  u{)on  him.  therefore,  to  fuW 
his  engagement. 

If  the  unfortunate  Boahdil  had  possessed  thr  wiO, 
he  had  not  the  power  to  comply  with  this  demand. 
He  W.1S  shut  up  ir-    he  Alhamlira,  while  a  li-mpest  ol 

Copiilar  fury  raged  without,  Granada  wai  thronged 
y  refugees  from  the  captured  towns,  many  of  thcnp 
disbanded  soldiers,  and  others  broken-down  citiirni 
rendered  fierce  and  desperate  by  ruin.  All  railed  al 
Boalxlil,  as  the  real  caisic  of  their  misfortunes.  How 
was  he  to  venture  forth  in  such  a  storm  ? — aliovc  ail, 
ho\\^  was  he  to  talk  to  such  men  of  surrender?  In 
his  reply  to  I  -rdinand,  he  represented  the  diHiculties 
of  Kis  situatioi"!,  and  that,  so  far  from  having  control 
over  Itis  subjects,  bis  very  life  was  in  danger  from 
their  fur!i()ience.  He  entreated  the  king,  therefore, 
to  rest  satisflpd  for  the  present  with  his  recent  con- 
quests, promising  hjiii  that  should  he  be  able  to  re- 
gain lull  emp're  over  his  C-tiMtil  and  its  inhabitants, 
It  would  but  !je  to  rule  over  theiti  as  vassal  to  the 
C.rstilian  crown. 

Ferdinand  wa."*  not  to  be  satisfied  with  such  a  reply. 
The  time  was  come  tc  bring  his  game  of  policy  to  a 
close,  and  to  consunmate  his  conquest,  by  seating 
himself  on  the  throne  of  the  Alhambra.  I'rolesBing  to 
consider  Boabdil  as  a  faithless  ally,  who  h.id  broken 
his  plighted  word,  he  discarded  him  from  his  friend- 
ship, and  addres.scd  a  second  letter,  not  to  that  mon- 
arcn,  but  to  the  commanders  and  council  ol  the  city. 
He  demanded  a  complete  surrender  of  the  place, 
with  all  the  arms  in  the  possession  either  of  the  citi- 
zens or  of  others  who  h.id  recently  taken  refuge  within 
its  walls.  If  the  inh.abitants  should  comply  with  ihii 
summons,  he  promised  them  the  indulgent  tcrmi 
which  had  been  granted  to  Baza,  Guadix,  and  Almft- 
ria;  if  they  should  refuse,  he  threatened  them  w-lb 
the  fate  of  Malaga.* 

The  message  of  the  Catholic  monarch  produced 
the  greatest  commotion  in  the  city.  The  inhabitants 
of  the  Alcaiceria,  that  busy  hive  of  traffic,  and  all 
others  who  h.vl  tasted  the  sweets  of  gainful  com- 
merce during  the  late  cessation  of  hostilities,  were 
for  securing  their  golden  advantages  by  timely  sub- 
mission :  otners,  who  h.ad  wives  .ind  children,  looked 
on  them  with  tenilemess  and  solicitude,  and  dreaded, 
by  resistance,  to  bring  upon  them  the  horrors  of 
slavery. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  Granada  was  crowded 
with  men  from  all  parts,  ruined  by  the  war,  exasper- 
ated by  their  sufferings,  and  eager  only  for  revenge  ; 
with  others,  who  had  been  reared  amidst  hostihiies, 
who  had  lived  by  the  sword,  and  whom  a  return  of 
peace  would  leave  without  home  or  hope.  Beside 
these,  there  were  others  no  less  fiery  and  warlike  in 
disix)sition,  but  animated  by  a  loftier  spirit.  These 
were  valiant  and  h.iughty  cavaliers  of  the  old  chival- 
rous lineages,  who  had  inherited  a  deadly  hatred  to 
the  christians  from  a  long  line  of  warrior  ancestors, 
and  to  whom  the  idea  was  worse  than  death,  that 
Granada,  illustrious  Granada  1  for  ages  the  seV  iil 
Moorish  gr.indeur  and  delight,  should  l)econ"S  l^Je 
abode  of  unbelievers. 

Among  these  cavaliers,  the  most  eminent  was 
Muza  ben  Abil  Gazan.  He  was  of  ruyal  lineage  of 
a  proud  and  generous  nature,  and  a  form  combining 
manly  strength  and  Ijeauty,  None  could  excel  him  in 
the  man.agement  of  the  horte,  and  dextrous  use  of  all 
kinds  of  weapons :  his  gracefulness  and  skill  in  the 
tourney  were  the  theme  of  praise  among  the  Moorish 
dames,  and  his  prowess  in  the  field  had  made  him 
the  terror  of  the  enemy.  He  had  long  repined  at 
the  timid  policy  of  Boabdil,  and  had  endeiivored  to 

*  Cun  d«  lot  PaUciot.  cap  9S. 


272 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


l::;>^' 


m 


.  *  — 


counteraot  its  enervating  effects,  and  (o  keep  alive 
the  martial  spirit  of  Granada.  For  this  reason,  he 
had  promotea  jousts  .md  tiltings  with  the  reed,  and 
all  those  other  public  games  which  bear  the  sem- 
blance of  war.  He  endeavored  also  to  inculcate 
into  nis  companions  in  arms  those  high  chivalrous 
sentiments  wnich  lead  to  valiant  and  magnanimous 
deeds,  but  which  are  apt  to  decline  with  the  inde- 

■•c'.ence  of  a  nation.    The  generous  efforts  of  Muza 

nd  been  in  a  great  measure  successful ;  he  was  the 
kiol  of  *he  youthful  cavaliers;  they  regarded  him  :»s 
»  nr^'rror  of  chivalry,  and  endeavored  to  imitate  his 
lofty  and  heroic  virtues. 

When  Muza  heard  the  demand  of  Ferdinand  that 
they  should  deliver  up  their  arms,  his  eye  ll;ishcii 
f  re :  "  Does  the  christian  king  think  that  we  are  old 
men,"  said  he,  "and  that  staffs  will  sullice  us? — oi 
tliat  we  are  women,  and  can  be  contented  with  dis- 
taffs ?  Let  him  know  that  a  Moor  is  born  to  the  spear 
and  scimitar ;  to  career  the  steed,  Ijend  the  bow,  and 
lanch  the  javelin  :  deprive  him  of  these,  and  you  de- 
prive him  of  his  nature.  If  the  christian  king  desires 
our  arms,  let  him  come  and  win  them  ;  hut  let  him 
win  them  dearly.  For  my  part,  sweeter  were  a 
gr.ave  beneath  the  walls  of  dranada,  on  the  spot  I 
had  died  to  defend,  than  the  richest  couch  within 
her  palaces,  earned  by  submission  to  the  unbeliever." 

The  words  of  Muza  were  received  with  enthusi- 
astic shouts,  by  the  warlike  part  of  the  populace. 
Gran.nda  once  more  awoke,  as  a  warrior  shaking  off 
a  disgraceful  lethargy.  The  commanders  and  council 
partook  of  the  public  excitement,  and  dispatched  a 
reply  to  the  christian  sovereigns,  declaring  that  they 
would  suffer  death  rather  than  surrender  their  city. 


CH.\PTER   XXXIX. 


BOW   KING    FFRDIN.^ND    TURNED    HIS    HOSTILI- 
TIES AGAINST   THE  CITY   OF  GRANADA. 

When  king  Ferdinand  received  the  defiance  of 
the  Moors,  he  made  preparations  for  bitter  hostili- 
ties. The  winter  season  did  not  admit  of  an  imme- 
diate campaign ;  he  contented  himself,  therefore, 
with  throwing  strong  garrisons  into  all  his  towns 
and  fortresses  in  the  neighborhood  of  Granada,  and 
gave  the  command  of  all  the  frontier  of  Jaen  to 
Inigo  Lopez  de  Mendoza,  count  of  Tendilla,  who  had 
shown  such  consummate  vigilance  and  address  in 
maintaining  the  dangerous  post  of  Alhama.  This 
renowned  veteran  estal)lished  his  head-<|uarters  in 
the  mountain  city  ol  Alcaia  la  Re.al,  within  eight 
leagues  of  the  city  of  lir.inada,  and  commanrling 
the  most  import.-int  i)asses  of  that  nigged  frontier 

In  the  mean  time,  the  city  of  Granada  resounded 
with  the  stir  of  war.  The  chivalry  of  the  nation  had 
again  control  of  its  councils  ;  and  the  populace,  hav- 
ing once  more  resumed  their  weapons,  were  anxious 
to  wipe  out  the  disgrace  of  their  late  passive  submis- 
sion, by  signal  and  daring  exploits. 

Muza  ben  Abii  C'lazan  was  the  soul  of  action.  He 
commanded  tiie  cavalry,  which  he  had  tlisciplined 
with  uncommon  skill:  he  was  surrounded  by  the 
Boilest  youth  of  Cirariada,  who  had  caught  his  own 
generous  and  martial  fire,  and  panted  tor  the  field  ; 
while  the  common  soldiers,  devoted  to  his  person. 
were  ready  to  toliow  him  in  the  most  desperate  en- 
terprises. He  did  not  allow  their  courage  to  cool 
for  wart  of  fiction.  The  gates  of  Gran.ada  once 
more  poured  forth  legions  of  light  scouring  cavalry, 
which  skirrcd  the  country  up  to  the  very  gates  of 
the  christian  fortresses,  rweeping  off  Mocks  and 
herds.      The  name   of   Muza  became    formidable 


throughout  the  frontier;  he  had  many  encounten 
with  the  enemy  in- the  rough  passes  of  the  mount 
ains,  in  which  the  superior  lightness  and  dexterit? 
of  his  cavalry  gave  him  the  advantage.  The  sighi 
of  his  glistening  legion,  returning  across  the  vega 
with  long  cavaTgadas  of  booty,  was  hailed  by  tfij 
Moors  as  a  revival  of  their  .ancient  triumphs;  bm 
when  they  beheld  christian  banners  bonie  into  (htjj 
gates  as  trophies,  the  exultation  of  the  light-mindec', 
populace  was  beyond  all  bounds. 

The  winter  passed  away;  the  spring  adv.inceil 
yet  Ferdinand  delayed  to  take  the  field.  He  knew 
the  city  of  Granada  to  be  too  strong  and  populous 
to  be  taken  by  assault,  and  too  full  of  provisions  to 
be  speedily  reduced  by  siege.  "We  must  have  pa. 
t'ence  and  perseverance,"  said  the  politic  monarch' 
'  by  ravaging  the  country  this  year,  we  shr.ll  produce 
•.  scarcity  the  next,  and  then  the  city  may  be  invested 
;/ith  effect." 

An  interval  of  peace,  aided  by  the  quick  wt^tu. 
tion  of  a  prolific  soil  and  happy  climate,  had  restored 
the  vega  to  all  its  luxuriance  an<l  beauty  ;  the  green 
pastures  on  the  borders  of  the  Xenel  were  covered 
with  flocks  and  herds;  the  blooming  orchards  gave 
promise  of  abundant  fruit,  and  the  open  plain  was 
waving  with  ripening  corn.  The  time  was  at  hand 
to  put  in  the  sickle  and  reap  the  golden  haivest, 
when  suddenly  a  torrent  of  war  came  sweeping 
down  from  the  mountains;  and  Ferdinand,  with  an 
army  of  five  thousand  horse  and  twenty  tlunsand 
toot,  ap|)eared  before  the  walls  of  Granada.  He  had 
left  the  queen  and  princess  .at  the  fortress  of  Moclin, 
and  came  attended  by  the  thike  of  Medina  Sidonia, 
the  marques  of  Cadiz,  the  marques  de  Villciu,  th(i 
counts  of  Urena  and  Caltra,  Don  Alonzo  de  Agi!i'r.i, 
and  other  renowned  cavaliers.  On  this  occasion, 
king  Ferdinand  for  the  first  time  led  his  son  princr 
Ju;ui  into  the  field,  and  bestowed  upon  him  the  dig. 
nity  of  knighthood.  As  if  to  stimulate  him  to  grand 
achievements,  the  ceremony  took  pl.ace  on  the  hanks 
of  the  grand  canal,  almost  Inineath  the  einhattled 
w.alls  of  that  warlike  city,  the  object  of  such  daring 
enterprises,  and  in  the  midst  of  that  fainoiis  vega 
which  had  been  the  field  of  so  many  chivalrous  ex- 
ploits. Above  them  shone  resplendent  the  red  tow- 
ers of  the  Alhambra,  rising  from  amidst  delicious 
groves,  with  the  standard  of  Mahomet  waving  de- 
fiance to  the  christian  arms. 

The  duke  of  Medina  Sidonia,  anil  the  valiant  Rod- 
crigo  Ponce  de  Leon,  marques  of  Cadiz,  were  spoi\- 
sors ;  and  all  the  chivalry  of  the  camp  was  assem 
bled  on  the  occasion.  The  prince,  after  he  was 
knighted,  bestowed  the  same  honor  on  several 
youthful  cavaliers  of  high  rank,  just  entering,  like 
himself,  on  the  career  of  arms. 

Ferdinand  did  not  loiter,  in  carrying  his  desolat- 
ing plans  into  execution.  He  detached  ;.artiesin 
everj'  direction,  to  lay  w.aste  the  country ;  villages 
were  sacked,  burnt,  and  destroyed,  and  the  lovely 
vega  once  more  laid  waste  with  fire  and  sword.  The 
rav.age  was  carried  so  close  to  Granada,  that  the 
city  was  wrapjK'd  in  the  smoke  of  its  gardens  and 
hamlets.  The  dismal  cloud  rolled  up  the  hill  and 
hung  about  the  towers  of  the  Alhambra,  where  iht 
unfortunate  Boabdil  still  remained  shut  up  from  the 
indignation  of  his  subjects.  The  hapless  monarch 
smote  his  hre.ist,  .as  he  looked  down  from  his  mount- 
ain palace  on  the  desolation  effected  l.v  his  Late  ally. 
He  dared  not  even  show  himself  in  ari.iS  among  thf 
populace,  for  they  cursed  him  as  the  cause  of  the 
miseries  once  more  brought  to  their  doors, 

The  Moors,  however,  did  not  sutTer  the  christiasj 
to  carry  on  their  rav.ages  as  unmolested  as  in  fciiriCt 
years.  Muza  incited  them  to  incessant  sallies.  H; 
divided  his  cavalry  into  small  squadrons,  each  kc 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


178 


jwa  daring  commander.  They  were  taueht  to  hover 
foumi  the  christian  camp ;  to  harass  it  from  various 
and  opposite  quarters,  cutting  off  convoys  and  strag- 
(rfing  detachments ;  to  wayLiy  the  army  in  its  ravag 
inz  expeditions,  lurking  among  roclts  and  passes  of 


ing  exi 


of 


CHAPTER  XL. 

THE  rATE  OF  THE  CASTLE  3P  ROMA. 


the  mountains,  or  in  hollows  and  thickets  of  the 
pUin,  and  practising  a  thousand  stratagems  and  sur- 
prises- 

The  christian  army  had  one  day  spread  itself  out 
(ilher  unguardedly,  in  its  foraging  about  the  vega. 
As  the  t  oops  commanded  by  the  marques  of  Vil- 
lena  approached  the  skirts  of  the  mountains,  they 
beheld  <i  number  of  Moorish  peasants  hastily  driving 
a  herd  of  cattle  into  a  narrow  glen.  The  soldiers, 
eager  tur  booty,  pressed  in  pursuit  of  them.  Scarcely 
had  tliey  entered  the  glen,  when  shouts  arose  from 
every  side,  and  they  were  furiously  attacked  bv  an 
ambuscade  of  horse  and  foot.  Some  of  the  chris- 
'jans  took  to  flight ;  others  stood  their  ground,  and 
foiiglit  valiantly.  The  Moors  had  the  vantage- 
groimd  ;  some  showered  darts  and  arrows  from  the 
clilfs  ol  the  rocks,  others  fought  hand  to  hand  on 
the  pi  lin  ;  while  their  cavalry,  rapid  as  lightning  in 
their  movements,  carried  havoc  and  contusion  into 
the  niidsi  of  the  christian  forces. 

The  ni.irques  de  Villen.a,  with  his  brother  Don 
Alon/n  lie  I'acheco,  at  the  first  onset  of  the  Moors, 
spurred  into  the  hottest  of  the  fight.  They  h.id 
scarce  entered,  when  Don  Alonzo  was  struck  life- 
less from  his  horse,  before  the  eyes  of  his  brother. 
Estevaii  de  Luzon,  a  gallant  captain,  fell  fighting 
bravely  by  the  side  of  the  marques,  who  remained, 
with  his  chaml)erlain  Solier  and  a  handful  of  knights, 
surrounded  by  the  enemy.  Several  cavaliers  from 
other  parts  of  the  army  hastened  to  their  assistance, 
when  king  Ferdinand,  seeing  that  the  Moors  h,nd 
the  vantage-ground  and  that  the  christians  were 
juffering  severely,  gave  signal  for  retreat.  The  mar- 
ques obeyed  slowly  and  reluctantly,  for  his  heart  was 
Sill  of  grief  and  ra»^j  at  the  death  of  his  brother. 
As  he  was  retiring,  he  beheld  his  faithful  chamber- 
lain Solier  defending  himself  valiantly  against  six 
Moors.  The  marques  turned,  and  rushed  to  his 
rescue;  he  killed  two  of  the  enemy  with  his  own 
hand,  and  put  the  rest  to  flight.  One  of  the  Moors, 
however,  in  retreating,  rose  in  his  stirrups,  and,  hurl- 
ing his  lance  at  the  marques,  wounded  him  in  the 
right  arm  and  crippled  him  for  life.* 

Such  was  one  of  the  many  ainbuscadoes  concerted 
by  Muza ;  nor  did  he  hesitate  at  times  to  present  a 
bold  front  to  the  christian  forces,  and  to  defy  them 
in  the  open  field.  King  Ferdinand  soon  perceived, 
however,  th.at  the  Moors  seldom  provoked  a  battle 
w-ithout  having  the  advantage  of  the  ground  ;  and 
that  though  the  christians  generally  appeared  to 
have  the  victory,  they  sulfered  the  greatest  loss  ;  for 
retreating  was  a  part  of  the  Moorish  system,  by 
which  they  would  draw  their  pursuers  into  confusion, 
and  then  turn  upon  them  with  a  more  violent  and 
fat.il  attack.  He'commanded  his  captains,  therefore, 
to  decline  all  challenges  to  skirmish,  and  to  pursue 
a  secure  system  of  destruction,  rav.iging  the  country, 
and  doing  all  possible  injury  to  the  enemy,  with 
ilight  risk  to  themselves. 

•In  conwquence  of  «hi^  wound,  the  tnarqtiet  was  ever  after 
•blifeJ  to  wiite  lits  signature  with  riis  left  hand,  though  capable 
:!  ma:ii)£inff  hik  laace  wilii  his  nghl.  The  tiueen  one  d.iy  cic- 
'iiandeJ  of  nim,  why  he  had  ;;dventarcd   hi^  life  for  that  of  a  do- 


'  Docs  not  your  inajcHty  think, ^*  replietl  h?;,  **  that  1  ought 
life  for  him  who  woiiUl  have  adventured  three  for  lae 


IlriUc 

10  iisk  oan 

Uil  hr  posH^tsed  thera  ?  '*     The  queen  was  charmed  with   the 

ucuamraity  of  the  reply,  and  often  quoted  the  laarques  as  set- 

Udi  u  heroic  wuunple  tu  the  chivalry  ut  the  age.— ^Vurioiia,  lib. 

■S.  c   1]. 


18 


About  two  leagues  from  Granada,  on  an  em-nence 
commanding  an  extensive  view  of  the  vega,  stooO 
the  strong  Moorish  castle  of  Roma,  a  great  place  ol 
refuge  and  security.  Hither  the  neighboring  pea3< 
antry  drove  their  flocks  and  herds,  and  hurried  with 
their  most  precious  effects,  on  the  irruption  of  a 
christian  force ;  and  any  foraging  or  skirmishing 
party  from  Granada,  on  being  intercepted  in  theii 
return,  threw  themselves  into  Ron  a,  manned  its 
emb.attled  towers,  and  set  the  eneiry  at  defiance. 
The  garrison  were  accustomed  to  these  sudden 
claims  upon  their  protection;  to  have  parties  of 
Moors  clattering  up  to  their  g.ates,  so  hotly  pursi:ed 
that  there  was  barely  time  to  throw  open  the  portal, 
receive  them  within,  and  shut  out  tneit  pursuers ; 
while  the  christian  cavaliers  had  many  a  time  reined 
in  their  panting  steeds,  at  the  very  entrance  of  the 
barbacan,  and  retired,  cursing  the  strong  walls  of 
Roma,  that  robbed  them  of  their  prey. 

The  late  ravages  of  Ferdinand,  and  the  continual 
skirmishings  in  the  vega,  h.ad  roused  the  vigilance  of 
the  castle.  One  morning  early,  as  the  sentinels  kept 
watch  upon  the  battlements,  they  beheld  a  cloud  of 
diist  .advancing  rapirliy  from  a  distance :  turbans  and 
Moorish  weapons  soon  caught  their  eyes ;  and  as  the 
whole  approached,  they  descried  a  drove  of  cattle, 
urged  on  in  great  haste,  and  convoyed  by  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  Moors,  who  led  with  them  two  chris- 
tian captives  in  chains. 

When  the  cavalgadahad  arrived  near  to  the  castle, 
a  Moorish  cavalier,  of  noble  and  commanding  miea 
and  splendid  attire,  rode  up  to  the  foot  of  the  tower. 
and  entreated  admittance.  He  state<l  that  they  werr 
returning  with  rich  booty  from  a  foray  into  the  landi 
of  the  cnristians,  but  that  the  enemy  was  on  their 
traces,  and  they  feared  to  be  overtaken  before  they 
could  reach  Granada.  The  sentinels  descended  in 
all  h.iste,  and  flung  open  the  gates.  The  long  caval- 
g.ada  defiled  into  the  courts  of  the  castle,  which  were 
soon  filled  with  lowing  and  bleating  flocks  anri  herds, 
with  neighing  and  stamjitng  steeds,  and  with  tierce- 
looking  Moors  from  the  mountains.  The  cavalier 
who  had  asked  admission  was  the  chief  of  the  party ; 
he  w.as  somewhat  .advanced  in  lite,  of  a  lofty  and  gal- 
lant bearing,  and  h.ad  with  him  a  son,  a  young  man 
of  great  fire  and  spirit.  Close  by  them  followed  the 
two  christian  captives,  with  looks  cast  down  and 
disconsolate. 

The  soldiers  of  the  garrison  had  roused  themselves 
from  their  sleep,  .and  were  busily  occupied  attending 
to  the  cattle  which  crowded  the  courts ;  while  the 
foraging  party  distributed  themselves  about  the  cas- 
tle, to  seek  refreshment  or  repose.  Suddenly  a  shout 
arose,  that  was  echoed  from  court-yard,  and  hall, 
and  battlement.  The  garrison,  astonished  and  be- 
wildered,  would  have  rushed  to  their  arms,  but  found 
themselves,  almost  before  they  could  make  resistance, 
completely  in  the  power  of  an  enemy. 

The  pretended  foraging  party  consisted  of  Mu- 
dexares,  or  Moors  tributary  to  the  chiisti.ms ;  and 
the  commanders  were  the  prince  Cidi  Yahye,  and 
his  son  AIn.ayer.  They  had  h.istened  from  the  mount- 
ains  with  this  sm.all  fcrce,  to  aid  the  Catho'ic  sover- 
eigns during  the  summer's  campaign  ;  and  tiiey  had 
concerted  to  surprise  this  important  castle,  ana  pre- 
sent it  to  king  Ferdin.and,  as  a  gage  of'  their  laith. 
and  the  first  fruits  of  their  devotion. 

The  polite  monarch  overwhelmed  his  new  con- 
verts and  allies  with  favors  .and  distinctions,  in  return 
for  this  imiioriant  acquisition ;  but  he  took  care  to 
dispatch  a  strong  force  of  veteran  anil  genuine  chriv 
tian  troops,  tu  man  the  fortress. 


174 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


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*.'f 


As  to  the  Moors  wio  had  composed  tne  garrison, 
Cidi  Yahye  remembered  that  they  were  his  country- 
men, and  could  not  prevail  upon  himself  to  deliver 
them  into  christian  bondage.  He  set  them  at  liberty, 
and  permitted  them  to  repair  to  Granada ; — "  a 
proof,"  says  the  pious  Agapida,  "  that  his  conversion 
was  not  entirely  consummated,  but  that  there  were 
•till  some  lingerings  of  the  inti(iel  in  his  heart."  His 
lenity  was  far  from  procuring  him  indulgence  in  the 
opinions  of  his  countrymen ;  on  the  contrary,  the  in- 
habitants of  Granada,  when  they  learnt  from  the 
liberated  garrison  the  stratagem  by  which  Roma  had 
been  captuied,  cursed  Cidi  Yahye  for  a  traitor  ;  and 
the  garrison  joined  in  the  malediction. 

But  the  indignation  of  the  people  of  Granada  was 
destined  to  be  aroused  to  tenfold  violence.  The  old 
warrior  Muley  Abdalla  el  Zagal  had  retired  to  his 
little  mountain  territory,  and  for  a  short  time  endeav- 
ored to  console  himself  with  his  petty  title  of  king 
of  Andarax.  He  soon  grew  impatient,  however,  of 
the  quiet  and  inaction  of  his  mimic  kingdom.  His 
fierce  spirit  was  exasperated  by  being  shut  up  within 
such  narrow  limits,  and  his  hatred  rose  to  downright 
fury  against  Boabdil,  whom  he  considered  as  the 
cause  of  his  downfall.  When  tidings  were  brought 
him  that  king  Ferdinand  was  laying  waste  the  vega, 
he  took  a  sudden  resolution.  Assembling  the  whole 
disposable  force  of  his  kingdom,  which  amounted  but 
to  two  hundred  men,  he  descended  from  the  Alpuxar- 
ras  and  sought  the  christian  camp,  content  to  serve 
as  a  vassal  the  enemy  of  his  faith  and  his  nation,  so 
that  he  might  see  Granada  wrested  from  the  sway 
of  his  nephew. 

In  his  blind  passion,  the  old  wrathful  monarch  in- 
jured his  cause,  and  strengthened  the  cause  of  his 
adversary.  The  Moors  of  Granada  had  been  clamor- 
?.us  in  his  praise,  extoilinff  him  as  a  victim  to  his  pa- 
triotism, and  had  refused  to  believe  all  reports  of  his 
Ireaty  with  the  christi.ins ;  but  when  they  beheld, 
from  (he  walls  of  the  city,  his  banner  mingling  with 
Ihe  banners  of  the  unbelievers,  and  arrayed  against 
his  late  people,  and  the  capital  he  had  commanded, 
they  broke  forth  into  curses  and  revilings,  and 
heaped  all  kind  of  stigmas  upon  his  name. 

Their  next  einotion,  of  course,  was  in  favor  of 
Boabdil.  They  gathered  under  the  walls  of  the  Al- 
hambra,  and  hailed  him  as  their  only  hope,  as  the 
sole  dependence  of  the  country.  Boabdil  could 
scarcely  believe  his  senses,  when  he  heard  his  name 
mingled  with  praises  and  greeted  with  acclamations. 
Encouraged  by  this  unexpected  gleam  of  popularity, 
he  ventured  forth  from  his  retreat,  and  was  received 
with  rapture.  All  his  past  errors  were  attributed  to 
the  hardships  of  his  fortune,  and  the  usurpation  of 
his  tyrant  uncle;  and  whatever  breath  the  populace 
could  sp.are  from  uttering  curses  on  El  Zagal,  was 
expended  in  shouts  in  honor  of  El  Chico. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 


ROW  BOABDIL  EL  CHICO  TOOK  THE  FIELD  ;  AND 
HIS  EXPEDITION  AGAINST  ALHENDIN. 

For  thirty  days  had  the  vega  been  overrun  by  the 
thr.stian  forces;  and  that  vast  plain,  late  so  luxu- 
riant and  beautiful,  was  one  wide  scene  of  desola- 
tion. The  destro)ing  arrny,  having  accomplished 
its  task,  passed  over  the  bridge  of  Finos  and  wound 
up  into  tne  mountains,  on  the  way  to  Cordova,  bear- 
ing away  the  spoils  of  towns  and  villages,  and  driving 
off  flocks  and  herds  in  long  dusty  columns.  The 
sound  of  the  last  christian  trumpet  died  away  along 
the  side  of  the  mountain  of  Elvira,  and  not  a  hostile 


squadron  was  seen  glistening  u)  the  motirnful  fld^ji 
of  the  vega. 

The  eyes  of  Boabdil  el  Chico  were  at  length 
opened  to  the  real  policy  of  king  Ferdinand,  and  hf 
saw  that  he  had  no  longer  any  thing  to  depend  upon 
but  the  valor  of  his  arm.  No  time  was  to  be  lost  in 
hastening  to  counteract  the  effect  of  the  late  rlirij. 
tian  ravage,  and  in  opening  the  channel  for  di$tin( 
supplies  to  Granada. 

Scarcely  had  the  retiring  squadrons  of  Ferdinand 
disappeared  among  the  mountains,  whtn  Bonbdfl 
buckled  on  his  armor,  sallied  forth  from  the  Alham- 
bra,  and  prepared  to  take  the  field.  When  the  popu- 
lace  beheld  him  actually  in  arms  against  his  late 
ally,  both  parties  throrged  with  zeal  to  b's  standard. 
The  hardy  inhabitants  also  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  or 
chain  of  snow-capped  mountains  which  rise  al)ove 
Granada,  descended  frcm  their  heights,  and  hastened 
into  the  city  g.ates,  to  proffer  their  devotion  to  their 
youthful  king.  The  great  square  of  the  Vivarrambla 
shone  with  the  proud  array  of  legions  of  cavairy, 
decked  with  the  colors  and  devices  of  the  most  an- 
cient Moorish  families,  and  marshalled  forth  by  the 
patriot  Muza  to  follow  the  king  to  battle. 

It  was  on  the  isth  of  June  that  Boabdil  once  more 
issued  forth  from  the  gates  of  Granada  on  martial 
enterprise.  A  few  leagues  from  the  city,  within  full 
view  of  it,  and  at  the  entrance  of  the  Alpnxan-a 
mountains,  stood  the  powerful  castle  o*"  Aihendin, 
It  was  built  on  an  eminence,  rising  from  the  midst 
of  a  small  town,  and  commanding  a  great  part  nf  the 
vega,  and  the  main  road  to  the  rich  valleys  of  the 
Alpuxarras.  The  castle  was  commanded  by  a  valiant 
christian  cavalier  named  Mendo  de  Quex.ida,  and 
garrisoned  by  two  hundred  and  fifty  men,  all  sea- 
soned and  experienced  warriors.  It  was  a  continuai 
thorn  in  the  side  of  Granada :  the  laborers  of  the 
vega  were  swept  off  from  their  fields,  by  its  naHi 
soldiers  ;  convoys  were  cut  off,  in  the  passes  of  the 
mountains ;  and  as  the  garrison  commanded  a  full 
view  of  the  gates  of  the  city,  no  band  of  merchants 
could  venture  forth  on  their  needful  journeys,  without 
being  swooped  up  by  the  war-hawks  of  Aihendin. 

It  was  against  this  important  fortress,  that  Boab- 
dil first  led  his  troops.  For  six  days  and  nights,  the 
fortress  was  closely  besieged.  The  alcayde  and  his 
veteran  garrison  defended  themselves  valiantly,  hut 
they  were  exhausted  by  fatigue  and  constant  watch- 
fulness; for  the  Moors,  being  continually  relieved  hy 
fresh  troops  from  Granada,  kept  up  aii  unremitted 
and  vigorous  attack.  Twice  the  barbacan  was  forced, 
and  twice  the  assailants  were  driven  forth  headlong 
with  excessive  loss.  The  garrison,  however,  was 
diminished  in  number  by  the  killed  and  wounded; 
there  were  no  longer  soldiers  sufficient  to  man  the 
w.alls  and  gateway ;  and  the  brave  alcayde  wa.s  coro- 
pelkd  to  retire,  with  his  surviving  force,  to  the  keep 
of  the  castle,  in  which  he  continued  to  make  desper- 
ate resistance. 

The  Moors  now  approached  the  foot  of  the  tower, 
under  shelter  of  wooden  screens  covered  with  wet 
hides,  to  w<ird  off  missiles  and  combustibles.  They 
went  to  work  vigorously  to  undermine  the  tower 
placing  props  of  wood  under  the  found.itions.  to  bt 
afterwards  set  on  fire,  so  as  to  give  the  besiegers 
time  to  escape  before  the  edifice  should  fall.  Some 
of  the  Moors  plied  their  cross-bows  and  ar()uebusses 
to  defend  the  workmen,  and  to  drive  the  christians 
from  the  wall ;  while  the  latter  showered  down 
stones,  and  darts,  and  melted  pitch,  and  flaming 
combustibles,  on  the  miners. 

The  brave  Mendo  de  Quexada  had  cast  many  an 
anxious  eye  across  the  vega,  in  hopes  of  seeinj;  some 
christian  force  hastening  to  his  assistance.  Not  a 
gleam  of  spear  or  helm  was  to  be  descried,  for  no 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


271 


^e  mournful  ^^eI^!^ 


one  had  dreamt  ot  this  sudden  irruption  of  the  Moors. 
The  alcayde  beheld  his  bravest  men  dead  or  wounded 
around  him,  wliile  the  remainder  were  sinking  with 
watchfulness  and  fatigue.  In  defiance  of  all  opposi- 
tion, the  Moors  had  accomplished  their  mine;  the 
fire  was  brought  before  the  walls,  that  was  to  be 
ipplied  to  the  stanchions,  in  case  the  garrison  per- 
sisted in  defence.  In  a  little  while,  the  tower  would 
crumble  beneath  him,  and  be  rent  and  hurled  a  ruin 
.0  ihr  plain.  At  the  very  last  moment,  the  brave 
ilvV.yile  made  the  signal  of  surrender.  He  marched 
forth  'f.'.l'r.  the  remnant  of  his  veteran  garrison,  who 
wKie  all  made  prisoners.  Boabdil  immediately  or- 
dered the  walls  of  the  fortress  to  be  razed,  and  fire 
to  !)"  app'.ied  to  the  stanchions,  that  the  place  might 
never  again  become  a  strong-hold  to  the  christians, 
and  a  scourge  to  Granada.  The  alcayde  and  his 
fellow-captives  were  led  in  dejected  convoy  across 
the  vcga,  when  they  heard  a  tremendous  crash  be- 
hind them.  They  turned  to  look  upon  their  late 
fortress,  but  beheld  nothing  but  a  heap  of  tumbling 
iiins,  and  a  vast  column  of  smoke  and  dust,  where 
ancf  had  stood  the  lofty  tower  of  Alhendin. 


CHAPTER   XLU. 
EXPLOIT  OF  THE  COUNT  DE  TE.VDILLA. 

liOABDIL  EL  Cmco  followed  up  his  success,  by 
capturing  the  two  fortresses  of  Marchenaand  Huldy  ; 
he  sent  his  alfaquis  in  every  direction,  to  proclaim  a 
ho";  war,  and  to  summon  all  true  Moslems  of  town 
or  castle,  mountain  or  valley,  to  s.iddle  steed  an»l 
fmckle  on  annor,  and  hasten  to  the  standard  of  the 
fi  th.  The  tiilinfTs  spread  far  and  wide,  that  Bnabdil 
;!  Cliico  was  once  more  in  the  field,  and  was  victo- 
)>ous.  The  Moors  of  various  pl.aces,  dazzled  by  this 
gi'.i"!  of  success,  hastened  to  throw  off  their  sworn 
ilicKi^nce  to  the  Cistilian  crown,  and  to  elevate  the 
!iar.(!nrd  of  Boabdil ;  and  the  youthful  monarch  fl.at- 
terrd  himself  that  the  whole  kingdom  was  on  the 
point  of  returning  to  its  allcgi.-ince. 

The  fiery  cavaliers  of  Granada  were  eager  to  re- 
new those  forays  into  the  christian  lands,  in  which 
they  had  fonnerly  delighted.  A  nuinljer  of  them 
therefore  concerted  an  irruption  to  the  north,  into 
the  territory  of  laen,  to  harass  the  country  about 
Qiieiada.  They  had  heard  of  a  rich  convoy  of  mer- 
chants and  wealthy  travellers,  on  the  way  to  the  city 
of  Haza  ;  and  they  anticipated  a  glorious  conclusion 
to  their  foray,  in  capturing  this  convoy. 

Assembling  a  number  of  horsemen,  lightly  armed 
and  tleetly  mounted,  and  one  hundred  foot-soldiers, 
these  h.irdy  cavaliers  issued  forth  by  night  from  Gra- 
nad ',.  iDade  their  way  in  silence  through  the  defiles 
of  the  mountains,  crossed  the  frontier  without  oppo- 
sition, and  sudtlenly  appeared,  as  if  fallen  from  the 
clouds,  in  the  very  heart  of  the  christian  country. 

Th(!  mountainous  frontier  which  scpar.ates  Granada 
from  Jaen  was  at  this  time  under  the  command  of 
the  count  de  Tendilla,  the  same  veteran  who  had 
distintjuished  iiimself  by  his  vigilance  and  sagacity 
when  commanding  the  fortress  of  Alhama.  He  held 
his  head-quarters  at  the  city  of  Alcala  la  Real,  in  its 
iTipregnable  fortress,  perched  high  among  the  mount- 
ilrZ',  ?.l)out  six  leagues  from  Gran.ada,  and  dominat- 
ing all  the  frDntier.  From  this  cloud-capt  hohl  among 
the  rocks,  he  kept  an  eagle  eye  upon  Granada,  and 
had  his  scouts  and  spies  in  all  directions,  so  that  a 
..row  could  not  fiy  over  the  border  without  his  knowl- 
edge. His  fortress  was  a  place  of  etnge  for  the 
christian  captives  who  escaped  by  night  from  the 
Moorish  dungeons  of  Granada.     Often,   however. 


they  missed  their  way  in  the  defiles  of  the  mountains, 
and,  wandering  about  bewildered,  either  repaired  bj 
mistake  to  some  Moorish  town,  or  were  discovered 
and  retaken  at  davlight  by  the  enemy.  To  prevent 
these  accidents,  the  count  had  a  tower  buil»  at  his 
own  expense,  on  the  top  of  one  of  the  heights  neai 
Alcala,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  vega  and 
the  surrounding  country.  Here  he  kept  a  light  bla» 
ing  throughout  the  night,  as  a  beacon  for  all  chriatiat 
fugitives,  to  guide  them  to  a  place  of  safety. 

The  count  was  aroused  one  night  from  nis  repose, 
by  shouts  and  cries,  which  came  up  from  the  town 
and  approached  the  castle  walls.  "  To  arms  I  to 
arms  !  the  Moor  is  over  the  border ! "  was  the  cry. 
A  christian  soldier,  pale  and  emaciated,  ana  who  stdl 
bore  traces  of  the  Moorish  chains,  w.as  brought  before 
the  count.  He  had  been  taken  as  guide  by  the  Moor- 
ish cavaliers  who  had  sallied  from  Granada,  but  had 
escaped  from  them  among  the  mountains,  and,  after 
much  wandering,  had  found  his  way  to  Alcala  by  the 
signal-fire. 

Notwithstanding  the  bustle  and  agitation  of  the 
moment,  the  count  de  Tendilla  listened  calmly  and 
attentively  to  the  account  of  the  fugitive,  and  ques- 
tioned him  minutely  as  to  the  time  of  departure  of 
the  Moors,  and  the  rapidity  and  direction  of  theii 
march.  He  saw  th.at  it  was  too  late  to  prevent  their 
incursion  and  ravage  ;  but  he  determined  to  await 
them,  and  give  them  a  warm  reception  on  their  re- 
turn. His  soldiers  were  always  on  the  alert,  and 
re.ady  to  take  the  field  at  a  moment's  warning. 
Choosing  one  hundred  and  fifty  lances,  hardy  and 
valiant  men,  well  disciplined  and  well  seasoned,  33 
indeed  were  all  his  troops,  he  issued  forth  quistlj 
before  break  of  d.ay,  and,  descending  through  the 
defiles  of  the  mountains,  stationed  his  little  force  ia 
ambush,  in  a  deep  barranca,  or  dry  channel  of  a  tor 
rent,  near  Barzina,  but  three  leagues  from  Granada, 
on  the  road  by  which  the  marauders  would  have  to 
return.  In  the  mean  time,  he  sent  out  scouts,  to 
post  themselves  upon  different  heights,  and  look  out 
for  the  approach  of  the  enemy. 

All  day  they  remained  concealed  in  the  ravine, 
and  for  a  great  part  of  the  following  night ;  not  a 
turban,  however,  was  to  be  seen,  excepting  new  and 
then  a  peasant  returning  from  his  labor,  or  a  solitary 
muleteer  hastening  towards  Granada.  The  cavaliers 
of  the  count  began  to  grow  restless  and  impatient : 
they  feared  that  the  enemy  might  have  taken  some 
other  route,  or  might  have  received  intelligence  of 
their  ambuscade.  They  urged  the  count  to  abandon 
the  enterprise,  and  return  to  Alcala.  "  We  are  here," 
said  they,  "  almost  at  the  gates  of  the  Moorish  capital ; 
our  movements  may  have  been  descried,  and,  before 
we  are  aware,  Granada  may  pour  forth  its  legions  of 
swift  cavalry,  and  crush  us  with  an  overwhelming 
force."  The  count  de  Tendilla,  however,  persisted 
in  remaining  until  his  scouts  should  conic  in.  About 
two  hours  before  daybreak,  there  were  signal-fires 
on  certain  Moorish  watch-towers  of  the  mountains 
While  they  were  regarding  these  with  anxiety,  tlu 
scouts  came  hurrying  into  the  ravine :  "  The  Moon 
are  approaching,"  said  they ;  "  we  have  rermnoitrc; 
them  near  at  hand.  They  are  between  one  and  twc 
hundred  strong,  but  encumbered  with  many  prisoner! 
and  much  booty."  The  christian  cavaliers  laid  theit 
ears  to  the  ground,  and  heard  the  distant  tramp  of 
horses  and  the  tread  of  foot-soldiers.  They  mounted 
their  horses,  bnaced  their  shields,  couched  their 
lances,  and  drew  near  to  the  entrance  of  the  ravine 
where  it  opened  upon  the  ro.ad. 

The  Moors  had  succeeded  in  waylaying  and  sur- 
prising the  christian  convoy,  on  its  w.iy  to  Baia 
They  had  captured  a  great  number  of  prisoners,  malt 
and  female,  v/ith  great  store  of  gold  and  jewels,  ant' 


276 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


.r-»^: 


'M9 


«umpter  mules  laden  with  rich  merchandise.  With 
Ihese  thej'  had  made  a  forced  march  over  the  dan- 
ijeraus  parts  of  the  mountains ;  but  now,  finding  them- 
selves so  near  to  Gran-ida,  they  fancied  themselves 
in  perfect  security.  They  loitered  along  the  road, 
therefore,  irregularly  and  slowly,  some  singing,  others 
laughing  and  exulting  at  having  eluded  the  boasted 
vigilance  of  the  count  de  Tendilla ;  while  ever  and 
anon  were  heard  the  plaint  of  some  female  captive 
bewailing  the  jeopardy  of  her  honor,  and  the  heav) 
sighing  of  the  merchant  at  beholding  his  property  in 
the  grasp  of  ruthless  spoilers. 

The  count  de  Tendilla  waited  until  some  of  the 
escort  had  passed  the  ravine  ;  then,  giving  the  signal 
for  assault,  nis  cav.Hliers  set  up  great  shouts  and  cries, 
and  charged  furiously  into  the  centre  of  the  foe.  The 
obscurity  of  the  place  and  the  hour  added  to  the 
terrors  of  the  surprise.  The  Moors  were  thrown  into 
confusion  ;  some  rallied,  foujjht  desperately,  and  fell 
covered  with  wounds.  Thirty-six  were  killed,  and 
fifty-five  were  made  prisoners ;  the  rest,  under  cover 
of  the  darkness,  made  their  escape  to  the  rocks  and 
defiles  of  the  mountains. 

The  good  count  unbound  the  prisoners,  gladden- 
ing the  hearts  of  the  merchants  by  restoring  to  them 
their  merchandise.  To  the  female  captives  also  he 
restored  the  jewels  of  which  they  had  been  despoiled, 
excepting  such  as  had  been  lost  beyond  recovery-. 
Forty-five  saddle  horses,  of  the  choice  Barbary  breed, 
remained  as  captured  spoils  of  the  .Vloors,  together 
with  costly  armor,  and  booty  of  various  kinds.  Hav- 
ing collected  every  thing  in  haste,  and  arranged  his 
cavalgada,  the  count  urged  his  way  with  all  speed 
for  Alcala  la  Real,  Icsl  he  should  be  pursued  and 
overtaken  by  the  Moors  of  Granada.  As  he  wound 
up  the  steep  ascent  to  his  mountain  city,  the  inhab- 
itants poured  forth  to  meet  him  with  shouts  of  joy. 
Tlis  triumph  was  doubly  enhanced  by  being  received 
at  the  gates  of  the  city  by  his  wife,  the  daughter  of 
the  marques  of  Vilit^ua,  a  lady  of  distinguished  merit, 
wh:.m  he  had  not  seen  for  two  years,  that  he  had 
been  separated  from  his  home  by  the  arduous  duties 
of  these  iron  wars. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 


KXPBDITION  OF  BOABDIL  EL  CHICO  AGAINST 
SALOBRESA. — EXPLOIT  OF  HERNANDO  PERKZ 
DEL    PULGAR. 

King  Boabdil  found  that  his  diminished  territory 
was  too  closely  dominated  by  christian  fortresses  like 
Alcala  la  Real,  and  too  strictly  v^atched  by  vigilant 
alcaydes  like  the  count  of  Tendilla,  to  be  able  to 
maintain  itself  by  internal  resources.  His  foraging 
expeditions  were  liable  to  be  intercepted  and  defeal- 
nd,  while  the  ravage  of  the  vega  had  swejjt  off  every- 
thing on  which  the  city  depended  for  future  sus- 
tenance. He  felt  the  want  of  a  sea-port,  throu;,'h 
which,  as  fonnerly,  he  might  keep  open  a  communi- 
cation with  Africa,  and  obtain  reinforcements  and 
supplies  from  beyond  the  sea.  All  the  ports  and 
fcarbjrs  were  in  the  hands  of  the  cluisiians,  and 
Granada  and  its  remnant  of  dependent  territory  were 
completely  landlocked. 

In  this  emergency,  the  attention  of  Boabdil  was 
called  by  circumstances  to  the  sea-port  of  Salobrefia. 
This  redoubtable  town  has  already  been  mentioned 
in  this  chronicle,  as  a  jiiace  deen-'^d  impregnable  by 
the  Moors ;  insomuch  that  their  kin^s  were  accus- 
tomed, in  time  of  peril,  to  keep  their  treasures  in 
its  citad*  1.  it  was  situated  on  a  high  rocky  hill,  di- 
viding one  of  those  rich  little  vegas  or  plains  which 


He  open  to  the  Mediterranean,  but  run  like  dee; 
green  hays  into  the  stem  bosoms  of  the  mountaini 
The  vega  was  covered  with  beautiful  vegetaticc 
with  rice  and  cotton,  with  groves  of  oranges,  citror.s, 
figs  ant'  mulberries,  and  with  gardens  inclosed  by 
hedges  jf  reeds,  of  aloes  and  the  Indian  fig.  Run- 
ning streams  of  cool  water  from  the  springs  and 
snows  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  kept  this  dcHcIur^ 
valley  continually  fresh  and  verdant ;  while  it  vivi 
almost  locked  up  by  mountain  barriers,  and  kf'.v 
promontories  that  stretched  far  into  the  se.a. 

Through  the  centre  of  this  rich  vega,  the  rock  ol 
Salobrena  reared  its  rugged  back,  nearly  dividing  the 
plain,  and  advancing  to  the  margin  of  the  sea,  wiil; 
just  a  strip  of  sandy  beach  at  its  foot,  laved  bv  the 
blue  waves  of  the  Mediterranean. 

The  town  covered  the  ridge  and  sides  of  the  rocky 
hill,  .and  was  fortified  by  strong  walls  and  towers 
while  on  the  highest  and  most  precipitous  part  stoml 
the  citadel,  a  huge  castle  that  seemed  to  form  a  |)  irt 
of  the  living  rock  ;  the  massive  ruins  of  which,  at  the 
present  day,  attract  the  gaze  of  the  traveller,  as  he 
winds  his  way  far  below,  along  the  road  which  passes 
through  the  vega. 

This  import.int  fortress  had  been  intrusted  to  the 
command  of  Don  Francisco  Ramirez  de  Madiiil, 
captain-general  of  the  artillery,  and  the  most  scientitic 
of  all  the  .Spanish  leaders.  That  experienced  vetfr.ii>, 
however,  was  with  the  king  at  Cordova,  havin;;  iitt 
a  valiant  cav.ilier  as  alcayde  of  the  place. 

Boabdil  el  Chico  had  lull  information  of  the  state 
of  the  garrison  and  the  absence  of  its  commander. 
Putting  himself  at  the  he.ad  of  a  powerful  fores 
therefore,  he  departed  from  Granada,  and  matie  i 
rapid  march  through  the  mountains  ;  hoping,  by  thii 
sudden  move,  to  seize  upon  Salobrefia  before  kirj? 
Ferdinand  could  come  to  its  assistance. 

The  inhabitants  of  .SalobreAa  were  Mudexare.--.  »? 
Moors  who  had  sworn  allegiance  to  the  christiaiis. 
Still,  when  they  heard  the  sound  of  the  Moorisl. 
drums  and  trumpets,  and  beheld  the  squadrons  of 
their  countrymen  advancing  across  the  vega,  iheit 
hearts  yearned  tow.ards  the  standard  of  their  nation 
and  their  faith.  A  tumult  arose  in  the  place ;  the 
popuLtce  shouted  the  name  of  Boabdil  el  Chien, 
and,  throwing  open  the  gates,  admitted  him  within 
the  walls. 

The  christian  garrison  was  too  few  in  niimtwr,  to 
contend  for  the  possession  of  the  town :  they  re- 
treated to  the  citadel,  and  shut  themselves  within  its 
massive  walls,  which  were  considered  impregn  ihle 
Here  they  maintained  a  desperate  defence,  Imping 
to  hold  out  until  succor  should  arrive  from  ttie 
neighboring  fortresses. 

The  tidings  that  Salobrefia  was  invested  by  the 
Moorish  king,  spread  along  the  sea-<:oast,  and  tiiled 
the  christians  with  alarm.  Don  Francisco  Knrniuez, 
uncle  of  the  king,  commanded  the  city  of  Velez 
M.il.aga,  about  twelve  leagues  distant,  but  separ.ited 
by  ranges  of  those  vast  rocky  mountains  whith  a;* 
piled  along  the  Mediterranean,  and  tower  in  steep 
promontories  and  precipices  above  its  waves. 

Don  Francisco  summoned  the  alcaydes  of  his  'l;r- 
trict  to  hasten  with  him  to  the  relief  of  this  in  ;n  •^- 
tant  fortress.  A  number  of  cavaliers  and  thfirie- 
tainers  answered  to  his  call,  among  whom  vl\ 
Fernando  Ferez  del  Pulgar,  surnamrd  "  El  di;  It.' 
Hazanas,"  (he  of  the  exploits,) — the  same  who  hi: 
signalized  himself  in  a  foray,  by  elevating  a  handker- 
chief on  a  lance  for  a  banner,  and  leading  on  his 
disheartened  comrades  to  victory.  As  soon  as  Po; 
Francisco  beheld  a  little  band  collected  round  him 
he  set  out  with  all  speed  for  Salobreila.  The  ri.irch 
was  rugged  and  severe,  climbing  and  deaccnding 
immense  mountains,  and  sometimes  winding  alon^ 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


277 


,, 


an.  but  run  like  deey 
onms  of  the  mountaini 
I  beautirul  vegetaticn 
ves  of  oran|;es,  citror.s, 
)  gardens  inclosed  by 

the  Indian  fig.  Run- 
from  the  springs  and 
kept  this  deliclUuii 
vc-rdant ;  wliile  it  viv 
tin  barriers,  and  K',:^ 
ir  into  the  sea. 

rich  vega.  the  rork  ol 
ack.  nearly  dividing  the 

argin  of  the  sea,  wul; 
t  its  foot,  laved  by  the 
ean. 

and  sides  of  the  rocky 
ong  walls  and  towers 
t  precipitous  part  stooil 

seemed  to  form  a  p  m 
e  ruins  of  which,  at  the 
of  the  traveller,  as  he 
I  the  road  which  passes 

d  been  intrusted  to  the 
Ramirez  de  Madnil, 
'.  and  the  most  scientitic 
lat  experienced  veteran. 
at  Cordova.  havini|;  left 
af  the  place, 
nfomiation  of  the  state 
nee  of  its  comman(ier. 
of  a  powerful  force 

Granada,  and  made  i 
mtains  ;  hoping,  by  this 
Salobrefla  before  kit'j? 
assistance. 

i^a  were  Mudexare.-!,  ■« 
iance  to  the  christiasis. 
sound  of  the  MoorisI, 
;held  the  squadrons  of 

across  the  vega.  their 
standard  of  their  nation 
rose  in  the  place ;  tlie 
:  of  Boabdil  el  Ciiico, 
;s,  admitted  him  wiihin 

5  too  few  in  niimticr,  to 
of  the  town :  they  re- 
ut  themselves  within  Iti 
onsidered  impre^jn  ihle. 
sperate  defence,  Impiiig 
hould   arrive   from  tiit 

ia  was  invested  by  the 
;he  sea-coast,  and  tilled 
ton  Francisco  F.nn(]iiez, 
ided  the  city  of  Velez 
i  distant,  but  separ.iteii 
;y  mountains  which  at» 
an,  and  tower  in  sleep 
above  its  waves, 
the  alcaydes  of  his  dir- 
le  relief  of  this  Iii^jh  '■ 

cavaliers  and  their  i;- 
ill,   among  whom  v.-i>. 

sumamcd  "  El  de  !.".« 
;s,) — the  same  who  h;»: 
by  elevating  a  haiuiker- 
ler.  and  leading  on  hii 
tory.  As  soon  as  Do; 
id  collected  round  hur 
i.-ilobrerta.  The  marcl-. 
mbing  and  descending 
netimes  winding  aloti^ 


tne  edg:e  ol  giddy  precipices,  with  the  surges  of  the 
sea  raeing  far  below.  When  Don  Francisco  arrived 
with  his  followers  at  the  lofty  promontory  that 
stretches  along  one  side  of  the  little  vega  of  Salo- 
brefia,  he  looked  down  with  sorrow  and  anxiety  up- 
on a  Moorish  army  of  great  force  encamped  at  the 
ioo\  of  the  fortress,  while  Moorish  banners,  on 
earious  parts  of  the  walls,  showed  that  the  town  was 
already  in  possession  of  the  infidels.  A  solitary 
;hri.">tian  standard  alone  floated  on  the  top  of  the 
:astle-kef:p,  showing  that  the  brave  garrison  were 
btmmed  up  in  their  rock-built  citadel. 

Don  Francisco  found  it  impossible,  with  his  small 
force,  to  make  any  impression  on  the  camp  of  the 
Moors,  or  to  get  to  the  relief  of  the  c.istle.  He  sta- 
tioned his  little  band  upon  a  rocky  height  near  the 
sea,  where  they  were  safe  from  the  assaults  of  the 
enemy.  The  sight  of  his  friendly  banner  waving  in 
their  neighborhood  cheered  the  heart  of  the  garri- 
son, and  conveyed  to  them  assurance  of  speedy  suc- 
cor from  the  king. 

In  the  mean  time,  Fernando  Perez  del  Pulgar, 
who  always  burned  to  distinguish  himself  by  bold 
and  striking  exploits,  in  the  course  of  a  prowling 
expedition  along  the  borders  of  the  Moorish  camp, 
reinarl<ed  a  postern-gate  of  the  castle,  opening  upon 
the  steep  part  of  the  rocky  hill  which  looked  towards 
the  mountains. 

A  sudden  thought  flashed  upon  the  daring  mind 
of  Puigar : — "  V'ho  will  follow  my  banner."  said  he, 
"  and  make  a  dash  for  yonrJer  postern  ?  "  A  bold 
proposition,  in  time  of  warfare,  never  wants  for  bold 
spirits  to  accept  it.  Seventy  resolute  men  immedi- 
ately stepped  forward.  I'ulgar  put  himself  at  their 
head  ;  they  cut  their  way  suddenly  through  a  weak 
par;  jf  the  camp,  fought  their  way  up  to  the  gate, 
.■rhich  was  e.ngerly  thrown  open  to  receive  them  ; 
.«;d  succeeded  in  making  their  way  into  the  fortress, 
b<:fcre  the  alarm  of  their  attempt  had  spread  through 
the  Moorish  army. 

The  garrison  was  rouseil  to  new  spirit  by  this  un- 
looked-for reinforcement,  and  were  enabled  to  make 
a  nnire  vigorous  resistance.  The  Moors  had  intelli- 
getice,  however,  that  there  was  a  great  scarcity  of 
water  in  the  castle ;  and  they  exulted  in  the  idea 
that  this  additional  numt)er  of  warriors  would  soon 
exhaust  the  cisterns,  and  compel  them  to  surrender. 
When  Puigar  heard  of  this  hope  entertained  by  the 
enemy,  he  caused  a  bucket  of  water  to  be  lowered 
from  the  battlements,  and  threw  a  silver  cup  in 
bravado  to  the  Moors. 

The  situation  of  the  garrison,  however,  was  daily 
growing  more  and  more  critical ;  they  suffered  greatly 
fruni  thirst,  while,  to  tantalize  them  in  their  suffer- 
ings, they  beheld  limpid  stre.ams  winding  in  abun- 
dance through  the  ereen  plain  below  them.  They 
began  to  fear  that  all  succor  would  arrive  too  late, 
when  one  day  they  beheld  a  little  squadron  of  ves- 
sels far  at  sea.  but  standing  towards  the  shore. 
There  w.is  wme  doubt  at  first  whether  it  might  not 
be  a  hostile  arm.ament  from  Africa ;  but  as  it  ap- 
pr;iached,  they  descried,  to  their  great  joy,  the  banner 
3(  C.istile. 

It  w;vs  a  reinforcement,  brought  in  all  haste  by  the 
ijovcmor  of  the  fortress,  Don  Francisco  Ramirez. 
The  squadron  anchored  at  a  steep  rocky  island, 
which  rises  from  the  very  m.argin  of  the  smooth 
»aiuly  beach,  directly  ir.  front  of  the  rock  of  Salo- 
brefia,  and  stretches  out  into  the  sea.  On  this 
is.and  Ramirez  landed  his  men,  and  was  as  strongly 
pojted  as  if  in  a  fortress.  His  force  was  too  scanty 
to  attempt  a  battle,  but  he  assisted  to  harass  and 
distract  tne  besiegers.  Whenever  king  Boabdil  made 
an  attack  upon  the  fortress,  his  camp  was  assailed 
Dn  one  side  by  the  troops  of  Ramirez,  who  landed 


from  their  island,  and  on  another  by  these  o'  Don 
Francisco  Enriquez,  who  swept  down  from  their  rock, 
while  Fernando  del  Puigar  kept  up  a  fierce  defence, 
from  every  tower  and  battlement  of  the  castle. 

The  attention  of  the  Moorish  king  was  diverted 
also,  for  a  time,  by  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  rclievr 
the  little  port  of  Adra,  which  had  recently  declared 
in  his  favor,  but  which  had  been  recaptured  for  the 
christians  by  Cidi  Yahye  and  his  son  Alnay.ar.  Thui 
the  unlucky  Boabdil,  bewildered  on  eyery  hand,  lost 
all  the  advantage  that  he  had  gained  by  his  rapid 
march  from  Gr'  nada.  While  he  was  yet  besieging 
the  obstinate  citadel,  tidings  were  brought  him  that 
king  Ferdinand  was  in  full  march,  with  a  powerful 
host,  to  its  assistance.  There  was  no  time  for  farther 
delay :  he  made  a  furious  attack  with  all  his  forces 
upon  the  castle,  but  was  again  repulsed  by  Pulgai 
and  his  coadjutors;  when,  abandoning  the  siege  it 
despair,  he  retreated  with  his  army,  lest  king  Ferdi- 
nand should  get  between  him  and  his  capital.  On 
his  way  back  to  Granada,  however,  he  in  some  sort 
consoled  himself  for  his  late  disappointment,  by 
overrunning  a  part  of  the  territories  and  possessions 
lately  assigned  to  his  uncle  El  Zagal.  and  to  CidI 
Yahye.  He  defeated  their  alcaydes,  destroyed  sev- 
eral of  their  fortresses,  burnt  their  villages,  and. 
leaving  the  country  behind  him  reeking  and  smoking 
with  nis  vengeance,  returned  with  considerable 
booty,  to  repose  himself  within  the  wa'ls  of  the 
Alhambra. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 


HOW  KINO  FERDINAND  TREATED  THE  I'FOPLK  OF 
GUADIX — AND  HOW  EL  ZAGAL  FINISHED  HI! 
REGAL  CAREER. 

Scarcely  had  Boabdil  cnsronced  himself  in  hit 
capital,  when  king  Ferdinand,  at  the  head  of  seven 
thousand  horse  and  twenty  thousand  foot,  again  ap- 
peared in  the  vega.  He  had  set  out  in  all  haste  from 
Cordova  to  the  relief  of  Salobrefla ;  but,  hearing  on 
his  march  that  the  siege  was  raised,  he  turned  with 
his  army  to  make  a  second  ravage  round  the  walls 
of  devoted  Granada.  His  present  forage  lasted  fifteen 
days,  in  the  course  of  which  every  thing  that  had 
escaped  his  former  desolating  visit  was  destroyed, 
and  scarce  a  gi^en  thing  or  a  living  animal  was  left 
on  the  face  of  the  land.  The  Moors  sallie<l  frequent- 
ly, and  fought  desperately,  in  defence  of  their  nelds 
but  the  work  of  destruction  was  acco.mplished — and 
(iranada.  once  the  queen  of  gardens,  was  left  sur- 
rounded by  a  desert. 

From  hence  Ferdinand  marched  to  crush  a  con- 
spiracy which  had  lately  manifested  itself  in  the  cities 
of  Guadix,  Baza,  and  Alnteria.  These  recently  con- 
quered places  had  entered  into  secret  correspondence 
with  king  IJoabdil.  inviting  him  to  march  to  theii 
gates,  promising  to  rise  upon  the  christian  garrisons, 
seize  upon  the  citadels,  and  sum  nder  themselves 
into  his  power.  The  marques  of  Viilcna  had  re- 
ceived notice  of  the  conspiracy,  and  had  suddenly 
thrown  himself,  with  a  large  force,  int )  Guadix 
Under  pretence  of  making  a  review  of  the  inhabit- 
ants, he  made  them  sally  forth  into  the  fields  lieicrt 
the  city.  When  the  whole  Moorish  population  capa^ 
ble  of  bearing  arms  was  thus  without  the  walls.  h«, 
ordered  the  gates  to  be  closed.  He  then  permitted 
them  to  enter,  two  by  two  and  three  by  three,  and 
to  take  forth  their  wives,  children,  and  effects.  The 
houseless  Moors  were  fain  to  make  themselves  tem- 
{X)rary  hovels,  in  the  gardens  and  orcliards  al>out  tht 
city  ;  they  were  clamorous  in  their  complaints  at  be 
ing  thus  excludf<i  frc  rn  their  homes,  but  were  toI«i 


178 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


f     'f!  ,     -t-i' 


Vi\i 


they  must  ^^'ait  with  patience  until  the  charges 
against  them  could  be  investigated,  and  the  pleasure 
w  the  king  be  itnown.* 

When  Ferdinand  arrived  at  Guadix,  he  found  the 
unhappy  Moors  in  their  cabins  among  the  orchards. 
They  complained  bitterly  of  the  deception  that  had 
been  practised  among  them,  and  implored  permission 
to  return  into  the  city,  and  live  peaceably  in  their 
dwellings,  as  had  been  promised  tnem  in  their  arti- 
cles of  capitulation. 

King  Ferdinand  listened  graciously  to  their  com- 
plaints :  "  My  friends,"  said  he  in  reply,  "  I  am  in- 
formed that  there  has  been  a  conspiracy  among  you 
to  kill  my  alcayde  and  garrison,  and  to  take  part 
v/ith  my  enemy  the  king  of  Granada.  I  shall  make 
a  thorough  invesiigation  of  this  conspiracy.  Those 
among  you  who  shall  be  proved  innocent  shall  be 
restored  to  their  dwellings,  but  the  guilty  shall  incur 
the  penalty  of  their  oiTences.  As  I  wish,  however,  to 
proceed  with  mercy  as  well  as  justice,  I  now  give 
you  your  choice,  either  to  depart  at  once  without 
further  question,  going  wherever  you  please,  and 
taking  with  you  your  families  and  eflTects,  under  an 
assurance  of  safety ;  or  to  deliver  up  those  who  are 
guilty,  not  one  of  whom,  I  give  you  my  royal  word, 
shall  escape  punishment." 

When  the  people  of  Guadix  heard  these  words, 
they  communed  among  themselves ;  and  as  most  of 
them  (says  the  worthy  Agapida)  were  either  culpa- 
ble or  feared  to  be  considered  so,  they  accepted  the 
alternative,  and  departed  sorrowfully,  they  and  their 
wives  and  their  little  ones.  •'  Thus,"  in  the  words 
of  that  excellent  and  colemporary  historian,  Andres 
Bemaldez,  commonly  called  the  curate  of  Los  Pala- 
cios — "thus  did  the  king  deliver  Guadix  from  the 
hands  of  the  enemies  of  our  holy  faith,  after  seven 
hundred  and  seventy  years  that  it  had  been  in  their 
possession,  ever  smce  the  time  of  Roderick  the  Goth  ; 
And  this  was  one  of  the  mysteries  of  our  Lord,  who 
would  not  consent  that  the  city  should  remain  longer 
in  the  power  of  the  Moors:" — a  pious  and  sage  re- 
mark, which  is  quoted  with  peculiar  approbation  by 
the  worthy  Agapida. 

King  Ferdinand  offered  similar  alternatives  to  the 
Moors  of  Baza,  Ahneria,  and  other  cities  accused  o," 
participation  in  this  conspiracy ;  who  generally  pre- 
ferred to  abandon  their  homes,  rather  than  incur  the 
risk  of  an  investigation.  Most  of  them  relinquished 
Spain,  as  a  country  where  they  could  no  longer  live 
in  security  and  independence,  and  departed  with 
their  families  for  Africa ;  such  as  remained  were  suf- 
fered to  live  in  villages  and  hamlets,  and  otlier  un- 
walled  places.! 

While  Ferdinand  was  thus  occupied  at  Guadix, 
dispensing  justice  and  mercy,  and  receiving  cities  in 
exchange,  the  old  monarch  Muley  Abdalla,  sur- 
named  El  Zagal,  appeared  before  him.  He  was  hag- 
eard  with  care,  and  almost  crazed  with  passion.  He 
had  found  his  little  territory  of  Andarax,  and  his  two 
thousand  subjects,  as  difTicult  to  govern  as  had  been 
the  distracted  kingdom  of  Granada.  The  charm, 
which  had  bound  the  Moors  to  him,  was  broken 
when  he  appeared  in  arms  under  the  banner  of  Fer- 
dinana.    He  had  returned  from  his  inglorious  cam- 

Eaign  with  his  petty  army  of  two  hundred  men,  fol- 
iwed  by  the  execrations  of  the  people  of  Granada, 
and  the  secret  repining  of  those  he  had  led  into  the 
Seld.  No  sooner  had  his  subjects  heard  of  the  suc- 
cesses of  Boabdil  el  Chico,  than  they  had  seized  their 
arms,  assembled  tumultuously,  declared  for  the  young 
monarch,  and  threatened  the  life  of  El  Zagal.  J    The 


untortunate  old  king  had  with  difficulty  evaded  th<;i] 
fury;  and  this  last  lesson  seemed  entirely  to  have 
cured  him  of  his  passion  for  sovereignty.  He  no^ 
entreated  Ferdinand  to  purchase  the  towns  and  cas- 
tles and  other  possessions  which  had  been  granted 
to  him ;  offering  them  at  a  low  rate,  and  bet^^ing 
safe  passage  for  himself  and  his  followers  to  Africa, 
King  Ferdinand  graciously  complied  with  his  wishes, 
He  purchased  of  him  three-and-twenty  towns  .m.j 
villages  in  the  valleys  of  Andarax  and  Alhaurin,  fci 
which  he  gave  him  five  millions  of  maravediis.  E; 
Zagal  relinquished  his  right  to  one-half  of  the  salinaj 
or  salt-pits  of  Ma!eha,  in  favor  of  his  brothcr-ji  law 
Cidi  Yahye.  Having  thus  disposed  of  his  petty  tiru 
pire  and  possessions,  he  packed  up  all  his  trc.isure, 
of  which  ne  had  a  great  amount,  and,  followed  by 
many  Moorish  families,  passed  over  to  Africa.* 

And  here  let  us  cast  an  eye  beyond  the  present 
period  of  our  chronicle,  and  trace  the  remaining  ca- 
reer of  El  Zagal.  His  short  and  turbulent  reign,  and 
disastrous  end,  would  afford  a  wholesome  lesson  tc 
unprincipled  ambition,  were  not  all  ambition  of  tht 
kind  fated  to  be  blind  to  precept  and  example.  Whor 
he  arrived  in  Africa,  instead  of  meeting  with  kind 
ness  and  sympathy,  he  was  seized  and  thrown  intc 
prison  by  the  king  of  Fez,  as  though  he  had  been  his 
vassal.  He  was  accused  of  being  the  cause  of  the 
dissensions  and  downfall  of  the  kingdom  of  Granadn ; 
and  the  accusation  being  proved  to  the  satisfaction 
of  the  king  of  Fez,  he  condemned  the  unhappy  t, 
Zagal  to  perpetual  darkness.  A  basin  of  glowing 
copiier  was  passed  before  his  eyes,  which  eftectuaily 
destroyed  his  sight.  His  wealth,  which  had  |irol>a- 
bly  been  the  secret  cause  of  these  cruel  measuns, 
was  confiscated  and  seized  upon  by  his  oppressor 
and  El  Zagal  was  thrust  forth,  blind,  helpless,  anri 
destitute,  upon  the  world.  In  this  wretched  condi. 
tion,  the  late  Moorish  monarch  groped  his  way 
through  the  regions  of  Tingitania,  until  he  rc.\ched 
the  city  of  Velez  de  Gomera.  The  king  of  Velez  had 
formerly  been  his  ally,  and  felt  some  movement  ot 
compassion  at  his  present  altered  and  abject  state. 
He  gave  him  food  and  raiment,  and  suffered  him  to 
remain  unmolested  in  his  dominions.  Death,  which 
so  often  hurries  off  the  prosperous  and  happy  from 
the  midst  of  untasted  pleasures,  spares  on  the  other 
hand  the  miserable,  to  drain  the  last  drop  of  his  cup 
of  bitterness.  El  Z.agal  dragged  out  a  wretched  ex- 
istence of  many  years,  in  the  city  of  Velez.  He  wan- 
dered about  blind  and  disconsolate,  an  ooject  of 
mingled  scorn  aisd  pity,  and  bearing  above  his  rai- 
ment a  parchment  on  which  was  written  in  Arabic, 
"  This  is  the  unfortunate  king  of  Andalusia."  t 


*  Zatitk,  lib.  ao.  c.  8$.  Ciira  de  lo«  Ptlacios,  c.  97 
t  Ociibay,  lib.  13.  cap.  39.  Pulfar,  part  3.  cap.  i)t 
t  Cura  de  los  Palacios,  cap.  «7. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 


PREPARATIONS  OF    GRANADA   FOR  A  DE.SPKRATI 
DEFENCE. 

How  is  thy  strength  departed,  oh  Granada  !  haw 
is  tiiy  beauty  withered  and  df spoiled,  oh  city  of  grovM 
and  fountains  1  The  commerce  that  once  thronged 
thy  .streets  is  at  an  end  ;  the  merchant  no  lon>i  rr  has- 
ten&  to  thy  gates,  with  the  luxuries  of  foreign  lamls 
The  cities  which  ont*^  paid  thee  tribute  are  wrtsi-i, 
fro-n  thy  sway;  the  cl.'valry  which  filled  tliy  Vivai- 
rambla  with  the  sutnptuuus  page.T.t; .  i/  war,  haw 
fallen  in  many  battles.  The  Alhau..;!u  still  rears  its 
ruddy  towers  from  the  midst  of  groves,  but  inclan 

•  Conde,  port  4.  cap.  4i. 

+  Mannol,  de  Rebelione  Maur.  lib.  1.  cap.  i«.  Padr»»a,  Hi«4 
Granat.  part  3.  c.  4.  Suarei.  Hist,  da  Obiipadoi  de  Raadi4  y  Qui 
cap.  10. 


ilty  evaded  thf-h 
Entirely  to  havt 
ignty.  He  novi 
•  towns  and  eas- 
el been  granted 
le,  and  bepsjing 
owers  to  Africa! 
with  his  wishes, 
enty  towns  an.j 
nd  Alhaurin,  fci 
Tiaravediis.  E; 
ilf  of  the  Salinas 
is  brothcr-iH  law 
of  his  petty  em- 
ail his  tre.isure, 
ind,  followed  by 
to  Africa.* 
ond  the  present 
t  renjaininj;  ca- 
>ulent  reign,  and 
esome  lesson  tc 
ambition  of  tht 
sxample.  Wher 
eting  with  kinil 
md  thrown  intc 
he  had  been  his 
.he  cause  of  the 
lorn  of  Granada ; 
the  satisfaction 
the  unhappy  t, 
lasin  of  glowing 
which  efiectuallv 
hich  had  proln- 
cruel  measures, 
y  his  oppressor 
id,  helpless,  anri 
wretched  condi. 
jfoped  his  way 
until  he  reached 
;ing  of  Velez  had 
ne  movement  o! 
and  abject  state. 
1  suffered  him  to 
I.  Death,  which 
and  happy  from 
ires  on  the  other 
I  drop  of  his  cup 
t  a  wretched  ex- 
Ve\ez,  He  wan- 
e,  an  ooject  of 
ig  above  his  rai- 
rritten  in  Arabic, 
rialusia."t 


t  A  DESPERATI 

h  Granada !  h-jw 
,  oh  cityof  Rrovcj 
It  once  throngfii 
It  no  lon>- rr  has- 
3f  foreign  lands 
butc  arc  wresiet, 
filled  tliy  Vivar- 
uy  w!"  war,  haw 
,;;ru  still  rears  its 
roves,  but  inclan 


>.  i6.    Padrua,  Hu4 
los  d«  Gnadi^  y  '-lui 


"HE   DARING   EXPLOIT  OF    HERNANDO   DEL  PULGAR. 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


279 


ctioiy  reigns  In  its  marble  halls;  and  the  monarch 
l3ok<i  down  from  his  lofty  balconies  upon  a  naked 
w.iste,  where  once  had  extended  the  blooming  glories 
of  the  vega  I 

Such  is  the  lament  of  the  Moorish  writers,  over 
thr  iiimentable  state  of  Granada,  which  now  remain- 
ed a  mere  phantom  of  its  former  greatness.  The  two 
ravages  of  the  vega  following  so  closely  upon  each 
other,  had  swept  olT  all  the  produce  ol  the  year ;  and 
;h';  husbandman  hi»d  no  longer  the  heart  to  till  the 
ieid.  seeing  that  the  ripening  harvest  only  brought 
iie  spoiler  to  the  door. 

Dunng  the  winter  season,  king  Ferdinand  made 
lilif,"'nl  preparations  for  the  last  campaij^n,  that  w.os 
to  (ii'cide  the  fate  of  Granada.  As  this  war  was 
wa>;<<l  purely  for  the  promotion  of  the  christian  faith, 
he  thought  It  meet  that  its  enemies  should  bear  the 
exp<"nses.  He  levied,  therefore,  a  general  contribu- 
tion upon  all  the  Jews  throughout  his  kini^dom.  by 
5yna^,'0gues  and  districts  ;  and  obliged  them  to  render 
in  thi-  proceeds,  at  the  city  of  Seville.* 

On  tne  inh  of  April,  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  de- 
parte<l  lor  the  Moorish  frontier,  with  the  solemn  de- 
teriiiination  to  lay  close  siege  to  Granada,  and  never 
to  quit  its  walls  until  they  had  planted  the  standard 
of  tlio  faith  on  the  towers  of  the  Alhambra.  M.iny 
of  till'  nobles  of  the  kingdom,  p.articularly  those  from 
the  p.irts  remote  from  the  scene  of  action,  wearied  by 
the  toils  of  war,  and  foreseeing  that  this  would  be  a 
tedious  siege,  requiring  patience  and  vigilance  rather 
than  hardy  deeds  of  arms,  contented  themselves  with 
leniling  their  vassals,  while  they  staid  .at  home,  to 
ittcnd  to  thi'ir  domains.  Many  cities  furnished  sol- 
diers at  their  cost,  and  the  king  took  the  field  with 
iin  .army  of  forty  thousand  infantry  and  ten  thousand 
horse.  The  principal  captains  who  followed  the 
kitig  in  this  campaign,  were  Roderigo  Fonce  de  Leon, 
the  marques  of  Cadiz,  the  Ma.ster  of  Santiago,  the 
marques  of  Villena ;  the  counts  of  Tendilla,  Cifuentes, 
Cabra,  and  Urena ;  and  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguil.ar. 

Queen  Isabella,  accompanied  by  her  son  the  prince 
loan,  and  by  the  princesses  J  uana,  Maria,  and  Catha- 
lina,  her  daughters,  proceeded  to  .Mcala  la  Real, 
the  mountain  fortress  and  strong-hold  of  the  count 
de  Tendilha.  Here  she  rem.ained,  to  forward  supplies 
to  ihe  army,  and  to  be  ready  to  repair  to  the  camp, 
whenever  her  presence  might  be  required. 

The  army  of  Ferdinand  poured  into  the  vega,  by 
various  defiles  of  the  mountains  ;  and,  on  the  23d  of 
April,  the  royal  tent  was  pitched  at  a  village  called 
LosOjos  de  Huescar,  about  a  league  and  a  half  from 
Granada.  At  the  approach  of  this  formidable  force, 
the  harassed  inhabitants  turned  pale,  and  even  many 
of  the  warriors  trembled  ;  for  they  fell  that  the  last 
desperate  struggle  was  at  hand. 

Boabdil  el  Chico  assembled  his  coimcil  in  the  Al- 
harrhra,  from  the  windows  of  which  they  could 
behold  the  christian  squ.idrons  glistening  through 
clouds  of  dust,  as  they  jwured  along  the  vega.  Tiie 
utnios'.  confusion  and  consternation  reigned  in  the 
council.  Many  of  the  members,  terrified  with  the 
horrors  impending  over  their  families,  advised  Boab- 
dil to  throw  himself  upwn  the  generosity  of  the  chris- 
lian  monarch :  even  several  of  the  bravest  suggested 
'.he  possibility  of  obtaining  honorable  terms. 

Tne  wazir  of  the  city  Abul  Casim  Abdel  Melic, 
'TIS  called  upon  to  report  the  state  of  the  public 
Sit'ar.s  for  sustenance  and  defence.  There  were 
JiifScient  provisions,  he  said,  for  a  few  months'  sup- 
ply, independent  of  what  might  exist  in  the  posses- 
jioii  of  merchants  and  other  rich  inhabitants.  "  But 
of  what  avail,"  said  he, "  is  a  supply  for  a  few  months, 
aj^ainst  the  sieges  of  the  Castilian  monarch,  which  are 
Interminable  ? 


He  produced,  also,  the  lists  of  men  capable  of  bear~ 
ine  arms.  "  The  number,"  said  he,  "  is  great ;  but 
what  can  be  expected  from  mere  citizen  soldiers? 
They  vaunt  and  menace,  in  time  of  safety ;  none  are 
so  arrogant,  when  the  enemy  i?  at  a  distance  -bnt 
when  the  din  of  war  thunders  at  their  gates,  they 
hide  themselves  in  terror." 

When  Muza  heard  these  words,  he  rose  with  gen  • 
erous  warmth :  "  What  reason  h.ave  we,"  said  he,  "  tc 
despair  ?  The  blood  of  those  illustrious  Moors,  thf 
conquerors  of  Spain,  still  Hows  in  our  veins.  Let  u( 
be  true  to  ourselves,  and  fortune  will  again  be  with 
us.  We  have  a  veteran  force,  both  horse  and  foot, 
the  flower  of  our  chivalry,  seasoned  in  war  and  scar- 
red in  a  thous.and  battles.  As  to  the  multitude  of  our 
citizens,  spoken  of  so  slightly,  why  should  we  doubt 
their  valcr  ?  There  are  twenty  thousand  young  men, 
in  the  fire  of  youth,  for  whom  I  will  engage,  that 
in  the  defence  of  their  homes  they  will  rival  the 
most  valiant  veterans.  Do  we  want  provisions  ?  Our 
horses  are  fleet,  and  our  horsemen  daring  in  the 
foray.  Let  them  scour  and  scourge  the  country  of 
those  apostate  Moslems  who  have  surrendered  to  the 
christians.  Let  them  make  inroads  into  the  hands  of 
our  enemies.  We  shall  soon  see  them  returning  with 
cavalgad.as  to  our  gates  ;  and,  to  a  soldier,  there  is  no 
morsel  so  sweet  as  that  wrested  with  hard  fighting 
from  the  foe." 

Bo.abdil  el  Chico,  though  he  wanted  firm  and  dura- 
ble cour.age,  was  readily  excited  to  sudden  emotions 
of  bravery.  He  caught  a  glow  of  resolution  from 
the  nolde  ardor  of  Muza.  "  Do  what  is  needful," 
said  he  to  his  commanders ;  "  into  your  hands  I  con- 
fide the  common  safety.  You  are  the  protectors  of 
the  kingdom,  and,  with  the  aid  of  Allah,  will  revengti 
the  insults  of  our  religion,  the  deaths  of  our  frienM 
and  rel.ations,  and  the  sorrows  and  sufferings  heaped 
upon  our  land."* 

To  every  one  w.as  now  assigned  his  separate  duty. 
The  wa/.ir  had  ch.arge  of  the  arms  and  provisions, 
and  the  enrolling  of  the  people.  Muza  was  tc  com- 
mand the  cavalry,  to  defend  the  gates,  and  to  take 
the  lead  in  all  s<allies  and  skirmishings.  Naim  Reduan, 
and  Muhamed  Aben  Zayde,  were  his  adjutants.  Ab- 
del Kerim  Zegri,  and  the  other  captains,  were  to 
guard  the  walls ;  and  the  alcaydes  of  the  Alcazaba, 
and  of  the  Re<l  Towers,  had  command  of  the  for- 
tresses. 

Nothing  now  was  heard  but  the  din  of  arms,  and 
the  bustle  of  preparation.  The  Moorish  spirit,  quick 
to  catch  fire,  was  immediately  in  a  (lame  ;  and  the 
populace,  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  set  at 
nought  the  power  of  the  christians.  Muza  was  in  all 
parts  of  the  city,  infusing  his  own  generous  zeal  into 
the  bosoms  of  the  soUTiery.  The  young  cavaliers 
rallied  round  him  as  their  model ;  the  veteran  war- 
riors regarded  him  with  a  soldier's  admiration  ;  the 
vulg<ar  throng  followed  him  with  shouts,  and  the 
helpless  part  of  the  inhabitants,  the  old  men  and  the 
women,  nailed  him  with  blessings  as  their  protector. 
On  the  first  appearance  of  the  christian  army,  the 
principal  gates  of  the  city  had  been  closed,  and  se- 
cured with  bars  and  l)olts  and  hea\7  chains:  Mu^a 
now  ordered  them  to  be  thrown  open  ;  "  To  me  and 
my  cavaliers,"  said  he,  "  is  intrusted  the  defence  of 
the  gates ;  our  bodies  shall  be  their  barriers."  He 
stationed  at  each  gate  a  strong  gu.aid,  chosen  from 
his  bravest  men.-  His  horsemen  were  always  com- 
pletely armed,  and  ready  to  mount  at  a  moment's 
w.irnirtg :  their  steeds  stood  saddled  and  caparisoned 
in  the  stables,  with  lance  and  buckler  beside  them. 
On  the  least  approach  of  the  enemy,  a  squadron  of 
horse  gathered  within  '.he  gate,  ready  to  lanch  forth 
like  the  bolt  front  the  thunder-cloud.     Muia  madf 


*  Otribar,  lib.  il,  c. 


*Cond«. 


no 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


i#^,, 


IM 


DO  empty  bravado  nor  haughty  threat ;  he  was  more 
terrible  in  deeds  than  in  wordii,  and  executed  daring 
exploits,  beyond  even  the  vaunt  of  the  vain-glorious. 
Such  was  the  present  champion  of  the  Moors,  il.-id 
they  possessed  many  such  warriors,  or  had  Muza 
risen  to  power  at  an  earlier  period  of  the  war,  the 
(ate  of  Granada  might  have  been  deferred,  and  the 
Moor  for  a  long  time  have  maintained  hia  throne 
within  the  walls  of  the  Alhambra. 


CHAPTER   XLVI. 


■OW  KINO  FERDINAND  CONDUCTED  THE  SIEGE 
CAUTIOUSLY  ;  AND  HOW  QUEEN  ISABELLA 
ARRIVED  AT  THE  CAMP. 

Though  Granada  was  shorn  of  its  glories,  and 
nearly  cut  off  from  all  external  aid,  still  its  mighty 
castles  and  massive  bulwarks  seemed  to  set  all  attack 
at  defiance.  IJemg  the  last  retreat  of  Moorish  power, 
It  had  assembled  within  its  walls  'he  remnants  of  the 
armies  that  had  contended,  step  :y  step,  with  the 
invaders,  in  their  gradual  c(ini]uest  of  the  land.  All 
that  remained  of  high-horn  and  high-bred  chivalry, 
was  here  ;  all  that  was  loyal  and  patriotic  was  roused 
to  activity  by  the  common  danger ;  and  Granada, 
that  had  so  long  been  lulled  into  inaction  by  vain 
hopes  of  security,  now  assumed  a  formid.able  aspect 
in  the  hour  of  its  despair. 

Ferdinand  saw  that  any  attempt  to  subdue  the  city 
by  main  force,  would  be  perilous  and  bloody.  Cau- 
tious in  his  policy,  and  fond  of  conquests  gained  by 
Wl  rather  than  valor,  he  resorted  to  the  plan  which 
hiJ  been  so  successful  with  Baza,  and  determined 
lo  reduce  the  place  by  famine.  For  this  purpose, 
l\a  armies  penetrated  into  the  very  heart  of  the  Al- 
ii;)wrras,  and  ravaged  the  valleys,  and  sacked  and 
Kumt  the  towns,  upon  which  the  city  depended  for 
ii=i  su])plies.  Scouting  parties,  also,  ranged  the 
mountains  behind  Granada,  and  captured  every 
casual  convoy  of  provisions.  The  Moors  became 
more  daring,  as  their  situation  became  more  hope- 
less. Never  had  Ferdinand  experienced  such  vigor- 
ous sallies  and  assaults.  Muza,  at  the  he.ad  of  his 
cavalr^',  harassed  the  borders  of  the  camp,  and  even 
penetrated  into  the  interior,  making  sudden  spoil  and 
ravage,  and  leaving  his  course  to  be  traced  by  the 
slain  and  wounded.  To  protect  his  camp  from  these 
assaults,  Ferdinand  fortified  it  with  deep  trenches 
and  strong  bulwarks.  It  was  of  a  quadrangular  form, 
divided  into  streets  like  a  city,  the  troops  being  (juar- 
tered  in  tents,  and  in  booths  constructed  of  Imshes 
and  branches  of  trees.  When  it  was  completed, 
cjueen  Isabella  came  in  state,  with  all  her  court,  and 
the  prince  and  princesses,  to  be  present  at  the  siege. 
This  was  intended,  as  on  former  occasions,  to  re- 
duce the  besieged  to  despair,  by  showing  the  deter- 
mination of  the  sovereigns  to  reside  in  the  camp  until 
the  city  should  surrender.  Immediately  alter  her 
arrival,  the  queen  rode  forth  to  survey  the  camp  and 
its  environs:  wherever  she  went,  she  w.-is  attended 
by  a  splendid  retinue ;  and  all  the  commanders  vied 
with  each  other,  in  the  pomp  and  ceremony  with 
which  they  received  her.  Nothing  was  heard,  from 
(Doming  until  night,  but  shouts  and  acclamations, 
and  buret>  of  martial  music  ;  so  that  it  appeared  to 
the  Mcors  as  if  a  continual  festival  and  triumph 
reigned  in  the  christian  camp. 

The  arrival  of  the  queen,  however,  and  the  men- 
aced obstinacy  of  the  siege,  had  no  effect  in  d.imping 
the  fire  of  the  Moorish  chivalr)-.  Muza  inspired  the 
youthful  warriors  with  the  most  devoted  I.eroism : 
"  We  have  nothing  let'l  to  fight  for,"  said  he,  "  but 


the  ground  we  stand  on  ;  when  this  is  lost  we  reaae 
to  have  a  country  and  a  name." 

Finding  the  christian  king  forbore  to  makr  an 
attack,  Muza  incited  his  cavaliers  to  challenge  ihr 
youthful  chivalry  of  the  christian  army  to  single  com 
bat,  or  partial  skirmishes.  Scarce  a  (lay  passed  wiiii 
out  gall.int  conflicts  of  the  kind,  in  sight  of  the  city 
and  the  camp.  The  combatants  rivalled  e.ich  uthir 
in  the  splendor  of  their  armor  and  array,  as  well  ^ 
in  the  prowess  of  their  deeds  Their  contests  v/cit 
more  like  the  stately  ceremonials  of  tilts  and  tourna- 
ments, than  the  rude  conflicts  of  the  field.  I'trdj. 
nand  soon  perceived  that  they  animated  ihc  lurj' 
Moors  with  fresh  zeal  and  cour.ige,  while  tiny  cost 
the  lives  of  many  of  his  bravest  car^liers :  he  .ivj.iin, 
therefore,  forb.idc  the  acceptince  of  any  imlividu.-il 
challenees,  and  ordered  that  all  partial  encdunters 
should  be  avoided.  The  cool  and  stern  policy  oi  thf 
Catholic  sovereign  bore  hard  upon  the  geiurous 
spirits  of  cither  army,  but  roused  the  imlign.iiion  of 
the  Moors,  when  they  found  that  thev  were  tn  be 
subdued  in  this  inglorious  manner :  "  Of  what  avail,' 
said  tliey,  '•  are  chiv.alry  and  heroic  valor  ?  ihe  irdlty 
monarch  of  the  christians  has  no  m.ignaniinity  in 
warfare;  he  seeks  to  subdue  us  through  the  weak- 
ness of  our  bodies,  but  shuns  to  encounter  the  courage 
of  our  souls." 


CHAPTER   XLVII. 


OF  THF,  INSOLENT  DEFIANCE  OF  VARFE  THl 
MOOR,  AN'II  THE  DARING  EXPLO.  I  OF  HKR- 
NANDO   PEKE2    DEL   PULGAR. 

When  the  Moorish  knights  beheld  tiuit  all  :our. 
teous  challenges  were  unavailing,  they  sought  varimis 
means  to  provoke  the  christian  warriors  to  the  I'lcM, 
Sometimes  a  body  of  them,  fleetly  mounted,  we.uld 
gallop  up  to  the  skirts  of  the  camp,  and  tiy  who 
should  hurl  his  lance  farthest  within  the  barriers, 
having  his  name  inscribed  upon  it,  or  a  laliel  ailixed 
to  it,  containing  some  taunting  defiance.  These  l)r.v 
vadoes  caused  great  irritation,  but  still  the  Spanish 
warriors  were  restrai.-."il  by  the  prohibition  of  the 
king. 

Among  the  Moorish  c.nvaliers  was  one  named  Yarfe, 
renowned  for  his  gre.at  strength  and  daring  spirit ;  hul 
whose  courage  partook  of  fierce  audacity,  rather  tlian 
chivalric  heroism.  In  one  of  these  sallies,  when  they 
were  skirting  the  christian  camp,  this  arrogant  Moor 
outstripped  hi?  companions,  overleaped  the  harriers. 
and,  galloping  close  to  the  royal  quarters,  lanched 
his  lance  so  far  within,  that  it  rem.ained  quivering  in 
the  earth  close  by  the  pavilions  of  the  sovereii,Tis, 
The  royal  guards  rxished  forth  in  pursuit,  hut  the 
Moorish  horsemen  were  already  beyond  the  camp, 
and  scouring  in  a  cloud  of  dust  for  the  city.  Upon 
wresting  the  lance  from  the  earth,  a  label  was  fcur.d 
upon  it,  importing  that  it  was  int«.n''ed  lor  the 
queen. 

Nothing  could  equal  the  indignation  of  the  chris- 
tian warriors,  at  the  insolence  of  the  br.avado.  and 
the  discourteous  insult  offered  to  the  queen.  Her- 
nando I'erez  del  Pulgar,  sumamed  "  he  of  the  sx- 
ploits,"  was  present,  and  resolved  not  to  be  outbraved 
by  this  daring  infidel :  "  Who  will  stand  by  me,"  viid 
he,  "  in  an  enterprise  of  desperate  i)eril  ?  "  The  chris- 
tian cavaliers  well  knew  the  harebrained  valor  of 
Hernando  del  Pulgar,  yet  not  one  hesitated  to  strp 
forward.  He  chose  fifteen  companions,  all  men  of 
powerfuf  arm  and  dauntless  heart.  In  the  dead  of 
the  night,  tte  led  them  forth  from  the  camp,  a:;ii  ap- 
pro.ichcd  the  city  cautiously,  until  he  arrived  at  a 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  QRANA^A. 


S81 


is  lost  we  cease 


•oMrm-gate,  which  opened  upon  the  Oarro,  ^nd 
ifo.-^  ^,'iiarded  by  foot-soldiers.  The  guards,  little 
thinking;  of  such  an  unwonted  and  partial  attacit, 
wertr  lor  the  most  part  asleep.  The  gate  was  forced, 
ami  a  confused  and  chance-medley  stirmish  ensued  ; 
Hernando  del  Pulj^ar  stopped  not  to  take  part  in  the 
iffny:  putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  he  (galloped 
furiously  through  the  streets,  striking  tire  out  of  the 
Stones  at  every  Iwund.  Arrived  at  the  jirincipal 
mosque,  he  sprang  from  his  horse,  and,  kneeling  at 
ihe  portal,  took  possession  of  the  edifice  as  a  chris- 
tian chapel,  dedicating  it  to  the  blessed  virgin.  In 
•CTtimonial  of  the  ceremony,  he  took  .i  lalilit  which 
h?  had  brought  with  him,  on  whii  h  was  inscribed  in 
larg'  characters,  "  Avk  Mauia,"  anti  nailed  it  to 
the  iloor  of  the  mosijue  wilii  liis  dagger.  This  done, 
he  rcniounii:d  his  steed,  ami  galloped  back  to  the 
gate.  1  he  alarm  had  been  giv<'n  — tne  city  w.as  in  an 
uproar — soldiers  were  gathering  from  every  direction. 
Tiicy  were  astonished  at  seeing  a  cliiiritian  warrior 
eallo])ing  from  the  interior  of  the  city.  Hernando 
id  Vulgar  (jverturncJ  some,  cut  down  others,  re- 
join''cl  liis  companions,  who  still  main.ained  posses- 
sion of  the  gate  by  ditt  of  hard  fighting,  and  ail  made 
goiiil  their  retreat  to  the  camp.  TIte  Moors  were  at 
a  loss  to  imagine  the  meaning  of  this  wild  and  ap- 
parciiiiy  fruitless  a5:Kault;  but  great  was  their  ex- 
asptr.it  Ion,  on  the  following  day,  when  the  trophy  of 
hanhliood  and  prowess,  llie  "Ave  Maria,"  was 
discovered  finis  elevated  in  bravado  in  the  very 
centre  of  the  city.  The  mosque  thus  boldly  sancti- 
fied by  Hernando  del  I'ulgar  was  actually  consecra- 
tfld  into  a  cathedral,  after  the  capture  of  Granada.* 


CHAPTER   XLVIII. 


JOW  QUEEN  ISABELLA  TOOK  A  VIEW  OF  THE 
CITY  or  GRANADA— AND  HOW  HER  CURIOSITY 
COST  THE   LIVKS    OF    MA.VV    CHRISTIA.NS    AND 

M(X)RS. 

Thk  royal  encampment  lay  at  such  a  distance 
iiom  Griinada,  that  the  geneml  aspect  of  the  city 
only  could  be  seen,  as  it  rose  gracefully  from  the 
vcg.i,  covering  the  sides  of  the  hills  with  palaces  and 
towrrs.  Queen  Isabella  had  expressed  an  earnest 
desire  to  behold,  nearer  at  hand,  a  city  whose  beauty 
was  so  renowned  throughout  the  world  :  and  the 
mar(|ues  of  Cadiz,  with  his  accustomed  courtesy, 
prepared  a  great  military  escort  .ind  guard,  to  pro- 
tect the  (pieen  and  the  ladies  of  the  court,  while  they 
enjoyed  this  perilous  gratification. 

It  was  on  the  morning  after  the  events  recorded 
in  the  preceding  chajner,  that  a  magnificent  and 
powerful  train  issued  forth  from  the  christian  camp. 
The  advanced  guard  was  composed  of  legions  of 
cavalr)',  heavily  armed,  that  looked  like  moving 
masr,es  of  polished  steel.  Then  came  the  king  and 
queen,  wilh  the  prince  and  jirincess,  and  the  ladies 
of  the  court,  surrounded  by  the  royal  body-guard, 
tumptuously  arrayed,  composed  of  the  sons  of  the 
most  illustrious  houses  of  .Spain  ;  after  these  was  the 
rear-guard,  composed  of  a  powerful  force  of  horse 
Mid  loot ;  for  the  tlower  of  the  army  .sallied  forth 
tliat  day.    The  Moors  gazed  with  fearful  admiration 

*  In  commemoration  of  this  daring  feat,  the  emperor  Charles  V., 
b  iftrr  years,  conferred  on  Puli;:ir  .ind  his  descendants  the  riRht  of 
Hpulture  in  that  church,  and  the  privilepe  of  sitting  in  the  choir 
duriiiK  high  mass.  This  Hernando  Fcrcz  del  Pulgar  was  a  mnn  of 
letter,.  i«  well  as  oiois,  and  inscribed  to  Charles  V.  a  summary  of 
the  •chievements  of  Gonsalvo  of  Cordova,  sumamcd  the  great  cap- 
lain,  who  h-id  bften  one  of  his  comrades  in  arms.  He  is  often  con- 
ktunded  with  Hernando  del  l*nlgar.  hutorian  and  secretary  Co  queen 
lubeilu.  -See  ni  te  to  Pulgar's  Chron,  of  the  Catholic  Sovereigns, 
put  1  c.  iii,  edit.  Valencu,  1780. 


t  the  pomp  of  the 

nrs  of  the  camp, 
osf  '"^e  vega,  •* 
iial  n'  sic;  wh  It 
arf,  11  id  rich 
'  lief  io  Ihf 
e.ith. 
1    hamlet  of  '/. 


inr 


at  this  glorious  pageant,  w     -    - 
court  w.as  mingled  with   tl 
It  moved  along  in  a  r.ntiartt  . 
the  melodious   thunders  of   i. 
banner  and   plume,  anrl  silken 
catle,  gave  a  gay  and  goff*»'ous 
visage  of  iron  war,  that  lurkid  li. 

The  army  moved  towards  tli 
built  on  the  skirts  of  the  mountain  to  the  l«ft  r  f  .  rs- 
nada,  and  commarding  a  vi?w  of  the  Alhambra.  an  . 
the  most  beautiful  juarter  of  the  city.  As  they  ap 
pro.ached  the  hiin  let,  the  marques  of  Villena,  the 
count  Urefla,  and  Don  AI6nzo  tie  Aguilar,  filed  off 
with  their  batt.'iliuns,  aiul  were  soon  seen  glitteting 
.along  the  side  of  the  mountain  above  the  village.  In 
the  mean  time,  the  martjiies  of  Cadiz,  the  count  de 
Tendilla,  the  count  de  Cahra,  and  Don  Alonzo  Fer- 
nandez, Senior  of  Alcandrete  and  Montemayor,  drew 
up  their  forces  in  battle  array  on  the  plain  below  the 
hamlet,  presenting  a  living  barrier  of  loyal  chivalry 
between  the  sovereigns  ami  the  city. 

Thus  securely  guariled,  the  royal  party  al'ghted, 
and,  entering  one  of  the  houses  ol  the  hainlet,  which 
had  been  prepared  for  their  reception,  enjoyed  a  full 
view  of  the  city  from  its  terraced  roof  The  ladies 
of  the  court  ga/ed  with  delight  at  the  red  towers  of 
the  Alhambra.  rising  from  amidst  shady  groves, 
anticipating  the  tiim:  when  the  Catholic  sovereigns 
should  be  enthroned  within  its  walls,  and  its  courts 
shine  with  the  splendor  of  Spanish  chivalry,  "  The 
reverend  prelates  and  holy  fri.ars,  who  always  sur- 
roundeil  the  tpieen,  looked  with  serene  satisfaction," 
s,ays  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "  at  this  modem  Itaby- 
lon,  enjoying  the  triumph  that  awaited  them,  when 
those  mosques  and  minarets  should  be  convened 
into  churches,  and  goodly  priests  and  bishops  shout'." 
succeed  to  the  infidel  alfaquis." 

When  the  .Moors  beheld  the  christians  thus  drawn 
forth  in  full  array  in  the  plain,  they  supposed  it  was 
to  offer  them  battle ;  antl  they  hesitated  not  to  ac- 
cept it.  In  a  little  while,  tlie  queen  beheld  a  body 
of  Moorish  cavalry  pouring  into  the  vega,  the  riders 
managing  their  fleet  and  fiery  steeds  with  admirable 
address.  They  were  richly  armed,  and  clothed  in 
the  most  brilliant  colors,  and  the  caparisons  of  their 
steeds  flamed  with  gold  and  embroiilery.  This  was 
the  favorite  squadron  of  Mu;;a,  composed  of  the 
tlower  of  the  youthful  cavaliers  of  (jranada.  Others 
succeeded,  some  heavily  armed,  some  a  la  ginete 
with  lance  and  buckler  ;  and  lastly  came  the  legions 
of  foot-soldiers,  with  arquebuss  and  cross-bow,  and 
spe.ar  and  scimitar. 

When  the  queen  saw  this  army  issuing  from  the 
city,  she  sent  to  the  marques  of  Cadiz,  and  forbade 
any  attack  upon  the  enemy,  or  the  acceptance  of 
any  challenge  to  a  skirmish  ;  for  she  was  loth  that 
her  curiosity  should  cost  the  life  of  a  single  human 
being. 

The  marques  promised  to  obey,  though  sor-.iy 
against  his  will ;  and  it  grieved  the  rpirit  of  tne 
Spanish  cavaliers,  to  be  obliged  to  lemain  with 
sheathed  swords  while  be.arded  by  the  foe.  The 
Moors  could  not  comprehend  the  meaning  of  thii 
inaction  of  the  christians,  after  having  apparently  in- 
N-ited  a  battle.  They  sallied  several  times  from  thcii 
ranks,  and  approached  ne.ar  enough  to  discharge 
their  arrows ;  but  the  christians  were  immovable. 
Many  of  the  Moorish  horsemen  galloped  close  to  the 
christian  ranks,  brandishing  their  lances  and  scimi- 
tars, and  defying  various  cavaliers  to  single  combat  • 
but  king  Ferdinand  had  rigorously  prohibited  at 
duels  of  the  kind,  and  they  dared  not  transgress  his 
orders  under  his  ver)'  eye. 

While  this  grim  and  reluctant  tranquillity  pre- 
vailed along  the  christian  line,  there  rose  a  mingled 


W9 


WORKS  OP  WASHINGTON   IRVING 


^•5: 


fy '. 


i    :     . 


•hout  and  sound  of  laughter  near  the  pite  of  the 

city.  A  Moorish  horseman,  armed  at  all  points, 
issued  forth,  followwl  by  a  rniihle,  who  drew  h.ick  as 
he  appriiicheil  the  scene  of  il.-infrer.  The  Moor  was 
more  roliust  ami  brawny  than  was  common  with 
his  countrymen.  His  visor  was  closed ;  he  bore  a 
hugp  buckler  and  a  ponderous  lance ;  his  scimitar 
was  of  a  Damascus  blidc,  .-ind  his  richly  ornamented 
dagger  was  wrouyjht  by  an  artitkrr  of  Fez.  He  was 
\n' wn  by  his  device  to  be  Yarfe,  the  most  insolent, 
^et  valiant,  of  the  Moslem  warriors — the  same  who 
nai  hurled  into  the  royal  camp  his  lance,  inscribe<l 
lo  the  queen.  As  he  rode  slowly  along  in  front  of 
the  army,  his  very  steed,  pr.incin>j  with  tiery  eye  and 
distended  nDstril,  seemed  to  breathe  defiance  to  the 
christians. 

Hut  what  were  the  feelinjjs  of  the  Spanish  cava- 
liers, when  they  beheld,  tied  to  the  t.iil  of  his  steed, 
and  dragged  in  the  dust,  the  very  inscription.  "  Ave 
Maria,  which  Hem.mdo  Perei  del  I'lilgar  had 
affixed  to  the  door  of  the  mos(|ue !  A  burst  of  hor- 
ror and  indignation  broke  forth  from  the  army. 
Hernando  del  Pul>;ar  was  not  at  hand  to  maintam 
his  previous  achievement  ;  but  one  of  his  yoimj; 
companions  in  arms.  Garcilasso  de  la  Vejja  by  name, 
putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  galloped  to  the  handet  of 
Zubia,  threw  himself  on  his  knees  before  the  king, 
and  besought  nennission  to  accept  the  defiance  of  this 
Insolent  intidel,  and  to  revenge  the  insult  otTered  to 
our  blessed  Lady.  The  recniest  was  too  pious  to  be 
refused  :  Garcilasso  remounted  his  steed  ;  he  closed 
his  helmet,  graced  by  four  sat)le  plumes,  grasped  his 
buckler  of  Flemish  workmanship,  and  his  lance  of 
matchless  temper,  and  defied  the  haughty  Moor  in 
the  midst  of  his  career.  A  combat  took  place,  in 
»iew  of  the  two  amiies  and  of  the  Castilian  court. 
The  Mpor  was  powerful  in  wielding  his  weapons, 
»ikI  dextrous  in  managing  his  steed.  He  was  of 
Ur«rr  frame  than  Garcilasso,  and  more  completely 
nrmed  ;  and  the  christians  trembled  for  their  ch.iin- 
pion.  The  shock  of  their  encounter  was  dre.idhil  ; 
their  lances  were  shivered,  and  sent  up  splinters  in 
the  air.  Garcilasso  was  thrown  back  in  the  saddle  — 
his  horse  made  a  wide  career,  before  he  could  re- 
cover, gather  up  the  reins,  and  return  to  the  con- 
flict. Tney  now  encountered  each  other  with  swords. 
The  Moor  circled  round  his  opponent,  as  a  hawk  cir- 
cles whereabout  to  make  a  swoop ;  his  Arabian  steeil 
obeyed  his  rider,  with  nicitchless  quickness;  at  every 
attack  of  the  infidel  it  seemed  as  if  the  christian 
knight  must  sink  beneath  his  flashing  scimitar.  But 
if  Garcilasso  were  inferior  to  him  in  power,  he  w.as 
superior  in  agility :  many  of  his  blows  he  parried ; 
others  he  received  upon  his  Flemish  shield,  which 
waa  proof  against  the  Damascus  blade.  The  blood 
streamed  from  numerous  wounds  received  by  either 
warrior.  The  Moor,  seeing  his  antagonist  exhausted, 
availed  himself  of  his  superior  force,  and.  grappling, 
endeavored  to  wrest  his  from  his  saddle.  They  both 
fell  to  earth  ;  the  Moor  placed  his  knee  upon  the 
breast  of  his  victim,  and,  brandishing  his  dagger, 
limed  a  blow  at  his  throat.  A  cry  of  despair  was 
nttercd  by  the  christian  warriors,  when  suddenly 
Ihey  beheld  the  Moor  rolling  lifeless  in  the  dust. 
fjarciLasso  had  shortened  his  sword,  and,  as  his  .ad- 
rersary  raised  his  arm  to  strike,  had  pierced  him  to 
Ihe  heart.  "  It  was  a  singular  and  miraculous  vic- 
tory," says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  ;  "  but  the  chris- 
tian knight  was  anned  by  the  sacred  nature  of  his 
cause,  and  the  holy  virgin  gave  him  strength,  like 
another  David,  to  slay  this  gigantic  champion  of  the 
Gentiles." 

The  laws  of  chivalry  were  observed  throughout 
the  coiabat — no  one  interfered  on  cither  side.  Gar- 
cilasso now  despoiled  his  adversary ;  then,  rescuing 


the  holy  iitscrlptlon  of  "Ave  MAiilA"ftem  ts  dfr 
grading  situation,  he  elevated  it  on  the  point  ot  hli 
sword,  and  bore  it  off  as  a  signal  of  triumph,  annd^i 
the  rapturous  shouts  of  the  chriHiian  army. 

The  sun  had  now  reached  the  meridian  ;  and  ih, 
hot  blood  of  the  Moors  was  inflamed  by  its  r;»yi,  .md 
by  the  sight  of  the  ditVat  of  their  champion.  Mii<j 
ordered  two  pieces  ol  ordnance  to  open  a  lire  ii;irt 
the  christians.  A  ccnhision  w.is  produced  in  oik 
part  of  their  ran«« :  Miixa  called  to  the  chicle  nf 
the  army,  "  Let  us  waste  no  more  time  in  empty 
ch.-dlenges — let  us  change  upon  the  enemy  ;  he  whc 
as'.aults  has  always  an  advantage  in  the  coinlni," 
So  saying,  he  rushe«l  forward,  followed  by  a  liri;e 
Iwdy  of  horse  and  loot,  and  charged  so  furiously  i!|)o'n 
the  advance  guard  of  the  christians,  that  he  drovK  ii 
in  upon  the  battalion  of  the  marques  of  Cad?/. 

Tlie  gallant  man|ue»  now  considered  himsell  ,il>. 
solved  from  all  further  obedience  to  lhe(|iiren's  <rin- 
mands.  He  gave  the  sign.TJ  to  attack.  "  S.intl,ii;n  ! " 
was  shouted  along  the  line;  and  he  pressed  Ioia  (pj 
to  the  encounter,  with  his  batt.ilion  of  twelve  t  m. 
dred  lances.  The  other  cavaliers  followed  In-  ij. 
ample,  and  the  b.ittle  instantlv  l)ecame  gener.il. 

When  the  king  and  (jueen  behelrl  the  armies  tlun 
rushing  to  the  combat,  they  threw  themselves  (m 
their  knees,  ancl  implored  the  holy  virgin  to  proini 
her  faithful  warriors.  The  prince  and  princess,  thf 
ladies  of  the  court,  and  the  prel.ites  and  fri.ir-,  whn 
were  present,  did  the  satne ;  and  the  elTert  of  ihf 
prayers  of  these  illustrious  and  saintly  persons.  \\a 
immediately  apparent.  The  fierceness  with  whuh 
the  Moors  had  rushed  to  the  attack  was  siiiMruly 
cooled  ;  they  were  Ixild  and  adroit  for  a  skirmish, 
but  unequal  to  the  veteran  Spani.trds  in  the  I'pcn 
field.  A  panic  seized  upon  the  fool-soldieis  -th(^ 
turned,  and  took  to  flight.  Muza  and  his  cavalirri 
in  vain  endeavored  to  rally  them.  Some  ti>i)k  reli^jt 
in  the  mountains ;  but  the  greater  part  tied  to  ihf 
city,  in  such  confusion  that  they  overiMrned  ;in4 
trampled  upon  each  other.  The  christians  pu-Mic] 
them  lo  the  very  gates.  Upw.ards  of  two  thc'"s.ir,l 
were  either  killed,  wounded,  or  taken  prisoners  ;  ard 
the  two  pieces  of  ordn;ince  were  brought  <i*T,  w 
trophies  of  the  victory.  Not  a  christi.iii  lani  e  luit 
was  bathed  that  day  in  the  blood  of  an  infidel  ' 

Such  svas  the  brief  but  bloody  action,  which  \\,ui 
known  among  the  christian  warriors  by  the  name  m| 
"the  (pieen's  skirmish;"  for  when  the  mar<|iir>  oi 
Cadiz  waited  u|v)n  her  m.ijesty  to  apolojjize  for 
breaking  her  commands,  he  attriluited  ihe  victorv 
entirely  to  her  presence.  The  queen,  however,  in- 
sisted that  it  w;is  .'dl  owing  to  her  troops  bi-im;  led 
on  by  so  v.iliant  a  commander.  Her  majesty  hail  not 
yet  recovered  from  her  agitation  at  beholdinjj  so 
terrible  a  scene  of  bloodshed  ;  though  certain  vete- 
rans present  pronounced  it  as  gay  and  gentle  a 
skirmish  as  they  had  ever  witnessed. 

To  commemorate  this  victor^',  the  queen  .iittr- 
wards  erected  a  monaster)'  in  this  vill.ige  of  Znlna, 
dedicated  to  St.  Francisco,  which  still  exists;  arv!  :n 
its  garden  is  a  laurel,  planted  by  the  hands  ot  !'.er 
majesty,  t 

•  Cura  dc  los  Palacios, 

tThe  hmn»  from  whence  the  king  »nd  queen  conl<in;jlit(^  iks 
battle,  is  likewise  to  be  «een  at  the  present  d«y.  It  it  iti  the  f^tsX 
street,  to  the  right,  on  ciiierind  the  vilUffe  ftcm  the  vrtfj  ;  jnd  tni 
royal  armx  are  painted  on  the  ceilinKs.  ft  ^«  inhabited  uy  a  v.uriliy 
farmer,  Kraiiciscu  Garcia,  who,  in  showina  the  hou^e,  refu--s  4O 
comiiensation,  with  true  Spanish  pride;  offering,  on  the  conirjry. 
the  hospitatitiei  of  his  inansiou  to  the  stranger.  His  childrtii  iii 
versed  in  the  old  Spanish  ballads,  atwut  the  exploits  of  Unn^icOi 
Peres  del  Tulgu  and  Carciiasso  d«  la  Vega. 


A  CHRONICLE  OF   THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


CHAPTER   XLIX. 

CONrLAORATION   «ir   THU    CHRISTIAN  CAMP. 

Thk  ravages  of  war  had  a«  y^X  npnrcfl  a  little  por- 
rton  of  the  vcg.i  of  (Jranada.  \  arevw  hclt  ol  gar- 
ifr\<K  anil  ornianls  «llll  llounshc<l  round  thr  city. 
e»iiii<linK  alon^;  the  bank*  nt  the.  Xfnel  and  the 
Oarri).  I'hey  had  hrcii  the  solace  and  di'li>jht  of 
thr  inhabitants  in  thoir  happier  days,  and  rdntriluitrd 
to  ihrir  sustcnanri-  in  this  tliMC  of  scarcity.  Fcrdi- 
nand  determined  to  inal<c  a  tinal  and  extfrinin.itinjj 
ravnvje  to  the  very  walls  (if  the  city,  so  that  there 
ihiiiild  not  remain  a  sinifle  ^rren  thinjj  for  the  siis- 
t(;n:>iu:e  of  man  or  beaM.  The  evening  ol  a  hot 
Jul)  day  shone  splendidly  upon  the  christian  '.amp, 
whcli  was  in  u  biistli!  of  f'-paration  for  tht  next 
day's  service — for  despi!rni«>  -siHtancc  was  expet  ted 
fniin  the  Moors.  The  caw  >  made  a  >;lorioiis  ap- 
pear.ince,  in  the  setting;  iuu.  The  various  tents  of 
the  royal  f.iniily  and  the  attendant  nobles,  were 
ailorned  with  rich  hanj{iri).rs,  and  sumplnous  devices, 
anil  roHtly  furniture;  Innninj;.  as  it  were,  a  little 
cily  of  silk  and  brocade,  where  the  pinnacles  of 
p.ivilions  of  various  K''y  colors,  surmounted  with 
w^ivinK  standards  and  tlutferinj{  pennotis,  mij,'ht  vie 
with  the  domes  and  minarets  of  the  capital  they 
were  besieging. 

In  the  midst  of  this  little  gaudy  metropolis,  the 
lofly  tt  nt  of  the  ([Ueen  domineered  over  the  rest  like 
a  stately  palace.  The  marques  of  Cadii  had  court- 
eously surrendered  his  own  tent  to  the  queen  :  it 
wa3  the  most  complete  and  sumptuous  in  Christen- 
dsm,  and  had  been  carried  about  with  him  through- 
oU  the  war.  In  the  centre  rose  a  stately  alfanequo 
or  [avilion  in  oriental  taste,  the  rich  hangings  being 
Hif.fwrtcd  by  columns  of  lances  and  ornamented 
with  martial  devices.  This  central  pavilion,  or  silken 
icwer,  w.-is  surrounded  by  other  compartments,  some 
oi  painted  linen  lined  with  silk,  and  all  separated 
^rom  e.ach  other  by  curtains.  It  w.as  one  of  those 
c«mp  palaces  which  are  raised  and  deinolished  in  an 
irstint,  like  the  city  of  canv.as  that  surrounds  them. 

As  the  evening  advanced,  the  bustle  in  the  camp 
tuhsided.  Every  one  sought  repose,  preparatory  to 
the  next  d.ay's  trial.  The  king  retired  early,  that  he 
mi^ht  be  up  with  the  crowing  of  the  cock,  to  he.ad 
the  (kstroymg  army  in  person.  All  stir  of  military 
preparation  was  hushed  in  the  royal  quarters  ;  the 
very  sound  of  minstrelsy  was  mute,  and  not  the 
tinkling  of  a  (juitar  was  to  be  heard  from  the  tents 
of  the  fair  ladies  of  the  court. 

The  queen  had  retired  to  the  innermost  part  of 
her  pavilion,  where  she  was  performing  her  orisons 
before  a  private  altar ;  perhaps  the  peril  to  which 
the  king  might  lie  ex|>osed  in  the  next  day's  foray, 
inspired  her  with  more  than  usu.al  devotion.  While 
thus  at  her  prayers,  she  was  suddenly  aroused  by  a 
glare  of  light,  and  wreaths  of  sutfocaimg  smoke.  In 
«T  inst.ant,  the  whole  tent  was  in  a  blaze  :  there  w.as 
a  high  gusty  wind,  which  whirled  the  light  flames 
ficm  tent  to  tent,  and  wrapped  the  whole  in  one 
ccnibgration. 

IsJ^Killa  had  barely  time  to  save  herself  by  instant 
flight.  Her  first  thought,  on  being  extricated  from 
><r  tent,  was  for  the  safely  of  the  king.  She  rushed 
a  his  tent,  but  the  vigilant  Ferdinand  w.as  already 
e  the  entrance  of  it.  Starting  from  bed  on  the  first 
ilsim,  and  fancying  it  an  assault  of  the  enemy,  he 
had  seiied  his  sword  and  buckler,  and  sallied  forth 
undressed,  with  his  cuirass  upon  his  arm. 

The  late  gorg:ous  camp  was  now  a  scene  of  wild 
confusion.  The  flames  kept  spreading  from  one 
pavilion  to  another,  glaring  upon  the  rich  armor, 
and  goUsr  and  silver  vessels  wnich  seemed  melting 


In  the  frrvrnl  heat.  Many  of  the  soldiers  hal  erected 
booths  and  bowers  of  branches,  which,  bring  dry, 
crackled  and  blfured,  and  added  to  thr  rapirt  con 
llagr.ition.  The  ladies  of  the  court  tied,  shriekin{ 
and  h.ill-dressrd,  (rom  their  tents.  There  w.vt  an 
al.irm  of  dnirn  and  trumpet,  and  a  distrarted  hurrj 
about  the  camp  of  men  half  armed.  The  prirc.c 
Juan  had  been  snatched  out  of  bed  by  an  altrndaiit. 
and  conveyed  to  the  quarters  of  the  count  de  Cibri, 
which  were  at  the  entrance  of  the  camp.  The  loyal 
count  immediately  summoned  his  people,  and  those 
of  his  cousin  Don  Aloiiioile  Monlemayor,  and  form- 
ed a  guard  round  the  tent  in  which  tfic  prince  was 
sheltered. 

The  idea  that  this  was  a  stratagem  of  the  Moors, 
soon  subsided;  but  it  was  feared  that  they  might 
take  advanfajy'e  of  it  to  assault  the  camn.  Tne  ir.ar- 
•lues  of  C.iilij!,  therefore  sallied  fortn  with  three 
thousand  horse  to  check  any  advance  from  the  C'ty, 
As  they  passed  along,  the  whole  camp  was  a  scene 
of  hurry  and  consternation— some  hastening  to  their 
posts,  at  the  rail  of  drum  and  trumpet ;  some  at- 
tempting to  save  rich  etfects  and  glittering  armor 
from  the  tents,  others  dragging  along  terrihed  and 
restive  horses. 

When  they  emerged  from  the  camp,  they  found 
the  whole  firniatneni  Illuminated.  The  (lames  whirl- 
ed up  in  long  li;;hl  spires,  and  the  air  was  tilled  with 
sparKs  and  cinders.  A  bright  glare  was  thrown 
upon  the  city,  reve.-iling  every  battlement  and  tower. 
Turbaned  heads  were  seen  gazing  I'rom  every  roof, 
and  armor  gleamed  along  the  walls  ;  yet  not  a  single 
warrior  sallied  Irom  the  gates  :  the  Moors  suspected 
some  stratagem  on  the  part  of  the  christians,  and 
kept  quietly  within  their  walls.  By  degrees,  the 
tlamcs  expired  ;  the  city  faded  from  sight ;  all  agaitl 
became  dark  and  quiet,  and  the  marques  of  Cadii 
returned  with  his  cavalry  to  the  camp. 


CHAPTER  L. 

THE  LAST   RAVAGE   BEFORE  URANADA. 

When  the  d.ay  d.awned  on  the  chri.stian  camp, 
nothing  remained  of  that  beautiful  assemblage  of 
statelv  pavilions,  but  heaps  of  smouldering  rubbish, 
with  felms  and  corselets  and  other  furniture  of  war, 
and  m.a.sses  of  melted  gold  and  silver  glittering 
among  the  ashes.  The  wardrobe  of  the  queen  was 
entirely  destroyed,  and  there  was  an  immense  loss 
in  plate,  jewcl.s,  costly  stutTs,  and  sumptuous  armor 
of  the  luxurious  nobles.  The  lire  at  hrst  had  been 
attributed  to  treachery,  but  on  investigation  it  proved 
to  be  entirely  accidental.  The  queen,  on  retiring  to 
her  prayers,  had  ordered  her  lady  in  attendance  to 
remove  a  light  burning  near  her  couch,  lest  it  should 
prevent  her  sleeping.  Through  heedlessness,  the 
taper  was  placed  in  another  part  of  the  tent,  near 
the  hangings,  which,  being  blown  against  it  by  a 
gust  of  wind,  immediately  took  tire. 

The  wary  Ferdinand  knew  the  sanguine  tempera* 
ment  of  the  Moors,  and  hastened  to  prevent  thdl 
deriving  confidence  from  the  night's  disaster.  At 
break  of  day,  the  drums  and  trumpets  sounded  tj 
amis,  and  the  christian  army  issued  from  among  tha 
smoking  ruins  of  their  camp,  in  shining  squad; -jns, 
with  flaunting  banners  and  bursts  of  martial  mcU 
ody,  as  though  the  preceding  night  h.ad  been  a  linM 
of  high  festivity,  instead  of  terror. 

The  Moors  had  beheld  the  conflagration  with 
wonder  and  perplexity.  When  the  day  broke,  and 
they  looked  towards  the  christian  camp,  they  saw 
nothing  but  a  dark  smoking  m;iss     Their  scoutf 


<H4 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


i»  ^i 


4] 


5S? 


■'M- 


m 


^-f 


came  in.  with  the  joyful  intelligence  that  the  whole 
camp  was  a  scene  of  ruin.  Scarce  had  the  tidings 
spread  throughout  the  city,  when  they  beheld  the 
cnristi^n  army  advancing  towards  their  walls. 
They  consi:!ered  it  a  (eint,  to  cover  their  desperate 
^  lituation  and  preprire  for  a  retreat.  Boahdil  el 
'  Chico  hail  one  of  his  impulses  of  valor — he  deter- 
mlRCiUo  taketlie  iit'ld  in  person,  and  to  follow  up  this 
j'gna!  blow  which  All.ih  had  inilicted  on  the  enemy. 

Th'i  christian  anny  apprn.iched  close  to  the  city, 
i-yd.  v/ere  laying  -vasie  the  gardens  and  orchards, 
whe:.  Boahdil  sallied  fovtii,  surrounded  by  all  that 
was  left  of  the  tlower  and  chivalry  of  Granada. 
There  is  one  jjlace  where  even  the  coward  becomes 
brave— that  sacred  spot  called  home.  What  then 
must  have  been  the  vahir  of  the  .Moors,  a  people  al- 
ways of  fiery  spirit,  when  the  war  was  thus  brought 
to  their  thresholds  !  They  fought  among  the  scenes 
of  their  loves  and  pleasures;  the  scenes  of  their  in- 
fancy, and  the  h.aunts  of  their  domestic  life.  They 
fought  under  the  eyes  of  their  wives  and  children, 
their  old  men  and  their  maid<'ns,  of  all  that  was 
helpless  ami  all  that  was  dear  to  them  ;  for  all  Gr.'i- 
nada,  crowded  on  tower  and  battle'inent.  watched 
with  trembling  heart  the  fate  of  this  eventful  day. 

There  w.as  not  so  much  one  battle,  as  a  variety  of 
battles;  every  garden  and  orchard  became  a  scene 
of  deadly  contest ;  every  inch  of  ground  was  dis- 
puted, with  an  agony  of  grief  and  valor,  by  the 
Moors;  every  inch  of  ground  that  the  christians 
advanced,  they  valiantly  maintained  ;  but  never  did 
they  advance  with  severer  fighting,  or  greater  loss 
Cif  blood. 

The  cavalry  of  Muza  w.is  in  every  part  of  the 
field;  wherever  it  came,  it  gave  fresh  ardor  to  the 
light.  The  Moorish  soldier,  fainting  with  heat, 
'atigue,  and  woun-ls,  w.is  roused  to  new  life  at  the 
«ppro.ich  of  Muza;  and  even  he  who  lay  gasping 
in  the  agonies  of  death,  turned  his  face  towards 
him,  and  faintly  uttered  cheers  and  blessings  as  he 
passed. 

The  christians  had  by  this  time  gained  possession 
Ot  various  towers  near  the  city,  from  whence  they 
nad  been  annoyed  by  cross-bows  and  arquebusses. 
The  Moors,  scattered  in  various  actions,  were  se- 
verely pressed.  Boahdil,  at  the  head  of  the  cav.i- 
liers  ot  his  guard,  displayed  the  utmost  vrdor.  min- 
gling in  the  tight  in  various  parts  of  the  field,  and  en- 
deavoring to  inspirit  the  foot-soliliers  in  the  combat 
But  the  Moorish  infantry  w.as  never  to  be  depended 
upon.  In  the  heat  of  the  action,  a  panic  seized  upon 
them  ;  they  tied,  leaving  their  sovereign  exposed  with 
his  handtui  of  cavaliers  to  an  overwhelming  force. 
Boabdil  was  on  the  point  of  falling  into  the  hands 
of  the  christi.-ms,  when,  wheeling  round,  with  his 
followers,  they  threw  the  reins  on  the  necks  of  their 
fleet  steeds,  and  took  refuge  by  dint  of  hoof  within 
the  walls  of  the  city.* 

Muza  endeavored  to  retrieve  the  fortune  of  the 
field.  He  threw  himself  before  the  retreating  infan- 
try, calling  upon  them  to  turn  and  fight  for  their 
hom"s.  their  families,  for  every  thing  that  was  sacred 
and  dear  to  them.  It  was  all  in  vain : — they  were 
totalh  broken  and  disi.>ayed,  and  fled  tuinultuously 
for  the  gates.  Muza  would  fain  have  kept  the  field 
with  his  cavalry  ;  tiut  this  devoted  band,  having  stood 
tlie  brunt  of  war  throughout  this  desperate  campaign, 
was  fearfully  reduced  in  numbers,  and  many  of  the 
survivors  were  crippled  and  enfeebled  by  their 
wounds.  Slowly  and  rc'actantly  Muza  retreated  to 
the  city,  his  bosom  sweuing  with  indignation  and 
despair.  When  he  entered  the  gates,  he  ordered 
them  to  be  closed,  and  secured  with  bolts  and  bars ; 

*  ZuriU.  lib.  JO.  G.  BS. 


for  he  refused  to  place  any  further  confider .«  in  th« 
archers  and  arquebusiers  who  were  stationed  tc  dc 
fend  them,  and  he  vowed  never  more  to  sally  fortr 
with  foot-soldiers  to  the  field. 

In  the  mean  time  the  artillery  thundered  from  th; 
walls,  and  checked  all  further  advances  of  the  thns, 
tians.  King  Ferdin.and,  therefore,  called  oil  hij 
troops,  and  returned  in  triumph  to  the  ruins  of  his 
camp.  leaving  the  beautiful  city  of  Granaila  wtapjxi 
in  the  smoke  of  her  fields  and  gardens,  and  surrouiui 
ed  by  the  bodies  of  her  «  aughtered  children. 

Such  was  the  Last  sally  made- by  the  Moors,  in  (If. 
fence  of  their  favorite  city.  The  French  ambassa- 
dor, who  witnessed  it,  was  filled  with  wonder,  at  ih.e 
prowess,  the  dexterity,  and  daring  of  the  Moslems. 

In  truth,  this  whole  war  w.as  an  instance,  memora- 
ble in  history,  of  the  most  p<'rsevering  resolution.  For 
nearly  ten  years  had  the  war  endured— an  alnio'ii 
uninterrupted  seritrs  of  disasters  to  the  Moorish  arms, 
Their  towns  had  been  taken,  one  after  another,  and 
their  brethren  slain  or  led  into  cajjlivity.  Yet  they 
disputed  every  city  and  town,  and  fortress  and  •ms- 
tle,  nay  every  rock  itself,  as  if  they  had  been  inspir- 
ited by  victories.'  Wherever  they  could  plant  loot 
to  fight,  or  find  wall  or  cliff  from  whence  to  lanr  n  :in 
arrow,  they  disputed  their  beloved  country  ;  and  tn  v;, 
when  their  capit.al  was  cut  off  from  all  relief,  ,i;id 
had  a  whole  nation  thundering  at  its  gates,  they  r.iill 
maintained  defence,  as  if  they  ho])ed  some  miracle 
to  interpose  m  their  behalf.  Their  obstinate  resist- 
.ance  (says  an  ancient  chronicler)  shows  the  grie'f 
with  which  the  Moors  yielded  up  the  vega,  which 
was  to  them  a  paradise  and  heaven.  Exerting  all 
the  strength  of  their  arms,  they  embraced,  as  it  were 
that  most  beloved  soil,  from  which  neither  wouiv'-, 
nor  defeats,  nor  death  itself,  could  part  them.  Tlu  .■ 
stood  firm,  battling  for  it  with  the  united  force  of 
lovi;  and  grief,  never  drawing  back  the  foot  whiij 
they  had  hands  to  fight,  or  fortune  to  befriend  them.* 


CHAPTER  LI. 


BUILDING  OF   THE  CITY   OF   SANTA    F£— DESPAIR 
OF  THE   .MOORS. 

The  Moors  now  shut  themselves  up  gloomily  with- 
in their  walls ;  there  were  no  longer  any  daring  sallies 
from  their  gates;  .and  even  the  martial  clangor  ot  the 
drum  and  trumpet,  which  had  continually  resounded 
within  that  warrior  city,  was  now  seldom  heard  trom 
its  battlements.  For  a  time,  they  flattered  themselves 
with  hopes  that  the  late  contlagration  of  the  c  imp 
would  discourage  the  besiegers;  that.,  as  io  former 
years,  their  invasion  would  end  with  the  summer,  and 
that  they  would  again  withdraw  before  the  autumnal 
r.tins. 

The  measures  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  soon 
cnished  these  hopes.  They  gave  orders  to  build  a 
regul.ar  city  upon  the  site  of  their  catnp,  to  convince 
the  Moors  that  the  siege  was  to  endure  unt'l  the  sur- 
render of  Granada.  Nine  of  the  principal  cities  ol 
Spain  were  charged  with  this  stupendous  undertak- 
ing ;  and  they  emulated  each  other,  with  a  zeal  wor- 
thy of  the  cause.  "  It  verily  seems,"  says  Fray  An- 
tonio Agapida,  "  as  though  some  miracle  ojierated  to 
aid  this  pious  work,  so  rapidly  did  arise  a  formidable 
city,  with  solid  edifices,  and  powerful  walls,  and 
mighty  towers,  where  Lately  hacl  been  seen  nothing 
but  tents  ;uid  light  pavilions.  The  city  was  traversed 
by  two  principal  streets  in  fonn  of  a  cross,  terminat- 
ing in  four  gates  facing  the  four  v/inds;  and  in  thi 

*  Abarca,  Rayt*  d<  ArtgoB,  R,  is,  •  % 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRXNADA. 


286 


Fi — DESPAIR 


tentre  was  a  vast  square,  wliere  the  whole  army 
mipht  be  assembled.  To  this  city  it  was  proposed 
to  give  the  name  of  Isabella,  so  dear  to  the  army  and 
the  nation  ;  "  but  that  pious  princess,"  adds  Antonio 
Agapida,  "calling  to  mind  the  holy  cause  in  which  it 
was  erected,  gave  it  the  name  of  Santa  Fe,  (or  the 
City  of  the  Holy  Faith ;)  and  it  remains  to  this  day, 
■  monument  of  the  piety  and  glory  of  the  Catholic 
lovereigns." 

Hit  Iter  the  merchants  soon  resorted,  from  all  points. 
Long  trains  of  mules  were  seen  every  day  entering 
snd  departing  from  its  gales ;  the  streets  were 
crowded  with  magazines,  tilled  with  all  kinds  of 
costly  and  luxurious  merchandise ;  a  scene  of  bustling 
coininerce  and  prosperity  took  pl.ice,  while  unhappy 
Granada  remained  shut  up  and  desolate. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  besieged  city  began  to  suffer 
the  distress  of  famine.  Its  supjilies  were  all  cut  off; 
a  civalgada  of  flocks  anrl  herds,  and  mules  laden  with 
money,  coming  to  the  relief  of  the  city  fi;  .ii  the 
mountains  of  the  Alpuxarras,  was  taken  by  the  mar- 
ques of  Cadiz,  and  led  in  triumph  to  the  camp,  in 
sjjjht  of  the  suffering  Moors.  Autumn  arrived  ;  but 
the  harvests  had  been  swept  from  the  face  of  the 
country ;  a  rigorous  winter  was  approaching,  and  the 
city  was  almost  destitute  of  provisions.  The  people 
sank  into  deep  despondency.  They  called  to  mind 
all  th.at  had  been  predicted  by  astrologers  at  the  birth 
of  their  ill-starred  sovereign,  and  all  that  had  been 
foretold  of  the  fate  of  Granada  at  the  time  of  the 
capture  of  Zahara. 

Hoabdil  was  alarmed  by  the  gathering  dangers 
from  without,  and  by  the  clamors  of  his  starving 
people.  He  summoned  a  council,  composed  of  the 
nriticipal  officeis  of  the  army,  the  alcaydes  of  the 
tiirtresses,  the  xequis  or  sages  of  the  city,  and  the 
lifaquis  or  doctors  of  the  faith.  They  assembled  in 
the  gre;.t  hall  of  audience  of  tlie  Alhambra,  and  de- 
fca'iT  was  painted  in  their  countenances.  Hoabdil 
ifemai  ded  of  them,  what  was  to  he  done  in  their 
present  ertremity  ;  and  their  answer  was,  "  Surren- 
der." Th?  venerable  Abu!  Cazim  Abdel  Melic, 
governor  of  the  city,  represented  its  unhappy  state: 
•'  Our  granaries  are  nearly  exhausted,  and  no  fur- 
ther supjjlies  are  to  be  expected.  The  provender  for 
the  war-horses  is  requireil  as  sustenance  for  the  sol- 
diery ;  the  very  horses  themselves  are  killed  for  food  ; 
of  seven  thousand  steeds  which  once  could  be  sent 
into  the  field,  three  hundred  on'"  remain.  Our  city 
contains  two  hundred  thousand  inhabitants,  oUl  and 
young,  with  each  a  mouth  that  calls  piteously  for 
bread." 

The  xequis  and  principal  citizens  declared  that  the 
people  could  no  longer  sustain  the  labors  and  suffer- 
ings of  a  defence :  "  And  of  what  avail  is  our  de- 
fence," said  they,  "when  the  enemy  is  determined  to 
persist  in  the  siege  ? — what  alternative  remains,  but 
to  surrender  or  to  die  ?  " 

The  heart  of  Boahdil  was  touched  by  this  appeal, 
vnd  he  maintained  a  gloomy  silence.  He  had  cher- 
shed  some  faint  hope  of  relief  from  the  soldan  of 
Egypt  or  the  Barbary  powers :  but  it  was  now  at  an 
nfi ;  even  if  such  assistance  were  to  be  S(;nt,  he  had 
n  longer  a  sea-port  where  it  might  debark.  The 
jonnsellors  saw  tnat  the  resolution  of  the  king  was 
thaken,  and  they  united  their  voices  in  urging  him 
lo  capitulate. 

1  he  valiant  Muza  alone  arose  in  opposition  :  "  It 
fi  yet  too  early,"  said  he,  "  to  t.alk  of  a  surrender. 
Our  means  are  not  exhausted;  we  have  yet  one 
source  of  strength  remaining,  terrible  in  its  effects, 
and  which  often  has  achieved  the  most  signal  victo- 
ries —it  is  our  despair.  Let  us  rouse  the  mass  of  the 
people — le  us  put  weajions  in  their  hands — let  us 
fight  tije  eaejny  to  the  very  utmost  until  we  rush 


upon  the  points  of  their  lances.  I  am  ready  to  lead 
the  way  into  the  thickest  of  their  squadrons;  and 
much  rather  would  1  be  numbered  among  those  whc 
fell  in  the  defence  of  Granada,  than  of  tlrose  whc 
survived  to  capitulate  for  her  surrender  ! '' 

The  words  of  Muza  were  without  effect,  for  they 
were  addressed  to  broken-spirited  and  heartless  men, 
or  men,  perhaps,  to  whom  sad  experience  had  t&ught 
discretion.  They  were  arrived  at  that  state  of  pub- 
lic depression,  when  heroes  and  heroism  are  no 
longer  regarded,  and  when  old  men  and  their  coun- 
sels rise  into  importance.  Boahdil  el  Chico  yielded 
to  the  general  voice  ;  it  was  determined  to  capitulate 
with  the  christian  sovereigns;  and  'he  venerable 
Abul  Cazim  Abdel  Melic  was  sent  forth  to  the  camp, 
epipowered  to  ♦  "eat  for  terms. 


CHAPTER  LII. 
CAPITULATION  OF  GRANADA. 

The  old  governor.  Abul  Cazim  Abdel  Melic,  was 
received  with  great  distinction  by  Ferdinand  and  Isa- 
bella, who  appointed  Gonsalvo  of  Cordova  and  Fer- 
nando de  Zafra,  secretary  to  the  king,  to  confer  with 
him.  AU  Oranada  awaited,  in  trembling  anxiety 
the  result  sf  his  negotiations.  After  repeated  con- 
ferences, .ie  at  length  returned  with  the  ultimate 
terms  of  the  Catholic  sovereigns.  They  agreed  to 
suspend  all  attack  for  seventy  days,  at  the  end  of 
which  time,  if  no  succor  shoukl  .arrive  to  the  Moonsh 
king,  the  city  of  Granada  was  to  be  surrendered. 

All  christian  captives  should  be  liberated,  without 
ransom. 

Boahdil  and  his  principal  cavaliers  should  take  ati 
oath  ol  fealty  to  the  Castilian  crown,  and  certaiT^ 
valuable  territories  in  the  Alpuxaria  mountains 
should  he  assigned  to  the  Moorish  monarch  for  his 
maintenance. 

The  Moors  of  Granada  should  become  subjects  of 
the  Spanish  sovereigns,  retaining  their  possessions, 
their  anns  and  horses,  and  yielding  up  nothing  but 
their  ariilier>-.  They  should  be  protected  in  the  ex- 
ercise of  their  religion,  and  governed  by  their  own 
laws,  administered  by  cadis  of  their  own  faith,  under 
governors  appointed  by  the  sovereigns.  They  should 
lie  exempted  from  tribute  for  three  years,  after  which 
term  they  should  pay  the  same  that  they  had  been 
accustomed  to  render  to  their  native  monarchs. 

Those  who  chose  to  depart  for  Africa  withis 
three  years,  should  be  provided  with  a  passage  foi 
themselves  and  their  effects,  free  of  charge,  from 
whatever  port  they  should  prefer. 

For  the  fulfilment  of  these  articles,  four  hundred 
hostages  from  the  principal  families  were  required, 
previous  to  the  surrender,  to  be  subsequently  re- 
stored. The  son  of  the  king  of  Gran.ada,  and  all 
other  hostages  in  possession  of  the  Castilian  sover- 
eigns, were  to  be  restored  at  the  same  time. 

.Such  were  the  conditions  that  the  wazir  Abul 
Cazim  laid  before  the  council  of  Granada,  as  the  best 
that  could  be  obtained  from  the  besieging  foe. 

When  the  members  of  the  council  found  that  the 
awful  moment  had  arrived  when  they  were  to  sign 
and  seal  the  pertlition  of  their  empire,  and  blot  them- 
selves out  as  a  nation,  all  firmness  deserted  them, 
and  many  gave  way  to  tears.  Muza  alone  retained 
an  unaltered  mien  :  "  Leave,  seniors,"  cried  he,  "thii 
idle  Lamentation  to  helpless  women  and  children  :  we 
are  men — we  have  hearts,  not  to  shed  tender  tears, 
but  drops  of  blood.  I  see  the  spirit  of  the  people  so 
cast  down,  that  it  is  impossible  to  save  the  kingdom. 
Yet  there  still  remains  an  alternative  for  noble  minds 


tf86 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


V 


'  ■ '*• " 


\ 


i 


)l^ 


I* 


•—a  glorious  rlpftth  }  Let  us  die  defending  our  lib- 
erty, and  avenging  tiie  woes  ol  Granada.  Our  motiier 
earth  will  receive  her  children  into  her  bosom,  safe 
from  the  ch.-iins  and  oppressions  of  the  conqueror ; 
or,  should  any  fail  a  sepulchre  to  hide  his  remains, 
he  will  not  want  a  sky  to  cover  him.  Allah  forbid,  it 
should  be  said  the  nobles  of  Granada  feared  to  die 
in  hur  defence  !  " 

Mura  cease<l  to  speak,  and  a  dead  silence  reigned 
•Ti  the  assembly.  Boabdil  el  Chico  looked  anxiously 
;X)und,  and  scanned  every  face ;  but  be  read  in  them 
al?  the  anxiety  of  care-worn  men,  in  whose  hearts 
CRth;'j  .ism  was  dead,  and  who  h.id  grown  callous  to 
every  chivalrous  api^eal.  "  Allah  Acbar !  God  is 
great  I  "  exclaimed  he  ;  "  there  is  no  God  but  God, 
and  Mahomet  is  his  prophet !  It  is  in  vain  to  strug- 
gle against  the  will  of  Heaven.  Too  surely  was  it 
written  in  the  book  of  fate,  that  I  should  be  unfor- 
tunate, and  the  kingdom  expire  under  my  rule." 

"Allah  Acbar!  God  is  great  !"  echoed  the  viziers 
and  alfaquis  ;  "  the  will  of  God  be  done  !  "  So  they 
all  accorded  with  the  king,  that  these  evils  were  pre- 
ordained ;  that  it  was  hopeless  to  contend  with  them ; 
and  that  the  terms  offered  by  the  Castilian  monarchs 
were  as  favorable  as  could  be  expected. 

When  Muza  saw  that  they  were  al>out  to  sign  the 
treaty  of  surrender,  he  rose  in  violent  indignation  : 
"  Do  not  deceive  yourselves,"  cried  he,  "  nor  think 
the  christians  will  be  faithful  to  their  promises,  or 
cheir  king  .is  majjnanimous  in  conquest  as  he  has  been 
victorious  in  w,ir.  Death  is  the  le.ist  we  h.ive  to  fear. 
It  is  the  [jlundering  and  s<icking  of  our  city,  the  pro- 
fanation of  our  mosques,  the  ruin  of  our  homes,  the 
violation  of  our  wives  and  daugiUers — cruel  oppres- 
sion, biiTotcd  intolerance,  whijis  and  chains,  the  dun- 
geon, the  fagot,  and  the  stake — such  are  the  miseries 
»n']  indignities  we  shall  see  and  suffer ;  at  le.ist,  those 
jjCiVtiing  souls  will  see  them,  who  now  shrink  from 
iin  honorable  death.  For  my  part,  by  All.ih,  I  will 
&e»er  witness  them  !  " 

With  these  words  he  left  the  council-chamber,  and 
strode  gloomily  through  the  Court  of  Liims  and  the 
outer  halls  of  the  Alhambra,  without  deigning  to 
speak  to  the  ohsecjuious  courtiers  who  attended  in 
tnem.  He  repaired  to  his  dwelling,  armed  himself 
at  all  points,  mounted  his  favorite  war-horse,  and, 
issuing  forth  from  the  city  by  the  gate  of  Elvira,  was 
never  seen  or  heard  of  more.* 

Such  is  the  account  given  by  Arabian  historians,  of 
the  exit  of  Muza  ben  Abel  Gazan  ;  but  the  venerable 
Fray  Antonio  Ag.ipida  endeavors  to  clear  up  the 
mystery   of  his  fate.     That   very   evening,  a  small 

Earty  of  Andalusian  cavaliers,  somewhat  more  than 
alfascore  of  lances,  were  riding  along  the  banks  of 
the  Xenel,  where  it  winds  through  the  veg.i.  They 
beheld  in  the  twilight  a  .Moorish  warrior  approach- 
mg,  closely  locked  up  from  he.id  to  foot  in  proof. 
His  visor  w.is  closed,  his  lance  in  rest,  his  poweiful 
charger  liarbed  like  himself  in  steel.  The  christians 
were  lightly  anned,  with  corselet,  helm,  and  target  ; 
for,  during  the  truce,  they  ajjprehended  no  attack. 
Seeing,  however,  the  unknown  warrior  approach  in 
this  hostile  guise,  they  challenged  him  to  stand  and 
declare  himself. 

The  Moslem  .inswered  not,  but,  charging  into  the 
r.dst  of  them,  transfixed  one  knight  with  his  lance, 
and  liore  him  out  of  his  saddle  to  the  earth.  Wheel- 
kj  rotmd,  he  attacked  the  rest  with  his  scimitar. 
His  blows  were  furious  and  deadly ;  he  seemed  re- 
gardless what  wounds  he  receiveil,  so  he  could  but 
fclay.  He  w.as  evidently  fighting,  not  for  glory,  but 
revenge — eager  to  inflic*.  death,  but  careless  of  surviv- 
ing to  enjoy  victorv.     Near  one-half  of  the  cavaliers 


■COBM.  put  4. 


fell  beneath  his  sword,  before  he  received  a  danger, 
ous  wound,  so  completely  was  he  cased  in  arn:or  of 
proof.  At  length  he  was  desperately  wounded  and 
his  steed,  being  pierced  by  a  lance,  sank  to  ihe 
ground.  The  christians,  aclmiring  the  /alor  ol  the 
Moor,  would  have  spared  his  life  ;  but  he  continm  d 
to  fight  upon  his  knees,  brandishing  a  keen  dag-^'c.r 
of  Fez.  Finding  at  lengfth  he  could  no  longrr 
battle,  and  determined  not  to  be  taken  priscn?r,  l<i 
threw  himself,  with  an  er:iring  exertion,  into  tht 
Xenel,  and  his  armor  sank  nim  to  the  bottom  ol  Vm 
stream. 

This  unknown  warrior  the  venerable  Agajiida 
pronounces  to  have  been  .Muza  -^n  Al)el  Gazan,  and 
says  his  horse  was  recognised  oy  certain  converted 
Moors  of  the  christian  camp  :  the  fact,  however,  has 
always  remained  in  doubt. 


CHAPTER  Lin. 
COM.MOTIONS  IN   GRANADA. 

The  capitulation  for  the  surrender  of  Granada  was 
signed  on  the  25th  of  November,  1481,  and  produced 
a  sudden  cessation  of  those  hostilities  which  hid 
r.iged  for  so  many  years.  Christi.in  and  Moor 
might  now  be  seen  mingling  courteously  on  the 
banks  of  the  Xenel  and  the  Darro,  where  to  have 
met  a  few  days  previous  would  hive  produccii  a 
scene  of  sanguinary  contest.  Still,  as  the  Moors 
might  be  suddenly  at  jused  to  defence,  if,  within  tl,e 
allotted  term  of  severity  days,  succors  should  arrive 
from  abro.id  ;  and  as  they  were  at  all  times  a  rash, 
inflammable  people,  the  wary  Ferdinand  maintair.n! 
a  vigilant  watch  upon  the  city,  and  permitted  •:  ^ 
supplies  of  any  kind  to  enter.  His  garrisons  in  liu 
sea-porls,  and  his  cruisers  in  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar 
were  ordered  likewise  to  guard  against  any  nlii-f 
from  the  grand  soldan  of  Eg\'pt,  or  the  piince-5  ri 
Barbary.  There  was  no  neeil  of  such  precaiticr.s, 
Those  powers  were  either  too  much  engrossed  by 
their  own  wars,  or  too  much  daunted  by  the  success 
of  the  Spanish  arms,  to  interfere  in  a  desperate 
cause  ;  and  the  unfortunate  Moors  of  Granada  were 
abandoned  to  their  fate. 

The  month  of  December  had  nearly  passed  away ; 
the  famine  became  extreme,  and  there  was  no  hope 
of  any  fa\orable  event  within  the  term  spetitied  in 
the  capitulation.  Boabdil  saw,  that  to  hold  out  to  the 
end  of  the  allotted  lime  would  but  be  to  protract 
the  miseries  of  his  people.  With  the  consent  1/  his 
council,  he  determined  to  surrender  the  city  on  the 
sixth  of  January.  On  the  30th  of  Decemher,  he 
sent  his  grand  vizier  Yusef  Aben  Comixa,  witli  the 
four  hundred  host.iges,  to  king  Ferdin.ind,  to  111  vke 
known  his  intention  ;  bearing  him,  at  the  same  time, 
a  present  of  a  magnificent  scimitar,  and  two  Arabian 
steeds  superbly  caparisoned. 

The  unfortunate  Boabdil  was  doomed  to  meet  with 
trouble,  to  the  end  of  his  career.  The  very  next  day, 
the  santon  or  dervise  Hamet  Aben  Zarrax,  the  sam» 
who  had  uftereil  prophecies  and  excited  commotionj 
on  former  occasions,  suddenly  made  his  api)earance. 
Whence  he  came,  no  one  knew  ;  it  was  rumored  that 
he  had  been  in  the  mountains  of  the  Alpuxarras,  and 
on  the  co.ist  of  Barbary,  endeavoring  to  rouse  the 
Moslems  to  the  relief  of  Granada.  He  was  reduced 
to  a  skeleton;  his  eyes  glowed  like  coals  in  their 
sockets,  and  his  sjieech  was  little  better  than  frantic 
raving.  He  harangued  the  populace,  in  the  streets 
and  squares ;  inveighed  against  the  capitulation,  de- 
nounced the  king  and  nobles  as  Moslems  only  in 
name,  and  calieu  upon  the  people  to  sally  iortk 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADa. 


tibi 


Against  the  unbeUevnrs,  for  that  Allah  had  decreed 
them  a  signal  victory. 

Upwards  of  twenty  thousand  of  the  populace 
Qcied  their  arms,  and  paraded  the  streets  with 
shouts  and  outcries.  The  shops  and  houses  -i-ere 
shut  up;  the  king  himvlf  did  not  dare  tc  venture 
icrili,  out  remained  a  kind  oi  pnsonei  in  the  Al- 
ii-iinbra. 

The  turbulent  multitude  continued  roaming  and 
touting  and  howling  about  the  city,  during  the  day 
a.id  a  part  of  the  nignt.  Hunger,  and  a  wintry  tem- 
pest, tamed  their  frenry ;  and  when  morning  came, 
the  enthusiast  who  had  led  them  on  had  disnppearcd. 
Whether  he  had  been  disposed  of  by  the  emissaries 
of  the  iiing,  or  by  the  leading  men  of  the  city,  is  not 
knoivn  :  his  disappearance  remains  a  mystery." 

The  Moorish  iiing  now  issued  from  the  Alhambra, 
attended  by  his  principal  nobles,  and  harangued  the 
populace.  He  set  forth  the  necessity  of  complying 
with  the  capitulation,  from  the  famine  that  reigned 
in  the  city,  the  futility  of  defence,  and  from  the  hos- 
tagt^s  having  already  been  delivered  into  the  hands 
of  the  besiegers. 

In  the  dejection  of  his  spirits,  the  unfortunate  Bo- 
abdil  attributed  to  himself  the  miseries  of  the  coun- 
tr)'.  "  It  was  my  crime  in  ascending  the  throne  in 
rebellion  against  my  father,"  said  he,  mournfully, 
"which  has  brought  these  woes  upon  the  kingdom  ; 
but  Allah  has  grievously  visited  my  sins  ujion  my 
head.  For  your  sake,  my  peo|)le,  I  have  now  made 
this  treaty,  to  protect  you  from  the  sword,  your  lit- 
th;  ones  from  famine,  your  wives  and  daughters  from 
the  outrages  of  war ;  and  to  secure  you  in  the  en- 
jo)Tnent  of  your  properties,  your  liberties,  your  laws, 
and  your  religion,  under  a  sovereign  of  happier  des- 
tinies than  the  ill-starred  Boabdil.' 

Tht  versatile  population  were  touched  by  the  hu- 
ff ility  of  their  sovereign — they  agreed  to  adhere  to 
111,"  capitulation,  and  there  was  even  a  faint  shout  of 
"  Long  live  lioabdil  the  unfortunate  !  "  and  they  all 
ri,turned  to  their  homes  in  perfect  trancjuillity. 

Boatxlil  immediately  sent  missives  to  king  Ferdi- 
nand, appriting  him  of  these  events,  and  of  his  fears 
lest  further  delay  should  produce  new  tumults.  He 
projioscd,  therelore,  to  surrender  the  city  on  the  fol- 
lowing day.  The  C.istilian  sovereigns  assented,  with 
great  satisfaction ;  and  pri.-p;irations  were  made  in 
city  and  camp  for  this  great  event,  that  was  to  seal 
the  late  of  Granada. 

li  was  a  night  of  doleful  lamentings.  within  the 
walls  of  the  Alhambra  ;  for  the  household  of  Boabdil 
were  preparing  to  take  a  last  farewell  of  that  delight- 
ful abode.  All  the  royal  treasures,  and  the  most 
precious  efTeots  of  the  Alhambra.  were  hastily  packed 
upon  mules ;  the  beautiful  apartments  were  despoiled, 
with  tears  and  wailings,  by  their  own  inhabitants. 
Before  the  dawn  of  d.ay,  a  mournful  cavalcade  moved 
oiisturely  out  of  a  ixistem-gate  of  the  Alhambra,  and 
departed  through  one  of  the  most  retired  quarters  of 
the  city.  It  was  composed  of  the  family  of  the  un- 
fortunate Boabdil,  which  he  sent  otT  thus  privately, 
that  they  might  not  l>e  exposed  to  the  eyes  of  scolTers, 
1  the  e.iullation  of  the  enemy.  The  mother  of  Bo- 
dn\\  the  sultana  Ayxa  la  Horra,  rode  on  in  silence, 
r,ith  Jejected  yet  dignified  demeanor ;  but  his  wife 
lorayma,  and  all  the  females  of  his  household,  gave 
way  to  I;)ud  lamentations,  as  they  looked  b.ick  upon 
their  favorite  abode,  now  a  mass  of  gloomy  towers 
btiiind  them.  They  were  attended  by  tie  ancient 
domestics  of  the  household,  and  by  a  small  guard  of 
veteran  Moors,  loyally  attacheil  to  the  fallen  monarch, 
md  who  would  have  sold  their  lives  dearly  in  defence 
Df  his  family.    The  city  was  yet  buried  in  sleep,  as 

*  Manuuk 


they  passed  through  its  silent  streets  The  guards 
at  the  gate  shed  tears,  as  they  opened  it  for  their  dty 
parture.  They  paused  not,  but  proceeded  along  the 
banks  of  the  Xenel  on  the  road  that  leads  to  the  Al 
puxarras,  until  they  arrived  at  a  hamlet  at  some  dis- 
tance from  the  city,  where  they  halted,  and  wailed 
until  they  should  be  joined  by  king  Boabdil. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 
SURRENDER  OF  GRANADA. 

The  sun  had  scarcely  begun  to  shed  his  bci^ms 
upon  the  summits  of  the  jnowy  mountains  winch 
rise  above  Gran.ada,  when  the  christian  camp  was 
in  motion.  A  detachment  of  horse  and  foot,  led  by 
distinguished  cavaliers  and  accompanied  by  Her- 
nando de  Tal.-ivera,  bishop  of  Avila,  proceeded  to 
take  possession  of  the  Alhambra  and  the  towers.  It 
had  neen  stipulated  in  the  capitulation,  that  the  de- 
t.ichment  sent  for  this  purpose  should  not  enter  by 
the  streets  of  the  city ;  a  road  had  therefore  been 
opened,  ou'.side  of  the  walls,  leading  by  the  Puerta 
de  los  Molinos,  or  the  Gate  of  the  Mills,  to  the  sum- 
mit of  the  Hill  of  Martyrs,  and  across  the  hill  to  a 
postem-gate  of  the  Alhambra. 

When  the  det.achment  arrived  at  the  summit  of 
the  hill,  the  Moorish  king  came  foi  ih  from  the  gate, 
attended  by  a  handful  of  cavaliers,  leaving  his  vizier 
Yusef  Aben  Comixa  to  deliver  up  the  palace.  "  Go, 
senior,"  said  he  to  the  commander  of  the  detach- 
ment, "  go  and  take  possession  of  those  fortresses, 
which  Allah  has  bestowed  upon  your  powerful  sov- 
ereigns, in  punishment  of  the  sins  of  the  Moors." 
He  said  no  more,  but  passed  mournfully  on,  alor.s 
the  same  road  by  which  the  Spanish  cavaliers  had 
come  ;  descending  to  the  vega,  to  meet  the  Catholic 
sovereigns.  The  troops  entered  the  Alhambra,  the 
gates  of  which  were  wide  open,  and  all  its  spfer.iid 
courts  and  halls  silent  and  deserted. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  christian  court  and  army 
poured  out  of  the  city  of  Santa  Fe,  and  advanced 
across  the  veg.i.  The  king  and  queen,  with  the 
prince  and  princess,  and  the  dignitaries  and  ladies  of 
the  court,  took  the  lead,  accompanied  by  the  differ- 
ent orders  of  monks  and  friars,  and  surrounded  by 
the  royal  guards  splendidly  arrayed.  The  proces- 
sion iTioved  slowly  forward,  and  paused  at  the  village 
of  Armilla,  at  the  distance  of  half  a  league  from  the 
city. 

The  sovereigns  waited  here  with  impatience,  their 
eyes  fixed  on  the  lofty  tower  of  the  Alhambra,  watch- 
ing for  the  appointed  signal  of  possession.  The 
time  that  had  elapsed  since  the  departure  of  the  de- 
tachment seemed  to  them  more  than  necessary  for 
the  puriMJse,  and  the  anxious  mind  of  Ferdinand  be- 
g.an  to  entertain  doubts  of  some  commotion  in  the 
city.  At  length  they  saw  the  silver  cross,  the  great 
standard  of  this  crusade,  elevated  on  the  Torre  de 
la  Vala,  or  Great  Watch-Tower,  and  sparkling  in 
the  sunbeams.  This  was  done  by  Hernando  de 
Talavera,  bishop  of  Avila.  Beside  it  was  pjinted 
the  pennon  of  the  glorious  apostle  St.  James,  and  a 
great  shout  of "  Santiago  !  Santiago  !  "  rose  through 
out  the  army.  Lastly  was  reared  the  royal  stan<I^''d 
by  the  king  of  anns,  with  the  shout  of  "  Castile 
Castile  I  For  king  Ferdinand  and  queen  Isabella ! ' 
The  words  were  echoed  by  the  whole  army,  with 
acclamations  th.at  resounded  across  the  vega.  At 
sight  of  these  sigm.'s  of  possession,  the  sovereigns 
sank  upon  their  knees,  giving  thanks  to  Ciod  for  this 
great  triumph ;  the  whole  assembleil  host  followed 
their  example,  and  the  choristers  of  the  royal  chapel 


m8 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


m- 


ft-  { '■ 


oroke  forth  Into  the  solemn  anthem  of  "  TV  Deum 
laudamus." 

The  procession  now  resumed  its  march  with  joy- 
ful alacrity,  to  the  sound  of  triumphant  music,  until 
they  came  to  a  small  mosque,  near  the  banks  of  the 
Xenel.  and  not  far  from  the  foot  of  the  Hill  of  Mar- 
tyrs, which  edifice  remains  to  the  prt-sciit  day,  con- 
secrated as  the  hennitage  of  St.  Sebastian.  Here 
Ihi  sovereigns  were  met  by  the  unfortunate  Boabdil, 
ac:ompanied  by  about  fifty  cavaliers  and  domestics. 
A;i  he  drew  near,  he  would  have  clismounted  in  token 
of  homage,  but  Ferdinand  prevented  him.  He  then 
proffered  to  kiss  the  king  s  hand,  but  this  sign  of 
vassalage  was  likewise  declined  ;  whereupon,  not  to 
be  outdone  in  magnanimity,  he  leaned  forward  and 
kissed  the  right  arm  of  Ferdinand.  ^\xfttn  Isabt!lla 
also  refused  to  receive  this  ceremonial  of  honiage, 
and,  to  console  him  under  his  adversity,  delivered  to 
him  his  son,  who  had  remained  as  hostage  ever  since 
Boabdil's  liberation  from  captivity.  The  Moorish 
monarch  pressed  his  child  to  his  bosom  with  tender 
emotion,  and  they  seemed  mutually  endeared  to 
each  other  by  their  misfortunes.* 

He  then  delivered  the  keys  of  the  city  to  king  Fer- 
dinand, with  an  air  of  mingled  melancholy  and  res- 
ignation :  "  These  keys,"  said  he,  "arc  the  last  relics 
(rf  the  Arabian  empire  in  Spain  :  thine,  oh  king,  are 
our  trophies,  our  ki  igdom,  and  our  person.  Such 
is  the  will  of  God !  Receive  them  with  the  clem- 
ency thou  hast  promised,  and  which  we  look  for  at 
thy  hands."t 

King  Ferdinand  restrained  his  exultation  into  an 
air  of  serene  magnanimity.  "  Doubt  not  our  prom- 
ises," replied  he,  "  nor  that  thou  shall  regain  from 
our  friendship  the  prosperity  of  which  the  fortune  of 
war  has  deprived  thee.  ' 

On  receiving  the  keys,  king  Ferdinand  handed 
them  to  the  queen  ;  she  in  her  turn  presented  them 
to  her  son  prince  Juan,  who  delivered  them  to  the 
count  de  Tendilla,  that  brave  and  loyal  cavalier 
being  appointed  alcayde  of  the  city,  and  captain- 
general  of  the  kingdom  of  Granada. 

Having  surrendered  the  last  symbol  of  power,  the 
unfortunate  Boabdil  continued  on  towards  the  Al- 
puzorras,  that  he  might  not  behold  the  entrance  of 
the  christians  into  his  capital.  His  devoted  band  of 
cavaliers  followed  him  in  gloomy  silence ;  but  heavy 
sighs  burst  from  their  bosoms;  as  shouts  of  joy  and 
strains  of  triumphant  music  were  borne  on  the 
breeze  from  the  victorious  army. 

Having  rejoined  his  family,  Boabdil  set  forward 
with  a  heavy  heart  for  his  allotted  residence  in  the 
vallev  of  Purchena.  At  two  leagues'  distance,  tl\e 
cavalcade,  winding  into  the  skirts  of  the  Alpuxarras. 
ascended  an  eminence  commanding  !he  last  view  of 
Granada.  As  they  arrived  at  this  .;pot,  the  Moors 
paused  involuntarily,  to  take  a  fareweil  gaze  at  their 
beloved  city,  which  a  few  steps  more  would  shut 
from  their  sight  for  ever.  Never  had  it  appeared  so 
lovely  in  their  eyes.  The  sunshine,  so  brignt  in  that 
transparent  climate,  lit  up  each  tower  and  minaret, 
and  rested  gloriously  upon  the  crowning  battlements 
of  the  Alhambra  ;  while  the  vega  spread  its  enam- 
elled bosom  of  verdure  below,  glistening  with  the 
silver  windmgs  of  the  Xenel.  The  Moorish  cavaliers 
gazed  with  a  silent  agony  of  tenderness  and  grief 
upon  that  delicious  abode,  the  scene  of  their  loves 
and  pleasures.  While  they  yet  looked,  a  light  cloud 
of  smoke  burst  forth  from  the  citadel,  and  presently 
a  peal  of  artillery,  faintly  heard,  told  that  the  city 
was  t.'.ken  possession  of,  and  the  throne  of  the  Mos- 
lem kings  was  lost  for  ever.    The  heart  of  Boabdil, 

*  ZariU,  An-^Ies  <l«  AragOD. 

t  Abarea,  Acolei  de  Ar7.2on,  Ref  30.  c  ], 


softened  hy  misfortunes  and  overcharged  with  gri"! 
could  no  longer  contain  it-self :  "  Allah  Acbar  I  (,-(,<; 
is  great !  "  said  he ;  but  the  words  of  refeignatiun 
died  \i\xyf\  his  lips,  and  he  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

His  mother,  the  intrepid  sultana  Ayxa  la  Hotra 
was  indignant  at  his  weakness  :  "  You  do  well,  "  siid 
she,  "  to  weep  like  a  woman,  for  what  you  failed  to 
defend  like  a  man  1 " 

The  vizier  Aben  Comixa  endeavored  to  conso!;; 
his  royal  master,  "  Consider,  sire,"  said  he,  "  th  if 
the  most  signal  misfortunes  often  render  men  as  n;. 
nowr.'id  as  the  most  prosperous  achievements,  pro- 
vided they  sustain  them  with  magnanimity." 

The  unhappy  monarch,  however,  was  not  to  be 
consoled  ;  his  tears  continued  to  flow.  "  All.ih  Ac- 
bar  !  "  exclaimed  he;  "when  did  misfortunes  ever 
equal  mine  ?  " 

From  this  circumstance,  the  hill,  which  is  not  '  r 
from  the  Fadul.  took  the  name  of  F'eg  Allah  Achar' 
but  the  point  of  view  commanding  the  last  prosucci 
of  Granada,  is  known  among  Spaniards  by  the  ni.ine 
of  El  ultimo  susfiro  del  Mora  ;  or,  "  The  last  sigh 
of  the  Moor." 


CHAPTER  LV. 


HOW  THE  CASTILIAN   SOVEREIGNS  TOOK    POS- 
SESSION OF  GRANADA. 

When  the  Castilian  sovereigns  had  received  th; 
keys  of  Granada  from  the  hands  of  Boabdil  cl  Chico. 
the  royal  army  resumed  its  triumphant  march.  As 
it  approached  the  gates  of  the  city,  in  all  the  poir.- 
of  courtly  and  chivalrous  array,  a  procession  of  a  il.{ 
forent  kind  came  forth  to  meet  it.  This  was  ccti 
posed  of  more  th.tn  five  hundred  christian  captivr-.?, 
many  of  whom  had  languished  for  years  in  Moorisli 
dungeons.  Pale  and  emaciated,  they  came  clanking 
their  chains  in  triumph,  and  shedding  tears  ot  joy. 
They  \yere  received  with  tenderness  by  the  sover- 
eigns. The  king  hailed  them  as  good  Spaniards,  is 
men  loyal  and  brave,  as  martyrs  to  the  holy  cause  ; 
the  queen  distributed  liberal  relief  among  them  with 
her  own  hands,  and  they  passed  on  Ijefore  the  squad- 
rons of  the  army,  singing  hymns  of  juliilee.* 

The  sovereigns  did  not  enter  the  city  on  this  day 
of  its  surrender,  but  waited  until  it  should  be  fully 
occupied  by  their  troops,  and  public  tranquillity  in- 
sured. The  marques  de  Villena  and  the  couni  tie 
Tendilla,  with  three  thousand  cavalry  and  as  ni.m) 
inf.mtry,  marched  in  and  took  possession,  accoinp.i- 
nied  by  the  proselyte  prince  Cidk  Yahye,  now  known 
by  the  christian  appellation  of  Don  Pedro  de  Gra- 
nada, who  was  appointed  chief  algitazil  of  the  ciiy 
and  had  charge  of  the  Moorish  inhabitants,  ami  hy 
his  son  the  late  prince  AInayar,  now  Don  Aloiizo  1e 
Granada,  who  was  appointed  atlmifal  of  the  tkt;s. 
In  a  little  while,  every  battlement  glistened  with 
christian  helms  and  lances,  the  standard  ol  the  faith 
and  of  'he  realm  floated  from  every  tower,  ar  J  thf 
thundering  salvoes  of  the  ordnance  told  that  the 
subjugation  of  the  city  was  complete. 

The  grandees  and  cavaliers  now  knelt  and  kissed 
the  hands  of  the  king  and  queen  and  the  prince  j'lan, 
and  congratulated  them  on  the  acquisition  of  so  griat 
a  kingdom ;  after  which,  the  royal  procession  returned 
in  state  to  Santa  F'e. 

It  was  on  the  sixth  of  January,  the  day  of  kings 
and  festival  ol  the  Epipn.iny,  that  the  sovereigns 
made  their  triumphal  entry.  The  king  and  quctiP 
(says  the  worthy  Fray  Antonio  Agapidi)  look«<il  f< 

■  Abaica,  lib.  tup.  Zuriu,  Ac 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


28Si 


TOOK   P0&- 


[bis  occasion,  as  more  than  mortal:  the  venerable 
ecclesiastics,  to  whose  advice  and  zeal  this  glorious 
conquest  ought  in  a  great  measure  to  he  attributed, 
moved  along  with  hearts  swelling  with  holy  exulta- 
tion, but  with  chastened  and  downcast  looks  of  edi- 
fying humility  ;  while  the  hardy  warriors,  in  tossing 
plumes  and  shining  steel,  seemed  elevated  with  a 
jti-rn  joy.  at  finding  themselves  in  possession  of  this 
object  of  so  many  toils  and  perils.  As  the  streets 
rr.sounded  with  the  tramp  of  steed  and  swelling  peals 
:(  music,  the  Moors  buried  themselves  in  the  deepest 
recesses  of  their  dwellings.  There  they  bewailed  in 
s-;i;rec  the  fallen  glory  ol  their  race,  but  suppressed 
their  groans,  lest  they  should  be  heard  by  their  ene- 
mies and  increase  their  triumph. 

The  royal  procession  advanced  to  the  principal 
mo">que.  whicli  had  been  consecrated  as  a  c.ithedral. 
Here  the  sovereigns  offered  up  prayers  and  thanks- 
givings, and  the  choir  of  the  royal  chapel  chanted  a 
triumphant  anthem,  in  which  they  were  joined  by  all 
the  courtiers  and  cavaliers.  Nothing  (says  Fr.ty 
Antonio  Agapida)  could  exceed  the  thankfulness  to 
God  of  the  pious  king  Ferdinand,  for  having  enabled 
him  to  eradicate  from  Spain  the  empire  ann  name  of 
that  accursed  heathen  race,  and  for  the  elevation  of 
the  cross  in  that  city  wlierein  the  impious  doctrines 
of  Mahotnet  had  so  long  been  cherished.  In  the 
kr\Qr  of  his  spirit,  he  supplicated  from  Heaven  a 
continuance  of  its  grace,  and  that  this  glorious  tri- 
umph might  be  perpetuated.*  The  prayer  of  the 
pious  monarch  was  responded  by  the  people,  and 
even  his  enemies  were  for  once  convinced  of  his  sin- 
cerity. 

When  the  religious  ceremonies  were  concluded, 
the  court  .ascended  to  the  stately  palace  of  the  Al- 
fcambra,  and  entered  by  the  great  gate  of  Justice. 
The  h.alls  lately  occupied  by  turbaned  infidels  now 
justled  with  stately  (lames  and  christian  courtiers, 
who  wantlered  with  eager  curiosity  over  this  far- 
famed  palace,  admiring  its  verdant  courts  and  gush- 
mg  fountains,  its  halls  decorated  with  elegant  ara- 
besques and  storied  with  inscriptioi  s,  and  the  splen- 
dor of  its  gilded  and  brilliantly  painted  ceilings. 

It  had  been  a  last  request  of  the  unfortunate  Bo- 
abdil,  and  one  which  showed  how  deeply  he  felt  the 
transition  of  his  fate,  that  no  person  might  be  per- 
mitted to  enter  or  depart  by  the  gate  of  the  Alham- 
bra,  through  which  he  had  sallied  forth  to  surrender 
his  capital.  His  request  was  granted ;  the  portal 
was  closed  up,  and  remains  so  to  the  present  day — 
a  mule  memorial  of  that  event.t 

The  Spanish  sovereigns  fixed  their  throne  in  the 
presence-chamber  of  the  paLace,  so  long  the  seat  of 
Moorish  royalty.  Hither  the  principal  inhabitants 
of  Granada  repaired,  to  pay  them  homage  anil  i<iss 
their  hands  in  token  of  vassalage;  and  their  ex- 
ample was  followed  by  deputies  from  all  the  towns 


and  fortresses  of  the  Alpuxarras,  which  htid  no 
hitherto  submitted. 

Thus  terminated  the  war  of  Granada,  after  tea 
years  of  incessant  fighting ;  equalling  (says  Fray  An- 
tonio Agapida)  the  far-famed  siege  of  Troy  in  dura- 
tion, and  ending,  like  that,  in  the  capture  of  the  city. 
Thus  ended  also  the  donnnion  of  the  .Moors  in  Spain, 
having  endured  seven  hundred  and  seventy-eight 
years,  from  the  memorable  defeat  of  Roderick,  the 
last  of  the  Goths,  on  the  banks  of  the  Guadalete. 
The  authentic  Agapida  is  uncommonly  particular  in 
fixing  the  epoch  of  this  event.  This  great  triumph 
of  our  holy  Catholic  faith,  according  to  his  compu- 
tation, took  place  in  the  beginning  of  January,  in  the 
year  of  our  Lord  1492,  being  3655  years  from  the 
population  of  Spain  by  the  patriarch  Tubal ;  3797 
from  the  general  deluge  ;  5453  Irom  the  creation  of 
the  world,  according  to  Hebrew  calculation  ;  and  in 
the  month  Rabic,  in  the  eight  hundred  and  ninety- 
seventh  year  of  the  Hegira,  or  flight  of  Makomet 
whom  may  God  confound  !  saith  the  pious  Agapida, 


APPENDIX. 


*  Tbe  words  of  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  are  tittle  more  than  an 
•cho  of  those  oCthe  worthy  Jesuit  fainer  M^iana.    (L.  2$.  c.  i3.) 

t  Gaiibay,  Compend.  Hist.  lib.  40.  c.  41.  The  existence  of  this 
ntsway,  and  the  story  connected  with  it,  are  perhaps  known  10 
»»;  but  were  identified,  in  the  researches  made  to  verify  this  his- 
Wf  Ths  (aleway  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  Rreat  tower,  at  some 
l.iI*Ke  tvm  the  main  body  of  the  Alhambra.  The  tower  has 
xen  rent  and  ruined  by  Runpowdcr,  at  the  time  when  the  fortress 
wij  evacuatetl  by  the  French.  Great  masses  lie  arotiiid,  half  cov- 
ircil  hy  vines  and  fig-trees.  A  poor  m;in,  by  the  name  of  Matteo 
Ximenes,  who  lives  fn  one  of  the  h.ills  aniong  the  ruins  of  the  .\l- 
hiinbra,  where  his  family  has  resided  for  many  generations,  pointed 
rut  the  liatrway  %tC.  closed  uu  with  stones.  He  remembered  to 
have  heard  hit  fatner  »»d  urandfaiher  s-.y,  ihai  ii  had  .lUays  been 
flopped  up,  and  that  out  of  it  king  H'  ahilil  had  gone  when  he  sur- 
rendered titanada.  The  route  of  the  unfortunate  kina  may  be 
trsceii  from  thence  across  the  garden  of  the  convent  of  1ms  Martytos, 
•nd  down  a  ravine  beyond.  throuKh  a  street  of  gipty  caves  and 
hovels,  by  the  gate  of  Los  Molinos,  and  so  on  10  the  Hermitage  of 
St.  Sebastian.  None  but  an  antiquarian,  however,  will  be  able  to 
Ince  it,  unless  aided  by  the  humble  historian  of  the  place,  Matteo 
Xiiaenei. 

19 


FATE  OF  BOABDIL  EL  CHICO. 

The  Chroniclk  of  the  Conquest  ok  Granada  is 
finished  ;  but  the  reader  may  be  desirous  of  knowing 
the  subsequent  fortunes  of  some  of  the  principal  per- 
sonages.  The  unfortunate  Boabdil  retired  to  the  val- 
ley of  Purchena,  where  a  small  but  fertile  territory  had 
been  allotted  him,  comprising  several  towns,  with  &  1 
their  rights  and  revenues.  Great  estates  had  likewise 
been  bestowed  on  his  vi/ier  Yusef  Aben  Comixa  and 
his  valiant  relation  ami  friend  Yusef  Venegas,  lioth  ol 
whom  resided  near  him.  Were  it  in  the  heart  cf  man 
in  the  enjoyment  ol  present  competence  to  forget  past 
splendor,  Boabdil  mi^ht  at  length  have  been  happy. 
Dwelling  in  the  bosom  ot  a  delightful  valley,  surround- 
ed by  obedient  vassals,  devoted  friends,  and  a  loving 
family,  he  might  have  looked  back  upon  his  past  career 
as  upon  a  troubled  and  terrific  dream,  and  might  have 
thanked  his  stars  that  he  had  at  length  awaked  to 
sweet  and. tranquil  security.  But  the  dethroned  prin'.e 
could  never  forget  that  he  had  once  been  a  monarch  ; 
and  the  remembrance  of  the  regal  splendors  of  Gra- 
nada, m.ide  all  present  comforts  contemptible  in  his 
eyes.  No  exertions  were  spared  by  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella  to  induce  him  to  embrace  the  Catholic  relig- 
ion ;  but  he  remained  true  to  the  faith  of  his  fathers, 
and  it  added  not  a  little  to  his  humiliation,  to  live  a 
vassal  under  christian  sovereigns. 

It  is  probable  that  his  residence  in  the  kingdom  was 
equally  irksome  to  the  politic  Ferdinand,  who  could 
not  feel  perfectly  secure  in  his  newly  conquered  terri- 
tories, while  there  was  one  within  their  bounds  who 
might  revive  pretensions  to  the  throne.  A  private 
bargain  was  therefore  made,  in  the  year  1496,  between 
Ferdinand  and  Yusef  Aben  Comixa,  in  which  the  lat- 
ter, as  vizier  of  Boabdil,  undertook  to  dispose  of  his 
master's  scanty  territory,  for  eighty  thousand  ducats 
of  gold.  This,  it  is  atBrmed,  was  done  without  the 
consent  or  knowledge  of  Boabdil ;  but  the  vizier  prob- 
ably thought  he  was  acting  for  the  best. 

The  shrewd  Ferdinand  does  not  appear  to  have 
made  any  question  about  the  right  of  the  vizier  to 
make  the  sale,  but  paid  the  money  with  secret  exulta- 
tion. Yusef  Aben  Comixa  loaded  the  treasure  upon 
mules,  and  departed  joyfully  for  the  Alpuxarras, 
He  spread  the  money  in  triumph  before  Boabdil : 
"  Senior,"  said  he,  "I  have  observed  that  as  long  aa 
you  live  here,  you  are  exposed  to  constant  peril.  The 
Moors  are  rash  and  irritable  ;  they  may  make  some 
sudden  insurrection,  elevate  your  standard  as  a  pre- 
text, and  thus  overwhelm  you  and  your  friends  with 


•190 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


^ij  7r*  r- 


W. 


.,  _    , 


MM;. 


Utter  ruin.  I  ha  re  observed  also  that  you  pine  away 
with  grief,  betn^  continuaily  reminded  in  this  country 
that  you  were  once  its  sovereign,  but  never  more  must 
hope  to  reign.  I  have  put  an  end  to  these  evils.  Your 
territory  is  sold — behold  the  price  of  it.  With  this 
goU  you  may  buy  far  greater  possessions  in  Africa, 
whtre  you  may  live  in  honor  and  security."  / 

When  Boabdil  heard  these  words,  he  burst  into  a 
tuddea  transport  of  rage,  and,  drawing  his  scimitar, 
would  have  sacrificed  the  officious  Yusef  on  the  spot, 
i^ad  not  the  attendants  interfered,  and  hurried  the 
dzier  from  his  presence. 

Boabdil  was  not  of  a  vindictive  spirit,  and  his  anger 
loon  passed  away.  He  saw  that  the  evil  was  done, 
and  he  knew  tlie  spirit  of  the  politic  Ferdinand  too 
well  to  hope  that  he  would  retract  the  bargain.  Gath- 
ering together  the  money,  therefore,  and  all  his  jewels 
and  precious  effects,  he  departed  with  his  family  and 
household  for  a  port  where  a  vessel  had  been  care- 
fully provided  by  the  Castilian  king  to  transport  them 
to  Africa. 

A  crowd  of  his  former  subjects  witnessed  his  em- 
barkation. As  the  sails  were  unfurled  and  swelled  to 
the  breeze,  and  the  vessel  parted  from  the  land,  the 
spectators  would  fain  have  given  him  a  parting  cheer- 
ing ;  but  the  humbled  state  of  their  once  proud  sover- 
eign forced  itself  upon  their  minds,  and  the  ominous 
surname  of  his  youth  rose  involuntarily  to  their  tongues: 
"Farewell,  Boabdil  !  Allah  preserve  thee,  El  Zoi^oyln  !" 
burst  spontaneously  fronj  their  lips.  The  unlucky  ap- 
pellation sank  into  the  heart  of  the  expatriated  mon- 
arch, and  tears  dimmed  his  eyes  as  the  snowy  summits 
of  the  mountains  of  Granada  gradually  faded  from  his 
view. 

He  wad  received  with  welcome  at  the  court  of  his 
relation,  Muley  Ahmed,  king  of  Fe;:,  and  resided  for 
Diany  years  in  his  territories.  How  he  passed  his  life, 
whether  repining  or  resigned,  history  does  not  men- 
tion. The  last  we  find  recorded  of  him  is  in  the  year 
1536,  thirty-four  years  after  the  surreniier  of  Granada. 
Then  he  followed  the  king  of  Fez  to  the  tield,  to  quell 
ihe  rebellion  of  two  brothers  named  Xerifes.  The 
armies  came  in  sight  of  each  other,  on  the  banks  of 
the  Guadiswed,  at  the  ford  of  Racuba.  The  river  was 
deep,  'he  banks  were  high  and  broken  ;  for  three  days 
the  armies  remained  firing  at  each  other  across  the 
Stream,  neither  venturing  to  attempt  the  dangerous 
ford. 

At  length  the  king  of  Fez  divided  his  army  into 
three  battalions  ;  the  first  led  on  by  his  son,  and  by 
Boabdil  el  Chico.  They  boldly  dashed  across  the  ford, 
scrambled  up  the  opposite  bank,  and  attempted  to  keep 
the  enemy  employed  until  the  other  battalions  should 
have  time  to  cross.  The  rebel  army,  however,  at- 
tacked them  with  such  fury,  that  the  son  of  the  king 
of  Fez  and  several  of  the  bravest  alcaydes  were  slain 
upon  the  spot ;  multitudes  were  driven  back  into  the 
river,  which  was  already  crowded  with  passing  troops. 
A  dreadful  confusion  took  place  ;  the  horse  trampled 
upon  the  foot ;  the  enemy  pressed  on  them  with  fear- 
ful slaughter  ;  those  who  escaped  the  sword  perished 
by  the  stre.im  ;  the  river  was  choked  by  the  dead 
t>c>dies  of  men  and  horses,  and  by  the  scattered  bag- 
gage of  the  army.  In  this  scene  of  horrible  carrige 
Tell  Boabdil,  truly  called  El  Zogoybi,  or  the  unlucky  ; 
-•n  instance,  says  the  ancient  chronicler,  of  the  scorn- 
•1I  caprice  of  fortune,  dying  in  defence  of  the  kingdom 
»(  another,  after  wanting  spirit  to  die  in  defence  of  his 
ewn.* 


*  iluinol,  Descrip.  de  Africa,  p.  i,  I.  *,  c.  40,  Idem,  Hist.  Reb. 
C»  loi  Morot,  lib.  i.  c.  ai. 

JJoT.i.— A  portrait  of  Boabdil  el  Chico  n  to  be  seen  in  the  pic- 
5'tre-g»Ilery  of  the  Gentraliffe.  He  is  represeniei!  with  A  mild, 
bandiujine  face,  a  fair  complexion,  and  yellow  hair.  His  dress  is 
if  yellow  brocade,  relieved  with  black  velvet,  and  be  has  a  black 
felvct  capj  s'jrmoimtcd  with  a  cniwn.  In  the  armory  of  M;idri<l 
r/e  two  suits  of  armor,  said  to  hiive  belonged  to  him.  One  is  of 
.loUd  steel,  with  very  little  ornament,  the  helmet  closed.  From 
Ik*  (iroportious  of  these  suits  of  armor,  he  Butt  have  been  oi  full 
MMnn  aod  rigc  rous  form. 


DEATH  OF  THE  MARQUES  OF  CA  OIZ 

Thk  renowned  Roderigo  Ponce  de  Leon,  Marnuej 
Duke  of  Cadiz,  was  unquestionably  the  most  disiin. 
guijhed  among  the  cavaliers  of  Spain,  for  his  zeal.  en. 
terprise,  and  heroism  in  the  great  crusade  of  Graiui.la. 
He  began  the  war  by  the  capture  of  Alhaina  ;  he  was 
engaged  in  almost  every  inroad  and  siege  of  impur 
tance,  during  its  continuance  ;  and  he  was  present  a; 
the  surrender  of  the  capital,  which  was  tilt  rlo;;i::j 
scene  of  the  conquest.  The  renown  he  thus  ,:  ijuin-o 
was  sealed  by  his  death,  which  happened  in  the  lorty, 
eighth  year  of  his  age,  almost  immedi.itely  at  the  close 
of  his  triumphs  and  before  a  leaf  of  his  laurels  h.id 
time  t(i  wither.  He  died  at  his  palace  in  the  citv  d 
Seville,  on  the  27th  day  of  August,  1403,  but  a  f;.? 
months  ader  the  surrender  of  Granada,  and  of  an  ill 
ness  caused  by  the  exposures  and  fatigues  he  had  under. 
gone  in  this  memorable  war.  That  honest  chronicler, 
Andres  Beriialdes,  the  curate  of  Los  Palacios,  who  was 
a  contemporary  of  the  marques,  draws  his  ponr.iit 
from  actual  knowledge  and  observation.  He  uas 
universally  cited  (says  he)  as  the  most  perfect  inmlel 
of  chivalrous  virtue  of  the  age.  He  was  temp('r.\ie, 
chaste,  and  rigidly  devout ;  a  benignant  comniamlei, 
a  valiant  defender  of  his  vassals,  a  great  lover  of  jus. 
tice,  and  an  enemy  to  all  flatterers,  liars,  robbers, 
traitors,  and  poltroons. 

His  ambition  was  of  a  lofty  kind — he  sought  to  dis- 
tinguish  himself  and  his  family,  by  heroic  and  resoiui  1- 
ing  deeds  ;  and  to  increase  the  patrimony  of  his  .in- 
restors,  by  the  acquisition  of  castles,  domains,  vassals 
and  other  princely  possessions.  His  recreations  were 
all  of  a  warlike  nature  ;  he  delighted  in  geometry  as 
applied  to  fortifications,  and  spent  much  time  and 
treasure  in  erecting  and  repairing  fortresses.  He 
relished  music,  but  of  a  military  kind — the  sound  ol 
clarions  and  sackbuts,  of  drums  and  trumpets.  Like 
a  true  cavalier,  he  was  a  protector  of  the  sex  on  al! 
occasions,  and  an  injured  woman  never  applied  tc 
him  in  vain  for  redress.  His  prowess  was  to  well 
known,  and  his  courtesy  to  the  fair,  that  the  Uidifs  o| 
the  court,  when  they  accompanied  the  queen  to  tht 
wars,  rejoiced  to  find  themselves  under  his  protection  ; 
for  wherever  his  banner  was  displayed,  the  Mimrs 
dreaded  to  adventure.  He  w.^s  a  failhful  and  dcvoieil 
friend,  but  a  formidable  enemy;  for  he  whs  .sluw 
to  forgive,  and  his  vengeance  was  persevering  ard 
terrible. 

The  death  of  this  good  cavalier  spread  grief  and 
lamentation  throughout  all  ranks,  for  he  was  univer. 
sally  honored  and  beU'ved.  His  relations,  dcpeiulai.ts. 
and  coinpanions  in  arms,  put  on  mourning  for  liis  loss ; 
and  so  numerous  were  they,  thai  half  of  Seville  was 
clad  in  black.  None,  however,  deplored  his  dea;h 
more  deeply  and  sincerely  than  his  friend  and  chiisen 
companion,  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar. 

The  funeral  ceremonies  were  of  the  most  solemn 
and  sumptuous  kind.  The  body  of  the  mar.jues  wa5 
arraved  in  a  costly  shirt,  a  doublet  of  brocade,  a  sayo 
or  long  robe  of  black  velvet,  a  marlota  or  Moorish 
tunic  of  brocade  that  reached  to  the  feet,  and  scarlet 
stockings.  His  sword,  superbly  gilt,  was  girded  to 
his  side,  as  he  useil  to  wear  it  when  in  the  field.  Tluis 
magnificently  attired,  the  body  was  inclosed  in  a  cotlir., 
which  was  covered  with  black  velvet,  and  decorated 
with  a  cross  of  white  damask.  It  was  then  placed  en 
a  sumptuous  bier,  in  the  centre  of  the  great  hall  of  the 
palace.  Here  the  duchess  made  great  lanientaticn 
over  the  body  of  her  lord,  in  which  she  was  joined  by 
her  train  of  damsels  and  attendants,  as  well  as  ty  the 
pages  and  esquires,  and  innumerable  vassals  of  the 
marques. 

In  the  close  of  the  evening,  just  before  the  Ave 
Maria,  the  funeral  procession  issued  from  the  palace. 
Ten  banners  were  borne  around  the  bier,  the  particular 
trophies  of  the  marques,  won  from  the  Moors  by  his 
valor  in  individual  enterprises,  before  king  Ferdinand 
had  commenced  the  wir  of  Granada.  The  procession 
was  swelled  by  an  immense  train  of  bishops,  pricsu, 
and  friars  of  difierent  orders,  together  with  the  civil 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


an 


,0(1  military  authoritins,  and  all  the  chivalry  of  Seville, 
headed  by  the  count  of  Cifuentes,  at  that  time  inien- 
Icnte  or  commander  of  e  city.  It  moved  slowly  and 
joii'iiinly  through  the  sireeis,  stopping  occasionally, 
anil  chanting  litanies  and  responses.  Two  huntJie(i 
gnd  forty  waxen  tapers  shed  a  liKhl  like  the  day  about 
the  bicT.  The  balconies  and  windows  were  crowded 
vri:h  ladies,  who  shed  tears  as  the  funeral  train  passed 
111  .  while  the  women  of  the  lower  classes  were  loud 
t)  thffir  lamentations,  as  if  bewailing  the  loss  of  a 
jthcr  or  a  brother.  On  approachlni;  the  convent  of 
it.  AuRUStine,  the  monks  came  forth  with  the  cross 
iai  lapers,  and  eight  censers,  and  conducted  the  body 
!i',t:>  the  church,  where  it  lay  in  state  until  all  the  vigils 
aeri*  performed,  by  the  ditTerent  orders  ;  after  which 
it  w.is  deposited  i  i  the  family  tomb  of  the  Ponces  vn 
the  '^.iine  church,  and  the  ten  banners  were  suspended 
over  the  sepulchre.* 


The  tomb  of  the  valiant  Roderigo  Ponce  de  Leon, 
niih  his  banners  mouldering  above  it,  remained  for 
a^;('s  an  object  of  veneration  with  all  who  had  read  or 
he.\r(l  of  his  virtues  and  achievements.  In  the  year 
iSn),  however,  the  chapel  was  sacked  by  the  French, 
lis  :iU.irs  overturned,  and  the  sepulchres  of  the  family 
of  ihc  Ponces  shattered  to  pieces.  The  present  duchess 
o(  Ueiieveiile,  the  worthy  descendant  of  this  illustrious 
and  hcioic  line,  has  since  piously  collected  the  ashes 
of  her  ancestors,  restored  the  altar,  and  rcjiaired  the 
cha(iel.  The  sepulchres,  however,  were  utterly  de- 
stroyed ;  an  inscription  in  gold  letters,  on  the  wall  of 
the  chapel,  to  the  right  of  the  altar,  is  all  that  denotes 
the  place  ot  sepulture  of  the  brave  Ponce  de  Leon. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  DEATH  OF  DON 
/LONZO   DE  AGUILAR, 

J^  such  aa  feel  an  interest  in  the  fortunes  of  the  vali- 
»n!  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  the  chosen  friend  and  com- 
panion in  aims  of  Ponce  de  Leon,  marques  of  Cadiz, 
ind  one  of  the  most  distinguised  heroes  of  the  war  of 
Graiuida,  a  few  particulars  of  his  remarkable  fate  will 
nm  lie  una<  ceptablt.  They  are  found  among  the  manu- 
script* of  the  worthy  padre  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  and 
appear  to  have  been  appended  to  this  Chronicle. 

For  several  years  after  the  conquest  of  Granada, 
the  country  remained  feverish  and  uncjuiet.  The  zeal- 
ous elTorts  of  the  catholic  clergy  to  elTect  the  conver- 
sion of  the  infidels,  and  the  pious  coercion  used  for 
that  purpose  by  government,  exasperated  the  stubborn 
.Moirs  of  the  mountains.  Several  missionaries  were 
maltre.itcd  ;  and  in  the  town  of  Dayrin,  two  of  them 
were  seized,  and  exhorted,  with  many  menaces,  to 
emlir.uc  the  Moslem  faith  ;  on  their  resolutely  refusing, 
they  were  killed  with  staves  and  stones,  by  the  Moorish 
Bonien  and  children,  and  their  bodies  burnt  to  ashes. f 

Upon  this  event,  a  body  of  christian  cavaliers  as- 
icmliled  in  Andalusia  to  the  nuinbor  of  eight  hundred, 
and,  without  waiting  for  orders  from  the  king,  re- 
venged the  death  of  these  martyrs,  by  plundering  and 
laying  w.iste  the  Moorish  towns  and  villages.  The 
Moois  tied  to  the  mountains,  and  their  cause  was  es- 
poused Irj'  many  of  their  nation,  wlio  inhabited  those 
lUKKcd  regions.  The  storm  of  rebellion  began  to 
fiather,  and  mutter  its  thunders  in  the  Alpuxarras. 
They  were  echoed  irora  the  Serrania  of  Ronda,  ever 
itiiy  f  >r  rebellion  ;  but  the  strongest  hold  of  the  in- 
luiseiits  was  in  the  Sierra  Vernieja,  or  chain  of  Red 
Mount.iins,  which  lie  near  the  sea,  and  whose  savage 
roilcs  and  precipices  may  be  seen  from  Gibraltar. 

When  king  Ferdinand  heard  of  these  tumults,  he  is- 
sued a  proclamation  ordering  all  the  Moors  of  the  in- 
surgent regions  to  leave  them  within  ten  days,  and  re- 
pair to  Castile;  giving  secret  inbtructions,  however, 


*  Curra  iia  los  PalaciM,  c.  104. 
t  Cur  a  de  los  PaUcioi,  c.  16' 


that  thosA  who  should  voluntarily  embrace  the  christian 
faith  might  be  permitted  to  remain.  At  the  same 
time,  he  ordered  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  and  the 
counts  of  Urciia  and  Cifuentes,  to  march  against  tb« 
rebels. 

Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar  was  at  Cordova  when  he 
received  the  commands  of  the  king.  "What  force  it 
allotted  us  for  this  expedition?"  said  he.  On  being 
told,  he  perceived  that  the  number  of  troops  was  f*r 
from  adequate.  "  Wheri  a  man  is  dead,"  s.iid  he,  "  we 
send  four  men  into  his  house  to  bring  foith  the  body. 
We  are  now  sent  to  chastise  these  Moors,  whc  are 
alive,  vigorous,  in  open  rebellion,  and  ensconced  in 
their  castles;  yet  they  do  not  give  us  man  to  man." 
These  -vords  of  the  brave  .\lonzo  de  Aguilar  were 
afterwards  frequently  repeated;  but  though  he  saw  the 
desperate  nature  of  the  enterprise,  he  did  not  hesitate 
to  undertake  it. 

Don  Alonzo  was  at  that  time  in  the  fifty-first  year  of 
his  age.  He  was  a  veteran  warrior,  in  whom  the  fire 
of  youth  was  yet  unquenched,  though  tempered  by  ex- 
perience. The  greater  part  of  his  life  had  been  passed 
in  the  camp  and  in  the  field,  until  danger  was  as  his 
natural  element.  His  muscular  frame  had  acquired 
the  firmness.of  iron,  without  the  rigidity  of  age.  His 
armor  and  weapons  seemed  to  have  become  a  pirt  of 
his  nature,  and  he  sat  like  a  man  of  steel  on  his  power- 
ful war-horse. 

He  took  with  him,  on  this  expedition,  his  son,  Don 
Pedro  de  Cordova,  a  youth  of  bold  and  generous  spirit, 
in  the  freshness  of  his  days,  and  armed  and  arrayed 
with  all  the  bravery  of  a  young  Spanish  cavalier. 
When  the  populace  of  Cordova  beheld  the  veteran 
father,  the  warrior  of  a  thousand  battles,  leading  forth 
his  youthful  son  to  the  field,  ihey  bethought  themselves 
of  the  family  appellation:  "  Behold,"  cried  they,  "  the 
eagle  teaching  his  young  to  fly!  Long  live  the  valiant 
line  of  Aguilar!  "* 

The  prowess  of  Don  Alonzo,  and  of  his  ccrepanion? 
in  arms,  was  renowned  throughout  the  Moorish  towns. 
At  their  approach,  therefore,  numbers  of  the  Moors 
submitted,  and  hastened  to  Ronda  to  embrace  christi 
aniiy.  Among  the  mountaineers,  however,  there  weife 
many  of  the  Gaudules,  a  fierce  tribe  from  Africa,  too 
proud  of  spirit  to  bend  their  necks  to  the  yoke.  Al 
their  head  was  a  Moor  named  E\  Feri  of  Ben  Estepar, 
renowned  for  strength  and  courage.  At  his  instig.v 
tions,  his  followers  gathered  together  their  families 
and  most  precious  effects,  placed  them  on'mules,  and, 
driving  before  them  their  flocks  and  herds,  abandoned 
their  valleys,  and  retired  up  the  craggy  passes  of  the 
Sierra  Vermeja.  On  the  si'r.niit  was  a  fertile  plain, 
surrounded  by  rocks  and  precipices,  which  formed  a 
natural  fortress.  Here  El  Feri  placed  all  the  women 
and  children,  and  all  the  property.  By  his  orders,  his 
followers  piled  great  stones  on  the  rocks  and  cliffs 
which  commanded  the  defiles  and  the  steep  sides  ol 
the  mountain,  and  prepared  to  defend  every  pass  that 
led  to  his  place  of  refuge. 

The  christian  commanders  arrived,  and  pitched  their 
camp  before  the  town  of  Monarda,  a  strong  place, 
curiously  fortified,  and  situated  at  the  foot  of  the  high- 
est part  of  the  Sierra  Vermeja.  Here  they  remained 
for  several  days,  unable  to  compel  a  surrender.  They 
were  separated  from  the  skirt  of  the  mountain  by  a 
deep  barranca  or  ravine,  at  the  bottom  of  which  flowed 
a  small  stream.  The  Moors,  commanded  by  El  Feri, 
drew  down  from  their  mountain  height,  and  remained 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  brook,  to  defend  a  pasj 
which  led  up  to  their  strong-hold. 

One  afternoon,  a  number  of  christian  soldiers,  iii 
mere  bravado,  seized  a  banner,  crossed  the  brook,  r.nd. 
scrambling  up  the  opposite  bank,  attacked  the  M>}ors. 
They  were  followed  by  numbers  of  their  companions, 
some  in  aid,  some  in  emulation,  but  most  in  hope  of 
booty.  A  sharp  action  ensued  on  the  mountain  side. 
The  Moors  were  gi^atly  superior  in  number,  and  had 
the  vantage-ground.  When  the  counts  of  Urefia  and 
Cifuentes  beheld  this  .-ikirmish,  they  asked  Don  Alonia 


*  A/tMilar—ihe  Spanish  for  Eaglo. 


S»2 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVINC. 


:'J.v- 


■i* 


i": 


S"r+. 


de  Ag^lUr  his  opin  on:  "  My  opinion,"  said  he,  "was 
given  at  Cordova,  and  rtMiiains  tli«  same;  ibis  is  a 
desperate  enterprise:  however,  the  Moors  are  at  hand, 
arid  if  ■tiiuy  suspect  wealcness  in  us,  it  will  increase 
their  courage  and  our  peril.  Forward,  then,  to  the  at- 
tack, and  I  trust  in  God  we  sh;ill  gain  a  victory."  So 
taving.  he  led  his  tr^ups  into  the  battle.* 

On  the  skirts  of  the  mountain  were  several  level 
places,  like  terraces:  here  the  christians  pressed  vali- 
antly upon  the  Moors,  and  had  the  advantage;  but  the 
i.utcr  retreated  to  the  steep  and  craggy  heights,  from 
whence  they  hurled  dans  and  rocks  upon  their  assail- 
ants. They  defended  their  passes  and  defiles  with 
ferocious  valor,  but  were  driven  from  height  tu  height, 
until  they  reached  the  plain  on  the  summit  of  the 
mountain,  where  their  wives  and  children  were  shel- 
tered. Here  they  would  have  made  a  stand;  but  Alonzo 
de  Aguilar,  with  his  son  Don  Pedro,  charged  upon 
them  at  the  head  of  three  hundred  men,  and  put  them 
to  rtighi  with  dreadful  carnage.  While  they  were  pur- 
suing the  dying  enemy,  the  rest  of  the  army,  thinking 
the  victory  achieved,  dispersed  themselves  over  the 
little  plain  in  search  of  plunder.  They  pursued  the 
shrieking  females,  tearing  oil  their  necklaces,  brace- 
lets, and  anklets  of  gold;  and  they  found  so  much 
treasure  of  various  kinds  collected  in  this  spot,  that 
they  threw  by  their  armor  and  weapons,  to  load  t.'iem- 
selvcs  with  booty. 

Evening  was  closing.  The  christians,  intent  upnn 
spoil,  had  ceasfd  to  pursue  the  Moors,  and  the  latter 
were  arrested  in  their  flight  by  the  cries  of  their  wives 
and  children.  Their  fierce  leader.  El  Feri.  threw  him- 
self before  them  :  "  Friends,  soldiers,"  cried  he, 
"whither  do  you  fly?  Whither  can  you  seek  refuge, 
where  the  enemy  cannot  follow  you?  Y<nir  wives, 
your  children,  are  behind  you — turn  and  defend  them; 
you  have  no  chance  for  safety  but  from  the  weapons 
In  your  hands." 

Vhe  Moors  turned  at  his  words.  They  beheld  the 
cl  rislians  scattered  about  the  plain,  many  of  them 
without  armor,  and  all  encumbered  with  spoil.  "  Now 
if.  the  time!"  shouted  El  Feri;  "charge  upon  them, 
while  laden  with  your  plunder.  I  will  open  a  path  for 
7ou!"  He  rushed  to  the  attack,  followed  by  his 
Moors,  with  shouts  and  cries  that  echoed  through  the 
mountains.  The  scattered  christians  were  seized  with 
panic,  and,  throwing  down  their  booty,  began  to  fly  in 
all  ■i'r'^ctions.  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar  advanced  his 
banner,  and  endeavored  to  rally  them.  Finding  his 
horse  of  no  avail  in  these  rocky  heights,  he  dis- 
mounted, and  caused  him  men  to  do  the  same;  he  had 
a  small  band  of  tried  followers,  with  which  he  opposed 
i  bold  front  to  the  Moors,  calling  on  the  scattered 
troops  to  rally  in  the  rear. 

Night  had  completely  closed.  It  prevented  the  Moors 
from  seeing  the  smallness  of  the  force  with  which  they 
were  contending;  and  Don  Alotizo  and  his  cavaliers 
dealt  their  blows  so  vigorously,  that,  aided  by  the 
darkness,  they  seemed  multiplied  to  ten  times  their 
number.  Unfortunately,  a  small  cask  of  gunpowder 
blew  up,  near  to  the  scene  of  action.  It  shed  a  mo- 
mentary but  brilliant  light  over  all  the  plain,  and  on 
every  rock  and  cliff.  The  Moors  beheld,  with  sur- 
prise, that  they  were  opposed  by  a  mere  handful  of 
men,  and  that  the  greater  part  of  the  christians  were 
flying  from  the  field.  They  put  up  loud  shouts  of  tri- 
umph. While  some  continued  the  conflict  with  re- 
doubled ardor,  others  pursued  the  fugitives,  hurling 
after  them  stones  and  darts,  and  disch;irging  showers 
of  arrows.  Many  of  the  christians,  in  their  terror  and 
their  ignorance  of  the  mountains,  rushed  he.adlong 
(rtjm  the  brinks  of  precipices,  and  were  dashed  in 
pieces. 

Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar  still  maintained  his  ground; 
but,  while  some  of  the  Mcjors  assailed  him  in  front, 
others  galled  him  with  all  kinds  of  missiles  from  the  im- 
pending cliffs.  Some  of  the  cavaliers,  seeing  the  hope- 
less nature  of  the  conflict,  proposed  that  they  should 
abandon  the  height  and  retreat  down  the  mountain: 


•  Bleda,  L.  s<  c  (6. 


"tic,"  said  Don  Alonzo,  proudly;  "nevei  did  ihi 
banner  of  the  house  of  .Agiiil,ir  retreat  <nie  foot  in  ti), 
field  of  battle."  He  h:i(l  scarcely  uttered  tre.sc  wurds 
when  his  son  Don  Pedro  was  stretched  at  his  ftec.  A 
sione  hurled  from  a  cliff  hiid  struck  out  two  o(  his 
teeth,  and  a  Unce  pa.^sed  quivering  through  his  tliigh' 
The  youth  attempted  to  rii'  and,  with  one  ktice  oii 
the  ground,  to  light  by  the  side  of  his  father.  Don 
Alonzo,  finding  him  wounded,  urgej  h'ln  to  quit  iht 
field.  "  Fly,  my  son! "  said  he;  "  let  us  not  put  every 
thing  at  venture  upon  one  hazard.  Conduct  iliyseli 
as  a  good  christian,  and  live  to  comfort  and  hoiu.r  thv 
mother." 

Don  Pedro  still  refused  to  leave  his  side.  Wiicre. 
upon  Don  Alonzo  ordered  several  of  his  folUjwcrs  it 
bear  him  off  bv  force.  His  friend  Don  FraiK  isct, 
Alviirez  of  Cordova,  taking  him  in  his  arms,  conveyed 
him  to  the  quarters  of  the  count  of  Urefia,  who  tud 
halted  on  the  height,  at  some  distance  from  the  si  cut 
of  battle,  for  the  purpose  of  rallying  and  surcorini;  the 
fugitives.  Almost  at  the  same  moment,  the  comu  he. 
held  his  own  son,  Don  Pedro  Giron,  brought  in  utiev. 
ously  wounded. 

In  the  mean  time,  Don  Alonzo,  with  two  hmnlred 
cavaliers,  maintained  the  unequal  contest.  Surr<iiiii(i. 
ed  by  foes,  they  fell,  one  after  another,  like  so  in.uiy 
noble  stags  encircled  by  the  hunters.  Don  Alon/o  was 
the  last  survivor,  without  horse,  and  almost  wiiliuin 
armor — his  corselet  unlaced,  and  his  bosom  j;ivshtd 
with  wounds.  Still  he  kept  a  brave  front  tow.irus  the 
enemy,  and.  retiring  between  two  rocks,  defended  him. 
self  with  such  valor,  that  the  slain  lay  in  a  heap  Lefore 
him. 

He  was  assailed  in  this  retreat  by  a  Moor  of  sur. 
passing  strength  and  fierceness.  The  contest  w.is  for 
some  time  doubtful;  but  Don  Alonzo  received  a  wijuj 
in  the  head,  and  another  in  the  breast,  that  ir.;.ilf  him 
stagger.  Closing  and  grappling  with  his  fee,  they 
had  a  desperate  struggle,  until  the  christian  civiilier, 
exhausted  by  his  wounds,  fell  upon  his  back.  He  siili 
retained  his  grasp  upon  his  enemy;  "Think  nnt," 
cried  he,  "thou  hast  an  easy  prize;  know  thai  1  arj 
Don  Alonzo,  he  of  Aguilar:" — "If  thou  art  D.^ 
Alonzo,"  replied  the  Moor,  "know  that  I  am  K'  l-\ri 
of  Ben  Kstepar."  They  continued  their  dr.'iilly  sinic;. 
gle,  and  both  drew  their  dnggers;  but  Don  Aloii/o  w„s 
exhausted  by  seven  ghastly  wounds:  while  he  w.is  yet 
struggling,  his  heroic  soul  departed  from  his  body,  and 
he  expired  in  the  grasp  of  the  Moor. 

Thus  fell  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  the  mirror  of  .And*- 
lusian  chivalry — one  of  the  most  powerful  graiuiecs  n| 
Spain,  for  person,  blood,  estate,  and  olhre.  For  luriy 
years  he  had  made  successful  war  upon  the  Moors— m 
childhood  by  his  household  and  retainers,  in  inuTihood 
by  the  prowess  of  his  arm,  and  in  the  wisdom  and 
valor  of  his  spirit.  His  pennon  had  always  been  lure- 
most  in  danger;  he  had  been  general  of  armies,  vice 
roy  of  Andalusia,  and  the  author  of  glorious  enter 
prises,  in  which  kings  were  vanquished,  and  mighty 
alcaydes  and  warriors  laid  low.  He  had  slain  many 
Moslem  chiefs  with  his  own  arm,  and  among  others 
the  renowned  Ali  Atar  of  Loxa,  fighting  foot  to 
foot,  on  the  banks  of  the  Xenel.  His  judgment,  dis- 
cretion, magnanimity,  and  justice  vied  with  his  (jruw- 
ess.  He  was  the  fifth  lord  of  his  warlike  house  iha' 
fell  in  battle  with  the  Moors. 

"  His  soul,"  observes  the  worthy  padre  Abarca,  ".'I 
is  believed,  ascended  to  heaven,  to  receive  the  rfWa:d 
of  so. christian  a  captain;  for  that  very  day  he  h.id 
armed  himself  with  the  sacraments  of  confess  wn  siid 
communion."* 

The  Moors,  elated  with  their  success,  pursued  the 
fugitive  christians  down  the  defiles  and  sides  ol  the 
mountains.  It  was  with  the  utmost  dilliculty  that  ih"; 
count  de  Urefia  could  bring  off  a  remnant  of  his  torci 
from  that  disastrous  height.  Fortunately,  on  the  lotvt;! 
slope  of  the  mountain,  they  found  the  rear-guard  of  th' 
army,  led  by  the  count  de  Cifuentes,  who  had  crossed 
the  brook  and  the  ravine  to  come  to  their  assistance. 


'Abacn.  Aaalat  de  Anmoo,  Rcy  xxz  cap.  VL 


A  CHRONICLE  OE   THE  CONQUEST  OF   GRANADA. 


29fl 


1^1  the  fugitives  came  flving  in  headlong  terror  down 
the  mountain,  it  was  with  difficulty  the  count  kept  his 
own  troops  from  giving  way  in  panic,  and  retreating 
in  confusion  across  the  brook.  He  succeeded,  how- 
ever, in  maintaining  order,  in  rallying  the  (ugitivesi, 
and  checking  the  fury  of  the  Moors:  then,  taking  his 
lUtion  on  a  rocky  eminence,  he  maintained  his  post 
until  morning;  sometimes  sustaining  violent  attacks, 
at  other  times  rushing  forth  and  making  assaults  upon 
the  enemy.  When  morning  dawned,  the  Moors  ceased 
to  combat,  and  drew  up  to  the  sumiuit  of  the  mountain. 

It  was  then  that  the  christians  had  time  to  breatlie, 
and  to  ascertain  the  dreadful  loss  they  hud  sustained. 
AmonK  the  many  v.-iliant  cavaliers  who  had  fallen,  was 
Don  Francisco  Ramirez  of  Madrid,  who  had  been  cap- 
tain-general of  artillery  throughout  the  war  oi  Grana- 
da, and  had  contributed  greatly  by  his  valor  and  in- 
genuity to  that  renowned  conquest.  But  all  other 
rriefs  and  cares  were  forgotten,  in  anxiety  for  the  fate 
of  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar.  His  son,  Don  Pedro  de 
Cordova,  had  been  brought  off  with  great  difficulty 
from  the  battle,  and  afterwards  lived  to  be  marques  of 
Priego;  but  of  Don  Alonzo  nothing  was  known,  ex- 
cept that  he  was  left  with  a  handful  of  cavaliers,  fight- 
lug  valiantly  against  an  overwhelming  force. 

As  the  rising  sun  lighted  up  the  red  cliffs  of  the 
mountains,  the  soldiers  watched  with  anxious  eyes,  if 
perchance  his  nennon  might  be  descried,  flutterini; 
(roni  any  precipice  or  defile;  but  nothing  of  the  kind 
was  to  be  seen.  The  trumpet-call  was  repeatedly 
sounded,  but  empty  echoes  alone  replied.  A  silence 
reigned  about  the  mountain  summit,  which  showed 
that  the  deadly  strife  was  over.  Now  and  then  a 
wound-d  warrior  came  dr.-igging  his  feeble  steps  from 
among  the  clefts  and  rocks;  but,  on  being  questioned, 
he  shook  his  head  mournfully,  and  could  tell  nothing  of 
the  fate  of  his  commander. 

The  tidings  of  this  disastrous  defeat,  and  of  the 
peiilous  situation  of  the  suivivors,  reached  king  Ferdi- 
nand at  Granada;  he  immediately  marched,  at  the  head 
if  all  the  chivalry  of  his  court,  to  the  moui)tains  of 
Jonda.  His  presence,  with  a  powerful  force,  soon 
pat  an  end  to  the  rebellion.  A  part  of  the  Moors  were 
suffered  to  ransom  themselves,  and  to  embark  for 
Africa;  others  were  made  to  embrace  Christianity;  and 
those  of  the  town  where  the  christian  missionaries  had 
been  maiisacred,  were  sold  as  slaves.  From  the  con- 
quered Moors,  the  mournful  but  heroic  end  of  Alocso 
^e  AguiUr  was  ancei  tained. 


On  the  morning  after  the  battle,  when  tht  Moors  came 
to  strip  and  bury  the  dead,  the  body  of  Don  Alonzo  was 
found,  among  those  of  more  than  two  hundred  of  hi* 
followers,  many  of  them  alcaydes  and  cavaliers  of  dis- 
tinction. Though  the  person  of  Don  Alonzo  was  well 
known  to  the  Moors,  being  so  distinguished  among 
them  both  in  peace  and  war,  yet  it  was  so  covered  an:i 
disfigured  with  wounds,  that  it  could  with  difficulty  br 
recognized.  They  preserved  it  with  great  care,  a.-;  1 
on  making  their  submission,  delivered  it  up  to  kli:,< 
Ferdinand.  It  was  conveyed  with  great  state  to  Cor 
dova,  amidst  the  tears  and  lamentations  of  all  Anda 
lusia.  Wl'en  the  funeral  train  entered  Cordova,  and 
the  inhabiU'nts  saw  the  cothn  containing  the  remains 
of  their  favorite  hero,  and  the  war-horse,  led  in  mourn, 
ful  trapping-:,  on  which  they  hud  so  lately  seen  him 
sally  forth  fi  im  their  gates,  there  was  a  general  burst 
of  grief  thro  -ghout  the  city.  The  body  was  interred, 
with  great  pi  mp  and  solemnity,  in  the  church  of  St. 
Hypolito. 

Many  yean  afterwards,  his  grand-daughter,  DoSa 
Catalina  of  A  guilar  and  Cordova,  marchioness  of 
Priego,  caused  nis  tomb  to  be  altered.  On  examining 
the  body,  the  h.rad  of  a  lance  was  found  among  the 
bones,  received  without  doubt  among  the  wounds  of 
his  last  mortal  co nbat.  The  name  of  this  accomplished 
and  christian  cavalier  has  ever  remained  a  populai 
theme  of  the  chronicler  and  poet,  and  is  endeared  to 
the  public  memory  by  many  of  the  historical  ballads 
and  songs  of  his  country.  For  a  long  time  the  people 
of  Cordova  were  indignant  at  the  brave  count  de  Ureiia, 
who  they  thought  had  abandoned  Don  Alonzo  in  his 
extremity;  but  the  Castilian  monarch  acquitted  him  oi 
all  charge  of  the  kind,  and  continued  him  in  honor  and 
office.  It  was  proved  that  neither  he  nor  his  people 
could  succor  Dtm  .Monzo,  or  even  know  of  his  peril, 
from  the  darkness  of  the  nifht.  There  is  a  mournfo) 
little  Spanish  ballad  or  roo  ance,  which  breathes  th» 
public  grief  on  this  occasion,  and  the  populace,  oa  tt< 
return  of  the  count  de  Ureila  'o  Cordova,  assailed  hli& 
with  one  of  Its  plaintive  and  ■  -proachful  verses:— 

Count  Urefla !  coun     Trefia  I 
Tell  lu,  where  i>  Ooi    Aionio  I 
t 

(Dead  Cond*  de  Ura      \ 
Don  AloDjo,  dead*  4    4«>)* 


•  Btada,  U  s,  c.  it. 


h': 


t 


ii."t 


'       'r 


»»)JH.,' 


.»: 


,*  *• 


^IP 


"»Sl 


Legends  of  the  Conquest  of  Spain. 


PREFACE. 


fRW  events  In  hltitory  have  been  so  signal  and  strik- 
ing in  iheir  main  circumstances,  and  so  overwheirainK 
ind  rnduring  in  their  consequences,  as  that  of  the  con- 
quer. u(  Spain  by  the  Saracens;  yet  there  are  few 
where  the  motives,  and  characters,  and  actions  of  the 
agent>i  have  been  enveloped  in  more  doubt  and  con- 
tradir:tion.  As  in  the  memorable  story  of  the  Fall  of 
Troy,  we  have  to  make  out,  as  well  as  we  can,  the 
veriuble  details  through  the  mists  of  poetic  fiction; 
yet  poetry  has  so  combined  itself  with,  and  lent  its 
magic  colourinK  to,  every  fact,  that,  to  strip  it  away, 
wouM  be  to  reduce  the  story  to  a  meagre  skeleton  and 
rob  it  of  all  its  charms.  The  storm  of  Moslem  inva- 
sion that  swept  so  suddenly  over  the  peninsula,  silen- 
ced ioT  a  time  the  faint  voice  of  the  muse,  and  drove 
the  sons  of  learning  from  their  cells.  The  pen  was 
ihrovfn  aside  to  grasp  the  sword  and  spear,  and  men 
were  too  much  taken  up  with  battling  against  the  evils 
which  beset  them  on  every  side,  to  find  time  or  incli- 
aation  to  record  them. 

When  the  nation  had  recovered  in  some  degree  from 
tie  effects  of  this  astounding  blow,  or  rather,  had  be- 
come accustomed  to  the  tremendous  reverse  which  it 
praJiiced,  and  sage  men  sought  to  inquire  and  write 
the  particulars,  it  was  too  late  to  ascertain  them  in 
thei'  exact  verity.  The  gloom  and  melancholy  that 
had  o/ershadowed  the  land,  had  given  birth  to  a  thou- 
sand superstitious  fancies;  the  woes  and  terrors  of  the 
past  were  clothed  with  supernatural  miracles  and  por- 
tents, and  the  actors  in  the  fearful  drama  had  already 
assumed  the  dubious  characteristics  of  romance.  Or 
i(  a  writer  from  among  the  conquerors  undertook  to 
touch  upon  the  theme,  it  was  embellished  with  all  the 
wild  extravagancies  of  an  oriental  imagination;  which 
af'erwards  stole  into  the  graver  works  of  the  monkish 
historians. 

Hence,  the  earliest  chronicles  which  treat  of  the 
downfall  of  Spain,  are  apt  to  be  tinctured  with  those 
saintly  miracles  which  savour  of  the  pious  labours  of 
the  cloister,  or  those  fanciful  fictions  that  betray  their 
Arabian  authors.  Yet,  from  these  apocryphal  sources, 
the  most  legitimate  and  accredited  Spanish  histories 
have  taken  their  rise,  as  pure  rivers  may  be  traced  up 
to  the  fens  and  mantled  pools  of  a  morass.  It  is  true, 
the  authors,  with  cautious  discrimination,  have  dis- 
carded those  particulars  too  startling  for  belief,  and 
have  culled  only  such  as,  from  their  probability  and 
congruiiy,  might  be  safely  recorded  as  historical  facts; 
yet,  scarce  one  of  these  but  has  been  connected  in  the 
original  with  some  romantic  fiction,  and,  even  in  its 
tlivorced  state,  bears  traces  of  its  former  alliance. 

To  discard,  however,  every  thing  wild  and  miirvel- 
lous  in  this  portion  of  Spanish  history,  is  to  discard 
•utne  of  its  most  beautiful,  instructive,  and  national 
features:;  it  is  to  judge  of  Spain  by  the  standard  of 
probability  suited  to  tamer  ar.d  more  prosaic  countries. 
Spain  is  virtually  a  land  of  poetry  and  r«mance,  where 
every-day  life  partakes  of  adventure,  and  where  the 
least  agitation  or  excitement  carries  everything  up  into 
extravagant  enterprise  and  daring  exploit.  The  Spani- 
ards, in  all  ages,  have  been  of  swelling  and  braggart 
tpirit,  soaring  in  thought,  pompous  in  word,  and  vali- 
ant, though  vain-glorious  m  deed.  Their  heroic  aims 
11 


have  transcended  the  cooler  conceptions  of  -.heir  nelfrli' 
hours,  and  their  reckless  daring  has  borne  them  on  t« 
achievements  which  prudent  enterprise  could  nevei 
have  accomplished.  Since  the  time,  too.  of  the  con 
q«est  and  occupation  of  their  country  by  the  Arabs,  i 
strong  infusion  of  oriental  niai{nificcnce  has  entered 
into  the  national  chanicter,  and  rendered  the  Spaniard 
distinct  from  every  other  nation  of  Europe. 

In  the  following  pages,  therefore,  the  author  has 
ventured  to  dip  more  deeply  into  the  enchanted  fount- 
ains of  old  Spanish  chronicles,  than  has  usually  been 
done  by  those  who,  in  modern  times,  have  treated  of 
the  eventful  period  of  the  conquest;  but  in  so  doing, 
he  trusts  he  will  illustrate  more  fully  the  character  ol 
the  people  and  the  times.  He  has  thought  proper  \o 
throw  these  records  into  the  form  of  legends,  not 
claiming  for  them  the  authenticity  of  sober  historv, 
yet  giving  nothing  that  has  not  historical  foundation. 
All  the  facts  herein  contained,  however  extravagant 
some  of  them  may  be  deemed,  will  be  found  in  the 
works  of  sage  and  reverend  chroniclers  of  yore,  grow- 
ing side  by  side  with  long  acknowledged  truths,  and 
might  be  supported  by  learned  and  imposing  refer- 
ences in  the  margin. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  DON  RODERICK.* 


CHAPTER  I. 


OF    THE    ANCIENT    INHABITANTS   OF    SPAIN — Of 
THE  MISRULE  OF  WITIZA   THK  WICKED. 

.Spain,  or  Iberia,  .is  it  was  called  in  ancient  days, 
has  ^H-pn  a  country  harassed  from  the  earliest  times, 
hy  the  invadi-r.  The  Celts,  the  Greeks,  the  Phene- 
cians,  the  C.trthagenians,  by  turns,  or  simultaneously, 
iiilringi'd  its  territories;  drove  the  native  Iberians 
from  their  rightful  homes,  and  established  colonics 
and  founded  cities  in  the  land.  It  subsequently  fell 
into  the  all-grasping  power  of  Rome,  remaining  for 
some  time  a  subjugated  province ;  and  when  that 
gigantic  empire  crumbled  into  pieces,  the  Suevi,  the 
Alani,  and  the  Vandals,  those  barbarians  of  the 
north,  overran  and  ravaged  this  devoted  country, 
and  portioned  out  the  soil  among  them. 

Their  sway  was  not  of  long  dumtion.  In  the  fifth 
century  the  Goths,  who  were  then  the  allies  of 
'Rome,  undertook  the  reconquest  of  Iberia,  and  suc- 
ceeded, after  a  desperate  struggle  of  three  years 
duration.  They  drove  before  them .  the  barbarous 
hordes,  their  predecessors,  intennarried,  and  incor 


•  Many  of  the  facn  in  this  legend  are  taken  from  an  old  chronicU. 
written  in  nuaint  and  antiquated  St^anish,  and  professing  to  he  ■ 
Ir.inslatinn  from  the  Arabian  chronicle  of  the  Moor  Kasii,  by  Mo- 
iiiimnieil.  a  Moslem  writer,  and  Gil  Perei,  a  Spanish  priest.  It  it 
sii|i|Hised  to  be  a  piece  of  literary  mosaic  work,  made  up  fmm  both 
Spanish  .ind  .Arabian  chronicles  :  ^^ei.  from  this  work  most  of  the 
Spanish  historians  have  drawa  theu  particulars  relative  to  Iht  Ibp 
tunes  of  Uon  Koderick. 

cum 


M6 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


*  y. 


poratecl  themselvca  with  the  orip^inal  Inhabitants, 
%nd  found^l  a  powerful  and  splendid  cmi)irp,  com- 
prisintj  the  Ib»Ti;in  |)enlnsula,  the  ancient  Narlion- 
naisc,  ultfrwards  calli'd  Gallia  Gotica,  or  Gothic 
Gaul,  and  a  part  of  the  African  coast  ralk'il  TinKi- 
tania.  A  new  nation  was,  in  a  manner,  protluced 
by  this  mixture  of  the  Gotlis  and  Iberians.  Spranjj 
from  a  union  of  warrior  races,  reared  and  nurlurtil 
amidst  the  din  of  arms,  the  Gothic  Spaniards,  if  ihey 
'nay  so  be  termed,  were  a  warlike,  untjuiet,  yet  liijjli- 
minded  ami  heroic  people.  Their  simple  and  ab- 
stemious habits,  their  contempt  hr  toil  and  sulTir- 
Ing,  and  iheir  love  of  darinj^  enterprise,  fitted  tiieiii 
for  a  soldier's  life.  So  addicted  were  tliey  to  war 
that,  when  they  had  no  external  fois  to  contend 
with,  they  fought  with  one  another;  and,  wlun  cii- 
gaged  in  battle,  says  an  old  chronicler,  the  very 
thunders  and  lightnings  of  heaven  could  not  separate 
them.* 

For  two  centuries  and  a  h.ilf  the  (iothic  power  re- 
mained unshaken,  and  the  sceptre  was  wielded  by 
twenty-tive  successive  kings.  The  crown  was  elect- 
ive, in  a  council  of  palatines,  comiH)S( d  of  the 
bishops  and  nobles,  who,  while  they  swore  allegiance 
to  the  lu  wly-maile  sovereign,  bound  him  by  a  re- 
ciprocal oath  to  be  faithlul  to  his  trust.  Their 
choice  was  made  from  among  the  people,  subject 
only  to  one  comliiion,  that  the  King  should  be  of 
pure  Gothic  blood.  Hut  though  ihe  crown  was 
elective  in  principle,  it  gradually  !)ecame  hereditary 
from  usage,  and  the  power  of  the  sovereign  grew  to 
be  almost  absolute.  The  king  was  romiiiamler-in- 
chief  of  tiie  armies;  the  whole  jiatronage  of  the 
kingdom  was  m  his  bands;  he  sunmioiud  and  dis- 
solved the  national  councils ;  he  made  and  revoked 
laws  according  to  his  pleasure  ;  and,  having  ccclesi- 
Mtical  supremacy,  he  exercised  a  sway  even  over 
the  consciences  of  his  subjects. 

The  Ciotlis,  at  the  time  of  their  inrnaii,  were  sti'Ut 
adherents  to  the  Ariaii  dDitrtnes;  but  .ifter  .i  time 
they  enihr.iee;!  the  C;itholie  faith,  whieli  was  main- 
tained l,y  tlie  native  Spaniards  free  from  many  of  tile 
gross  siiperstiticins  of  tlie  ehiireli  at  Rome,  and  tliis 
unity  of  faith  coiitriliiited  more  lli.in  .iiiy  tliiii;{  else 
to  blend  and  hariniii'ize  the  two  raees  into  one. 
The  l)isli()ps  and  other  clergy  were  exemplary  in 
their  lives,  and  aided  to  promote  the  infliieiue  of  the 
laws  anil  maintain  the  authority  of  tlie  st.ite.  The 
fruits  of  regular  and  ssf'eure  governinent  were  mani- 
fest ill  till.'  advaneement  of  a^;riridture,  coinnierce, 
and  the  pearcliil  arts;  and  in  the  inere.ise  of  wealth, 
of  luxury,  and  relineinent;  Init  there  w.is  a  gradual 
decline  of  the  simple,  hardy,  and  warlike  habits 
that  had  distinguished  the  nation  in  its  semi-barba- 
rous days. 

Such  v.- IS  the  st.ite  of  Spain  when,  in  the  year  of 
Redemption  701,  Witiza  was  elected  to  the  Gothic 
throne.  The  beginning  of  his  riign  g.ive  promise 
if  happy  (lays  to  Spain.  He  rerlressed  grievances, 
moderated  the  tributes  of  his  subjects,  and  conducted 
himself  with  minj;led  mildness  and  energy  in  the 
administration  of  the  laws.  In  a  little  v.dnle,  how- 
ever, he  tlirew  off  the  mask,  and  showed  himself  in 
his  true  nature,  cruel  and  luxurious. 

Two  of  l-.is  relatives,  sons  of  a  preceding  king, 
awakened  his  jealousy  for  the  security  of  bis  throne. 
One  of  them,  named  Favila,  duke  of  Canlabria,  he 
put  to  death,  and  wouUl  have  inflicted  the  same  fate 
!ipon  his  son  I'elayo,  but  that  the  youth  was  beyond 
his  reach,  being  preserved  by  Providence  for  the 
iuture  salvation  of  Spain.  The  other  object  of  his 
suspicion  was  Theodofredo,  who  lived  retired  from 


court.  The  violence  of  Witiza  reached  him  r  <  n  m 
his  retirement.  Ills  eyes  were  put  out,  and  lip  wai 
immured  within  a  castle  at  Coraova.  Roderic  k.  ih( 
youthful  son  of  Theodofredo,  escaped  to  Italy,  w|icr» 
lie  received  protection  from  the  Romans. 

Witiza  now  considering  himself  ccure  upon  ihc 
throne,  gave  the  reins  to  liis  licent'o  is  p.issions,  and 
soon,  by  his  tyranny  and  sensuality,  ac<|uirid  thg 
appellation  of  Witiza  the  Wicked.     Despisinj;  the 


*  Florian  do  Ocaiiipo,  lib.  3,  o.  12.     Justin  Abrov,  Trog. 
Pomp.  L14  IJIuda.  t'roiiiua  L»,  o.  3. 


olil  Gothic  continence,  and  yielding  to  the  e\  i:np!( 
of  the  sect  of  Mahomet,  which  suited  his  l.isi mouj 
temper.iment,  he  indulged  in  a  plurality  of  wivej 
and  concubines,  encouraging  his  subjects  to  dr.  tht 
same.  N.iy,  lie  even  sougl.t  to  g.iin  the  sanctiiu  of 
the  church  to  his  excesses,  j)ronuilgating  a  hw 
by  which  the  clergy  were  release-d  from  their  Viwj 
of  celibacy,  and  permitted  to  marry  and  to  enter-  lin 
paramours. 

The  sovereign  Pontiff  Constantine  threatenet'  to 
depose  .and  excommunicate  him,  unless  he  alnotjiied 
this  licentious  law  ;  but  Witi/a  set  him  at  ili  ii.ince, 
threatening,  like  his  liothic  predecessor  Al.iru\  to 
assail  tite  eternal  city  with  bis  troops,  and  make 
sijoil  of  her  nccimuilated  treasures.*  "  UC  ,viil 
adorn  our  tlamsels,"  said  he,  "with  the  jevM-ls  of 
Rome,  and  re|)lenish  our  coffers  from  tlie  mint  of 
St.  Peter." 

Some  of  the  clergy  opposed  themselves  to  the 
•nnov.iting  spirit  of  the  monarch,  and  cnileavnureil 
from  the  pulpits  to  rally  the  people  to  the  [nire 
doctrines  of  their  faith  :  but  they  were  dejKiseil  irom 
their  sacred  oflice,  and  banished  .is  seilitious  mis- 
chief makers.  The  church  of  Toledo  contmiifd 
refractor)' ;  the  ari  hbishop  Sindaredo,  it  is  true,  wai 
disposed  to  accomiiuMl.tte  himself  to  the  corru;>tioiti 
of  the  times,  but  the  prebc'nd. tries  battled  intrepidly 
against  the  new  laws  of  the  mona'ch,  and  stood 
manfully  in  defence  of  their  vows  of  chastity.  "  Since 
the  cliiinh  of  Toledo  will  not  yield  itself  to  our  will," 
said  Witi/a,  "  it  sli.ill  have  two  hiisli.iiuls."  .So  y,iy. 
ini;,  lie  appointed  liis  own  lirotliei  Oppas,  at  thai  lime 
arelihisliop  ol  .Seville,  to  take  a  seat  with  .Sinil;;ii Me, 
in  the  cpiseopal  th.iir  of  Toleilo,  and  inadi-  liim 
primate  of  Spain.  Me  was  a  priest  after  his  own 
lie.irt,  and  seeondcil  liini  in  all  his  prolli^jate  ahii-rs. 

It  was  in  v.iin  the  deniiiui.itions  of  the  clmnh 
were  fulininated  from  the  chair  of  .St.  I'eter;  \\iiii.i 
threw  o!f  all  allegi.uue  to  the  Koiiian  PoiititT,  tlin.it- 
eniiig  with  p.iin  of  ileath  those  who  shoulil  city 
the  pap.il  manil.i'.es.  "  We  will  suffer  no  fi  U'V^n 
e<ilcsi.istie,  with  triple  crown,"  said  he,  '  to  doiiumur 
ov^r  our  dominions." 

The  Jews  had  been  banished  from  the  countr) 
during  the  preceding  p'ign,  but  Witiza  perinitted 
them  to  return,  and  even  JK'stowcd  upon  tntir  syna- 
gogues privileges  of  which  he  had  despoiled  the 
churches.  Tile  children  of  Israel,  when  scattered 
throughout  the  earth  by  the  fall  of  Jerusalem,  hid 
carried  with  them  into  other  lands  the  gainful  area  la 
of  trallic,  and  were  especi.illy  noted  as  opulent  mo-icy 
changers  and  curious  dealers  in  gold  and  silver  and 
precious  stones;  on  this  occasion,  therefore,  llicj 
were  enabled,  it  is  sa'd,  »o  repay  the  monarch  foi 
his  protection  by  bags  ol  money,  and  caskets  ol 
sparkling  gems,  ihc  rich  product  of  their  oriental 
commerce. 

The  kingdotn  at  this  time  enjoyed  external  peacr 
but  there  were  symptoms  of  internal  discontent. 
Witiza  took  the  alarm  ;  he  remembered  the  ancient 
turbulence  of  the  nation,  and  its  proneness  to  internal 
feuds.  Issuing  secret  orders,  therefore,  in  all  direc- 
tions, he  dismantled  most  of  the  cities,  and  demolish- 


*  Oliron.  de  Liiitj)ranilo  709.     Aborca,  Analcs  de  Arngon 
(c)  Mutioinctismu,  Ful.  u.) 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  SPAIN. 


ed  the  CMtln  and  rortrpMci  that  miffht  terve  m 
rallying  points  for  the  factious.  He  (lisamied  the 
pruple  also,  and  converted  thi;  weapons  of  war  into 
Itic  iin[)lemeiits  of  |icarc.  It  si!cincil,  in  lad,  iis  if 
(Id*  tiull(;nniuin  were  dawning  upon  the  l.tnd,  for  the 
iword  was  Ix-aten  into  a  plou}{lisharc,  and  tlie  spear 
into  a  pruning  hook. 

While  thus  the  ancirnt  inariial  hre  of  the  nation 
fins  extinguished,  its  morals  likewise  were  (:orru|)tcd. 
The  litars  were  abandtmed,  ilie  churches  closetl, 
wiilr  disorder  and  scuMiality  pn-vailcd  throughout 
thf  I'lnd,  so  that,  according  to  the  old  clironiclers, 
within  the  compass  of  a  lew  short  years,  "  VVitiza 
the  Wicked  taught  all  Spain  to  sin." 


CHAITKR   II. 


,  Analcs  do  Aragon 


THF  RISt  or  nON  HODEItlCK  — Ills  GOVERNMENT. 

Woe  to  the  niler  who  founds  his  hoiie  of  sway 
on  tlie  weakness  or  corruption  of  tho  pt-opje.  The 
viry  me.isures  taken  by  W'iti/a  to  |)er|)etu.ite  his 
powir  ensured  his  downlali.  While  tiie  whole  n.i- 
(1011,  under  his  licentious  rule,  was  sinking  into  vice 
and  t  ifeminacy,  and  the  arm  of  war  was  unstrung, 
tiic  yimthful  Roderick,  son  of  Theodofreilo,  was 
ir.iitiing  up  for  action  in  the  stern  but  wholeso?ne 
S(.h()iil  of  adversity.  He  instructed  himself  in  the 
UPC  of  arms;  became  .-..Iroit  and  vigorous  by  varied 
MiTclses ;  learned  to  despise  all  danger,  and  inured 
himself  to  hunger  and  watchfulness  and  the  rigour 
of  the  seasons. 

His  merits  and  misfortunes  procured  him  many 
fiiends  among  the  Romans ;  and  when,  being  ar- 
nvfd  at  a  fitting  age,  he  undertook  to  revenge  the 
wrongs  of  his  father  and  his  kindred,  a  host  of  brave 
111(1  li.trdy  soldiers  flocked  to  his  standard.  With 
these  he  made  his  sudden  appear.ince  in  .Spain.  The 
Irieiids  of  his  house  and  the  disjilfected  of  all  classes 
h;istencd  to  join  him,  and  he  .idvanced  rapidly  and 
without  opposition,  through  an  unarmed  and  ener- 
v.iteil  land. 

Wiiiza  saw  too  hte  the  evil  he  had  brought  upon 
himself.  He  made  a  hasty  levy,  and  took  the  held  with 
a  srantily  eouipped  and  undisciplined  host,  but  w.is 
easily  routed  and  m.ade  prisoner,  and  the  whole  king- 
dom submitted  to  Don  Rwlerii  k. 

The  ancient  city  of  Toledo,  the  royal  residence  of 
the  Gothic  kings,  was  the  scene  of  high  festivity  and 
solemn  ceremonial  on  the  coronation  of  the  victor. 
Whether  he  was  elected  to  the  throne  according  to 
(he  (iolhic  usage,  or  seized  it  by  the  right  of  con- 
quest, is  a  matter  of  dispute  among  historians,  but 
all  njjree  that  the  nation  submitted  cheerfully  to  his 
sway,  and  looked  forward  to  prosperity  and  happi- 
ness under  their  newly  elevated  monarch.  His  a|>- 
pearance  and  character  seemed  to  justify  the  antici- 
pation. He  was  in  the  spleiulour  of  youth,  and  of  a 
maiesiic  presence.  His  soul  w.is  bold  and  daring, 
uiJ  elev'ted  by  Ujfty  desires.  Me  had  a  sagacity 
that  penetrated  the  thoughts  of  men.  and  a  m.igniti- 
f<nt  spirit  that  won  all  iiearts.  Such  is  the  picture 
which  ancient  writers  give  of  Oon  Roderick,  when, 
with  all  the  stern  and  simple  virtues  unimpaired, 
which  he  had  acquired  in  adversity  and  exile,  and 
flushed  with  the  triumph  of  a  pious  revenge,  he  as- 
cended the  Gothic  throne. 

Prosixrity,  however,  is  the  real  touchstone  of  the 
humaj.  heart ;  no  sooner  did  Roderick  fin<l  himself 
in  possession  of  the  Wown,  than  the  love  of  [tower 
in  I  the  jealousy  of  rule  were  awakened  in  his 
oreast.    His  first  measure  was  against  Witlza,  who 


WM  brought  in  chains  into  his  presence.  Ro<lcr<rli 
beheld  the  captive  monarch  wth  an  unpitying  eve 
remembering  only  his  wrongs  and  cruelties  to  Ki« 
lather.  "  Let  the  evils  he  has  iiilhcted  on  others  b« 
visited  upon  his  own  head,"  said  he ;  ■  as  he  did 
unto  Theodofredo,  even  so  be  it  done  unto  him."  Su 
the  eyes  of  Witiza  were  put  out,  and  he  was  ihrowti 
into  the  s.uiie  duiii;e(in  at  Cordova  in  which  Theo 
dotredo  had  langiiished.  Thi:re  he  passed  the  briel 
remnant  of  his  cl.iys  in  p«rr|)etual  darkness,  a  prey  to 
wretchedness  and  remorse. 

Roderick  now  cast  an  uneasy  and  suspicious  eye 
uiwn  Kvan  and  Siseburto,  the  two  sons  of  Witiza 
h  earful  lest  they  shoulil  loinent  some  secret  rebel- 
lion, he  b.u.shed  them  the  kingdom.  I'hey  took 
refuge  in  the  Siiamsh  (lominions  in  Alric.i,  where 
they  were  received  and  harboure<l  by  Re(piila,  gov- 
ernor of  Tangier,  out  of  gr.ititiide  lor  favours  which 
he  had  received  trom  their  late  fatner.  There  they 
rem.iined  to  brood  over  their  f.dleii  fortunes,  and  to 
aid  in  working  out  the  future  woes  of  Siiaiii. 

Their  uncle  t)ppas,  bishop  of  Seville,  who  had 
been  made  co-partner,  by  VVitiza,  in  the  archepia- 
cop.d  chair  at  Toledo,  would  have  likewise  fallen 
iindi-r  the  suspicion  of  the  king  ;  l)Ut  he  was  a  man 
of  consuininate  art,  and  vast  exterior  sanctity,  and 
won  upon  the  good  gr.ices  of  the  mon.irih.  He  wai 
sufl'eied,  therefore,  to  retain  his  sacred  i.Kice  at  Se- 
ville ;  but  the  see  of  Toledo  was  given  in  charge  to 
the  venerable  Urbino;  and  the  law  of  Witiza  was 
revoked  th.it  dispensed  the  clergy  from  ll  eir  vows 
of  celibacy. 

The  jealousy  of  Roderick  for  the  security  of  his 
crown  w.as  .soon  .again  arouseil,  and  his  measure 
were  prompt  and  severe.  Having  been  informal 
that  the  governors  of  certain  castles  and  Icriressw 
in  Castile  and  Andalusia  h.ad  conspired  against  him, 
he  caused  them  to  be  put  to  death  and  their  strong- 
holds to  he  demolishe(l.  lie  now  went  on  to  imitate 
the  pernicious  policy  of  his  predecessor,  throwing 
down  walls  and  towers,  disaniiing  the  people,  and 
thus  inc:ip.icii.iting  them  from  rebellion.  A  few 
cities  were  permi'.ied  to  retain  their  loriit'ications, 
but  these  were  intrusted  to  alcaydes  in  whom  he 
had  especial  conlidence;  the  greater  part  of  the 
kingdom  w.as  left  defenceless;  the  nobles,  who  had 
been  roused  to  temporary  manhood  duiing  the  re- 
cent stir  of  war,  sunk  back  into  the  inglorious  state 
of  inaction  which  had  disgraced  them  during  the 
reign  of  Wiiiz.a,  passing  their  time  in  feasting  and 
tl.mcing  to  the  sound  of  Itxvse  and  wanton  min- 
strelsy.' It  w.is  scarcely  possible  to  recognize  in  these 
idle  wassailers  and  soft  voUiptuaries  the  descendants 
of  the  stern  and  frugal  w  irriors  of  the  frozen  north  ; 
who  had  braved  flood  and  mountain,  and  heat  and 
cold,  and  h.id  b.itiled  their  way  to  empire  across 
half  a  world  in  arms. 

They  surrounded  their  youthful  monarch,  it  is 
true,  with  a  bl.i/e  of  militiiry  pomp.  Nothing  could 
surpass  the  splendour  of  their  arms,  which  were  em- 
bossed and  en.imelled,  and  enriched  with  gold  and 
jewels  and  ci' nous  devices;  nothing  could  be  nore 
gallant  ami  glorious  than  their  array;  it  w.as  ad 
plume  and  banner  and  silken  pageantry,  the  gorgeous 
trappings  for  tilt  and  tourney  and  counly  revel ;  but 
the  iron  v>ul  of  war  was  wanting. 

Hi'W  '^ire  it  is  to  learn  wisdom  from  the  rniEfor- 
tuncs  ot  oihers.  With  the  fate  of  Witiia  full  before 
his  eyes,  Don  Roderick  indulged  in  the  same  per- 
nicious errors,  and  w.as  doomed,  in  like  manner,  to 
prepare  the  way  for  his  own  perdition. 

*  Man^uia.  Hilt.  Eky.  L6.  c.  ii.  - 


298 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


•r,-* 


m 


■r-- 


CHAPTER  III. 

OF  THK  LOVES  OF  RODRRICK  AND  THE   PRINCESS 
ELYATA. 

As  yet  the  heart  of  Roderick,  occupied  by  the 
struggles  of  his  early  lite,  by  warlike  enterprises  and 
by  the  inquietudes  of  newly-gotten  power,  had  been 
inaensiblr  to  the  chaniis  of  women  ;  but  in  the  pres- 
ent voluptuous  calm,  the  amorous  propensities  of 
>)is  nature  assi^med  their  sway.  There  are  divers 
accounts  of  the  youthful  beauty  who  first  found 
favour  in  his  eyes,  and  was  elevated  by  him  to  the 
throne.  We  follow  in  our  legend  the  details  of  an 
Arabian  Chronicler,*  authenticated  by  a  Spanish 
poet.t  Let  those  who  dispute  our  facts,  produce 
better  authority  for  their  contradiction. 

Among  the  few  fortified  places  that  had  not  been 
dismantled  by  Don  Roderick,  was  the  ancient  city 
of  Denia,  situated  on  the  Mediterranean  coast,  and 
defended  on  a  rock-built  castle  that  overlooked  the 
sea. 

The  Afcayde  of  the  castle,  with  many  of  the  people 
of  Denia,  was  one  day  on  his  knees  in  the  chapel. 
Imploring  the  Virgin  to  allay  a  tempest  which  was 
strewing  the  coast  with  wrecks,  when  a  sentinel 
brought  word  that  a  Moorish  cruiser  was  st.inding 
for  the  land.  The  Alcayde  gave  orders  to  ring  the 
alarm  bells,  light  signal  fires  on  the  hill  tops,  and 
rouse  the  country,  for  the  coast  was  subject  to  cruel 
.maraudings  from  the  Barbary  cruisers. 

In  a  little  while  the  horsemen  of  the  neighbour- 
hood were  seen  pricking  along  the  beach,  armed 
with  such  weapons  as  they  could  find,  and  the  Al- 
cavde  and  his  scanty  garrison  descended  from  the 
hill.  In  the  mean  time  the  Moorish  bark  came  roll- 
ing and  pitching  towards  the  land.  As  it  drew  near, 
the  rich  carving  and  gilding  with  which  it  was  dec- 
oraied,  its  silken  bandaroles  and  banks  of  crimson 
oars,  showed  it  to  be  no  warlike  vessel,  but  a  sum|>- 
tuous  galiot  destined  for  state  and  ceremony.  It 
b<jrc  the  marks  of  the  tempest ;  the  masts  were 
bioken,  the  oars  shattered,  and  fragments  of  snowy 
sails  and  silken  awnings  were  fluttering  in  the  blast. 

As  the  galiot  grounded  upon  the  sand,  the  im- 
piitient  rabble  rushed  into  the  surf  to  capture  ami 
make  spoil ;  but  were  awed  into  admiration  and 
lespect  by  the  appearance  of  the  illustrious  company 
on  board.  There  were  .Moors  of  both  sexes  sump- 
tuously arrayed,  and  adorned  with  precious  jewels, 
bearing  the  demeanour  of  persons  of  lofty  rank. 
Among  them  shone  conspicuous  a  youthful  beauty, 
magnificently  attired,  to  whom  all  seemed  to  pay 
reverence. 

Several  of  the  Moors  surrounded  her  with  drawn 
swords,  threatening  death  to  any  that  apiiroached ; 
others  sprang  from  the  bark,  and  throwing  them- 
selves on  their  knees  before  the  Alcayde,  iini)lored 
hin>,  by  his  roval  honour  and  courtesy  as  a  knight,  to 
protect  a  royal  virgin  from  injury  and  insult. 

"You  behold  before  you,"  said  they,  "the  only 
daughter  of  the  king  of  Algiers,  the  betrothed  bride 
af  the  son  of  the  king  of  Tunis.  We  were  conduct- 
ing her  tc  the  court  of  her  expecting  bridegroom, 
wiien  a  ten|x;st  drove  us  from  our  course,  and  com- 
{>cUc<;  Ls  to  take  refuge  on  your  coast.  Be  not  more 
cruel  than  the  tempest,  but  deal  nobly  with  that 
which  even  sea  and  storm  have  spared." 

The  Alcayde  listened  to  their  prayers.     He  con- 
ducted the  princess  and  her  train  to  the  castle,  where 
every  honour  due  to  her  rank  was  paid  her.    Some  j 
of  her  ancient  attendants  interceded  for  her  hbera 


*  Padida  ite  EspaAa  por  Abulcacim  Tarif  AbcnUnc  .«,  lib.  i, 
f  Low  it  >  •■■. 


tion,  promisirg  countless  sums  to  be  paid  by  ha 
father  for  her  ransom ;  but  the  Alcayde  turned  t 
deaf  ear  to  all  their  golden  offers.  "  She  is  a  roys^ 
c.iptive,"  said  he;  "it  belongs  to  my  sovereign  alone 
to  dispose  of  her."  After  she  had  reposed,  therefore, 
for  some  days  at  the  castle,  and  recovered  from  the 
fatigue  and  terror  of  the  seas,  he  caused  her  to  b^ 
conducted,  with  all  her  train,  in  magnificent  state  to 
the  court  of  Don  Roderick. 

The  beautiful  Elyata*  entered  Toledo  more  like  ? 
triumph.int  sovereign  than  a  captive.  A  chostn 
band  of  christian  horsemen,  splendidly  armed,  ap- 
peared to  wait  upon  her  as  a  mere  guard  of  honour. 
She  was  surrounded  by  the  Moorish  damsels  of  her 
train,  and  followed  by  her  own  Moslem  guards,  all 
attired  with  the  magnificence  that  had  been  iiUiinled 
to  grace  her  arrival  at  the  court  of  Tunis.  1  he 
princess  was  arrayed  in  bridal  robes,  woven  in  the 
most  costly  looms  of  the  orient ;  her  diadem  sp.Tiklcd 
with  diamonds,  and  was  decorated  with  the  r.irtst 
plumes  of  the  bird  of  par.idise,  and  even  the  silken 
trajipings  of  her  palfry,  which  swept  the  gioiisui, 
were  covered  with  pearls  and  precious  stones.  As 
this  brilliant  cavalcade  crossed  the  bridge  of  the 
Tagiis,  all  Toledo  poured  Ibrth  to  behold  it,  and 
nothing  was  heard  throuf^hout  the  city  but  praises  ol 
the  wonderful  beauty  of  the  princess  of  Algiers, 
King  Roderick  came  forth,  attended  by  tlie  chivalry 
of  his  court,  to  receive  the  royal  captive.  His  re- 
cent voluptuous  life  had  disposed  him  for  tender  and 
.amorous  aflections,  and  at  the  first  sight  of  the  beau- 
tiful Elyata  he  was  enra|)tured  with  her  charms. 
Seeing  her  face  clouded  with  sorrow  and  anxiety,  he 
soothed  her  with  gentle  and  courteous  words,  and 
conducting  her  to  a  royal  pidace,  "  behold,"  saui  he, 
"thy  habitation,  where  no  one  shall  molest  ibee; 
consider  thyself  at  home  in  the  mansion  of  ihjr 
father  and  dispose  of  any  thing  according  to  thj 
will." 

Here  the  princess  passed  her  time,  with  the  fen.ale 
attendants  who  had  accompanied  her  from  Algiers; 
and  no  one  but  the  king  was  permitted  to  visit  ner, 
who  daily  Ijecame  more  and  more  enamoured  ol  his 
lovely  captive,  and  sought  by  tender  assiduity  to  gain 
her  affections.  The  distress  of  the  princess  at  her 
captivity  was  soothed  by  this  gentle  treatment.  .She 
was  of  an  age  when  sorrow  cannot  long  hold  sway 
over  the  heart.  Accompanied  by  her  youthful  at- 
tendants, she  ranged  the  spacious  apartments  of  the 
jwlace,  and  S[X)rted  among  the  groves  and  alleys  of 
its  garden.  Every  day  the  remembrance  of  the 
paternal  home  grew  less  and  less  painful,  ami  the 
king  became  more  and  more  amiable  in  her  eyes,  and 
when,  at  length,  he  oflered  to  share  his  heart  and 
throne  with  her,  she  listened  with  downcast  looks 
and  kindling  blushes,  but  with  an  air  of  resignation. 

One  obstacle  remained  to  the  complete  fruition  ol 
the  monarch's  wishes,  and  this  was  the  religion  ol 
the  princess.  Roderick  forthwith  employed  the  arch- 
bishop of  Toledo  to  instruct  the  beautiful  Elyata  in 
tile  mysteries  of  the  christian  faith.  The  female  in- 
tellect is  quick  in  perceiving  the  merits  of  new  doo- 
triiies;  the  archbishop,  therefore,  soon  succeedeil  in 
converting,  not  merely  the  princess,  but  most  of  l.cr 
attendants,  and  a  day  was  appointed  for  their  public 
baptism.  The  ceremony  was  performed  with  gica 
pomp  and  solemnity,  in  the  presence  of  all  the  nobil- 
ity and  chivalry  of  the  court.  The  princess  and  hti 
damsels,  clad  in  white,  walked  on  foot  to  the  cathe- 
dral, while  numerous  beautiful  children,  arrayed  ai 
angels,  strewed  their  path  with  flowers ;  and  the 
archbfshop  meeting  them  at  th«  portal,  receive tl  them, 
as  it  were,  into  the  bosom  of  the  church.   The  prrn* 

•  By  UBo  ihe  ii  calltd  Zaim. 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  SPAIN. 


t99 


cess  abandoned  her  Moorish  appellation  of  Elyata, 
and  was  baptized  by  the  name  o(  Exilona,  by  which 
ihe  was  thenceforth  called,  and  has  generally  been 
known  in  history. 

The  nuptials  of  Roderick  and  the  beautiful  con- 
vert took  place  shortly  afterwards,  and  were  cele- 
brated with  great  magnificence.  There  were  jousts, 
vid  tourne>s,  and  banquets,  and  other  rejoicings, 
which  lasted  twenty  days,  and  were  attended  by  the 
principal  nobles  from  all  parts  of  Spain.  After 
these  were  over,  such  of  the  attendants  of  the  prin- 
ts as  refused  to  embrace  Christianity  and  desired 
to  return  to  Africa,  were  dismissed  with  munificent 
presents ;  and  an  embassy  was  sent  to  the  king  of 
Algiers,  to  inform  him  of  the  nuptials  of  his  daughter, 
and  to  proffer  him  the  friendship  of  King  Roderick.'*' 


CHAPTER  IV. 
OF  COtTNT  JULIAN. 

Fo!<  a  time  Don  Roderick  lived  happily  with 
his  young  and  beautiful  queen,  and  Toledo  was 
the  seat  of  festivity  and  splendour.  The  principal 
nobles  throughout  the  kingdom  repaired  to  his  court 
to  pay  him  homage,  and  to  receive  his  commands  ; 
ana  none  were  more  devoted  in  their  reverence  than 
those  who  were  obnoxious  to  suspicion  from  their 
connexion  with  the  late  king. 

Among  the  foremost  of  these  was  Count  Julian,  a 
nan  destined  to  be  infamously  renowned  iii  the  dark 
jtory  of  his  country's  woes.  He  was  of  one  of  the 
proudest  Gothic  families,  lord  of  Consuegra  and 
Aigi'ziras,  and  connected  by  marriage  with  Witiza 
IK-  tie  Bishop  Oppas ;  his  wife,  the  Countess 
Frar.lina,  being  their  sister.  In  consequence  of  this 
cvtinexion,  and  of  his  own  merits,  he  had  enjoyed 
ihe  highest  dignities  and  commands,  being  one  of 
die  Espatorios,  or  royal  sword-bearers  ;  an  office  of 
the  greatest  confidence  about  the  person  of  the 
sovereign,  t  He  had,  moreover,  been  entrusted  with 
the  military  government  of  the  Spanish  possessions 
on  the  African  coast  of  the  strait,  which  at  that  time 
were  threatened  by  the  Arabs  of  the  East,  the  fol- 
lowers of  Mahomet,  who  were  advancing  their  vic- 
torious standard  to  the  extremity  of  Western  Africa. 
Count  Julian  established  his  seal  of  government  at 
Ceuia,  the  frontier  bulwark  and  one  of  the  far-famed 
g.iti's  of  the  Mediterranean  Sea.  Here  he  boldly 
laced  and  held  m  check,  the  torrent  of  Moslem 
invasion. 

Dun  Julian  was  a  man  of  an  active,  but  irregular 
genius,  and  a  grasping  ambition  ;  he  had  a  love  for 
jx)\ver  and  grandeur,  in  which  he  was  joined  by  his 
nau>;hty  countess ;  and  they  could  ill  brook  the 
downfall  of  their  house  as  threatened  by  the  fate  of 
Witiza.  They  had  hastened,  therefore,  to  pay  their 
court  to  the  newly  elevated  monarch,  and  to  assure 
him  of  their  fidelity  to  his  interests. 

Roderick  was  re.adiiy  persuaded  of  the  sincerity  of 
Count  Julian  ;  he  was  aware  of  his  merits  as  a 
wldier  and  a  governor,  and  continued  him  in  his  im- 

*  "  Como  csta  Infanta  era  muy  hermota,  y  el  Rey  [Don  Rodrifco] 
4apurila  y  dentil  hon.bre,  cntro  por  mcJiu  el  amor  y  aficion,  y 
)(£tu  coo  el  regulo  cun  que  la  avia  mandadu  hospedar  y  aervir  ful 
Miua  que  el  rey  penuadio  etta  Infanu,  que  >i  se  tornava  a  !>u  ley  de 
ctimiiaiio  la  tomaria  por  muger,  y  que  la  hariu  seDora  de  sus  Rcy- 
tos.  Con  esia  persuaiion  ella  fun  cnntenta,  y  aviendose  vuelto 
chrifttiaua,  fte  catu  con  ella,  y  fte  celebrarnn  sus  bodajs  con  muchas 
iesiu  y  regofijoi,  como  era  raton."— Abulcassim,  conq'tt  de 
EiDan,  cap.  3. 

t  tonde*  Espatoiiuj  ;  10  called  from  the  drawn  swords  of  ample 
me  and  breadth,  with  wh'ch  they  kept  |{uard  in  the  ami-chambers 
"f  the  CMjihic  Kinrs.  Comes  Spatltarioruni,  custodum  corporis 
R«is  Profectat.  mine  et  Propospatharium  appellatum  existimo. 
-Pair  Pant,  da  Offic  Goth. 


portant  command :  honouring  him  with  many  othei 
marks  of  implicit  confidence.  Count  Julian  sought 
to  confirm  this  confidence  by  every  proof  of  devotion. 
It  was  a  custom  among  the  Goths  to  rear  mary  of 
the  children  of  the  most  illustrious  families  in  the 
royal  household.  They  served  as  pages  to  the  king, 
and  handmaids  and  ladies  of  honour  to  the  queen, 
and  were  instructed  in  all  manner  of  accomplish 
ments  befitting  their  gentle  blood.  When  about  to 
depart  for  Ceuta,  to  resume  his  command,  Don  Julian 
brought  his  daughter  Florinda  to  present  her  to  the 
sovereigns.  She  was  a  bejiutiful  virgin  that  had  not 
as  yet  attained  to  womanhood.  "  I  confide  her  to 
your  protection,"  said  he  to  the  king,  "  to  be  unto 
her  as  a  father  ;  and  to  have  her  trained  in  the  paths 
of  virtue.  1  can  leave  with  you  no  dearer  pledge  of 
my  lojalty." 

King  Roderick  received  the  timid  and  blushing 
maiden  into  his  paternal  ctre  ;  promising  to  watch 
over  her  happiness  with  a  ptrent  s  eye,  and  that  she 
should  he  enrolled  among  the  most  cherished  at- 
tendants of  the  queen.  With  this  assurance  of  the 
welfare  of  his  child.  Count  Julian  departed,  weB 
pleased,  for  his  government  at  Ceuta. 


CHAPTER  V. 
THE  STORY  OF  FLORINDA. 

The  beautiful  daughter  of  Count  Julian  was  re- 
ceived with  great  favour  by  the  Queen  Exiluna  and 
admitted  among  the  noble  damsels  that  attended 
upon  her  person.  Here  she  lived  in  honour  and  ap- 
parent security,  and  surrounded  by  innocent  d*' 
lights.  To  gratify  his  queen,  Don  Roderick  had 
built  lor  her  rural  recreation  a  palace  without  the  walk 
of  Toledo,  on  the  banks  of  the  Tagus.  It  stood  in 
the  midst  Oi"  a  garden,  adorned  after  the  luxurious 
style  of  the  East.  The  air  was  perfumed  by  fra- 
grant shrubs  and  flowers  ;  the  groves  resounded 
with  I  he  song  of  the  nightingale,  while  the  gush  of 
fountains  and  water-falls,  and  the  distant  murmur 
of  tile  Tagus,  made  it  a  delightful  retreat  during  the 
sultry  days  of  summer.  The  charm  of  perfect  pn- 
vacy  also  reigned  throughout  the  place,  for  the  gar- 
den walls  were  high,  and  numerous  guards  kept 
watch  without  to  protect  it  from  all  intrusion. 

In  this  delicious  abode,  more  befitting  an  oriental 
voluptuary  than  a  Gothic  king,  Don  Roderick  was 
accustomed  to  while  away  much  of  that  time  which 
sliould  have  been  devoted  to  the  toilsome  cares  of 
government.  The  very  security  and  peace  which  he 
had  produced  throughout  his  dominions  by  his  pre- 
cautions to  abolish  the  means  and  habitudes  of  war. 
hail  effected  a  disastrous  change  in  his  character.  The 
hardy  and  heroic  qualities  wnich  had  conducted  hiir 
to  the  throne,  were  softened  in  the  lap  of  indulgence. 
Surrounded  by  the  pleasures  of  an  idle  and  effemi- 
nate court,  and  beguiled  by  the  exarrpl:  of  his  dfr 
generate  nobles,  he  gave  way  to  a  fatal  sensuality 
that  had  lain  dormant  in  his  nature  duri>'<g  the  vii^ 
tuous  days  of  his  .adversity.  The  mere  love  of  feraak 
beauty  had  first  enamoured  him  of  Exilona,  and  the 
same  p.'.ssion,  fostered  by  voluptuous  idleness,  now 
itetraycd  him  into  the  commission  of  an  act  fatal  to 
himself  and  Spain.  The  following  is  the  story  of 
his  error  as  gathered  from  an  old  chronicle  and 
legend. 

In  a  remote  part  of  the  palace  was  an  apartment 
devoted  to  the  ciueen.  It  was  like  atk  eastern  harem, 
shut  up  from  the  foot  of  man,  and  where  the  king 
himself  but  rarely  entertxl.  It  had  its  own  couit* 
and  gardens,  and  fountains,  where  the  queen  w»' 


IHIO 


>\ORKS  OF  WASHINGTON    [RVING. 


:i:i..'. 


;,* 


m 


I) 


I 


V.i!\ 


wont  to  recreate  herself  with  her  damsels,  as  she  had 
been  accustomed  to  do  in  the  jealous  privacy  of  her 
father's  palace. 

One  sultry  day,  the  king,  instead  of  taking  his 
•icsta,  01  mid-day  slumber,  repaired  to  this  a|)art- 
iiient  to  seek  the  society  of  the  queen.  In  passing 
through  a  small  oratory,  he  was  drawn  by  the  sound 
of  female  voices  to  a  casement  overhung  with  myr- 
tles and  jessamines.  It  looked  into  an  interior  gar- 
den or  court,  set  out  with  orange-trees,  in  the  midst 
oi  which  was  a  marble  fountain,  surrounded  by  a 
j^dssy  bank,  enamelled  with  flowers. 

It  was  the  high  noontide  of  a  summer  day,  when, 
in  sultry  Spain,  the  landscape  trembles  to  the  eye, 
and  all  nature  seeks  repose,  except  the  grassiiopper, 
that  pipes  his  lulling  note  to  the  herdsman  as  he 
sleeps  beneath  the  shade. 

Around  the  fountain  were  several  of  the  damsels 
of  the  queen,  who,  confident  of  the  sacred  privacy  of 
the  place,  were  yielding  in  that  cool  retreat  to  the 
indulgence  prompted  by  the  season  and  the  hour. 
Some  lay  asleep  on  the  flowery  bank  ;  others  sat  on 
the  margin  of  the  fountain,  talking  and  laughing,  .is 
they  bathed  their  feel  in  its  liiupul  waters,  .and  Kinj; 
Roderick  beheld  delicate  limbs  shining  through  llie 
wave,  that  might  rival  the  marble  in  whiteness. 

Among  the  damsels  was  one  who  had  come  from 
the  Barbary  coast  with  the  queen.  Her  complexion 
had  the  dark  tinge  of  Mauritanea,  but  it  was  clear 
and  transparent,  and  the  deep  rich  rose  blushed 
through  the  lovely  brown.  Her  eyes  were  black  and 
full  of  fire,  and  flashed  from  under  long  silken  eye- 
lashes. 

A  sportive  contest  arose  among  the  maidens  as  to 
Uie  comparative  beauty  of  the  Spanish  and  Moorish 
forms ;  but  the  Maurit.inian  damsel  revealed  hnibs 
of  voluptuous  symmetry  that  seemed  to  defy  all 
rivalry. 

The  Spanish  beauties  were  on  the  point  of  giving  up 
the  contest,  when  they  bethought  themselves  of  the 
voung  Florinda,  the  daughter  of  Count  Julian,  who 
uy  on  the  grassy  bank,  at>andoned  to  a  summer 
slumber.  The  soft  glow  of  youth  and  health  mantled 
on  her  cheek ;  her  fringed  eyelashes  scarcely  covered 
their  sleeping  orbs;  her  moist  and  ruby  tips  were 
lightly  parted,  just  revealing  a  gleam  of  her  ivory 
teeth,  while  her  innocent  bosom  rose  and  fell  be- 
neath her  boddice,  I'ke  the  gentle  swelling  and  sink- 
ing of  a  tranquil  sea.  There  w.is  a  breathing  ten- 
derness and  beauty  in  the  sleeping  virgin,  that  seemed 
to  send  forth  sweetness  like  the  flowers  around  her. 

"  Behold,"  cried  her  companions  exultingly,  "  the 
champion  of  Spanish  beauty  !  " 

In  their  playful  eagerness  they  h.ilf  disrolied  the  in- 
nocent Florinda  before  she  was  aware.  She  awoke 
in  time,  however,  to  escape  from  their  busy  hands  ; 
but  enough  of  her  chat.rs  had  lieen  revealed  to  con- 
vince the  monarch  thai  ihty  were  not  to  be  rivalled 
by  the  rarest  |i-:;auties  of  Mauritanea. 

From  this  day  the  heart  of  ko<U-tick  was  inflamed 
with  a  fatal  passion.  He  gazed  on  the  beautit'ul 
Florinda  with  fervid  dcaire.  and  sought  to  re.id  in  her 
k>oks  whether  there  was  levity  or  wantonness  in  h<^r 
bosom ;  but  the  eye  of  the  damsel  ever  sunk  beneath 
bis  gaze,  and  remained  bent  on  the  earth  in  virgin 
tnodesty. 

Ic  was  in  vain  he  called  to  mind  the  sacred  trust 
reposed  in  him  by  Count  Julian,  an^  the  promise  he 
had  given  to  watch  over  his  daughter  with  paternal 
care;  his  heart  was  vitiated  by  sensual  indulgence, 
and  the  consciousness  of  power  had  rendi;red  him 
•dfish  in  his  gratifications. 

Being  one  evening  in  the  gaiden  where  the  queen 
V  as  diverting  herself  with  her  damsels,  and  coming 
(o  the  fountain  where  he  hi(\  beheld  the  innocent 


maidens  at  their  sport,  he  could  no  longer  restrali 
the  passion  that  raged  within  his  breast.  Scatii.j 
himself  beside  the  fountain,  ne  called  Florind.-i  ti 
him  to  draw  forth  a  thorn  which  hud  piercLcl  hij 
hand.  The  maiden  knelt  at  his  feet,  to  examine  his 
hand,  and  the  touch  of  her  slender  fingers  tlinllftd 
through  his  veins.  As  she  knelt,  too,  her  an, her 
locks  fell  in  rich  ringlets  about  her  beautiful  head,  \\t\ 
innocent  bosom  palpitated  beneath  the  crimson  hoc- 
dice,  and  her  timid  blushes  increased  the  ettuigcnci', 
of  her  charms. 

Having  examined  ^he  monarch's  hand  in  vain,  sh» 
looked  up  in  his  fac<   vith  artless  perplexity. 

"  Senior,"  said  she,  "  I  can  '»nd  no  thorn,  nor  anv 
sign  of  wound." 

Don  Roderick  grasped  her  hand  and  pressed  it  to 
his  heart.  "  It  is  here,  lovHy  Florinda !  "  s;ud  he. 
"  It  is  here  !  and  thou  alone  canst  pluck  it  forih  !  " 

*'  My  lord  !  "  exclaimed  the  blushing  and  astonished 
maiden, 

••  Florinda  ! "  s.aid  Don  Roderick,  "  dost  thou  love 
me  ?" 

'  "  Senior,"  said  she,  "  my  father  taught  ne  to  love 
and  reverence  you.  He  confided  me  to  your  care  .is 
one  who  would  be  as  a  p.arent  to  me,  when  lie  shoulii 
be  far  distant,  serving  your  majesty  with  life  and 
loyalty.  May  God  incline  your  majesty  ever  to  pro- 
tect me  as  a  father."  So  saying,  the  maiden  dropped 
her  eyes  to  the  ground,  and  continued  kneeling :  but 
her  countenance  had  become  deadly  pale,  and  as  she 
knelt  she  trembled. 

"Florinda,"  said  the  king,  "either  thou  dost  not, 
or  thou  wilt  not  understand  me.  1  would  have  thee 
love  me,  not  as  a  father,  nor  as  a  monarch,  but  aj 
one  who  adores  thee.  Why  dost  thou  stait?  No 
one  sti.dl  know  our  loves ;  and,  moreover,  the  love 
of  a  mon  j.rch  inflicts  no  degradation  like  the  love  of 
a  common  man — riches  and  honours  attend  upon  it. 
1  will  .idvance  thee  to  rank  and  dignity,  and  plact 
thee  above  the  proudest  females  of  my  c?urt,  Th) 
father,  too,  shall  be  more  exalted  and  endowed  ih.iii 
any  noble  in  my  realm." 

The  soft  eye  of  Florinda  kindled  at  these  words. 
"  Senior,"  said  she,  "  the  line  I  spring  from  can  re- 
ceive no  dignity  by  means  so  vile ;  and  my  tatliei 
would  rather  die  than  purchase  rank  and  power  by 
the  dishonour  of  his  child.  But  1  see,"  coiitimied 
she,  "  that  your  majesty  sjieaks  in  this  manner  unl) 
to  try  me.  You  may  have  thought  me  li;,'ht  and 
simple,  and  unworthy  to  attend  upon  the  queen.  1 
pray  your  majesty  to  pardon  me,  that  I  have  taken 
your  pleasantry  in  such  serious  part." 

In  this  way  the  agitated  maiden  sought  to  evade 
the  ad<lresses  of  the  monarch,  but  still  her  cheek  w.iS 
blanched,  and  her  lip  quivered  as  she  s|)ake. 

The  king  pressed  her  hand  to  his  lips  v/ith  lervour. 
"  May  ruin  seize  me,"  cried  he,  "  if  I  sneak  to  prove 
Uiee.  My  heart,  my  kingdom,  are  at  thy  coiniiiand. 
Only  be  mine,  and  thou  shalt  rule  absolute  ir.isuess 
of  myself  and  my  domains." 

The  damsel  rose  from  the  earth  where  she  had 
hitherto  knelt,  and  her  whole  counten.tncc  glowed 
with  virti.ous  indignation.  "  My  lord,"  said  she,  "1 
am  your  subject,  and  in  your  power ;  take  my  life  ii 
it  be  your  pleasure,  but  nothing  shall  tempt  me  to 
commit  a  crime  which  would  be  treason  to  the  (|ueen, 
disgrace  to  my  father,  agony  to  my  moth*  r,  r.nd  p'.r- 
dition  to  myself,"  With  these  words  sh?  left  thr 
garden,  and  the  king,  for  the  moment,  was  too  much 
awed  by  her  indignant  virtue  to  oppose  her  departure 
We  shall  pass  briefly  over  the  succeeding  events 
of  the  story  of  Florinda,  about  which  so  much  has 
b»'en  said  and  sung  by  chronicler  and  bard :  foi  ti-.c 
sober  page  of  history  should  be  carefully  ch.isl>-ned 
from  lU  scenes  that  might  inflame  a  wanton  \ih  igi 


j.EGENDS  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  SPAIN. 


801 


'  (lost  thou  love 


ty  with  life  an<i 


nation  leaving  them  to  poRms  and  romances,  and 
such  like  highly  seasoned  works  of  fantasy  and  rec- 
reation. 

Let  it  suffice  to  say,  that  Don  Roderick  pursued 
his  suit  to  the  beautiful  Florinda,  his  passion  being 
more  and  more  inflamed  by  the  resistance  of  the 
virtuous  damsel.  At  length,  forgetting  what  was 
due  to  helpless  beauty,  to  his  own  honour  as  a  knight, 
and  his  word  as  a  sovereign,  he  triumphed  over  tier 
iFfikness  by  base  and  unmanly  violence. 

There  are  not  wanting  those  who  affirm  that  the 
hapless  Florinda  lent  a  yielding  ear  to  the  solicita- 
tions of  the  monarch,  and  iier  name  has  been  treated 
with  opprobrium  in  several  of  the  ancient  chronicles 
and  legendary  ballads  that  have  transmitted,  from 
generation  to  generation,  the  story  of  the  woes  of 
Spain.  In  very  truth,  however,  she  appears  to  have 
been  a  guiltless  victim,  resisting,  as  far  as  helpless 
female  could  resist,  the  arts  and  intrigues  of  a  power- 
ful monarch,  who  had  nought  to  check  the  indulgence 
of  his  will,  and  bewailing  her  disgrace  with  a  poig- 
nancy that  shows  how  dearly  she  had  prized  her 
honour. 

In  the  first  paroxysm  of  her  grief  she  wrote  a  letter 
10  her  father,  blotted  with  her  tears  and  almost  in- 
coherent from  her  agitation.  "  Would  to  God,  my 
father,"  said  she,  "that  the  earth  had  opened  'and 
swallowed  me  ere  I  had  been  reduced  to  write  these 
lines.  I  blush  to  tell  thee,  what  it  is  not  proper  to 
conceal.  Alas,  my  father !  thou  hast  entrusted  thy 
lamb  to  the  guardianship  of  the  lion.  Thy  daughter 
has  been  dishonoured,  the  royal  cradle  of  the  (joths 
polluted,  and  our  lineage  insulted  and  disgraced. 
Hasten,  my  father,  to  rescue  your  child  from  tht- 
power  of  the  spoiler,  and  to  vindicate  the  honour  of 
pur  house." 

When  Florinda  had  written  these  lines,  she  sum- 
taoned  a  yc;  thful  esquire,  who  had  been  a  page  in 


!he  servicf 
iihe,  "and  it 
hope  for  • . 
lord,  or  dev 
my  errand. 


fr  father.  "  Saddle  thy  steed,"  said 
o.  ist  aspire  to  knightly  honour,  or 
^  je ;  if  thou  h.ist  fealty  for  thy 
his  daughter,  spt.ed  swiftly  upon 
ixest  not,  halt  not,  snare  not  the  spur, 
but  hie  thee  day  and  night  until  thou  reach  the  sea ; 
take  the  first  bark,  and  haste  with  sail  and  oar  to 
Ceut.a,  nor  pause  until  thou  give  this  letter  to  the 
count  my  father."  The  youth  put  the  letter  in  his 
bosom.  "Trust  me,  lady,"  said  he,  "  I  will  neither 
halt,  nor  turn  aside,  nor  cast  a  look  behind,  until  I 
reach  Count  Julian."  He  mounted  his  Heet  steed, 
sped  his  way  across  the  bridge,  and  soon  left  behind 
turn  the  verdant  valley  of  the  Tagus. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


DON    RODERICK    RECEIVES    AN    EXTRAORDINARY 
EMBASSY. 

The  heart  of  Don  Roderick  was  not  so  depraved 
by  sensuality,  but  that  the  wrong  he  had  been  guilty 
ef  toward  the  innocent  Florin<la,  and  the  disgrace  he 
had  inflicted  on  her  house,  weighed  heavy  on  his 
tpirits,  and  a  cloud  began  to  gather  on  his  once  clear 
liCRd  un wrinkled  brow. 

Heaven,  at  this  time,  say  the  old  Spanish  chroni- 
'.iti,  pennitted  a  m.arvellous  intimation  of  the  wiaih 
with  which  it  intended  to  visit  the  monarch  antl 
fcis  people,  in  punishment  of  their  sins ;  nor  are  we, 
jay  the  same  orthodox  writers,  to  startle  and  with- 
hold our  faith  when  we  meet  in  the  page  of  discreet 
and  sober  history  with  these  signs  and  portents, 
which  transcend  the  probabilities  of  ordinary  life; 
for  the  revolutions  of  empires  and  the  downfiUI  of 


mighty  kings  are  awful  events,  tliat  shake  the  physt 
cal  as  well  as  the  moral  world,  and  are  often  an* 
nounced  by  forerunning  marvels  and  prodigioui 
omens. 

With  such  like  cautious  preliminaries  do  the  war^ 
but  credulous  historiographers  of  yore  usher  in  a 
marvellous  erent  of  prophecy  and  enchantment, 
linked  in  ancient  story  with  the  fortunes  of  Don  Rot! 
erick,  but  which  modem  doubters  would  fain  hold 
up  as  an  apocryphal  tradition  of  Arabian  origin. 

Now,  so  it  happened,  according  to  the  legend,  that 
about  this  time,  as  King  Roderick  was  seated  one 
day  on  his  throne,  surrounded  by  his  nobles,  in  the 
ancient  city  of  Toledo,  two  .nen  of  venerable  appear- 
ance entered  the  hall  of  audience.  Their  snowy 
beards  descended  to  their  breasts,  and  their  gray 
hairs  were  bound  with  ivy.  They  were  arrayed  in 
white  garments  of  foreign  or  antiquated  fashion, 
which  swept  the  ground,  and  were  cinctured  v/itb 
girdles,  wrought  with  the  signs  of  the  zodiac,  from 
which  were  suspended  enormous  bunches  of  keys  of 
every  variety  of  form.  Having  approached  the 
throne  and  made  obeisance  :  "  Know,  O  king,"  said 
one  of  the  old  men,  "  that  in  days  of  yore,  when 
Hercules  of  Lybia,  sumamed  the  strong,  had  set  up 
his  pillars  at  the  ocean  strait,  he  erected  a  tower  near 
to  this  ancient  city  of  Toledo.  He  built  it  of  prodi- 
gious strength,  and  finished  it  with  magic  art,  shut- 
ting up  within  it  a  fearful  secret,  never  to  be  pene- 
trated without  peril  and  disaster.  To  protect  this 
terrible  mystery  he  closed  the  entrance  to  the  edifice 
with  a  ponderous  door  of  iron,  secured  by  a  great 
lock  of  steel,  and  he  left  a  command  that  evety  king 
who  should  succeed  him  i-hould  add  i  nother  lock  to 
the  portal ;  denouncing  woe  and  destruction  on  him 
who  should  eventually  unfold  the  secret  of  the  tower. 

"  The  f.^uardianship  of  the  portal  was  given  to  our 
ancestors,  and  has  continued  in  our  family,  from  gen- 
eration to  generation,  since  the  days  of  Hercules. 
Several  kings,  from  time  to  time,  have  caused  the 
gate  to  be  thrown  open,  and  have  attempted  to  enter, 
but  have  paid  dearly  for  their  temerity.  Some  have 
perished  within  the  threshold,  others  have  been  over- 
whelmed with  horror  at  tremendous  sounds,  which 
shook  the  foundations  of  the  earth,  and  have  hast- 
ened to  reclose  the  door  and  secure  it  with  its  thou- 
sand locks.  Thus,  since  the  days  of  Hercules,  the 
inmost  recesses  of  the  pile  have  never  been  pene- 
trated by  mortal  man,  and  a  protbund  mystery  con- 
tinues to  prevail  over  this  great  enchantment.  This, 
O  king,  is  all  we  have  to  relate  ;  and  our  errand  is  to 
entreat  thee  to  repair  to  the  tower  and  affix  thy  lock 
to  the  port.'il,  as  has  been  done  by  all  thy  predeces- 
sors." Having  thus  said,  the  ancient  men  made  a 
profound  reverence  and  departed  from  the  presence 
chamber.* 

Don  Roderick  remained  for  some  time  lost  in 
thought  after  the  departure  of  the  men  ;  he  then  dis- 
missed all  his  court  excepting  the  venerable  Urbino, 
at  that  time  archbishop  of  Toledo.  The  long  white 
beard  of  this  prelate  bespoke  his  advanced  age,  and 
his  overhanging  eyebrows  showed  him  a  man  full  of 
wary  counsel. 

"  Father,"  said  the  king,  "  I  have  an  catnest  desire 
to  penetrate  the  mystery  of  this  tower."  The  wor- 
thy prelate  shook  his  hoary  head,  "  Beware,  my  son," 
s.iid  he,  "  there  are  secrets  hidcjen  from  man  for  hia 
good.  Your  predecessors  for  many  generations  have 
respected  this  mystery,  and  have  increased  in  might 
and  empire.  A  knowledge  of  it,  therefore,  is  not 
material  to  the  welfare  of  your  kingdom.    Seek  not 


*  Perdida  de  Espofla  por  Abulcaum  Tarif  Abcntuiqut,  1.  i,  c.  6 
Crooica  del  Key  Don  Rodrigo  por  el  miro  Ratii,  i.  i .  c.  i.  Biada 
croD.  cap.  vii. 


dQ2 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


m, 


I'r 


}  '■-;• 


-^.X 


ill'-'-  'I- ■ 

m 


i 


then  to  indulge  a  rash  and  unprofitable  curiosity, 
which  is  interdicted  under  such  awful  menaces." 

"Of  what  importance,"  cried  the  i<ing,  "are  the 
menaces  of  Hercules,  tlie  Lybian  ?  was  he  not  a  pa- 
gan ;  and  can  his  enchantments  have  ought  avail 
against  a  jjeiiever  in  our  holy  faith?  Doubtless  in 
this  tower  are  locked  up  treasures  of  gold  and  jew- 
els, amassed  in  days  of  old,  the  spoils  of  mighty 
kings,  the  ri:hes  of  the  pagan  world.  My  coffers 
are  exhausted ;  1  have  need  of  supply;  and  surely  it 
would  be  an  acceptable  act  in  the  eyes  of  heaven,  to 
draw  forth  tnis  wealth  which  lies  buried  under  pro- 
fane and  necromantic  spells,  and  consecrate  it  to 
religious  purposes." 

The  venerable  archbishop  still  continued  to  re- 
monstrate, but  Uon  Roderick  heeded  not  his  counsel, 
for  he  was  led  on  by  his  malignant  star.  "  Father," 
said  he,  "  it  is  in  vain  you  attempt  to  dissuade  me. 
My  resolution  is  fixed.  To-morrow  1  will  explore 
the  hidden  mysiery,  or  rather  the  hidden  treasures 
of  this  tower." 


CHAPTER  VII. 


STORY  OF  THE   V 


RVEI.LOUS 
TOWER. 


AND    PORTENTOUS 


The  morning  sun  shone  brightly  upon  the  cliff- 
built  towers  of  Toledo,  when  King  Roderick  issued 
out  of  the  gate  of  the  city  at  the  head  of  a  numerous 
train  of  courtiers  and  cavaliers,  and  crossed  the 
bridge  that  bestrides  the  deep  rocky  bed  of  the 
Tagus.  The  shining  cavalcade  wound  up  the  road 
that  le.ids  among  the  mountains,  and  soon  came  in 
sight  of  the  necromantic  tower. 

Of  this  renowned  edifice  marvels  are  related  by 
the  ancient  Arabian  and  Spanish  chroniclers,  "  and 
I  doubt  much,"  adds  the  venerable  Agapida,  "  wheth- 
er many  readers  will  not  consider  the  whole  as  a 
cunningly  devised  fable,  sprung  from  an  oriental 
imagination ;  but  it  is  not  for  me  to  reject  a  fact 
which  is  recorded  by  all  those  wri'ers  who  are  the 
fathers  of  our  nation.al  history;  a  fact,  too,  which  is 
as  well  attested  as  most  of  the  remarkable  events  in 
the  story  of  Don  Roderick.  None  but  light  and  in- 
considerate minds,"  continues  the  good  friar,  "do 
hastily  reject  the  marvellous.  To  the  thinking  mind 
the  whole  world  is  enveloped  in  mystery,  and  every 
thing  is  full  of  tyi)C  and  portent.  To  such  a  mind 
the  necromantic  tower  of  Toledo  will  appear  as  one 
of  those  wondrous  monuments  of  the  olden  time ; 
one  of  those  Egyptian  and  Chaldaic  piles,  storied 
with  hidden  wisdom  and  mystic  prophecy,  which 
have  been  devised  in  past  ages,  when  man  yet  en- 
joyed an  intercourse  with  high  and  spiritual  natures, 
and  v/hen  human  foresight  partook  of  divination." 

This  singular  tower  was  round  and  of  great  height 
and  grandeur,  erected  upon  a  lofty  rock,  and  sur- 
rounded by  crags  and  precipices.  The  foundation 
was  supported  by  four  brazen  lions,  each  taller  than 
a  cavalier  on  horseback.  The  walls  were  built  of 
mail  pieces  of  j.asper  and  various  coloured  marbles, 
act  larger  than  a  man's  hand ;  so  subtilely  joined, 
however,  that,  bu  for  their  different  hues,  they  might 
be  taken  for  one,  entire  stone.  They  were  arranged 
with  marvellous  cunning  so  as  to  represent  battles 
and  warlike  deeds  of  times  and  heroes  long  since 
passed  away,  and  the  whole  surface  was  so  admirably 
polished  that  the  stones  were  as  lustrous  as  glas$, 
and  reflected  the  rays  of  the  sun  with  such  resplen- 
dent brightness  as  to  dazzle  all  l>eholders.* 

*  From  the  minute  account  of  the  (ood  friar,  drawn  from  the 
incient  chroniclei,  it  would  apptar  that  (he  wallt  of  the  towaf 
were  piriiired  in  mouic  work. 


King  Roderick  and  his  courtiers  arrived  wonder, 
ing  and  amazed  at  the  foot  of  the  rock.  Here  then 
was  a  narrow  arched  way  cut  through  the  living 
stone:  the  only  entrance  to  the  tower.  It  was 
closed  by  a  massive  iron  gate  covered  with  ruatj 
locks  of  divers  workmanship  and  in  the  fashion  :i 
different  centuries,  which  had  been  affixed  by  tin 
predecessors  of  Don  Roderick.  On  either  siile  of 
the  portal  stood  the  two  ancient  gtiardians  'jf  the 
tower,  laden  with  the  keys  appertaining  to  the  I>:ks. 

The  king  alighted,  and  appro<aching  the  iwrtaJs, 
ordered  the  guardians  to  unlock  the  gate.  The 
hoary-headed  men  drew  back  with  terror.  "  Alas ! " 
cried  they,  "what  is  it  your  majesty  requires  of 
us.  Would  you  h.ive  the  mischiefs  of  this  tower 
unbound,  and  let  loose  to  shake  the  earth  tu  its 
found.'itions?  " 

The  venerable  archbishop  Urbino  likewise  im- 
plored him  not  to  disturb  a  mystery  which  had  been 
held  sacred  from  generation  to  generation  within 
the  -memory  of  man,  and  which  even  Caesar  himself, 
when  sovereign  of  Spain,  had  not  ventured  to  in- 
vade. The  youthful  cavaliers,  however,  were  eager 
to  pursue  the  adventure,  and  encour.aged  him  in  his 
rash  curiosity. 

"  Come  what  come  m.ay,"  exclaimed  Don  Roder 
ick,  "  I  am  resolved  to  penetrate  the  mystery  ot  this 
tower."  So  saying,  he  .again  comm.anded  the  guar- 
dians to  unlock  the  portal.  The  ancient  men  obeyed 
with  fear  and  trembling,  but  their  hands  shook  with 
age,  and  when  they  applied  the  keys  the  locks  were 
so  rusted  by  time,  or  of  such  strange  workmanship, 
that  they  resisted  their  feeble  efU)rts,  whcreu'>.iD 
the  young  cavaliers  pressed  forward  and  lent  th*ir 
aid.  Still  the  locks  were  so  numerous  and  difficult, 
that  with  all  their  eagerness  and  strength  a  great 
part  of  the  day  was  exhausted  before  the  whole  of 
them  could  be  mastered. 

When  the  last  holt  had  yielded  to  the  key,  die 
guardians  and  the  reverend  archbishop  ag.ain  en- 
treated the  king  to  p.ause  and  reflect.  "Whatever 
is  within  this  tower,"  said  they,  "  is  as  yet  harmless 
and  lies  bound  under  a  mighty  spell:  venture  not 
then  to  open  a  door  which  may  let  forth  a  flood  of 
evil  upon  the  land."  But  the  anger  of  the  king  was 
roused,  and  he  ordered  that  the  portal  should  l)e 
instantly  thrown  open.  In  vain,  however,  did  one 
after  another  exert  his  strength,  and  equally  in  vain 
did  the  cavaliers  unite  their  forces,  and  apply  their 
shoulders  to  the  gate  ;  though  there  was  neither  bar 
nor  bolt  remaining,  it  was  perfectly  immovable. 

The  patience  ofthe  king  was  now  exhausted,  and 
he  advanced  to  apply  his  hand ;  scarcely,  however, 
did  he  touch  the  iron  gate,  when  it  swung  slowly 
open,  uttering,  as  it  were,  a  dismal  groan,  as  il 
turned  reluctantly  upon  its  hinges.  A  cold,  damp 
wind  issued  forth,  accompanied  by  a  tempestuous 
sound.  The  hearts  of  the  ancient  guardians  quaked 
within  them,  and  their  knees  smote  together;  but 
several  of  the  youthful  cav.iliers  rushed  in,  eager  to 
gratify  their  curiosity,  or  to  signalize  themselves  in 
this  redoubtable  enterprise.  They  had  scarcely  ad- 
vanced a  few  paces,  however,  when  they  rec.""!!?^, 
overcome  by  the  baleful  air,  or  by  some  {s^'.\\ 
vision.*  Upon  this,  the  king  ordered  that  (mt 
should  be  kindled  to  dispel  the  darkness,  and  to  cor- 
rect the  noxious  and  long  imprisoned  air ;  he  theri 
led  the  way  into  the  interior ;  but,  though  stout  of 
heart,  he  advanced  with  awe  and  hesitation. 

\fter  proceeding  a  short  distance,  he  entered  a 
had,  or  anti-chaml>er,  on  the  opposite  side  of  which 
was  a  door,  and  before  it,  on  a  pedestal,  stood  a  gi- 
gantic figure,  of  the  colour  of  bronze,  and  of  a  te^ 

*  Bleda,  croaica.  sio.  r. 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  SPAIN. 


SU8 


d  Don  Roder 


riDie  aspect  It  held  a  huge  mace,  which  it  whirled 
incessantly,  giving  such  cruel  and  resounding  blows 
apon  the  earth  as  to  prevent  ail  further  entrance. 

The  king  paused  at  sight  of  this  appalling  Figure, 
for  whether  it  were  a  living  being,  or  a  statue  of 
magic  artifice,  he  could  not  tell.  On  its  breast  was 
»  scroll,  whereon  was  inscribed  in  large  letters,  "  I 
do  my  duty."*  After  a  little  while  Roderick  plucked 
tip  heart,  and  addressed  it  with  great  solemnity : 
"Whatever  thou  be,"  said  he,  "know  that  I  come 
«ot  to  violate  this  sanctuary,  but  to  inquire  into  the 
mystery  it  contams;  1  conjure  thee,  therefore,  to  let 
ine  pass  in  safety." 

Upon  this  the  figure  paus.id  with  uplifted  mace, 
and  the  king  and  his  train  passed  unmolested  through 
the  door. 

They  now  entered  a  vast  ch.n.mber,  of  a  rare  and 
luinptuous  architecture,  diflicuit  to  be  described. 
The  walls  were  incrusied  with  the  most  precious 
giws,  so  joined  together  as  to  form  one  smooth  anti 
perfect  surface.  The  lofty  dome  appeared  to  Se  self- 
supported,  and  was  studded  with  gems,  lustrous  as 
the  stars  of  the  firmament.  There  was  neither 
wood,  nor  any  other  common  or  base  material  to 
be  seen  throughout  the  edifice.  There  were  no  win- 
dows or  other  openings  to  admit  the  day,  yet  a  ra- 
diant light  was  spread  throughout  the  place,  which 
seemed  to  shine  from  the  walls,  and  to  render  every 
object  distinctly  visible. 

In  the  centre  of  this  hall  stood  a  table  of  alabas- 
ter of  the  rarest  workmanship,  on  which  was  in- 
scribed in  Greek  characters,  that  Hercules  Alcides, 
the  Thebaii  Greek,  had  founded  this  tower  in  the 
year  of  the  world  three  thousand  and  six.  Upon 
the  table  stood  a  golden  casket,  richly  set  round 
with  precious  stones,  and  closed  with  a  lock  of 
mother-of-pearl,  and  on  the  lid  were  inscribed  the 
Allowing  words : 

"in  this  coffer  is  contained  the  mystery  of  the' 
tcwer.  Th;  hand  of  none  but  a  king  can  open  it ; 
but  let  him  beware !  for  marvellous  events  will  be 
revealed  to  him,  which  are  to  take  place  before  his 
death." 

King  Roderick  boldly  seized  upon  the  casket. 
The  venerable  archbisliop  laid  his  hand  upon  his 
arm,  and  made  a  last  remonstrance.  "  Korbear,  my 
son!"  said  he,  "desist  while  there  is  yet  time. 
Look  not  into  the  mysterious  decrees  of  Providence. 
God  has  hidden  them  in  mercy  from  our  sight,  and 
it  is  impious  to  rend  the  veil  by  which  they  are  con- 
cealfd." 

"  What  have  I  to  dread  from  a  knowledge  of  the 
future?"  replied  Roderick,  with  an  air  ot  haughty 
presumption.  "  If  good  be  destined  me,  1  shall 
enjoy  it  by  anticipation  :  if  evil,  I  shall  arm  my- 
teif  to  meet  it."  So  saying  he  rpjhiy  broke  the 
ock. 

Within  the  coflTer  he  found  nothing  but  a  linen 
cloth,  folded  between  two  tablets  of  copper.  On 
unfolding  it  he  'icheld  painted  on  it  figures  of  men 
on  horseback,  vvl  ficii-s  demeanour,  clad  in  turbans 
and  robes  of  various  colours,  after  the  fashion  of  the 
Arabs,  wnth  scimitars  hanging  from  their  necks  and 
cross-bows  at  their  saddle  backs,  and  they  carried 
banners  and  pennons  with  divers  devices.  Above 
Ihem  was  inscribed  in  Greek  characters,  "  Rash 
.'aonarch !  behold  the  men  who  are  to  hurl  tjiee 
from  thy  throne,  and  subdue  thy  kingdom  !  " 

At  sight  of  these  things  the  king  was  troubled  in 
spirit,  .ind  dismay  fell  upon  his  attendants.  While 
they  were  yet  regsrding  the  paintings,  it  seemed  as 
if  the  figures  began  to  move,  and  a  faint  sound  of 
warlike  tcmn't  irose  from  the  cloth,  with  the  clash 


•Ida 


of  cymbal  and  bray  of  trumpet,  the  neigh  of  steed 
and  shout  of  army ;  but  all  was  heard  indistinctly 
as  if  afar  ofT,  or  in  a  reverie  or  dream.  The  more 
they  gazed,  the  plainer  became  the  motion,  and  the 
louder  the  noise ;  and  the  linen  cloth  rolled  forth, 
and  amplified,  and  spread  out,  as  it  were,  a  mighty 
banner,  and  filled  the  hall,  and  mingled  with  the  air, 
until  its  texture  was  no  longer  visible,  or  appeared 
as  a  transparent  cloud.  And  the  shadowy  figuref 
became  all  in  motion,  and  the  din  and  uproar  be- 
came fiercer  and  fiercer ;  and  whether  the  whole 
were  an  animated  picture,  or  a  vision,  or  an  array 
of  embodied  spirits,  conjured  up  by  supernatural 
power,  no  one  present  could  tell.  They  beheld  before 
them  a  great  field  of  battle,  where  christians  and 
Moslems  were  engaged  in  deadly  conflict.  They 
heard  the  rush  and  tramp  of  steeds,  the  blast  of 
trump  and  clarion,  the  clash  of  cymbal,  and  the 
stormy  din  of  a  thousand  drums.  There  was  the 
clash  of  swords,  and  maces,  and  battle-axes,  with 
the  whistling  of  arrows  and  the  hurtling  of  darts 
and  lances.  The  christians  quailed  before  the  foe ; 
the  infidels  pressed  upon  them  and  put  them  to  utter 
rout ;  the  standard  of  the  cross  was  cast  down,  the 
banner  of  Spain  was  trodden  under  foot,  the  air  re- 
sounded with  shouts  of  triumph,  with  yells  of  fury, 
and  with  the  groans  of  dying  men.  Amidst  the  fly- 
ing squadrons  King  Roderick  beheld  a  crowned  war- 
rior, whose  back  was  towards  him,  but  whose  ar- 
mour and  device  were  his  own,  and  who  was 
mounted  on  a  white  steed  that  resembled  his  own 
war  horse  Orelia.  In  the  confusion  of  the  flight,  the 
warrior  was  dismounted  and  was  no  longer  to  be 
seen,  and  Orelia  galloped  wildly  through  the  field  of 
battle  without  a  rider. 

Roderick  staid  to  see  no  more,  but  rushed  fron. 
the  fatal  hall,  followed  by  his  terrified  attendant*. 
They  fled  through  the  outer  chamber,  where  the 
gigantic  figure  with  the  whirling  mace  had  disap- 
peared from  his  pedestal,  and  on  issuing  into  the 
open  air,  they  found  the  two  ancient  guardians  of  the 
tower  lying  dead  at  the  portal,  as  though  they  had 
been  crushed  by  some  mighty  blow.  All  nature, 
which  had  been  clear  and  serene,  was  now  in  wild 
uproar.  The  heavens  were  darkened  by  heavy  clouds ; 
loud  bursts  of  thunder  rent  the  air,  and  the  earth 
was  deluged  with  rain  and  rattling  hail. 

The  king  ordered  that  the  iron  portal  should  be 
closed,  but  the  door  was  immovable,  and  the  cava- 
liers were  dismayed  by  the  tremendous  turmoil  and 
the  mingled  shouts  and  groans  that  continued  to 
prevail  within.  The  king  and  his  train  hastened 
back  to  Toledo,  pursued  and  pelted  by  the  tempest 
The  mountains  shook  and  echoed  with  the  thunder, 
trees  were  uprooted  and  blown  down,  and  the  Tagus 
raged  and  roared  and  flowed  above  its  banks.  It 
seemed  to  the  affrighted  courtiers  as  if  the  phantom 
legions  of  the  tower  had  issued  forth  and  mingled 
with  the  stoi  m,  for  amidst  the  claps  of  thunder  and 
the  howling  of  the  wind,  they  fancied  they  heard 
the  sound  of  the  drums  and  trumpets,  the  shouts  of 
armies  and  the  rush  of  steeds.  Thus  beaten  fay 
tempest  and  overwhelmed  with  licrror,  the  king  and 
his  courtiers  arrived  at  Toledo,  clattering  across  tht 
bridge  of  the  Tagus,  and  entering  the  gate  in  head- 
long confusion  as  though  they  had  been  pursued  by 
an  enemy. 

In  the  morning  the  heavens  were  again  serene, 
and  all  nature  w.as  restored  to  tranquillity.  The  king, 
therefore,  issued  forth  with  his  cavaliers,  and  took 
the  road  to  the  tower,  followed  by  a  great  multitude, 
for  he  was  anxious  once  more  to  close  the  iron  door, 
and  shut  up  those  evils  that  threatened  to  overwhelm 
the  land.  But  lo !  on  coming  in  sight  of  the  tower, 
a  new  wonder  met  their  eyes.    An  eagle  appeared 


304 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


-''J 


'<  ■  ! 


K^^^i 


.    ♦  1 

In' 


f 

/  .i. 

i-'*  'I 


high  in  the  air.  seeming  to  descend  from  heaven. ' 
He  bore  in  his  bealc  a  burning  brand,  and  lighting 
on  tiie  summit  of  the  tower,  fanned  the  fire  with  his 
wings.  In  a  little  while  the  edifice  burst  forth  into 
a  blaze  as  thouL^h  it  had  been  built  of  rosin,  and  the 
flames  mounted  into  the  air  with  a  brilliancy  more 
dazzling  than  the  sun  ;  nor  did  they  cease  until  every 
Stone  was  consumed  and  the  whole  was  reduced  to  a 
heap  of  ashes.  Then  there  came  a  vast  fliirht  of 
birds,  small  of  size  and  sable  of  hue,  darkening  the 
«ky  like  a  cloud  ;  and  they  descended  and  wheeled 
in  circles  round  the  ashes,  causing  so  great  a  wind 
with  their  wings  that  the  whole  was  borne  up  into 
the  air,  and  scattered  tiuouufhout  all  Spain,  and 
wherever  a  particle  of  that  .ishes  fell  it  was  as  a 
stain  of  blood.  It  is  furthermore  recorded  by  an- 
cient men  and  writers  of  former  days,  that  all  those 
on  whom  this  dust  fell  were  afterwards  slain  in  battle, 
when  the  country  was  conquered  by  the  Arabs,  and 
that  the  destruction  of  this  necromantic  tower  was 
a  sign  and  token  of  the  approaching  perdition  of 
Spain. 

"  Let  all  those,"  concludes  the  cautious  friar, 
"  who  question  the  verity  of  this  most  marvtllous  oc- 
currence, consult  those  admirable  sources  of  our 
history,  the  chronicle  of  the  Moor,  Kasis,  and  the 
work  entitled,  the  Fall  of  Spain,  written  by  the  Moor, 
Abulcasim  Tarif  Abeiitanque.  Let  them  consult, 
moreover,  the  venerable  historian  Bledi,  and  the 
cloud  of  other  Catholic  Sjjanish  writers,  who  have 
treated  of  this  event,  and  they  will  find  I  have  related 
nothing  that  has  not  been  printed  and  published  un- 
der the  inspection  and  sanction  of  our  holy  mother 
church.  God  alone  knowetli  the  truth  of  these  things  ; 
!  speak  nothing  but  what  has  been  handed  down  to 
tic  from  times  of  old." 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


COUNT  JUMAN— HIS  FORTUNES  IN  AFRICA.— HE 
HEARS  OF  THE  DISHONOUR  OF  HIS  CHILD— HIS 
CONDUCT  THEREUPON. 

The  course  of  our  legendary  narration  now  re- 
turns to  notice  the  fortunes  ot  Count  Julian,  after  his 
departure  from  Toledo,  tu  resume  his  government 
on  the  coast  of  Harbary.  He  left  the  Countess 
Frandina  at  Algeziras,  his  paternal  domain,  for  the 
province  under  his  command  was  threatened  with 
nvasion.  In  fact,  when  he  arrived  at  Ceuta  he 
tound  his  post  in  imminent  danger  from  the  all-con- 
quering Moslems.  The  Arabs  of  the  east,  the  fol- 
lowers of  Mahomet,  having  subjugated  several  of 
the  most  potent  oriental  kingdoms,  had  established 
their  seat  of  empire  at  Damascus,  where,  at  this 
time,  it  was  filled  by  Waled  Almanzor,  sumamed 
"The  Sword  of  God."  From  thence  the  tide  of 
Moslem  conquest  had  rolled  on  to  the  shores  of  the 
Atlantic,  so  that  all  Almagreb,  or  Western  Africa, 
liiad  submitttd  to  the  standard  of  the  prophet,  with 
the  except'on  of  a  portion  of  Tingitania,  lying  along 
ihe  straits ;  being  the  province  held  by  the  Goths  of 
Spain,  and  commanded  by  Count  Julian.  The  Arab 
invaders  were  a  hundred  thousand  strong,  most  of 
them  vtteran  troops,  seasonerl  in  warfare  anrl  accus- 
tomed '.0  victory.  They  were  led  by  an  old  Arab 
Genera.,  Muza  ben  Nosier,  to  whom  was  confided 
the  government  of  Almagreb ;  most  of  which  he  had 
himself  conquered.  The  ambition  of  this  veteran 
was  to  make  the  Moslem  conquest  complete,  by  ex- 
pelling the  christians  from  the  African  shores  ;  with 
this  view  his  troops  menaced  the  few  remaining 
Gothic  fortresses  of^  Tingitania,  while  he  himself  set 


down  in  person  before  the  walls  of  Ceuta.  Th? 
Arab  chieftain  had  been  rendered  confident  by  con- 
tinual success,  and  thought  nothing  could  resist  tiis 
arms  and  the  sacred  standard  of  the  prophet.  Im- 
patient of  the  tedious  delays  of  a  siege,  he  led  his 
troops  boldly  against  the  rock-built  towers  of  Ceuta, 
and  attempted  to  take  the  place  by  stcrm.  Ih; 
onset  was  fierce,  and  the  struggle  desperate;  lh;j 
swarthy  sons  of  the  desert  were  light  and  vigorous 
and  of  fiery  spirit,  but  the  Goths,  inured  to  dan:;.! 
on  this  frontier,  retained  the  stubborn  valour  of  tiu-it 
•ace,  so  impaired  among  their  brethren  in  S])niM. 
They  were  commanded,  loo,  by  one  skilled  in  war- 
fare and  ambitious  of  reno\/n.  After  a  vrhenti  nt 
conflict  the  Mosletn  assailants  were  repulsed  from  all 
points,  and  driven  from  the  walls.  Don  Julian  sal- 
lied forth  and  harassed  them  in  their  retreat,  and  s^j 
severe  was  the  carnage  that  the  veteran  Muza  was 
fain  to  break  up  his  camp  and  retire  confounded  liom 
the  siege. 

The  victory  at  Ceuta  resounded  throughout  Tingi. 
tania,  ami  spread  universal  joy.  On  every  side  were 
heard  shouts  of  exultation  mingled  with  praises  of 
Count  Julian.  He  was  hailed  by  the  people,  whir- 
ever  he  went,  as  their  deliverer,  and  blessings  weif 
invoketl  upon  his  head.  The  heart  of  Count  Juli.ui 
was  lifted  u|),  ,ind  his  spirit  swelled  within  him  ;  hut 
it  was  with  noble  and  virtuous  pride,  for  he  was  con- 
scious of  having  merited  the  blessings  of  hiscountty. 

In  the  midst  of  his  exultation,  and  while  the  re- 
joicings of  the  people  were  yet  sounding  in  his  ears, 
the  page  arrived  who  bore  the  letter  from  his  un- 
fortunate daughter. 

"  Wh.it  tidings  from  the  king  ?  "  saifl  the  coiinV 
as  the  page  knelt  before  him  :  "  None,  my  lord,"  re- 
plied the  youth,  "  but  I  bear  a  letter  sent  in  all  hasts 
by  the  Lady  Florinda.'' 

He  took  the  letter  from  his  bosom  and  resentcl 
it  to  his  lord.  As  Count  Julian  read  it  nis  conn 
tenance  darkened  and  tell.  "This,"  said  he,  bit 
terly,  "  is  my  reward  tor  serving  a  tyrant  ;  and  th'-se 
are  the  honours  heaped  i)n  me  by  Uiy  count  17  while 
fighting  its  battles  in  a  foreign  land.  May  evil  over- 
take me,  and  infamy  rest  upon  my  name,  if  1  cease 
until  I  have  full  measure  of  revenge." 

Count  Julian  was  vehement  in  his  passions,  ar.d 
took  no  counsel  in  his  wrath.  His  spirit  was  haughty 
in  the  extreme,  but  destitute  of  true  magnanimity, 
and  when  once  wountled,  turned  to  gall  and  venom. 
A  dark  and  malignant  hatred  entered  into  his  soul, 
not  only  against  Don  Roderick,  but  against  all 
S|)ain  :  he  looked  upon  it  as  the  scene  ot  his  dis- 
grace, a  land  in  which  his  family  was  dishonouriil, 
and,  in  seeking  to  avenge  the  wrongs  he  had  siil- 
fered  from  his  sovereign,  he  meditated  against  his 
native  country  one  of  the  blackest  schemes  of  treason 
that  ever  entered  into  the  huirtan  heart. 

The  plan  of  Count  Julian  was  to  hurl  King  Rod- 
erick from  his  throne,  and  to  deliver  all  Spain  into 
the  hands  of  the  infidels.  In  concerting  and  execut- 
ing this  treacherous  plot,  it  seemed  as  if  his  whole 
nature  was  changed ;  every  lofty  and  generous  sen'i- 
ment  was  stided,  and  he  stooped  to  the  nieaiust 
dissimulation.  His  first  object  was,  to  extricate  liis 
family  from  the  power  of  the  king  ind  to  remove  it 
from  Spain  before  his  treason  should  oe  known  ;  his 
next,  to  deprive  the  country  of  its  remaining  means 
of  defence  against  an  invader. 

With  these  dark  pijrposes  at  heart,  but  with  an 
open  and  serene  countenance,  he  crossed  to  .Spain 
and  re|)aired  to  the  court  at  Toledo.  Wherever  he 
came  he  was  hailed  with  acclamation,  as  a  victorious 
general,  and  api^eared  in  the  presence  of  his  sover- 
eign radiant  with  the  victory  at  Ceuta.  Concealiag 
from  King  Roderick  his  knowledge  of  the  oulrag? 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  SPAIN. 


i)06 


apon  his  house,  he  professed  nothing  but  the  most 
devoted  loyalty  and  aflection. 

The  idng  loaded  him  with  favours  ;  seeking  to  ap- 
pease his  own  conscience  by  heaping  hi'nours  upon  the 
father  in  atonement  of  the  deadly  wrong  intlicted 
upon  his  child.  He  regarded  Count  Juliim,  also,  as 
a  man  ahle  and  experienced  in  warfare,  and  took  his 
advice  in  all  matters  relating  to  the  military  alTairs 
of  the  kingdom.  The  count  magnifieil  the  lian'rers 
ihat  thrsatened  the  frontier  under  his  command,  and 

Erevailed  upon  the  king  to  send  thither  the  best 
orses  and  arms-remaining  from  the  time  of  Witiza, 
iherc  being  no  need  of  them  in  the  centre  of  Spain, 
in  its  present  tranquil  state.  The  residue,  at  his  sug- 
gestion, was  stationed  on  the  frontiers  of  Gallia;  so 
tint  the  kingdom  was  left  alniost  wholly  without  de- 
fence against  any  sudden  irruption  from  the  south. 

Having  thus  artfully  arranged  his  plans,  and  all 
thing's  being  prepared  for  his  return  to  Africa,  he 
obtained  permission  to  withdraw  his  daughter  from 
the  court,  and  leave  her  with  her  mother,  the  Count- 
ess Krandina,  who,  he  pretended,  lay  dangerously  ill 
it  Algeziras.  Count  Julian  issued  out  of  the  gate  of 
the  city,  followed  by  a  shining  band  of  chosen  fol- 
lowers, while  beside  him,  on  a  palfrey,  rode  the  pah 
and  weeping  Florinda.  The  populace  hailed  and 
blessed  him  as  he  passed,  but  his  heart  turned  from 
them  with  loathing.  As  he  crossed  the  bridge  of  the 
Tagiis  he  looked  back  with  aiiark  brow  upon  Toledo, 
and  raised  his  mailed  hand  and  shook  it  at  the  royal 
palace  of  King  Roderick,  which  crested  the  rocky 
height.  "  A  father's  curse,"  s.aid  he,  "  be  upon  thee 
and  thine !  may  desolation  fall  ujion  thy  dwelling, 
and  confusion  and  defeat  upon  thy  realm  !  " 

In  his  journcyings  through  the  country,  he  looked 
round  him  with  a  malignant  eye ;  the  pipe  of  the 
ihepherd,  and  the  song  of  the  husbandman  were  as 
discord  to  his  soul ;  every  sight  and  sound  of  human 
happiness  sickened  him  at  heart,  and,  in  the  bitter- 
lU'ss  of  his  spirit,  he  prayed  that  he  might  see  the 
jvhole  scene  of  prosperity  laid  waste  with  fire  and 
iword  by  the  inv.ader. 

The  story  of  domestic  outrage  and  disgrace  had 
already  been  made  known  to  the  Countess  Frandina. 
When  the  hapless  Florinda  came  in  presence  of  her 
mother,  she  fell  on  her  neck,  and  hid  her  face  in  her 
bosom,  and  wept ;  but  the  countess  shed  never  a 
tear,  lor  she  was  a  woman  haughty  of  spirit  and 
strons,'  of  heart.  She  looked  her  husband  sternly  in 
the  f:ice.  "  Perdition  light  uj)on  thy  head,"  said 
she,  "  if  thou  submit  to  this  dishonour.  For  my  own 
part,  wom.i.n  as  1  am,  I  will  assemble  the  followers 
of  my  house,  nor  rest  until  rivers  of  blood  have 
washed  away  this  stain." 

"Be  satisfied,"  rei)lied  the  count,  "vengeance  is 
on  foot,  and  will  be  sure  and  ample." 

Ht'ing  now  in  his  own  domains,  surrounded  bv  his 
relatives  and  friends.  Count  Julian  went  on  to  com- 
plete his  web  of  treason.  In  this  he  was  aided  by 
nis  brother-in-law,  Oppas,  the  bishop  of  Seville  :  a 
man  dark  and  perfidious  as  the  night,  but  devout  in 
demeanour,  and  smooth  and  plausible  in  council. 
This  artful  prelate  had  contrived  to  work  himself 
into  the  entire  confidence  of  the  king,  and  had  even 
prevailed  upon  him  to  permit  his  nephews,  Evan 
xnd  Siseburto,  the  exilecl  sons  of  Witiza,  to  return 
into  Spain.  They  resided  in  Andalusia,  and  were 
now  looked  to  as  fit  instruments  in  the  present  trai- 
torous cor^spiracy. 

By  the  advice  of  the  bishop.  Count  Julian  called  a 
secret  meeting  of  his  relatives  and  adherents  on  a 
wild  rocky  mountain,  not  far  from  Consuegra,  and 
which  still  bears  the  Moorish  appellation  of  "  La 
Sierra  de  Calderin,"  or  the  mountain  of  treason.* 


When  all  weie  assembled.  Count  Julian  appeared 
among  them,  accompanied  by  the  bishop  and  by  the 
Countess  Frandin.a.  Then  gathering  around  him 
those  who  were  of  his  blood  and  kindred,  he  revealed 
the  outrage  that  had  been  offered  to  their  house.  He 
represenleil  to  them  that  Roderick  was  their  legiti- 
mate enemy;  that  he  had  dethroned  Witiza,  their 
relation,  and  had  now  stained  the  honour  of  one  of 
the  most  illustrious  daughters  of  their  line.  The 
Countess  F"randina  seconiled  his  words.  She  was  i 
woman  majestic  in  person  and  eloquent  of  tongue 
and  being  inspired  by  a  mother's  feelings,  her  speech 
aroused  the  assembled  cavaliers  to  fury. 

The  count  took  advantag*  of  the  excitement  of  the 
moment  to  unfold  his  plan.  The  main  object  was  to 
dethrone  Don  Roderick,  a.nd  give  the  crown  to  the 
sons  .-♦'  the  late  King  Witiza.  By  this  means  they 
woulfl  visit  the  sirs  of  the  tyrant  upon  his  head,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  restore  the  regal  honours  to  their 
line.  For  this  purpose  their  own  force  would  be 
sufficient,  but  they  i. light  procure  the  aid  of  Muza 
ben  Nosier,  the  Arabian  general,  in  Mauritania,  who 
would  no  doubt  gladly  send  a  part  of  his  troops  into 
'^     iin  to  assist  in  the  enterprise. 

The  plot  thus  suggested  by  Count  Julian  received 
the  unholy  sanction  of  Bishop  Oppas,  who  engaged 
to  aid  it  secretly  with  all  his  influence  and  means ; 
for  he  had  great  wealth  and  possessions,  and  many 
retainers.  The  example  of  the  reverend  prelate  de- 
termined all  who  might  otherwise  have  wavered,  and 
they  bound  themselves  by  dreadful  oaths  to  be  true  to 
the  conspiracy.  Count  Julian  undertook  to  proceed  to 
Africa,  and  seek  the  camp  of  Muza,  to  negotiate  for 
his  aid,  while  the  bishop  was  tc  keep  about  the  per- 
son of  King  Roderick,  and  lead  him  into  the  net  pre- 
pared for  him. 

All  things  being  thus  arranged,  Count  Julian 
gathered  together  his  treasure,  and  taking  his  wife 
and  daughter  and  all  his  household,  abandoned  the 
country  he  meant  to  betray ;  embarking  at  Malaga 
for  Ceuta.  The  gate  in  the  wall  of  that  city,  through 
which  they  went  forth,  continued  for  ages  to  bear 
the  name  of  I'uerta  dc  la  Cava,  or  the  gate  of  the 
harlot ;  for  such  was  the  opprobrious  and  unmerited 
appellation  bestowed  by  the  Moors  on  the  unhappy 
Florinda.* 


CHAPTER  IX. 


•Uledik    CB|k  f. 


30 


.SECRET  VISIT  OF  COUNT  JULIAN  TO  THE  ARAB 
CAMP.  —  FIRST  EXPEDITION  OF  T.\RIC  EL 
TUERTO. 

When  Count  Julian  had  placed  his  family  in  se- 
curity in  Ceuta,  surrounded  by  soldiery  devoted  to 
his  fortunes,  he  took  with  him  a  few  confidential  fol- 
lowers, and  departed  in  secret  for  the  camp  of  the 
Arabian  Emir,  Muza  ben  Nosier.  The  camp 
was  spread  out  in  one  of  those  pastoral  valleys 
which  lie  at  the  feet  of  the  Barbary  hills,  with  the 
great  range  of  the  Atlas  mountains  towering  in  the 
distance.  In  the  motley  army  here  assembled  were 
warriors  of  every  tribe  and  nation,  that  had  been 
united  by  pact  or  conquest  in  the  cause  of  Islam. 
There  were  those  who  had  followed  Muza  from  the 
fertile  regions  of  Egypt,  across  the  deserts  of  Barca, 
and  those  who  had  joined  his  standard  from  among 
the  sun-burnt  tribes  of  Mauritania.  There  were 
Saracen  and  Tartar,  Syrian  and  Copt,  and  swarthy 
Moor ;  sumptuous  warriors  from  the  civilized  cities 
of  the  east,  and  the  gaunt  and  predatory  rovers  of 
the  desert.  The  greater  part  of  the  army,  however 
was  composed  of  Arabs ;  hut  diifering  greatly  f:  ta 

•Bl«da.    Cap.  4. 


806 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


n 


mm 


I  :.:■ 


:;'-<^.. 


Iv: 


the  first  rude  hordes  that  enlisted  under  the  banner 
of  Mahomet.  Almost  a  century  of  continual  wars 
with  the  cultivated  nations  of  the  east  had  rendered 
them  accomplished  warriors  ;  and  the  occasional  so- 
journ in  luxurious  countries  and  populous  cities,  had 
acquainted  them  with  the  arts  and  habits  of  civilized 
life.  Still  the  roving,  restless,  and  predatory  habits 
of  the  genuine  sun  of  Ishmael  prevailed,  in  defiance 
of  Bvery  change  of  clime  or  situation. 

Count  Julian  found  the  Arab  contjueror  Muza  sur- 
rotinded  by  somewhat  of  oriental  state  and  splendour. 
He  was  advanced  in  life,  but  of  a  noble  presence, 
and  concealed  his  age  by  tinging  his  hair  and  beard 
with  henna.  The  count  assumed  an  air  of  soldier- 
like frankness  and  decision  when  he  came  into  his 
presence.  "Hitherto,"  said  he,  "we  have  been 
enemies,  but  I  come  to  thee  in  peace,  and  it  rests 
m'.h  thee  to  make  me  the  most  devoted  of  thy 
friends.  I  have  no  longer  country  or  king.  Roder- 
ick the  Goth  is  an  usurper,  and  my  deadly  foe ;  he 
ha5  wounded  my  honour  in  the  tenderest  point,  and 
my  country  affords  me  no  redress.  Aid  me  in  my 
vengeance,  and  I  will  deliver  all  Spain  into  thy 
hands:  a  land  far  exceeding  in  fertility  and  wealth 
all  the  vaunted  regions  thou  hast  conquered  \n 
Tingit.nnia." 

The  heart  of  Muza  leaped  with  joy  at  these  words, 
for  he  was  a  bold  and  ambitious  conqueror,  and, 
having  overrun  all  western  Africa,  had  often  cast  a 
wistful  eye  to  the  mountains  of  Spain,  as  he  beheld 
them  bnghtening  beyond  the  waters  of  the  strait. 
Still  he  possessed  the  caution  of  a  veteran,  and  feared 
to  engage  in  an  enterprise  of  such  moment,  and  to 
carry  his  arms  into  another  division  of  the  globe, 
without  the  approb.ation  of  his  sovereign.  Having 
drawn  from  Count  Julian  the  particulars  of  his  plan, 
aad  of  the  means  he  possessed  to  carr)'  it  into  effect, 
he  laid  them  before  his  confidi^ntial  counsellors  and 
'Officers,  and  demanded  their  opinion.  "  These  words 
of  Count  Julian,"  said  he,  "may  be  false  and  deceit- 
ful ;  or  he  may  not  possess  the  power  to  fulfil  his 
promises.  The  whole  may  be  a  preten<lcd  treason 
to  draw  us  on  to  our  destruction.  It  is  more  natural 
•-hat  he  should  be  treacherous  to  us  than  to  his 
country." 

Among  the  generals  of  Muza,  was  a  gaimt  swarthy 
veteran,  scarred  with  wounds ;  a  ver>'  Arab,  whose 
great  delight  was  roving  and  desperate  enterprise, 
and  who  cared  for  nothing  beyond  his  steed,  his 
lance,  and  scimitar.  He  was  a  native  of  Damascus ; 
his  name  was  Taric  ben  Zeyad,  but,  from  having 
lost  an  eye,  he  was  known  among  the  Spaniards 
by  the  appell;  tion  of  Taric  el  Tuerto,  or  Taric,  the 
one-eyea. 

The  hot  blood  of  this  veteran  Ishmaelite  was  in  a 
ferment  when  he  heard  of  a  new  country  to  invade, 
and  vast  regions  to  subdue,  and  he  dreaded  lest  the 
cautious  iiesitation  of  Muza  should  permit  the  glori- 
ous prize  to  escape  them.  "You  s|M;ak  doubtingly," 
•aid  he,  "  of  the  words  of  this  christian  cavalier,  but 
their  truth  is  easily  to  be  ascertained.     Give  me  four 

Slleys  and  a  handful  of  men,  and  I  will  depart  with 
S  Count  Julian,  skirt  the  christian  coast,  and  bring 
tbee  back  tidings  of  the  land,  and  of  his  means  to 
pet  it  in  our  power." 

Th.?  words  of  the  veteran  pleased  Muza  ben 
Mosier,  and  he  gave  his  consent;  and  Taric  de- 
parted with  four  galleys  and  five  hundred  men, 
guided  by  the  traitor  Julian.*  This  first  expedition 
of  the  Arabs  against  Spain  took  place,  according  to 
certain  historians,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  seven 
hundred  and  twelve ;  though  others  dilifer  on  this 


*  Bcntei,  Cron.  G«b.  dr  Etpafli,  L.  i,  c. 
le  Africa,  U  ■.  c  lo 


tt.    liaraiol.  Dmcrip. 


point,  as  indeed  they  do  upon  almost  every  pomt  « 
this  early  period  of  Spanish  history.  The  date  t« 
which  the  judicious  cnroniclers  incline,  is  that  o' 
seven  hundred  and  ten,  in  the  month  of  July.  I. 
would  appear  from  some  authotities,  also,  that  the 
galleys  ol  Taric  cruised  along  the  coasts  of  Annit. 
lusia  and  Lusitania,  under  the  feigned  characin  J 
merchant  >)arks,  nor  is  this  at  all  improbable.  v»h  l( 
they  were  seeking  merely  to  cbserve  the  land,  a,id 
get  a  knov.-ledge  of  the  harbours.  Wherever  thi) 
touched,  Count  Julian  despatched  emissaries  to  ,i;. 
semble  his  friends  and  adherents  at  an  appoimed 
place.  They  gathered  together  secretly  at  Gi  ^ira 
Alhadra,  that  is  to  sa^  the  Green  Island,  wherr 
they  held  a  conference  with  Count  Julian  in  prcst  na 
of  Taric  ben  Zeyad.*  Here  they  again  avowed  their 
readiness  to  flock  to  his  standard  whenever  it  should 
be  openly  raised,  and   made  known  their  various 

C reparations  for  a  rebellion.  Taric  w.as  convinced, 
y  all  that  he  h.id  seen  and  heard,  that  Count  j\iiian 
had  not  deceived  them,  either  as  to  his  di«no,iiion 
or  his  means  to  betray  his  country.  Indulj^inj;  his 
Arab  inclinations,  he  made  an  inroad  into  the  land, 
collected  great  spoil  and  many  captives,  anil  hcire 
oil  his  plunder  in  triumph  to  Muza,  as  a  specini.n 
of  the  riches  to  be  gained  by  the  conq-iest  of  ths 
christian  land.f 


CHAPTER  X. 


LETTER  OF  MUZA  TO  THE  CALIPH.— SECOND  IX- 
PEDITION   OF   TARIC    EL  TITERTO. 

On  hearing  the  tidings  brought  by  Taric  el  Tuf  tto 
and  beholding  the  spoil  he  ha<rcollccted,  Muza  wrctf 
a  letter  to  tin-  Caliph  Waled  Almanzor,  setting  firtii 
the  traitorous  prollcr  of  Count  Juli.in,  and  the  pro'*- 
bility,  through  his  means,  of  making  a  s\iccessful  in- 
vasion of  Spain.  "A  new  land,"  said  he,  "  sprcids 
itself  out  before  our  delighted  eyes,  and  invites  our 
conquest.  A  land,  too,  that  equals  Syria  in  the  fer- 
tility of  its  soil,  and  the  serenity  of  its  sky;  Ytmen, 
or  Arabia  the  hajipy,  in  its  delightful  teinper.itiTe ; 
India  in  its  flowers  and  spices  ;  Hegiaz  in  its  Iriiits 
and  fiowers;  Cathay  in  its  precious  minerals,  and 
Aden  in  the  excellence  of  its  ports  and  harbours.  It 
is  populous  also,  and  wealthy  ;  having  many  spli-ndid 
cities  and  majestic  monuments  of  ancient  art.  What 
is  to  prevent  this  glorious  land  from  becominj^  the 
inheritance  of  the  faithful  ?  Already  we  have  over- 
come the  tribes  of  Berbery,  of  Zab,  of  Derar,  of  Za- 
ara,  Mazamuda  and  Sus,  and  the  victorious  st.uulard 
of  Islam  floats  on  the  towers  of  Tangier.  Hut  four 
leagues  of  sea  separate  us  from  the  opposite  coast 
One  word  from  my  sovereign,  and  the  con(]uerors  of 
Africa  will  pour  their  legions  into  Andalusia,  rescue 
it  from  the  domination  of  the  unljcliever,  and  subdue 
it  to  the  law  of  the  Koran. "| 

The  calii)h  was  overjoyed  with  the  contents  of  the 
letter.  "  God  is  great !  "  exclaimed  he,  "  and  Ma- 
homet is  his  prophet !  It  has  been  foreto'id  jy  ^tt 
ambassailor  of  God  that  his  law  should  extenc'  to  the 
ultimate  parts  of  the  west,  and  be  carried  by  the 
sword  into  new  and  unknown  regions.  Bihold 
another  land  is  opened  for  the  triumphs  of  the  faith. 
ful.  It  is  the  will  of  Allah,  and  be  his  sovereign  will 
obeyed."  So  the  calijjh  sent  missives  to  Muza, 
authorizing  him  to  undertake  the  conquest. 

Upon  this  there  was  a  great  stir  of  preparation, 
and  numerous  vessels  were  assembled  and  equipped 


•  BIcda.  Gran,  c  j. 
t  Conde,  put  i.  c  S. 


t  Coad*.  Hilt.  Dob  Anb.  part  i,  c  8. 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF   SPAIN. 


Wi 


tt  Tanker  to  convey  the  invading  army  across  the 
jtraits.  Twelve  thousand  men  were  chosen  for  this 
expt-'dition :  most  of  them  light  Aral)ian  troops, 
jeasoned  in  warfare,  and  fitted  for  hardy  and  rapid 
enterprise.  Among  them  were  many  horsemen, 
mounted  on  fleet  Arabian  steeds.  The  whole  was 
put  under  the  command  of  the  veteran,  Taric  el 
Tujrto,  or  the  one-eyed,  in  whom  Muza  reposed  im- 
plicit confidence  as  in  a  second  self.  Taric  accepted 
riie  command  with  joy ;  his  martial  fire  was  roused 
fit  the  idea  of  having  Duch  an  ariny  under  his  sole 
command,  and  such  a  country  to  overrun,  and  he 
iecietly  determined  never  to  return  unless  vic- 
torious. 

He  chose  a  dark  night  to  convey  his  troops  across 
the  straits  of  Hercules,  and  by  break  of  day  they  be- 
gan to  disembark  at  Tarifa  before  the  country  had 
time  to  take  the  alarm.  A  few  christians  hastily  as- 
senibled  from  the  neighbourhood  and  opposed  their 
laniling,  but  were  easily  put  to  fliijht.  Taric  stood 
on  tiie  sea-side,  and  watched  until  the  last  snuadron 
had  landed,  and  all  the  horses,  armour,  and  muni- 
tions of  war,  were  brought  on  shore ;  he  then  gave 
orders  to  set  fire  to  the  ships.  The  Moslems  were 
struck  with  terror  when  they  beheld  their  Heet  wrap- 
ped in  flames  and  smoke,  and  sinking  beneath  the 
waves.  "  How  shall  we  escaiie,"  excl.iimed  they, 
"if  the  fortune  of  war  should  be  .igainst  us?" 
"There  is  no  escape  for  the  coward  ! "  cried  Taric, 
"the  brave  man  thinks  of  none  ;  your  only  chance  is 
victory."  "  But  how  without  ships  shall  we  ever  re- 
turn to  our  homes  ?  "  "  Your  home,"  replied  Taric, 
"  is  before  you ;  but  you  must  win  it  with  ^our 
iwords." 

While  Taric  was  yet  talking  with  his  followers, 
»ys  one  of  the  ancient  chroniclers,  a  christian 
female  was  descried  waving  a  white  pennon  on  a 
»erd,  in  signal  of  peace.  Un  being  brought  into  the 
presence  of  Taric,  she  prostrated  herself  before  him. 
"  Senior,"  said  she,  "  I  am  an  ancient  woman  ;  and 
it  is  now  full  sixty  years  past  and  gone  since,  as  I 
was  keeping  vigils  one  winter's  night  by  the  fireside, 
I  heard  my  father,  who  was  an  exceeding  old  man, 
read  a  prophecy  said  to  have  been  written  by  a  holy 
friar;  and  this  was  the  purport  of  the  prophecy,  that 
a  time  would  arrive  when  our  country  would  be  in- 
vaded and  conquered  by  a  people  from  Africa  of  a 
»trange  garb,  a  sttange  tongue,  and  a  strange  re- 
ligion. They  were  to  be  led  by  a  strong  and  valiant 
capf.in  who  would  be  known  by  these  signs:  on  his 
light  shoulder  he  would  have  a  hairy  mole,  and  his 
right  arm  would  be  much  longer  than  the  lelt,  and 
of  such  length  as  to  enable  hiin  to  cover  his  knee 
with  his  hand  without  bending  his  body. 

Taric  listened  to  the  old  beldame  with  grave  at- 
tention, and  when  she  had  concluded,  he  laid  bare 
his  shouUler,  and  lo  1  there  was  the  mole  as  it  had 
heen  described ;  his  right  arm,  also,  was  in  verity 
found  to  exceed  the  other  in  length,  though  not  to 
the  degree  that  had  been  mentioned.  Upon  this  the 
Arab  host  shouted  for  joy,  and  felt  assured  of  con- 
quest. 

The  discreet  Antonio  Agapida,  though  he  records 
thij  circumstance  as  it  is  set  down  in  ancient  chron- 
icle, yet  withholds  his  belief  from  the  pretended 
piophecy,  considering  the  whole  a  cunning  device  of 
Taric  to  increase  the  courage  of  his  troops.  "  Doubt- 
less," says  he,  "  there  was  a  collusion  between  this 
ancient  sybil  and  the  crafty  son  of  Ishmael ;  for 
these  infidel  leaders  were  full  of  damnable  inventions 
10  work  upon  the  superstitious  fancies  of  their  fol- 
k>wers,  and  to  inspire  them  with  a  blind  conlidence 
in  the  success  of  their  arms," 

Be  this  as  it  may,  the  veteran  Taric  took  advan- 
tage of  the  excitement  of  his  soldiery,  and  led  them 


forward  to  gain  possession  of  a  strong-nold,  which 
was,  in  a  manner,  the  key  to  all  the  adjacent  country 
This  w.is  a  lotty  mountain  or  promontory  almost 
surrounded  by  the  se<i,  and  connected  with  the  main 
land  by  a  narrow  isthmus.  It  was  called  the  rock 
of  Caipe,  and,  like  the  opposite  rock  of  Ceita,  com- 
manded the  entrance  to  the  Mediterranean  J>ea. 
Here  in  old  times,  Hercules  had  set  up  one  of  hii 
pillars,  and  the  city  of  Heraclea  had  been  built. 

As  Taric  advanced  againit  this  promontory,  h« 
was  opposed  by  a  hasty  levy  of  the  christians,  who 
had  assembled  under  the  banner  of  a  Gothic  noble 
of  great  power  and  importance,  whose  domains  lay 
along  the  mountainous  coast  of  the  Mediterranean. 
The  name  of  this  christ"i.n  cavalier  was  Theodomir, 
but  he  has  universally  Deen  called  Tadmir  by  the 
Arabian  historians,  and  is  renowned  as  being  the 
first  commander  that  made  any  stand  against  the 
inroad  of  the  Moslems.  He  vv.is  about  forty  years 
of  age  ;  hardy,  prompt,  and  sagacious ;  and  n.ad  all 
the  Gothic  nobles  been  equally  vigilant  and  shrewd 
in  their  defence,  the  banner  of  Islam  would  nevei 
have  triumphed  over  the  land. 

Theodomir  had  but  seventeen  hundred  men  undei 
his  command,  and  these  but  rudely  armed  ;  yet  he 
made  a  resolute  .stand  against  the  army  of  Taric,  and 
defended  the  pass  to  the  promontory  with  great 
valour.  He  was,  at  length,  obliged  to  retreat,  and 
Taric  advanced  .and  planted  his  standard  on  the 
r6ck  of  CaIpe,  and  fortified  it  as  his  strong-hold,  and 
as  the  means  of  securing  an  entrance  into  the  land 
To  commemorate  his  lirst  victory,  he  changed  the 
name  of  the  promontory,  and  called  it  Gibel  Taric, 
or  the  mountain  of  Taric,  but  in  process  of  time  the 
name  has  gradually  been  altered  to  Gibraltar. 

In  the  meantime,  the  patriotic  chieftain  Theodomir, 
h.aving  collected  his  routed  forces,  encamped  with 
them  on  the  skirts  of  the  mountains,  and  summoned 
the  country  round  to  join  his  standard.  He  sent  off 
missives  in  all  speed  to  the  king,  imparting  in  briel 
and  blunt  terms  the  news  of  the  invasion,  and  crav- 
ing assistance  with  equal  frankness.  "  Senior,"  said 
he,  in  his  letter,  "  the  legions  of  Africa  are  upon  'is, 
but  whether  they  come  Irom  heaven  or  earth  1  know 
not.  They  seem  to  have  fallen  from  the  clouds,  for 
they  have  no  ships.  We  have  been  taken  by  sur- 
prise, overpowered  by  numbers,  and  obliged  to  re- 
treat ;  and  they  have  fortified  themselves  in  our 
territory.  Send  us  aid,  senior,  with  instant  speed, 
or  rather,  come  yourself  to  our  assistance."* 


CHAPTER   XI. 


MEASURES  OF  DON  RODERICK  OK  HEARINO  OF 
THE  INVASION. — EXPEDITION  CF  ATAUI  PHO. 
— VISION    OK   TARIC. 

When  Don  Roderick  heard  th.at  legions  ol  tur- 
baned  troops  had  jwured  into  the  land  from  Atricz. 
he  called  to  mind  the  visions  and  predictions  of  thi 
necromantic  tower,  and  great  fear  came  upon  h.iin. 
But,  though  sunk  from  his  former  hardihood  anc 
virtue,  though  enervated  by  indulgence,  and  degraded 
in  spirit  by  a  consciousness  of  crime,  he  w.as  resolute 
of  soul,  and  roused  himself  to  meet  the  coming 
danger.  He  summoned  a  h.asty  levy  of  horse  ana 
foot,  amounting  to  forty  thousand ;  but  now  were 
felt  the  effects  of  the  crafty  counsel  of  Count  Julian, 
for  the  best  of  the  horses  and  armor  intended  for  the 
public  service,  had  been  sent  into  Africa,  and  were 
really  in  possession  of  the  traitors.    Many  nobles,  it 

•CoDd*.    Parti  ■.. «. 


8UH 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


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*  "• 


in  true,  took  the  field  with  the  sumptuous  array  with 
which  they  had  been  acoustomed  to  app«'ar  at  tour- 
naments and  jousts,  but  most  of  their  vassals  were 
destitute  of  weapons,  and  casrd  in  cuirasses  of 
leath.'r,  or  suits  of  armour  almost  coiisuiumI  l)y  rust. 
They  were  without  discipline  or  anim.itioii ;  anti 
their  horses,  Yike  thenisclves,  pampeivd  by  slothful 
peace,  were  little  fitttnl  to  Iwar  the  heal,  the  dusl, 
snd  toil,  of  long  cainpaigns. 

This  army  Don  Ro<lericl<  put  under  the  command 
of  his  kinsman  Ataulplio.  a  prince  of  the  royal  blood 
of  the  (lOths,  and  of  a  noble  and  generous  nature  ; 
aiid  he  ordered  him  to  march  with  all  speed  to  meet 
the  foe,  and  to  recruit  his  forces  on  the  way  with  the 
troops  of  Theodomir. 

In  the  meantime,  Taric  el  Tuerto  had  received 
large  reinforcements  from  Africa,  and  the  adherents 
of  Count  Julian,  and  all  those  discontented  with  the 
sway  of  Don  Roderick,  had  tlocked  to  his  standard  ; 
for  many  were  deceived  by  the  representations  of 
Count  Julian,  and  thought  that  the  Arabs  had  come 
to  aid  him  in  placing  the  sons  of  VVitiza  upon  the 
throne.  Guided  by  the  count,  the  troops  of  Taric 
penetrated  into  various  parts  of  the  country,  and  laid 
waste  the  land  ;  bringing  hack  loads  of  spoil  to  their 
strong-hold  at  the  rock  of  Calpe. 

The  prince  Ataulpho  marctied  with  his  army 
through  Andalusia,  and  was  joined  by  Theodomir 
with  nis  troops ;  he  met  with  various  detachments 
of  the  enemy  foraging  the  country,  and  had  several 
bloody  skirmishes ;  but  he  succeeded  in  driving 
them  before  him,  and  they  retreated  to  the  rock  of 
Caipe,  where  Taric  lay  gathered  up  with  the  main 
body  of  his  army. 

The  prince  encamped  not  far  from  the  bay  which 
5')re.ads  itself  out  before  the  promontory.  In  the 
evening  he  despatched  the  veteran  Theodomir.  with 
a  trumpei,  to  demand  a  parley  of  the  Arab  chieftain, 
*'ho  received  the  envoy  in  his  tent,  surrounded  by 
his  captains.  Theodomir  was  frank  and  abrupt  in 
speech,  for  the  most  of  his  life  had  been  passetl  f.ir 
from  courts.  He  delivered,  in  round  terms,  the 
message  of  the  Prince  Ataulpho ;  upbraiding  the 
Arab  general  with  his  wanton  invasion  of  the  land, 
and  summoning  him  to  surrender  his  army  or  to 
expect  no  mercy. 

The  single  eye  of  Taric  el  Tuerto  glowed  like  a 
coal  of  tire  at  this  message.  "Tell  your  com- 
mander," replied  he,  "  that  I  have  crossed  the 
strait  to  conquer  Spain,  nor  will  I  return  until  I  have 
accomplished  my  purpose.  Tell  him  1  have  men 
skilled  in  war,  and  armed  in  proof,  with  whose 
aid  I  trust  soon  to  give  a  good  account  of  his  rabble 
host," 

A  murmur  of  applause  pa.ssed  through  the  assem- 
blage of  Moslem  captains.  Theodomir  glanced  on 
them  a  look  of  dehance,  but  his  eye  rested  on  a 
renegado  christian,  one  of  his  ov.n  ancient  comrades, 
and  a  relation  of  Count  Julian.  "  As  to  you,  Don 
Greybeard,"  said  he,  "  you  who  turn  apostate  in 
yo'jr  declining  age,  I  here  pronounce  you  a  traitor 
to  your  God,  your  king,  and  country;  and  stand 
ready  to  prove  it  this  instant  upon  your  body,  if  field 
■jerrAited  me." 

The  traitor  knight  was  stung  with  ra^^e  .at  these 
»rords,  for  truth  rendered  them  piercing  to  the  heart. 
He  would  have  immediately  answered  to  the  chal- 
lenge, but  Taric  forbade  it,  and  ordered  that  the 
christian  envoy  should  l)e  conducted  from  the  camp. 
"  'Tis  well,"  replied  Theodomir,  "  God  will  give  me 
the  field  which  you  deny.  L^t  yon  hoary  apostate 
look  to  himself  to-morrow  in  the  battle,  for  I  pledge 
myself  to  use  my  lance  upon  no  other  foe  until  it  h.as 
shed  his  blood  u]X)n  the  native  soil  he  has  betrayed." 
So  saying,  he  left  the  camp,  nor  could  the  Moslem 


chieftains  help  admiring  the  honest  indignation  ot 
this  patriot  knight,  while  they  secretly  despised  i,,, 
renegndo  advers.'iry. 

The  ancient  Moorish  chroniclers  rel.ate  m.iny  aw. 
ful  portents,  and  strange  and  mysterious  visions 
which  appeared  to  the  commanders  of  either  amiy 
during  tills  anxious  night.  Certainly  it  was  a  nighl 
of  tearful  suspense,  and  Moslem  and  christian  luvikcii 
forwiird  with  doubt  :o  the  fortune  of  the  cciiiiing 
day.  The  Spanish  sentinel  walked  his  ptnsn; 
round,  listening  occasionally  to  the  vague  soimlj 
from  the  distant  rock  of  Calpe,  and  eyeing  it  as  ilic 
manner  eyes  the  thunder  cloud,  pregnant  with  terroi 
and  destruction.  The  Arabs,  too,  from  their  Kitty 
cliffs  beheld  the  numerous  camp-fires  of  the  cUm- 
ti  ms  gradua.ly  lighted  up,  and  saw  that  they  wire  a 
powerful  host ;  at  the  same  time  the  night  lu'c/j 
brought  to  their  ears  the  siiKen  roar  of  the  sea  \  hich 
separated  them  from  Africa.  When  they  ccnsiil-red 
their  perilous  situation,  an  army  on  one  side,  witli  a 
whoJe  nation  .aroused  to  reinlbrce  it,  and  on  the 
other  an  imp.assable  sea,  the  spirits  of  maiiv  ol 
the  warriors  were  cist  down,  and  thev  rejienied  the 
day  when  they  bad  ventured  into  this  hostile  hind, 

Taric  m.irked  their  ilesjjondency.  but  said  r.oih- 
ing.  Scarce  had  the  first  streak  of  mornini,,'  lij;ht 
trembled  along  the  sea,  however,  when  he  sum- 
moned his  principal  warriors  to  his  tent.  "  lie  of 
good  cheer,"  said  he,  "  Allah  is  with  us,  and  has 
I  sent  his  prophet  to  give  assurance  ot  his  aid.  Scarce 
had  I  retired  to  my  tent  list  night,  when  a  man  ol'a 
m.ijestic  and  venerable  presence  stood  before  me. 
He  w.is  taller  by  a  palm  than  the  ordinary'  race  of 
num.  his  (lowing  beard  was  of  a  golden  hue,  and 
his  eyes  were  so  bright  that  they  seemed  to  scud 
forth  (lashes  of  fire,  1  have  heard  the  Kmir  H.dia- 
met,  and  other  ancient  men,  tlescrii>e  the  prophet, 
whom  they  had  seen  many  times  while  on  eait'i, 
and  such  w.as  his  form  and  lineament.  '  Fear  notn- 
ing,  O  Taric,  from  the  morrow,'  said  he,  'I  will  Ik 
with  thee  in  the  tii;ht.  Strike  boldly,  then,  and  con- 
quer. Those  of  thy  followers  who  survive  the  battle 
will  have  this  land  for  an  inheritance  ;  for  those  who 
fall,  a  mansion  in  par.adise  is  prepared,  and  immortal 
houris  await  their  coming."  He  spake  and  vanish- 
ed ;  I  heard  a  strain  of  celestial  melodv,  ami  my 
tent  was  filled  with  the  odours  of  Arabia  the  h,ip|iv." 
••  Such,"  says  the  Spat.ish  chroni^ers,  "  was  anuiher 
of  the  arts  by  which  this  arch  son  of  Ishinael  soiistu 
to  animate  the  hearts  of  his  followers ;  and  the  pre- 
tended vision  has  been  recorded  by  the  Araliiin 
writers  .as  a  veritable  occurrence.  Marvellous,  in- 
deed, was  the  effect  produced  by  it  upon  the  infidel 
soldiery,  who  now  cried  out  with^cagerness  to  be  led 
against  the  foe." 


CHAPTER   .XII. 


BATTLE  OF  CALPE,— FATE  OF  ATAULPHO. 

The  gray  summits  of  the  rock  of  Calpe  bright- 
eneil  with  the  first  rays  of  morning,  as  the  christi.-.ii 
army  issued  forth  from  its  encampment.  The  Princi. 
Ataulpho  rode  from  stpiadron  to  stjuadron,  animit- 
injv  his  soldiers  for  the  battle.  "  Never  should  we 
sheath  our  swords."  said  he,  "while  these  infidels 
have  a  footing  in  the  land.  They  are  pent  up  within 
yon  rocky  mountain  ;  we  must  assail  them  in  then 
rugged  hold.  We  have  a  long  day  before  us ;  let 
not  the  setting  sun  shine  upon  one  of  their  host  who 
is  not  a  fugitive,  a  captive,  or  a  corpse." 

The  words  of  the  prince  were  received  with  shouts 
and  the  army  moved  towards  the  promontory'.  As 
they  advanced,  they  heard  the  clash  of  cvmbals  anc 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  CONQUEST   OF  SPAIN. 


806 


ITAULPHO. 


Hie  bray  of  trumpets,  and  the  rocky  bosom  of  the 
Biountam  glittered  with  helms  and  spears  and  scim- 
Itais ;  loi"  ^^^  Arabs,  inspired  with  tresh  confidence 
|w  the  words  of  Taric,  were  sallying  forth,  with 
Haunt injj  banners,  to  the  coml)at. 

The  gaunt  Arab  chieftain  stood  upon  a  rock  as 
ll^  troops  marched  by ;  his  buckler  was  at  his  back, 
igii  he  brandished  in  his  hand  a  double-pointed 
ipear.  Calling  upon  the  several  leaders  by  their 
lanips,  he  exhorted  them  to  direct  their  attacks 
ijjainst  the  christian  captains,  and  especi.illy  ajjainst 
Ataulpho, "  for  the  chiets  being  slain,"  said  he,  "  their 
followers  will  vanish  from  before  us  like  the  morning 

mist." 

The  Gothic  nobles  v/ere  easily  to  be  <listinguished 
by  the  splendour  of  their  arms,  but  the  I'rincc 
Ataul|iho  was  conspicuous  above  all  the  rest  for  the 
youthlul  grace  and  majesty  of  his  appearance,  and 
the  bravery  of  his  array.  He  w.is  mounted  on  a 
wpert)  Andalusian  charger,  richly  caparisoned  with 
crimson  velvet,  embroidered  with  gold.  His  surcoal 
was  of  like  colour  and  adornment,  and  the  plumes 
thnt  waved  above  his  burnished  helmet,  were  of  the 
pu/.'st  white.  Ten  mounted  p.ages,  magnificently 
attired,  followed  him  to  the  tield,  but  their  duty  was 
cot  so  much  to  tight  as  to  attend  upon  their  lord, 
wid  10  furnish  him  with  steed  or  weapon. 

The  christian  troops,  though  irregular  and  undis- 
ciplined, were  full  of  native  courage ;  for  the  old 
warrior  spirit  of  their  (lolhic  sires  still  glowed  in 
their  bosoms.  There  were  two  batt.ilions  of  infantry. 
b'lt  Atauipho  stationed  them  in  the  rear,  "  for  Goij 
f.rhid,"  said  he,  "that  foot-soldiers  should  have  the 
^lace  of  honour  in  the  b.at'le,  when  I  have  so  many 
yaliant  cavaliers."  As  ttie  armies  drew  nigh  to  eacli 
other,  however,  it  was  discovered  tliat  the  advance 
rf  the  Arabs  w.as  composed  of  infantry.  Upon  this 
tiie  cavjilicrs  checked  their  steeds,  and  requested 
that  the  fool  soldiery  might  advance  and  (lis|K"rse 
this  losel  crew,  holding  it  beneath  their  dignity  to 
contend  with  pedestrian  foes.  The  prince,  however, 
commanded  them  to  charge ;  upon  which,  putting 
jpurs  to  their  steeds,  they  rushed  upon  the  foe. 

The  Arabs  stood  the  shock  manfully,  receiving 
the  horses  ujwn  the  points  of  their  lances ;  ni.iny 
of  the  riders  were  shot  down  with  bolts  from  cross- 
bows, or  st.abbed  with  the  poniards  of  the  Moslems. 
The  cavaliers  succeeded,  however,  in  breaking  into 
the  inidst  of  the  battalion  and  throwing  it  into  con- 
fusion, cutting  down  some  with  their  swords,  trans- 
piercing others  with  their  spears,  and  trampling 
many  under  the  hoofs  of  their  horses.  At  this  mo- 
ment, tliey  were  attacked  by  a  band  of  .Spanish 
horsemen,  the  recreant  partisans  of  Count  Julian. 
Their  .assault  bore  hard  upon  their  counti^mcn,  who 
were  disordered  by  the  contest  with  the  foot-sol- 
diers, anil  many  a  loyal  christian  knight  fell  beneath 
ihcsvord  of  an  unn.atur.al  foe. 

The  foremost  among  these  recreant  warriors  was 
the  renegado  cavalier  whom  Theodomir  h.ad  chal- 
lenged in  the  tent  of  T;mc.  He  dealt  his  blows 
about  him  witi>  a  powerful  arm  and  with  malignant 
kry,  for  nothing  is  more  deadly  than  the  hatred  of 
an  apostate.  In  the  midst  of  his  career  he  was 
eipied  by  the  hardy  Theodomir,  who  came  spurring 
to  the  encounter :  "  Traitor,"  cried  he,  "  I  have  kept 
my  vow.  This  laiice  has  l)een  held  sacred  from  all 
otner  foes  to  make  a  passage  for  thy  perjureil  soul." 
The  renegado  had  been  renowned  for  jirowess  before 
he  became  a  traitor  to  his  country,  but  guilt  will  sap 
the  courage  of  the  stoutest  heart.  When  he  beheld 
Theodomir  rushing  upon  him,  he  would  have  turned 
and  fled  ;  pride  alone  withheld  him  ;  and,  tliough  an 
admirable  master  of  defence,  he  lost  all  skill  to  ward 
tlie  attack  of  his  adversary.    At  the  first  assault  the 


lance  of  Theodomir  pierced  him  l1  rough  ^nd 
through;  he  fell  to  the  earth,  gnashed  his  tetlh  a? 
he  rolled  in  the  dust,  hut  yielded  his  bre.ath  without 
uttering  a  word. 

The  battle  now  necame  general,  and  lasted 
throughout  the  nic  nlng  with  varying  success.  The 
stratagem  of  Taric,  however,  began  to  produce  its 
effect.  The  christian  leaders  and  most  conspicuous 
cavaliers  were  singl'-<l  out  and  severally  ass.iiled  b> 
overpowering  numljers.  They  fought  desperately, 
and  performed  miiacles  of  prowess,  but  fell,  one  by 
one,  beneath  a  thousand  wounds.  Still  the  battle 
lingered  on  throughout  a  great  part  of  the  day,  and 
.as  the  declining  sun  shone  through  the  clouds  ol 
dust,  it  seemed  as  if  the  contlicting  hosts  were  wrap- 
ped in  smoke  anil  lire. 

The  Prince  Atauipho  saw  that  the  fortune  of  b.itth 
was  against  him.  He  rode  about  the  tield  calling 
out  the  names  of  the  bravest  of  his  knights,  hut  lew 
answered  to  his  call  ;  the  rest  lay  mangled  on  'hr 
tield.  With  this  handliil  of  warriors  he  endeavoured 
to  retrieve  the  day.  when  he  w.as  assailed  by  Ten- 
deros,  a  partisan  ol  Count  Julian,  .at  the  head  ot  a 
body  of  recreant  christi ms.  At  sight  of  this  new 
adversary,  fire  tlaslied  tVoin  the  eyes  of  the  prince, 
for  Tenderos  had  been  brought  up  in  his  father's 
palace.  "  Well  dost  thou,  traitor  !  "  cried  he,  "  to 
attack  the  son  of  thy  lord,  who  gave  thee  bread  ; 
ihou.  who  hast  betrayed  thy  country  and  tiiv  God  !  " 

So  saying,  he  sei/ed  a  lance  from  one  ol  his  pagei, 
and  chargeci  furiously  upon  the  apost.ite  ;  but  T  en- 
deros  met  him  in  mid  career,  and  the  l.ince  of  the 
prince  w.as  shivered  upon  his  shield.  Atauipho  then 
grasped  his  mace,  which  hung  at  his  saddle  bow, 
and  a  doubtful  fight  ensued.  Tenderos  was  pcwer- 
ful  of  frame  and  superior  in  the  use  of  his  weapons, 
but  the  curse  of  treason  seemed  to  paralyse  his  aim. 
lie  wounded  Atauipho  slightly  between  the  groa"'"! 
of  his  armour,  but  the  prince  ilealt  a  blow  with 
his  mace  that  crushed  through  helm  ."ind  scull  and 
reached  the  brains;  and  Tenderos  fell  dead  toeirth. 
his  armour  rattling  as  he  fell. 

At  the  same  moment,  a  javelin  hurled  by  an  Arib 
transpierced  the  horse  of  Atauipho,  which  sunk  be- 
neath him.  The  prince  seized  the  reins  of  the  steed 
of  Tenderos,  but  the  faithful  animal,  as  though  he 
knew  him  to  be  the  foe  of  his  Kite  lord,  reared  and 
plunged  and  refused  to  let  him  mount.  The  prince, 
however,  used  him  .as  a  shield  to  ward  off  the  pres* 
of  toes,  while  with  his  sword  he  defeiuied  himself 
.against  those  in  front  of  him.  Taric  ben  /^eyad  ar- 
rived at  the  scene  ot  conflict,  and  paused  fui  a  mo- 
ment in  admiration  of  the  surpassing  prowess  of  tht 
prince ;  recollecting,  however,  that  his  fall  would  be 
a  death  blow  to  his  army,  he  spurred  upon  him,  and 
wounded  him  severely  with  his  scimitar,  liefore  he 
could  repe.it  his  t)low,  Theodomir  led  up  a  f)ody  ol 
christian  cavaliers  to  the  rescue,  and  Taiic  w,as  p.art- 
etl  from  his  prey  by  the  tumult  of  the  tight.  The 
prince  sank  to  the  earth,  covered  with  wounds  and 
exluausted  by  the  loss  of  blood.  A  failhlui  page 
drew  him  from  under  the  hoofs  of  the  lu  rses.  and 
aided  by  a  veteran  soldier,  an  ancient  vassal  ol 
Atauipho,  conveyed  him  to  a  short  distance  from  tht 
scene  of  battle,  by  the  siile  of  a  small  stream  that 
gushed  out  from  among  rocks.  1  hey  stanchetl  the 
blood  that  flowed  from  his  wounds,  and  waslied  the 
dust  from  his  face,  and  lay  him  beside  the  fountain. 
The  p.ige  sat  at  his  head,  and  supported  it  on  his 
knees,  and  the  veteran  stood  at  his  feel,  with  hn 
brow  bent  and  his  eyes  full  of  sorrow.  The  prince 
gr.adually  revived,  and  opened  his  eyes.  "  How 
tares  the  battle  ?  "  said  he.  "  The  struggle  is  hard.' 
replied  the  soldier,  "  but  the  day  m.ay  yet  be  ours." 
The  Drince  felt  that  the  hour  oi  his  death  was  ai 


tflO 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


■4- 


t-. 


S-T 


t  -1 


hand,  and  onlercd  that  thcv  should  nid  him  to  rJM 
upon  his  Icnees.  They  supportrd  liirn  between  them, 
and  he  pni^ed  fervently  lor  a  sliorl  time,  when,  find- 
ing hit  strength  drrlinin);,  he  bei  koiieii  the  veteran  to 
sit  down  beside  hiin  on  the  r^k.  Continuing'  to 
Irneel,  he  confesHitd  him^if  to  that  ancient  soldier, 
having;  no  priest  or  friar  to  perform  that  ollice  in  this 
hour  of  extremity.  When  he  ha(i  so  doiu*,  he  Mink 
again  upon  tlie  earth  and  pressed  it  witii  his  lips,  as 
B  hr  would  tak«  a  Ibnd  farewell  of  his  beloved  coun- 
try. The  p.ige  would  then  have  raised  his  head,  l)ut 
found  that  his  loril  had  yielded  up  the  ghost. 

A  number  of  Arab  warriors,  who  came  to  the 
fountain  to  slake  their  thirst,  cut  otf  the  head  of  the 
prince  and  liore  it  in  triumph  to  Taric,  crying,  "  He- 
nold  the  head  of  the  christian  le.ider."  Taric  im- 
mediately ordered  that  the  head  should  l)e  put  upon 
the  end  of  a  lance,  together  with  the  surcoat  of  tlie 
prince,  and  borne  about  the  field  of  battle,  with  the 
sound  of  trumpets,  atahals,  and  cymbals. 

When  the  christians  liehcid  the  surcoat,  and  knew 
the  features  of  the  prince,  they  were  strufk  with 
honor,  and  heart  and  hand  failed  them.  'Iheodo- 
mir  endeavoured  in  vain  to  rally  them  ;  they  threw 
by  their  weapons  and  tied  ;  and  they  continued  to 
fly,  and  the  enemy  to  pursue  and  slay  tliem,  until 
the  darkness  of  the  nijjht.  The  Moslems  then  re- 
turned and  plundered  the  cliristian  camp,  where 
they  found  abundant  spoil. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


tUlROR  OF  THE    COUNTRY.— RODERICK 
HIMSELF  TO   ARMS, 


ROUSES 


'^^ 


The  scattered  fugitives  of  the  christian  army 
apreail  terror  throughout  the  land.  The  inhabit- 
lutts  of  the  towns  and  villages  gathered  around 
them  as  they  applied  at  their  gates  for  food,  or  lay 
themselves  down  faint  and  wounded  beside  the  pub- 
lic fountains.  When  they  related  the  tale  of  their  de- 
feat, old  men  shook  their  heads  and  groaned,  and 
the  women  uttered  cries  and  lameniatums.  So 
strange  and  unlooked-for  a  c.ilamity  filled  thcin  with 
consternation  and  despair;  for  it  was  long  since  the 
alarm  of  war  had  sounded  in  their  lantl,  and  this 
wxs  a  warfare  tiiat  carried  chains  and  slavery,  and 
all  kinds  of  horrors  in  its  train. 

Don  Roderick  w.as  seated  with  his  beauteous 
oueen,  Exilona,  in  the  royal  palace  which  crowned 
the  rocky  summit  of  Toledo,  when  the  bc.irer  of  ill- 
tidings  came  galloping  over  the  bridge  of  the  Tagus. 
"What  tidings  from  the  army?"  demanded  the 
king,  as  the  panting  messenger  was  brought  into 
his  presence.  "Tidings  of  great  wot;,"  exclaimed 
the  soldier,  "The  prince  has  fallen  in  battle.  1 
saw  his  head  and  surcoat  upon  a  Moorish  lance,  and 
the  army  was  overthrown  and  fled." 

At  hearing  these  words,  Roderick  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands,  and  for  some  time  sat  in  silence ; 
ind  all  his  courtiers  stood  mute  antl  agh.ast,  and  no 
')ne  dared  to  speak  a  word.  In  that  awful  space  of 
time  passed  before  his  thoughts  all  his  errors  and 
his  crimes,  and  all  the  evils  that  h.ad  lieen  predicted 
h  the  necromantic  tower.  His  mind  was  filled  with 
Ik.rror  and  confusion,  for  the  hour  of  his  destruction 
Sfemed  at  hand  ;  but  he  subdued  his  agitation  by  his 
strong  and  haughty  spirit ;  and  when  he  uncovered 
his  face  no  one  could  read  on  his  brow  the  trouble 
and  agony  of  his  heart.  Still  every  hour  brought 
fresh  tidings  of  discister.  Messenger  after  messen- 
ger came  spurring  into  the  city,  cistracting  it  with 
new  alarms.     The  infidels,  they  said,  were  strength- 


ening themaelvts  In  the  laod :  host  after  host  wfn 
pouring  in  Irom  Africa:  the  se.alio.ird  of  Andilihi, 
glittered  with  spears  and  scimitars.  B.ands  ol  tur. 
Iianed  horsemen  h.id  overrun  the  plains  of  Sidonia 
even  to  tlie  banKt  of  the  (iuadiana.  Fields  wcrt 
laid  waste,  towns  and  cities  plundered,  the  inhalili. 
ants  carried  into  captivity,  and  the  whole  r.niniry 
lay  in  smoking  desolation. 

Roderick  heard  all  these  tidings  with  .in  un- 
daunted aspect,  nor  did  he  ever  again  betr.iy  sm 
of  consternation ;  but  the  anxiety  of  his  soul  was 
evident  in  his  warlike  preparations.  He  issued  ur. 
tiers  that  every  noble  and  prelate  of  his  kmjjdom 
should  put  himself  at  tfie  head  of  his  retainers  ind 
take  the  field,  and  that  every  man  capable  ol  lici,'. 
ing  arms  should  hasten  to  his  standard,  hriii<rint 
whatever  horse  and  mule  and  weapon  he  posM-,sri|, 
and  he  appointed  the  plain  of  Cordova  tor  tin  pl.iQy 
where  the  army  was  to  assemble.  Throwing'  hy, 
then,  all  the  trappings  of  his  late  slothtul  and  vdlnjv 
tuous  life,  and  arming  himself  for  warlike  action,  he 
departed  from  Toledo  at  the  head  of  his  guard,  luni. 
posed  of  the  fiower  of  the  youthful  noUiiiiy.  .Mjs 
queen,  ICxilona,  .accompanied  him,  for  she  <  r.ivpd 
permission  to  remain  m  one  of  the  cities  of  Aiida. 
lusia,  that  she  might  be  near  her  lord  in  this  time  uf 
peril. 

Among  the  first  who  apjiearcd  to  hail  the  irrival 
of  the  king  at  Cordov.a,  was  the  Bishop  Opiias,  thj 
secret  partisan  of  the  traitor  Julian.  He  lnoii.^ht 
with  hiiii  his  two  nephews,  Evan  and  SiseburiD,  d,t 
sons  of  the  late  king  Witi/a,  and  a  great  host  of 
vassals  and  retainers,  all  well  armed  and  appoiiiti-o, 
lor  thev  h.ad  been  furnished  by  Count  Julian  Aiih  1 
part  of'  the  anns  sent  by  the  king  to  Alrira.  Thij 
bishop  was  smooth  of  tongue,  and  prot'ouiid  in  hii 
hyjiocrisy ;  his  pretended  zeal  and  devotion,  and  the 
horror  with  which  he  s|K)ke  of  the  treachety  of  hii 
kinsman,  imposed  upon  the  credulous  spirit  oi  tht 
king,  and  he  was  readily  admitted  into  his  iiiusi  se- 
cret councils. 

The  alarm  of  the  infidel  inv.ision  had  spread 
throughout  the  land,  and  roused  the  Gotliic  \,ilijjr 
of  the  inhabitants.  On  receiving  the  orders  el 
Roderick,  every  (own  anci  hamlet,  every  mount.iin 
anil  valley,  had  sent  forth  its  fighting  men,  .ind  ihe 
whole  country  was  on  the  inarch  towards  Aiid.iliisi;i. 
In  a  little  while  there  were  gathert:d  together,  on  the 
plain  of  Cordova,  near  titty  thousand  horseiiieii,  and 
a  countless  host  of  foot-soldiers.  The  (lothie  i.ohlfs 
apix-ared  in  burnished  armour,  curiously  inl.iid  ind 
adorned,  with  chains  and  jewels  of  gold,  and  orn,!- 
ments  of  precious  stones,  and  silken  scarfs,  .iml  siir- 
coats  of  brocade,  or  velvet  richly  embroidered  ;  be- 
traying the  luxury  and  ostentation  into  whii  h  they 
had  declined  from  the  iron  hardihood  of  their  wiir- 
like  sires.  As  to  the  common  people,  some  Lid 
lances  and  shields  and  swords  and  cross-bows,  liui 
the  greater  part  were  unarmetl,  or  provided  merely 
with  slings,  an<l  clubs  studded  with  nails,  and  with 
the  iron  implements  of  husbandry  ;  and  many  had 
made  shields  for  themselves  from  the  doors  and  win- 
dows of  their  habitations.  They  were  a  prodipo  J 
host,  and  appeared,  say  the  Aratiian  chroniclers,  like 
an  agitated  sea,  but,  though  brave  in  sp'rit,  they 
possessed  no  knowledge  of  warlike  art,  and  wi  re  in- 
elfectiial  through  lack  of  arms  and  discipline. 

Several  of  the  most  ancient  and  experienced  cava- 
liers, beholding  the  state  of  the  army,  advised  Don 
Roderick  to  await  the  arrival  of  more  regular  trooi's, 
which  were  stationed  in  Iberia,  Cantabria,  and  Gai;ia 
Gothica ;  but  this  counsel  was  strenuously  opposed 
by  the  Bishop  Opp.as;  who  urged  the  king  to  march 
immediately  against  the  infidels.  "  As  yet,"  said  he. 
"their  number  is  but  limited,  but  evsry  day  new 


LEGENDS  Ol-    THE  CONQUEST  OF  SPAIN. 


ni 


iTHts  nrrive  like  flocks  of  !jcu»t«.  from  Afrioii.  They 
will  augment  faster  than  we;  thi-y  are  living,  loei.  at 
our  expenie,  and,  while  we  pauKe,  hoih  arinicii  nre 
coniuminif  the  substance  of  tho  land." 

Kint;  Koilerick  liitrned  to  the  crafty  cnuniel  n(  the 
M.'hop,  and  determined  to  advance  without  d>;l.iy. 
Mc:  mounted  his  war  horse,  On-lla,  ami  rode  aiiiunt' 
lis  troojM  assembled  on  that  spacious  plain,  and 
(vhcrever  he  appeared  he  w.n  received  with  accla- 
mations; for  nothing  so  arouses  the  spirit  of  the 
widier  as  to  behold  his  sovcnijjn  in  arms.  He  ad- 
drrnswl  them  in  words  calrulUed  to  touch  their 
ht'.ms  and  animate  their  coura^{e.  "  'I"hc  Saracens," 
svt\  hr,  "  are  ravapn^  our  land,  ;inil  their  object  is  our 
ro  ,(juest.  Should  they  prevail,  your  very  existence 
ft!<  I  nation  is  at  an  enii.  They  will  overturn  your 
uii.irs  ;  trample  on  the  cross;  lay  waste  your  cities; 
cai  rj  otT  your  wives  and  daughters,  and  doom  your- 
sclvc..  ann  sons  to  hard  and  cruel  slavery.  No  safetv 
rriiiai:  »  for  you  but  in  the  prowess  of  your  arms. 
For  my  own  part,  as  I  am  your  king,  so  will  I  be 
your  leklcr,  and  will  be  the  foremost  to  encounter 
every  to.l  and  danger." 

I'hc  soldiery  answered  their  monarch  with  loud 
ai:clamations,  and  solemnly  pledged  themselves  to 
ti^{ht  to  th.!  last  gasp  in  defence  of  their  coimtryand 
tlii'ir  faith.  The  king  then  arranged  the  order  of 
their  march  .  all  those  who  were  armed  with  c.iirasses 
anil  coats  ot  mail  were  pl.aced  in  the  front  an  1  rear; 
the  centre  of  the  army  was  composed  of  a  promis- 
ciiuiis  throni;,  without  body  armour,  and  but  scuntily 
p.iiviiled  with  wea|)ons. 

When  they  were  about  to  march,  the  king  calU'd 
to  liim  a  noble  cwalier  named  Ramiro,  and  deliver- 
ing; him  the  royal  standard,  charged  him  to  guard  if 
will  for  the  honour  of  Spain  ;  scarcely,  however,  had 
'.he  good  knight  received  it  in  his  hand,  when  he  fell 
df.id  from  his  horse,  and  the  st.df  of  the  standard 
*;;»  broken  in  twain.  Many  ancient  courtiers  who 
were  present,  looked  upon  this  as  an  evil  omen,  and 
counselled  the  king  not  to  set  forward  on  his  march 
tli.1t  day  ;  but,  (lisreganling  all  auguries  and  por- 
tiiits,  he  onlered  the  royal  l>anner  to  be  put  upon  a 
l.ince  and  gave  it  in  charge  of  another  standard  bear- 
rr:  then  commanding  the  trumpets  to  be  sounded, 
he  departed  at  the  head  of  his  host  to  seek  the  enemy. 

The  field  where  this  great  army  assembled  w,is 
called,  from  the  solenm  pledge  given  by  the  nobles 
find  the  soldiery,  /.'/  lamfio  i/r  Ai  vet  dad ;  or.  The 
field  of  Truth  ;  a  name,  says  the  sage  chronicler 
Abul  Cassim,  which  it  bears  even  to  the  present  day.* 


siMn  car./p,  ;:  't  ?i!screet 
with  rn..M-','*  "iiidificaiion, 
'\;\>     oi    .le  wily   Bishop 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

MARCH  OF  THE  GOTHIC  ARMY — ENCAMPMKNT  ON 
THE  BANKS  OF  THE  GUADALE  rE.— MVSTKRIOUS 
VREniCTIONS  OF  A  PALMER— CONDUCT  OF  PE- 
I ISTES  THEREUPON. 

Thk  hopes  of  Andalusia  revived  as  this  mighty 
host  stretched  in  lengthening  lines  along  its  fertile 
plains;  from  mom  unti,  night  it  continued  to  pour 
along,  with  sound  of  drum  and  trumpet ;  it  was  led 
on  by  the  proudest  nobles  and  bravest  cavaliers  i-i 
ihe  land,  and,  had  it  possessed  arms  and  dis..ipiine, 
might  have  undertaken  the  conquest  of  the  wci  1.1. 

After  a  few  days'  march.  Don  K^dericl-.  ai rived  in 
sight  of  the  Moslem  army,  encamped  on  the  banks 
of  the  Guadalete.t  where  that  beautiful  stream  winds 
through  the  <eriile  land  of  Xeres.    The  intidel  host 

*  \a  Perdida  de  EtpatU,  cap.  9.    Bl«da  Lib.  a,  c.  8. 
t  Thii  Dame  wai  givcta  to  il  aubiequently  by  the  Araln.    It 
OKcUiri  the  River  of  Death,    Vide  Pednua,  Hist,  Granad  p.  3  c.  i. 


WJis  far  inferior  in  number  to  thf  cnnstik(ia,>>iit  then 
it  w,as  coinposefl  of  h.inly  ahd  dexterous  (roopt, 
seasoned  to  war,  and  .idmirably  atmed.  The  camp 
shone  glorioiiHly  ii\  the  scttiii|{  sun,  and  resounded 
wiih  the  cl.ish  of  cymb.al,  the  note  of  the  trumpet, 
anti  the  neighing  of  hery  Arabian  steeds.  Th^it 
were  swarthy  troops  from  eveiy  nation  of  the  Afnuia 
co.ist,  together  with  legions  from  Syria  and  Egfyp'- 
wliile  the  light  Uedouitis  were  careering  aliout  th<! 
ailjarent  plain.  What  grieved  and  incmsed  the 
spirits  of  the  christian  warriors,  however,  was  to  he- 
hf)ld,  a  little  apart  from  the  Moslem  host,  an  en- 
campment of  Spanish  cavaliers,  with  the  banner  of 
Count  Julian  waving  above  their  tents.  They  were 
ten  thousand  in  number,  valiant  and  haidy  men,  the 
most  experienced  of  Spanish  soldiery,  most  of  them 
having  served  in  the  African  wars ;  they  were  well 
armed  and  ap|)ointed  ,ilso,  with  the  weapons  of 
which  the  count  had  beguileil  his  sovereign;  and  it 
was  a  grievous  sight  to  behold  such  good  soldiers 
arrayed  against  their  country  and  their  faith. 

The  christians  pitched  their  tenift  about  the  hour 
of  vespers,  at  a  short  league  distant  Irotn  the  enemy, 
and  remained  gazing  with  anxiety  and  awe  upon 
this  barbaric  host  that  had  cause<r  sui  h  terror  ?nd 
desolation  in  tlie  land  :  for  the  tir.':t  sight  of  a  hostile 
encimpirent  in  a  count' ^  disused  to  \\.\x,  is  t.rnblf 
to  the  new'y  enl'sted  ir,difr,  A  1  ■ 'rve'i"  is  occur- 
rence is  recorded  by  the  '  rabini  > !  roniv  i^rs  as  hav- 
ing tak^Ti  pl.ace  i"  tlv.  c 
Spanish  writer*  ri',,-,tt'  i 
:(nd    consider   it   a   str.u 

Oppas,  to  sound  the  loy.iiij'  u*"  (I.e  christian  r,<v4- 
liers. 

As  several  Itr.dcr'?  of  ilie  arr'  ./ert  s^aK-d  with 
,'he  bishop  in  hi',  (..ii*,  convjr  .'•'g  nr  the  ('nUi  an 
fortunes  ol  the  .iiiprcac'im-^'  contest,  an  am.-nu'  ^n',- 
griiTi  appeart'l  at  'he  (Li.:riin<'c.  U.  'v  i;  Unvfiil 
down  wit'i  v.Mis,  "is  sncwy  beam  i'!e",ceniled  to  hii 
girdle,  and  he  suii|iOi'*e(i  his  It^teri-..^  step'i  v-'it!:  u 
palmer's  stall'.  The  ci'valicr*"  ;  .*'*  and  riKti'c:!  liip 
with  gre;it  rever-nce  a.x  lit  ;  .',v;r,i..ed  \vilh  n  tie  :.•!.'.. 
Holding  up  his  withered  '.an:, '  w.  i,  v  if  10  S;v.i  .  \  " 
evcl.'.imed  he,  "for  the  vi;>.!  of  >.li«  v.raf.h  of'.u  iven  ia 
about  to  be  potiu-d  out.  ?..st.';p,  warriors,  and  take 
warning.  Four  n»nthr-i  since,  li.iv.ng  jjchnnrd  try 
pilgrimage  to  the  sepi^lchr-:  "jI  oiir  Lord  n  P\iest;iie, 
1  was  on  my  retfra  toward-,  my  r.p.tlve  land.  vV'e.aried 
and  way-worn,  i  lay  'lu'.vii  one  t  ight  to  si'.ejibfiiesth 
a  palm  tree,  by  the  s-de  o!  a  fourtain,  -Alien  I  was 
awakened  by  a  voice  '=!.ayii>guntc  rac,  in  solt  acrrn'.., 
•  Sen  of  sorrow,  why  si:  if  prat  ,!,ou .' '  '  apci-cd  tny 
eyes  .':nd  beheld  one  of  fair  nnd  lip-  'iiO'iis  couti- 
tenance,  in  shining  apparel,  and  with  ^I'mo  js  wings, 
standing  by  the  fountain;  and  I  ^id,  'who  art  thou, 
who  cailest  upon  me  m  thi .  deep  hour  of  the  rif;ht  ? ' 

"'  fear  noi, '  re|ti?d  the  .striri.'er,  'I  am  ir  arfc! 
from  he,-  v'ti,  st.ni  to  reveal  unfo  i.'n.  2  the  f,:te  of  thy 
country,  l.ehol.l,  thf.  sins  of  Kcdcrick  h.ave  coi-.ie  up 
bct'oro  Go  1,  and  h;.  n  i  jer  is  'dr^d'ej  against  him, 
and  he  h.as  given  ''im  up  0  Ix  \c\  .m  leu  and  destroyed. 
H.asten  then  to  Sj  ain,  and  w.rk  the  camp  of  thy 
couou ;  i.ei .  vVarn  tiiem  that  such  only  shall  be 
i.'ive-.  as  ih.-.ll  ,it>andon  l.oderick ;  but  those  whc 
at''>  re  to  him  sliall  share  his  punishment,  and  ahali 
f:.ii  under  thu  sword  of  the  invader,'  " 

The  pilgrim  ce.aserl,  and  passed  forth  from  the 
tent ,  certain  of  the  cavaliers  follosved  him  to  detain 
him,  that  they  might  converse  further  with  him 
about  these  matters,  but  he  was  no  where  to  be 
found.  The  sentinel  before  the  tent  said,  "  I  saw  no 
one  come  forth,  but  it  was  as  if  a  blast  of  wind 
passed  by  me,  and  there  was  a  rustling  as  of  dry 
leaves." 

The  cavaliers  rcn  ained  looking  upon  each  otb« 


812 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING, 


miji 


lit 


« , 


[>  ■-■..    ■'  r'J 


^4' 


with  astonishment.  The  Bishop  Oppas  sat  with  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  grouiKl,  and  shadowed  hy  his 
overiianging  brow.  At  length,  breaking  silence,  in 
a  low  and  faltering  voice:  "Doubtless,"  said  he, 
"  this  message  is  from  God  ;  and  since  he  has  taken 
compassion  upon  us,  and  given  us  notice  of  his  im- 
ptnaing  judgment,  it  behoves  us  to  hold  grave  coun- 
cil, ami  determine  how  best  we  may  accomplish  his 
will  and  avert  his  displeasure." 

The  chiefs  still  remained  silent  as  men  confound- 
ed. Among  them  was  a  veteran  noble  n.imed  Peiistes. 
He  had  distinguished  himself  in  the  African  wars, 
fighting  side  by  side  with  Count  Julian,  hut  the  lat- 
ter had  never  dared  to  tamper  with  his  faith,  for  he 
knew  his  stern  integrity.  Peiistes  had  brought  with 
him  to  the  camp  his  only  son,  who  had  never  drawn 
i  sword  except  in  tourney.  When  the  young  man 
law  that  the  veterans  held  their  peace,  the  blood 
mantled  in  his  cheek,  and,  overcoming  his  modesty, 
be  broke  forth  with  a  generous  warmth  :  "  I  know 
not,  cavaliers,"  said  he,  "what  is  passing  in  your 
minds,  but  I  believe  this  pilgrim  to  be  an  envoy 
Irom  the  devil ;  for  none  else  could  have  given  such 
dastard  and  perfidious  counsel.  For  my  own  part, 
I  stand  ready  to  defend  my  king,  my  country,  and 
my  faith;  1  know  no  higher  duty  than  this,  and  if 
God  thinks  fit  to  strike  me  de.id  in  the  i)erforniance 
of  it,  his  sovereign  will  be  done  !  " 

When  the  young  man  had  risen  to  speak,  his 
father  had  fixed  his  eyes  upon  him  with  a  grave  and 
stern  demeanour,  leaning  upon  a  two-handed  sword. 
As  soon  as  the  youtli  had  finished,  Peiistes  emt>raced 
him  with  a  father's  fondness.  "  Thou  hast  spoken 
well,  my  son,"  said  he  ;  "  if  I  hi-ld  my  peace  at  the 
counsel  of  this  losel  pilgrim,  it  was  but  to  hear  thy 
opinion,  and  to  learn  whether  thou  wort  worthy  of 
thy  lineage  and  of  the  training  I  had  given  thee. 
Hadst  thou  counselled  otherwise  than  thou  hast 
done,  hadst  thou  shown  thyself  craven  and  disloyal ; 
.»o  help  me  God  I  would  have  struck  olf  thy  head 
with  this  wiajon  which  I  hold  in  my  hand.  13iit 
thou  hast  counselled  like  a  loyal  and  a  christian 
knight,  and  I  thank  God  for  having  given  me  a  son 
worthy  to  perpetuate  tiie  honours  of  my  line.  As  to 
this  pilgrim,  be  he  saint  or  be  he  devil,  I  care  not ; 
this  much  I  promise,  that  if  I  .am  to  die  in  defence 
of  my  country  and  my  king,  iDy  life  shall  be  a  costly 
purchase  to  the  foe.  Let  each  man  make  the  same 
resolve,  and  I  trust  we  shall  yet  prove  the  pils^Tim  a 
lying  prophet."  The  words  of  I'clisies  roused  the 
spirits  of  many  of  the  cavaliers ;  others,  however, 
remained  full  of  anxious  foreiioding,  and  when  this 
fearful  prophecy  was  rumoured  al)out  the  camp,  as 
it  presently  was  by  the  emissaries  of  the  bishop,  it 
spread  awe  and  dismay  among  the  soldiery. 


CHAPTER   XV. 


8KIKMISHING    OF    THE    ARMIES.— PELISTES    AND 
HIS  SON. — PCLISTF-S   AND  THE   BISHOP. 

On  the  following  day  the  two  armies  remained 
rfcarding  each  other  with  wary,  but  menacing  aspect. 
About  noontide  King  Roderick  sent  forth  a  chosen 
lorce  of  five  hundred  horse  and  two  hundred  foot, 
the  best  armed  of  his  host,  to  skirmish  with  the 
enemy,  that,  by  gaining  some  partial  advant.age, 
they  might  raise  the  spirits  of  the  army.  Th(;y  were 
led  on  by  Theodomir,  the  same  Gothic  nolile  who 
had  signalized  himself  by  first  opposing  the  invasion 
of  the  Mo.slems. 

The  christian  squadrons  paraded  with  flying  pcn- 
«ons  m  the  valley  which  lay  between  the  armies 


The  Arabs  were  not  slow  m  answering  their  defiance 
A  large  body  of  horsemen  sallied  forth  to  the  en 
counter,  together  with  three  hundred  of  the  followrn 
of  Count  Julian.  There  was  hot  skirmishing  ahonl 
the  field  and  on  the  banks  of  the  river;  many  ga'. 
lant  feats  were  displayed  on  either  side,  and  nianv 
valiant  warriors  were  slain.  As  the  night  closed  in, 
the  trumpets  from  either  camp  summoned  the  troops 
to  retire  from  the  comb.it.  In  this  day's  action  tht 
christians  suffered  greatly  in  the  loss  of  their  disiin. 
guished  cavaliers;  for  it  is  the  noblest  spirits  who 
venture  most,  and  lay  tl  emselves  open  to  danj^cr , 
and  the  Moslem  soldiers  had  instructions  to  single 
out  the  leaders  of  the  adverse  host.  All  this  is  .said 
to  have  been  devised  by  the  perfidious  Bishop  Opp.is. 
who  had  secret  communications  with  the  eneiiiv, 
while  he  influenced  the  councils  of  the  king ;  .mid 
who  trusted  that  by  this  skirmishing  warfare  the 
power  of  the  christian  troops  would  be  cut  off,  and 
the  rest  disheartened. 

On  ■  the  follow  ng  morning  a  larger  force  w.is 
ordereil  out  to  skirmish,  and  such  of  the  soldiery  as 
were  unarmed  were  commanded  to  stand  reaiK  ui 
seize  the  horses  and  strip  otT  the  armour  of  the  killed 
and  wounded.  Among  the  most  illustrious  ot  the 
w.arriors  who  fought  that  d.ay  was  Peiistes,  tht- 
Gothic  noble  who  had  so  sternly  checked  the  toncjue 
of  the  Bishop  Oppas.  He  led  to  the  field  a  lar>.,e 
body  of  his  own  vassals  and  retainers,  and  of  cai-a- 
liers  trained  up  in  his  house,  who  had  followed  him 
to  the  wars  in  Africa,  and  who  looked  up  to  U'.n 
more  as  a  father  than  a  chiettain.  Beside  hint  was 
his  only  son,  who  now  for  the  first  time  was  liesh::is; 
his  sword  in  battle.  The  conflict  that  day  w.-.i 
more  general  and  bloody  than  the  day  precediar; 
the  slaughter  of  the  christian  warr-.ors  was  imincns,-; 
from  their  lack  of  defensive  armour  ;  and  .as  nothing 
coulil  prevent  the  flower  of  the  (jothic  chivalry  ,rom 
spurring  to  the  combat,  the  licld  was  strewed  witn 
the  bodies  of  the  youthful  nobles.  None  suffcreci 
more,  however,  than  the  warriors  of  F'elistes,  'I'heir 
leader  himself  was  bold  and  hardy,  and  prone  to  ex- 
pose himself  to  danger;  but  years  and  experience 
had  moderated  his  early  fi;--; ;  his  son,  however,  w.is 
eager  to  distinguish  hnnself  in  this,  his  first  ess.iv, 
and  rushed  witii  impetuous  ardour  into  the  hotust 
of  the  battle.  In  vain  his  father  called  to  caution 
him  ;  he  was  ever  in  the  advance,  and  seemeii  un- 
conscious of  the  ]x,'rils  that  .surrounded  him.  The 
cavaliers  and  vassals  of  his  fath(;r  followed  him  with 
devoted  leal,  and  many  of  them  paid  for  their  loyaliv 
with  their  lives.  When  the  trumpets  sounded  in  the 
evening  for  retreat,  the  troops  of  Peiistes  \scie  tic 
Last  to  reach  the  camp.  They  caiiiv  slowly  and 
mournfully,  and  much  decre.a.se(i  in  number.  Tlvi; 
veteran  commander  w.as  seated  on  his  war- horse, 
but  the  blood  trickled  from  the  greaves  of  his  armour. 
His  valiant  s(?n  was  borne  on  the  shields  of  his  vas- 
sals ;  when  they  laid  him  on  the  earth  near  to  .vhttr 
the  king  was  standing,  they  found  that  the  her  if 
youth  had  expired  of  his  wounds.  The  cav  lien, 
surrounded  the  body  and  gave  utter.mce  to  th^.r 
grief,  but  the  father  restrained  his  agony,  and  lockwi 
on  with  the  stern  resignation  of  a  soldier, 

Don  Roderick  surveyed  the  field  of  battle  with  a 
rueful  eye,  for  it  was  covered  with  the  mar./Jwi 
bodies  of  his  most  illustrious  warriors ;  he  saw,  too, 
with  anxiety,  tliat  the  common  people,  unused  to 
war  and  unsustained  l)y  discipline,  were  harassed  by 
incessant  toils  and  dangers,  and  were  coolmg  in 
their  /.eal  and  courage. 

The  crafty  Bishop  Opp.as  marked  the  internal 
trouble  of  the  king,  and  thought  a  favourable  U'o- 
menl  had  arrived  to  sway  him  to  his  purpose.  H< 
called  to  -.is  mind  the  various  portents  and  prophe 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  SPAIN. 


818 


tea  which  had  forerun  their  present  danger.  "  Let 
not  my  lord  the  king,"  said  he,  "  make  light  of  these 
mysterious  revelations,  which  appear  to  be  so  dis- 
astrously fulfilling.  The  hand  of  heaven  appears  to 
be  ij^ainst  us.  Destruction  is  impending  over  our 
hisids.  Our  troops  are  rude  and  unskilful ;  but 
ilightly  armed,  and  much  cast  down  in  spirit.  Bet- 
ter is  it  that  we  should  make  a  treaty  A-ith  the 
enemy,  and,  by  granting  part  of  his  demands,  pre- 
renl  the  utter  ruin  of  our  country.  If  such  counsel 
■X  acceptable  to  my  lord  the  king,  I  stand  ready  to 
Jm.irt  upon  an  embassy  to  the  Aloslem  cami)." 

\J\)on  hearing  these  words,  I'elistes,  who  had 
ir.oo(l  in  mournful  silence,  regarding  the  dead  body 
af  h;s  son,  burst  forth  with  honest  indignation.  "  IJy 
this  good  sword,"  said  he,  "  the  man  who  yields 
such  dastard  counsel  deserves  death  from  the  hatul 
of  his  countryman  rather  than  from  the  foe ;  and, 
were  it  not  for  the  presence  of  the  king,  may  I  for- 
feit salvation  if  1  would  not  strike  him  dead  upon 
tiic  spot." 

The  bishop  turned  an  eye  of  venom  upon  Pelistes. 
'My  loril,"  said  he,  "I,  too,  bear  a  weapon,  and 
know  how  to  wield  it.  Were  the  king  not  present, 
/on  would  not  dare  to  menace,  nor  should  you  ad- 
vance one  step  without  my  hastening  to  meet  you." 

Tlie  king  interpKJsed  between  the  jarring  nobles, 
and  rebuked  the  impetuosity  of  Pelistes,  but  at  the 
jame  time  rejected  the  counsel  of  the  bishop.  "  The 
event  of  this  conHict,"  said  he,  "  is  in  the  iiand  of 
God  ;  but  never  shall  my  sword  return  to  its  sca'.i- 
barii  while  an  intidel  invader  remains  within  the 
hnd." 

He  then  held  a  council  with  his  captains,  and  it 
w.vi  determined  to  offer  the  enemy  general  battle 
on  the  following  day,  A  herald  was  despatched 
ilel)ing  Taric  ben  Zeyad  to  the  contest,  and  the 
(ietiance  was  gladly  accepted  by  tlie  Moslem  chief- 
lain.*  Don  Roderick  then  formed  the  plan  of  ac- 
t'.on,  and  assigned  to  each  commander  his  several 
nation,  after  which  he  dismissed  his  oflicers,  and 
Mcli  one  sought  his  tent,  to  prepare  by  diligence  or 
repose  for  the  next  day's  eventful  contest. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 


rRAITOROUS   MESSAGE  OF  COUNT  JULIAN. 

Taric  ben  Zeyad  had  been  surprised  by  the 
valour  of  the  christian  cavaliers  in  the  recent  bat- 
tles, and  at  the  number  and  apparent  devotion  of 
the  troops  which  accompanied  the  king  to  the  titld. 
The  confident  defiance  of  Don  Roderick  increased 
his  surprise.  When  the  herald  hail  retired,  he 
turned  an  eye  of  suspicion  on  Count  Julian.  "  Thou 
hast  represented  thy  countrymen,"  said  he,  "  as 
sunk  in  effeminacy  and  lost  to  all  generous  impulse  ; 
yet  I  find  them  fighting  with  the  courage  and  the 
strength  of  lions.  Thou  h.ist  represented  thy  king 
as  detested  by  his  sut)jects  and  surroun<led  by  secret 
treason,  but  I  behold  his  tents  whitening  the  hills 
and  dales,  while  thousands  are  hourly  flocking  to  his 
ilamlard.  Woe  unto  thee  if  thou  hast  dealt  deceit- 
fully with  us,  or  betrayed  us  with  guileful  words." 

[ion  Julian  retired  to  his  tent  in  great  trouble  of 
nind,  and  fear  came  upon  him  that  the  Bishop  Op- 
•Ms  might  play  him  false  ;  for  it  is  the  lot  of  traitors 
ever  to  distrust  each  other.  He  called  lo'  him  the 
atne  page  who  had  brought  him  the  letter  from 
riorinda,  revealing  the  story  of  her  dishonour. 

"  Thou  knowest,  my  trusty  page,"  said  he,  "  that 
I  have  reared  thee  in  my  household,  and  cherished 
thee  above  all  thy  companions.  If  thou  h.ast  loyalty 
and  affection  for  thy  lord,  now  is  the  time  K  ser\-e 

*  Blote,  Cronica. 


him.  Hie  thee  to  the  christian  camp,  and  find  thy 
way  to  the  tent  of  the  Bishop  Oppa?.  If  any  one 
ask  thee  who  thou  art,  tell  them  thou  art  of  .the 
household  of  the  bishop,  and  bearer  of  missives  from 
Cordova.  When  thou  art  admitted  to  the  presence 
of  the  bishop,  show  him  this  ring,  and  he  will  conn- 
mune  with  thee  in  secret.  Then  tell  him  Count 
Julian  greets  him  as  a  brother,  and  demands  how  iht 
wrongs  of  his  daughter  Florinda  are  to  be  redressed, 
Mark  well  his  reply,  and  bring  it  word  for  word. 
Have  thy  lips  closed,  but  thine  eyes  and  ears  open  ; 
and  observe  every  thing  of  note  in  the  camp  of  the 
king.  So,  speed  thee  on  thy  errand — away,  away  !  " 
The  page  hastened  to  saddle  a  Barbary  steed, 
fleet  as  the  wind,  and  of  a  jet  black  colour,  so  as 
not  to  be  easily  discernible  in  the  night.  He  girded 
on  a  sword  and  dagger,  slung  an  Arab  bow  with  a 
quiver  of  arrows  at  his  side,  and  a  buckler  at  his 
I  shoulder.  Issuing  out  of  the  camp,  he  sought  the 
I  banks  of  the  Guadalete,  and  proceeded  silently  along 
I  its  stream,  which  reflected  the  distant  tires  of  the 
t  christian  camp.  As  he  passed  by  the  place  which 
had  been  the  scene  of  the  recent  conflict,  he  heard, 
from  time  to  time,  the  groan  of  some  expiring  war- 
rior who  had  crawled  among  the  reeds  on  the  mar- 
gin of  the  river ;  and  sometimes  his  steed  stepped 
cautiously  over  the  mangled  bodies  of  the  slain. 
The  young  page  was  unused  to  the  sights  of  war, 
and  his  heart  be.at  quick  within  him.  He  was  hailed 
by  the  sentinels  as  he  a])proached  the  christian 
camp,  and,  on  giving  the  reply  taught  him  by  Count 
Julian,  was  conducted  to  the  tent  of  the  Bishop 
Oppas. 

The   bishop  had   not   yet  retired   to   his  couch. 
When  he  beheld  the  ring  of  Cv    "»  J'llian,  and  hcarj 
the  words  of  his  message,  he  saw  that  the  pag«  wa* 
one  in  whom  he  might  confide.     "  Hasten  back  tc 
thy  lord."  said  he,  "  and  tell  him  to  have  faith  in  xi 
and  all  shall  go  well.     As  yet  I  have  kept  my  troops 
out  of  the  combat.    Tht7  are  all  fresh,  well  anne<l, 
and  well  appointed.     The  king  has  confided  to  my- 
self, aided  by  the  p    nces  Evan  and  Siseburto,  the 
command  of  a  wini;  of  the  army.     To-morrow,  at 
the  hour  of  noon,  when  both  annies  are  in  the  heat 
of  .action,  we  will  pass  over  with  our  forces  to  the 
Moslems.     But  1  claim  the  compact  made  with  Taric 
ben  Zeyad,  that  my  nephews  be  place*!  in  dominion 
over  Spain,  and  tributary  only  to  the  Caliph  of  Da- 
mascus,"    With  this  traitorous  message  the  p.age  de- 
parted.    He  led  his  hl.ick  steed  by  the  biidle  to  pre- 
sent less  mark  for  observation,  as  he  went  stumbling 
along  near  the  expiring  fires  of  the  camp.     On  pass- 
ing the  last  outpost,  when  the  guards  were  half 
slumbering  on  their  anns,  he  was  overheard   and 
summoned,  but  leaped  lightly  into  the  saddle  and 
put  spurs  to  his  steed.     An  arrow  whistled  by  hi.i 
ear.  and  two  more  stuck  in  the  target  which    he 
h;i<l  thrown  u[X)n  his  back.     The  clatter  of  swift 
hoofs  echoed  behind  him,  but   he  had  learnt  of  the 
Arabs  to  fight  and  fly.     Plucking  a  shaft  from  hia 
quiver,  and  turning  antl  rising  in  his  stirrups  as  hia 
courser  galloiied  at  full  speed,  he  drew  the  arrow  to 
the  head  anfl  launched  it  at  his  pursuer.    The  twanj 
of  the  bow-string  vas  followed  by  the  crash  of  ar- 
mour, and  a  deep  groan,  as  the  horseman  tumbled  to 
the  earth.    The  page  pursued  his  course  without 
further  molestation,  and  arrived  at  the  Moslem  camp 
before  the  break  of  day. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

LAST   DAY  OF  THE   BATTLI, 

A  LIGHT  had  burned  throughout  the  night  in  the 
tent  of  the  king  and  anxious  thoughts  and  dismal 


8U 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


m 


'■:>'■* 


M- 


l>v 


?..■(■<;  : 


"t:- 


visions  troubled  his  repose.  If  he  fell  into  a.  slumber, 
he  beheld  in  his  dreams  the  shaclowyphantoms  of 
the  necromantic  tower,  or  the  injured  Florinda,  pale 
tnd  dishevelled,  imprecating  the  vengeance  of  heaven 
«<pon  his  head.  In  the  mid-watches  of  the  night, 
when  all  was  silent  except  the  footsteps  of  the 
sentinel,  pacing  before  his  tent,  tlie  Icing  rose  from 
his  couch,  and  walking  forth  looked  thoughtfully 
jpon  the  martial  scene  before  him.  The  pale  cres- 
cent of  the  moon  hung  over  the  Moorish  camp, 
and  dimly  lighted  up  the  windings  of  the  Guadalcte. 
The  heart  of  the  king  was  heavy  and  oppressed ;  but 
le  felt  only  for  himself,  says  Antonio  Agapida ;  he 
thought  nothing  of  the  perils  impending  over  the 
thousands  of  devoted  subjects  in  the  camp  below 
him ;  sleeping,  as  it  were,  on  the  margin  of  their 
graves.  The  faint  clatter  of  distant  hoofs,  as  if  in 
rapid  flight,  reached  the  monarch's  ear,  but  the 
horsemen  were  not  to  be  descried.  At  that  very  hour, 
and  along  the  shadowy  banks  of  that  river,  here  and 
there  gleaming  with  the  scanty  moonlight,  passed 
the  fugitive  messenjjer  of  Count  Julian,  with  the  plan 
of  the  next  day's  treason. 

The  day  had  not  yet  dawned,  when  the  sleepless 
and  impatient  monarch  summoned  his  attendants 
«nd  arrayed  himself  for  the  fiekl.  He  then  sent  for 
the  venerable  Bishop  Urbino,  who  had  accompanied 
him  to  the  camp,  and.  layinff  aside  his  reg.i.  crown,  he 
knelt  with  head  uncovered,  and  confessed  his  sins 
before  the  holy  man.  Alter  this  a  solemn  mass  was 
performed  in  the  royal  tent,  and  the  euchaust  ad- 
ministered to  the  monarch.  When  these  ceremonies 
were  concluded,  he  besought  the  archbishop  to  depart 
forthwith  for  Cordova,  there  to  await  the  issue  of  the 
tattle,  and  to  be  ready  to  bring  forward  reinforce- 
ments and  supplies.  The  archbishop  saddled  his 
fflulc  and  departed  just  as  the  faint  blush  of  morn- 
!i:g  beg.m  to  kindle  in  the  east.  Already  the  camp 
resounded  with  the  thrilling  call  of  the  trumpet,  the 
riank  of  armour,  and  the  tramp  and  neigh  ot  steeds. 
As  the  archbishop  passed  through  the  camp,  he 
looked  with  a  compassionate  heart  on  this  vast  mul- 
titude, of  whom  so  many  were  soon  to  perish.  The 
warriors  pressed  to  kiss  his  hand,  and  many  a  cava- 
lier full  of  youth  and  fire  received  his  benediction, 
who  was  to  lie  stiff  and  cold  before  the  evening. 

When  the  troops  were  marshalled  for  the  field, 
Don  Roderick  prepared  to  sally  forth  in  the  state 
and  pomp  with  which  the  Gothic  kings  were  wont 
to  go  to  battle.  He  was  arrayed  in  robes  of  gold 
brocade ;  his  sandals  were  embroidered  with  pearls 
and  diamonds  ;  he  had  a  sceptre  in  his  hand,  and  he 
wore  a  regal  crown  resplendent  with  inestimable 
iswels.  Thus  gorgeously  apparelled,  he  ascended  a 
lofty  chariot  of  ivory,  the  axle-trees  of  which  were  of 
silver,  and  the  wheels  and  pr.le  covered  with  plates 
of  burnisiied  gold.  Above  his  head  was  a  canopy 
of  cloth  of  gold  embossed  with  armorial  devices,  and 
studded  with  precious  stones.*  This  sumptuous 
chariot  was  drawn  by  milk-white  horses,  with  capar- 
isons of  crimson  velvet,  embroidered  with  pearls.  A 
thousand  youthful  cavaliers  surrounded  the  car ;  all 
of  the  noblest  blood  anfl  br.avest  spirit;  all  kni-jhted 
by  the  king's  own  hand,  and  sworn  to  defend  iiirn  to 
the  last. 

When  Roderick  issued  forth  in  this  resplendent 
itate,  says  an  Arabian  writer,  surrounded  by  his 
guards  in  gilded  armour  and  waving  plumes  and 
scarfs  and  surco.nts  of  a  thousand  dyes,  it  was  as  if 
the  sun  were  emerging  in  the  dazzling  chariot  of  the 
day  from  amidst  the  glorious  clouds  of  morning. 

As  the  royal  car  rolled  along  in  front  of  the  squ.ad- 
rons,  the  soldiers  shouted  with  admiration.  Don 
Roderick  waved  his  sceptre  and  addressed   them 

*  Balruid.  ChfOD  aa.  Chrii,  714. 


trom  his  lofty  throne,  reminding  then  ot  Ihe  hnr. 
ror  and  desolation  which  had  alieady  been  sjiread 
through  the  land  by  the  invaders.  He  called  upon 
them  to  summon  up  the  ancient  valour  of  their  race 
and  avenge  the  blood  of  their  brethren.  "One  day 
of  glorious  fighting,"  said  he, "  and  t.us  infidel  horde 
will  be  driven  into  the  sea  or  will  perish  brneath 
your  swords.  Forward  bravely  to  ttie  fight ,  youi 
families  are  behind  you  praying  for  your  success; 
the  invaders  of  your  country  arc  before  you ;  (k)d 
is  above  to  bless  his  holy  cause,  and  your  kinjj  leads 
you  to  the  field."  The  army  shouted  with  one  ac- 
cord, "  Forw.ard  to  the  foe,  and  death  be  his  portion 
who  shuns  the  encounter  !  " 

The  rising  sun  began  to  shine  along  the  glistening 
waters  of  the  Guadalete  as  the  Moorish  army,  squad- 
ron  after  squadron,  came  sweeping  down  a  fjtnile 
declivity  to  the  sound  of  martial  music.  Thojr  tur- 
bans and  robes,  of  various  dyes  and  fashions,  p;ave  a 
splendid  appearance  to  their  host ;  as  they  marched, 
a  doud  of  (lust  arose  and  partly  hid  them  from  the 
sight,  but  still  there  would  break  forth  flashes  of  steel 
and  gleams  of  burnished  gold,  like  rays  of  vivid 
lightning ;  while  the  sound  of  drum  and  trumpet, 
and  the  lash  of  Moorish  cymbal,  were  as  the  warlike 
thunder  within  th.it  stormy  cloud  of  battle. 

As  the  armies  drew  near  each  other,  the  sun  dis- 
appeared among  gathering  clouds,  and  the  gloom  of 
the  day  was  increased  by  the  columns  of  dust  which 
rose  from  either  host.  At  length  the  trunifH'ts  sounil- 
ed  for  the  encounter.  The  battle  commenced  wiih 
showers  of  arrows,  stones,  and  javelins.  The  cliris- 
tian  foot-soldiers  fought  to  disadvantage,  the  grt'atci 
part  being  destitute  of  helm  or  buckler.  A  battahoi 
of  light  Arabian  horsemen,  led  by  a  Greek  renegad; 
named  Magnet  el  Kumi,  careered  in  front  of  the 
christian  line,  launching  their  darts,  and  then  wlierl- 
ing  off  beyond  the  reach  of  the  missiles  hurled  after 
them.  Theodomir  now  brought  up  his  seasoned 
troops  into  the  action,  seconded  by  the  veteran  i'e- 
listes.  and  in  a  little  while  the  battle  became  tiriijus 
and  promiscuous.  It  w,is  glorious  to  iiehoUl  the  old 
Gothic  valour  shining  forth  in  this  hour  of  fearful 
trial.  Wherever  the  Moslei  ;  fell,  the  chrisiiins 
rushed  forward,  seized  upon  their  horses,  and  strii>- 
ped  them  of  their  armour  and  their  weapons.  Thty 
fought  desperately  an<l  successfully,  for  they  fou^'ht 
for  their  country  and  their  faith.  The  battle  r.ii;fil 
for  several  hours  ;  the  field  was  strown  with  sum, 
,and  the  Moors,  overcome  by  the  multitude  and  fury 
of  their  foes,  began  to  falter. 

When  Taric  beheld  his  troops  retreating  before 
the  enemy,  he  threw  himself  before  them,  and,  using 
in  his  stirmps,  "Oh  Moslems!  conquerors  of  Atti- 
ca ! "  cried  he,  "  whither  would  you  (1y  ?  The  sea  is 
behind  you,  the  enemy  before ;  you  have  no  hojie 
but  in  your  valour  and  the  help  of  God.  Do  as  1  do 
and  the  d.ay  is  ours  !  " 

With  these  words  he  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and 
spnmg  among  the  enemy,  striKing  to  right  and  left, 
cutting  down  and  destroying,  while  his  steed.  I.eice 
as  himself,  trampled  upon  the  foot-soldiers,  and  tore 
them  with  his  teeth.  At  this  moment  a  mighty  si  ')u! 
anise  in  various  parts  of  the  field  ;  the  no(mti(le  hin 
had  arrived.  The  Bishop  Oppas  with  the  two 
princes,  who  had  hitherto  Kept  their  bands  out  of 
the  fight,  suddenly  went  over  to  the  enemy,  and 
turned  their  weapons  upon  their  astonished  coun- 
trymen. From  that  moment  the  fortune  of  the  d.iy 
was  changed,  and  the  field  of  battle  became  a  scene 
of  wild  confusion  and  bloody  mass.icre.  The  chris- 
tians knew  not  whom  to  contend  with,  or  whom  to 
trust.  It  seemed  as  if  madness  had  seized  upon 
their  friends  .and  kinsmen,  and  that  their  worst  ene- 
mies were  among  themselves. 


Ihcn  o\  jhe  hor. 
lady  been  sj/read 
I  He  called  upon 
lour  of  their  rac« 
liren.  "One  day 
Itiis  infidel  horde 
f\  perish  brneaih 

the  fight  ;  yout 

ior  your  succrsa; 
"before  you ;  (rtd 
1  your  kinj,'  leads 
Med  with  one  ac- 
Mh  be  his  pornon 

ng  the  glistening 
frish  army,  squad- 
down  a  f^cntie 
iiisic.  _  Their  tur- 
fashions,  j^ave  a 
as  they  marched, 
|i(l  them  from  itn- 
th  flashes  of  steel 
ike  rays  of  vivid 
im  and  trumpet, 
^re  as  the  warlike 
f  battle. 

(her,  the  sun  dis- 
and  the  gloom  of 
ins  of  dust  wliich 
:  tioimpots  sonnd- 
cofnmenced  wiih 
'lins.     The  chris- 
itage,  the  greater 
kler.    A  battalion 
J  Greek  renegadj 
1  in   front  of  the 
,  and  then  wherl- 
ssiles  hurled  alter 
up  his  seasoned 
y  the  veteran  I'e- 
le  became  luiious 
to  liehold  the  old 
is  hour  of  fearful 
II,  the   chrisiians 
tiorses,  and  stri[). 
'  weapons.    They 
f,  for  they  fought 
The  b.attle  raided 
rown  with  slam, 
lultitude  and  fury 

retreating  before 
them,  and,  rising 
Kiuerors  of  Aln- 
ny  ?  The  sea  is 
)u  have  no  hope 
iod.     Do  as  1  do 

to  his  horse  and 
to  right  and  left, 
'  his  steed,  t.eice 
oldiers,  and  ;nre 
it  a  mis^hty  ^.1  'lu: 
\\e  noontide  hT.ii 
5  with  the  two 
;ir  bands  out  i.f 
the  enemy,  ana 
5tonished  coun- 
■tune  of  the  day 
became  a  scene 
ere.  The  chris- 
ith,  or  whom  to 
lad  seized  upon 
tiieir  worst  etie 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  CONQUEST  FO  SPUN. 


818 


The  courage  of  Don  Roderick  rose  with  his  dan- 
ger. Throwing  off  the  cumbrous  robes  (  royalty 
and  descending  from  his  car,  he  sprang  upon  his 
steed  Orelia,  grasped  his  lance  and  buckler,  and  en- 
deavoured to  rally  his  retreating  troops.  He  was 
surrounded  and  assailed  by  a  multitude  of  his  own 
tiviiiorous  subjects,  but  defended  himself  with  won- 
drous prowess.  The  enemy  thickened  around  him ; 
his  loyal  band  of  cavaliers  were  slain,  bravely  fight- 
ing in  his  defence ;  the  last  that  was  seen  of  the  king 
was  in  the  midst  of  the  enemy,  dealing  death  at 
,!very  blow. 

A  complete  panic  fell  upon  the  christians ;  they 
threw  away  their  arms  and  fled  in  all  directions. 
They  were  pursued  with  dreadful  slaughter,  unti! 
the  darkness  of  the  night  rendered  it  impossible  to 
distinguish  friend  from  foe.  Taric  then  called  off  his 
troops  from  the  pursuit,  and  took  tiossession  of  the 
royal  camp ;  and  the  couch  which  had  been  pressed 
so  uneasily  on  the  preceding  night  by  Don  Roderick, 
now  yielded  sound  repose  to  his  concjueror.* 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


THB  KIELD  OF  BATTLE  AFTER  THE  DEFEAT. — 
THE  FATE  OF   RODERICK. 

On  the  morning  after  the  battle,  the  Arab  leader, 
Taric  ben  Zeyad,  rode  over  the  bloody  field  of  the 
Guadalete,  strewed  with  the  ruins  of  those  splendid 
a-mies,  which  had  so  lately  passed  like  glorious 
pageants  along  the  river  banks.  There  Moor  and 
chritian,  horseman  and  horse,  lay  gashed  with  hid- 
ecja  «vounds;  and  the  river,  still  red  with  blood,  was 
fiLed.  with  the  bodies  of  the  slain.  The  gaunt  Arab 
was  is  a  wolf  roaming  through  the  fold  he  had 
tod  wiste.  On  every  side  his  eye  revelled  on 
'he  ruin  of  the  country,  on  the  wrecks  of  haughty 
Spain,  There  lay  the  flower  of  her  youthful  chivalry, 
mingled  and  destroyed,  and  the  strength  of  her  yeo- 
manry prostrated  in  the  dust.  The  (iothic  noble  lay 
confounded  with  his  vassals;  the  peas;int  with  tlie 
jrince  ;  all  ranks  and  dignities  were  mingled  in  one 
bloody  mass.icre. 

When  Taric  had  sur\'eyed  the  field,  he  caused  the 
spoils  of  the  dead  and  the  plunder  of  the  camp  to 
be  brought  before  him.  Tne  booty  was  immense. 
There  were  massy  chains,  and  rare  jewels  of  gold  ; 
pearls  and  precious  stones  ;  rich  silks  and  brocades, 
and  all  other  luxurious  decorations  in  which  the 
Gothic  nobles  had  indulged  in  the  latter  times  of 
their  degeneracy.  A  vast  amount  of  treasure  was 
Lkewise  found,  which  had  been  brought  by  Roderick 
for  the  expenses  of  the  war. 

Taric  then  ordered  that  the  Imdies  of  the  Moslem 
warriors  should  be  interred  ;  as  for  those  of  the  chris- 
tians, they  were  gathered  in  heaps,  and  vast  pyres  of 
wood  were  formed  on  which  iney  were  consumed. 
The  flames  of  these  pyres  rose  high  in  the  air,  and 
were  seen  afar  off  in  the  night ;  and  when  the  chris- 
^ans  beheld  them  from  the  neighbouring  hills,  they 
D«at  their  breasts  and  tore  their  hair,  and  lamented 
o»ei  them  as  over  the  funeral  fires  of  their  country. 
The  »magc  of  that  battle  infected  the  air  for  two 
whole  months,  and  bones  were  seen  lying  in  heaps 
upon  the  field  for  more  than  forty  yeiis  ;  nay,  when 
ages  had  p.ast  and  gone,  the  husbandman,  turning  up 
Ine  soil,  would  still  find  fragments  of  Gothic  cuiras- 
Ms  iwnd  helms,  and  Moorish  scimitars,  the  relics  of 
Ihit  dreadf.il  fight. 

For  thret  days  the  Arabian  horsemen  pursued  the 


*  Thii  battle  b  called  indiurioiinately  by  hiitoriant  the  battle 
if  Guadalete,  or  of  Xerea,  from  the  aeichbaurkood  of  thai  eity. 


flying  christians ;  hunting  them  over  the  fact  of  th< 
country ;  so  that  but  a  scanty  number  of  that  mighty 
host  escaped  to  tell  the  tale  of  their  disaster. 

Taric  ben  Zeyad  considered  his  victory  incomplete 
so  long  as  the  Gothic  monarch  survived ;  he  pro 
claimed  great  rewards,  therefore,  to  whomsoever 
should  bring  Roderick  to  him,  dead  or  alive.  A  dil« 
i'fent  search  was  .accordingly  made  in  every  directicn 
but  for  a  long  time  in  vain ;  at  length  a  Loldief 
brought  tc  Taric  the  head  of  a  christian  warrior,  on 
which  was  a  cap  decorated  with  feathers  and  pre^.ious 
stones.  The  Arab  leader  received  it  as  the  hf  r,d  of 
the  unfortunate  Roderick,  and  sent  it,  as  a  tro;,hy  of 
his  victory,  to  Muza  ben  Nosier,  who,  in  like  manner, 
transmitted  it  ts  the  caliph  at  Damascus.  The 
Spanish,  historians,  however,  have  always  denied  its 
identi.y. 

A  nyst  ry  has  ever  hung,  and  ever  must  continue 
to  hang  over  the  fate  of  King  Roderick,  in  that  dark 
and  doleful  day  of  Spain.  VVhether  he  went  down 
amidst  the  storm  of  battle,  and  atoned  for  his  sins 
and  errors  by  a  patriot  grave,  or  whether  he  survived 
to  repent  of  tnem  in  hermit  exile,  must  remain 
matter  of  conjecture  and  dispute.  The  learned 
Archbishop  Rodrigo,  who  has  recorded  the  events 
of  this  disastrous  field,  affirms  that  Roderick  fell  be- 
neath the  vengeful  blade  of  the  traitor  Julian,  and 
thus  expiated  with  his  l)lood  his  crime  against  the 
hapless  Florinda ;  but  the  archbishop  stands  alone 
in  his  record  of  the  fact.  It  seems  generally  admit- 
ted that  Orelia,  the  favourite  war-horse,  was  found 
entangled  in  a  marsh  on  the  borders  of  the  Guada- 
lete, with  the  sandals  and  mantle  and  royal  insig- 
nia of  the  king  lying  close  by  him.  The  river  at 
this  place  ran  broad  and  deep,  and  was  encumbered 
with  the  dead  botlies  of  warriors  and  steeds ;  it  h.iii 
been  supposed,  therefore,  that  he  perished  in  the 
stream ;  but  his  body  was  not  fouiid  within  its 
waters. 

When  several  years  had  passed  away,  and  men's 
minds,  being  restored  to  some  degree  ot  tranquillity, 
began  to  occupy  themselves  about  the  events  of  this 
dismal  day,  a  rumour  arose  that  Roderick  had  es- 
caped from  the  carnage  on  the  banks  of  the  Guada- 
lete, and  was  still  alive.  It  was  said,  that  having 
from  a  rising  ground  caught  a  view  of  the  whole 
field  of  battle,  and  seen  that  the  day  was  lost,  and 
his  army  flying  in  all  directions,  he  likewise  sought 
his  safety  in  flight.  It  is  added,  that  the  Arab  horse- 
men, while  scouring  the  mountains  in  quest  of  fu- 
gitives, found  a  shepherd  arrayed  in  the  royal  robes, 
and  brought  him  before  the  conqueror,  believing  him 
to  be  the  king  himself.  Count  Julian  soon  dispelled 
the  error.  On  being  questioned,  the  trembling  rustic 
declared  that  while  tending  his  sheep  in  the  folds 
of  the  mountains,  there  came  a  cavalier  on  a  horse 
wearied  and  sjjent  and  ready  to  sink  beneath  the 
spur.  That  the  cavalier  with  an  authoritative  voice 
and  menacing  air  commanded  him  t ;  i  echange  gar- 
ments with  him,  and  clad  himself  in  his  rude  garb  of 
sheep-skin,  and  took  his  crook  and  his  scrip  of  pro- 
visions, and  continued  up  the  rugged  defiles  of  ;hT! 
mountains  leading  towards  Castile,  until  he  was  \itt 
to  view.* 

This  tradition  was  fondly  cherished  by  many,  who 
clung  to  the  belief  in  the  existence  of  their  monarch 
as  their  main  hope  for  the  retlemption  of  Spain.  It 
was  even  affirmed  that  he  had  taken  refuge,  with 
many  of  his  host,  in  an  island  of  the  "  Ocean  sea," 
from  whence  he  might  yet  return  once  more  to  ele- 
vate his  standard,  and  battle  for  the  recovery  of  hia 
throne. 


•  Dleda,  Croa.  L.  t  i.  9.     Abulcaaim  Taril  AbaatariqM,  L.  1 


S16 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Mb-: 


Year  after  year,  however,  elapsed,  and  nothing 
was  heard  of  Don  Roderick ;  yet,  lilte  Sebastian  o7 
Portu^l,  and  Arthur  of  England,  his  name  con- 
tinued to  be  a  rallyinff  point  for  popular  faith,  and 
the  mystery  of  his  end  to  give  rise  to  romantic  fa- 
bles. At  length,  when  generation  after  generation 
had  sunk  into  the  grave,  and  near  two  centuries  had 
passed  and  gone,  traces  were  said  to  be  discovered 
that  threw  a  light  on  the  final  fortunes  of  the  unfor- 
tunate Roderick,  At  that  time,  Don  Alphoiiso  the 
Great,  King  of  Leon,  had  wrested  the  city  of  Viseo 
'■n  Lusitania  from  the  hands  of  the  Moslems.  As 
his  soldiers  were  ranging  about  the  city  and  its  en- 
virons, one  of  them  discovered  in  a  field,  outside  of 
the  walls,  a  small  chapel  or  hennitage,  with  a  sepul- 
chre in  front,  on  svhich  was  inscribed  this  epitaph  in 
Gothic  characters : 

HIC      REQUIESCIT     RUDERICUS, 
ULriMUS    REX    GOTHORUM. 

Here  lies  Roderick, 
The  last  king  of  the  Goths. 

It  has  been  believed  by  many  that  this  was  the 
veritable  tomb  of  the  monarch,  and  that  in  this  her- 
mitage he  had  finished  his  days  in  solitary  penance. 
The  warrior,  as  he  contempl.ited  the  supposed  tomb 
cf  the  once  haughty  Roderick,  forgot  all  his  faults 
and  errors,  ami  shed  a  soldier's  tear  over  his  mem- 
ory;  but  when  his  thoughts  turned  to  Count  Julian, 
his  patr'otic  indignation  broke  forth,  and  with  his 
d;.gger  h;  inscribed  a  rude  malediction  on  the  stone. 

"  Accursed,"  said  he,  "  be  the  impious  and  head- 
long vengeance  of  the  traitor  Julian.  He  was  a  mur- 
derer of  nis  king ;  a  destroyer  of  his  kindred  ;  a  be- 
trayer of  his  country.  May  his  name  be  bitter  in 
every  mouth,  and  his  memory  infamous  to  all  gener- 
ations I " 

Here  ends  the  legend  of  Duii  Roderick. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  THE  F0RE601k\a  LEGEND. 


THE  TOMB  OF  RODERICK. 

The  venerable  Sehastiano,  Bishop  of  Salamanca, 
declares  that  the  inscription  on  the  tomb  at  Viseo 
in  Portugal,  existed  in  his  time,  and  that  he  had  seen 
it.  A  particular  account  of  the  exile  and  hermit  life 
of  Roilerick  is  furnished  by  Berganza,  on  the  au- 
thority of  Portuguese  chronicles. 

Algunos  historiadores  Portugueses  asseguran,  que 
el  Rev  Rodrigo,  perdida  la  battalia,  huyo  a  tierra  de 
Merifia,  y  se  recogio  en  el  monasterio  de  Cauliniano, 
en  donde,  arrepentido  de  sus  culpas,  procure  confes- 
sarias  con  muchas  lagrimas.  Deseando  m.is  retiro, 
y  escogiendo  por  compafiero  a  un  monge  llamado 
Rotnan,  y  elevando  la  Imagen  de  Nazareth,  que  Cy- 
rirco  monge  de  nacion  griego  avra  traido  de  Jeru- 
AiJem  al  monasterio  de  Cauliniano,  se  subio  li  un 
monte  muy  aspero,  que  estaba  sobre  el  mar,  junto 
kl  Inear  de  Pedcmeyra.  Vivio  Rodrigo  en  compania 
de  el  monge  en  el  hueco  de  una  gruta  por  espacio 
dc  un  a!io ;  despues  se  passo  d  u  ermita  de  san 
Xiiguel,  que  estaba  cerca  de  Viseo,  en  donde  murio 
y  file  sepultado. 

Puedcse  ver  esta  relacion  en  las  notas  de  Don 
Thomas  Tarrayo  sobre  I'aulo  deacano.  El  chroni- 
con  dc  san  Millan,  que  llega  hasta  el  afio  883,  deze 
que,  hasta  su  tiempo,  si  ignora  el  fin  del  Rey  Rod- 
rigo.   Pocos  afios  despues  el  Rey  Don  Alo'?zo  el 


Magno,  avi^ndo  ganado  la  cludad  de  Viseo,  encjntu 
en  una  iglesia  el  epitafio  que  en  romance  dize— aqu 
yaze  Rodrigo,  ultimo  Rey  de  los  Godos.— Bergcua 
L.  I.  c.  13. 


THE  CAVE  OF  HERCULES. 

As  the  story  of  the  necromantic  tower  is  ere  ot 
the  most  famous  as  well  as  least  credible  points  ir, 
the  history  of  Don  Roderick,  it  may  be  well  to  iVt 
(ify  or  buttress  it  by  some  account  of  another  inaivc: 
of  the  city  of  Toledo.  This  ancient  city,  whd; 
dates  its  existence  almost  from  the  time  of  the  llocn: 
claiming  as  its  founder  Tubal,  the  son  of  Japhet,  Ami 
grandson  of  Noah,*  has  been  the  warrior  hold  01 
many  generations,  and  a  strange  diversity  of  racp s. 
It  bears  tr.ices  of  the  artifices  and  devices  of  its 
various  occupants,  and  is  full  of  mysteries  and  sul)- 
jects  for  antiquarian  conjecture  and  perplexity.  It 
is  built  upon  a  high  rocky  promontory,  with  the 
Tagns  brawling  round  its  base,  and  is  overlookeij 
by  cragged  and  precipitous  hills.  These  hills  abound 
with  clefts  and  caverns  ;  and  the  promontory  itstlt, 
on  which  the  city  is  built,  bears  traces  of  vaults  anil 
subterraneous  habitations,  which  are  occasionally 
discovered  under  the  niii'  af  ancient  houses,  or  ix;. 
neath  the  churches  and  convents. 

These  are  supposed  by  some  to  have  been  the 
habitations  or  retreats  of  the  primitive  inhabitan's, 
for  it  was  tiie  custom  of  the  ancients,  according  to 
Pliny,  to  make  caves  in  high  and  rocky  places,  and 
live  in  them  through  fear  of  Hoods  ;  and  such  a  pre- 
caution, says  the  worthy  Don  Pedro  de  Roxas,  in 
his  history  of  Toledo,  was  natural  enough  amcnj> 
the  first  Toledans,  seeing  that  they  "■  "nded  thti. 
city  shortly  after  the  deluge,  while  the  memory  ol  it 
was  still  fresh  in  their  minds. 

Some  h.ive  supposed  these  secret  caves  and  vaults 
to  have  been  places  of  concealment  of  the  inhabit- 
ants and  their  treasure,  during  times  of  war  and 
violence ;  or  rude  temples  for  the  performance  of 
religious  ceremonies  in  times  of  perseoution.  There 
are  not  wanting  other,  and  grave  writers,  who  give 
them  a  still  darker  purpose.  In  these  caves,  say 
they,  were  taught  the  diabolical  mysteries  of  mai;ic; 
and  here  were  perfomied  those  infernal  cercmonn!. 
and  incantations  horrible  in  the  eyes  of  God  and 
man.  "  History,"  says  the  worthy  Don  Pt-dri.  de 
Roxas,  "is  full  of  .accounts  that  the  m.agi  taught  and 
performed  their  m.agic  and  their  superstitious  riits 
in  profound  caves  .and  secret  places ;  because  .is  ihi' 
art  of  the  devil  was  prohibited  from  the  very  orii;,  1 
of  Christianity,  they  always  sought  for  hidden  pin  ts 
in  which  to  pr.ictise  it."  In  the  time  of  the  Mont< 
this  art,  we  are  told,  was  publicly  taught  at  thi  ir 
universities,  the  same  as  astronomy,  philosophy  and 
mathematics,  and  at  no  place  was  it  cultivated  wih 
more  success  than  at  Toledo.  Heace  th'5  r  ity  has 
ever  been  darkly  renowned  for  mystic  science  ;  inso- 
much  that  the  m.agic  art  was  called  by  iliC  Frenih, 
and  by  other  nations,  the  Arte  Toledana. 

Of  all  the  mar^'els,  however,  of  this  ancient  pic- 
turesque, rom.antic,  and  necromantic  city,  none  in 
modern  times  surpass  the  cave  of  Hercules,  if  *J 
may  take  the  account  of  Don  Pedro  de  Roxas  ior 
authentic.  The  entrance  to  this  cave  is  within  the 
church  of  San  Gines.  situated  in  nearly  the  hisrhest 
part  of  the  city.  The  port.al  is  secured  by  mass) 
doors,  ojjcning  within  tne  walls  of  the  church,  btii 
which  are  kept  rigorously  closed.  The  cavern  ex- 
tends under  the  city  and  beneath  the  bed  of  the 
Ta^s  to  the  distance  -f  three  le.agues  beyond.  M 
is,  m  some  places,  of  rare  architecture,  built  ot  small 

*  Salonr.  Hi«t.  Gfan.  CitKUnal,  Pioloco,  vol   i.  pbn  i. 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  SPAIN. 


31/ 


itones  curiously  wrought,  and  supported  by  columns 
(Uid  arches. 

In  the  year  i  ^46  an  account  of  this  cavern  was 
given  to  the  archbishop  and  cardinal  Don  Juan 
Martinez  Sihceo,  who,  desirous  of  examining  it, 
ordered  the  entrance  to  be  cleaned.  A  number  of 
persons  furnished  with  provisions,  lanterns,  and 
cords,  then  went  in,  and  having  proceeded  about 
hslf  a  league,  came  to  a  place  where  there  was  a  kind 
oi  chapel  or  temple,  having  a  table  or  altar,  with 
icveral  statues  of  bronze  in  niches  or  on  pedestals. 

While  they  were  regarding  this  mysterious  scene 
jt  ancient  worship  or  incantation,  one  of  the  statues 
fell,  with  a  noise  that  echoed  through  the  cavern, 
and  smote  the  hearts  of  the  adventurers  with  terror. 
Recovering  from  their  alarm  they  proceeded  on- 
ward, but  were  soon  again  dismayed  by  a  roaring 
and  rushing  sound  that  increased  as  they  advanced. 
It  was  made  by  a  furious  and  turbulent  stream,  the 
daik  waters  of  which  were  too  deep  and  broad  and 
rapid  to  be  crossed.  By  this  time  their  hearts  were 
50  chilled  with  awe,  and  their  thoughts  so  bewil- 
dered, that  they  could  not  seek  any  other  passage  by 
which  they  might  advance ;  so  they  turned  l)ack 
and  hastened  out  of  the  cave.  It  was  night-fall 
when  they  sallied  forth,  and  they  were  so  much 
affected  by  the  terror  tliey  had  undergone,  and  by 
the  cold  and  damp  air  of  the  cavern,  to  which  they 
were  the  more  sensible  from  its  being  in  the  summer, 
that  all  of  them  fell  sick  and  several  of  them  died. 
Whetlier  the  archbishop  was  encouraged  to  pursue 
his  research  and  gratify  his  cariosity,  the  history 
does  not  mention. 

Alon-io  Telles  dc  Meneses,  in  his  history  of  the 
world,  records,  that  not  long  before  his  time  a  boy 
jf  Toledo,  being  threatened  with  punishtnent  by  his 
master,  fled  and  took  refuge  in  this  cave.  Kai\cying 
his  |)iirsuer  at  his  heels,  he  took  no  heed  of  the 
obscurity  or  coldness  of  the  cave,  but  kept  groping 
jjid  blundering  forward,  until  he  came  forth  at  three 
iwgui's  distance  from  the  city. 

Another  and  very  popular  story  of  this  cave,  cur- 
rent among  the  common  people,  was,  that  in  its 
remote  recesses  lay  concealed  a  great  treasure  of 
gold,  left  there  by  the  Romans.  Whoever  would 
rcich  tliii.  precious  hoard  must  pass  through  several 
caves  or  grottoes ;  each  having  its  particular  terror, 
and  all  under  the  guardianship  of  a  ferocious  dog, 
who  has  the  key  of  all  the  gales,  and  watches  day 
and  ni^jht.  At  the  approach  of  any  one  he  shows 
his  teeth,  and  makes  a  hideous  growling;  but  no 
adventurer  after  wealth  has  had  courage  to  brave  a 
contest  with  this  terrific  cerberus. 

The  most  intrepid  candidate  on  record  was  a 
poor  man  who  had  lost  his  all,  and  had  those  grand 
incentives  to  desperate  enterprise,  a  wife  and  a  large 
family  of  children.  Hearing  the  story  of  this  cave, 
he  determined  to  venture  alone  in  search  of  the 
treasure.  He  accordingly  entered,  and  wandered 
many  hours,  bewildered,  about  the  cave.  Often 
would  he  have  returned,  but  the  thoughts  of  his 
wi'e  and  children  urged  him  on.  At  length  he  r- 
rived  near  to  the  place  where  he  su|)posed  the 
Measure  lay  hidden  ;  but  here,  to  his  dismay,  he  be- 
held the  floor  of  the  cavern  strown  with  human 
Ixnes ;  doubtless  the  remains  of  adventurers  like 
himself,  who  had  been  torn  to  pieces. 

Losing  all  courage,  he  now  turned  and  sought  his 
way  out  of  the  cave.  Horrors  thickened  upon  him 
as  he  fled.  He  beheld  direful  phantoms  glaring  and 
gibbering  around  him,  and  heard  the  sound  of  pur- 
suit in  the  echoes  of  his  footsteps.  He  reached  his 
home  overcome  with  affright ;  several  hours  elapsed 

before  he  could  recover  speech  to  tell  his  story,  and 

be  died  on  the  following  day. 


The  judicious  Don  Pedro  de  Hoxas  ho1<ls  the 
account  of  the  buried  treasure  for  fabulous,  but  the 
adventure  of  this  unlucky  man  for  very  possible, 
being  led  on  by  avarice,  or  rather  the  hope  of  re- 
trieving a  desperate  fortune.  He,  moreover,  pro- 
nounces his  dying  shortly  after  coming  forth  as 
very  probable ;  because  the  darkness  of  the  cave 
its  coldness ;  the  fright  at  finding  the  bones ;  th« 
dread  of  meeting  the  imaginary  dog,  all  joining  to 
operate  upon  a  man  who  was  past  the  prime  ot  hii 
days,  and  enfeebled  by  poverty  and  scanty  foo»l, 
might  easily  cause  his  death. 

M.any  have  considered  this  cave  as  intetided 
originally  for  a  sally  or  retreat  from  the  city  in  case 
it  should  be  taken ;  an  opinion  rendered  probable, 
it  is  thought,  by  its  grandeur  and  great  extent. 

The  learned  Salazar  de  Mendoza,  however,  in  his 
history  of  the  grand  cardinal  of  Spain,  affirms  it  as 
an  established  fact,  that  it  was  first  wrought  out  ol 
the  rock  by  Tubal,  the  son  of  Japhet,  and  grandson 
of  Noah,  and  afterwards  repaired  and  greatly  aug- 
mented by  Hercules  the  Egyptian,  who  made  it  his 
habitadon  after  he  had  erected  his  piliars  at  the 
straits  of  Gibraltar.  Here,  too.  it  is  s.iid,  he  read 
magic  to  his  followers,  and  taught  them  those  su- 
pernatural arts  by  which  he  accomplished  his  vast 
achievements.  Others  think  that  it  was  a  temple 
dedicated  to  Hercules ;  as  was  the  case,  according 
to  Pomponius  Mela,  with  the  great  cave  in  the 
rock  of  Gibraltar;  certain  it  is,  that  it  has  always 
borne  the  name  of  "  The  Cave  of  Hercules." 

There  are  not  wanting  some  who  have  insinuated 
that  it  w.as  a  v.'ork  dating  from  the  time  of  the 
Romans,  and  intended  as  a  cloaca  or  sewer  of  the 
city  ;  but  such  a  grovelling  insinuation  will  be  treated 
with  pro|)er  scorn  by  the  re.-ider,  after  the  nobier 
purposes  to  which  he  has  heard  thii  marvellous 
cavern  consecrated. 

from  all  the  circumstances  here  adduced  from 
learned  and  reverend  authors,  it  will  be  perceived 
that  Toledo  is  a  city  Iruitlul  of  marvels,  and  thai 
the  necromantic  tower  of  Hercules  has  more  solid 
lound.ition  than  most  edilices  of  similar  import  \n 
ancient  history. 

T"he  writer  of  these  pages  will  venture  to  add  the 
result  of  his  personal  researches  resp-rcting  the  far- 
famed  cavern  in  quesiir«.  Rambling  about  Toledo 
in  the  year  1826,  in  company  with  a  small  knot  of 
antiquity  hunters,  among  whom  was  an  eminent 
British  painter,*  and  an  English  noliliMnan.f  who 
has  since  distinguished  himself  in  Spanish  historical 
research,  we  directed  our  steps  to  the  church  of 
San  Gines,  and  inquired  for  the  portal  of  the  secret 
cavern.  The  sacristan  was  a  voluble  and  communi- 
cative man,  and  one  not  likely  to  be  niggard  of  his 
tongue  about  any  thing  he  knew,  or  slow  to  boast  ot 
any  mar\el  pertaining  to  his  cliurch  ;  but  he  pro- 
fessed utter  ignorance  of  the  existence  of  any  such 
portal.  He  remembered  to  have  heard,  however, 
tliat  immediately  under  the  entrance  to  the  church 
there  was  an  arch  of  mason-work,  apparently  the 
ui>per  part  of  some  subterranean  portal ;  but  that 
all  had  been  covered  up  and  a  pavement  la,*!  down 
thereon ;  so  that  whether  it  lead  to  the  magic  cavr 
or  the  necromantic  tower  remains  a  mystery,  an'f 
so  must  remain  until  some  nionarch  or  atchbisho; 
shall  again  have  courage  and  authority  to  break  ttf 
spell. 


*Mf,D.  W-kia. 


tUwdMali-B. 


Itl8 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


LEGEND  OF  THE  SUBJUGATION  OF  SPAIN." 


CHAPTER  I. 


(4-1  /"vl-i  ■•.-  ■ 


■i'S' 


P3NSTERNATION  OF  SPAIN.— CONDUCT  OF  THK 
CONQUERORS.— MISSIVES  BETWEEN  TARIC  AND 
MUZA. 

The  overthrow  of  Kine  Rotlerick  and  his  army 
«ra  the  banks  of  the  Giiadalete,  threw  open  all  souih- 
em  Spain  to  the  inroads  of  the  Moslems.  The 
whole  country  lied  before  them  ;  villafjes  and  ham- 
lets were  hastily  abandoned  ;  the  inhabitants  pl.-iced 
their  aged  and  infirm,  their  wives  and  children,  and 
their  most  precious  effects,  on  mules  and  other 
beasts  of  burden,  and,  driving  before  them  their  Hcicks 
and  herds,  made  for  distant  parts  of  the  land ;  for 
the  fastnesses  of  the  mountains,  and  for  such  of  the 
cities  as  yet  possessed  walls  and  liulwarks.  Many 
gave  out,  faint  and  weary,  by  the  way,  and  fell  into 
the  hands  of  the  enemy  ;  others,  at  the  distant  sight 
of  a  turban  or  a  Moslem  standard,  or  on  hearing  the 
clangour  of  a  tniinpet,  abandoned  their  flocks  and 
herds  and  hastened  their  flight  with  their  families. 
If  their  pursuers  gained  upon  tliem,  they  threw  by 
their  household  goods  and  whatever  was  of  burthen, 
and  thought  themselves  fortunate  to  escape,  naked 
and  destitute,  to  a  place  of  refuge.  Thus  the  roads 
were  covered  with  scattered  Hocks  and  herds,  antl 
with  spoil  of  .all  kind. 

The  Aral)s,  however,  were  not  giii'ty  of  wanton 
cruelty  or  ravage;  on  the  contrary,  they  conducted 
themselves  with  a  moderation  hut  seldom  witnessed 
In  more  civilized  conquerors.  Taric  el  Tuerto, 
though  a  thorough  man  of  the  sword,  and  one  whose 
whole  thoughts  were  warlike,  yet  evinced  wonderful 
jtsdgment  and  discretion.  He  checked  the  predatory 
IvShi's  of  his  troops  with  a  rij;orous  hand.  They 
were  forbidden,  under  pain  of  severe  punishinent, 
to  molest  any  peaceable  and  unfortified  towns,  or 
any  unamreH  and  unresisting  people,  who  remained 
quiet  in  the;i'  homes.  No  s]ioil  was  permitted  to  be 
made  excepting  in  fields  of  battle,  in  camps  of  routed 
toes,  or  in  cities  taken  by  the  sword. 

Taric  h.^d  little  need  to  exercise  his  severity  ;  his 
orders  were  obeyed  through  love,  rather  than  fear, 
for  he  w.as  the  idol  of  his  soldiery.  They  admired 
his  restless  and  daring  spirit,  which  nothing  could 
dismay.  His  gaunt  and  sinewy  form,  his  fiery  eye, 
his  visage  seanied  with  scars,  were  suited  to  the  har- 
dihood of  his  deeds  ;  and  when  mounted  on  his  foam- 
ing steed,  careering  the  field  of  battle  with  quivering 
Unce  or  Hashing  scimitar,  his  Arabs  would  greet  him 
with  shouts  of  enthusiasm.  B  it  what  endeared  him 
to  them  more  than  all  was  his  soldier-like  contempt 
of  gain.  Conquest  was  his  only  passion  ;  glory  the 
only  reward  he  coveted.  As  to  the  spoil  of  the  con- 
quered, he  shared  it  freely  among  his  followers,  and 
squandered  his  own  portion  with  open  -  handed 
generosity. 

While  Taric  was  pushing  his  triumphant  course 
through  Andalusia,  tidings  of  his  stupendous  victory 
on  the  banks  of  the  Guaualete  were  carried  to  Muza 
ben  Nozier.  Messengers  after  messengers  arrived, 
vieing  who  should  most  extol  the  achievements  of 
the  conqueror  and  the  gtand-'ur  of  the  conquest. 

•  In  thij  legend  mo«t  of  the  facts  lesuectinu  the  Arab  inroads 
(kito  Spaiu  arc  on  the  2uthuriiy  uf  Aruf)i.'in  writers;  who  had  the 
nvttu:ciira'.e  means  of  inforin^ition.  Those  relative  to  theStmniards 
ue  chiefly  from  old  S;iani.sh  chronicles.  It  is  lo  be  remarlccd  chat 
tbe  Aral}  accounts  tiave  mnst  tne  air  of  verity,  and  the  events  as 
they  relate  them,  are  in  the  ordinary  course  ot  common  life.  The 
Spamith  accounts,  on  the  contrail',  are  full  of  the  marvellous  ;  for 
there  were  no  greater  romancers  .hau  the  monkish  chronic'en. 


"Taric,"  said  they,  "has  overthrown  the  v^h^\t 
force  of  the  unbelievers  in  one  mighty  battle;  Theii 
king  is  sliiin  ;  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  of 
their  warriors  are  destroyed  ;  the  whole  Kind  lies  «) 
our  mercy;  and  city  after  city  is  surrendering  to  ti« 
victorious  arms  of  Taric. " 

The  heart  of  Muza  ben  Nozier  sickened  at  thes« 
tidings,  and,  instead  of  rejoicing  at  the  success  rl  tl,t 
cause  of  Islam,  he  trembled  with  je.alous  fear  I.-m  H;, 
triumphs  of  Taric  in  Spain  shouWI  eclipse  his  owi 
victories  in  Africa.  He  tlespatchcd  missivcr,  'o  W, 
Calii)h  Waled  Almanzor,  informing  him  of  lhl•^'■  nt-vs 
conquests,  but  taking  the  wiiole  glory  to  hirnsdi.  aiui 
making  no  mention  of  the  services  of  T.iric  ;  nr  .n 
least,  only  mentioning  him  incidentally  as  a  sulionli 
nate  commander.  "The  battles,"  said  lie,  ••  ji.ive 
been  terrible  as  the  day  of  judgment ;  but  by  the  aid 
of  Allah  we  have  gained  the  victory," 

He  then  prepared  in  all  haste  to  cross  over  into 
Sjiain  and  assume  the  command  of  the  coiKimnng 
ariny  ;  and  he  wrote  a  letter  in  advance  to  intirnipi 
Taric  in  the  midst  of  his  career.  "  Wherever  this 
letter  may  find  thee,"  said  he,  "  1  charge  thee  h.ilt 
with  thy  army  and  await  my  coming.  Thv  Ion  e  is 
inadequate  to  the  subjugation  of  the  land,  and  hy 
r.tshly  venturing,  thou  mavst  lose  every  thing.  I  will 
be  with  thee  speedily,  with  a  reinforcement  of  troops 
competent  to  so  great  an  enterprise." 

The  letter  overtook  the  veteran  Taric  while  in  the 
full  glow  of  triumphant  success ;  having  ovrrriin 
some  of  the  richest  parts  of  Andalusia,  and  just  re- 
ceived the  surrender  of  the  city  of  ICcija.  As  he  re.id 
the  letter  the  blood  mantled  in  his  sunburnt  chpik 
and  fire  kintlled  in  his  eye,  for  he  penetrated  the  t.o 
fives  of  Muza.  He  sup|)ressed  his  wrath,  however 
and  turning  with  a  bitter  expression  of  forced  com- 
posure to  his  captains,  "  Unsaddle  your  stt-eds."  said 
he,  "  and  ])laiU  your  lances  in  the  earth  ;  set  up  yoir 
tents  and  lake  your  repose :  tor  we  must  aw.oi  the 
coming  of  the  Wall  with  a  mighty  force  to  assist  us 
in  our  con{|iiest. " 

The  Arab  warriors  broke  forth  with  loud  miirmurj 
at  these  words  :  "  What  need  have  we  of  airl,"  tried 
they,  "when  the  whole  country  is  flying  before  us; 
and  what  better  commander  can  we  have  than  T.inc 
to  lead  us  on  to  victory  .'  " 

Count  Julian,  .also,  who  was  present,  now  hasiened 
to  giv-e  his  traitorous  counsel. 

'•  Why  pause,"  cried  he,  •'  at  this  precious  moment? 
The  great  army  of  the  Goths  is  vanquished,  and  their 
nobles  are  slaughtered  or  dispersed.  Follow  up  vour 
blow  before  the  land  can  recover  from  its  p\nic, 
Overrun  the  provinces,  seize  upon  the  cities.  in.il<e 
yourself  master  of  the  capital,  and  your  concjui  st  is 
complete."* 

The  advice  of  Julian  was  applauded  by  all  the  .'Vr.ih 
chieftains,  who  were  impatient  of  any  interruption 
in  their  career  of  conquest.  Taric  was  easily  n-r- 
suaded  to  what  was  the  wish  of  his  heart.  i);sii'. 
garding  the  lettei  of  .Muz.i,  therefore,  he  prepared  tc 
pursue  his  victories.  For  this  purpose  he  ordered  t 
review  of  his  troops  on  the  plain  of  Ecija.  Sw:.'. 
were  mounted  on  steeds  which  they  had  bmiiCii 
from  Africa  ;  the  rest  he  supplied  with  horses  takr 
from  the  christians.  He  repeated  his  general  orders 
that  they  should  inflict  no  wanton  injury,  nor  plomiui 
any  place  that  offered  no  resistance.  They  were  lor 
bidden,  also,  to  encumber  themselves  with  booty,  o' 
even  with  provisions;  but  were  to  scour  the  couiitr) 
with  all  sjH"ed,  and  seize  upon  all  its  fcrtresscs  anJ 
strong-holds. 

He  then  divided  his  host  into  three  several  armici 
One  he  placed  under  the  commard  of  the  Greek 

*  Con<U,  p,  I,  e.  to. 


'J^& 


LEGJENDS  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  SPAIN. 


818 


thrown  the  wh-'de 
ighty  battle.  Tlicii 
ns  of  thousaiulsof 
!  whole  Innil  lies  m 
surrendering  to  the 

r  sickened  at  these 
It  the  success  rt  th^ 
jealous  fear  l<-st  thi 
altl  eclipse  his  owi. 
hcfl  niissi\T5  lo  th( 
11^  him  ot  ihi-s!-  new 
flory  to  riinisill.  ami 
ces  of  Taric  ;  or  .ii 
?nta!ly  as  a  suhonli- 
!S,"  said  he,  "  h.'ive 
lent ;  but  by  the  aid 
cry." 

i  to  cross  over  into 
1  of  the  coiu|urring 
idvance  to  iiurrnipt 
•.  "  Wher'-vtT  this 
'1  charge  thee  halt 
iiinij.  Thy  tune  is 
af  tlie  land,  ami  hy 
!  every  Ihin;^.  I  will 
iforcenient  of  troops 
rise." 

n  Taric  while  in  the 
is;  having  ov(rtiin 
lalusia,  and  just  re- 
if  ICcija.    As  he  rearf 

his  sunburnt  check 
!  penetrated  the  'no- 
bis wrath,  hi>\vever 
sion  of  forced  com- 
le  your  steeds  "  saiii 
e  earth  ;  set  up  yoft 

wc  must  aw.m  tl'c 
ity  force  to  assist  us 

I  with  loud  miirmurj 
ve  we  of  aid,"  cried 
is  flying  belore  us; 
we  have  than  Tanc 

esent,  now  hastened 

IS  precious  moment? 


■d 


an<iuished,  and  their 
Follow  up  your 
er  from  its  pmic, 
on  the  cities,  make 
id  your  concjuest  is 

.ided  by  all  the  .\nh 
any  interruption 
ric  was  easily  p-r- 

his  heart.  Uisie- 
fore,  he  prepared  tc 
irpose  he  ordtred  t 
in  of  Ecija.     Son'.; 

they  had  brnnfii 
1  with  horses  lak'  r 

I  his  general  onlc.< 
injury,  nor  plumci 

ce,  Tliey  were  lor 
;lves  with  booty,  or 
o  scour  the  couiiir) 

II  its  fortresses  and 

iree  several  armies, 
nard  of  the  Greek 


(eiiegado,  Magued  el  Rumi.  a  man  of  desperate 
coui'iH^  ;  an''  sent  it  against  the  ancient  city  of  Cor- 
dova. Another  was  sunt  against  the  city  ot  Malaga, 
ind  was  led  by  Zayd  ben  Kesadi,  aided  by  the  Bishop 
Oppas.  The  third  was  led  by  Taric  him.self,  and 
K'itti  this  he  determined  to  make  a  wide  sweep 
through  the  kingdom.* 


CHAPTER  II. 

CAPIUKE   OF  GRANADA.— SUBJUGATION    Of  THE 
ALPUXAKRA   MOUNTAINS, 

The  terror  of  the  arms  of  Taric  ben  Zeyad  went 
before  him  ;  and,  at  the  same  tiire,  the  report  of  his 
lenity  to  those  who  submitted  without  resistance. 
Wherever  he  appeared,  the  towns,  for  the  most  part, 
sent  fiirih  some  of  their  principal  inhabitants  to 
rrotfer  a  surrender ;  for  they  were  riestitute  of  forti- 
ficitiiins,  and  their  fighting  men  had  perished  in 
battle.  They  were  all  received  into  allegiance  to  the 
caliph,  and  were  protected  from  pillage  or  molesta- 
tion. 

Alter  marching  some  distance  throuj^h  the  country, 
he  entered  one  day  a  vast  and  bcautilul  plain,  inter- 
spirsed  with  villages,  adorned  with  groves  and  gar- 
dens, watered  by  winding  rivers,  and  surrounded  by 
loity  mountains.  It  was  the  famous  vega,  or  plain 
of  ('.ranada,  destined  to  be  for  ages  the  favourite 
abode  of  the  Moslems.  When  the  Ar.ib  contpierors 
tiehe'd  this  delicious  vega,  they  were  lost  in  admira- 
tion ;  lor  it  seemed  as  if  the  prophet  had  given  them 
a  p.iraclise  on  earth,  as  a  reward  lor  their  services  in 
his  cause. 

Ta.-ic  approached  the  city  of  Granada,  which  had 
■«  faiinidahle  aspect,  seated  on  lofty  hills  and  fortified 
»iili  fiothic  v.alls  and  towers,  and  with  the  red 
ristle  or  citadel,  built  in  times  of  old  by  the  I'ha-ni- 
cians  or  the  Romans.  As  the  Arab  chieftain  eyed 
the  place,  he  was  pleased  with  its  stern  warrior  look, 
contrasting  with  the  smiling  tieauty  of  its  vega,  anil 
the  freshness  and  voluptuous  abund.mce  of  its  hills 
and  valleys.  He  pitched  his  tents  before  its  walls, 
and  made  preparations  to  attack  it  with  all  his  force. 

The  city,  however,  bore  but  the  semblance  of 
pwer.  The  flower  of  its  youtli  had  perished  in  the 
battle  of  the  Guadalete;  many  of  the  principal  in- 
habitants had  fled  to  the  mountains,  and  few  re- 
mained in  the  city  excepting  old  men,  women  and 
children,  and  a  number  of  Jews,  which  last  were 
well  disposed  to  take  part  with  the  conquerors. 
Tile  city,  therefore,  readily  capitulated,  and  was 
fceived  into  v.issalage  on  favourable  terms.  The 
inhahitants  were  to  retain  their  pro|)erty,  their  laws, 
and  their  religion  ;  their  churches  and  priests  were 
to  he  respected  ;  and  no  other  tribute  was  required 
of  them  than  such  as  they  had  been  accustomed  to 
pay  to  their  Gothic  kings. 

On  taking  poFsession  of  Granada,  Taric  garrison- 
ed the  towers  and  castles,  and  left  as  alcayde  or 
governor  a  chosen  warrior  named  IJetiz  Aben  Habui, 
»  native  of  Ar.abia  Felix,  who  had  distinguished  him- 
self iiy  his  valour  and  abilities.  This  alcayde  subse- 
quently made  himself  king  of  Granada,  and  built  a 
palace  on  one  of  its  hills  ;  the  remains  of  which  may 
te  seen  at  the  present  day.t 

*  Ctonica  <!•  Etiulla,  de  Alonio  el  Sabio.    P.  3.  c.  i. 

t  The  tiouia  ihowii  u  the  ancient  residence  of  Abet  Habuf  it 
called  la  Caia  Jet  Gnllo,  ox  the  house  of  the  weaihi/ruck  ;  so 
itoied,  says  Pedraia,  in  hit  hifitory  of  Granada,  from  a  bronte 
ii^re  of  an  Arab  horteman,  ar-ned  with  lance  and  buckler,  which 
ooct  lurmounted  it,  and  wliich  wied  with  every  wind.  Oi>  this 
«vUk«  weathercock  was  inscribed,  io  Atmbic  charactett, 

Dice  el  sabio  Aben  Habux 
Que  aai  M  dcfiend*  •!  Andalui 


Even  the  delights  of  Granada  hati  no  power  to 
detain  the  active  and  ardent  Tar  c.  To  the  ea^t  ot 
the  city  he  beheld  a  lofty  chain  of  mountains,  tower- 
ing to  the  sky,  and  crowned  with  shinng  snow. 
These  were  the  "Mountains  of  the  Sun  and  Air;' 
and  the  perpetual  snows  on  their  summits  gave  birth 
to  streams  that  fertilized  the  plains.  In  their  bosom*, 
shut  up  among  cliffs  and  precipices,  were  many  small 
valleys  of  great  beauty  and  abundance.  The  ia- 
habitants  were  a  bold  and  hardy  race,  who  looked 
upon  their  mountains  as  everlasting  fortresses  that 
could  never  be  taken.  The  inhabitants  of  the  sur- 
rounding country  had  fled  to  these  natural  fast- 
nesses for  refuge,  and  driven  thither  their  flocks 
and  herds. 

Taric  felt  that  the  dominion  he  had  acquired  of 
the  plains  would  be  ir.secure  until  he  had  penetrated 
and  subdued  these  haughty  mountains.  Leaving 
Aben  Habuz,  therefore,  in  command  of  Granada, 
he  marched  with  his  army  across  the  vega,  and 
entered  the  folds  of  the  Sierra,  which  stretch  to- 
wards the  south.  The  inhabitants  fled  with  affright 
on  hearing  the  Moorish  trumpets,  or  beholding  the 
approach  of  the  turbaned  horsemen,  and  plunged 
deeper  into  the  recesses  of  their  mountains.  As  the 
army  .advanced,  the  roads  became  more  and  more 
rugged  and  dithcult ;  sometimes  climbing  great  rocky 
heights,  and  at  other  times  descending  abruptly  into 
deep  ravines,  the  beds  of  winter  torrents.  The 
mountains  were  strangely  wild  and  sterile ;  broken 
into  cliffs  .ind  precipices  of  variegated  marble.  At 
their  feet  were  little  valleys  enamelled  with  groves 
and  gardens,  interl.aced  with  silver  streams,  and 
studded  with  villages  and  hamlets;  but  all  deserted 
by  their  inhabitants.  No  one  appeared  to  dispute 
the  inroad  of  the  Moslems,  who  continued  their 
inarch  with  increasing  confidence,  their  pennons 
fluttering  from  rock  ancl  cliff,  and  the  valleys  echoing 
to  the  din  of  trunijiet,  flrum,  and  cymbal.  At  length 
they  came  to  a  defile  where  the  mountains  seemed 
to  have  been  rent  asunder  to  make  w.ay  for  a  foam- 
ing torrent.  The  narrow  and  broken  road  wound 
along  the  dizzy  edge  of  precipices,  until  it  came  to 
where  a  britlge  was  thrown  across  the  chasm.  It 
was  a  fearful  and  gloomy  pass;  great  beetling  cliffs 
overhung  the  road,  and  the  torrent  roared  below. 
This  awlul  detile  h,as  ever  been  famous  in  the  war- 
like history  of  those  mountains,  by  the  name,  in 
former  times,  of  the  liarranco  de  Tocos,  and  at 
present  of  the  bridge  of  Tablele.  The  Saracen 
anny  entered  fearles  .ly  into  the  pass ;  a  part  had 
already  crossed  the  bridge,  and  was  slowly  toiling 
up  the  nigged  road  on  the  opposite  side,  when  great 
shouts  arose,  and  every  clitT  appeared  suddenly 
peopled  with  furious  foes.  In  an  instant  a  deluge 
of  missiles  of  every  sort  was  rained  upon  the  as- 
tonished Moslems.  Darts,  arrows,  javelins,  and 
stones,  came  whistling  down,  singling  out  the  most 
conspicuous  cavaliers ;  and  at  times  great  masses 
of  rock,  bounding  and  thundering  along  the  mount- 
.ain  side,  crushed  whole  ranks  at  once,  or  hurled 
horses  and  riders  over  the  edge  of  the  precipices. 

It  was  in  vain  to  attempt  to  brave  this  mountain 
warfare.  The  enemy  were  beyond  the  reach  of 
missiles,  and  s.afe  from  pursuit ;  and  the  horses  ol 
the  Ar.abs  were  here  an  incumbrance  rather  than  an 
aid.    The  trumpets  sounded  a  retreat,  and  the  anny 


!/' 


In  this  way,  says  Aben  Habui  the  wise, 
"he  Andalusian  his  foe  defies.) 


The  Cau  del  Gallo,  even  until  within  twenty  years,  possessed 
two  great  halls  beautifully  decorated  with  morisco  reliefs.  It  the» 
caugnt  fire  and  wa.<  so  damaged  t»  to  require  to  be  nearly  rebuilt. 
It  is  now  a  manufactory  of  coarse  canvas,  and  has  nothing  of  the 
Moorish  character  remaioin(.  It  commands  a  beautiful  view  ol 
the  city  and  the  yoaa. 


no 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


n 


uu. 


•  ^-^i 


retired  in  tumult  and  confusion,  harassed  by  the 
enemy  until  extriciited  trom  the  defile.  Taric,  who 
had  beheld  cities  and  castles  surrendering  without  a 
olow,  was  enraged  at  being  braved  by  a  mere  horde 
of  mountain  hi)ors,  and  made  another  attempt  to 
penetrate  the  mountains,  but  was  again  waylaid  and 
apposed  with  horrible  slaughter. 

The  fiery  son  of  Ishmael  foamed  with  rage  at  being 
thus  checked  in  his  caruer  and  foiled  in  his  reveniji-. 
He  was  on  the  point  of  abandoning  the  attempt,  and 
r-JTuming  to  the  vega,  when  a  christian  Ixjor  sought 
his  camp,  and  was  adinitied  to  his  presence.  'i'l)e 
iTiiserable  wretch  possessed  a  cabin  and  a  little  patch 
of  ground  among  the  mountains,  and  offered,  if  these 
should  be  pr(jiected  from  ravaije,  to  inform  the  Arab 
commander  of  a  way  by  which  troops  of  ^--jrse  might 
be  safely  introduced  into  tiie  bosom  o'  the  Sierra, 
and  the  whole  sunducd.  The  name  of  this  caitiff 
w.os  Fandino,  and  it  deserves  to  be  per])etually  re- 
corded with  ignominy.  His  case  is  an  instance  how 
much  it  is  in  the  jiower,  at  times,  of  the  most  insig- 
nificant being  to  <lo  mischief,  and  how  all  the  valour 
of  the  magnanimous  and  the  brave,  m.ay  be  defeated 
by  the  treason  ol  the  .selfish  and  the  despicable. 

Instructed  by  this  traitor,  the  Arab  commander 
caused  ten  thousand  foot-soldiers  and  four  thousand 
horsemen,  commanded  by  a  valiant  captain,  named 
Ibrahim  Albuxarra,  to  he  conveyed  by  sea  to  the 
little  |X)r.  of  Adra,  at  the  Mediterranean  foot  of  the 
mountains.  Here  they  landed,  and,  guided  by  the 
traitor,  penetrated  to  the  heart  of  the  Sierra,  Laying 
every  thinir  waste.  The  brave  mountaineers,  thus 
hemmed  in  between  two  armies,  destitute  of  fortresses 
and  without  hope  of  succour,  were  obliged  to  capitu- 
late; but  their  valour  was  not  without  avail,  for 
never,  even  in  Spain,  did  vanquished  people  sur- 
render on  prouder  or  more  honour.ible  terms.  We 
have  named  the  wretcii  who  betrayed  his  native 
mountains;  let  us,  eciually,  record  the  name  of  him 
whose  pious  patriotism  saved  them  from  desolation. 
It  was  the  reverend  Bishop  Centerio.  While  the 
warriors  rested  on  their  arms  in  grim  and  menacing 
tranquillity  among  the  clitfs,  this  venerable  prel.ite 
descended  to  the  Arab  tents  in  the  valley,  to  conduct 
the  capitulation.  In  stipulating  for  the  safety  of  his 
people,  he  did  not  forget  that  they  were  brave  men, 
and  that  they  still  h.id  weapons  in  their  hands.  He 
obtained  conditions  .accordingly.  It  was  agreed  that 
they  siiould  be  permitted  to  retain  their  houses,  lands, 
and  personal  effects  ;  that  they  should  be  unmolested 
in  their  religion,  and  their  temples  and  priests  re- 
spected ;  and  that  they  should  pay  no  other  tribute 
tnan  such  as  they  had  been  accustomed  to  render  to 
their  kings.  Should  they  prefer  to  leave  the  country 
and  to  remove  to  any  part  of  Christendom,  they  were 
to  be  allowed  to  sell  their  possessions;  and  to  take 
with  them  the  money,  and  all  their  other  effects.* 

Ibrahim  Albuxarra  rem.iined  in  commaml  of  the 
territory,  and  the  whole  sierra,  or  chain  of  mountains, 
took  his  name,  which  has  since  been  slightly  cor- 
rupted into  that  of  the  Alpuxarras.  The  subjuga- 
tion of  this  rugged  region,  however,  was  for  a  long 
time  incomplete  ;  many  of  the  christians  maintained 
a  wild  and  hostile  independence,  living  in  green 
gltns  and  scanty  valieys  among  the  heights ;  and  the 
sierra  of  the  Alpuxarras  has,  in  all  ages,  been  one 
of  the  most  difficult  parts  of  Andalusia  to  be  sub- 
dutxl. 

CHAPTER   in. 

kXPKDlllON    or    MAOUED    AGAINST  CORDOVA. — 
DEFENCE  OF  THE  PATRIOT   PELISTES. 

While  the  veteran  Taric  was  making  this  wide 
:ircuit  through  the  land,  the  expedition  under  Ma- 

•  Padtaim,  Hilt.  Gnnad.  p.  3.  c  a.   Blc<la  cronica.  L.  t.  c.  M. 


round  him  as  1  last 
cried  they,  "  aiul  we 
be  unto  us  as  a  sov- 


Kued  the  renegado  proceedeil  against  the  dty  of  Cor. 
dova.  The  inhabitants  of  that  ancient  place  had 
beheld  the  great  army  of  Don  Roderick  siireailmg 
like  an  inundation  over  the  plain  of  the  Gua(lal(|uiv;r, 
and  had  felt  confident  that  it  must  sweep  the  inHdei 
inv.aders  from  the  land.  What  then  was  their  dis. 
may,  when  scattered  fugitives,  wild  with  horror  jnd 
atTright,  brought  them  tidings  of  the  eniiro  ov-;!. 
throw  of  th.it  m-ghty  host,  and  the  disappearance  of 
the  king!  In  the  midst  of  their  constemati  11,  ihf 
Gothic  noble.  I'elistes,  arrived  at  their  gates,  hi". 
gard  *.th  fatigue  of  body,  and  anguish  of  niinil,  and 
leadin.^  a  remnant  of  his  devoted  cav.iliers,  wlio  had 
survived  the  dreadful  battle  of  the  Gu.i<lale!e.  The 
peo]ile  of  Cordova  knew  the  valiant  and  stiidiast 
spirit  of  Pelistes,  anti  rallied 
hope.  "  Roderick  is  fallen," 
have  neither  king  nor  captain 
ereign ;  take  command  of  our  city,  and  protect  us  m 
this  hour  of  peril !  " 

The  heart  of  Felistes  was  free  from  ambition,  and 
was  too  much  broken  by  grief  to  be  flattered  In  tlie 
otfer  of  command  ;  but  he  felt  above  eveiy  thin-;  tor 
the  woes  of  his  country,  and  was  re.idy  to  ;is>,iiine 
any  desperate  service  in  her  cause.  "  Your  city,"  ^ald 
;  he,  "  is  surrounded  by  walls  and  towers,  and  ni.iy 
I  yet  check  the  progress  of  the  foe.  Promise  to  stand 
I  by  me  to  the  last,  and  1  will  undertake  your  del,  nee," 
I  The  inhabit.ants  all  promised  implicit  obedience  and 
devoted  zeal ;  for  what  will  not  the  inhabitaats  of  a 
wealthy  city  promise  and  profess  in  a  moment  of 
alarm.  The  instant,  however,  that  they  heard  of  the 
appro.ach  of  the  Moslem  trooiis,  the  wealthiei  ciiiiens 
packed  up  their  effects  and  tied  to  the  mountaifis,  h 
to  the  distant  city  of  Toledo.  Even  the  moiilcs  coJ. 
lected  the  riches  of  their  convents  and  church''s  anj 
fled.  Pelistes,  though  he  s.iw  himself  thus  d<'?'!'^e>J 
by  those  who  h.ad  the  greatest  interest  in  the  safety 
of  the  city,  yet  determined  not  to  abandon  its  de- 
fence. He  h.ad  still  his  faithful  though  scanty  band 
of  cavaliers,  and  a  number  of  fugitives  of  the  army; 
in  all  amounting  to  about  four  hundred  men.  He 
stationed  guards,  therefore,  at  the  gates  and  in  the 
towers,  and  made  every  preparation  for  a  desperate 
resistance. 

In  the  meantime,  the  army  of  Moslems  and  apos- 
tate christians  advanced,  under  the  command  of  the 
Greek  renegado,  .Magued,  and  guided  by  the  traitor 
Julian.  While  they  were  yet  at  some  distance  from 
the  city,  their  scouts  brought  to  them  a  shephLTd, 
whom  they  had  surprisetl  on  the  banks  of  the  fiua- 
dahjuivir.  The  trembling  hind  was  an  inhabitant  of 
Cordova,  and  reve.Tled  to  them  the  state  of  the  place, 
and  the  weakness  of  its  garrison. 

"And  the  walls  and  gates,"  said  Magued,  "are 
they  strong  and  well  guarded  ?  " 

*'  The  walls  are  higli,  and  of  wondrous  strength." 
replied  the  shepherd,  "and  soldiers  hold  watch  at 
the  gates  by  day  and  night.  But  there  is  one  place 
where  the  city  may  be  secretly  entered.  In  a  part 
of  the  wall,  not  far  from  the  bridge,  the  battl  menu 
are  broken,  a.id  there  is  a  breach  at  some  lieighl 
from  the  ground.  Hard  by  stands  a  fig-tree,  by  the 
aid  of  which  the  wall  may  easily  be  scaled." 

Having  received  this  information,  Magued  halts j 
with  his  army,  and  sent  forw.ird  several  renegado 
christians,  partisans  of  Count  Julian,  who  ent:.Ted 
Cordova  as  if  Hying  before  the  enemy.  On  a  dark 
and  tempestuous  night,  the  Moslems  approaciici  to 
the  end  of  the  bridge  which  crosses  the  Guadalquivir, 
and  remained  in  ambush.  Magued  took  a  smal' 
party  of  chosen  men,  and,  guided  by  the  shepherd, 
forded  the  stream  and  groped  silently  along  the  wall 
to  the  place  where  stood  the  fig-tree.  The  traitors, 
who  had  fraudulently  entered  the  city,  were  ready 
on  the  wall  to  render  assistance.    Majg^ued  ordered 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  SPAIN. 


lai 


Hiid  Magued, "  are 


bis  followers  to  make  use  of  the  long  folds  of  their 
turbans  instead  of  cords,  and  succeeded  without 
ditliciiity  in  clambering  into  the  breach. 

Drau'inR  their  scimitars,  they  now  hastened  to  the 
gate  wiiicn  opened  towards  the  bridge  ;  the  guards, 
iu!>p"Cling  nu  assault  from  within,  were  uiktn  by 
luijirise,  and  easily  overpowered;  the  gate  was 
thruvvii  o|)en,  and  the  army  that  h.id  remained  in 
Uiil>ush,  rushed  over  the  bridge,  and  entered  with- 
,',ut  upposiliun. 

'i'lie  alarm  had  by  this  time  spre.id  throughout  the 
k-ity ;  but  already  a  torrent  of  armed  men  was  pour- 
ing ihrouf^h  the  streets.  Felistes  sallied  fiirtli  with 
his  cavaliers  and  such  of  the  soldiery  as  he  could 
collect,  and  endeavoured  to  repel  the  loe  ;  but  ev-'ry 
cHurt  was  in  vain.  The  christians  were  slowly 
driven  from  street  to  street,  and  square  to  scjuare, 
di'>puting  every  inch  of  ground ;  until,  finding  an- 
olhtT  body  of  the  enemy  approaching  to  attack  thtiin 
in  rear,  they  tuok  refuge  in  a  convent,  and  succeeded 
in  tlirowing  to  and  barring  the  ponderous  doors. 
Tlie  Moors  attempted  to  force  the  gales,  but  were 
assailed  with  such  showers  of  missiles  from  the  win- 
dows and  battlements  that  they  were  obliged  to  re- 
tire, felistes  examined  the  convent,  and  found  it 
admirably  calculated  for  defence.  It  was  of  great 
extent,  with  spacious  courts  and  cloisters.  The 
gates  were  massive,  and  secured  with  bolts  and 
bars;  the  walls  were  of  grcit  thickness;  the  win- 
dows high  and  grated ;  there  was  a  great  tank  or 
cistcni  of  water,  and  the  friars,  who  had  fled  from 
the  city,  had  left  behind  a  g<'jd  supply  of  provisions. 
Here,  then,  I'elistes  proposed  to  make  a  stand,  and 
to  eiiUca.our  to  hold  out  until  succour  should  arrive 
jtom  some  other  city.  His  proposition  was  received 
irith  shouts  by  his  loyal  cavaliers ;  not  one  of  whom 
but  was  readv  to  lay  down  his  life  in  the  service  of 
tin  commandier. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


UiriNCE    or    THE    CONVENT    OF   ST.  GEORGE   BY 
PELISTES. 

For  three  long  and  anxious  months  did  the  good 
knight  Pelistes  and  his  cavaliers  defend  their  sacred 
asylura  against  the  repeated  assaults  of  the  inhdels. 
The  standard  of  the  true  taiih  was  constantly  dis- 
played from  the  loftiest  tower,  and  a  fire  blazed 
there  throughout  the  night,  as  signals  of  distress  to 
the  surrounding  country.  The  watchman  Irom  his 
turret  kept  a  wary  look  out  over  the  land,  hoping  in 
every  cloud  of  dust  to  descry  the  glittering  helms  of 
christian  warriors.  The  country,  however,  was  for- 
lorn and  abandoned,  or  if  perchance  a  human  Iteing 
was  perceived,  it  was  some  Arab  horseman,  career- 
ing tne  plain  of  the  Guadalquivir  as  tearlessly  as  if  it 
were  his  native  desert. 

By  degrees  the  provisions  of  the  convent  were 
consumed,  and  the  cavaliers  had  to  slay  their  horses, 
Wie  by  one,  for  food.  They  sutlered  the  wasting 
aiscries  of  famine  without  a  murinurj|^nd  always 
aiEt  their  commander  with  a  smile,  i'elistes,  how- 
over,  read  their  sufferings  in  their  wan  and  emaciated 
:ouiitenances,  and  felt  more  for  thein  thai)  for  hiin- 
•elf.  He  was  grieved  at  heart  that  such  loyalty  and 
Talour  should  only  lead  to  slavery  or  death,  and  re- 
solved to  make  one  desperate  attempt  for  their  de- 
liverance. As.ocmbling  them  one  day  in  the  court 
of  the  convent,  he  disclosed  to  them  his  purpose. 

"  Comrades  and  brothers  in  arms,"  said  he,  "  it  is 
needless  to  conceal  danger  from  brave  men.  Our 
case  is  desperate ;  our  countrymen  either  know  not 
21 


or  heed  not  our  situation,  or  have  not  the  means  to 
help  us.  There  is  but  one  chance  of  escape ;  it  is 
full  of  peril,  and,  as  your  leader,  I  claim  the  right  to 
br.ive  it.  To-morrow  at  break  of  day  I  will  sally 
forth  and  make  for  the  city  g.ates  at  the  momei  t  of 
their  being  opened  ;  no  one  will  suspect  a  solitary 
horseman ;  I  shall  be  taken  for  one  of  th  jse  recreant 
christians  who  have  basely  mingled  wih  the  tnein), 
If  1  succeed  in  getting  out  of  the  cit;,  I  will  hasten 
to  Toledo  for  assistance.  In  all  events  1  shall  bii 
b.'ick  in  less  than  twenty  days.  Keep  a  vigilant  look* 
out  tow-ard  the  nearest  mountain.  If  ynii  oehold  live 
lights  blazing  upon  its  summit,  be  assured  1  am  at 
hand  with  succour,  anc.  prepare  yourselves  to  sally 
forth  upon  the  city  as  I  attack  the  gates.  Should  I 
fail  in  obtaining  aid,  I  will  return  to  die  with  you." 

When  he  had  hnishcd,  his  warriors  would  fain 
have  severally  undertaken  the  enterprise,  and  they 
remonstrated  against  his  exposing  himself  to  such 
peril ;  but  he  was  not  to  be  shaken  from  his  purpose. 
On  the  following  morning,  ere  the  break  of  day,  his 
horse  was  led  forth,  caparisoned,  into  the  coii;t  of 
the  convent,  and  Pelistes  appeared  in  complr'."! 
armour.  Assembling  his  cavaliers  in  the  chapel,  he 
prayed  with  thcrn  for  some  time  before  the  altar  of 
the  holy  Virgin.  Then  rising  and  standing  in  the 
midst  of  them,  "God  knows,  my  companions,"  said 
he,  "  whether  we  have  any  longer  a  country ;  if  not, 
better  were  we  in  our  graves.  Loyal  and  true  have 
ye  been  to  me,  and  loyal  have  ye  been  to  my  son, 
even  to  the  hour  of  his  death  ;  and  grieved  am  1 
that  1  have  no  other  means  of  proving  my  love  foi 
you,  than  by  adventuring  my  worthless  life  for  your 
deliverance.  All  I  ask  of  you  before  1  go,  is  a  solemn 
promise  to  defend  yourselves  to  the  last  like  brave 
men  and  christian  cavaliers,  and  never  to  renounce 
your  ftiith,  or  throw  yourselves  on  the  mercy  of  the 
renegado  Magued.  or  the  traitor  Julian."  They  all 
pledged  their  words,  and  took  a  solemn  oath  to  the 
same  effect  before  the  altar. 

Pelistes  then  embraced  them  one  by  one,  and  gave 
them  his  lienediction,  and  as  he  did  so  his  heart 
yearned  over  them,  for  he  felt  towards  them,  not 
merely  as  a  companion  in  arms  and  as  a  commander, 
but  .as  a  father;  .and  he  took  leave  of  them  as  if  he 
had  been  going  to  his  death.  The  warriors,  on  their 
part,  crowded  round  him  in  silence,  kissing  his  hands 
and  the  hem  of  his  surcoat,  and  many  of  the  stern- 
est shed  tears. 

The  gray  of  the  dawning  had  just  streaked  the 
east,  when  Pelistes  took  lance  in  hand,  hung  his 
shield  about  his  neck,  and  mounting  his  steed,  issued 
quietly  forth  from  a  postern  of  the  convent.  He 
paced  slowly  through  the  vacant  streets,  and  the 
tramp  of  his  steed  echoed  afar  in  that  silent  hour ; 
but  no  one  suspected  a  warrior,  moving  thus  singly 
and  tranquilly  in  an  armed  city,  to  be  an  enemy.  He 
arrived  at  the  gate  just  at  the  hour  of  opening ;  a 
foraging  party  was  entering  with  cattle  and  with 
beasts  of  burden,  and  he  passed  unheeded  through 
the  throng.  As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight  of  the 
soldiers  who  guarded  the  gate,  he  quickened  his  pace, 
and  at  length,  galloping  at  full  speed,  succeeded  in 
gaining  the  mountains.  Here  he  paused,  and  ahglited 
at  a  solitary  farm-house  to  breathe  his  panting  steed  ; 
but  had  scarce  put  foot  to  ground  when  he  heard  the 
distant  sound  of  pursuit,  and  beheld  a  horseman  spur- 
ring up  the  mountain. 

Throwing  himself  again  upon  his  steed,  he  aban- 
doned the  road  and  galloped  across  the  rugged 
heights.  The  deep  dry  channel  of  a  torrent  checked 
his  career,  and  his  horse  stumbUng  upon  tiie  margin, 
rolled  with  his  rider  to  the  bottom.  Pelistes  was 
sorely  bruised  by  the  fstll,  and  his  whole  visage  was 
bathed  in  blood.     His  horse,  too.  was  maimed  and 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


-    liJi"* 


■*-  -i. 


f' 


•>-j 


u:-A:y 


unable  to  stand,  so  that  there  WM  no  hope  of  escape. 
The  enemy  drew  near,  and  proved  to  be  no  other 
than  Magiied.  the  renegado  general,  who  had  per- 
ceived hiin  as  he  issued  forth  from  the  city,  and  had 
followed  singly  in  pursuit.  "  Well  met,  seQor  al- 
cayde  I ''  exclaimed  he,  "  and  overtaken  in  good 
time.    Surrender  yourself  my  prisoner." 

Pelistes  made  no  oilier  rei)ly  than  by  drawing  his 
■word,  bracing  his  shield,  and  preparing  for  defence. 
Magued,  though  an  apostatev  and  a  tierce  warrior, 
assessed  some  sparks  of  knightly  magnanimity, 
tieeing  his  adversary  dismounted,  he  disdained  to 
take  him  at  a  disadvantage,  but,  alighting,  lied  his 
horse  to  a  tree. 

The  conflict  that  ensued  was  desperate  and  dottht- 
ful,  for  seldom  had  two  warriors  mei  so  well  matched 
or  of  equal  prowess.  Their  shields  were  hacked  to 
pieces,  the  ground  was  strewed  with  fragments  of 
their  armour,  ancl  stained  with  their  blood.  They 
paused  repeatedly  to  take  breath  ;  regarding  each 
other  witn  wonder  and  admiration.  Pelistes,  how- 
ever, had  been  previously  injured  by  his  fall,  and 
fought  to  great  disadvantage.  The  renegado  per- 
ceived it,  and  sought  not  to  slay  him,  but  to  take 
dim  alive.  Shifting  his  ground  continually,  he  wea- 
ried his  antagonist,  who  was  growing  weaker  and 
weaker  from  the  loss  of  blood.  At  length  Pelistes 
seemed  to  summon  up  all  his  remaining  strength  to 
make  a  sign.il  blow ;  it  was  skilfully  parried,  and  he 
fell  prostrate  upon  the  ground.  The  renegado  ran 
up,  and  putting  his  foot  upon  his  sword,  and  the 
[K)int  of  his  scimitar  to  his  throat,  called  upon  him 
to  ask  his  lite ;  but  Pelistes  lay  without  sense,  and 
as  one  dead.  Magued  then  unl.iced  the  helmet  of 
his  vanquished  enemy,  and  seated  himself  on  a  rock 
beside  him,  to  recover  breath.  In  this  situation  the 
warriors  were  found  by  certain  Moorish  cavaliers, 
who  marvelled  much  at  the  traces  of  thu,t  stern  and 
blo<xly  combat. 

Finding  there  was  yet  life  in  the  christian  knight, 
they  laid  him  upon  on^  of  their  horses,  and  aiding 
Magued  to  remount  his  steed,  proceeded  slowly  to 
the  city.  As  the  convoy  passed  by  the  convent,  the 
cavaliers  looked  forth  and  beheld  their  commander 
borne  along  bleeding  and  a  captive.  Furious  at  the 
sight,  they  sallied  forth  to  the  rescue,  but  were  re- 
pulsed by  a  superior  force  and  driven  back  to  the 
great  portal  of  the  church.  The  enemy  entered  pell 
mell  with  them,  tighiing  from  a'sle  to  aisle,  from  al- 
tar to  altar,  and  in  the  courts  and  cloisters  of  the 
convent.  The  greater  p.art  of  the  cavaliers  died 
bravclv,  sword  in  hand  ;  the  rest  were  disabled  with 
wounus  and  made  prisoners.  The  convent,  which 
was  lately  their  castle,  w<»s  now  made  their  prison, 
and  in  afiertimes,  in  commemoration  of  this  event, 
was  consecrated  by  the  name  of  St.  George  of  the 
Captives. 


CHAPTER  V. 


MBITltfO  BETWEEN  THE  PATRIOT   PELISTES  AND 
THE  TRAITOR  JULIAN. 

Tut  loyalty  and  prowess  of  the  good  knight  Pe- 
Hctes  had  gained  him  the  reverence  even  of  his  ene- 
nies.  He  was  for  a  long  tinie  disabled  by  his 
wounds,  during  which  he  was  kindly  treated  by  the 
Aiab  chieftains,  who  strove  by  every  courteous 
Ueans,  to  cheer  bis  sadness  and  make  hiir.  torget 
that  he  was  a  captive.  When  he  was  recovered 
from  his  wounds  they  gave  him  a  magnificent  ban- 
i|uet,  to  testify  their  admiration  of  his  virtue.,. 

Pelistes  appeared  at  the  banquet  clad  in  sable  ar- 


mour, and  with  a  countenance  pale  anc  dejecte.l,  f w 
the  ills  of  his  country  evermore  preyed  upon  hji 
heart.  Among  the  assembled  guests  was  Count 
Julian,  who  held  a  high  command  in  the  Moslem 
army,  and  was  arrayed  In  garments  of  niin^'led 
christian  and  morisco  fashion.  Peli.stes  had  lietn  a 
close  and  bosom  friend  of  Julian  in  former  tinei, 
and  had  served  with  him  in  the  wars  in  Alrica  but 
when  the  Count  advanced  to  accost  him  w\il.  hii 
wonted  amity,  he  turned  away  in  silence  and  ddci^vi 
not  to  notice  him ;  neither,  during  the  whole  oi  ,\\t 
repast,  did  he  aildress  to  him  ever  a  word,  bm 
treated  him  as  one  unknown. 

When  the  banquet  was  nearly  at  a  close,  the  dij. 
course  turned  upon  the  events  of  the  war,  and  the 
Moslem  chieftains,  in  great  courtesy,  dwell  upmi  the 
merits  of  many  of  the  christian  cavaliers  who  had 
fallen  in  battle,  and  all  extolled  the  valour  of  those 
who  had  recently  perished  in  the  defence  of  the  con- 
vent. Pelistes  remained  silent  Tor  a  time,  and 
checked  the  grief  which  swelled  within  liis  hd'.oin 
as  he  thought  of  his  devoted  cav.-iliers.  At  It  ngth, 
lifting  up  his  voice,  "  Happy  are  the  dead,"  said  he, 
"  for  they  rest  in  pe.ice,  and  are  gone  to  rcccivt;  the 
reward  of  their  piety  and  valour  1  I  could  iiiourn 
over  the  loss  of  my  companions  in  arms,  but  ilny 
have  fallen  with  honour,  and  are  spared  the  wrctuh- 
edness  1  feel  in  witne.ssing  the  thralilom  of  my  toun. 
try.  I  have  seen  my  only  son,  the  pride  and  hope 
of  my  age,  cut  down  at  my  side ;  I  h.ive  brhtld 
kindred  friends  and  followers  l.dling  one  liy  one 
around  me,  and  have  become  so  seasoned  to  those 
losses  that  I  have  ce.ised  to  weep.  Yet  there  is  ojie 
man  over  whose  loss  I  will  never  ccise  to  ^jricve. 
He  was  the  loved  companion  of  my  youth,  and  th« 
steadfast  associate  of  my  graver  years.  He  wis  one 
of  the  most  loyal  of  christian  knights.  As  a  iriend 
he  was  loving  .-md  sincere;  .as  a  warrior  his  achieve- 
ments were  above  all  praise.  What  h.is  become  of 
him,  al.^s !  I  know  not.  If  fallen  in  battle,  and  1 
knew  where  his  bones  were  laid,  whether  ble.nchin^' 
on  the  plains  of  .Xerrs,  or  buried  in  the  waters  ui 
the  Ciuadalete,  1  would  seek  ihem  out  and  enshriiic 
them  .as  the  relics  of  a  sainted  patriot.  Or  if,  hne 
many  of  his  companions  in  arms,  he  should  be  driven 
to  wander  in  foreign  lands,  I  would  join  him  in  his 
hapless  exile,  and  we  would  mourn  together  over  the 
desolation  of  our  country." 

Even  the  hearts  of  the  Arab  warriors  were  tout  hi'd 
by  the  lament  of  the  good  Pelistes.  and  they  s.iul  - 
"  Who  was  thi.s  pceriess  friend  in  whose  praise  ihoii 
art  so  fervent  ?  " 

"  His  name,"  replied  Pelistes,  "  was  Count  Julian." 

The  Moslem  warriors  stared  with  surjirisc  "  No- 
ble cavalier,"  exclaimed  they,  "  has  grief  disordered 
thy  senses?  Hehold  thy  friend  living  and  st;iniling 
before  thee,  and  yet  thou  dost  not  know  him  !  This 
this  is  Count  Julian  !  " 

Uiwn  this,  Pelistes  turned  his  eyes  upon  the  (  ount, 
and  regarded  him  for  a  time  with  a  lofiy  and  ^tfrn 
demeanour  ;  and  the  countenance  of  Juli.in  darken- 
ed, and  was  troubled,  and  his  eye  sank  beneath  th; 
regard  of  that  loyal  and  honourable  cavalier.  And 
Pelistes  said,  "  In  the  name  of  Grd,  I  charge  thee 
man  unknown !  to  answer.  Dost  thou  presume  to 
call  thyself  Count  Julian?" 

The  count  redilcned  with  anger  at  these  words. 
"Pelistes,"  said  he,  "what  means  this  mockery; 
thou  knowest  me  well ;  thou  knowest  me  for  Count 
Julian." 

"  1  know  thee  for  a  base  impostor ! "  cried  Pelistes. 
"Count  Julian  was  a  noble  Gothic  knight;  but  thou 
appearest  in  mongrel  Moorish  garb.  Count  Julian 
was  a  christian,  faithful  and  devout ;  but  I  behold  in 
thee  a  renegado  and  an  icfidel.    Count  Julian  was 


i\B 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  SPAIN. 


82t 


fftr  loynl  tb  hia  kinf;,  and  foretnost  in  his  country's 
cause ;  were  he  Hvini;  he  would  be  the  first  to  put 
ihitfid  on  neck  and  lance  in  resit,  to  clear  the  land  of 
her  invaders ;  hut  thou  art  a  hoary  traitor  I  thy 
hands  are  stained  with  the  royal  hlood  of  the  Goths 
jnii  thou  hast  betrayed  thy  country  and  thy  God. 
I'hfrrlore,  1  again  rf pt-at,  man  unknown  !  if  thou 
ijyest  thou  art  Count  Julian,  thou  licst  I  My  friend, 
jiis,  is  clead ;  and  thou  art  some  fkind  Ironi  hell, 
«hich  hast  taken  possession  of  his  body  to  dis- 
honour his  memory  and  render  him  an  abhorrence 
ainon^  men  I  "  So  saying,  Felistes  turiud  his  back 
upon  the  traitor,  and  went  forth  from  the  banquet ; 
kavin^j  Count  Julian  overwhelmed  with  contusion, 
and  an  object  ot  scum  to  all  the  Moslem  cavaliers. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


tst  me  for  Count 


HOW  TARIC  EL  TUERTO  CAPTl/RED  THE  CITY  OF 
rol.KDO  THROUGH  THE  AID  OF  THE  JEWS,  AND 
HOW  HE  FOUND  THE  FAMOUS  TALISMANIC 
TABLE  or  SOLOMON. 

While  these  events  were  passing  in  Cordova,  the 
*nt'-eyed  Arab  general, 'Inric  el  Tuerto,  haviiiR  sul>- 
(lucil  the  city  and  vega  of  (iranada,  and  the  Mount- 
ains of  the  Sun  and  Air,  directtui  his  march  into 
the  interior  of  the  kingdom  to  attack  the  ancient 
city  of  Toledo,  the  capital  of  the  (lothic  kings.  .So 
great  was  the  terror  caused  by  the  rapid  coiimiests 
of  the  inviiders,  that  at  the  very  rumour  of  their  ap- 
pro.K'ii,  many  of  the  inhaiiitants,  though  thus  in  the 
rtry  citadel  of  the  kingdom,  abandoned  it  and  tied 
;?  the  mountams  with  their  families.  Enough  re- 
mained, however,  to  have  made  a  formidalde  lU- 
\<Kf  ;  and,  as  the  city  was  seated  on  a  lofty  rock, 
1,,-nHinded  by  massive  walls  ami  lowers,  and  almost 
giidlrtl  by  the  Tagus,  it  threatened  a  long  resist- 
ance. The  Arab  warriors  pitched  their  tents  in  the 
vejja,  on  the  borders  of  the  river,  and  prepared  for  a 
teiliuus  .-jiege. 

One  evening,  as  Taric  was  seated  in  his  terit  mcdi- 
lair  ^- i)n  the  mode  in  which  he  should  assail  this 
rack-iiiiilt  city,  certain  of  the  patroles  of  the  camp 
broiigtit  a  stranger  before  him.  "  As  we  were  going 
nur  rounds,"  said  they,  "  we  beheld  tins  man 
lowered  down  with  cords  from  a  tower,  and  he  de- 
livered himself  into  our  hands,  praying  to  be  con- 
ducted to  thy  presence,  that  he  might  reveal  to  thee 
jertain  things  important  for  thee  to  know." 

Taric  fixed  his  eyes  upcn  the  stranger  :  he  w.as  a 
Jewibh  rabbi,  with  a  long  beard  which  spread  upon 
nis  gabardine,  and  descended  even  to  his  ginlle. 
"VVh.it  hast  thou  to  reveal?"  said  he  to  the  Israel- 
ite. "What  I  h.ave  to  reveal,"  replied  the  other, 
"IS  lor  thee  alone  to  hear;  command  then,  I  entreat 
thee,  that  these  men  withdraw."  When  they  were 
alone  he  addressed  Taric  in  Arabic:  "Know,  O 
leader  of  the  host  of  Islam,"  said  he,  "  that  1  am 
tent  to  thee  on  the  part  of  the  children  of  Israel 
resident  in  Toledo.  VVe  have  been  o,. pressed  and 
iisulted  by  the  christians  in  the  time  of  their  pros- 
perity, and  now  that  they  are  threatened  with  siege, 
they  have  taken  from  us  all  our  provisions  and  our 
money  ;  they  have  compelled  us  to  w  ork  like  slaves, 
repairing  their  walls;  and  they  oblige  us  to  bear 
aims  and  guard  a  part  of  the  towers.  We  abhor 
their  yoke,  and  are  ready,  if  thou  wilt  receive  us  as 
lubjects  and  permit  us  the  free  enjoyment  of  our 
religion  and  our  property,  to  deliver  the  towers  we 
guard  into  thy  hands,  and  to  give  thee  safe  entrance 
Mito  the  ci:y.  i 

The  Arab  chief  was  overjoyed  at  this  proposition, 


and  he  rendered  much  honour  to  the  rabbi,  and  gave 
orders  to  clothe  him  in  a  costly  robe,  and  to  peihinM 
his  beard  with  esHrnces  of  a  ple.isant  odoui,  so  tha< 
he  was  the  most  sweet  smelling  of  his  tribe ;  and  ne 
said,  "  Make  thy  words  good,  and  put  me  in  posses- 
sion of  the  city,  and  I  will  do  all  and  more  than  thou 
hast  required,  and  will  bestow  countlcM  wealth  upca 
thee  and  thy  brethren." 

Then  a  plan  was  devised  between  them  by  which 
the  city  was '.  j  be  betrayed  and  given  up.  "  But  how 
shall  1  be  secured,"  said  he,  "  tnat  all  thy  tribe  will 
fulhl  what  thou  hast  engaged,  and  that  this  is  not  a 
stratagem  to  get  me  and  my  people  into  your  power  ?" 

"  This  shall  be  thy  as.surance,"  replied  the  rabbi  • 
"Ten  ot  the  principal  Isr&eUtes  will  come  to  this  tent* 
and  remain  as  hostages." 

"  It  is  enough,"  s.iid  Taric  ;  and  he  made  oath  to  . 
accomplish  all  th.it  he  had  promised  ;  and  the  Jew- 
ish hostages  came  and  delivered  themselves  into  his 
hands. 

On  a  dark  night,  a  chosen  band  of  Moslem  war- 
riors approached  the  part  of  the  walls  guarded  by 
the  Jews,  and  were  secretly  admitted  into  a  postern 
gate  and  concealed  within  a  tower.  Three  thousand 
Arabs  were  at  the  same  time  placed  in  ambush 
among  rocks  and  thickets,  in  a  place  on  the  op- 
[josite  side  of  the  river,  commanding  a  view  of  the 
city.  On  the  following  morning  Taric  ravaged  the 
gardens  of  the  valley,  and  set  tire  to  the  farm-nouses, 
and  then  breaking  up  his  camp  marched  off  as  if 
abandoning  the  siege. 

The  people  of  Toledo  gazed  with  astonishment 
from  their  walls  at  the  retiring  s(|uailrons  of  the  ene- 
my, and  scarcely  could  credit  their  unexpected  de- 
liverance ;  before  night  there  was  not  a  turban  nor 
a  hostile  lance  to  be  seen  in  the  vega.  They  attrib- 
uted it  all  to  the  special  intervention  of  their  patron 
saint,  Leocadia ;  and  the  following  day  being  palm  . 
Sunday,  they  sallied  forth  in  proce.s.'>ion,  man,  woman, 
and  child,  to  the  church  of  that  blessed  saint,  which 
it  situated  without  the  walls,  that  they  might  return 
thanks  for  her  marvellous  protection. 

When  all  Toledo  had  thus  poured  itself  forth,  and 
was  marching  with  cross  and  relic  and  solemn  chaunt 
towards  the  chapel,  the  Arabs,  who  h.ad  been  con- 
cealed in  the  tower,  rushed  forth  and  barred  the 
gates  of  the  city.  While  some  guarded  the  gates, 
others  dispersed  themselves  about  the  streets,  slaying 
all  who  made  resistance ;  and  others  kindled  a  fire 
and  made  a  column  of  smoke  on  the  top  of  the  cita- 
del. At  sight  of  this  signal,  the  Arabs,  in  ambush, 
beyond  the  river,  ro.se  with  a  gicat  shout,  and  at- 
tacked the  multitude  who  were  thronging  to  the 
church  of  St.  Leocadia.  There  was  a  great  massa- 
1  re,  although  the  people  were  without  arms,  and 
made  no  resistance  ;  and  it  is  said,  in  ancient  chron- 
icles, that  it  was  the  apostate  Bishop  Oppas  who 
guided  the  Moslems  to  tneir  prey,  and  incited  them 
to  this  slaughter.  The  pious  reader,  says  Fray  An- 
tonio Agapida,  will  be  slow  to  believe  such  turpi- 
tude ;  but  there  is  nothing  more  venomous  than  the 
rancour  of  an  apostate  priest ;  for  the  best  ihingi  in 
this  world,  when  corrupted,  become  the  worst  i.M 
most  baneful. 

Many  of  the  christians  had  taken  refuge  within  li\e 
church,  and  had  barred  the  doors,  but  Oppas  com- 
manded that  tire  should  be  set  to  the  portals,  threat- 
ening to  put  every  one  within  to  the  sword.  Hap- 
pily the  veteran  Taric  arrived  just  in  time  to  stay  the 
fury  of  this  reverend  renegado.  He  ordered  the 
trumpets  to  call  otT  the  troops  from  the  carnage, 
and  extended  grace  to  all  the  surviving  inhabitants. 
They  were  permitted  to  remain  in  quiet  possession 
of  their  homes  and  effects,  paying  only  a  moderate 
tribute ;  and  ihey  were  allowed  to  exercise  the  rites 


821 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IR\ii>u. 


il : 


of  their  religion  in  the  existlntir  churches,  to  th>!  num- 
ber (i(  icven,  but  were  prohibited  from  erecting  «ny 
others.  Those  who  preferred  to  leave  the  city,  were 
•uflered  to  depurt  in  swifety,  but  not  to  tulce  with  thchi 
any  of  their  wealth. 

immense  spoil  was  found  by  Tnric  in  the  alcazar, 
or  royal  castle,  situated  on  a  rocky  eminence,  m  the 
hJKhcst  part  of  the  city.  Amonj;  the  rc)(ali.(  treas- 
crcd  up  m  a  secret  chamber,  were  twenly-fivc  re;{al 
rrowns  of  6ne  K'^kl,  ^{arni.Hhcd  with  Jacynths,  anie- 
'hysts,  diamonds,  and  other  precious  stones.  'I'liese 
«erc  the  crowns  of  the  ditrerunt  tiothic  kinps  who 
had  reigned  in  Spain ;  it  having  been  the  usage,  on 
the  death  of  e<ich  king,  to  deposit  his  crown  in  this 
.treasury,  inscribing  on  it  his  name  and  ai;e.* 

When  Taric  w.is  thus  in  possession  of  the  city,  the 
Jews  came  to  him  in  procession,  with  soii^'s  anil 
d.'inces  and  the  sound  of  timbrel  and  psaltery,  h.tiling 
hi:n  as  their  lord,  and  reminding  him  of  his  promises. 

The  son  of  Ishmacl  kept  his  word  with  the  chil- 
dren of  Israel ;  they  were  |)rotected  in  '.lie  possession 
of  all  iheir  wealth  and  the  exercise  of  their  religion, 
and  were,  moreover,  rewarded  with  jewels  of  gold 
and  jewels  of  silver,  and  much  monii-s.t 

A  subsequent  expedition  was  leil  by  Taric  .ig.iinst 
Guadalaxara.  whiih  surrendered  without  resist. mce  ; 
he  moreover  captured  the  city  of  Medina  Ccii.  where 
he  found  an  inestimable  t.il)le  which  had  formcil  a 
part  of  the  spoil  taken  at  Rome  by  Alaric,  at  the 
tune  that  the  s.icred  city  was  concjuered  by  the 
Goths.  It  was  composed  of  one  single  anil  entire 
emerald,  and  possessed  lalismanic  powers ;  for  tra- 
diiions  affirm  that  it  was  the  work  of  genii,  and  had 
been  wrought  by  them  for  King  .Solomon  the  wise, 
the  son  of  David.  This  marvellous  relic  was  care- 
liilly  preserved  by  Taric,  .is  the  most  precious  of  all 
bis  spoils,  being  inttnded  by  him  as  a  present  to  the 
caliph ;  and  in  conxnemoration  of  it  the  city  was 
called  by  the  Arabs,  Medina  Almeyda;  that  is  to 
•ay,  "The  City  of  the  rable."t 

I  Living  made  these  and  other  conquests  of  less 
imiwrtance,  and  having  collected  great  quantities  of 
gold  and  silver,  and  rich  stuffs  and  precious  stones, 
Taric  returned  with  his  booty  to  the  royal  city  of 
Toledo. 


CHAPTER   VII. 


mVZA   BEN   NOZIER  ;  HIS  ENTRANCE   INTO  SPAIN, 
AND  CAPTUKfi  OF  CAKMONA. 

Let  us  leave  for  a  se.asnn  the  bold  Taric  in  his 
triumphant  progress  from  city  to  city,  while  we  turn 
our  eyes  to  Muza  ben  Nozier,  the  renowned  emir  of 
Almagreb,  and  the  commander-in-chief  of  the  .Mos- 
lem forces  of  the  west.  When  that  jealous  chieftain 
had  despatched  his  letter  commaniling  Taric  to  pause 
and  await  his  coming,  he  immediately  made  ever)' 
prepaiation  to  enter  Spain  with  a  powerful  reinforce- 
ment, and  to  take  command  of  the  conquering  army. 
He  left  his  eldest  son,  Abd.al»sis,  in  Caervan,  with 
authority  over  Alm.igreb,  or  Western  Africa.  This 
Abrtalasis  was  in  the  (lower  of  his  youth,  anrl  be- 
tovcd  by  th*  soldiery  for  the  m.ignanimity  and  the 
c^g&ij[ing  affability  which  graced  his  courage. 

*  Cosde.  Hut.  de  lai  Arabet  en  EnpafU,  c.  la. 

t  The  fttratageiu  of  tlie  Jews  of  'I'oleJo  is  recorded  briefly  by 
Bialiop  Lucas  de  Tuy,  in  hit  chronicle,  but  ui  related  at  l*igt 
ia  the  chronicle  uf  the  Moor  Kasis. 

t  According  to  Arabian  legends,  thit  table  wai  a  mirror  reveal- 
iaf  all  great  eveno  ;  insomuch  that  by  luoking  un  il  the  pnHSMSor 
Bight  behold  battlen  and  sieges  and  fratt  of  chivalry,  and  all  ac- 
Ooni  worthy  of  renown  :  and  mittht  thus  ascertain  the  truth  of  all 
historic  transactiuns.  It  was  a  mirror  of  history  therefore  ;  and 
kad  very  probably  aided  King  Solomon  in  acquiring  that  prodigi- 
•II*  knowledge  and  wisdom  (or  which  h«  wai  renowned. 


Muia  hen  Noiier  croMcd  the  strait  ol  Hrmi*et 
with  a  chosen  force  of  ten  thousand  horse  and  ci^K* 
thousand  foot;  Arabs  and  Africans,  lie  was  u 
companied  by  his  two  sons,  Meruan  and  Abillula, 
and  by  numerous  illustrious  Arabian  cavaliers  ot  tlit 
tribe  of  the  Koreish.  He  landed  his  shining  I  '^iont 
on  the  coast  of  Andalusia,  and  pitched  ins  •vnia 
near  to  the  Guadiana.  There  first  he  receivci  -n- 
telligence  of  the  disol)edience  of  Taric  to  his  oidas 
and  that,  without  waitinf^  his  arrival,  the  impttudui 
chieft.iin  h.ad  continued  Ins  c.irecr.  and  with  Ins  h^hi 
Arab  sipiadrons  had  overrun  and  sulului-d  the  no- 
idlest  provinces  and  cities  ol  the  kingdom. 

The  jealous  spirit  of  Miua  was  still  more  exa  per. 
ated  by  these  tidings ;  lie  looked  upon  I'.iric  no 
longer  as  a  friend  and  coadjutor,  but  as  an  HivKJi- 
ous  riv.il,  the  decided  enemy  of  his  glory ;  ami  'le 
determined  on  his  ruin.  His  tirst  tonsidcratiim, 
however,  w.is  to  secure  to  himself  a  sli.ire  m  iht 
actual  conquest  of  the  land  before  it  should  he  en> 
lirely  subjug.ited. 

Taking  guides,  tl erefore,  from  amonp;  his  cliij. 
tian  captives,  lie  set  out  to  subdue  such  parts  «t  tlie 
country  as  had  not  been  visited  by  Taric.  The  lirsi 
place  svliich  he  .ass.iiled  was  the  ancient  eitv  ol  Car. 
mona ;  il  was  not  of  great  magnitude,  but  was  tdp- 
tilled  with  high  w.ills  and  massive  towers,  ami  main 
of  the  fugitives  of  the  late  army  had  thrown  them- 
selves into  it. 

The  Goths  h.ad  by  this  time  recovered  from  thcit 
lirst  panic  ;  they  had  become  accustomed  to  tht 
sight  of  Moslem  troops,  and  their  native  coiira);e 
had  been  rouseil  by  danger.  .Shortly  after  the  Araas 
had  encamped  betbie  their  walls,  a  band  of  caviiicn 
maile  a  sudden  sally  one  morning  belore  the  hrea* 
of  d.iy,  fell  upon  the  enemy  by  surprise,  killed  al.o-.j 
three  hindred  of  then)  in  their  tents,  and  ellccted 
their  retreat  into  the  city;  leaving  twenty  of  thiir 
number  dead,  covered  with  honourable  wounds,  und 
in  the  very  centre  of  the  camp. 

Un  the  following  day  they  made  another  sallv,  \ni 
fell  on  a  different  quarter  of  the  encampment  ;  hut 
the  Arabs  were  on  their  guard,  and  met  them  wnh 
superior  numbers.  After  fighting  fiercely  for  a  lime, 
they  were  routed,  and  fled  full  speed  for  the  ciiy, 
with  the  Arabs  hard  upon  their  traces.  The  j^u.inlj 
within  feared  to  open  the  gate,  lest  with  their  Iik  mis 
they  should  admit  a  torrent  of  enemies.  Stt:iii{ 
themselves  thus  shut  out,  the  fugitives  deteninneJ 
to  die  like  brave  soldiers  rather  than  surfLnder. 
Wheeling  suddenly  rounii,  they  ojjened  a  path  throujih 
the  host  of  their  pursuers,  fouj^ht  their  way  bark  to 
the  camp,  and  raged  about  it  with  desperate  tan 
until  they  were  all  slain,  after  having  killed  ahove 
eight  hundred  of  the  enemy.* 

Mu/a  now  ordered  that  the  place  shoultl  be  taken 
by  storm.  The  Moslems  ass.ailed  it  on  ail  sides,  hut 
were  vigorously  resisted ;  many  were  slain  by  showeri 
of  stones,  arrows,  and  boiling  pitch,  and  many  who 
had  mountett  with  scaling  ladders  were  thrown  head- 
long from  the  battlements.  The  alcayde.  Galo,  .aid- 
ed so'ely  by  two  men,  defended  a  tower  anil  a  per- 
tion  of  the  wall ;  killing  and  wounding  with  .1  cross- 
bow more  than  eighty  of  the  enemy.  Thn  attack 
lasted  above  half  a  day,  when  the  Moslems  were  re- 
pulsed with  the  loss  of  fifteen  hundred  men 

Muza  was  astonished  and  ex.asperated  at  meeting 
with  such  formidable  resistance  from  so  sm.'.ll  a  city; 
for  it  was  one  of  the  few  places,  during  that  memo- 
rable  conquest,  where  the  Gothic  valour  shone  forth 
with  its  proper  lustre.  While  the  Moslem  army  lay 
encamped  before  the  place,  it  was  joined  by  M.agued 
the  renegado,  and  Count  Jul'an  the  traitor,  with  ou 

'Abukagim.    Pordida  da  EiMfa,  L.  i.  c.  1%, 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  SPAIN. 


mouund  hncMmen ;  most  of  them  recreant  chris- 
tians, bu»e  betrayers  of  their  country,  ami  more 
Hva|(e  in  thrftr  w.irf.ire  th.in  the  Ariihs  of  the  desert. 
To  tin<i  favour  in  the  •fyri  of  Muxa,  and  to  evince  his 
devotion  to  tlie  cause,  the  count  undertootc,  by  wily 
Itrataj^em,  to  put  this  gallant  ciiy  in  his  power. 

Oiii:  Cfeninif.  just  at  twilit^ht,  a  numhrr  of  chris- 
tian*, liahited  as  travelling  incrchanis,  arrived  .it  one 
cl  iht-  ({atcs,  c»ii(luctin({  a  train  of  nniles  l.iden  with 
inns  and  warlike  munitions.  "  Open  the  ^ate  (|uick- 
y,"  crisd  they,  "wc  bring  siijiplies  for  the  (^nrrisoi), 
(jm  the  Arabs  have  discovered,  and  are  in  pursuit  of 
dj."  The  gate  was  thrown  open,  the  merchants 
entered  with  their  beasts  of  burden,  and  were  joy- 
fully received.  Meat  and  drink  were  placed  before 
ihrin.  and  after  they  had  refieshed  theiivsclves  they 
teiirnl  to  the  quarters  allotted  to  them. 

I  hibe  pretended  merchants  were  Count  Julian  and 
a  number  of  his  partisans.  At  the  hour  of  midnight 
ihey  stole  loilh  silently,  nnti  assembling  together, 
procci'ile.l  to  what  w.is  calluil  the  (<ate  of  Cordova. 
\\ttc  settinj;  suddenly  upon  the  unsuspecting  guards, 
they  put  them  to  the  e(l.;i'  of  the  sword,  and  throw- 
ing open  the  j;.itts,  adniiiti-d  a  great  body  of  the 
Anilis.  The  inhabitants  were  roused  from  their 
sleep  by  sound  of  drum  and  trumpet,  and  the  clat- 
terlll^,'  of  horses.  The  Arabs  scoured  the  streets; 
a  horrible  m.assacre  was  commenced,  in  which  none 
were  spareil  but  such  ol  the  lem.iles  as  were  young 
an'  beautiful,  and  titled  to  grace  the  harems  of  the 
conquerors,  The  arrival  of  Miiza  put  an  end  to  the 
pill.i^e  and  the  slaughter,  and  he  granted  I'avourable 
terms  to  the  survivors.  Thus  the  valiant  little  city 
sfCarmona.  alter  nobly  resisting  the  open  assaults 
of  the  inhdels,  fell  a  victim  to  the  treachery  of  apoj- 
t«tc  christians.* 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


MUZA   MARCHKS  AGAINST  THE  CITY  OF  SEVILLF.. 

AfiEK  the  cj»pture  of  Carmona,  Muia  descended 
into  a  noble  plain,  covered  with  fields  of  grain, 
with  orchards  and  gardens,  through  which  glideil 
thr  soft  flowing  Guadalquivir.  On  the  borders  of 
the  river  stood  the  ancient  city  of  Seville,  surround- 
ed by  Roman  walls,  and  defended  by  its  golden  tower. 
Understanding  from  his  spies  that  the  cit\  h.ad  lost 
tlie  tlower  of  its  youth  in  the  battle  of  the  Guadalete, 
iMii/.'i  anticipated  but  a  faint  resiii'tance.  A  consider- 
able force,  however,  still  remained  within  the  place, 
and  wh.it  they  wanted  in  numbers  they  made  up  in 
resolution.  For  some  days  they  withstood  the  .is- 
Siiults  of  the  enemy,  and  defended  their  walls  with 
great  coura.i;e.  Their  want  of  warlike  munitions, 
however,  and  the  superior  Ibrce  and  skill  of  the  be- 
iiu;ing  army,  left  them  no  hope  of  being  able  to  hold 
out  loni;.  There  were  two  youthtul  cavaliers  of  un- 
common valour  i:i  the  city.  They  assembled  the 
w.iiriors  and  addressed  them.  "  We  cannot  save  the 
city,"  said  they,  "  but  at  least  we  may  save  our- 
lelv^s,  and  preserve  so  many  strong  arms  for  the 
sen  ice  of  our  country.  L4I  us  cut  our  way  through 
tl.e  inlidel  force  and  gain  some  secure  fortress,  from 
khuice  we  may  return  with  augmented  numbers  for 
»hc  rescue  of  the  city." 

The  advice  of  the  young  cavaliers  was  adopted. 
In  the  dead  of  the  nignt  the  garrison  assembled  to 
tlie  number  of  about  three  thousand  ;  the  most  part 
moti.itcd  on  horseback.    Suddenly  sallying  from  one 

*  Cob.  i«n  dc  Espa>a  por  Alonio  •!  Sabiu.  P.  ]•  c.  1. 


of  the  gates,  they  rushed  in  a  cdmpait  lio<ly  ti|)on  tN 
camnof  the  Saracens,  which  was  ne^digently  guarded, 
(or  tlie  Moslems  expected  no  such  act  of  desperation. 
The  camp  was  a  scene  of  gre.it  carnage  and  con« 
fusicn ;  many  were  slain  on  both  sides;  the  two 
valiant  le.aders  of  the  christians  fell  covered  with 
wounds,  but  the  main  body  succeeded  in  forcing 
their  way  through  the  centre  of  the  army,  and  Id 
making  their  retreat  to  Ueia  in  Lusitania. 

Muza  was  at  a  loss  to  know  the  meaning  of  thia 
desperate  sally.  In  the  mornin,^  he  perceiveil  the 
gates  of  the  city  wide  open.  A  number  of  .im  ient 
and  venerable  men  presented  themselves  at  his  tent,, 
otfering  submission  and  imploring  mercy,  for  nont. 
were  left  in  the  plice  but  the  old,  the  infirm,  and  the 
miserable.  .Muza  listened  to  thein  with  compassion, 
and  granted  their  prayer,  and  the  only  tribute  he  ex- 
acted was  three  me.osures  of  wheat  and  three  of 
barley  from  e.ach  house  or  family.  He  placed  a  gar. 
rison  of  Arabs  In  the  city,  and  left  there  a  number  of 
Jews  to  form  a  body  of  population.  Having  thut 
secured  two  important  places  in  Andalusia,  he  passed 
the  boundaries  of  the  province,  and  adv^uiced  with 
great  martial  pomp  into  Lusitania. 


CHAPTER   IX. 
UVZA   BESIEGES  THE  CITY  OF  MERIDA. 

The  army  of  Muza  was  now  augmented  to  about 
eighteen  thousand  horsemen,  but  he  took  with  him 
but  few  fool-soldiers,  leaving  tliein  to  garrison  the 
conquered  towns.  He  met  with  no  resii^tance  on  hi* 
enirancc  into  Lusitania.  Citv  after  city  laid  its  keyi 
at  his  feet,  and  implored  lo  lie  received  in  peaceful 
v.assal.ige.  One  city  alone  preji.ired  for  vigoroui 
defence,  the  .mcient  Merida,  a  place  of  great  extent, 
uncounted  riches,  and  prodigious  strength.  A  noble 
Goth  named  Sacarus  w.is  the  governor ;  a  man  of 
consummate  wisdom,  patriotism,  and  valour.  Hear- 
ing of  the  approach  of  the  invaders,  he  gathered 
within  the  walls  all  the  people  of  the  surrounding 
country,  with  their  horses  and  mules,  their  tlocka 
and  heids  and  most  precious  eiTects.  To  insure  for 
a  long  time  a  supply  of  bre.id,  he  filled  tht  mag- 
azines with  grain,  and  erected  windmills  on  the 
churches.  This  done,  he  laid  waste  the  surrounding 
country  to  a  gre.it  extent,  so  that  a  besieging  army 
would  have  to  encamp  in  a  desert. 

When  Mu7.a  came  in  sight  of  this  magnificent  city, 
he  was  struck  with  admiration.  He  remained  for 
some  time  gazing  in  silence  upon  its  mighty  walls 
and  lordly  towers,  its  vast  extent,  and  the  stately 
p.ilaces  and  temples  with  which  it  was  adorneu. 
"  .Surely,"  cried  he,  at  length,  ".all  the  people  of  the 
earth  have  combined  their  power  and  skill  to  embel- 
lish and  aggrandize  this  city.  Allah  Achbar  !  Happy 
will  he  be  who  shall  have  the  glory  of  making  such 
a  con(|uesl  I " 

Seeing  that  a  place  so  populous  and  so  strcvigly 
fortitied  would  be  likely  t  j  maintair^  a  loug  and  foi- 
miilable  resistance,  he  sent  messengers  to  Africa  to 
his  son  Abdalasis,  to  collect  all  the  forces  that  could 
be  spared  from  the  garrisons  of  Mauritania,  and  to 
hasten  and  reinforce  him. 

While  .Muza  w.as  forming  his  encampment,  desert- 
ers from  the  city  brought  him  word  that  a  chosen 
band  intended  to  sally  forth  at  midnight  and  surprise 
his  camp.  The  Arab  commander  immediately  tcok 
measures  to  receive  them  with  a  counter  surprise. 
Having  formed  his  plan,  niid  communicated  it  to  hia 
principal  officers,  he  ordered  th.at,  throughout  the 
day,  there  shoukJ  be  kept  up  an  appearance  of  neglt 


S26 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


\' 


0. 


A  ' 


\   s  -»■ 


l»r    * 


g;ent  confusion  in  his  encampment.  The  outposts 
were  feebly  guarded ;  fires  were  lighted  in  various 
places,  as  if  preparing  for  feasting ;  bursts  of  music 
and  shouts  of  revelry  resounded  from  different  quar- 
ters, and  the  whole  camp  seemed  to  be  rioting  in 
careless  security  on  the  plunder  of  the  land.  As 
the  night  advanced,  the  tires  were  gradually  extin- 
piished,  and  silence  ensued,  as  if  the  soldiery  had 
sunk  into  deep  sleep  after  the  carous.al. 

In  the  meantime,  bodies  of  troops  had  been  se- 
c;eily  and  silently  marched  to  reinforce  the  outposts ; 
and  tne  renegado  Magued,  with  a  numerous  force, 
ht.d  termed  an  ambuscade  in  a  deep  stone  quarrj'  by 
which  the  christians  would  have  to  pass.  These 
prf  parations  being  made,  they  awaited  the  approach 
of  the  enemy  in  breathless  silence. 

About  midnight,  the  chosen  force  intended  for  the 
sally  assembled,  and  the  command  was  confided  to 
Count  Tendero,  a  Gothic  cavalier  of  tried  prowess. 
Atter  having  heard  a  solemn  i.iass  and  received  the 
benediction  of  the  priest,  they  marched  out  of  the 
gate  with  all  possible  silence.  They  were  suffered 
to  pass  the  ambuscade  in  the  quarry  without  moles- 
tation :  as  they  approached  the  Moslem  camp,  every 
thing  appeared  q'liet,  for  the  foot-Si  klicrs  were  con- 
cealed in  slopes  .and  hollows,  and  every  Arab  horse- 
man lay  in  his  armour  l)esi(le  his  steed.  The  sen- 
tinf.ls  on  the  outposts  wailed  until  the  christians 
were  close  at  hand,  and  then  fled  in  apparent  con- 
sternation. 

Count  Tendero  g.ave  the  signal  'or  assault,  and 
the  christians  rushed  confidently  foiward.  In  an 
Instant  an  uproar  Oi  drums,  trumpets,  and  shrill 
war-cries  burst  forth  from  eve"  side.  An  army 
seemed  to  spring  up  from  the  .h ;  squadrons  of 
horse  came  thundering  on  the.  in  front,  while  the 
cuarry  poured  forth  legions  of  armed  warriors  in 
•neir  rear. 

The  noise  of  the  terrific  conflict  that  took  pl.ace 
w^s  heard  on  the  city  walls,  and  answered  by  shouts 
of  exultation,  for  the  christians  thought  it  rose  from 
the  terror  and  confusion  of  the  Arab  camp.  In  a 
little  while,  ho-,  ever,  they  were  undeceived  by  fugi- 
■ves  from  the  fi  .n,  aghast  with  terror,  and  covered 
.vith  wounds.  "  Hell  itself,"  cried  they,  "  is  on  the 
side  of  these  infidels ;  the  earth  casts  ftirth  warriors 
and  steeds  to  aid  them.  We  have  fought,  not  with 
men,  but  devils  !  " 

The  greater  part  of  the  chosen  troops  who  had 
sallied,  were  "vit  to  pieces  in  that  scene  of  mass.acre, 
for  they  haa  been  conlbunded  by  the  temijest  of 
battle  which  suddenly  broke  forth  around  them. 
Count  Tci.dero  (ought  with  desperate  valour  and 
fell  covered  with  wounds.  His  body  w.as  Ibimd  the 
next  morning,  lying  among  the  slain,  and  trans- 
pierced with  half  a  score  ol  lances.  The  renegado 
Magued  cut  off  hit.  head  and  tied  it  to  the  t.ail  of  his 
horse,  and  repaired  with  this  savage  trophy  to  the 
tent  of  Mtiza;  but  the  hostility  of  the  Ar.ab  gener.d 
was  of  a  less  malignant  kind.  He  ordered  that  the 
head  and  body  should  be  placed  together  upon  a 
bier  and  treated  with  becoming  reverence. 

In  the  course  of  the  day  a  tr.ain  of  priests  and 
friais  came  forth  from  the  ciiv  to  request  permis- 
sion to  seek  for  the  body  of  the  count.  Muza  de- 
livered It  to  them,  with  many  soldier-like  encomiums 
on  the  valour  of  that  gocKl  cavalier.  The  priests 
covered  it  with  a  pall  of  cloth  of  gold,  and  V)ore  it 
back  in  melancholy  piocession  to  the  city,  where  it 
waa  icceived  with  loud  lamentations. 

The  siege  was  now  pressed  with  great  vigour,  and 
repeated  assaults  were  made,  but  in  vain.  Muza 
•aw  at  length,  that  the  walls  were  too  high  to  be 
scaled,  and  ttie  gales  too  strone  to  be  burst  open 
without  the  aid  of  engines,  and  he  desisted  from 


the  attack  until  machines  for  the  purpsse  could  h( 
constructed.  The  governoi'  suspected  from  this 
cessation  of  active  warfare,  that  the  enemy  flattsrtd 
themselves  to  reduce  the  place  by  famine;  he  caused, 
therefore,  large  baskets  of  breati  to  be  thrown  from 
the  wall,  and  sent  a  messenger  to  Muza  to  inform 
him  that  if  his  army  should  be  in  want  of  bread,  hi; 
would  supply  it,  having  sullicient  corn  in  his  gi-ansc 
ries  for  a  ten  years'  siege.  * 

The  citizens,  however,  did  not  possess  the  un- 
daunted spirit  of  their  governor.  When  they  l(,un  J 
that  the  Moslems  were  constructing  treniendouj 
engines  for  the  tlestruction  of  their  walls,  they  Lst 
all  courage,  anil,  surrounding  the  governor  in  a 
claitiorous  inultitude,  compelled  him  to  send  forth 
persons  to  capitulate. 

The  ambass.adors  came  into  the  presence  of  Muzi 
with  awe,  for  ihey  expected  to  find  a  fierce  .md 
formidable  warrior  in  one  who  had  filled  thi'  land 
with  terror ;  but  lo  their  astonishment,  they  In  ht-iu 
an  ancient  and  venerable  man,  with  whte  h.iir,  j. 
snowy  beard,  and  a  pale  emaciated  coi.ntennncc. 
He  had  passed  the  ])revious  night  wit)  out  slwp, 
and  had  been  all  day  in  the  field ;  he  was  ,:xhauste(l 
therefore,  by  watchfiilness  and  fatigue,  ai  d  his  );ar. 
ments  were  covereil  with  dust. 

"  What  a  devil  of  a  man  is  this,"  muimurcd  the 
ambassadors,  one  to  another,  "  lo  undertake  such  a 
siege  when  on  the  verge  of  the  grave.  Let  us  At- 
fend  our  city  the  best  way  we  can ;  svr.dy  we  can 
hold  out  longer  than  the  life  of  this  gray-Deanl," 

They  returned  to  the  city,  therefore,  scolhng  at  an 
invatler  who  seemed  filter  to  lean  on  a  crutch  than 
wield  a  lance ;  and  the  terms  offered  by  Muza,  wiiicli 
would  otherwise  have  been  thought  favourable,  were 
scornfully  rejected  by  the  inhabitants,  A  few  davj 
put  an  end  to  this  mistaken  confidence.  Ahdalasis  tfie 
son  of  Muza,  arrived  from  Africa  at  the  head  of  "ai 
reinforcement ;  he  brought  seven  thou.sand  horser.-  ;;i 
and  a  host  of  liarbary  archers,  and  made  a  gloruius 
display  as  he  marc.ied  into  the  cnmp.  The  airival 
of  this  youthful  warrior  was  hailed  with  great  ac- 
clamation.s,  so  much  had  he  won  the  hearts  of  the 
soldiery  by  the  fr.ankness,  the  suavity,  and  generos- 
ity of  his  conduct.  Immediately  after  his  arrival  a 
grand  .assault  was  made  upon  the  city,  and  several 
of  the  huge  battering  engines  f)eing  finished,  thcv 
were  wheeled  up  and  began  to  thunder  against  the 
walls. 

The  unsteady  popul.ace  were  again  seized  with 
terror,  and,  surroundmg  their  governor  with  f-tsh 
clamours,  obPged  him  to  send  forth  amhassadni!)  a 
second  lime  to  treat  of  a  surrender.  When  admit 
ted  to  the  presence  of  Muza,  the  ambass.adors  ciniM 
scarcely  believe  their  eves,  or  that  this  was  the  same 
withered,  white-he.idetl  old  man  of  whom  thev  had 
lately  spoken  with  scoffing.  His  hair  and  bc.ird 
were  tinged  of  a  ruddy  brown  ;  his  countenance  was 
refreshed  by  repose  and  flushed  with  indignation, 
and  he  ap[)eared  a  man  in  the  matured  vigour  ot  h;« 
days.  The  ambassadors  wert  struck  with  aw: 
"Surely,"  whispered  they,  one  to  the  other,  "  th;s 
must  be  either  a  devil  or  a  m.igician,  who  can  thus 
make  himself  old  and  young  at  pleasure." 

Muza  received  them  haughtily.  "  Hence,  '  niJ 
he,  "  .-Mid  tell  your  people  I  grant  them  the  strr.c 
terms  I  have  already  proffered,  provided  the  city  lie 
instantly  surrendered  ;  but,  by  the  head  of  Mahomet, 
if  there  be  any  further  delay,  not  one  mother's  set 
of  ye  shall  receive  mvrcy  at  my  hands  1 " 

The  deputies  returned  into  the  city  p.ale  and  dis- 
mayed, "(i©  forth  I  go  forth  1"  cried  they,  "and 
accept  whatever  terms  are  offered ;  of  what  avail  ii 

*  Biada  ciouica.    L.  •.  c.  ii. 


LEGENDS  OF   THE  CONQUEST  OF  SPAIN. 


827 


iifj  linislu'd,  ihcv 
intlcr  against  the 


It  to  tight  against  men  who  can  renew  their  youth 
jt  pleasure.  Behold,  we  left  the  leailer  of  the  infi- 
dels an  old  and  feeble  man,  and  to-day  we  find  him 
youthful  and  vigorous."* 

The  plat<:  was,  therefore,  surrendered  forthwith, 
and  Muza  entered  it  in  triumph.  His  terms  were 
niciciful.  Those  who  chose  to  remain  were  pro- 
tected in  persons,  possessions,  and  religion  ;  he  took 
the  property  of  those  only  who  abandoned  the  city 
•)]  had  fallen  in  battle;  together  with  all  arms  and 
.".ui'si'S,  and  the  treasures  and  ornaments  of  the 
churches.  Among  these  sacred  spoils  was  found  a 
cup  made  of  a  single  pearl,  which  a  king  of  Spain, 
in  ancient  times,  had  brought  from  the  temple  of 
Jerusalem  when  it  was  destroyed  by  Nebucadonozer. 
This  precious  relic  was  sent  by  Muza  to  the  caliph, 
and  was  place<l  in  the  principal  mosque  of  the  city 
of  I)an'">sr.us.t 

Muz:  r.vW  how  to  esteem  merit  even  in  an  ene- 
my. When  Sacarus,  the  governor  of  Merida,  ap- 
peared before  him,  he  lauded  him  greatly  for  the 
sl;:'l  and  courage  he  had  displayed  in  the  defence  of 
his  city;  and,  taking  off  his  own  scimitar,  which  was 
of  grrat  value,  girded  it  upon  him  with  his  own 
hands.  "  Wear  this,"  said  he,  "  as  a  poor  memo- 
rial of  my  admiration  ;  a  soldier  of  such  virtue  and 
valour  is  worthy  of  far  higher  honours." 

He  would  have  engaged  the  governor  in  his  serv- 
ice, or  have  persuaded  hint  to  remain  in  the  city,  as 
an  illustrious  vassal  ot  the  caliph,  but  the  noble- 
minded  Sacarus  refused  to  bend  to  the  yoke  of  the 
comiuerors ;  nor  couUl  he  bring  himself  to  reside 
cintentedly  in  his  countiy,  when  subjected  to  the 
domination  of  the  infidels.  Gathering  together  all 
those  who  chose  to  accompany  him  into  exile,  he 
imbarked  to  seek  some  country  where  he  might  live 
in  [race  and  in  the  free  exercise  of  his  religion. 
What  shore  these  ocean  pilgrims  landed  upon  has 
never  lx;en  revealed  ;  but  tradition  vaguely  gives  us 
to  believe  that  it  was  some  unknown  island  far  in 
the  bosom  of  the  Atlantic.| 


CHAPTER    X. 


IXPKDITION     OF     ABOAI.ASIS     AOAINST     SEVILLE 
AND   THE    "LAND   OF  TADMIR." 

AKiER  the  capture  of  Meriil.i,  Muza  gave  a  grand 
banquet  to  his  captains  and  distinguished  warriors, 
in  that  magnificent  city.  At  this  martial  least  were 
many  Arab  cavaliers  who  had  been  i)re?.-nt  in  vari- 
ous liatlles,  and  they  Wed  with  each  other  in  re- 
coiiating  the  daring  enteqirises  in  which  tliry  had 
beta  engaged,  and  the  splendid  triumphs  they  hail 
wiiiiessed.  While  they  talked  with  ardour  ;inil  ex- 
ultation, Abdalasis,  the  son  of  .Muza,  alone  kept  si- 
ler.cc,  and  sat  with  a  dejected  countenance.  At 
len^'ih,  whe4»  there  w.is  a  pause,  he  turned  to  his 
faihi  r  and  addressed  him  with  modest  earnestness, 
"My  lord  and  father,"  said  he,  "I  blush  to  hear 
jOur  warriors  recount  the  toils  and  dangers  they 
ftave  passed,  while  1  h.ive  done  nothing  to  entitle  me 
:o  their  companionship.  When  1  retiini  to  l-gypt 
\nd  i;;iaent  myself  before  the  caliph,  he  will  ask  me 
of  my  services  in  Spain  ;  what  battle  I  havt-  jt;.iiiied  ; 
what  town  or  castle  I  hi>ve  taken.  How  shall  I  .m- 
iwer  him  ?     If  you  love  v^e,  then,  as  your  son,  give 


•Cundc.  It.  I.  c.  13.  Ambnisio  de  Morales.  N.  H. — In  the 
ckninicle  of  Spain,  composed  liy  orJei  of  Alonio  tlif  Wint,  thif 
inoc.tuie  ix  given  u  haviiii^  happened  ^t  the  ^le^e  of  Seville. 

t  M  mnol.  detcrip.  d*  Africa,  T.  t.  L.  a. 

t  Abulcatim.  Perilnl..  de  Etpafla,  L.  i.  c.  13. 


me  a  command,  intrust  to  me  tin  enterprise,  and 
let  me  acquire  a  name  worthy  to  be  mentioned 
among  men." 

The  eyes  of  Muza  kindled  with  joy  at  finding  Ab 
dalasis  thus  ambitious  of  renown  in  arms.  "  A*i.L 
be  praised  ! "  exclaimed  he,  "  the  heart  of  my  son 
is  in  the  right  place.  It  is  becoming  in  youth  to  loo(' 
upw.ard  and  be  aspiring.  Thy  desire,  Alxlalasis 
shall  be  gratified." 

An  opportunity  at  that  very  time  presented  itsell 
to  prove  the  prowess  and  discretion  of  the  youth. 
During  the  siege  of  Merida,  the  christian  troops 
which  had  taken  refuge  at  Beja  had  reinforced  them- 
selves from  Pcnaflor,  and  suddenly  returning,  had 
presented  themselves  before  the  g.ites  of  the  city  of 
Seville.*  Certain  of  the  christian  inhabitants  threw 
open  the  gates  and  admitted  them.  The  troops 
rushed  to  the  alcazar,  took  it  by  surprise,  and  ptit 
many  of  the  Moslem  garrison  to  the  sword ;  the 
residue  made  their  escape,  and  fled  to  the  Arab 
camp  before  Merida,  leaving  Seville  in  the  hands  of 
the  christians. 

The  veteran  Muza,  now  th.it  the  siege  of  Merida 
W!w  at  an  end,  was  metlitating  the  recapture  and 
punishment  of  Seville  at  the  very  time  when  Abda- 
lasis addressed  him.  "  Behold,  my  son,"  exclaimed 
he,  "an  enterprise  worthy  of  thy  ambition.  Take 
with  thee  all  the  troops  thou  hast  brought  from  Af- 
rica ;  reduce  the  city  of  Seville  again  to  subjection, 
and  plant  thy  standard  upon  its  alcaz.ar.  But  stop 
not  there:  carry  thy  conquering  sword  into  the 
southern  parts  of  Sp.iin  ;  thou  wilt  find  there  a  hai- 
vest  of  glory  yet  to  be  reaped." 

Abdalasis  lost  no  time  in  departing  upon  this 
enterprise.  He  took  with  him  Cour.t  Julian,  .Maguetl 
el  Rumi,  and  the  Bishop  Oppas,  that  he  might  bene- 
fit by  their  knowledge  of  the  country.  When  he 
came  in  sight  of  the  fair  city  of  Seville,  seated  like  a 
(pieen  in  the  midst  of  its  golden  plain,  with  the 
Guadaltiuivir  flowing  beneath  its  walls,  he  gazed  up- 
on it  with  the  admiration  of  a  lover,  and  lamented  '.a 
his  soul  that  he  had  to  visit  it  as  an  avenger.  Hi? 
troops,  however,  regarded  it  with  wrathful  eyes, 
thinking  only  of  its  rebellion  and  of  the  massacre  of 
their  countrymen  in  the  alcazar. 

The  principal  people  of  the  city  had  taken  no  pan 
in  this  gallant  but  fruitless  insurrection  ;  and  now, 
when  they  beheld  the  army  of  Abdal.isis  encamped 
upon  the  banks  of  the  Guadalquivir,  would  fain  have 
gone  forth  to  make  explanations,  and  intercede  foi 
mercy.  The,  populace,  however,  forbade  any  one  to 
leave  the  city,  and,  barring  the  gates,  prepared  to 
defend  themselves  to  the  l.ist. 

The  place  was  attacked  with  resistless  fury.  The 
gates  were  soon  burst  open  ;  the  .Moslems  rushed  in, 
jianting  for  revenge.  T"hey  confined  not  their 
slaughter  to  the  soliliery  in  the  alcazar,  but  roamed 
through  every  street,  confounding  the  innocent  with 
the  guilty  in  c.ne  bloody  massacre,  and  it  was  with 
the  utmost  dilliculty  that  Abdal.asis  could  at  length 
succeed  in  staying  their  sanguinary  career. t 

The  son  of  Muza  proved  himself  bs  mild  in  con- 
quest as  he  had  been  intrepid  in  assault.  The 
moderation  and  benignity  o''  his  conduct  soothed  the 
terrors  of  the  vanquished,  anil  his  wise  precautions 
restored  tranquillity.  Having  made  projier  regula- 
tions for  the  protection  of  the  inhabii.mts.  he  left  { 
strong  garrison  in  the  place  to  prevent  .my  fiitun 
insurrection,  and  then  departed  on  the  further  prose- 
cution of  his  enterprise. 

Wherever  he  went  his  arms  were  victorious  ;  and 
his  victories  were  always  characterised  by  the  umt 

*  Etpinota.  Antq.  y  Gnuid.  de  Seville.  L.  a.  c. ,%. 
t  Conde,  P.  i,  e.  14. 


828 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


;)-.•  r: 


' ;     ' 


magnanimity.  At  length  he  arrived  on  the  confines 
of  that  beautiful  region  comprising  lofty  and  pne- 
cipttous  mountains  and  rich  and  delicious  plains, 
afterwards  known  by  the  name  of  the  kingdom  of 
Murcia.  All  this  part  of  the  country  was  defended 
by  the  veteran  Thcodcmir,  who,  by  skilful  manage- 
ment, had  saved  a  remnant  of  his  forces  after  the 
defeat  on  the  banks  of  the  Guadalete. 

Theodomir  was  a  stanch  warrior,  but  a  wary  and 
pi  udent  man.  He  had  experienced  the  folly  of  op- 
posing the  Arabs  in  open  field,  where  their  cavalry 
^  md  armour  gave  them  such  superiority ;  on  their 
approach,  therefore,  he  assembled  all  his  people 
capable  of  bearing  arms,  and  took  possession  of  the 
cliffs  and  mountain  passes.  "  Here,"  said  he,  "  a 
simple  goatherd,  who  can  hurl  down  rocks  and 
stones,  is  as  good  as  a  warrior,  armed  in  proof."  In 
this  way  he  checked  and  harassed  the  Moslem  army 
In  all  its  movements  ;  showering  down  missiles  upon 
it  from  overhanging  precipices,  and  waybying  it  in 
narrow  and  rugged  defiles,  where  a  few  raw  troops 
could  make  stand  against  ^  host. 

Theodomir  was  in  a  fair  way  to  baffle  his  toes  antl 
oblige  them  to  withdraw  from  his  territories;  un- 
fortunately, however,  the  wary  ViMeran  had  two  sons 
with  him,  young  men  of  hot  and  heady  valour,  who 
considered  all  this  prudence  of  their  father  as  savour- 
ing of  cowardice,  and  wiio  were  anxious  to  try  their 
prowess  in  the  open  field.  "  What  glor)',"  said  they. 
"  is  to  be  gained  ')y  destroying  an  enemy  in  this 
wf.y,  from  the  covert  of  rocks  and  thickets  ?  " 

"  You  talk  like  your.g  men,"  replied  the  veteran. 
"Glory  is  a  prize  one  may  fight  for  abroad,  but 
safety  is  the  object  vvh'.-n  the  enemy  is  at  the  door." 

One  day,  however,  the  young  men  succee(k'd  in 
drawing  down  their  father  into  the  plain.  Abdalasis 
nrnediately  seized  on  the  opportunity  and  threw 
Bimself  between  the  Goths  and  their  mountain  fast- 
«esses.  Theo.'lomir  saw  too  late  the  danger  into 
vhich  he  was  betrayed.  "  What  can  our  raw  troops 
do,"  said  he,  "against  those  squadrons  of  horse 
that  move  like  castles.'  Let  us  make  a  rapid  re- 
treat to  Orihuela  and  defend  ourselves  from  behind 
its  walls." 

"Father,"  said  the  eldest  son,  'it  is  tou  late  to 
retreat;  remain  here  with  the  reserve  while  my 
brother  and  I  advance.  Fear  nothing;  am  not  I 
your  son,  and  would  I  not  die  to  derL-ml  you  ?  " 

"  In  truth,"  replied  the  veteran,  "  1  have  my  doubts 
whether  you  are  my  son.  Hut  if  1  remain  here,  and 
you  should  all  be  killed,  where  then  would  be  my 
protection  ?  Come,"  added  he,  turning  to  the  secon  J 
son,  ••  1  trust  that  thou  art  virtually  my  son ;  let  us 
hasten  to  retreat  belore  it  is  too  late." 

"  Father,"  replied  the  youngest,  "  I  h.ave  not  a 
doubt  that  I  am  honestly  and  thoroughly  your  son, 
and  as  such  1  honour  you ;  but  I  owe  duty  lik'-wise 
to  my  mother,  and  when  I  sallied  to  the  war  she 
^ave  me  her  blessing  as  long  as  I  should  act  with 
v-alour,  but  her  curse  should  1  prove  craven  and  lly 
the  field.  Fear  nothing,  lather;  I  will  defend  you 
while  living,  and  even  after  you  are  dead.  You 
shall  never  fail  of  an  honourable  sepulture  among 
>our  kindred." 

"  A  pestilence  on  ye  both,"  cried  Theodomir, 
for  a  brace  ol  misbegotten  madmen  !  what  care  1, 
yhink  ye,  where  ye  lay  my  body  when  I  am  dead. 
One  day's  existence  in  a  hovel  is  worth  an  age  of  in- 
lomiLnt  in  a  mart)le  sepulchre.  Come,  my  friends," 
Mti  he.  turning  to  his  principal  cavaliers,  "  let  us 
lcav<  these  hot-headed  striplings  and  make  our 
retreat ;  if  we  tarry  any  longer  the  enemy  will  be 
upon  us." 

Upon  this  the  cavaliers  and  proud  hidalgoes  drew 
ap  scornfully  and  tossed  their  heads:  "What  do 


you  see  in  us,"  said  they,  "  that  you  think  we  win 
show  our  backs  to  the  enemy?  Forward  !  was  cvei 
the  ^ood  old  Gothic  watch-word,  and  with  th.at  ivi|| 
we  live  and  die ! " 

While  time  was  lost  in  these  disputes,  the  Moslnm 
army  kept  advancing,  until  retreat  was  no  lor.ger 
practicable.  The  battle  was  tumultuous  and  bloody, 
Theodomir  fought  like  a  lion,  but  it  was  all  in  vain 
he  saw  his  two  sons  cut  down  and  the  greater  i-art 
of  their  rash  companions,  while  his  raw  mour.  ixir. 
troops  fled  in  all  directions. 

Seeing  there  was  no  longer  any  hope,  he  seized  tht 
bridle  of  a  favourite  page  who  was  near  him,  and 
who  was  aVjout  spurring  for  the  mountains,  "  Part 
not  from  me,"  said  he,  "  but  do  thou  at  least  attend 
to  my  counsel,  my  son ;  and,  of  a  truth,  1  believe 
thou  art  my  son ;  for  thou  art  the  offspring  of  one  of 
my  handmaids  who  was  kind  unto  me."  And  indeed 
the  youth  mar\'ellously  resembled  him.  Turning 
then  the  reins  of  his  own  steed,  and  giving  him  thf 
spur,  he  tied  amain  from  the  field,  followed  by  the 
page ;  nor  did  he  stop  until  he  arrived  within  the 
walls  of  Orihuela. 

Ordering  the  gates  to  be  barred  and  bolttd,  he 
prepared  to  receive  the  enemy.  There  were  but  iVw 
men  in  the  city  capable  of  bearing  arms,  most  ot  the 
youth  having  fallen  in  the  field.  He  caustd  the 
women,  therefore,  to  clothe  themselves  in  malt:  at- 
tire, to  put  on  hats  and  helmets,  to  take  long  reeds 
in  their  hands  instead  of  lances,  and  to  cross  their 
hair  upon  their  chins  in  semblance  of  beards.  With 
these  troops  he  lined  the  walls  and  towers. 

It  Wiis  about  the  hour  of  twilight  that  Abdalasij 
approached  with  his  army,  but  he  paused  when  ht 
saw  the  walls  so  numerously  garrisoned.  Then 
Theodomir  took  a  flag  of  truce  in  his  h>and,  and  pijj 
a  herald's  tabard  on  the  page,  and  they  two  sallied 
forth  to  capitulate,  and  were  graciously  received  bj 
Abdalasis. 

"  I  come."  said  Theodomir,  "on  the  behalf  ot  thf 
commander  of  this  city  to  treat  for  terms  worthy  of 
your  magnanimity  and  of  his  dignity.  You  perceive 
that  the  city  is  cap.able  of  withst.-mding  a  lon>;  su-ge 
but  he  is  desirous  of  sparing  the  lives  of  his  soidic'?. 
Promise  that  the  inhabitants  shall  be  at  libcrtv  to 
det)art  unmolested  with  their  prcperty,  and  the  city 
will  be  delivered  up  to  you  to-morrow  morning  with- 
out a  blow  ;  otherwise  we  are  prepared  to  figni  until 
not  a  man  be  left." 

Abdalasis  was  well  pleased  to  get  so  powerful  a 
i;lace  ujKjn  such  easy  terms,  but  sti(;ulaled  that  the 
garrison  should  l,-\y  down  their  arms.  To  this  Theo- 
domir readily  assented,  with  the  exception,  however, 
of  the  f^overnor  and  his  retinue,  which  was  graiiied 
out  of  consideration  for  his  dignity.  The  articles  oi 
capitulation  were  then  drawn  out,  and,  when  Ai)d.i- 
lasis  had  aflixed  his  name  and  seal,  Theodomir  iqo> 
the  pen  and  wrote  his  signature.  "  Behold  in  me," 
said  he,  "  the  governor  of  the  city  !  " 

Abd  '.lasis  was  pleased  v/ith  the  hardihood  of  the 
commander  of  the  pl.ace  in  tiius  venturirig  personally 
into  his  power,  and  entertained  the  veteran  with 
still  greater  honour.  When  Theodomir  returned  to  th« 
city,  he  made  known  the  capitulation,  ind  ch,ir({ef 
the  inhabitants  to  pack  up  their  effects  during  ih, 
iiij^ht  and  be  ready  to  sally  forth  in  the  morning. 

At  the  d.iwn  ot  day  the  gates  were  thrown  ojicn, 
.nnd  Abdalasis  looke(l  to  see  a  greiit  force  issuing 
forth,  but,  to  his  sur|)rise,  beheld  merely  Theodoinii 
and  his  page  in  battered  armour,  followed  by  a  nml- 
tituile  of  old  men,  women,  and  children, 

Abdalasis  waited  until  the  whole  had  come  forth, 
then  turning  to  Theodomir,  "  Where,"  cried  he, 
"  are  the  soldiers  whom  1  saw  last  evening  lining 
the  walls  and  towers  ?  " 


P'^mm  '"•i-.i'  • 

\jii  1  1  .  Le 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  SPAIN. 


823 


"  Soldiers  have  I  none,"  replied  the  veteran.  "  As 
to  my  garrison,  behold  it  before  you.  With  these 
women  did  I  man  my  walls,  and  this,  my  page,  is 
my  herald,  guard,  and  retinue." 

Upon  this  the  Bishop  Oppas  and  Count  Julian 
exclaimed  that  the  capitulation  was  a  base  fraud 
find  ought  not  to  be  complied  with  ;  but  Abdalasis 
relished  the  stratagem  of  the  old  soldiar,  and  order- 
,Td  tiiat  the  stipulations  of  the  treaty  should  be  faith- 
fully performed.  Nay,  so  high  an  opinion  did  he 
ronceive  of  the  subtle  wisdom  of  this  commander, 
that  he  permitted  him  to  remain  in  authority  over 
the  surrounding  country  on  his  acknowledn^ing 
^iegiance  and  engaging  to  pay  tribute  to  the  caliph ; 
ind  all  that  part  of  Spain,  comprising  the  beautiful 
prcvinces  of  Murcia  and  Valencia,  was  long  after 
known  by  the  Arabic  name  of  its  defender,  and  is 
still  lecorded  in  Arabian  chronicles  as  "The  land 
of  Tadmir."* 

Having  succeeded  in  subduing  this  rich  and  fruit- 
ful region,  and  having  gained  great  renown  for  his 
generosity  as  well  as  valour,  Abdalasis  returned  vith 
the  chief  part  of  his  army  to  the  city  of  Seville. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


IIUZA  ARRIVES    AT    TOLEDO.— INTERVIEW    BE- 
TWEEN HIM  AND  TARIC. 

When  Muza  ben  Nozier  had  sent  his  son  Ab- 
dalasis to  subdue  Seville,  he  departed  for  Toledo  to 
call  Taric  to  account  for  his  disobedience  to  his  or- 
ders ;  for,  amidst  all  his  own  successes,  the  prosper- 
ous career  of  that  commander  preyed  upon  his  mind. 
Whit  can  content  the  jealous  and  ambitious  heart  ? 
As  Muza  passed  through  the  land,  towns  and  cities 
lubmitted  to  him  without  resistance  ;  he  was  lost  in 
wonder  at  the  riches  of  the  country  and  the  noble 
rr.onuments  of  art  with  which  it  was  adorned ; 
when  he  beheld  the  bridges,  constmcted  in  ancient 
tiniL-s  by  the  Romans,  they  seemed  to  hini  thr  work, 
not  ot  men,  but  of  genii.  Yet  all  these  admirable 
ohjcrts  only  made  him  rfr|,ine  the  more  that  he  had 
not  h.id  the  exclusive  fjlory  of  inv.adinjj  and  subduinj; 
the  land  ;  anil  exasperated  him  the  more  ajjainst 
Taric,  fur  having  apparently  endeavoured  to  nionop- 
oli/f  the  coiuiucst. 

T:inc  heard  of  his  approach,  and  came  forth  to 
mctt  him  at  Taiavcra,  accompanied  by  n)any  of  the 
most  distinguished  ccimpanions  of  his  victories,  and 
witii  a  train  of  hots«-s  and  mules  laden  with  S{xiils, 
with  which  he  trusted  to  propitiate  the  favour  of  hiS 
commander.  Their  meetinjj  took  place  on  the  hanks 
of  the  rapid  river  Tietar,  which  rises  in  the  tnuunt- 
ain:,  of  I'lacencia  and  throws  itself  into  the  Taj^us. 
Mu^a,  in  tonncr  days,  while  Taric  had  .actt-d  as  his 
subiirdinate  and  indefatigable  officer,  had  cherished 
and  considered  hitii  as  a  second  self;  but  now  that  he 
tad  started  up  to  be  a  rival,  he  could  not  conceal 
I'is  j-aiousy.  When  the  veteran  came  into  his  pies- 
pc:;',  he  regarded  him  for  a  moment  with  a  stern 
;  !  indign.ant  aspect.  "  Why  liast  thou  disobejed 
:  )•  orders  ?  "  said  he.  "  I  commanded  thee  to  await 
ry  arrival  with  reinforcements,  but  thou  liast  rashly 
avt.nin  the  country,  endanj^erin}'  the  loss  of  our 
amiies  and  the  niin  of  our  cause." 

"  1  have  acted,"  replied  Taric,  "  in  such  manner  as 
I  thought  would  best  serve  the  cause  of  Islam,  and 
in  so  doing  1  thought  to  fulfil  the  wishes  of  Muza. 
Whatever  I  have  done  has  been  as  your  servant ;  be- 

'  Ctir.de.  P.  I.  Cronies  del  inoru  Ruii.  Croo.  (ca.  Enpafla  yxjr 
Aionio  (I  Sabio.     P.  ].  C.  I. 


hold  your  share,  as  commander-in-chief,  ;.f  the  spoils 
which  I  have  collected."  So  saying,  he  produced  an 
immense  treasure  in  silver  and  gold  and  costly  stuffs, 
and  precious  stones,  and  spread  it  before  Muza. 

The  anger  of  the  Arab  commander  was  still  more 
kindled  at  the  sight  of  this  booty,  for  it  proved  how 
splendid  had  been  the  victories  of  Taric  ;  but  he  re- 
strained his  wrath  for  the  present,  and  they  procee<i- 
ed  together  in  moody  silence  to  Toledo.  When  lie 
entered  this  royal  city,  however,  and  ascended  to 
the  ancient  palace  of  the  Gothic  kings,  and  reflected 
that  all  this  had  been  a  scene  of  triumph  to  his  rival, 
he  could  no  longer  repress  his  indignation.  He  de- 
manded of  Taric  a  strict  account  of  all  the  riches  he 
had  gathered  in  Spain,  even  of  the  presents  he  had 
reserved  for  the  caliph,  and,  above  all,  he  made  him 
yield  up  his  favourite  trophy,  the  talismanic  table  of 
Solomon.  When  all  this  was  done,  he  again  upn 
braided  him  bitterly  with  his  disobedience  of  orders 
and  with  the  rashness  of  his  conduct.  "  What  blind 
confidence  in  fortune  thou  hast  shown,"  said  he, 
"  in  overrunning  such  a  country  and  assailing  such 
powerful  cities  with  thy  scanty  force !  What 
madness,  to  venture  every  thing  upon  a  desperate 
chance,  when  thou  knewest  I  was  coming  with  a 
force  to  make  the  victory  secure.  All  thy  success  has 
been  owing  to  mere  luck,  not  to  judgment  nor  gener- 
alship." 

He  then  bestowed  high  praises  upon  the  other 
chieftains  for  their  services  in  the  cause  of  Islam, 
but  they  answered  not  a  word,  and  their  counte- 
nances ..ere  gloomy  and  discontented;  tor  they  feh 
the  injustice  done  to  their  favourite  leader.  As  to 
Taric,  though  his  eye  burned  like  fire,  he  kept  his 
passion  within  bounds.  "  I  have  done  the  |)est  I 
could  to  serve  God  and  the  caliph,"  said  he  emphal 
ically  ;  "  my  conscience  acquits  me,  and  1  trust  mj 
sovereign  will  do  the  same.' 

"  Perhaps  he  may,"  replied  Muza,  bitterly,  "  but, 
in  the  meantime,  1  cannot  confide  his  interests  to  a 
desperado  who  is  heedless  of  orders  and  throws 
every  thing  at  hazard.  Such  a  general  is  unworlh) 
to  be  intrusted  with  the  fate  of  armies." 

So  sayinf;,  he  divested  Taric  of  his  ccmimand,  and 
gave  it  to  Magued  the  renegado.  The  gaunt  Taric 
still  maintained  an  air  of  stern  composure.  His  only 
words  were,  "  The  caliph  will  do  me  justice !  "  Muza 
w  ts  so  transported  with  p.i.ssion  at  this  laconic  de- 
fiance that  he  ordered  him  to  be  thrown  into  prison, 
and  even  threatened  his  life. 

Ifpon  this,  Magued  el  Rumi,  though  he  had  risen 
by  the  disgrace  of  Taric,  had  the  jjenerosity  to  speak 
out  warmly  in  his  favour.  "  Consider,"  said  he  to 
.Muza,  "  wliat  may  be  the  consecioeme.s  of  this  se- 
verity. Taric  has  m.any  fiiends  -.n  the  anuy ;  his 
actions,  too,  h.ave  been  signal  anil  illustrious,  and 
entitle  him  to  the  highest  honours  .ind  rewards,  in- 
stead of  di.si^race  .and  im(  risonment." 

The  anger  of  Muza,  however,  w  i.s  not  to  he  ap- 
pe.ased  ;  and  he  trusted  to  justify  his  iiuauires  by 
despatching  missives  to  the  caliph,  comr^aining  of 
the  insubordination  of  Taric,  .and  his  rn.sh  and  hf^ad- 
loiig  conduct.  The  result  proved  ihe  wisdom  of  (hf. 
caution  given  by  Maffued.  In  the  course  of  a  liltlj 
while  Muza  received  a  humiliating  letter  from  thi. 
caliph,  ordering  him  to  rtsiore  Taric  to  the  cons- 
mand  of  the  soldiers  "  whom  he  h.id  so  glotiouv.!} 
conducted  ;"  and  not  to  render  useless  "  one  o*  th« 
best  swords  in  Islam  !  "♦ 

It  is  thus  the  cnvi<;us  man  brings  humiliation  and 
repro.ich  upon  hii.iself,  in  endeavouring  to  degrade  a 
•neritorious  rival.     When  the  tidings  came  of  ihe 

astice  rt.ndereil  by  the  caliph  to  ihe  mi  rits  of  thf 


*  Cood*.    Part  i.  c  i<. 


880 


WORKS  OF  WASHINC^  .N  IRVINO. 


m-A 


i^'i  'i 


:tr. 


.    !.•     . 


fsll 


l1 


,,f. 

Il.'i  .-fit  i 


i  '•  ' 


,-v 


veteran,  there  was  general  joy  throughout  the  army, 
and  Muza  read  in  the  smiling  countenances  of  every 
one  around  him  a  severe  censure  upon  his  conduct. 
He  concealed,  however,  his  deep  humiliation,  and  af- 
fected to  obey  the  orders  of  his  sovereign  with  great 
alacrity;  he  released  Taric  from  prison,  feasted  him 
at  his  own  table,  and  then  publicly  replaced  him  at 
the  head  of  his  troops.  The  army  received  its  fa- 
rourite  veteran  with  shouts  of  joy,  and  celebrated 
«rilh  rejoicings  the  reconciliation  of  the  command- 
ars ;  but  the  shouts  of  the  soldiery  were  abhorrent 
to  the  ears  of  Muza. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


MUZA  PROSECUTES  THE  SCHEME  OF  CONQUEST. 
— SIEGE  OF  SARAGOSSA.— COMPLETE  SUBJUGA- 
TION OF  SPAIN. 

The  dissensions,  which  for  a  time  had  distracted 
the  conquering  army,  being  appeased,  and  the  Ara- 
bian generals  being  apparently  once  more  reconciled, 
Muza,  as  commander-in-chief,  proceeded  to  complete 
the  enterprise  by  subjugating  the  northern  parts  of 
Spain.  The  same  expeditious  mode  of  conquest  that 
had  been  sagaciously  adopted  by  Taric,  was  still 
pursued.  The  troops  were  lightly  armed,  and  freed 
from  every  superfluous  incumbrance.  Each  horse- 
man, beside  his  arms,  carried  a  small  sack  of  provis- 
ions, a  copper  vessel  in  which  to  cook  them,  and 
a  skin  which  served  him  for  surcoat  and  for  bed. 
The  infantry  carried  nothing  but  their  arms.  To 
each  regiment  or  squadron  was  allowed  a  limited 
aumber  of  sumpter  mules  and  attendants ;  barely 
mough  to  carry  their  necessary  ba;jgage  and  sup- 
alies ;  nothing  was  permitted  mat  could  needless!) 
sliniinish  the  number  of  fighting  men,  delay  their 
lapid  movements,  or  consume  their  provisions.  Strict 
orders  were  again  issued,  prohibiting,  on  pain  of 
death,  all  plunder  excepting  the  camp  of  an  enemy, 
or  cities  given  up  to  pillage.* 

The  armies  now  took  their  several  lines  of  march. 
That  under  Taric  departed  towards  the  northeast  ; 
beating  up  the  country  towards  the  source  of  the 
Tagus ;  traversing  the  chain  of  Iberian  or  Arnigo- 
nian  mountains,  and  pouring  down  into  the  plains 
and  valleys  watered  by  the  Ebro.  It  was  wonderful 
to  see,  in  so  brief  a  space  of  time,  such  a  vast  and 
difficult  country  penetrated  and  subdued ;  and  the 
mvading  army,  like  an  inundating  tlood,  pouring  its 
streams  into  the  most  remote  recesses. 

VVliile  Taric  was  thus  sweeping  the  country  to  the 
northeast,  Muza  departed  in  an  opposiie  direction  ; 
jet  purposing  to  meet  him,  and  to  join  tneir  forces  in 
the  north.  Hending  his  course  westwardly,  he  made 
a  circuit  behind  the  mountains,  and  then,  advancing 
mto  the  open  country,  displayed  his  banners  before 
Salamanca,  which  surrendered  witiiout  resistance. 
From  hence  he  continued  on  towards  Astorjia,  re- 
ceiving the  terrified  submission  of  the  land  ;  then 
turning  up  the  valley  ol  the  Douro,  he  ascended  the 
course  of  that  famous  river  towards  the  east ;  crossed 
the  Sierra  de  Moncayo,  and,  arriving  on  th'.'  banks 
Cit  the  Ebro,  marched  down  along  its  stream,  until 
ae  approached  the  strong  city  of  Saragossa,  the  cita- 
doi  of  all  that  pnrt  of  Spain.  In  this  place  had  taken 
refuge  many  of  the  most  valiant  of  the  Gothic  war- 
riors ;  the  remnants  of  armies,  and  fugitives  fr(jm 
conquered  cities.  It  was  one  of  the  last  rallying 
points  of  the  land.  When  Muza  arrived,  Taric  had 
already  been  for  some  time  before  the  place,  laying 


•  CoBda,  P.  I.   c.  IS. 


dose  siege ;  the  inhabitants  were  pressed  oy  famine 
and  had  suffered  great  losses  in  repeated  combats 
but  there  was  a  spirit  and  obstinacy  it  their  resist- 
ance surpassing  any  thing  that  had  yet  been  witness^ 
ed  by  the  invaders. 

Muza  now  took  command  of  the  siege,  and  ordernl 
a  general  assault  upon  the  walls.  The  Moslems 
planted  their  scaling  ladders,  and  mounted  witb 
their  accustomed  intrepidity,  but  were  vigorouslj 
resisted ;  nor  could  all  their  efforts  obtain  tlicni  a 
footing  upon  the  battlements.  While  they  were  tiius 
assailing  the  wahs.  Count  Julian  ordered  a  heap  of 
combustibles  to  be  placed  against  one  of  the  gates, 
and  set  on  fire.  The  inhabit"  nts  attempted  in  vaiii 
from  the  barbican  to  extinguish  the  flames.  They 
burnt  so  fiercely,  that  in  a  little  while  the  gp.te  tell 
from  the  hinges.  Count  Julian  galloped  into  tlie  city 
mounted  upon  a  powerful  charger,  himself  and  his 
steed  all  covered  wi*h  mail.  He  was  followed  liy 
three  hundred  of  his  partisans,  and  supportf^d  by 
Magued,  the  renegado,  with  a  troop  of  horse. 

The  inhabitants  disputed  every  street  and  public 
square  ;  they  made  barriers  of  dead  bodies,  tigiitlng 
behind  these  ramparts  of  their  slaughtered  country- 
men. Every  window  and  roof  was  filled  with  com. 
batants  ;  the  very  women  and  children  joined  in  the 
desperate  fight,  throwing  down  stones  and  missiles 
of  all  kinds,  and  scalding  water  upon  the  enemy. 

The  battle  raged  until  the  hour  of  vespers,  when 
the  principal  inhabitants  held  a  pr.rley,  and  capitula- 
ted for  surrender.  Muza  h.ad  been  incensed  at  their 
obstinate  resistance,  which  had  cost  the  hves  of  u 
many  of  his  soldiers  ;  he  knew,  also,  that  in  the  city 
were  collected  the  riches  of  many  of  the  towns  of 
eastern  Spain.  He  demanded,  therefore,  beside  the 
usual  terms,  a  heavy  sum  to  be  paid  down  hy  the 
citizens,  called  the  contribution  of  blood  ;  as  by  Ihir 
they  redeemed  themselves  from  the  edge  oi'  the 
sword.  The  people  were  obliged  to  comply.  They 
collected  all  the  jewels  of  their  richest  families,  am! 
all  the  ornaments  of  their  temples,  and  laid  iheni  ai 
the  feet  of  Muza  ;  and  placed  in  his  power  nianv  of 
their  noblest  youths  as  hostages.  A  strong  garrison 
was  then  appointed,  and  thus  the  fierce  city  of  Sara- 
gossa was  subdued  to  the  yoke  of  the  conqueror. 

The  Arab  generals  pursued  their  conquests  even 
to  the  foot  of  the  Pyrenees  ;  Taric  then  descended 
along  the  course  of  the  Ebro,  and  continued  along 
the  Mediterranean  coast ;  subduing  the  famous  ciiy 
of  Valencia,  with  its  rich  and  beautiful  domains,  and 
carrying  the  success  of  his  arms  even  to  Uenia. 

Muza  undertook  with,  his  host  a  wider  ranpe  of 
conquest.  He  overcame  the  cities  of  Barcelona, 
Gerona,  and  others  that  lay  on  the  skirts  ot  the  easi- 
ern  mountains  ;  then  crossing  into  the  land  of  the 
Frani:s,  he  captured  l^tr  city  of  N^rbonne  ;  in  a  ti  m- 
pie  of  which  he  found  sevpn  ec^-strian  images  ot 
silver,  which  he  brought  'it  as  trophies  of  his  vic- 
tory.* Returning  into  Spain,  he  icoured  its  nortr 
ern  regions  along  Gallicia  and  the  Asturias  ;  pasy-c 
triumphantly  through  Lusilariia,  a»d  arrived  c  .te 
more  in  Andalusia,  covered  with  laurels  and  enricneri 
with  immense  spoils. 

Thus  was  completed  the  subjugatwn  of  unhappii 
Spain.  All  its  cities  and  fortresses,  ard  strong-h(i!(!» 
were  in  the  hands  of  the  Saracens,  excepting  some  o' 
the  wild  mountain  tracts  that  bordered  the  Atlania, 
and  extended  towards  the  north.  Here,  then,  the  story 
01  the  comiuest  might  conclude,  but  that  the  indciat- 
igab!';  chronicler  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  goes  on 
to  record  the  fate  of  those  persons  who  were  most 
renowned  in  the  enterprise.  We  shall  follow  nis 
steps,  and  avail  ourselves  of  liij  information,  labori- 


*  Cnide.  p.  I.  c.  ifi. 


LEGENDS   OF   THE  CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


881 


iwiy  collected  fioir.  varous  sources ;  and.  truly,  the 
itory  of  each  of  the  actors  in  this  great  historical 
drama,  bears  with  it  its  striicing  moral,  and  is  full  of 
idmonition  and  instructioa 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


C 


flUU  BETWEEN  THE  ARAB  GENERALS. — THEY  ARE 
SUMMONED  TO  APPEAR  HEFURE  THE  CALIPH 
AT  DAMASCUS.— RECEPTION  OF  TARIC. 

The  heart  of  Muza  ben  Nozier  was  now  lifted  up, 
for  lie  considered  his  glory  complete.  He  held  a 
jway  that  might  have  gratified  the  ambition  of  the 
proudest  sovereign,  for  all  western  Africa  and  the 
newly  acquired  peninsula  of  Spain  were  obedient  to  his 
rule  ;  and  he  was  renowned  throughout  all  the  lands 
of  Islam  as  the  great  conqueror  of  the  west.  But 
si;(!(!en  humiliation  awaited  him  in  the  very  moment 
of  )ii'>  highest  triumph. 

Notwithstanding  the  outward  reconciliation  of 
Muza  and  Taric,  a  deep  and  implacable  hostility  con- 
tinued to  exist  between  them ;  and  each  had  busy 
artisans  who  disiracted  the  armies  by  their  feuds. 
.e'ters  were  incessantly  despatched  to  Damascus  by 
either  party,  exalting  the  merits  of  their  own  leader  and 
deciTing  his  rival.  Taric  was  represented  as  rash, 
arbitrary,  and  prodigal,  and  as  injuring  the  discipline 
of  the  army,  by  sometimes  treating  it  with  extreme 
rigour,  and  at  other  times  giv  ing  way  to  licentiousness 
a!,!i  profusion.  Muza  was  lauded  as  prudent,  saga- 
cioiii',  lignified,  an<l  systematic  in  his  dealings.  The 
friends  of  Taric,  on  the  other  hand,  represented  him 
as  brave,  generous,  and  high-minded  ;  scrupulous  in 
reicrvipg  to  his  sovereien  his  rightful  share  of  the 
ipoils,  bat  distributing  the  rest  l)ounteously  among 
.lis  soldiers,  and  thus  increasing  their  alacrity  in  the 
^(ervice.  "  Muia,  on  the  contrar>,"  said  they,  "  is 
rT.xsping  and  insatiable ;  he  levies  intolerable  contri- 
buiioi'.s  and  collects  immense  treasure,  but  sweeps 
it  all  into  his  own  coffers." 

The  caliph  was  at  length  wearied  out  by  these 
coni|ilaints.  aiid  feared  that  the  safety  of  the  cause 
miuht  be  enJangered  by  the  dissensions  of  the  rival 
generals.  He  sent  letters,  therefore,  ordering  them 
to  leave  suitable  persons  in  charge  of  th'.*ir  several 
cum;ian<ls,  and  appear,  lorthwith,  before  him  at 
D.iiiascus, 

Such  was  the  greeting  from  his  sovereign  that 
awiit.d  Muza  on  his  letuni  from  the  co..(|ucst  of 
northern  Spain.  It  was  a  grievous  blow  to  a  man 
of  his  pride  and  ambition  ;  but  he  prepared  instantly 
to  ipbey.  He  returned  to  Cordova,  collecting  by  the 
waj-  all  the  treasures  he  had  deposited  in  various 
plac's.  At  that  city  he  called  a  meeting  of  his  princi- 
fwl  ot.'icers,  and  of  the  leaders  of  the  faction  of 
apn  ,tate  cliristi.ms,  and  made  them  all  do  homage 
to  IS  son  AUlalasis,  as  emir  or  governor  of  .Spain. 
Hr  fj.ive  this  fa  ourite  son  much  sage  advice  for  the 
rei^jlation  of  his  conduct,  and  left  wi'h  him  his 
nepaew,  Ayub,  a  nan  greatly  honoured  tiv  the  .Mos- 
!?iiis  f;  r  his  wisdom  anil  discretion  ;  ex'ioitmg  Ab- 
!?:.U:ij  to  consuls  him  on  all  occasions  and  consider 
Li;  1  as  his  b<jsom  couns-'llor.  He  mrde  a  parting 
iuuress  to  his  adt^.rf nts,  full  of  cheerhil  confidence  ; 
'Jisuring  them  that  he  would  soon  return,  loaded 
vitl;  new  favours  and  honours  by  his  sovereign. 
«n.i  enabled  to  reward  them  all  lor  their  faitliful 
iet\;:.-;s. 

When  Muza  saUi«d  forth  from  Cordova,  to  repair 
to  Damascus,  his  ca/algad.4  aitpeared  like  the  sump- 
tuoiis  pageant  of  some  oriental  potent. ite  ;  for  he  had 
oui.etous  g-,iards  and  attendants  splendidly  armed 
tixi  .irrayed.  together  with  four  hundred  hostages, 


who  were  youthful  cavaliers  of  the  noblest  ramilis.i 
of  the  Goths,  and  a  great  number  of  captives  ol' 
both  sexes,  chosen  foi  lhi:'r  beauty,  and  intended  as 
presents  for  the  caliph.  Then  there  was  a  vast  train 
of  beasts  of  burden,  laden  with  the  plunder  of  Spain ; 
for  he  took  with  him  all  the  wealth  he  had  collected 
in  his  conquests;  and  all  the  share  that  had  lx:cD 
set  apart  for  his  sovereign.  With  this  display  of 
trophies  and  spoils,  showing  the  magnificence  of  the 
land  I.e  had  conquered,  he  looked  with  confidence 
to  silenc'j  the  calumnies  of  his  foes. 

As  he  traversed  the  val'ey  of  the  Guadalquivir  he 
often  turned  and  looked  back  wistfully  upon  Coi 
dova ;  and,  at  the  distance  of  a  league,  when  about 
to  lose  sight  of  it,  he  checked  his  steed  upon  the 
summit  of  a  hill,  and  gazed  for  a  long  time  upon  its 
oalaces  and  towers.    "  O  Cordova ! '    exclaimed  he, 

great  and  glorious  art  thou  among  cities,  and 
abundant  io  all  delights.  With  grief  and  sorrow  do 
I  part  from  thee,  for  sure  I  am  it  would  g've  me 
lepgth  of  days  to  abide  within  thy  pleasant  walls  I " 
When  he  had  uttered  these  words,  say  the  Arabian 
chronicles,  he  resumed  his  wayfaring ;  but  his  eyes 
were  bent  upon  the  ground,  and  frequent  sighs  be- 
spoke the  heaviness  of  his  heart. 

Embarking  at  Cadiz  he  passed  over  to  Africa 
with  all  his  people  and  effects,  to  rceulate  his  gov- 
ernment in  that  country.  He  divided  the  command 
between  his  sons,  Abdelola  and  Meruan,  leaving  the 
former  in  Tangier,  and  the  latter  in  Cairvan.  Thus 
having  secured,  as  he  thought,  the  power  and  pros- 
perity of  his  family,  by  placing  all  his  sons  as  his 
lieutenants  in  the  country  he  had  conquered,  be 
departed  for  Syria,  bearing  with  him  the  sumptuojiS 
spoils  of  the  west. 

While  Muza  was  thus  disposing  of  his  commandi, 
and  moving  cunihrously  under  the  weight  of  weallti, 
the  veteran  Taric  was  more  speedy  and  alert  in 
obeying  the  summons  of  the  caliph,  t:-  knew  the 
importance,  where  complaints  were  to  be  heard,  ol 
being  first  in  presence  of  the  jutlge  ;  beside,  he  was 
ever  ready  to  march  at  a  moment's  warning,  and 
had  nothing  to  impede  him  in  his  movements.  The 
spoils  he  had  made  in  his  contpiests  had  either  been 
sliareil  among  his  soldiers,  or  yielded  up  to  Muza,  oi 
squandered  away  with  open-handed  profusion.  He 
apfieared  in  Syria  with  a  small  train  of  war-worn 
followers,  and  li.id  no  other  trophies  to  show  than 
his  battered  armour,  and  a  body  seamed  with  scars. 
He  was  received,  however,  with  rapture  by  the  mul- 
titude, v/ho  crowded  to  behold  one  of  those  conquer- 
ors of  the  west,  whose  wonderful  achievements  were 
the  theme  of  every  tongue.  They  were  charmed 
with  his  g.aunt  and  martial  air,  his  hard  sunburnt 
features,  ami  his  sc.ithed  eye.  "All  hail,"  cried  they, 
"  to  the  sword  of  Islam,  the  terror  of  the  unbelievers  ! 
Behold  the  true  model  of  a  warrior,  who  despises  gain 
and  seeks  for  nought  but  glory  1 " 

Taric  w.as  gniciously  received  by  the  crJiph,  who 
asked  tidin^js  of  his  victories.  He  ^;ave  a  so.dier- 
like  account  of  his  actions,  frank  and  lud,  .v'.thtjut 
any  feigned  modesty,  yet  without  vain-glory.  "  Com- 
mander of  the  f.aithful,"  s;tid  he,  "  1  bring  thee  no 
silver,  nor  gold,  nor  precious  stone?,  nor  captives, 
for  what  spoils  I  did  not  share  with  my  soldiers  1 
gave  up  to  Muza  as  my  commander.  How  I  have 
conducted  myself  the  honourable  warriors  of  thy 
host  will  tell  thee ;  nay,  let  our  enemies,  the  chris- 
tians, be  asked  if  I  h:ive  ever  shown  myself  cowaidly 
or  cruel  or  rapacious." 

"What  kintl  of  people  are  these  christians?"  de- 
mandeit  the  caliph. 

"The  Spani.irds,"  replied  Taric,  "are  lions  in 
their  castles,  eagles  in  their  saddles,  but  mere  women 
kvheii  on  foot.     When  vanquished  li.ey  esc.ipe  like 


<4»2 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


LKl 


■f:  V 


goals  t<»  the  mountains,  for  they  need  not  see  the 

pound  thcv  trcai]  on." 

"  And  tell  nie  of  tlie  Moors  of  Barbary." 

"  They  are  liko  Arabs  in  the  fierceness  and  dex- 
teiity  of  their  attacks,  and  in  their  knowledge  of  the 
stratagems  of  war;  they  resemble  them,  too,  in 
teature,  in  fortitude,  and  hospitnlity ;  but  they  are 
tbe  most  perfidious  peojjle  upon  earth,  and  never 
•Tgard  promise  or  pliglited  faith." 

"  And  the  people  of  Afranc  j  what  savest  thou  of 
them?" 

"They  are  infinite  in  number,  rapid  in  the  onset, 
fierce  in  bittle,  but  confused  and  headlong  in  flight." 

"And  how  fared  it  with  thee  among  these  peo- 
ple }     Did  they  sometimes  vanquish  thee  ?  " 

"Never,  by  Allah!"  cried  Taric,  with  honest 
warmth,  "  never  did  a  banner  of  mine  fly  the  lield. 
Though  the  enein)  ere  two  to  one,  my  Moslems 
never  shunned  the  combat  I  " 

The  caliph  was  well  pleased  with  the  martial 
bluntness  of  the  veteran,  and  showed  him  great 
honour ;  and  wherever  Taric  appeared  he  was  the 
idol  of  the  populace. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


HUZA  ARRIVES  AT  DAMASCUS.— HIS  INTERVIEW 
WITH  THE  CALIPH. — THE  TABLE  OF  SOLOMON. 
— A    RIGOROUS  SENTENCE. 

Shortly  after  the  arrival  of  Taric  el  Tuerto  at 
Hamascus,  the  caliph  fell  dangerously  ill,  insomuch 
(Jhat  his  life  was  dcsjiaired  of.  During  his  illness, 
adings  were  brought  that  Muza  ben  Noiicr  had  en- 
*C.'e(i  .Syri.-  with  a  v;ist  cavalcade,  bearing  all  the 
'ichei  and  trophies  gained  in  the  western  concjuests. 
*;ow  .Suleiman  Wn  Abdelmelec,  brother  to  the 
cahpl.,  w.is  successor  to  the  throne,  ;ip.d  he  saw 
that  his  brother  had  not  long  to  live,  and  wished  to 
grace  the  commencement  of  his  reign  by  this  triumph- 
ant display  of  the  spoils  of  Christendom  :  he  sent 
messengers,  therefore,  to  Muza,  saying,  "  The  calii)h 
IS  ill  and  cannot  receive  thee  at  present ;  I  pray  thee 
tarry  on  the  road  until  his  recover)-."  Muza,  how- 
ever, paid  no  attention  to  the  iness.-'.ges  if  Suleiman, 
but  rather  hastened  his  march  to  arrive  before  the 
death  of  the  calijjh.  And  Suleiman  treasured  up  his 
conduct  in  his  heart. 

Muza  entered  tiie  city  in  a  kind  of  triumph,  with 
a  long  train  of  horses  and  mules  and  camels  laden 
with  treasure,  and  with  the  ("our  hundr'd  sons  of  (ioth- 
ic  nobles  as  hostages,  e.tcli  decora'ed  with  a  diadi^m 
and  a  giriUe  of  gold  ;  and  with  on'.-  hundred  christian 
damsels,  whose  beauty  dazzled  all  beholders.  As 
he  p.'isstd  thro\!gh  the  streets  h ;  orrlered  purses  of 
gold  to  be  thrown  among  the  popul.nce,  who  rent 
the  air  with  accl.unations.  "  iJehold,"  cried  they. 
"  the  veritable  coiicjueror  of  the  unbelievers  !  Ijehold 
Ir.e  t.nje  model  of  a  ccncjueror,  who  bring-s  home 
■vealth  to  his  country  !  "  And  ihey  heaped  bene- 
?!i(  tions  on  the  head  of  Muza. 

The  caliph  Waled  ALn-uiTor  rose  from  iiis  couch 
rS  illness  to  \eceive  the  emir  ;  who,  when  he  repaired 
!i  l.he  palace,  tilled  one  of  iis  great  courts  with 
r^.isures  of  all  kinds;  ihe  halls,  too,  were  thronged 
with  the  youthtu!  hostages,  m.-'.gniticently  attired,  and 
with  chr.stian  d.misels,  lovely  as  the  houries  of 
paradise.  When  the  caliph  demanded  an  account 
of  the  ■:onqiiesl  of  Spain,  he  gave  it  with  great  elo- 
quence ,  but.  in  (lesftihing  the  various  victories,  he 
made  10  mention  of  the  name  ol  Taric,  but  spoke 
IS  if  every  thing  hail  been  efl'ected  by  himself.  He 
then  ortsenled  tlic:  spoils  of  the  chrisi'ans  is  if  they 


had  been  all  taken  by  his  own  hands ;  and  wher,  h( 
delivered  to  the  caliph  the  miraculous  table  of  ?nlo, 
mon  he  dwelt  with  animation  on  the  virtues  of  that 
inestimable  talisman. 

Upon  this,  Taric,  who  was  present,  c  ;lcl  no 
longer  hold  his  peace,  "Commander  of  the  f,-,;th 
ful,"  said  he  "examine  this  precious  table,  if  ani 
p.-'.rt  be  wanting."  The  caliph  examined  the  lah!- 
which  was  composed  of  a  single  emerald.  ?.n:i  i,- 
fouVid  that  one  foot  was  supplied  by  a  foot  of  ;;  ]!  J 
The  caliph  turned  to  Muza  and  said,  "  Whire  i-i  ihi 
other  foot  of  the  table  ?  "  Muza  answered,  "  I  i<rri\v 
not ;  -..ne  foot  was  wanting  when  it  came  into  my 
hands."  Upon  this,  Taric  drew  from  beneaiii  hj; 
robe  a  foot  of  emerald  of  li'<e  workmanship  to  the 
others,  and  fitting  exactly  to  the  table.  "  Behi.iiJ,  (J 
commander  of  the  faithful !"  cried  he.  "a  pror.)'o( 
the  real  finder  of  the  table;  and  so  is  it  with  tlit 
greater  part  of  the  spoils  exhibited  by  Miu,-i  ,is 
trophies  of  his  achievements.  It  was  1  who  K'lii.a! 
them,  and  who  captured  the  cities  in  which  they  wert 
found.  If  you  want  proof,  demand  of  these  rhris- 
tian  cavaliers  here  present,  m.ost  of  whom  I  cap- 
tured; demand  of  those  Moslem  warriors  who  .lidfd 
me  in  my  battles." 

Muza  was  confounded  for  a  moment,  but  aticn^pt. 
ed  to  vindicate  himself.  "  I  spake,"  said  he,  ".e  the 
chief  of  your  armies,  under  whose  orders  ami  h;;n- 
ners  this  conquest  was  achieved.  The  action.',  cl 
the  soldier  are  the  actions  of  the  commander.  In  a 
great  victor)-  it  is  not  supposed  that  the  chief  oi  ihc 
army  takes  all  the  captives,  or  kills  all  the  slan.,  r.j 
gathers  all  the  booty,  thou.tjh  all  are  enunv.r.u^d 
in  the  records  of  his  triumph,"  The  caliph,  liow- 
ever,  was  wroth,  and  heeded  not  his  words,  "  ",cy 
have  vaunted  your  own  deserts,"  said  be,  "and  Kyvc 
forgotten  the  deserts  of  others  ;  nay,  you  have  .v:.,;;;ht, 
to  debase  another  who  has  loyally  served  his  r-,\':!- 
eigJi  ;  the  reward  of  your  envy  and  covetousness  b: 
upon  your  own  head  I  "  So  saying,  he  besloved  j 
gre.it  part  of  the  spoils  ui)on  Taric  and  the  othc: 
chiefs,  but  gave  noiluiig  to  Muza;  anil  thcve'rrnn 
retired  amidst  the  sneers  and  murmurs  ol  diost 
present. 

In  a  few  days  the  Caliph  Waled  died,  and  was 
succeeded  bv  his  brother  Suleiman.  The  m-w  sovjt- 
eign  cherished  deep  resentment  against  Mu/i  ;  ir 
having  presented  himself  at  court  contiar)'  to  l,;s 
coiumaii  I,  and  he  listened  readily  to  the  cakiii,:iii.i 
of  his  enemies;  for  .Muza  had  been  too  illustrious;!! 
his  deeds  not  to  ha\e  many  enemies.  All  now  iiioii 
courage  when  they  found  he  was  out  of  favour,  mi^ 
tl'.j'y  heaped  shnders  on  his  head  ;  chargin;;  hin; 
'V'th  embezzling  much  of  the  .share  of  the  boots  be- 
longing to  the  sovereign.  The  new  caliph  itnt  a 
willing  ear  to  the  aicus.ition,  and  commanded  h-in 
to  render  up  all  that  he  h.ul  pillaged  troin  S;);  in. 
The  loss  of  nis  riches  mi.i;ht  have  been  borne  wiili 
fortitude  by  Mu/,,,  bui  the  stigma  u])on  his  l.iiiif 
tilled  his  he.irt  with  bitterness.  "  I  have  b<  ;'n  5 
faithful  servant  to  the  throne  from  my  yo,  t^^  •;> 
wards,"  said  he,  "aiid  now  am  I  degrade  i  ir.  n'lVoH 
age.  I  c.ire  not  lor  w<- ilth,  I  care  not  f  i"  iifi-,  f)ul 
let  me  not  be  dej-rive;!  of  that  hcnour  which  C«o(' 
has  bestowed  upon  nu- 1  " 

The  caliph  was  still  n  ore  ex.isperated  at  hi.s  ro 
pining,  and  strip|«Hi  him  of  his  commands;  cor-ti.i- 
caied  his  efl'cis;  fined  tun  two  hundred  thousand 
pes. nils  of  gold,  and  ordered  that  he  should  k 
scoiirj^eil  and  exposed  to  ttie  noontide  sun,  and  .ilte-- 
wards  thrown  into  prison.*  The  populace,  also,  r:- 
viled  and  rrotfed  at  him  in  his  misery  and  a;,  tiiq 
beheld  him  lud  forth  to  the  put>lic  gaze,  and  fainf.rg 

•  Conde,  P.  I.  c.  If. 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  SPAIN. 


888 


m  thft  sun,  thoy  pointed  at  him  with  derision  and 
eiciaitned — "Behold  the  envious  man  and  the  im- 
postor ;  this  is  he  who  pretended  to  have  conquered 
the  land  of  the  unbehevers  I " 


CHAPTER  XV. 


CONDUCT  or  ABDALASIS  AS  EMIR  OF  SPAIN. 

While  these  events  were  happening  in  Syria,  the 
Hiutliful  Abdalasis,  the  son  of^  Muza,  remained  as 
en:ir  or  governor  of  Spain.  He  was  of  a  generous 
jnd  benignant  disposition,  but  he  was  open  and  con- 
fiding, and  easily  led  away  by  the  opinions  of  those 
he  loved.  Fortunately  his  father  had  left  with  him, 
as  a  bosom  counsellor,  the  discreet  Ayub,  the  neph- 
ew of  Muza;  aided  by  his  advice,  he  for  some  time 
i.i.ministercd  the  public  affairs  prudently  and  pros- 
perously. 

Not  long  after  the  departure  of  his  father,  he  re- 
ceived a  letter  fr  >m  him,  written  while  on  his  jour- 
ney to  Syria ;  it  was  to  the  following  purport : 

"  Beloved  son  ;  honour  of  thy  lineage ;  Allah  guard 
thee  from  all  harm  and  peril !  Listen  to  the  words 
of  thy  father.  Avoid  all  treachery  though  it  should 
promi  e  great  advantage,  and  trust  not  in  him  who 
CDunsels  it,  even  though  he  should  be  a  brother. 
The  company  of  traitors  put  far  from  thee ;  for  how 
canst  iliou  be  certain  that  he  who  has  proved  f;ilse 
to  others  will  prove  true  to  thee  ?  Beware,  O  my 
son,  of  the  seductions  of  love.  It  is  an  idle  passion 
which  enfeebles  the  heart  and  blinds  the  juilgment ; 
it  renders  the  mighty  weak,  and  makes  slaves  of 
piinces.  If  thou  shouldst  discover  any  foible  of  a 
vi'iious  kind  springing  up  in  thy  nature,  pluck  it 
forth,  whatever  l»ang  it  cost  thee.  Every  error,  while 
5.TW,  may  easily  be  weeded  out,  but  if  suffered  to 
Uite  root,  it  flourishes  and  bears  seed,  and  produces 
[fuit  in  hundred  fold.  Follow  these  counsels,  O  son 
of  my  alTections,  .-ind  thou  sha'.t  live  secure." 

Abil.dasis  meditated  upon  this  letter,  for  some 
■^■M  of  it  seemed  to  contain  a  mystery  which  he 
could  not  comprehend.  He  called  to  him  his  cousin 
anil  counsellor,  the  discreet  Ayub.  "  What  means 
my  father,"  said  he.  "  in  cautioning  me  against  treach- 
ery and  treason  ?  Does  he  think  my  nature  so  base 
that  it  could  descend  to  such  means  ?  " 

Ayub  re.id  the  letter  attentively.  "  Thy  father," 
saidhe.  "would  put  thee  on  thy  guard  againnt  the 
traitors  Julian  and  Oppas,  .ind  those  of  their  party 
who  surround  thee.  \VI  at  love  canst  thou  expect 
from  men  who  have  been  unnatural  to  their  kintlred, 
and  what  loyalty  fiom  wn^tches  who  have  betrayed 
their  country?  " 

Abdalasis  was  satisfied  with  the  interpretation, 
and  he  .acted  accordiiii^ly.  He  had  long  lo.ithed  all 
communion  with  these  men,  for  there  is  nothing 
whirh  the  open  ingenuous  nature  so  much  abhors  as 
uiiplicity  and  treason.  I'olicy,  too.  no  longer  re- 
quirv'd  their  agency ;  they  had  renil^-reil  their  infa- 
niijus  s«;rvice,  and  h.ad  no  longer  a  country  to  betray  ; 
but  they  liiight  turn  and  betray  their  cinployers. 
Abd.disis,  iherefbre,  removed  them  to  a  distance 
from  his  coirt,  and  placed  them  'u\  situations  where 
the*  could  i\o  no  harm,  and  he  warned  his  com- 
Tarii;;r.s  from  being  in  any  wise  inlluenced  by  thei'- 
■  ansels,  or  aided  by  their  anus. 

He  now  confided  entirely  in.  his  Arabian  troops, 
mil  !)■  the  Moorish  squ.idrons  from  Africa,  and  with 
t-hiir  aid  iie  com[)leted  the  concjueEt  of  Liisitania  to 
the  ultimate  parts  of  the  Algatlu',  or  we:>t,  even  to 
the  shores  of  the  great  Ocean  sea.*    Kro"\  hence  he 

•  AI){;irb^,  or  Algnrbia,  in  Arabic  &i;;nifips  tVie  *e^t,  as  Axarkia 
I*  the  ;;a.st,  Algulia  t!ie  north,  and  Ai^-iib'a  the  '-'nith.  Th;,;  will 
fci^t  to  e&plain  some  o,'"  the  ncojrr  iphu'j.l  names  on  tite  peniii&ula, 
wbi:h  ire  of  Arabian  -itinm. 


sent  his  generals  to  overrun  all  those  vast  and  rug< 
eed  sierras,  which  rise  like  ramparts  along  the  ocean 
borders  of  the  peninsula ;  and  they  carried  the  stand- 
ard of  Islam  in  triumph  even  to  the  mountains  of 
Biscay,  collecting  all  manner  of  precious  spoil, 

"  It  is  not  enough,  O  Abdalasis,"  said  Aynt 
"  that  we  conquer  and  rule  this  country  with  the 
sword ;  if  we  wish  our  dominion  to  be  secure,  we 
must  cultivate  the  arts  of  peace,  and  study  to  secure 
the  confidence  and  promote  the  welfare  of  the  people 
we  have  conquered."  Abdalasis  relished  counsel 
which  accorded  so  well  with  his  own  beneficent 
nature.  He  endeavoured,  therefore,  to  allay  the 
ferment  and  confusion  of  the  conquest ;  forbade, 
under  rigorous  punishment,  all  wanton  spoil  or  op- 
pression, and  protected  the  native  inhabitants  in  the 
enjoyment  and  cultivation  of  their  lands,  and  the 
pursuit  of  all  useful  occupations.  By  the  advice  of 
Ayub,  also,  he  encouraged  great  numbers  of  indus- 
trious Moors  and  Arabs  to  emigrate  from  Africa, 
and  gave  them  houses  and  lands ;  thus  introducing 
a  peaceful  Mahometan  population  into  the  conquered 
provinces. 

The  good  effect  of  the  counsels  of  Ayub  wrerc 
soon  apparent.  Instead  of  a  sudden  but  transient 
inllux  of  wealth  made  by  the  ruin  of  the  land,  which 
left  the  country  desolate,  a  regular  and  permanent 
revenue  sprang  up,  produced  by  reviving  prosperity, 
and  gathered  without  violence,  Abdalasis  ordered 
it  to  be  faithfully  collected,  and  deposited  in  coffers 
by  public  officers  appointed  in  eacli  province  for  the 
purpose  ;  and  the  whole  was  sent  by  ten  deputies  to 
Damascus  to  be  laid  at  the  feet  of  the  caliph  ;  not  2a 
the  spoils  of  a  vanquished  country,  but  as  the  peace- 
ful trophies  of  a  wisely  administered  government. 

The  common  herd  of  warlike  adventurers,  tht 
mere  men  of  the  sword,  who  had  thronged  to  Spain 
for  the  purpose  of  ravage  and  rapine,  were  disajv 
pointed  at  being  thus  checked  in  their  career,  anc 
at  seeing  the  rei;^  of  terror  and  violence  drawing  tc 
a  close.  What  manner  of  leader  is  this,  said  they 
who  forbids  us  to  make  spoil  of  the  enemies  of  Islam 
and  to  enjoy  the  land  we  h.ave  wrested  from  the  un- 
believers? The  partisans  of  Julian,  also,  whispered 
their  calumnies.  "  Behold,"  said  they,  "  with  what 
kindness  he  treats  the  enemies  of  your  faith  ;  all  the 
christians  who  have  borne  arms  against  you,  and 
withstood  your  entrance  into  the  land,  are  favouied 
and  protected  ;  but  it  is  enough  for  a  christian  tc 
have  befriended  the  cause  of  the  Moslems  to  be 
singled  out  by  Abdalasis  for  persecution,  and  to  be 
driven  with  scorn  from  his  presence." 

These  insinuations  fermented  the  discontent  of 
the  turbulent  and  ra^wcious  among  the  Moslems, 
but  all  tlie  iViends  of  peace  and  order  and  good 
government  applauded  the  moderation  of  the  youth- 
ful emir. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

LOVES   OF  ABDALASIS   AND   EMLOKA. 

AiiDALASiS  had  fixed  his  seat  of  government  al 
Seville,  as  permitting  easy  and  frequent  communica- 
tions with  the  coast  of  Africa.  His  palace  was  ol 
noble  architecture,  with  delightful  gardens  extend- 
ing to  the  banks  of  the  Guadalquivir.  In  a  part  of 
this  palace  resided  many  of  the  most  beautiful  chris- 
ti.in  females,  who  were  detaincil  as  o.'.piives,  oc 
rather  hostages,  to  insure  the  tranquillity  ot  the  coun- 
try. Those  who  were  of  noble  raiiic  were  enttr- 
t.ained  in  luxnry  and  magniticence  ;  slaves  were  ap- 
pointed to  attend  upon  'hem,  and  they  wer?  arr;'.yed 
m  the  richest  apparel  and  decorated  witi   ;:.e  n.oaf 


i; 


884 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


ri. 


!i*Fl-..-  1 


Ht 


V  :M^\' 


.*  -^f 


precious  jewels.  Those  of  tender  age  were  taught 
all  graceful  acco'nplishnients;  and  even  where  tasks 
were  imposed,  they  were  of  the  most  elegant  and 
agreeable  kind.  Tht;y  embroidered,  they  sang,  they 
danced,  and  passed  their  limes  m  pleasing  reveliy. 
Many  were  lulled  by  this  easy  and  voluptuous  exist- 
ence; the  scenes  of  horror  through  which  they  h;ul 
passed  were  gradually  etTaced  from  their  minds,  and 
a  desire  was  often  awakened  of  rendering  themselves 
filcasing  in  the  eyes  of  their  conquerors. 

After  his  return  from  his  campaign  in  Lusitani.i, 
J»nd  during  the  inten-als  of  public  duty,  Abc'alasis 
JOlaced  himself  in  the  repose  of  this  pal.ice,  md  in 
the  society  of  these  christian  captives.  He  retnarked 
one  among  them  who  ever  sat  apart ;  aMl  neither 
joined  in  the  labours  nor  sports  of  her  companions. 
She  was  lofty  in  her  demeanour,  and  the  others 
always  paid  her  reverence ;  ye»  sorrow  had  given  a 
softness  to  her  charms,  and  rendered  her  beauty 
touching  to  the  heart.  Al)(  alasis  found  her  one 
day  in  the  garden  with  her  ^i.Mipanions ;  they  had 
adorned  their  heads  with  flowers,  ar.-l  were  sinj^ing 
the  songs  of  their  country,  but  she  sat  by  iicrself  and 
wept.  The  youthful  emir  was  moved  by  her  tears, 
and  accosted  her  in  gentle  accents.  "O  fairest  of 
women  ! "  said  he,  "  why  dost  thou  weep,  and  why 
is  thy  heart  troubleJ?"  "Alas!"  replied  she, 
"  ha\  e  I  not  cause  -o  weep,  seeing  how  sad  is  my 
coniiition.  and  how  great  the  height  from  wliich  I 
have  fallen  ?  In  me  you  behold  the  wretched  Exilo- 
na,  but  lately  the  wife  of  Roderick,  and  the  queen  of 
Spair  now  a  captive  and  a  slave  !  "  and,  having  said 
these  words,  slie  cast  her  eyes  upon  the  earth,  and 
hf.r  teirs  began  to  llow  afresh. 

I'he  generous  feelings  of  Abdalasis  were  aroused 
«.t  the  sight  of  beauty  and  royalty  in  te.irs.  He  gave 
HI  d  jrs  that  Exilona  should  be  entertained  in  a  st\ie  oe- 
'.  ting  her  former  rank ;  he  appointed  a  train  of  female 
littendanis  to  wait  upon  her,  .and  a  guard  of  honour  to 
yrttect  her  from  all  intrusion.  All  the  time  that  he 
co'jld  spare  from  public  concerns  was  passed  in  her 
society ;  and  he  even  neglected  his  divan,  and  suf- 
fered his  counsellors  to  attend  in  vain,  while  he  lin- 
gered in  the  apartments  and  gardens  of  the  palace, 
fistening  to  the  voice  of  Exilona. 

The  discreet  Ayub  saw  the  danger  into  which  he 
was  falling.  "Oh  Abdalasis,"  said  he,  "remem- 
ber the  words  of  thy  fatlier.  '  Beware,  my  son," 
said  he,  'of  the  seductions  of  love.  It  renders  the 
mighty  weak,  and  makes  slaves  of  princes  ! '  "  A 
blush  kindled  on  the  cheek  of  Abdalasis,  and  he  w.as 
silent  for  a  moment.  "  Why,"  s.iid  he,  .at  length, 
*■  do  you  seek  to  charge  me  with  such  we.ikncss.  It 
IS  one  thing  to  be  infatuated  by  the  charms  of  a 
woman,  ami  another  to  be  touched  by  her  misfor- 
tunes. It  is  the  duly  of  my  station  to  console  a 
princess  who  has  been  reduced  to  the  lowest  humili- 
ation by  the  triumphs  of  our  arms.  In  doing  so  I  do 
but  listen  to  the  dictates  of  true  magnanimity." 

Ayub  was  silent,  but  his  brow  was  cloudi'd,  and 
for  once  Abdahisis  i)arted  in  discontent  from  his 
ccuiistllor.  In  jjroportion  as  he  was  dissatisfied 
with  others  or  with  himself,  he  soughi  the  society  of 
Slsiiona,  for  there  was  a  chann  in  her  conversation 
hat  banished  every  rare.  He  daily  became  more 
.it-d  more  enamoured,  and  Exilona  gradually  ceased 
o  \seep,  and  he^an  to  lis'.t-n  with  secret  pleasure  to 
die  words  of  her  Arab  lover.  When,  however,  he 
sough".  10  urge  his  passion,  she  recollected  the  light 
estimation  in  which  her  sex  was  held  by  the  follow- 
ers ot  Mahomet,  and  assumed  a  countenance  grave 
and  severe. 

"Fortune,"  s.iid  she,  "  has  cast  me  at  thy  feet, 
behold  I  anr  thy  captive  and  thy  spoil.  But  thouj^h 
my  person  is  in  thy  power,  my  soul  is  unsubdued. 


and  know  that,  should  I  lack  force  to  defend  mi 
honour,  I  have  resolution  to  wash  out  all  stain  upon 
it  with  my  blood.  I  trust,  however,  in  thy  co\irtesY 
as  a  cavalier  to  respect  me  in  my  reverses,  rcineni. 
bering  what  I  h.ave  been,  and  that  though  the  Town 
has  been  wrested  from  my  brow,  the  royal  blood 
still  warms  within  my  veins."* 

The  lofty  spirit  of  Exilona,  and  her  proud  !e[ul« 
served  hut  to  increase  the  passion  of  Abdalasis.  Hj 
be.souKht  her  to  unite  her  destiny  with  his,  md 
share  his  state  and  power,  promising  that  she  st  juld 
have  no  rival  nor  copartner  in  his  heart.  Wh.i  "vet 
scruples  the  captive  queen  might  origii  ally  havi  felt 
■.o  a  union  with  one  of  the  conquerors  of  her  I  tJ, 
and  an  enemy  of  her  adopted  faith,  they  were  ea  ily 
vanquished,  and  she  became  the  bride  of  AlMia!a:.i5, 
He  would  fain  have  persuaded  her  to  return  id  the 
faith  ol  her  fathers ;  but  though  of  Moorish  oricrin, 
and  brought  up  in  the  doctrines  of  Islam,  sin  was 
too  thorough  a  convert  to  Christianity  to  consent, 
and  looked  back  with  disgust  upon  a  religion  that 
admitteil  a  plurality  of  wives. 

When  the  s.age  Ayub  heard  of  the  resolution  of 
Abdalasis  to  espouse  Exilona  he  was  in  despair. 
"Alas,  my  cousin!"  said  he,  "what  infaiiwion 
possesses  thee  ?  Hast  thou  then  entirely  forgotten 
the  letter  of  thy  father  ?  '  Beware,  my  son,'  saul  he, 
'of  love;  it  is  an  idle  passion,  which  enfeebles  the 
heart  and  blinds  the  judgment.'  "  But  Abii.il.isi, 
interrupted  him  with  impatience.  "  My  inilir, " 
said  he,  "  s])ake  but  of  the  blandishments  of  wamon 
love;  ag.ainst  these  1  am  secured,  by  my  virtuous 
passion  for  Exilona." 

Ayub  would  fain  have  impressed  upon  him  the 
dangers  he  ran  of  awakening  suspicion  in  thecalipli, 
and  discontent  among  the  Moslems,  by  wetlding  ib; 
queen  of  the  conquered  Roilerick,  and  one  whv)  wui 
an  enemy  to  the  religion  of  Mahomet ;  bu.  th« 
youthful  lover  only  listened  to  his  passion.  Their 
nupti.ils  were  celebrated  at  Seville  with  great  pomp 
and  rejoicings,  and  he  gave  his  bride  tfe  nanif  of 
Omalisam ;  that  is  to  say,  she  of  the  precious  jew- 
els:! but  she  continueil  to  be  known  among  the 
christians  by  the  name  of  Exilona. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


FATE  or   ABDAI.AS1S   ANP   KXILONA,— D  -.ATH   OF 
MUZ  A. 

POSSE.SSION  instead  of  cooling  the  passion  ot 
Abdalasis,  only  added  to  its  force  ;  he  became  l):mcl. 
ly  enamoured  of  his  l)eautiful  bride,  and  consult !i<l 
her  will  in  all  things;  nay,  having  lost  all  reli.,h  l.n 
the  .advice  of  the  discreet  Ayub,  he  was  even  guided 
by  the  counsels  of  his  svile  in  the  affairs  uf  govciii- 
ment.  Exilona,  unfortunately,  had  once  been  a 
queen,  antl  she  could  not  remember  her  regal  glories 
without  regret.  She  saw  that  Abdalasis  had  ;,'n.U 
power  in  the  land  ;  greater  even  than  had  been  j  os 
sessed  by  the  Gothic  kings;  but  she  considen  il  it 
as  wanting  in  true  splen<lour  until  his  brows  should 
be  encircled  with  the  outward  badge  of  rvyr.'J.y. 
One  day,  when  they  were  alone  in  the  palace  of 
Seville,  and  the  heart  of  Abdalasis  w.as  given  up  to 
tenderness,  she  addressed  him  in  fond  yet  timio  ac- 
cents. "  Will  not  my  lord  be  offended,"  taio  .If, 
"if  I  make  an  unwelcome  request?"  ADdaUsii 
regarded  her  with  a  smile,     "  What  canst  thou  .^k 


*  Fuiardo.  corona,  Gothict. 
liisp.  L.  6,  c.  17. 
t  Cootie  p.  I.  c.  i>. 


Joaa  Mai.  J:  -^i 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  SPAIN. 


886 


:e  to  defend 


iNA. — D.'JVTH   OF 


liil.isis  had  trr'it 


oi  me,  F.xilona,"  said  he,  "  that  it  would  not  be  a 
happiness  (or  nie  to  prant  ? "  Then  Exilona  pro- 
duced a  crown  of  gold,  sparkling  with  jewels,  which 
had  belonj^ed  to  tne  king,  Don  Roderick,  and  said, 
"Behold,  thou  art  king  in  authority,  be  so  in  thy 
ouiw.iTd  state.  Thertt  is  majesty  and  glory  in  a 
crown;  it  gives  a  sanctity  to  power."  Then  put- 
ling  t!ie  crown  upon  his  head,  she  held  a  mirror  be- 
fare  h.m  that  he  might  l)ehoid  the  majesty  of  his  ap- 
peal mce.  Abdalasis  chid  her  fondly,  and  put  the 
crown  away  from  him,  but  Exilona  persisted  in  her 
prayer.  "  Never."  said  she,  "  has  there  been  a  king 
in  Spiiiii  that  did  not  wear  a  crown."  So  Abdalasis 
suffercti  himself  to  be  beguiled  by  the  blandishments 
of  his  wile,  and  to  he  invested  with  the  crown  and 
jcepire  and  oth*r  signs  of  royalty.* 

It  is  affirmed  by  ancient  and  discreet  chroniclers, 
that  .-Mnlalasis  only  assumed  this  royal  state  in  the 
priv.ii-v  of  his  pal.ice,  and  to  gratify  the  eye  of  his 
youihl'iil  bride ;  but  where  was  a  secret  ever  confined 
within  tlie  walls  of  a  palace  ?  The  .issumption  of  the 
insignia  of  t!-.e  ancient  Gothic  kings  was  soon  ru- 
moured about,  and  caused  the  most  violent  suspi- 
cions. The  Moslems  had  already  felt  jealous  of  the 
ascendancy  of  this  beautiful  woman,  and  it  was  now 
contiilently  .lasertwl  that  Abdal.-xsis.  won  by  her  per- 
su.xsions,  had  secretly  turned  christian. 

T!ie  enemies  of  Abdalasis,  those  whose  rapacious 
spirits  had  been  kept  in  check  by  the  beneficence  of 
his  rule,  seized  upon  this  occasion  to  ruin  him.  They 
sent  Inters  to  Damascus  arousing  him  of  apostasy, 
and  ol  an  intention  to  seize  upon  the  throne  in  right 
of  his  wife.  Exilona,  as  widow  of  the  late  King  Rod- 
erick. It  was  added,  that  the  christians  were  pre- 
pared to  flock  to  his  standard  .as  the  only  means  of 
ir^.'.ii'.iiig  ;iscenuancy  in  their  country. 

Trr^e  ?.ccusations  arrived  at  Damascus  just  after 
the  accession  of  the  s.inguinary  Suleiman  to  the 
;'.iro'  e,  and  in  the  heiijht  of  his  persecution  of  the 
■infcrtunate  Muza.  The  caliph  waited  for  no  proofs 
inconllrmation;  he  immediately  sent  private  orders 
that  Alnlalasis  should  be  put  to  death,  and  that  the 
same  fate  should  be  dealt  to  his  two  brothers  who 
governed  in  Africa,  as  a  sure  means  of  crushing  the 
conspiracy  of  this  .imbilious  family. 

The  mandate  for  the  death  of  Abd.ilasis  was  sent 
to  Ahhilhar  ben  Obeidah  and  Zeyd  ben  N.abegat, 
hoth  of  whom  had  l>een  cherished  friemls  of  Muza, 
am!  li  id  lived  in  intimate  favour  and  companionship 
witii  liis  son.  When  they  read  the  fatal  parchment, 
the  scroll  fell  from  their  trembling  hands.  "Can 
such  hostility  exist  against  the  family  of  .Muza?  "  ex- 
claimed they.  "  Is  this  the  resvard  for  such  great 
and  j^lorious  ser\'ices  ?  "  The  cavaliers  remained  for 
some  time  plunged  in  horror  and  consternation.  The 
ordei.  however,  was  absolute,  and  left  them  no  discre- 
tion. "Allah  is  great,"  said  they,  "  and  commands 
us  to  obey  our  sovereign."  So  they  prepared  to  ex- 
ecute the  bloody  mandate  with  the  blind  fidelity  of 
Moslems. 

It  was  necessary  to  proceed  with  caution.  The 
open  and  magn.inimous  ch.iracter  of  Al)dalasis  had 
won  tiie  hearts  of  a  great  part  of  the  soldiery,  and 
ms  m.-ignificence  pleased  the  cavaliers  who  formed 
tis  guard  ;  it  was  feared,  therefore,  that  a  sanguinary 
■jpiws'tion  would  be  made  to  any  attempt  upon  his 

:t^un.  1  he  r.ibble,  however,  had  been  imbittered 
;if.^;i.jt  hitn  from  his  having  restrained  their  depre- 
daiii  ns,  and  because  they  thought  him  an  apostate 
in  his  h?art,  secretly  bent  upon  betraying  them  to  the 
ciin-itians.  While,  therefore,  the  two  ofTicers  made 
vi^iUnt  dispositions  to  check  any  movement  on  the 
part  of  the  soldiery,  they  let  loose  the  blind  fury  of 

•  Cron.  SAD.  <i«  AloQzo  el  StVo,  p.  j,  Joaa.  ■•!.  de  reb.  Hup. 
lib.  t,  c.  t7,    Conda.  p.  i  c  in. 


the  populace  by  publishing  the  fatal  mandate.  In  • 
moment  the  city  was  in  a  ferment,  and  there  was  ■ 
ferocious  emulation  who  should  be  first  to  execute 
the  orders  of  the  caliph. 

Abdalasis  was  at  this  time  at  a  palace  in  the  coun- 
try not  far  from  Seville,  commanding  a  delightful 
view  of  the  fertile  plain  of  the  Guadalquivir.  Hithei 
he  was  accustomed  to  retire  from  the  tumult  of  the 
court,  and  to  pass  his  time  among  groves  and  fouu' 
tains  and  the  sweet  repose  of  gardens,  in  the  society 
of  Exilona.  It  w.is  the  d.iwn  of  day,  the  hour  of 
early  prayer,  when  the  furious  populace  arrived  at 
this  retreat.  Abdalasis  was  offering  up  his  orisons 
in  a  small  mc^que  which  he  had  erectecl  for  the  use 
of  the  neighbouring  peasantry.  Exilona  was  in  a 
chapel  in  tne  interior  of  the  palace,  where  her  confes- 
sor, a  holy  friar,  was  performing  mass.  They  were 
both  surprised  at  their  devotions,  and  dragged  forth 
by  the  hands  of  the  rabble.  A  few  guards,  who  at- 
tended at  the  palace,  would  have  made  defence,  but 
they  were  overawed  by  the  sight  of  the  written  man- 
date of  the  caliph. 

The  captives  were  borne  in  triumph  to  Seville. 
All  the  beneficent  virtues  of  Abdalasis  were  forgot- 
ten ;  nor  had  the  charms  of  Exilona  any  effect  in 
softening  the  hearts  of  the  populace.  The  brutal 
eagerness  to  shed  blood,  which  seems  inherent  in 
human  nature,  was  awakened,  and  woe  to  the  vic- 
tims when  that  e.agerness  is  quickened  by  religious 
hate.  The  illustrious  couple,  adorned  with  all  the 
graces  of  youth  and  beauty,  were  hurried  to  a  scaf- 
fold in  the  great  stpiare  of  Seville,  and  there  beheaded 
amidst  the  shouts  and  execrations  of  an  infatuated 
multitude.  Their  bodies  were  left  exposed  upon  t!ie 
ground,  and  would  have  been  devoured  by  dogs,  luid 
they  not  been  gathered  at  night  by  scin;  trlerkdlf 
hand,  and  poorly  interred  in  one  of  the  courts  of  tb<-J 
late  dwelling. 

Thus  terminated  the  loves  and  lives  of  Abdal35ls 
and  Exilona,  in  the  year  of  the  incarnation  seven 
hundred  and  fourteen.  Their  names  were  held  sa- 
cred as  martyrs  to  the  christian  faith ;  but  many 
read  in  their  untimely  fate  a  lesson  against  ambition 
and  vain-glory;  having  sacrificed  real  power  and 
substantial  rule  to  the  glittering  bauble  of  a  crown 

The  head  of  Abdalasis  was  embalmed  and  en- 
closed in  a  casket,  and  sent  to  Syria  to  the  cruel 
Suleiman,  The  messenger  who  bore  it  overtook  the 
caliph  as  he  was  performing  a  pilgrimage  to  Mecca. 
Mu/a  was  among  the  courtiers  in  his  train,  having 
been  released  from  pri.son.  On  opening  the  casket 
and  regarding  its  contents,  the  eyes  ot  the  tyrant 
sparkled  with  rii.dignaiit  satisfaction.  Calling  the 
unhappy  father  to  his  side :  "  Muza,"  said  he,  "dost 
thou  know  this  head?"  The  veteran  recognized  the 
features  of  his  beloved  son,  and  turned  his  face  aw.ay 
with  anguish.  "  Yes !  well  do  1  know  it,"  replied 
he ;  "  and  may  the  curse  of  God  light  upon  him  who 
has  destroyed  a  better  man  than  hitnseli !  " 

Without  adding  another  word,  he  retired  to  Mount 
Deran,  a  prey  to  devouring  melancholy.  He  shortly 
after  received  tidings  of  the  death  of  his  two  sons 
whom  he  h;id  left  in  the  government  of  western  Af- 
rica, and  who  h.id  fallen  victims  to  the  jealous  sus- 
picions of  the  caliph.  His  advanced  age  was  not 
proof  .against  these  repeated  blows,  and  this  utter 
ruin  of  his  late  prosperous  family,  and  he  sank  into 
his  grave  sorro."ing  and  broken-hearted. 

Such  was  the  Uunentable  end  of  the  conqueror  of 
Spain ;  whose  great  achievements  were  not  sufficient 
to  atone,  in  the  eye  of  his  sovereign,  tor  a  weakness 
to  whieh  all  men  ambitious  of  renown  are  subject , 
and  whose  triumphs  eventually  brought  persecution 
upon  himself,  an(l  untimely  death  upon  his  children. 

Here  '.iids  the  legend  of  the  Subjugation  of  Spain. 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


LESEND  OF  COUNT  JULIAN  AND  HIS 
FAMILY. 


tM^i 


J*' ;  t'W^ '  ■■ 


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l;ji>i 


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In  the  preceding  legends  is  darkly  shadowed  out 
a  true  story  of  the  woes  ot  Spain.  It  is  a  story  full 
of  wholesome  admonition,  reDul<ing  the  insolence  of 
hnnan  pride  and  the  vanity  of  human  ambition,  and 
ihowing  the  futility  of  all  grcitness  that  is  not 
Btrongly  based  on  virtue.  We  have  seen,  in  brief 
space  of  tiirie,  most  of  the  actors  in  this  historic 
drama  disappearing,  one  by  one,  from  the  scene,  and 
going  dowi),  conqueror  and  conquered,  to  gloomy 
and  unhonoured  graves.  It  remains  to  close  this 
eventful  history  by  holding  up,  as  a  signal  w.-irning, 
the  fate  of  the  traitor,  whose  i>ertidious  scheme  of 
vengeance  brought  ruin  on  his  native  land. 

Many  and  various  are  the  accounts  given  in  an- 
aent  chronicles  of  the  fortunes  of  Count  Juli.in  and 
his  family,  and  many  are  the  traditions  on  the  sub- 
ject still  extant  among  the  populace  of  Spain,  an<i 
perpetuated  in  those  countless  baii.ids  sung  by  peas- 
ants and  muleteers,  which  spread  a  singular  charm 
over  the  whole  of  this  romantic  land. 

He  who  has  travelled  in  Spain  in  the  true  way  in 
which  the  country  ought  to  be  travelled  ;  sojourning 
in  its  remote  pronnces ;  rambling  .among  the  rugtjed 
defiles  and  secluded  valleys  of  its  mountains;  and 
Biakin^i  himself  familiar  with  the  peojile  in  their  out- 
of-the-way  hamlets,  and  rarely-visited  neighbour- 
hoods, will  remember  many  a  group  of  travellers 
ftnd  .Tiuletcers,  gathered  of  an  evening  around  the 
doc;*  or  the  spacious  hearth  of  a  mountain  venta, 
wrapped  in  their  brown  cloaks,  and  listening  with 
pave  ard  profound  attention  to  the  long  historic 
tailad  of  some  rustic  t-^ubadour,  either  recited  with 
the  true  or*-  rotun.io  and  modulated  cadences  of 
Spanish  elocution,  or  chauntcd  to  the  tinkling  of  a 
guit.ir  In  this  way  he  may  have  heard  the  doleful 
end  01  Count  Julian  and  his  family  recounted  in  tr.a- 
ditionary  rhymes,  that  have  been  handed  down  from 
llfeneratio'.i  to  generation.  The  particulars,  however, 
of  the  following  wiki  legend  are  chiefly  gathered 
from  the  writings  of  the  pseudo  Moor,  Rasis  ;  how 
far  they  may  be  safely  taken  as  historic  facts  it  is  im- 
possible now  to  ascertain  ;  we  must  content  our- 
selves, therefore,  with  their  answering  to  the  exac- 
tions of  poetic  justice. 

As  yet  every  thin^  had  prospered  with  Count 
Julian.  He  had  gratified  his  vengeance;  he  had 
been  successful  in  his  treason,  and  had  acquired 
countless  riches  from  the  ruin  of  his  country.  But 
it  is  not  outward  success  that  constitutes  prosi>eriiy. 
The  tree  flourishes  with  fruit  and  foliage  while  blasted 
and  withering  at  the  heart.  Wherever  he  went,  Count 
Julian  read  hatred  in  every  eye.  The  christians  curs- 
ed him  as  the  cause  of  all  their  woe  ;  the  Moslems  de- 
spised and  distrusted  him  as  a  traitor.  Men  whisper- 
ed tcgither  as  he  approached,  and  then  turned  away 
in  Bcorn  ;  and  mothers  snatched  away  their  children 
nith  horror  if  he  offered  to  caress  them.  He  with- 
DSd  under  the  execration  of  his  fellow-men,  and, 
lart,  and  worst  of  all,  he  began  to  loathe  himself. 
He  tried  in  vain  to  persuade  himself  that  he  had  but 
taken  a  juM  itiable  vengeance ;  he  felt  th.at  no  per- 
sonal ViTong  can  justify  the  crime  of  treason  to  one's 
country. 

For  a  tit:ae,  he  sought  in  luxurious  indulgence  to 
soothe  or  forget  the  miseries  of  the  mind.  He  as- 
sembled round  hirh  every  pleasure  and  gratification 
that  boundless  wealth  could  purchase,  but  all  in  vain. 
He  had  no  relish  for  the  dainties  of  his  board;  music 
had  no  charm  wherewi'h  to  ^uU  hij  soul  and  re- 


morse drove  slumber  from  his  pillow.  He  srnt  le 
Ceuta  for  his  wife  Frandina,  his  daughter  Klorinda 
and  his  youthful  son  Alarbot ;  hoping  in  the  bi)%otr 
of  his  family  lO  rind  that  sympithy  nd  HmJnev 
which  he  could  no  longer  meet  with  in  the  worW 
Their  presence,  however,  brought  hi.n  no  alkv,  uior  I 
Florinda,  the  daughter  of  his  heart,  for  wi.dsf  j.ii,  1 
he  had  undertaken  this  signal  vengeance,  w.i'?  sini  ' 
ing  a  victim  to  its  •  (fects.  Whercvei  she  wcm,  sb 
found  herself  a  bye-word  of  shame  and  rt.prTc'i 
The  outrage  she  h.ad  suffered  was  imputed  to  l^r  u 
wantonness,  and  her  ciilamity  was  magnitinl  moj 
crime.  The  christians  never  mentioned  her  n.irr,{ 
without  a  curse,  and  the  Moslems,  the  gainers  hy  het 
misfortune,  spake  of  her  only  by  the  atwellation  of 
Cava,  the  vilest  opithct  they  could  appi^    .    \"rnnn, 

But  the  opprobrium  of  the  world  was  noilhnjr  ^ 
the  upbraiding  of  her  own  heart.  She  cliar^i  ij  her. 
self  with  all  the  miseries  of  these  disastrous  wars; 
the  deaths  of  so  many  gallant  cavaliers;  the  con- 
quest and  perdition  of  ner  country.  ,The  an^^'uish  ol 
li  r  mind  preyed  upon  the  beauty  of  her  person 
ii-r  eye,  on;e  soft  and  tender  in  its  expression,  be. 
came  wild  and  haggard ;  her  cheek  lost  its  lilooni, 
and  became  hollow  and  p.allid,  and  at  times  there 
was  vicsperafion  in  her  words.  When  her  latlipi 
sought  to  embrace  her  she  withdrew  with  shuddtr- 
ing  from  his  arms,  for  she  thought  of  his  treason 
and  the  ruin  it  h.ad  brought  upon  Spain.  \\i\ 
wretchedness  increased  after  her  return  to  her  native 
country,  until  it  rose  to  a  degree  of  ficnzy.  One 
day  when  she  was  walking  with  her  parents  in  the 
Kar<len  of  their  palace,  she  entered  a  tov/cr,  an.!, 
having  barred  the  door,  ascended  to  the  battlemenh. 
From  thence  she  called  to  them  in  piercing  arcemj, 
expressive  of  her  insupportable  anguish  an'l  d'-';per 
ate  determination.  "  Let  this  city,"  said  she,  "  b< 
henceforth  called  Malacca,  in  memorial  of  the  iro»l 
wretched  of  women,  who  therein  p'lt  an  end  to  her 
daj-s."  So  saying,  she  threw  herself  headlong  from 
the  tower  and  was  dashed  to  pieces.  The  city,  ad'i] 
the  ancient  chronicler,  received  the  n.ame  thus  given 
it,  though  afterwards  softened  to  Malaga,  win.  h  it 
still  retains  in  memory' of  the  tragical  end  of  Florinda. 

The  Countess  Frandina  abandoned  this  sri  ne  of 
woe,  and  returned  to  Geuta,  accompanied  by  her  in- 
fant son.  She  took  with  her  the  remains  ol^  h>x  un- 
fortunate daughter,  and  gave  them  honoural.a' sep- 
ulture in  a  mausoleum  of  the  chapel  belonging;  to 
the  citadel.  Count  Julian  departed  for  Carthaj;i  na, 
where  he  remained  plunged  in  horror  at  this  d.li  ful 
event. 

About  this  time,  the  cruel  Suleiman,  h.avinj,'  de 
stroyed  the  family  of  Muza,  had  sent  an  Arab  gen- 
eral, named  Alahor,  to  succeed  Abdalasis  as  eimr  or 
governor  of  Spain.  The  new  emir  was  ol  a  cruel 
and  suspicious  nature,  and  commenced  his  sway 
with  a  stern  severity  th£it  soon  made  those  under  las 
command  look  back  with  regret  to  the  easy  ru!;.'  of 
Abdalasis.  He  regarded  witTi  an  eye  cf  c'jstru.st  iht 
renegado  christians  who  had  aided  in  the  conijv.cst 
and  who  bore  arms  in  the  service  of  the  Mosl;;ns; 
but  his  deepest  suspicions  fell  upon  Count  Julian 
"  He  has  l)een  a  traitor  to  his  own  countrymen, 
said  he,  "  how  can  we  be  sure  that  he  will  net  prove 
traitor  to  us  ?  " 

A  sudd(*n  insurrection  of  the  christians  who  ha'J 
taken  refuge  in  the  .\sturian  mountains,  quickened 
his  suspicions,  and  inspired  him  with  fears  of  some 
dangerous  conspiracy  against  his  power  In  the 
height  of  his  anxiety,  he  bethought  him  ci  i»n  Ara- 
bian sage  named  Yuza,  who  had  accompanied  limi 
from  Africa.  This  son  of  science  was  withered  in 
form,  and  looked  as  if  he  had  outlived  the  usual 
term  of  mortal  life.    Ir.  the  course  of  his  studies  apf 


LEGENDS   OF  THE   CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


887 


(ravels  in  the  east,  he  had  collected  the  knowledp;e 
ind  experience  of  ages;  being  skilled  in  astrolojry, 
ind,  it  is  said,  in  necromancy,  and  possessing  the 
niirvtllous  gift  of  prophecy  or  divin  nion.  To  t'  s 
Mpoiiiuier  of  mysteries  Aiaiior  applied  to  Idrn 
whettitT  any  secret  trc.ison  menaced  his  safety. 

Til''  astrologer  listened  with  deep  attention,  and 
jierwht-'lming  brow,  to  all  the  surmises  and  suspi- 
cion? of  the  emir,  then  shut  himself  up  to  consult 
^is  lKioi<s  and  commune  with  those  supernatural  in- 
ttlli^nices  subservient  to  his  wisdom.  At  an  ap- 
nrjinit'd  hour  the  emir  sought  him  in  his  cell.  It  was 
filled  with  the  smoke  of  perfumes ;  squares  and  cir- 
cles and  various  diagrams  were  described  upon  the 
floor,  and  the  astrologer  was  poring  over  a  scroll  of 
parchment,  covered  with  cabalistic  char.icters.  He 
received  Alahor  with  a  gloomy  and  sinister  aspect ; 
pretending  to  have  discovered  fearful  portents  in  the 
heavens,  and  to  have  had  strange  dreams  and  mys- 
tic visions. 

"0  emir,"  said  he,  "be  on  your  guard!  treason 
i$,ui)und  yuu  and  in  your  path  ;  your  life  is  in  peril. 
Beware  of  Count  lulian  and  his  family." 

"Knough,"  saicl  the  emir.  "Thev  shall  all  die  I 
Parents  and  children— all  shall  die  ! ' 

He  forthwith  sent  a  summons  to  Count  Julian  to 
attend  him  in  Cordovji,  The  messenger  found  him 
plunged  in  affliction  for  the  recent  death  of  his 
dauijhter,  The  count  excuscfl  himself,  on  account 
of  this  misfortune,  trom  ohi-ying  the  commands  of 
(he  emir  in  person,  but  sent  several  of  his  adherents. 
H  s  hesitation,  and  the  circumstance  of  his  havin>; 
Kilt  his  family  across  the  straits  to  Africa,  were 
.:onstnied  liy  tlie  jealous  mind  of  the  emir  into  proofs 
\if  guilt.  He  no  longer  doubted  his  being  concern- 
fd  in  the  recent  insurrections,  and  that  he  had  sent 
bis  lamily  away,  preparatory  to  an  atteinj)t,  by  force 
of  arms,  to  subvert  tiie  Moslem  domination.  In  his 
•iiry  iie  put  to  death  Siseburto  and  livan,  the  neph- 
fivs  n{  Bishop  Oppas,  and  sons  of  the  former  kiiip, 
Wi:iza,  suspecting  tiiein  of  taking  part  in  the  trea- 
son. Thus  did  they  expiate  their  trrachery  to  their 
ccunir)'  in  the  fatal  battle  of  the  (iuadal<'te. 

Alahor  next  hastened  to  Cartha),'ena  to  seize  upon 
Co.int  Julian.  So  rapid  were  his  movements  that 
the  count  had  barely  time  to  escape  with  fifteen 
cavahers,  with  whom  he  took  refuj^e  in  the  strong 
castle  of  Marcuello,  among  the  mountains  of  Arra- 
Ijon.  The  emir,  enr.itjed  to  be  disappointed  of  his 
prey,  einbarketl  at  Carthagena  and  crossed  the 
straits  to  Ceuta,  to  make  captives  of  the  Countess 
Frandina  and  her  son. 

The  old  chronicle  fn)m  which  we  take  this  part  of 
our  ieijend,  presents  a  gloomy  picture  of  the  count- 
less in  the  stem  fortn-ss  to  which  she  had  tied  for 
rrt'iij^'e  ;  a  picture  heightened  by  supernatural  hor- 
rors. These  latter,  the  sagacious  reader  will  admit 
or  reject  according  to  the  measure  of  his  faith  and 
••Jiif^ment ;  always  reinembering  that  in  dark  and 
♦\tnilul  times,  like  those  in  question,  involvinj;  v.ie 
.'(Stiiiies  of  nations,  the  downfall  of  kinifdonis,  and 
th;-  crimes  of  rulers  and  miglity  nicn,  the  hand  of 
fitt.'  is  sometimes  strangely  visible,  and  confoun  Is 
the  wisilom  of  the  worldly  wise,  by  intimations  ai.d 
ricrtents  abo\e  the  ordinary  course  of  things.  With 
i.  s  proviso,  we  make  no  scnipie  to  follow  the  ven- 
,'1  iMe  chronicler  in  his  narration. 

Nov/  so  it  happened,  that  the  countess  of  Frandina 
*is  seated  late  at  night  in  her  clianibor  in  the  cita- 
;ii!  ot  Ceuta,  which  stands  on  a  lofty  rock,  overlook- 
ing the  sea.  She  w,as  revolving  in  gloomy  thought 
!l.^'  late  disasters  of  her  family,  when  sh":  hearcl  a 
iii'juniful  noi.se  like  that  of  the  sea  breeze  moaning 
niwut  the  ca.stle  walls.  Raising  her  eyes,  she  be- 
held het  brother,  the  Bishop  Oppa.s,  at  the  entrance 
22 


of  the  chamber.  She  advanced  to  embrace  him,  but 
he  forbade  her  with  a  motion  of  his  hand,  and  ih* 
observed  that  he  was  ghastly  pwile,  and  that  his  eyej 
glared  .is  with  lambent  i-  .uics. 

"Touch  me  not,  sister,  '  said  he,  with  a  mournful 
voice,  "lest  thou  be  consumed  by  the  fire  which 
rages  within  me.  f.uard  well  thy  son,  tor  blood* 
hounds  are  upon  his  track.  His  ir  nncence  might 
have  secured  him  the  protection  of  heaven,  but  our 
crimes  have  involved  him  in  our  common  ruin."  He 
ceased  to  speak  and  was  no  longer  to  be  seen.  Hit 
coming  and  going  were  alike  without  noise,  and  the 
door  J  the  chamber  remained  fast  bolted. 

On  the  follow  ig  morning  a  messenger  arrived 
with  tidings  that  .he  Bishop  Opjias  had  been  made 
prisoner  in  battle  ^y  the  insurgent  christians  of  the 
Asturias,  and  had  died  in  fetters  in  a  tower  of  the 
mountains.  The  same  messenzer  brought  word 
that  the  Emir  Alahor  h.ul  put  to  oeath  several  of  the 
friends  of  Count  Julian  ;  had  obliged  him  to  fly  for 
his  W^e  to  a  castl"  in  Arragon,  and  was  embarking 
with  a  formidable  .orce  for  Ceuta. 

The  Countess  Frandina,  as  has  already  been 
shown,  was  of  courageous  heart,  and  danger  made 
her  desperate.  There  were  fifty  Moorish  soldiers  in 
the  garrison  ;  she  I'eared  that  they  would  prove 
treacherous,  and  taki?  i)art  with  their  countrymen. 
Summoning  her  oflicers,  therefore,  she  informed 
them  of  their  danger,  and  commanded  them  to  put 
those  Moors  to  death.  The  guards  sallied  forth  to 
obey  her  orders.  Ihirtytive  of  the  Moors  were  in 
the  great  square,  unsuspicious  of  any  danger,  when 
they  were  severally  singled  out  by  their  executionert, 
antl  at  a  concerted  signal,  killed  on  the  spot.  The  rB- 
maining  fifteen  i^iok  retuge  in  a  tower.  They  saw  the 
armada  of  the  emir  at  a  distance,  and  hoped  to  be 
able  to  hold  out  until  its  arrival.  The  soldiers  of 
the  countess  sasv  it  also,  and  made  extraorvliniry 
efforts  to  destroy  these  internal  enemies  before  they 
should  be  attacked  from  without.  They  mad?;  re- 
peated attempts  to  storm  the  tower,  but  were  as 
often  repulsed  « itii  severe  loss.  Ihey  then  under- 
mined it,  suppi>rting  its  foundations  by  stanchions 
of  wood.  To  these  they  set  fire  and  w'thdrew  to  a 
distance,  keeping  up  a  const.mt  shower  of  missiles 
to  prevent  the  Moors  from  sallying  forth  to  extin- 
guish the  flames.  The  stanchions  were  rapidly  con- 
sumed, and  when  they  gave  way  the  tower  fi,'il  to  the 
ground.  .Some  of  the  Moors  were  crushed  arnone 
the  ruins ;  othe.-s  were  flung  to  a  distance  and 
dashed  among  the  rocks;  those  who  survived  were 
instantly  put  to  tiie  sword. 

The  fleet  of  the  emir  arrived  at  Ceuta  about  the 
hour  of  vespers.  He  landed,  but  found  the  gates 
closed  against  him.  The  countess  herself  spoke  to 
him  from  a  tower,  and  set  him  at  defiance.  The 
emir  immediately  Laid  siege  to  t!ie  city.  He  con- 
.sulte<l  the  astrologer  \'uza,  who  told  him  that  for 
seven  d.iys  his  star  woulil  have  the  ascendant  over 
that  of  the  youth  Alarbot,  but  after  thr.t  time  the 
youth  would  be  safe  from  his  power,  and  would 
effect  his  ruin. 

Alahor  immediately  ordered  the  city  to  be  assailerl 
on  every  side,  and  at  leni^th  carried  it  hy  filonr.. 
The  countess  took  refuge  with  iicr  forces  in  the  cita» 
del  anil  made  desper.ite  defence,  but  the  wall.5  were 
sapped  and  mined,  and  she  saw  that  all  resist-^nce 
would  soon  be  unavailing.  Her  only  thoughts  now 
were  to  conceal  her  child.  "  Surely,"  said  she,  "  they 
will  not  think  of  seeking  him  among  the  dead."  She 
led  him  therefore  into  the  dark  and  dismal  chapcL 
"Thou  art  not  afraid  to  )>e  alor;  in  this  darkness, 
my  child."  s.aid  she. 

"  No,  mother,"  repUed  the  br^y,  "darkness  gives 
silence  and  sleep."    She  conducted  him  to  the  tomb 


1 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


h  /  _  ^v 


:1r 


ofFIorinda.  "Fearest  thou  the  dead,  my  child?" 
"  No.  mother,  the  dead  can  do  no  harm,  and  what 
should  I  fear  from  my  sister?" 

The  countess  opened  the  sepulchre.  "  Listen,  my 
son,"  said  she.  "  There  are  fierce  and  cruel  people 
who  have  come  hither  to  murder  thee.  Stay  here  in 
company  with  thy  sister,  and  be  quiet  as  thou  dost 
wlue  thy  life ! "  The  boy,  who  was  of  a  courageous 
nature,  did  as  he  was  bidden,  and  remained  there 
Hi!  that  day,  and  all  the  night,  and  the  next  day  until 
the  third  hour. 

In  the  meantime  the  walls  of  the  citadel  were 
s-ipped,  the  troops  of  the  emir  poured  in  at  the 
breach,  and  a  great  part  of  the  garrison  was  put  to 
the  sword.  The  countess  was  taken  prisoner  and 
brought  br.fore  the  emir.  She  appeared  in  his  pres- 
ence with  a  haughty  demeanour,  as  if  she  had  been 
a  queen  receiving  homage ;  but  when  he  demanded 
her  son,  she  faltered  and  turned  pale  and  replied, 
"  My  son  is  with  the  dead." 

"  Countess,"  said  the  emir,  "  I  am  not  to  be  de- 
ceived ;  tell  me  where  you  have  concealed  the  boy, 
or  tortures  shall  wring  from  you  the  secret." 

"  Emir,"  replied  the  countess,  "  may  the  greatest 
torments  be  my  portion,  both  here  and  hereafter,  if 
what  I  speak  be  not  the  truth.  My  darling  child 
lies  buried  with  the  dead." 

The  emir  was  confounded  by  the  solemnity  of  her 
words;  but  the  withered  astrologer  Yuza,  who 
stood  by  his  side  regarding  the  countess  from  be- 
neath his  bushed  eyebrows,  perceived  trouble  in  her 
countenance  and  equivocation  in  her  words.  "  Leave 
this  matter  to  me,'  whispered  he  to  Alahor,  "  I  will 
produce  the  child." 

He  ordered  strict  search  to  be  made  by  the  sol- 
diery, and  he  obliged  the  countess  to  be  always 
present.  When  they  came  to  the  chapel,  her  cheek 
turned  pale  and  her  lip  quivered.  "  This,"  said  the 
rubtile  astrologer,  "  is  the  place  of  concealment ! " 

The  search  throughout  the  chapel,  however,  was 
eaually  vain,  and  the  soldiers  were  about  to  depart, 
when  Yuza  remarked  a  slight  gleam  of  joy  in  the  eye 
of  the  countess.  "  We  are  leaving  our  prey  behind," 
thought  he,  "  the  countess  is  exulting." 

He  now  called  to  mind  the  words  of  her  assevera- 
tion, that  her  child  was  with  the  dead.  Turning 
suddenly  to  the  •soldiers  he  ordered  them  to  search 
the  sepulchres.  "  If  you  find  him  not,"  said  he, 
"drag  forth  the  bones  of  that  wanton  Cava,  that 
they  may  be  burnt,  and  the  ashes  scattered  to  the 
winds." 

The  soldiers  searched  among  the  tombs  and  found 
that  of  Florinda  partly  open.  Within  lay  the  boy  in 
the  SDund  sleep  of  childhood,  and  one  of  the  soldiers 
took  him  gently  in  his  arms  to  bear  him  to  the  emir. 

V  hen  the  countess  beheld  that  her  child  was  dis- 
covered, she  rushed  into  the  presence  of  Alahor, 
and,  forgetting  all  her  pride,  threw  herself  upon  her 
knees  before  him. 

"  Mercy !  mercy !  "  cried  she  in  piercing  accents, 
"  mercy  on  my  son — my  only  child  !  O  emir !  listen 
to  a  mother's  prayer,  and  my  lips  shall  kiss  thy  feet. 
As  thou  art  merciful  to  him,  so  may  the  most  high 
God  have  mercy  upon  thee,  and  heap  blessings  on 
thy  head." 

"  Bear  that  frantic  woman  hence,"  said  the  emir, 
"bat  guard  her  well" 

The  countess  was  dragged  away  by  the  soldiery 
without  regard  to  her  struggles  and  her  cries,  and 
confined  in  a  dungeon  of  the  cit.idel. 

The  child  was  now  brought  to  the  emir.  He  had 
been  awakened  by  the  tumult,  but  gazed  fearlessly 
on  the  stem  countenances  of  the  soldiers.  Had  the 
heart  of  the  emir  been  cipable  of  pity,  it  would  have 
been  touched  by  the  tender  youth  and  innocent 


beauty  of  the  child ;  but  hs  heart  was  as  the  nethet 
millstone,  and  he  was  bent  upon  the  destruction  of 
the  whole  family  of  Julian,  calling  to  him  the  as- 
trologer, he  gave  the  child  into  his  charge  with  a 
secret  command.  The  withered  son  of  the  desert 
took  the  boy  by  the  hand,  and  led  him  up  the  wind- 
ing staircase  of  a  tower.  When  they  reached  th.- 
summit  Yuza  placed  him  en  the  battlements. 

"  Cling  not  to  me,  my  child,"  said  he,  "  there  is 
no  danger."  "Father,  I  fear  not,"  said  the  un- 
daunted  boy,  "  yet  it  is  a  wondrous  height  I " 

The  child  looked  around  with  delighted  eyes. 
The  breeze  blew  his  cur'ng  locks  from  about  his 
face,  and  his  cheek  glowed  at  the  boundless  pros- 
pect; for  the  tower  was  reared  upon  that  lofty 
promontory  on  which  Hercules  founded  one  of  his 
pillars.  The  surges  of  the  sea  were  heard  far  below, 
beating  upon  the  rocks,  the  sea-gull  screamed  and 
wheeled  about  the  foundations  of  the  tower,  and  the 
sails  of  lofty  caraccas  were  as  mere  specks  on  the 
bosom  of  the  deep. 

"  Dost  thou  know  yonder  land  beyond  the  blue 
water?  "  said  Yuza. 

"  It  is  Spain,"  replied  the  boy,  "  it  is  the  land  of 
my  father  and  my  mother." 

"  Then  stretch  forth  thy  hands  and  bless  it,  my 
child,"  said  the  astrologer. 

The  boy  let  go  his  nold  of  the  wall,  and,  as  he 
stretched  forth  his  hands,  the  aged  son  of  Ishmacl, 
exerting  all  the  strength  of  his  withered  limbs,  sud- 
denly pushed  him  over  the  battlements.  He  fell 
headlong  from  the  top  of  that  tall  tower,  and  not  a 
bone  in  his  tender  frame  but  was  crush«l  upcri  the 
rocks  beneath. 

Alahor  came  to  the  foot  of  the  winding  stairs. 

"  Is  the  boy  safe  ?  "  cried  he. 

"  He  is  safe,"  replied  Yuza ;  "  come  and  behold 
the  truth  with  thine  own  eyes." 

The  emir  ascended  the  tower  and  looked  over  the 
battlements,  and  beheld  the  body  of  the  child,  a 
shapeless  mass,  on  the  rocks  far  below,  and  the  sea- 
gulls hovering  about ;  and  he  gave  orders  that  it 
should  be  thrown  into  the  sea,  which  was  done. 

On  the  following  morning,  the  countess  was  led 
forth  from  her  dungeon  into  the  public  square.  She 
knew  of  the  death  of  her  child,  and  that  her  own 
death  was  at  hand,  but  she  neither  wept  nor  suppli- 
cated. Her  hair  was  dishevelled,  her  eyes  were 
haggard  with  watching,  and  her  cheek  was  as  the 
monumental  stone,  but  there  were  the  remains  of 
commanding  beauty  in  her  countenance,  and  the 
majesty  of  her  presence  awed  even  the  rabble  into 
respect. 

A  multitude  of  Christian  prisoners  were  then 
brought  forth ;  and  Alahor  cried  out — "  Behold  the 
wife  of  Count  Julian ;  behold  one  of  that  traitorous 
family  which  has  brought  ruin  upon  yourselves  and 
upon  your  country."  And  he  ordered  that  they 
should  stone  her  to  death.  But  the  christians  drew 
back  with  horror  from  the  deed,  and  said — "  In  the 
hand  of  God  is  vengeance,  let  net  her  blood  be  upon 
our  heads."  Upon  this  the  emir  swore  with  horrd 
imprecations  that  whoever  of  the  captives  refused 
should  himself  be  stoned  to  death.  So  the  cruel  or- 
der was  executed,  and  the  Countess  Frandina  prr- 
ished  by  the  hands  of  her  countr>men.  Having  thii 
accomplished  his  barbarous  errand,  the  emir  em- 
barked fnr  Spain,  and  ordered  the  citadel  of  Ceuta 
to  be  set  on  fire,  and  crossed  the  straits  at  night  by 
the  light  of  its  towering  flames. 

The  death  of  Count  Julian,  which  took  place  not 
long  after,  closed  the  tragic  story  of  his  family.  How 
he  died  remains  involved  in  cloubt.  Some  assert 
that  the  cruel  Alahor  pursued  him  to  his  retrea' 
among  the  mountains,  and,  having  taken  him  pris 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  <JONQUEST  OF  SPAIN. 


889 


not,"  said  the  un- 


d  beyond  the  blue 


gner,  beheaded  him ;  others  that  the  Moon  confined 
jiiffl  in  a  dungeon,  and  put  an  end  to  his  life  with 
liiigerin?  torments;  while  others  affirm  that  the 
tower  of  the  castle  of  Marcuello,  near  Huesca,  in 
Arragon,  in  which  he  took  refuge,  fell  on  him  and 
cnished  him  to  pieces.  All  agree  that  his  latter  end 
tras  miserable  in  the  extreme,  and  his  death  violent. 
Tl\e  curse  of  heaven,  which  had  thus  pursued  him 
10  tile  grave,  was  extended  to  the  very  place  which 
laJ  given  him  shelter ;  for  we  are  told  that  the  cas- 
Je  is  no  longer  inhabited  on  account  of  the  strange 
uid  horrible  noises  that  are  heard  in  it ;  and  that 
visions  of  armed  men  are  seen  above  it  in  the  air ; 
which  are  supposed  to  be  the  troubled  spirits  of  the 
apostate  christians  who  favoured  the  cause  of  the 
traitor. 

In  aftertimes  a  stone  sepulchre  was  shown,  outside 
of  the  chapel  of  the  castle,  as  the  tomb  of  Count 
Julian ;  but  the  traveller  and  the  pilg^m  avoided  it, 
or  bestowed  upon  it  a  malediction ;  and  the  name  of 
Julian  has  remained  a  bye-word  and  a  scorn  in  the 
Land  for  the  warning  of  all  generations.  Such  ever 
be  the  lot  of  him  who  betrays  his  country. 

Here  end  the  legends  of  the  conquest  of  Spain. 

Written  in  the  Alhambra,  June  lo,  1829. 


NOTE  TO  THE  rRECEDINO  LEGEND. 


El  licenciado  Ardevines  (Lib.  3.  e.  8.)  diie  que 
i2dKM  Doendos  caseros,  o  1m  del  aire,  hasen  apar- 


acer  exercitos  y  peleas,  como  lo  que  se  cuenta  poi 
tradicion  (y  aun  algunos  personas  lo  deponen  com* 
testigos  de  vista)  de  la  torre  y  castello  de  Marcuello, 
luear  al  pie  de  las  montafias  de  Aragon  (aora  inhab- 
itable, por  las  grandes  y  espantables  ruidos,  que  en  eJ 
se  oyen)  donde  se  retraxo  el  Conde  Don  Julian, 
causa  de  la  perdicion  de  Espafia ;  sobre  el  qual  Cas- 
tillo, deze  se  ven  en  el  aire  ciertas  visiones,  como  4; 
soldados,.  que  el  vulgo  dize  son  los  cavalleros  y  ge&te 
que  le  favorecian. 

Vide  "  el  Ente  Dislucidado,  por  Fray  Antonio  dc 
Fuentalapefia  capuchin.  Seccion  3.  Subseccion  5, 
Instancia  8.    Num.  644." 

As  readers  unversed  in  the  Spanish  language  may 
wish  to  know  the  testimony  of  the  worthy  and  dis- 
creet capuchin  friar,  Antonio  de  Fuentalape&a,  we 
subjoin  a  translation  of  it. 

"The  licentiate  Ardevines,  (Book  II.,  chap.  8,) 
says,  that  the  said  house-fairies,  (or  familiar  spirits,) 
or  those  of  the  air,  cause  the  apparitions  of  armies 
and  battles ;  such  as  those  which  are  related  in  tra- 
dition, (and  some  persons  even  depose  to  the  truth 
of  them  as  eye-witnesses)  of  the  town  and  castle  of 
Marcuello,  a  fortress  at  the  foot  of  the  mountains  of 
Arragon,  (at  present  uninhabitable,  on  account  of 
the  great  and  frightful  noises  heard  in  it)  the  place 
of  retreat  of  Count  Don  Julian,  the  cause  of  the  per- 
dition of  Spain.  It  is  said  that  certain  apparitona 
of  soldiers  are  seen  in  the  air,  which  the  rulgar  say 
are  those  of  the  courtiers  and  the  people  vLi}  aidM 
him." 


come  and  behold 


li-t 


Hi  3 


^" -" 


"'1 


t:  »^  ■ 


14  f 


!'■ 


W-: 


1.%. 


Tales  of  a  'iRAVELLiiK. 


PART    FIRST. 


STRANGE  STORIES  BY  A  NERVOUS  GENTLEMAN. 

I'll  tell  you  mora ;  there  was  a  fiih  taken,  • 

A  monitrous  fi>h,  with  a  sward  by's  side,  a  loog  sword, 
A  pike  in't  neck,  and  a  gun  in's  nose,  a  huge  gun, 
,  And  letters  of  mart  in's  mouth,  from  the  Duke  of  Florence. 

CltanthtM,    This  is  a  monstrous  lie. 
Tony,    I  do  confess  it. 
Do  you  think  I'd  tell  you  truths  ? 

Fletcher's  Wirs  for  a  Mohtm. 


[The  following  adventures  were  related  to  me  by 
the  same  nervous  gentleman  who  told  me  the  romantic 
utle  of  Thk  Stout  Gentlbman,  published  in  Brace- 
tridge  Hall, 

1 1  is  very  singular,  that  although  I  Expressly  stated 
that  story  to  have  been  told  to  me,  and  described  the 
very  person  who  told  it,  still  it  has  been  received  as  an 
adventure  that  happened  to  myself.  Now,  I  protest  I 
never  met  with  any  adventure  of  the  kind.  I  should 
not  have  grieved  at  this,  had  it  not  been  intimated  by 
he  author  of  Waverley,  in  an  introduction  to  his  ro- 
mance of  Peveril  of  the  Peak,  that  he  was  himself  the 
Stout  Gentleman  alluded  to.  I  have  ever  since  been 
itr.portuned  by  letters  and  questions  from  gentlemen, 
w  i  particularly  from  ladies  without  number,  touching 
what  I  had  seen  of  the  great  unknown. 

Now,  all  this  is  extremely  tantalizing.  It  is  like  be- 
l.'ig  congratulated  on  the  hiijh  prize  when  one  has  drawn 
n  blank  ;  for  I  have  just  as  great  a  desire  as  any  one  of 
the  public  to  penetrate  the  mystery  of  that  very  singu- 
lar personage,  whose  voice  fills  every  corner  of  the 
world,  without  any  one  being  able  to  tell  from  whence 
\  cotnes.  He  who  keeps  up  such  a  wonderful  and 
whimsical  incognito :  whom  nobody  knows,  and  yet 
whom  every  body  thinks  he  can  swear  to. 

My  friend,  the  nervous  gentleman,  also,  who  is  a 
man  of  Vfry  shy,  retired  habits,  complains  that  he  has 
been  excessively  annoyed  in  consequence  of  its  getting 
about  in  his  neighbourhood  that  he  is  the  fortunate 
personage.  Insomuch,  that  he  has  become  a  charac- 
ter of  considerable  notoriety  in  two  or  three  country 
towns  ;  and  has  been  repeatedly  teased  to  exhibit  him- 
self at  blue-stocking  parties,  for  no  other  reason  than 
that  of  being  "the  gentleman  who  has  had  a  glimpse 
of  the  author  of  Waverley." 

Indeed,  the  poor  man  has  grown  ten  times  as  nerv- 
ous as  ever,  since  he  has  discovered,  on  such  good 
authority,  who  the  stout  gentleman  was  ;  and  will 
nr/er  forgive  himself  for  net  having  made  a  more 
rtaolute  effort  to  get  a  full  sight  of  him.  He  has  anx- 
iously endeavoured  to  call  up  a  recollection  of  what 
br  saw  of  that  portly  personage  ;  and  has  ever  since 
iept  a  curious  eye  on  all  gentlemen  of  more  than  or- 
iitary  dimensions,  whom  he  has  seen  getting  into 
suge  coaches.  All  in  vain !  The  features  he  had 
ca'igbt  a  glimpse  of  seem  common  to  the  whole  race 
jf  stout  gentlemen  ;  and  the  great  unknown  remains 
is  gteU  an  unknown  as  cver.J 


A  HUNTING  DINNER. 


I  WAS  once  at  a  hunting  dinner,  giver,  by  a  wortt  j 
fox-hunting  old  Baronet,  who  kept  Bacheloi  s  HaJ 
in  jovial  style,  in  an  ancient  rook-haunted  family 
mansion,  in  one  of  the  middle  counties.  He  had 
been  a  devoted  admirer  of  the  fair  sex  in  his  young 
days  ;  but  having  travelled  much,  studied  the  sex  in 
various  countries  with  distinguished  success,  and  re- 
turned home  profoundly  instructed,  as  he  supposed, 
in  the  ways  of  woman,  and  a  perfect  master  of  the 
art  of  pleasing,  he  had  the  mortification  of  being 
jilted  by  a  little  boarding  school  girl,  who  was 
scarcely  versed  in  the  accidence  of  love. 

The  Baronet  was  completely  overcome  by  such  an 
incredible  defeat ;  retired  from  the  world  in  disgust, 
put  himself  under  the  government  of  his  housekeeper, 
and  took  to  fox-hunting  like  a  perfect  Jehu.  What- 
ever poets  may  say  to  the  contrary,  a  man  will  grow 
out  of  love  as  he  grows  old;  and  a  pack  ol  fox 
hounds  may  chase  out  of  his  heart  even  the  memory 
of  a  boarding  school  goddess.  The  Baronet  was 
when  I  saw  him  as  merry  and  mellow  an  old  bachelor 
as  ever  followed  a  hound  ;  and  the  love  he  had  once 
felt  for  one  woman  had  spread  itself  over  the  whole 
sex  ;  so  that  there  was  not  a  pretty  face  in  the  whole 
country  round,  but  came  in  for  a  share. 

The  dinner  was  prolongeil  till  a  late  hour ;  for  oui 
host  having  no  ladies  in  his  household  to  summon 
us  to  the  drawing  room,  the  bottle  maintained  its 
true  bachelor  sway,  unrivalled  by  its  potent  enemy 
the  tea-kettle.  The  old  hall  in  which  we  dined 
echoed  to  bursts  of  robustious  fox-hunting  merri- 
ment, that  made  the  ancient  antlers  shake  on  the 
walls.  By  degrees,  however,  the  wine  and  wassail 
of  mine  host  began  to  operate  upon  bodies  al- 
ready a  little  jaded  by  the  chase.  The  choice  spirits 
that  flashed  up  at  the  beginning  of  the  dinner,  spark- 
led for  a  time,  then  gradually  went  out  one  after  an 
other,  or  only  emitted  now  and  then  a  faint  gleam 
from  the  socket.  Some  of  the  briskest  talkers,  who 
had  given  tongue  so  bravely  at  the  first  burst,  fell 
fast  asleep ;  and  none  kept  on  their  way  but  certain 
of  those  long-winded  prosers,  who,  like  short-legged 
hounds,  worry  on  unnoticed  at  the  bottom  of  con- 
versation, but  are  sure  to  be  in  at  the  death.  Even 
these  at  length  subsided  into  silence ;  and  scarce!) 
any  thing  was  heard  but  the  nasal  communication; 
of  two  or  three  veteran  masticators,  wlia,  having 


842 


WORKS  OF. WASHINGTON  IRVING 


p.  .  3  '- 


been  silent  while  awake,  were  indemnirying  the  com- 
pany In  their  sleep. 

At  length  the  announcement  of  tea  and  coffee  in 
the  cedar  parlour  roused  all  hands  Trom  this  tempo- 
rary torpor.  Every  one  awoke  marvellously  reno- 
vated, and  while  sipping  the  refreshing  beverage  out 
of  the  Baronet's  old-fashioned  hereditary  china,  be- 

gm  to  thinl<  of  departing  for  their  several  homes, 
ut  here  a  sudden  diflficulty  arose.  While  we  had 
been  prolonging  our  repast,  a  heavy  winter  storm 
had  set  in,  with  snow,  rain,  and  sleet,  driven  by  such 
bitter  blasts  of  wind,  that  they  threatened  to  pene- 
trate to  the  very  bone. 

"  It's  all  in  vain,"  said  our  hospitable  host,  "  to 
think  of  putting  one's  head  out  of  doors  in  such 
weather.  So,  gentlemen,  I  hold  you  my  guests  for 
this  night  at  least,  and  will  have  your  quarters  pre- 
pared accordingly." 

The  unruly  weather,  which  became  more  and 
more  tempestuous,  rendered  the  hospitable  sugges- 
tion unanswerable.  The  only  question  was,  whether 
such  an  unexpected  accession  of  company,  to  an  al- 
ready crowded  house,  would  noi  put  the  housekeeper 
to  her  trumps  to  accommodate  them. 

"  Pshaw,  cried  mine  host,  "  did  you  ever  know 
of  a  Bachelor's  Hall  that  was  not  elastic,  and  able  to 
accommodate  twice  as  many  as  it  could  hold  ?  "  So 
out  of  a  good-humoured  pioue  the  housekeeper  was 
summoned  to  consultation  before  us  all.  'The  old 
lady  appeared,  in  her  gala  suit  of  faded  brocade, 
which  rustled  with  flurry  and  agitation,  for  in  spite 
of  mine  host's  bravado,  she  was  a  little  perplexed. 
But  in  a  bachelor's  house,  and  with  bachelor  guests, 
these  matters  are  readily  managed.  There  is  no  lady 
of  the  house  to  stand  upon  squeamish  points  about 
lodging  guests  in  odd  holes  and  comers,  and  expos- 
lag  the  shabby  parts  of  the  establishment.  A  bach- 
elor's housekeeper  is  used  to  shifts  and  emergencies. 
After  much  worrying  to  and  fro,  and  divers  consul- 
tations about  the  red  room,  and  the  blue  room,  and 
the  chintz  room,  and  the  damask  room,  and  the  little 
room  with  the  bow  window,  the  matter  was  finally 
arranged. 

When  all  this  was  done,  we  were  once  more  sum- 
moned to  the  standing  rural  amusement  of  eating. 
The  time  that  had  been  consumed  in  dozing  after 
dinner,  and  in  the  refreshment  and  consultation  of 
the  cedar  parlour,  was  sufficient,  in  the  opinion  of 
the  rosy-faced  butler,  to  engender  a  reasonable  appe- 
tite for  supper.  A  slight  repast  had  therefore  been 
tricked  up  from  the  residue  of  dinner,  consisting  of 
cold  sirloin  of  beef;  hashed  venison  ;  a  devilled  leg 
of  a  turkey  or  so,  and  a  few  other  of  those  light  arti- 
cles taken  hy  country  gentlemen  to  ensure  sound 
sleep  and  heavy  snoring. 

The  nap  after  dinner  had  brightened  up  every  one's 
wit ;  and  a  great  deal  of  excellent  humour  was  ex- 
pended upon  the  perplexities  of  mine  host  and  his 
housekeeper,  by  certain  married  gentlemen  of  the 
company,  who  considered  themselves  privileged  in 
joking  with  a  bachelor's  establishment.  From  this 
the  banter  turned  as  to  what  quarters  each  would 
find,  on  being  thus  suddenly  billeted  in  so  antiquated 
a  mansion. 

"  By  my  soul,"  said  an  Irish  captain  of  dragoons, 
one  of  the  most  meriy  and  boisterous  of  the  party — 
"  by  my  soul,  but  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  some 
of  those  good-looking  gentlefolks  that  hang  along 
the  walls,  should  walk  about  the  rooms  of  this  stormy 
night ;  or  if  I  sh»uld  hnd  the  ghost  of  one  of  these 
long-waisted  ladies  turning  into  my  bed  in  mistake 
for  Iter  grave  in  the  church-yard." 

"  Do  you  believe  in  ghosts,  then  ?  "  said  a  thin, 
hatchet-iaceu  gentleman,  with  projecting  eyes  like  a 
lobstnr. 


I  had  remarked  this  last  personage  througliotn 
dinner-time  for  one  of  those  incessant  questioner!! 
who  seem  to  have  a  craving,  unhealthy  .ippetite  in 
conversation.  He  never  seemed  satistied  with  the 
whole  of  a  story ;  never  laughed  when  others  laughed ; 
but  always  put  the  joke  to  the  question.  He  rntiici 
never  enjoy  the  kernel  ot  the  nut,  but  pestered  (Jnv 
self  to  get  more  out  of  the  shell. 

"Do  you  believe  in  ghosts,  thea ? "  said  the  in- 
quisitive  gentleman. 

"Faith,  but  I  do,"  replied  the  iovial  Irishman, 
"I  was  brought  up  in  the  fear  and  belief  of  them 
we  had  a  Benshee  in  our  own  family,  honey." 

"  A  Benshee — and  what's  that  ? "  cried  the  ques- 
tioner. 

"  Why  an  old  Jady  ghost  that  tends  upon  yout 
real  Milesian  families,  and  wails  at  their  wimlow  to 
let  them  know  when  some  of  them  are  to  die." 

"  A  mighty  pleasant  piece  of  information,"  cried 
an  elderly  gentleman,  with  a  knowing  look  ami  a 
flexible  nose,  to  which  he  could  give  a  whimsical 
twist  when  he  wished  to  be  waggish. 

"  By  my  soul,  but  I'd  have  you  know  it's  a  piece 
of  distinction  to  be  waited  upon  by  a  Benshee,  It'« 
a  proof  that  one  has  pure  blood  in  one's  veins.  But, 
egad,  now  we're  talking  of  ghosts,  there  never  was 
a  house  or  a  night  better  fitted  than  the  present  foi 
a  ghost  adventure.  Faith,  Sir  John,  haven't  you 
such  a  thing  as  a  haunted  chamber  to  put  a  giiest 
in?" 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  Baronet,  smiling,  "  1  might 
accommodate  you  even  on  that  point." 

"Oh,  I  should  like  it  of  all  things,  my  jewel 
Some  dark  oaken  room,  with  ugly  wo-begone  per 
traits  that  stare  dismally  at  one,  and  about  which 
the  housekeeper  has  a  power  of  delightful  stories  fif 
love  and  murder.  And  then  a  dim  lamp,  a  ta'il. 
with  a  rusty  sword  across  it,  and  a  spectre  ail  ir, 
white  to  draw  aside  one's  curtains  at  midnight — ' 

"  In  truth,"  said  an  old  gentleman  at  one  end 
of  the  table,  "you  pOt  me  in  mind  of  an  anec- 
dote—" 

"  Oh,  a  ghost  story !  a  ghost  story ! "  was  vo- 
ciferated round  the  board,  every  one  edging  his  chaii 
a  little  nearer. 

The  attention  of  the  whole  company  was  now 
turned  upon  the  speaker.  He  was  an  old  eentl(t 
man,  one  side  of  whose  face  was  no  match  for  the 
other.  The  eyelid  drooped  and  hung  down  like  an 
unhinged  window  shutter.  Indeed,  the  whole  side 
of  his  head  was  dilapidated,  and  seemed  like  the 
wing  of  a  house  shut  up  and  haunted.  I'll  warrant 
that  side  was  well  stufTed  with  ghost  stories. 
There  was  a  univers.il  demand  for  the  tale. 
"  Nay,"  said  the  old  gentleman, "  it's  a  mere  anec- 
dote— and  a  very  commonplace  one ;  but  such  as  it 
is  you  shall  have  it.  It  is  a  story  that  1  once  heard 
my  uncle  tell  when  I  was  a  boy.  But  whether  as 
having  happened  to  himself  or  to  another,  I  cannut 
recollect.  But  no  matter,  it's  very  Ukely  it  happened 
to  himself,  for  he  was  a  man  very  apt  to  meet  witli 
strange  adventures.  I  have  heard  him  tell  of  others 
much  more  singular.  At  any  rate,  we  will  suppc  >< 
it  happened  to  himself." 

"  What  kind  of  man  was  your  uncle  ?  said  the 
questioning  gentleman. 

"  Why,  he  was  rather  a  dry,  shrewd  kind  of  body , 
a  great  traveller,  and  fond  of  telling  his  adventures. ' 
"  Pray,  how  old  might  he  have  been  when  thi? 
happened  ?  " 

"When  what  happened?"  cried  the  gentleman 
with  the  flexible  nose,  impatiently — "  Lgad,  you 
have  not  given  any  thing  a  chance  to  happen— 
come,  never  mind  our  uncle's  age  ;  let  us  have  his 
adventurea." 


onage  throughoo, 
saant  questioner" 
ealthy  .mpetite  in 
satisfied  with  the 
en  others  lautfhed 
«»tJon.  Hercic]' 
out  pestered  tjm. 

sa?"  said  the  in- 

lovial  Irishman 
id  belief  of  them 
iiy,  honey." 
cried  theqiies- 

tends  upon  your 
their  wimiow  to 
--arc  to  die." 
^formation,"  cried 
>wing  look  .irui  a 
give  a  whimsical 
sh. 

know  it's  a  piece 
y  a  Benshee.  It? 
one's  veins.  But, 
,  there  never  was 
an  the  present  foi 
ohn,  haven't  you 
er  to  put  a  giiest 

miling.  "I  might 
int," 

hings,  my  jewel 
y  wo-begone  per 
and  about  which 
ilightful  stories  n/ 
Jim  lamp,  a  tahi, 
I  a  spectre  all  in 
at  midnight—' 
eman  at  one  eiid 
>ind  of  an  ancc- 

story ! "  was  vo- 
e  edging  his  chaii 

mpany  was  now 
IS  an  old  gentle 
10  match  tor  the 
ung  down  like  an 
i,  the  whole  side 

seemed  like  the 
ted.  I'll  warrant 
Jt  stories, 
•r  the  tale, 
it's  a  mere  anec- 
: ;  but  such  as  it 
lat  1  once  heard 

But  whether  as 
mother,  I  can  nut 
ikely  it  happened 
pt  to  meet  with 
lim  tell  of  othcTj 
we  will  suppc  >« 

ncle?     said  the 

^d  kind  of  body , 
his  adventures. ' 
3een  when  thi5 

the  gentleman 
—  "Egad,  you 
e  to  happen— 
let  us  have  hi; 


i:-^^ 


TIIK  KAArKliSKII.I.  lKVIN(i.  (■..pyrlirlit  IWII  hy  I'OI.I.AIlll  .V  >llPS-> 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  YOUNG   ITALIAN 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


sa 


The  inquiaitive  gentleman  being  for  the  moment 
liienced,  the  old  gentleman  with  the  haunted  head 
proceeded. 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE. 


.A  1,11  .V   .Ml)N> 


Mahy  years  since,  a  lonjj  time  before  the  French 
rtrolution,  my  uncle  had  passed  several  months  at 
Piris.  The  Enfjiish  and  French  were  on  better 
IflTTis,  in  those  days,  than  at  present,  and  mingled 
condially  together  in  society.  The  English  went 
abroati  to  sjienti  money  then,  and  the  French  were 
always  rrady  to  help  them :  they  go  abroad  to  save 
money  at  present,  and  that  they  can  do  without 
French  assistance.  Perhaps  the  travelling  English 
were  l.*WL'r  and  choicer  then,  than  at  present,  when 
the  wl  ole  nation  has  broke  loose,  and  mundated  the 
contini-nt.  At  any  rate,  they  circulated  more  readily 
and  currently  in  foreign  society,  and  my  uncle, 
diirini,'  his  residence  in  Paris,  made  many  very  inti- 
mate a  Hiiiaintances  among  the  French  noblesse. 

£;)mi  time  afterwards,  ne  was  making  a  journey 
in  tlie  v.'inter-time,  in  that  part  of  Normandy  called 
the  I'ays  de  Caux,  when,  as  evening  was  closing  in, 
he  pcrc<^ived  the  turrets  of  an  ancient  chateau  rising 
out  of  the  trees  of  its  walled  park,  each  turret  with 
its  high  conical  roof  of  gray  slate,  like  a  candle  with 
in  extinguisher  on  it. 

"To  whom  does  that  chateau  belong,  friend?" 
died  my  uncle  to  a  meagre,  but  fiery  postillion,  who 
;rith  tremendous  jack  boots  and  cocked  hat,  was 
Snundering  on  before  him. 

"To  Monseigneur  the  Marquis  de ,"  said  the 

pustiliion,  touching  his  hat,  partly  out  of  respect  to 
aiy  uncle,  and  partly  out  of  reverence  to  the  noble 
same  pronounced.  My  uncle  recollected  the  Marquis 
for  a  particular  friend  in  Paris,  who  had  often  ex- 
pressed a  wish  to  see  him  at  his  paternal  chateau. 
My  uncle  was  an  old  traveller,  one  that  knew  how 
to  turn  things  to  account.  He  revolved  for  a  few 
moments  in  nis  mind  how  agreeable  it  would  be  to 
his  friend  the  Marquis  to  be  surprised  in  this  sociable 
wav  by  a  pop  visit ;  and  how  much  more  agreeable 
tp  himself  to  get  into  snug  quarters  in  a  chateau, 
and  have  a  relish  of  the  Marquis's  well-known  kitch- 
en, and  a  smack  of  his  superior  champagne  and 
burgundy ;  rather  than  take  up  with  the  miserable 
lodgtnient,  and  miserable  fare  of  a  country  inn.  In 
a  few  minutes,  therefore,  the  meagre  postillion  vas 
cracking  his  whip  like  a  very  devil,  or  like  :  r  ic 
Frenchman,  up  the  long  straight  avenue  that  l.u  .c 
'.hi  chateau. 

You  have  no  doubt  all  seen  French  chateaus,  as 
every  body  travels  in  France  now-a-days.  This  was 
one  of  the  oldest ;  standing  naked  and  alone,  in  the 
midst  of  a  desert  of  gravel  walks  and  cold  stone  ter- 
races; with  a  cold-looking  formal  garden,  cut  into 
angles  and  rhomboids;  and  a  cold  leafless  park, 
Jivide;!  geometrically  by  straight  alleys ;  and  two  or 
three  noseless,  cold-looking  statues  without  any  cloth- 
ing ;  and  fountains  spoutmg  cold  water  enough  to 
make  o.^e's  teeth  chatter.  At  least,  such  was  the 
'eeling  they  imparted  on  the  wintry  day  of  my  uncle's 
risit;  though,  m  hot  summer  weather,  I'll  warrant 
•here  was  glare  enough  to  scorch  one's  eyes  out. 

The  smacking  of  the  postillion's  whip,  which  grcA^ 
more  and  more  intense  the  nearer  they  approached, 
frightened  a  flight  of  pigeons  out  of  the  dove-cote, 
and  rooks  out  of  the  roofs ;  and  finally  a  crew  of 
servants  out  of  the  chateau,  with  tne  Maniuis  at  their 
head.    He  was  enchanted  to  see  my  uncle ;  for  hi« 


chateau,  like  the  house  of  our  worthy  host,  had  not 
many  more  guests  at  the  time  than  it  could  accommo- 
date. So  he  kissed  my  uncle  on  each  cheek,  aftci 
the  French  fashion,  and  ushered  him  into  the  castle. 

The  Marquis  did  the  honours  of  his  house  with  th« 
urbanity  of  his  country.  In  f^ct,  he  w.-is  proud  of 
his  old  family  chateau ;  for  part  of  it  w.as  extremely 
old.  There  was  a  tower  and  chapel  that  had  oeen 
built  almost  before  the  memory  of  man ;  but  the  re? 
was  more  modern ;  the  castle  naving  been  neariy  de- 
molished during  the  wars  of  the  League.  The  Mar- 
quis dwelt  upon  this  event  with  great  satisfaction, 
and  seemed  really  to  entetain  a  grateful  feeling 
towards  Henty  Iv.,  for  hav  ng  thougnt  his  paternal 
mansion  worth  battering  down.  He  had  many  sto- 
ries  to  tell  of  the  prowess  of  his  ancestors,  and  sev- 
eral skull-caps,  helmets,  and  cross-bows  to  show; 
and  divers  huge  boots  and  buff  jerkins,  that  had  been 
worn  by  the  Leaguers.  Above  all,  there  was  a  two- 
handled  sword,  which  he  could  hardly  wield ;  but 
which  he  displayed  as  a  proof  that  there  had  been 
giants  in  his  family. 

In  truth,  he  was  but  a  small  descendant  from  such 
great  warriors.  When  you  looked  at  their  bluff 
visages  and  brawny  limbs,  as  depicted  in  their  por- 
traits, and  then  at  the  little  Marquis,  with  his  spindle 
shanks;  his  sallow  lanthern  visage,  flanked  with  a 
pair  of  powdered  ear-locks,  or  a/7es  de  fiij^eon,  that 
seemed  ready  to  fly  away  with  it ;  you  would  hardly 
believe  him  to  be  of  the  same  race.  But  when  you 
looked  at  the  eyes  that  sparkled  cut  like  a  beetle's 
from  each  side  of  his  hooked  nose,  you  saw  at  once 
that  he  inherited  all  the  fiery  spirit  of  his  foiefjiher*. 
In  fact,  a  Frenchman's  spirit  never  exhales,  bow- 
ever  his  body  way  dwindle.  It  rather  rarifies,  aai 
grows  more  inflammable,  as  the  earthy  particles 
diminish  ;  and  I  have  seen  valour  enough  in  a  iittk 
fiery-hearted  French  dwarf,  to  have  furnished  out  a 
tolerable  giant. 

When  once  the  Marquis,  as  he  was  wont,  p  it  oo 
one  of  the  old  helmets  that  wer'>  stuck  up  in  his  hall ; 
though  his  head  no  more  filled  it  than  a  dry  {lea  it3 
pease  cod ;  yet  his  eyes  sparkled  from  the  bottom  of 
the  iron  cavern  with  the  brilliancy  of  carbuncles ,  and 
when  he  poised  the  ponderous  two-handled  sword 
of  his  ancestors,  you  would  have  thought  you  saw 
the  doughty  little  David  wielding  the  swora  of  Go- 
liah,  which  was  unto  him  like  a  weaver's  beam. 

However,  gentlemen,  I  am  dwelling  too  long  on 
this  description  of  the  Marquis  and  his  chateau  ;  but 
you  must  excuse  me ;  he  was  an  old  friend  of  my 
uncle's,  and  whenever  my  uncle  told  the  story,  he 
was  always  fond  of  talkin?  a  great  deal  about  his 
host. — Poor  little  Marquis!  He  was  one  of  that* 
handful  of  gallant  courtiers,  who  made  such  a  de- 
voted, but  hopeless  stand  in  the  cause  of  their  sov- 
ereign, in  the  chateau  of  the  Tuilleries,  against  the 
Irruption  of  the  mob,  on  the  sad  tenth  of  August. 
He  displayed  the  valour  of  a  preux  French  chevaliei 
to  the  last ;  flourished  feebly  his  little  court  sword 
with  a  sa-sa  I  in  face  of  a  whole  legion  of  sans 
culottes  ;  but  was  pinned  to  the  wall  like  a  butterfly 
by  the  pike  of  a  poissarde,  and  his  hei  9ic  soul  was 
borne  up  to  heaven  on  his  aiUs  de  pigeon. 

But  all  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  story ;  to 
the  point  then  : — When  the  hour  arrived  for  retiring 
for  the  night,  my  uncle  was  shown  to  his  room,  in  a 
venerable  old  tower.  It  was  the  oldest  part  of  the 
chateau,  and  had  in  ancient  times  been  the  DonjoD 
or  stronghold  ;  of  course  the  chamber  was  none  ot 
the  best.  The  Marquis  had  put  him  there,  how- 
ever, because  he  knew  him  to  be  a  :raveller  of  taste, 
and  fond  of  antiquities ;  and  also  because  the  bettei 
aixirtments  were  already  occupied.  Indeed,  he  per 
tectly  reconciled  my  uncle  to  his  quarters  by  rnentio* 


BM 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


li    l>  ■,  1,1-'' 


inf  the  ^at  penonagea  who  had  once  inhabited 
them,  ah  of  wnotn  were  in  some  way  or  other  con- 
nected with  the  family.  If  you  would  take  his  word 
for  it,  John  Ualiol,  or,  as  he  called  him,  Jean  dc  Bail- 
leul,  had  died  of  cha^in  in  this  very  chanil)er  on 
hearing  of  the  success  of  his  rival,  Robert  the  Urucc, 
at  the  battle  of  Bannockburn  ;  and  when  he  added 
that  the  Duke  de  Guise  had  slept  in  it  during  the 
wars  of  the  League,  my  uncle  was  fain  to  felicitate 
himself  upon  being  honoured  with  such  distinguished 
quarters. 

The  night  was  shrewd  and  windv,  and  the  cham- 
ber none  of  the  warmest.  An  old,  long-faced,  long- 
bodied  servant  in  quaint  livery,  who  attended  upon 
my  uncle,  threw  down  an  armlul  of  wood  beside  the 
fire-place,  save  a  queer  look  about  the  room,  and 
then  wished  him  6on  repos,  with  a  grimace  and  a 
shrug  that  would  have  been  suspicious  from  any  other 
than  an  old  French  lervant.  The  chamber  had  in- 
deed a  wild,  crazy  look,  enough  to  strike  any  one  who 
had  read  romances  with  apprehension  and  forelwd- 
ing.  The  windows  were  high  and  narrow,  and  h-id 
once  been  loop-holes,  but  had  been  rudely  enlarged, 
u  well  as  the  extreme  thickness  of  the  walls  would 

Eermit ;  and  the  ill-fitted  casements  rattled  to  every 
reeze.  You  would  have  thought,  on  a  windy  night, 
some  of  the  old  Leaguern  were  tramping  and  clank- 
ing about  the  apartment  in  their  huge  boots  and 
rattling  spurs.  A  door  which  stood  ajar,  and  like  a 
true  French  door  wouki  stand  ajar,  in  spite  of  every 
reason  and  effort  to  the  contrary,  ojiened  upon  a 
Jong,  dark  corridor,  that  led  the  Lord  knows  whither, 
ana  seamed  just  made  for  ghosts  to  air  themselves 
in,  when  they  turned  out  of  their  graves  at  midnight. 
The  wind  would  spring  up  into  a  hoarse  murmur 
through  this  passage,  and  creak  the  door  to  and  fro, 
u  if  some  dubious  ghost  were  balancine  in  its  mind 
whether  to  come  in  or  not.  In  a  word,  it  was  pre- 
'Siely  the  kind  of  comfortless  apartment  that  a  ghost, 
*.i  ghost  there  were  in  the  chateau,  would  single  out 
(or  i'  ,  :avourite  lounge. 

My  uncle,  however,  though  a  man  accustomed  to 
meet  with  strange  adventures,  apprehended  none  at 
the  time.  He  made  several  attempts  to  shut  the 
door,  but  in  vain.  Not  that  he  apprehended  any 
thinir,  for  he  was  too  old  a  traveller  to  be  daunted 
by  a  wild-looking  apartment ;  but  the  night,  as  I 
have  said,  was  cold  and  gusty,  something  lilie  the 
present,  and  the  wind  howled  about  the  old  turret, 
pretty  much  as  it  docs  round  this  old  mansion  at 
this  moment ;  and  the  breeze  from  the  long  dark 
corridor  came  in  as  damp  and  chilly  as  if  from  a 
dungeon.  My  uncle,  therefore,  since  he  could  not 
close  the  door,  threw  a  quantity  of  wood  on  the  fire, 
which  soon  sent  up  a  flame  in  the  great  wide- 
mouthed  chimney  that  illumined  the  whole  chamber, 
and  made  the  shadow  of  the  tongs  on  the  opposite 
wall,  look  like  a  long-legged  giant.  My  uncle  now 
clambered  on  top  of  the  half  score  of  mattresses 
which  form  a  French  bed,  and  which  stood  in  a 
deep  recess;  then  tucking  himself  snugly  in,  and 
bunring  himself  up  to  the  chin  in  the  bed-clothes, 
he  lay  looking  at  the  fire,  and  listening  to  the  wind, 
and  chuckline  to  think  hov.r  knowingly  he  had  come 
over  his  friend  the  Marquis  for  a  night's  lodgings : 
ind  so  he  fell  asleep. 

He  had  not  taken  above  half  of  his  first  nap,  when 
'M  57as  awakened  by  the  clock  of  the  chateau,  in  the 
tir.-ct  over  his  chamber,  which  struck  midnight.  It 
was  just  such  an  old  clock  as  ghosts  are  fond  of.  It 
had  a  deep,  dismal  tone,  and  struck  so  slowly  and 
tediously  that  my  uncle  thought  it  would  never  have 
done.  He  counted  and  counted  till  he  was  confi- 
dent he  counted  thirteen,  and  then  it  stopped. 

The  fire  bad  bum'  low,  and  the  blaze  of  the  last 


faggot  wu  almost  expirinff,  burning  in  sn  all  bim 
flames,  which  now  and  tncn  lengthened  im  imo 
little  white  gleams.  My  uncle  lay  with  his  i  yvs  haij 
closed,  and  his  nightcap  drawn  almost  down  to  tin 
nose.  His  fancy  was  already  wandering,  .ind  began 
to  mingle  up  the  present  scene  with  the  enter  of 
Vesuvius,  the  French  opera,  the  Coliseun-  at  Home 
Dolly's  chop-house  in  London,  and  all  tl.p  farrago 
of  noted  places  with  which  the  brain  of  a  t!  neller  u 
cramme<l— in  a  word,  he  was  just  falling  nsltcp. 

Suddenly  he  was  aroused  by  the  sound  oi  foot- 
steps that  appeared  to  be  slowly  pacing  alon^  tht 
corridor.  My  uncle,  as  I  h.ive  often  heard  Kim  say 
himself,  was  a  man  not  easily  frighltncd  ;  s.,  lie  uj 
quiet,  supposing  that  this  m'ght  be  son  e  other 
guest,  or  some  servant  on  hii  way  to  hid.  Tht 
footsteps,  however,  approached  the  door;  the  door 
gently  opened ;  whether  of  its  own  accord,  or  wtiether 
pushed  open,  my  uncle  could  not  distint;uisii:— a 
figure  all  in  white  glided  in.  It  was  a  Itm  de,  \A\ 
and  stately  in  person,  and  of  a  most  commanding 
air.  Her  dress  was  of  an  ancient  fashion,  ample  in 
volume  and  sweeping  the  floor.  She  walked  up  to 
the  fire-place  without  regarding  my  uncle;  wlic 
raised  his  nightcap  with  one  hand,  and  stared  e.ir- 
nestly  at  her.  She  remainei  I  lor  some  time  standing 
by  the  fire,  which  flashing  up  at  intervals  r.ist  blue 
and  white  gleams  of  light  that  enabled  my  uncle  to 
remark  her  appearance  minutely. 

Her  face  w.is  ghastly  pale,  and  pr •■*^  ips  rendered 
still  more  so  by  the  blueish  light  of  tliv  t.re.  It  pos- 
sessed beauty,  but  its  beauty  was  sacldcned  bv  care 
and  anxiety.  There  was  the  look  of  one  accus- 
tomed to  trouble,  but  of  one  whom  trouble  could 
not  cast  down  nor  subdue ;  for  there  was  still  tlid 
predominating  air  of  proud,  unconquer,il)le  resol.s 
tion.  Such,  at  least,  was  the  opinion  formed  by  mj 
uncle,  and  he  considered  himself  a  great  pnys;o(j,i> 
mist. 

The  figure  remained,  as  I  said,  for  some  tinne  l^ 
the  fire,  putting  out  first  one  hand,  then  thi;  other 
then  eacn  foot  alternately,  as  if  warming  itself;  tot 
your  ghosts,  if  rhost  it  really  was,  are  apt  to  b< 
cold.  My  uncle  furthermore  remarked  that  it  wore 
high-heeled  shoes,  after  an  ancient  fashion,  with 
paste  or  diamond  buckles,  th.at  sparkled  as  though 
they  were  alive.  At  length  the  figure  turned  gently 
round,  casting  a  glassy  look  about  the  apartment. 
which,  as  it  passed  over  my  uncle,  made  his  blood 
run  cold,  an(f  chilled  the  very  marrow  in  his  bones, 
It  then  stretched  its  arms  toward  heaven,  clasped 
its  hands,  and  wringing  them  in  a  supplicating  man- 
ner, glided  slowly  out  of  the  room. 

My  uncle  lay  for  some  time  meditating  on  this 
visitation,  for  (as  he  remarked  when  he  told  me  the 
story)  though  a  man  of  firmness,  he  was  also  a  man 
of  reflection,  and  did  not  reject  a  thing  because  it 
was  out  of  the  regular  course  of  events.  However, 
being,  as  I  have  before  said,  a  great  traveller,  and 
accustomed  to  strange  adventures,  he  drew  his 
nightcap  resolutely  over  his  eyes,  turned  l:is  backtc 
the  door,  hoisted  the  bed-clothes  high  over  hii 
shoulders,  and  gradually  fell  asleep. 

How  long  he  slept  he  could  not  say,  whcr,  ix  wa 
awakened  by  the  voice  of  some  one  at  his  bed-side. 
He  turned  round  and  beheld  the  old  French  ser\'ant, 
with  his  car-locks  in  tight  buckles  on  each  side  of 
a  long,  lanthom  face,  on  which  habit  had  deeply 
wrinkled  an  everlasting  smile.  He  made  a  thousand 
grimaces  and  asked  a  thousand  pardons  for  disturlv 
ing  Monsieur,  but  the  morning  was  considerably 
adv.-mced.  While  my  uncle  was  dressing,  he  called 
vaguely  to  mind  the  visitor  of  the  preceding  night 
He  asked  the  ancient  domestic  what  lady  was  in  the 
habit  of  rambling  about  tHis  part  of  the  chateau  * 


TALKS  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


Ml 


u 


i^t,  The  old  valet  shrugmd  his  thoiilden 
ki^h  ai  ^lis  head,  laid  one  hand  on  his  bosom,  threw 
gpcn  tlie  other  with  every  finger  extended  ;  made  a 
jiost  whimsical  grimace,  which  he  meant  to  be  com- 
piiinent.iry : 

"  It  was  ot  for  him  to  know  any  thing  of  Us 
\ia,vti  fortunis  of  Monsieur." 

My  uncle  saw  there  was  nothing  satisfactory  to  be 
Itarnt  in  this  quarter.  After  breakfast  he  was  wali<- 
jg  with  the  Marquis  through  the  modern  apart- 
gtfnts  of  the  chateau ;  sliding  over  the  well-waxed 
Soon  0*  silken  saloons,  amidst  furniture  rich  in  f^ild- 
igr  anil  brocade  ;  until  they  came  to  a  long  picture 
galler),  containing  many  portraits,  some  in  oil  and 
nme  in  chalks. 

Here  was  an  ample  field  for  the  eloquence  of  his 
hMt,  who  had  all  the  family  pride  of  a  nobleman  of 
the  amien  regimt.  There  was  not  a  grand  name  in 
Normandy,  and  hardly  one  in  France,  that  was  not, 
in  some  way  or  other,  connected  with  his  house. 
My  uncle  stood  listening  with  inward  impatience, 
resting  sometimes  on  one  leg,  sometimes  on  the 
other,  as  the  little  Marquis  descanted,  with  his  usual 
fire  ami  vivacity,  on  the  achievements  of  his  ances- 
tors, wliose  portraits  hung  along  the  wall;  from  the 
martial  deeus  of  the  stem  warriors  in  steel,  to  the 
gillantries  and  intrigues  of  the  blue-eyed  gentlemen, 
with  ( jt  smiling  faces,  powdered  ear-locks,  laced  ruf- 
fles, am!  pink  and  blue  silk  coats  and  breeches  ;  not 
forgetting  the  conquests  of  the  lovely  shepherdesses, 
witn  hoop  petticoats  and  waists  no  thicker  than  an 
hour  glass,  who  appeared  ruling  over  their  sheep 
and  their  swains  witn  dainty  crooks  decorated  with 
(uttering  ribbands. 

In  the  midst  of  his  friend's  discourse  my  uncle's 
eyes  rested  on  a  (iill-length  portrait,  which  struck 
tini  as  bein^  the  very  counterpart  of  his  visitor  of  the 
freceding  night 

"Mcthinks,"  said  he,  pointing  to  it,  "  I  have  seen 
the  ori^nnal  of  this  portrait." 

"PardontUM  mot,"  replied  the  Marquis  politely, 
'<that  can  hardly  be,  as  the  lady  has  been  de.id  more 
than  a  hundred  years.  That  was  the  beautiful 
Duchess  de  Longueville,  who  figured  during  the 
ninority  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth.' 

"And  was  there  any  thing  remarkable  in  her 
history  ?  " 

Nevei  was  question  more  unlucky.  The  little 
Marquis  immediately  threw  himself  into  the  attitude 
of  a  man  about  to  tell  a  long  story.  In  fact,  my 
uncle  had  pulled  upon  himself  the  whole  history  of 
the  civil  war  of  the  Fronde,  in  which  the  beautiful 
Duchess  had  played  so  distinguished  a  part.  Turen- 
ne,  Coiigni,  Mazarin,  were  called  up  from  their 
graves  to  grace  his  narration  ;  nor  were  the  affairs 
of  the  Barricadoes,  nor  the  chivalry  of  the  Pert- 
cocheru  forgotten.  My  uncle  began  to  wish  him- 
self a  thousand  leagues  off  from  the  Marquis  and  his 
merciless  memory,  when  suddenly  the  little  man's 
recollections  took  a  more  interesting  turn.  He  was 
relating  the  imprisonment  of  the  Duke  de  Longue- 
Tille,  with  the  Princes  Cond£  and  Conti,  in  the 
rhateau  of  Vincennes,  and  the  ineffectual  efforts  of 
the  Duchess  to  rouse  the  sturdy  Normans  to  their 
ctscue.  He  had  come  to  that  part  where  she 
«as  invested  by  the  royal  forces  in  the  chateau  of 
Dieppe,  and  in  imminent  danger  of  falling  into 
iheir  hands. 

"  The  spirit  of  the  Duchess,"  proceeded  the  Mar- 
quis, "  rose  with  her  trials.  It  was  astonishing  to 
see  so  delicate  and  beautiful  a  being  buffet  so 
resolutely  with  hardships.  She  determined  on  a 
4esperate  means  of  escape.  One  dark  unruly  night, 
the  issued  secretly  out  of  a  small  postern  g^te  of 
the  (asUe,  which  the  enemy  had  neglected  to  guard 


She  was  followed  by  her  female  attendants,  a  few 
domestics,  and  some  gallant  cavaliers  who  still  re- 
mained faithful  to  her  fortunes.  Her  object  was  to 
gain  a  small  port  about  two  leagues  distant,  where 
she  bad  privately  provided  a  vessel  for  her  escape  In 
case  of  emergency. 

The  little  band  of  fugitives  were  obliged  to  per- 
form the  distance  on  foot.  When  they  arrived  at 
the  port  the  wind  was  high  and  stormy,  the  tide  con 
trary,  the  vessel  anchored  far  off  in  the  road,  and  m 
means  of  getting  on  board,  but  by  a  tishing  shallop; 
that  lay  tossing  Rke  a  cockle  shell  on  the  edge  of  the 
surf.  The  Duchess  determined  to  risk  the  attempt. 
The  seamen  endeavoured  to  dissuade  her,  but  the 
imminence  of  her  danger  on  shore,  and  the  magnan- 
imity of  her  spirit  urged  her  on.  She  had  to  be 
borne  to  the  shallop  in  the  arms  of  a  mariner.  Such 
was  the  violence  of  the  wind  and  waves,  that  he  fal- 
tered, lost  his  foothold,  and  let  his  precious  burthen 
fall  into  the  sea. 

"  The  Duchess  was  neariy  drowned ;  but  partly 
through  her  own  struggles,  partly  by  the  exertions 
of  the  seamen,  she  got  to  land.  As  soon  as  she  had 
a  little  recovered  strength,  she  insisted  on  renewing 
the  attempt.  The  storm,  however,  had  by  this  time 
become  so  violent  as  to  set  all  elTorts  at  defiance. 
To  delay,  was  to  be  discovered  and  taken  prisoner. 
As  the  only  resource  left,  she  procured  horses; 
mounted  with  her  female  attendants  sn  crottpe  be- 
hind the  gallant  gentlemen  who  accompanied  her : 
and  scoured  the  country  to  seek  some  temporary 
asylum. 

"While  the  Duchess,"  continued  the  MarquU, 
laying  his  forefinger  on  my  uncle's  breast  to  arou.** 
his  nai,'ging  attention,  "  while  the  Duchess,  pooi 
lady,  was  wandering  amid  the  tempest  in  this  dis- 
consolate manner,  she  arrived  at  this  chateau,  Hei 
approach  caused  some  uneasiness ;  for  the  clatter- 
ing of  a  troop  of  horse,  at  dead  of  night,  up  the 
avenue  of  a  lonely  chateau,  in  those  unsettled  times, 
and  in  a  troubled  part  of  the  country,  was  enough  to 
occasion  alarm. 

"  A  tall,  broad-shouldered  chassetn*,  armed  to  the 
teeth,  galloped  ahead,  and  announced  the  name  of 
the  visitor.  All  uneasiness  was  dispelled.  The 
household  turned  out  with  flambeaux  to  receive  her, 
and  never  did  torches  gleam  on  a  more  weather 
beaten,  travel  -  stained  oand  than  came  tramping 
into  the  court.  Such  pale,  care-worn  faces,  such 
bedraggled  dresses,  as  the  poor  Duchess  and  Iter 
females  presented,  each  seated  behind  her  cavalier ; 
while  half  drenched,  half  drowsy  pages  and  attend- 
ants seemed  ready  to  fall  from  their  horses  with 
sleep  and  fatigue. 

"The  Duchess  was  received  with  a  hearty  wel- 
come by  my  ancestors.  She  was  ushered  into  the 
Hall  of  the  chateau,  and  the  fires  soon  crackled  and 
blazed  to  cheer  herself  and  her  train  ;  and  every  spit 
and  stewpan  was  put  in  requisition  to  prepare  ample 
refreshments  for  tne  wayfarers. 

"  She  had  a  right  to  our  hospitalities,"  continued 
the  little  Marquis,  drawing  himself  up  with  a  slight 
degree  of  stateliness,  "  for  she  was  related  to  cc.r 
family.  I'll  tell  you  how  it  was :  Her  father,  Hcnrjr 
de  Bourbon,  Prince  of  Cond6 — " 

"  But  did  the  Duchess  pass  the  nidtt  in  the  cha- 
teau ? "  said  my  uncle  rather  abruptly,  terrified  at 
the  idea  of  getting  involved  in  one  of  the  Marquis's 
genealogicaf  discussions. 

"  Oh,  as  to  the  Duchess,  she  was  put  into  the 
apartment  you  occupied  last  night  •  wnich,  at  that 
time,  was  a  kind  of  state  apartment.  Her  followers 
were  quartered  in  the  chambers  opening  upon  the 
neighbouring  corridor,  and  her  favourite  page  slept 
in  in  adjoining  closet    Up  and  down  the  corridoi 


^17"  ''^""^^^f"^"-'' ,' ' 


""^f«~n-  ^ 


«ie 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


^4 


jl  > 


wftlKctl  the  grcMt  chasseur,  who  had  announced  her 

arrival,  and  who  acted  as  u  kind  of  sentinel  oi 
i[uard.  Me  was  a  dark,  stern,  powerrul-lookin^  fel- 
low, and  as  the  lii;ht  of  a  lamp  in  the  corridor  fell 
upon  nis  deeply-nii'irked  face  and  sinewy  form,  he 
seemed  capable  of  defenciing  the  castle  with  his  sin- 
fie  arm. 

'  It  was  a  roug:h,  rude  nifjht ;  about  this  time  of 
tlie  ye'ir. — A/>ropos—\\ovi  I  think  of  it,  last  nit{ht  was 
the  anniversary  of  h«r  visit.  I  m.iy  well  remfmbcr 
the  precise  date,  for  it  was  a  ni^ht  not  to  t>e  forgot- 
len  by  our  house.  There  is  a  smgular  tradition  cnn- 
teming  it  in  our  family."  Here  the  Marquis  hesi- 
tated, and  a  cloud  seemed  to  gather  about  his  bushy 
eyebrows.  "There  is  a  tradition — that  a  strange 
occurrence  took  place  that  night — a  strange,  myste- 
rious, intxplicable  occurrence. ' 

Here  he  checked  himself  and  paused. 

"  Did  it  relate  to  that  lady  ?  inquired  my  uncle, 
eagerly. 

"  It  was  past  the  hour  of  midnight,"  resumed  the 
Marquis — "  when  the  whole  chateau—" 

Here  he  paused  .igain — my  uncle  made  a  move- 
ment of  anxious  curiositv. 

"Excuse  me,"  s?id  tne  Marquis — a  slight  blush 
streaking  his  sullen  visage.  "  There  are  some  cir- 
cumstances connected  with  our  family  history  which 
I  do  not  like  to  relate.  That  was  a  rjde  period.  A 
time  of  great  crimes  among  great  men :  for  you 
know  high  blood,  when  it  runs  wrong,  will  not  run 
tamely  like  bloo<l  of  the  canaille — poor  l.nly  ! — But 
I  have  a  little  family  pride,  that — excuse  me — we 
will  change  the  subject  if  you  please." — 

My  uncle  s  curiosity  was  piqued.  The  pompous 
xnd  magnificent  introduction  had  led  him  to  expect 
something  wonderful  in  the  story  to  which  it  served 
I'j  a  kind  of  avenue.  He  had  no  idea  of  being 
cheated  out  of  it  by  a  sudden  (it  of  unreasonable 
ttjueamishness.  Besides,  beinjj^  a  traveller,  in  quest 
cf  information,  he  considered  it  his  duty  to  inquire 
into  every  thing. 

The  Marquis,  however,  evaded  every  question. 

"  Well,"  said  my  uncle,  a  little  petulantly,  "  what- 
ever you  may  think  of  it,  I  saw  that  lady  last  night." 

The  Marquis  stepped  back  and  gazed  at  him  with 
surprise. 

"  She  paid  me  a  visit  in  my  bed-chamber. " 

The  Marquis  pulled  out  his  snufT-box  with  a  shrug 
and  a  smile ;  taking  it  no  doubt  for  an  awkward 
piece  of  English  pleasantry,  which  politeness  re- 
quired him  to  be  charmed  with.  My  uncle  went  on 
gravely,  however,  and  related  the  whole  circum- 
stance. The  Marouis  heard  him  through  with  pro- 
found attention,  holding  his  snuff-box  unopenetl  in 
his  hand.  When  the  story  was  finished  he  tapped 
on  the  lid  of  his  box  deliberately ;  took  a  long  so- 
norous pinch  of  snuiT— 

"  Bah  1 "  said  the  Marquis,  and  walked  toward  the 
other  end  of  the  gallery. — 


Here  the  narrator  paused.  The  company  waited 
iJM*  some  time  for  him  to  resume  his  narrative;  but 
lie  continued  silent. 

"Well,"  said  the  inquisitive  gentlenaan.  "and 
MhiX  did  your  uncle  say  then  ?  " 

"Nothing,"  replied  the  other. 

"  And  what  did  the  Marquis  say  farther'  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  And  is  that  all  ?  " 

"  That  is  all,"  said  the  narrator,  filling  a  glass  of 
wine. 

"  I  surmise,'  said  the  shrewd  old  gentleman  with 
the  waggish  nose-  -"  I  surmise  it  was  the  old  house- 
ceeper  walking  hei  rounds  to  see  that  all  WmS  right " 


"Bah  I"  said  the  narrator,  "iny  uncle  wai  »« 
much  accustomed  to  strange  sights  not  tn  lcno*i 
ghost  from  a  housekeeper  I 
.  There  was  a  murmur  round  the  table  h.ilf  ..f ,,,,, 
riment,  half  of  disappointment.  I  w.-is  in'iinpd  tc 
think  the  old  gentleman  had  really  an  .^Itcrmrt  oi 
his  story  in  reserve ;  but  he  sipped  his  win*;  .iml  uj^ 
nothing  more;  and  there  was  an  odd  cxprrssicn 
about  his  dilapidated  countenance  that  left  me  i 
doubt  whether  he  were  in  drollery  or  earn'^t.        ^ 

"Egail,"  said  the  knowing  gentleman  with  the 
flexible  nose,  "this  story  of  your  uncle  pui',  me  in 
mind  of  one  that  used  to  be  told  of  an  aunt  .,i  mine 
by  the  mother's  side ;  though  I  don't  know  that  ij 
will  bear  a  comp.irison  ;  as  the  goo<l  lady  was  not 
quite  so  *prone  to  meet  with  strange  atlvcnturei 
But  at  any  rate,  you  shall  have  it" 


tHE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  AUNT. 


My  aunt  was  a  lady  of  large  frame,  strong  mind 
and  great  resolution ;  she  was  what  might  \\e  termed 
a  very  manly  woman.  My  uncle  was  a  tiiin,  puny 
little  man,  very  meek  and  acquiescent,  and  no  matcn 
for  my  aunt.  It  was  observed  that  he  dwindled  und 
dwindled  gradually  away,  from  the  day  of  lijs  m«^ 
riage.  His  wife's  powerful  mind  was  too  much  Inr 
him  ;  it  wore  him  out.  My  aunt,  however,  tool<  all  p)v 
sible  care  of  him,  had  half  the  doctors  in  town  to  pr^ 
scribe  for  him,  made  him  take  all  their  prescriptions, 
willy  nilly,  and  dosed  him  with  physic  enough  to 
cure  a  whole  hospital.  All  was  in  vain.  My  un>-le 
grew  worse  and  worse  the  more  dosing  and  nursini 
he  under\vent,  until  in  the  end  he  added  another  m 
the  long  list  of  matrimonial  victims,  who  have  been 
killed  with  kindness. 

"  And  was  it  his  ghost  that  appeared  to  her  ? " 
asked  the  inquisitive  gentleman,  who  had  questioned 
the  former  story-teller. 

"  You  shall  hear,"  replied  th;  narrator :— My  aunt 
took  on  mightily  for  the  death  of  her  poor  dear  hus- 
band t  Perhaps  she  felt  some  compunction  at  hav- 
ing given  him  so  much  physic,  and  nursed  him  into 
his  grave.  At  any  rate,  she  did  all  that  a  widow 
could  do  to  honour  his  memory.  She  spared  no  ex- 
pense in  either  the  quantity  or  quality  of  her  mourn- 
ing weeds ;  she  wore  a  miniature  of  him  about  her 
neck,  as  large  as  a  little  sun  dial ;  and  she  had  a  full- 
length  portrait  of  him  always  hanging  in  her  bed 
chamber.  All  the  world  extolled  her  conduct  to  the 
skies ;  and  it  was  determined,  that  a  woman  wlio 
behaved  so  well  to  the  memory  of  one  husband,  de- 
served soon  to  get  another. 

It  W.XS  not  long  after  this  that  she  went  to  taice 
up  her  residence  in  an  old  country  seat  in  Derby- 
shire, which  had  long  been  in  the  care  of  merely  a 
steward  and  housekeeper. '  She  took  most  of  her 
servants  with  her,  intending  to  make  it  her  principal 
abode.  The  house  stood  in  a  lonely,  wild  part  of  the 
country,  among  the  gray  Derbysnire  hills ;  with  a 
murderer  hanging  in  cnains  on  a  bleak  height  in  full 
view. 

The  servants  from  town  were  half  frighteneil  out 
of  their  wits,  at  the  idea  of  living  in  such  a  di'.nal, 
pagan-looking  place;  especially  when  they  gd  to- 
gether in  the  servants'  hall  in  the  evening,  and  com- 
pared notes  on  all  the  hobgoblin  stories  they  had 
picked  up  in  the  course  of  the  day.  They  wert 
afraid  to  venture  alone  about  the  forlorn  blacx-looic- 
ing  chambers.  My  ladies'  maid,  who  was  troubled 
with  nerves,  declared  she  cotsf'l  ne/er  sleep  alone  ic 


TALKS  OF  f   TRAVBLLBR. 


841 


I 


ny  uncif  wu  ,0i 

Ubie  half  „f  mer 
I  was  in.-linfd  u 

'llyanalitr,urto( 
m«  wine  aid  laj^ 

«  that  l,.ft  me  i^ 

or  earnf  It, 

intlftnan  «ith  the 

uncle  put.,  ,ne  j„ 

an  aunt .,)  ,Tiine, 

don  t  know  that  ii 

gowl  lady  was  not 

range  ailvcnturei 


«Y  AUNT. 


rwne.  strong;  mind, 

>t  might  he  termed 

was  a  thin,  puny 

:ent,  and  no  match 

it  he  dwindled  and 

le  day  of  his  ml«^ 

was  too  much  lor 

wever.  took  all  [m- 

tors  in  town  to  |)r^ 

their  prescriptions, 

physic  enough  to 

in  vain.    My  un'te 

losing  and  nursinj 

c  added  another  m 

us.  whc  have  betn 

appeared  to  her?" 
i^ho  had  questioned 

larrator :— My  aunt 
her  poor  dear  hus- 
impunction  at  hav. 
id  nursed  him  into 
all  that  a  widow 
She  spared  no  ex- 
ility or  her  mourn. 
:  Of  him  about  hei 
and  she  had  a  full- 
nging  in  her  bed 
her  conduct  to  the 
lat  a  woman  who 
one  husband,  de- 

t  she  went  to  takt 
try  seat  in  Derby. 
!  care  of  merely  a 
took  most  of  her 
ke  it  her  principiJ 
y,  wild  part  of  the 
lire  hills;  with  a 
•leak  height  in  full 

alf  frightened  out 
in  such  a  di?  nal, 
hen  they  g(  t  to 
evening,  and  com' 
stories  they  had 
day.  They  wert 
>rlom  blacK-look- 
vho  was  troubled 
ttt  sleep  alone  is 


Fgcn  a  "(;ashly,  rummaglnK  old  building ; "  and  the 
'  |^im:>'i.  who  was  a  kind-hearted  young  fellow,  did 
ill  in  hi ^  power  to  chrer  her  up. 

Mv  aunt,  herself,  seemed  to  tw  stmck  with  the 
lonriy  appearance  of  the  house.  Before  she  went  to 
lieij,  ihfr<'fore,  she  examined  well  the  fastenings  of 
llic  loors  and  windows,  locked  up  the  plate  with 
|(f  oivn  hands,  and  carried  the  keys,  tO(;ethcr  with 
I  Utile  box  of  money  and  jewels,  to  her  own  room  ; 
jgrihe  was  a  notable  woman,  and  always  saw  to  all 
ibinp  heiself  Having  put  the  keys  under  her  pil- 
low, and  dismissed  her  maid,  she  sat  by  her  toilet 
imn^'lng  her  hair ;  for,  being,  in  spite  of  her  irricf 
1(1  my  uncle,  rather  a  buxom  widow,  she  w.is  a  little 
Mrticiilir  about  her  person.  She  s.it  for  a  .ittle 
Khile  looking  at  her  face  in  the  glass,  first  on  one 
lide,  ilicn  on  the  other,  as  ladles  are  apt  to  do,  when 
tliey  would  ascertain  if  they  have  Iwen  in  good  looks ; 
(bra  ruystering  countiv  squire  of  the  neignhourhood, 
with  whom  she  had  Airted  when  a  girl,  had  called 
that  day  to  welcome  her  to  the  country. 

All  ot  a  sudden  she  thought  she  heard  something 
move  behind  her.  She  looked  hastily  round,  but 
there  was  nothing  to  be  seen.  Nothing  but  the 
rimly  painted  portrait  of  her  poor  dear  man,  which 
had  been  hung  against  the  wall.  She  gave  a  heavy 
Mh  to  his  memory,  as  she  was  accustomed  to  do, 
whenever  she  spoke  of  him  in  company  ;  and  went 
on  adjusting  her  night-dress.  Her  sigh  was  re- 
echoed ;  or  answered  by  a  long-drawn  breath.  She 
looked  round  again,  but  no  one  was  to  be  seen.  She 
ueribed  these  sounds  to  the  wind,  oozing  through 
the  rat  holes  of  the  old  mansion ;  and  proceedt^d 
leiiurely  to  put  her  hair  in  papers,  when,  all  at  once, 
the  thought  she  perceived  one  of  the  eyes  of  the 
portrait  move. 

"The  back  of  her  head  being  towards  it !"  said 
the  s'nrv-teller  with  the  ruined  head,  giving  a  know- 
hg  wink  on  the  sound  side  of  his  visage — "  good  ! " 

"  Yes,  sir  f "  replied  drily  the  narrator,  "  her  back 
t«ir.g  towards  the  portrait,  but  her  eye  fixed  on  its 
reflection  in  the  glass." 

Well,  as  I  was  saying,  she  perceived  one  of  the 
eyes  of  the  portrait  move.  So  strange  a  circum- 
stance, as  you  may  well  supiKM<e,  gave  ner  a  sudden 
shock.  To  assure  herself  cautiously  of  the  fact,  she 
put  one  hand  to  her  forehead,  as  if  rubbing  it ; 
peeped  through  her  fingers,  and  moved  the  candle 
witn  the  other  hand.  The  light  of  the  taper  gleamed 
on  the  eye,  and  was  reflected  from  it.  She  was  sure 
It  moved.  Nay,  more,  it  seeif)«i  to  give  her  a  wink, 
as  she  had  sometimes  known  her  husband  to  do 
when  living !  It  struck  a  momentary  chill  to  her 
heart ;  for  she  was  a  lone  woman,  and  felt  herself 
fearfully  situated. 

The  chill  was  but  transient.  My  aunt,  who  wis 
ahnost  as  resolute  a  personage  .is  your  uncle,  sir, 
(turning  to  the  old  story-teller,)  became  inst.antly 
calm  and  collected.  She  went  on  adjusting  her  dress. 
She  even  hummed  a  favourite  air,  and  did  not  make 
a  sinjjie  false  note.  She  casu.ally  overturned  a  dress- 
iiig  box ;  took  a  candle  and  picked  up  the  articles 
iei3Mri>ly,  one  by  one,  from  the  .loc  ■  pursued  a  roll- 
ing pin-cushion  that  was  making  the  best  of  its  way 
nrder  the  bed  ;  then  opened  the  door ;  looked  for  an 
Inttant  into  the  corridor,  as  if  in  doubt  whether  to 
p ;  and  then  w.ilked  quietly  out. 

Si  e  liastened  down-stairs,  ordered  the  servants  to 
jrm  il.rit  .-jclves  with  the  first  weapons  that  came  to 
hand,  placed  herself  at  their  head,  and  returned  al- 
most iniinediately. 

Her  h<istily  levied  army  presented  a  formidable 
force.  The  steward  had  a  rusty  blunderbuss  ;  the 
coachman  a  loaded  whip;  the  footman  a  pair  of 
horse  pistols ;  the  cook  a  huge  chopping  knife,  and 


the  butler  a  bottle  In  each  hund,  My  aunt  led  the 
van  with  a  red-hot  poker;  and,  in  my  opinian,  shs 
was  the  most  formidal>le  of  the  party  The  waiting 
maid  brought  up  the  rear,  dreading  to  stay  alone  in 
the  servants'  hall,  smelling  to  a  broken  bottle  of 
volatile  salts,  and  expresMJng  her  terror  of  the  gho»(> 
eses. 

"Ghosts  I"  said  my  aunt  resolutel;  "Ik  «ing« 
their  whiskers  for  them  !  " 

They  entere«l  the  chamber.  All  was  still  and  un- 
disturbed as  when  she  'eft  it.  They  approached  the 
portrait  uf  my  uncle. 

"  Pull  me  down  that  :>ict'jrc ! "  cried  m^  aunt. 

A  heavy  groan,  and  a  sound  like  the  chattering 
of  teeth,  was  heard  from  the  portrait.  The  servanti 
shrunk  back.  The  maid  uttered  a  faint  shriek,  and 
clung  to  the  footman. 

"  Instantly  I "  added  my  aunt,  with  a  stamp  of  the 
foot. 

The  picture  was  pulled  down,  and  from  a  recess 
behind  it.  in  which  had  formerly  stood  a  clock,  they 
hauled  forth  a  round-shouldcrecl,  black-bearded  var- 
let,  with  a  knife  as  long  as  my  arm,  but  trembling 
all  over  like  an  aspen  leaf. 

"  Well,  and  who  was  he  ?  No  ghost,  I  suppose  ! " 
said  the  inquisitive  gentleman. 

"A  knight  of  the  post,"  replied  the  narrator, 
"  who  hacT  been  smitten  with  the  worth  of  the 
wealthy  widow;  or  rather  a  marauding  Tarquin, 
who  had  stolen  into  her  chamber  to  violate  her 
purse  and  rifle  her  strong  box  when  all  the  house 
should  be  asleep.  In  plain  terms,"  continued  he. 
"  the  vagabond  was  a  loose  idle  fellow  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, who  had  once  been  a  servant  in  the  house, 
and  had  been  employed  to  assist  in  arranging  it  foi 
the  reception  of  its  mistress.  He  confessed  tnat  he 
had  contrived  his  hiding-place  for  his  nefarious  p\ir> 
poses,  and  had  borrowed  an  eye  from  the  portrait  by 
way  of  a  reconnoitering  hole.' 

"  And  what  did  they  do  with  him — did  they  hang 
him  ?  "  resumed  the  questioner. 

"Hang  him?— how  could  they?"  exclaimed  a 
beetle-browed  barrister,  with  a  hawk's  nose — "  the 
offence  was  not  capital— no  robbery  nor  assault  had 
been  committed — no  forcible  entry  or  breaking  into 
the  premises — " 

"My  aunt."  said  the  nanator,  "  was  a  woman  of 
spirit,  and  apt  to  take  the  law  into  her  own  hands. 
Sne  had  her  own  notions  of  cleanliness  also.  She 
ordered  the  fellow  to  be  drawn  through  the  horse- 
pond  to  cleanse  away  all  offences,  and  then  to  be 
well  rubbed  down  with  an  oaken  towel." 

"  And  what  became  of  him  afterwards  ?  "  said  the 
inquisitive  gentleman. 

"  I  do  not  e.\actly  know — I  believe  he  was  sent  on 
a  voyage  of  improvement  to  Bot.any  Biiy." 

"  And  your  aunt — "  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman 
— "  I'll  warrant  she  took  care  to  make  her  maid 
sleep  in  the  room  with  her  after  that" 

"  No,  sir,  she  did  better — she  gave  her  hand  short- 
ly after  to  the  roystering  squire;  for  she  used  ts 
observe  it  was  a  dismal  thing  for  a  woman  to  slnrji 
alone  in  the  country." 

"  She  W.-IS  right,'  observed  the  inquisitive  gentlOi 
man,  nodding  his  head  sagaciously — "but  I  am 
sorry  they  did  not  hang  that  fellow." 

It  was  agreed  on  all  hands  that  the  last  narratoi 
had  brought  his  tale  to  the  most  satisfactory  con- 
clusion ;  though  a  country  clergyman  present  re 
grctted  that  the  uncle  and  aunt,  who  figured  in  th« 
different  stories,  had  not  been  married  together. 
They  certainly  wouM  have  '»een  well  matched. 

"But  I  don't  see,  afler  all,"  said  the  inouisitive 
gentleman,  '  that  there  was  any  ghost  in  this  last 
story.  " 


548 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


J*  -n* 


;-^N 


"Oh,  it  It's  ghosts  you  want,  honey,"  cried  the 
Irish  captain  of  dragoons,  "if  it's  ghosts  you  want, 
you  shall  have  a  whole  regiment  of  theni.  And 
since  these  gentlemen  have  been  giving  the  adven- 
tures of  their  uncles  and  aunts,  faith  and  I'll  e'en 
give  you  a  chapter  too,  out  of  my  own  family  histor}'." 


THE  BOLD  DRAGOON; 

OK.  THK  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  GRANDFATHER. 


:>A 


My  grandfather  was  a  bold  dragoon,  for  it's  a 
profession,  d'ye  see,  that  has  nm  in  the  family.  All 
my  forefathers  have  been  dragoons  and  died  upon 
the  field  ji  honour  except  myself,  and  I  hope  my 
posterity  may  be  able  to  say  the  same ;  however,  I 
don't  mean  to  be  vainglorious.  Well,  my  grand- 
father, as  I  said,  was  a  bold  dragoon,  and  had  served 
in  the  Low  Countries.  In  fact,  he  was  one  of  that 
very  army,  which,  according  to  my  uncle  Toby, 
"  swore  so  terribly  in  Flanders."  He  could  swear  a 
good  stick  himself;  and,  moreover,  was  the  very  man 
that  introduced  the  doctrine  Corporal  Trim  men- 
tions, of  radical  heat  and  radical  moisture ;  or,  in 
other  words,  the  mode  of  keeping  out  the  damps  of 
ditch  water  by  burnt  brandy.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
it's  nothing  to  the  purport  of  my  story.  I  only  tell 
it  to  show  you  that  my  grandfather  was  a  man  not 
easily  to  be  humbugged.  He  had  seen  service ;  or, 
according  to  his  own  phrase,  "he  had  seen  the 
•livil " — and  that's  saying  everything. 

V/eli,  gentlemen,  my  grandfather  was  on  his  way 
to  England,  for  whicli  he  intended  to  embark  at 
Ostend ; — bad  luck  to  the  place  for  one  where  I  was 
<cpt  by  storms  and  head  winds  for  three  long  days, 
ind  the  divil  of  a  iolly  companion  or  pretty  face  to 
comfort  me.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  my  grandfather 
was  on  his  way  to  England,  or  rather  to  Ostend — 
no  matter  which,  it's  all  the  same.  So  one  evening, 
towards  nightfall,  he  rode  jollily  into  Bruges.  Very 
like  you  all  know  Bruges,  gentlemen,  a  queer,  old- 
fashioned  Flemish  town,  once  they  say  a  gfreat  place 
for  trade  and  money-making,  in  old  times,  when  the 
Mynheers  were  in  their  glory ;  but  almost  as  large 
and  as  empty  as  an  Irishman's  pocket  at  the  present 
day.  Well,  gentlemen,  it  was  the  time  of  the  annual 
fair.  All  Bruges  was  crowded ;  and  the  canals 
swarmed  with  Dutch  boats,  and  the  streets  swarm- 
ed with  Dutch  merchants;  and  there  was  hardly 
any  getting  along  for  goods,  wares,  and  merchan- 
dises, and  peasants  in  big  breeches,  and  women  in 
half  a  score  of  petticoats. 

My  grandfatner  rode  jollily  along,  in  his  easy, 
slashing  way,  for  he  was  a  saucy,  sunshiny  fellow — 
staring  about  him  at  the  motley  crowd,  and  the  old 
houses  with  gable  ends  to  the  street  and  storks' 
nests  on  the  chimneys;  winking  at  the  ya  vrouws 
who  showed  their  faces  at  the  windows,  and  joking 
ihe  women  right  and  left  in  the  street ;  all  of  whom 
!aughed  and  took  it  in  amazing  good  part;  for 
though  he  did  not  know  a  word  of  their  langu.^ge, 
yet  he  had  always  a  knack  of  making  himself  under- 
^ooii  among  the  women.  ^ 

Well,  gentlemen,  it  being  the  time  of  the  annual 
foir,  all  the  town  was  crowd'id ;  every  inn  and  tavern 
full,  and  my  grandfather  applied  in  vain  from  one  to 
the  other  for  admittance.  At  length  he  rode  up  to 
an  old  rackety  inn  that  looked  ready  to  fall  to  pieces, 
and  which  all  the  rats  would  have  run  away  from,  if 
they  could  have  found  room  in  any  other  house  to 
put  their  heads.     It  was  just  such  a  queer  building 


as  you  see  in  Dutch  pictures,  with  a  tall  root  thai 
reached  up  into  the  clouds ;  and  as  many  gairetj  ' 
one  over  the  other,  as  the  seven  heavens  of  Ma  ' 
hornet.     Nothing  had  s.ived  it  from  tumhling  dowr 
but  a  stork's  nest  on  the  chimney,  which  ajway. 
brings  good  luck  to  a  house  in  the  Low  Countries 
and  at  the  very  time  of  my  grandfather's  arrival 
there  were  two  of  these  long-legged  b'.rds  (if  grace 
standing  like  ghosts  on  the  chimney  top     Paith 
but  they've  kipt  the  house  on  its  legs  to   his  vtn 
day ;  for  you  ina)'  see  it  any  time  you  pass  through 
Bruges,  as  it  stands  there  yet ;  only  it  is  turrnd  ir.to 
a  brewery — a  brewery  of  strong  Flemish  beer ;  at 
'.east  it  was  so  when  I  came  that  way  after  the  baule 
of  Waterloo. 

My  grandfather  eyed  the  house  curio  i-.ily  as  he 
approached.  It  might  not  altogether  hjve  stnick 
his  fancy,  had  he  not  seen  in  large  letteis  ovei  the 
door, 

HEER  VERKOOPT  MAN  GOEDEN  DRANK, 

My  grandfather  had  learnt  enough  of  the  lanf^age 
to  know  that  the  sign  promised  good  liquor.  "This 
is  the  house  for  me,"  said  he,  stopping  short  before 
the  door. 

The  sudden  appearance  of  a  dashing  dragoon  was 
an  event  in  an  old  inn,  frequented  only  by  the  peace- 
ful sons  of  traflfick.  A  rich  burgher  of  Antwerp,  a 
stately  ample  man,  in  a  broad  Flemish  hat,  and  who 
was  the  great  man  and  great  patron  of  the  establish. 
ment,  sat  smoking  a  clean  long  pipe  on  one  siile  of 
the  door ;  a  fat  little  distiller  of  (ieneva  from  Schie- 
dam,  sat  smoking  on  the  other,  and  the  botile-now.d 
host  stood  in  the  door,  and  the  ccmely  hostess,  m 
crimped  cap,  beside  him  ;  and  the  hostess'  daugh- 
ter, a  plump  Flanders  lass,  with  long  gold  pendants 
in  her  ears,  was  at  a  side  window. 

"  Humph ! "  said  the  rich  burgher  of  Antwerjs 
with  a  sulkv  glance  at  the  stranger. 

"  Der  duyvel  I "  sad  the  fat  little  distiller  of  Schio- 
dam. 

The  landlord  saw  with  the  quick  glance  of  a  putj- 
lican  that  the  new  g^est  wais  not  at  all,  at  all,  to  the 
taste  of  the  old  ones ;  and  to  tell  the  truth,  he  did 
not  himself  like  my  grandfather's  saucy  eye.  He 
shook  his  head — "  ^Jot  a  garret  in  the  house  but  wai 
full."- 

"  Not  a  garret ! "  echoed  the  landlady. 

"  Not  a  garret ! "  echod  the  daughter 

The  burgher  of  Antwerp  and  the  little  distiller  of 
Schiedam  continued  to  smoke  their  pijjes  sullnly, 
eyed  the  enemy  askance  from  under  their  broad  hats, 
but  said  nothing. 

My  grandfather  was  not  a  man  to  be  biowbt-aien. 
He  threw  the  reins  on  his  horse's  neck,  cocked  his 
hat  on  one  side,  stuck  one  arm  akimbo,  slai)po(!  his 
broad  thigh  with  the  other  hand — 

"  Faith  and  troth  ! "  said  he,  "  but  I'll  sleep  in  this 
house  this  very  night ! " 

My  grandfather  had  on  a  tight  pair  of  buckfV'is 
— the  slap  went  to  the  landlady's  heart. 

He  followed  up  the  vow  by  jumping  off  his  hoise, 
and  making  his  way  p-tst  the  staring  Mynheers  iiitd 
the  public  room.  May  be  you've  lM:er.  in  the  liar- 
room  of  an  old  Flemish  inn — faith,  but  a  handEomf 
chamber  it  was  as  you'd  wish  to  see  ;  with  a  rrlri 
floor,  a  ereat  fire-place,  with  the  whole  Bible  hist  jr) 
in  glazed  tiles ;  and  then  the  mantel-piece,  pitching 
itself  head  foremost  out  of  the  wall,  with  a  wiwle 
regiment  of  cracked  tea-pots  and  earthen  jugs  pa- 
raded on  it ;  not  to  mention  half  a  dozen  great  Delft 
platters  hung  about  the  "xwrn  by  way  of  picnircs; 
and  the  little  bar  in  one  cc  rnn.r,  and  the  bouncing 
bar-maid  inside  of  it  with  a  i  ed  »lico  cap  and  yaHxw 
ear-drops. 


TALES  OP  A  TRAVELLER. 


84S 


|th  a  tall  root  that 
^  as  many  garr,^ 
1  heavens  o^  Ma. 
|m  tumbling  dowr 
fey.  which  alwav, 
le  Low  Coururies 
Mather's  arriv;'; 
>edb.rd3ofgnicc 
J"^«-'y  top  Faith 
Is  legs  to  his  ven 
1  you  pass  throuufi 
fly  It  .s  turno.l  i,;io 
I  r  lemish  beer  •  at 
yay  after  the  baule 

se  curio  mly  as  he 
pther  hjve  sti.ick 
rge  letteis  ovei  the 

Idkn  drank. 

lghoftheIan,7uage 
■ood  hquor.  "  This 
PPing  short  before 

shing  dragoon  waj 
only  by  the  peace- 
ner  of  Antwerp  a 
mish  hat,  and  who 

pn  of  the  establish, 
ipe  on  one  side  of 
icneva  from  Schie- 
>d  the  bottle-nowd 
ccmely  hostess,  in 
le  hostess'  dal'g^. 
ang  gold  pendwifs 

gher  of  Antwerp. 
:r.  " 

e  distiller  of  Schio- 

:ic  glance  of  a  puu. 
at  all,  at  all,  to  the 
1  the  truth,  he  did 
's  saucy  eye.  He 
the  house  but  wai 

idlady. 

ighter 

le  little  distiller  of 

fir  pi|)es  sull-nly, 

T  their  broad  hats, 

to  be  browbeaten, 
i  neck,  cockfd  his 
;inibo,  slappa!  his 

It  I'll  sleep  in  this 

air  of  buckslf'ij 
eart. 

ing  off  his  hoise, 
ng  Mynheers  into 
beer  in  the  [lar- 
but  a  han(!scn'{ 
ee  ;  with  a  r.vk 
lole  Bible  hist  jr) 
e!-piece,  pitching 
ill,  with  a  whole 
earthen  JMgs  pi- 
lozen  great  Uelft 
vay  of  pictures; 
fid  the  DouMcing 
ocapand  yc'W 


My  gi  indfat^er  snapped  his  fingers  over  his  head, 
(5  he  cast  an  eye  round  the  room  :  "  Faith,  this  is 
llie  very  house  I've  been  looking  after,"  said  he. 

There  was  some  farther  show  of  resistance  on  the 
part  of  the  garrison,  but  my  grandfather  was  an  old 
loldier,  and  an  Irishman  to  hoot,  and  not  easily  re- 

Klsed,  especially  after  he  had  got  into  the  fortress, 
he  blamey'd  the  landlord,  Kissed  the  landlord's 
yife,  tickled  the  landlord's  daughter,  chucked  the  bar- 
Btid  under  the  chin ;  and  it  was  agreed  on  all  hands 
lliat  it  would  be  a  thousand  pities,  and  a  burning 
ibame  into  the  bargain,  to  turn  such  a  bold  dragoon 
|jto  the  streets.  So  they  laid  their  head',  together, 
(hat  is  to  say,  ray  grandfather  and  the  landlady,  and 
it  was  at  length  agreed  to  accommodate  him  with 
in  old  chamber  that  had  for  some  time  been  shut  up. 
"Some  say  it's  haunted!"  whispered  the  land- 
lori's  daughter,  "  but  you're  a  bold  dragoon,  and  I 
dare  say  don't  fear  gho.sts." 

"The  divil  a  bit !  '  said  my  grandfather,  pinching 
her  plump  cheek ;  "  but  if  I  should  be  troubled  by 
ehosts,  I  ve  been  to  the  Red  Sea  in  my  time,  and 
hare  a  jjleasant  way  of  laying  them,  my  clarling ! " 

And  then  he  whispered  something  to  the  girl 
which  made  her  laugh,  and  give  him  a  good-hu- 
moured box  on  the  ear.  In  short,  there  w.is  nobody 
knew  better  how  to  make  his  way  among  the  petti- 
coats than  my  grandfather. 

In  a  little  wnile,  as  was  his  usual  way,  he  took 
complete  possession  of  the  house :  swaggering  all 
over  it ; — into  the  stable  to  look  after  liis  horse ; 
into  the  kitchen  to  look  after  his  supper.  He  had 
something  to  say  or  do  with  every  one ;  smoked 
with  the  Dutchmen  ;  drank  with '  the  Germans ; 
jiapped  the  men  on  the  shoulders,  tickled  the  women 
ondei  the  ribs : — never  since  the  days  of  Ally  Croaker 
had  such  a  rattling  blade  been  seen.  The  landlord 
itared  at  him  with  astonishment ;  the  landlord's 
daughter  hung  her  head  and  giggled  whenever  he 
came  near ;  and  as  he  turned  nis  back  and  swag- 
gered along,  his  tight  jacket  setting  off  his  broad 
shoulders  and  plump  buckskins,  andhis  long  sword 
trailing  by  his  side,  the  maids  whispered  to  one  an- 
other—" What  a  proper  man  ! " 

At  supper  my  grandfather  took  command  of  the 
table  d'hote  as  though  he  had  been  at  home ;  helped 
everybody,  not  forgetting  himself;  talked  with  every 
one,  whether  he  understoocl  their  language  or  not ; 
and  made  his  way  into  the  intimacy  of  the  rich 
burgher  of  Antwerp,  who  had  never  been  known  to 
be  sociable  with  any  one  during  his  life.  In  fact,  he 
revolutionized  the  whole  establishment,  and  gave  it 
such  a  rouse,  that  the  very  house  reeled  with  it.  He 
outsat  every  one  at  table  excepting  the  little  fat  dis- 
tiller of  Schiedam,  who  had  sat  soaking  for  a  long 
time  before  he^broke  forth  ;  but  when  he  did,  he  was 
»  very  devil  incarnate.  He  took  a  violent  affection 
for  my  giandfather ;  so  they  sat  drinking,  and  smok- 
ing, and  telling  stories,  and  singing  Dutch  and  Irish 
songs,  without  understanding  a  word  each  other 
said,  until  the  little  Hollander  was  fairly  swampt 
with  liis  own  gin  and  water,  and  carried  off  to  bed, 
wfioopir.?  and  hiccuping,  and  trolling  the  '  rthen 
3t  a  Low  Dutch  love  song. 

Well,  gentlemen,  my  grandfather  was  shown  to  his 
quarters,  up  a  huge  staircase  composed  of  loads  of 
hewn  timber ;  and  through  long  rigmarole  passages, 
hung  with  blackened  painting's  of  fruit,  and  fish,  ancl 
game,  and  country  frolicks,  and  huge  kitchens,  and 
portly  burgomasters,  such  as  you  see  about  old- 
fashioned  Flemish  inns,  till  at  length  he  arrived  at 
his  room. 

An  old-tin<  a  c>i*mber  it  was,  sure  enough,  and 
crowded  with  all  kinds  of  trumiiery.  It  looked  like 
m  infimian'  for  decayH  and  superannuated  furni- 


ture ;  where  every  thing  diseased  and  disabled  wu 
sent  to  nurse,  or  to  be  forgotten.  Or  rather,  it  might 
have  been  taken  for  a  general  congress  of  old  le?itt< 
mate  moveables,  where  every  kind  and  country  had 
a  representative.  No  two  chairs  were  alike :  such 
high  backs  and  low  backs,  and  leather  bottoms  and 
worsted  bottoms,  and  straw  bottoms,  and  no  bot- 
toms ;  and  cracked  marble  tables  with  curiouslv 
carved  legs,  holding  balls  in  their  claws,  as  thougn 
they  were  going  to  play  at  ninepins. 

My  grandfather  made  a  bow  to  the  motley  assem- 
blage as  he  entered,  and  having  undressed  himself, 
placed  his  light  in  the  fire-place,  asking  pardon  of  the 
tongs,  which  seamed  to  be  making  love  tc  the  shovel 
in  the  chimney  comer,  and  whispering  soft  nonsense 
in  its  ear. 

The  rest  of  the  guests  weio  by  this  time  sound 
asleep ;  for  your  Mynheers  are  huge  sleepers.  The 
house  maids,  one  by  one,  crept  up  yawning  to  their 
atticks,  and  not  a  female  head  in  the  inn  was  laid  on 
a  pillow  that  night  without  dreaming  of  the  Bold 
Dragoon. 

My  grandfather,  for  h<«  part,  got  into  bed,  and 
drew  over  him  one  of  those  great  oags  of  down,  un- 
der which  they  smother  a  man  in  the  Low  Coun- 
tries ;  and  there  he  lay,  melting  between  two  feather 
beds,  like  an  ancho\7  sandwich  between  two  slices 
of  toast  and  butter.  He  was  a  warm-complexioned 
man,  and  this  smothering  played  the  very  deuce  with 
him.  So,  sure  enough,  in  a  little  while  it  seemed  as 
if  a  legion  of  imps  were  twitching  at  him,  and  all  the 
blood  in  his  veins  was  in  fever  heat. 

He  lay  still,  however,  until  all  the  house  wm  quiet, 
excepting  the  snoring  of  the  Mynheers  from  the  dif- 
ferent chambers ;  who  answered  one  anotlier  in  all 
kinds  of  tones  and  cadences,  like  so  many  bull-fr<^ 
in  a  swamp.  The  quieter  the  house  became,  the 
more  unquiet  became  my  gfrandfather.  He  waxed 
warmer  and  warmer,  until  at  length  the  bed  became 
too  hot  to  hold  him. 

"  May  be  the  maid  had  warmed  it  too  much  ?  " 
said  the  curious  gentleman  inquiringly. 

"  I  rather  think  the  contrary,"  replied  the  Irish- 
man. "  But  be  that  as  it  may,  it  grew  too  hot  for 
my  grandfather." 

"Faith  there's  no  standing  this  any  long»r,"  says 
he :  so  he  jumped  out  of  bed  and  went  strolling  about 
the  house. 

"  What  for  ?  "  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman. 

"  Why,  to  cool  himself  to  be  sure,"  replied  the 
other,  "  or  perhaps  to  find  a  more  comfortable  bwl — 

or  perhaps but  no  matter  what  he  went  for — he 

never  mentioned ;  and  there's  no  use  in  taking  up 
our  time  in  conjecturing." 

Well,  my  grandfather  had  been  for  some  time  ab- 
sent from  his  room,  and  was  returning,  perfectly 
cool,  when  just  as  he  reached  the  door  he  heard  a 
strange  noise  within.  He  paused  and  listened.  It 
seemed  as  if  some  one  was  trying  to  hum  a  tune  in 
detiance  of  the  asthma.  He  recollected  the  report  of 
the  room's  being  haunted ;  but  he  wts  n<i  believer  in 
ghosts.  So  he  pushed  the  d< or  gent)  ajar,  and 
peeped  in. 

Egad,  gentlemen,  there  was  a  gambol  carrying  on 
within  enough  to  have  astonished  St.  Anthony. 

By  the  lignt  of  the  fire  he  saw  a  pale  weazen-faced 
fellow  in  a  long  flannel  gown  and  a  tall  white  niefat- 
cap  with  a  tassel  to  it,  who  sat  by  the  tire,  with  a 
bellows  under  his  arm  by  way  of  bagpipe,  from  which 
he  forced  the  asthmatical  music  that  had  bothered 
my  grandfather.  As  he  played,  too,  he  kept  twitch- 
ing about  with  a  thousand  queer  contortions ;  nod- 
ritng  his  head  and  bobbing  about  his  tassellcd  night- 
cap. 

My  grandfather  thought  this  very  odd,  and  migntj 


«B0 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVINO. 


+  •■1 


V.'-' 


r^^" 


J'" 


%':  * 


i  .■%'.*••  ■ 


presumptuous,  and  was  about  to  demand  what  busi- 
ness he  had  to  play  his  wind  instruments  in  another 
gentleman's  quarters,  when  a  new  cause  of  astonish- 
ment met  his  eye.  From  the  opposite  side  of  the  room 
a  long-backea,  bandy-legged  chair,  covered  with 
leather,  and  studded  aJl  over  in  a  coxcomical  fashion 
with  little  brass  nails,  got  suddenly  into  motion ; 
thrust  out  first  a  claw  foot,  then  a  crooked  arm,  and 
at  length,  making  a  leg,  slided  gracefully  up  to  an 
SMy  chair,  of  tarnished  brocade,  with  a  hole  in  its 
twttom,  and  led  it  gallantly  out  in  a  ghostly  minuet 
about  the  floor. 

The  musician  now  played  fiercer  and  fiercer,  and 
bobbed  his  head  and  his  nightcap  about  like  mad. 
By  degrees  the  dancing  mania  seemed  to  seize  upon 
all  the  other  pieces  of  furniture.  The  antique,  long- 
bodied  chairs  paired  off  in  couples  and  led  down  a 
country  dance ;  a  three-legged  stool  danced  a  horn- 
pipe, though  horribly  puzzled  by  its  supernumerarj- 
leg ;  while  the  amorous  tongs  seized  the  shovel  round 
the  waist,  and  whirled  it  about  the  room  in  a  Ger- 
man waltz.  In  short,  all  the  moveables  got  in  mo- 
tion, capering  about ;  pirouetting,  hands  across,  right 
and  left,  like  so  many  devils,  all  except  a  great  clothes- 
press,  which  kept  curtseying  and  curtseying,  like  a 
dowager,  in  one  corner,  in  exquisite  time  to  the  mu- 
sic ;— -being  either  too  corpulent  to  dance,  or  perhaps 
at  a  loss  for  a  partner. 

My  grandfather  concluded  the  latter  to  be  the 
reason ;  so,  being,  like  a  true  Irishman,  devoted  to 
the  sex,  and  at  all  times  ready  for  a  froiick,  he 
bounced  into  the  room,  callin?  to  the  musician  to 
strike  up  "  Paddy  O'Rafferty,  capered  up  to  the 
clothes-press  and  seized  upon  two  handles  to  lead 
ier  iut : — When,  whizz  ! — the  whole  revel  was  at  an 
end.  The  chairs,  tables,  tongs,  and  shovel  slunk  in 
in  instant  as  quietly  into  their  places  as  if  nothing 
had  happened ;  and  the  musician  vanished  up  the 
;'3imney,  leaving  the  bellows  behind  him  in  iiis 
ivary.  My  grandfather  found  himself  seated  in  the 
middle  of  the  door,  with  the  clothes-press  sprawling 
before  him,  and  the  two  handles  jerked  off  and  in 
his  hands. 

"  Then  after  all,  this  was  a  mere  dream ! "  said 
the  inquisitive  gentleman. 

"The  divil  a  bit  of  a  dream  !"  replied  the  Irish- 
man :  "  there  never  was  a  truer  fact  in  this  world. 
Faith,  I  should  have  liked  to  see  any  man  tell  my 
grandfather  it  was  a  dream." 

Well,  gentleman,  as  the  clothes-press  was  a 
mighty  hea\y  body,  and  my  grandfather  likewise, 
particularly  in  rear,  you  may  e.asily  suppose  two  such 
heavy  bodies  coming  to  the  ground  would  make  a 
bit  of  a  noise.  Faith,  the  old  mansion  shook  as 
though  it  had  mistaken  it  for  an  earthquake.  The 
whole  garrison  was  alarmed.  The  landlord,  who 
slept  just  below,  hurried  up  with  a  candle  to  inquire 
the  cause,  but  with  all  his  haste  his  daughter  had 
hurried  to  the  scene  of  uproar  before  him.  The 
landlord  was  followed  by  the  landlady,  who  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  bouncing  bar-maid,  who  was  followed 
by  the  simpering  chamt)ermaids  all  holding  together, 
as  well  as  they  could,  such  garments  as  they  had 
first  lain  hands  on ;  but  all  in  a  terrible  hurry  to  see 
what  the  devil  was  to  pay  in  the  chamber  of  the 
bold  dragoon. 

My  grandfather  related  the  marvellous  scene  he 
tui  witnessed,  and  the  prostrate  clothes-press,  and 
the  broken  handles,  bore  testimony  to  the  fact.  There 
was  no  contesting  such  evidence ;  particularly  with 
a  lad  of  my  grandfather's  complexion,  who  seemed 
able  to  make  good  every  word  either  with  sword  or 
shillelah.  So  the  landlord  scratched  his  head  and 
looked  silly,  as  he  was  apt  to  do  when  puzzled.  The 
landlady  scratched — no.  she  did  not  scratch  her  head, 


— but  she  knit  her  brow,  and  did  not  teem  hall  pleaseal 
with  the  explanation.  But  the  landlady's  (laughteil 
corroborated  it  by  recollecting  that  the  last  person  I 
who  had  dwelt  in  that  chamber  wa.'  a  lartious  jmr.l 
ffler  who  had  died  of  St.  Vitus's  lance,  an.i  nj  I 
doubt  had  infected  all  the  furniture. 

This  set  all  things  to  rights,  particularly  when  the 
chambermaids  declared  that  they  had  a'l  a  itritsscd 
strange  carryings  on  in  that  room ; — and  as  they  de 
clared  this  "upon  their  honours,"  thert  could  ntf 
remain  a  doubt  upon  the  subject. 

"And  did  your  grandfather  go  to  bed  again  ir 
that  room  ?  "  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman. 

"  That's  more  than  I  can  tell.  Wheie  he  passed 
the  rest  of  the  nieht  was  a  secret  he  never  lisclosed 
In  fact,  though  he  had  seen  much  service,  he  was 
but  indifferently  acquainted  with  geography, ;  w]  apt 
to  make  blunders  in  his  travels  about  inns  ai  njg.'.t, 
that  it  would  have  puzzled  him  sadly  to  account  foi 
in  the  morning." 

"  Was  he  ever  apt  to  walk  in  b..«  sleep  ?  "  said  the 
knowing  old  gentlenan. 

"  Never  that  I  heard  of." 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  MYSTERIOUS  PIC- 
TURE. 


As  one  story  of  the  kind  produces  another,  is4 
as  all  the  company  seenled  fully  engrossed  oy  th 
topic,  and  disposed  to  bring  their  relLtNcs  and  in 
cestors  upon  the  scene,  there  is  no  knowing  hon 
many  more  ghost  adventures  we  might  have  heard, 
had  not  a  corpulent  old  fox-hunter,  who  had  sl»pi 
soundly  through  the  whole,  now  suddenly  awn kened, 
with  a  loud  and  long-drawn  yawn.  The  sound 
broke  the  charm  ;  the  ghosts  took  to  flight  as  though 
it  had  been  cock-crowmg,  and  there  was  a  universai 
move  for  bed. 

"And  now  for  the  haunted  chamber,"  said  the 
Irish  capt.-iin.  taking  his  candle. 

"  Aye,  who's  to  be  the  hero  of  the  night  ? "  said 
the  gentleman  with  the  ruined  head. 

"  That  we  shall  see  in  the  morning,"  said  the  old 
gentleman  with  the  nose :  "  whoever  looks  p.ile  and 
grizzly  will  have  seen  the  ghost." 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Baronet,  "  there's 
many  a  true  thing  said  in  jest.  In  fact,  one  of  you 
will  sleep  in  a  room  to-night " 

"  What — a  haunted  room  ?  a  haunted  room  ?  1 
claim  the  adventure — and  I — and  I — and  I,"  cried  a 
dozen  guests,  talking  and  laughing  at  the  same  time, 

"  No  —no,"  said  mine  host,  "  there  is  a  secret 
about  one  of  my  rooms  on  which  I  feel  dis()or.e  i  to 
try  an  experiment.  So,  gentlemen,  none  of  you  shall 
know  who  has  the  haunted  chamber,  until  circ  in- 
stances reveal  it.  I  will  not  even  know  it  myielf  but 
will  leave  it  to  chance  n\  d  the  a!lot:r.ent  ol  ;ht 
housekeeper.  At  the  same  time,  if  it  will  be  ani 
satisfaction  to  you,  I  will  observe,  for  the  hciioiii- :{ 
my  paternal  mansion,  that  there's  scarcely  a  cham- 
ber in  it  but  is  well  worthy  of  being  haunted.' 

We  now  separated  for  the  ni^ht,  and  each  went 
to  his  allotted  room.  Mine  was  in  one  wing  of  the 
building,  and  I  could  not  but  smile  at  its  resetn 
blance  in  style  to  those  eventful  apartments  de- 
scribed in  the  tales  of  the  supper  table.  It  was 
spacious  and  eloomy,  decorated  with  lamp-blacii 
[)ortraits,  a  bed  of  ancient  damask,  with  a  testa 
sufficiently  lofty  to  grace  a  couch  of  state,  and  a 
number  of  massive  pieces  of  old-fashioned  furniture, 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER, 


8b» 


™«ladys,!a„gh,„ 

"  ♦"«  'ast  person 

var  a  lanious  m. 

^s    lance.  ,nd  „„] 

[■^'"'"'y  when  tht 
J  had  a'l  witatsscd 

J^-andasthsyde 
I    thert  could  no'. ' 

.  to  bed  again  ir 
lentleman, 
1  Wheie  ho  passed 
le  never  -lisclosed 
Ih  servict,  he  was 
leography, ;  nrl  apt 
pout  inns  ai  night, 
fdly  to  account  for 

sleep?  "said  the 


I^STERIOUS  PIC- 


luces  another,  ajj 
cnerossed  oy  (|ij 
•  reTi.ti\es  and  a;, 
no  knowine;  hon 
might  havehearti 
;er,  who  had  sl»p) 
uddenlyaw.ikened 
awn.  The  sound 
to  flight  as  though 
re  was  a  universai 

iamber,"  said  the 

the  night  ?  "  said 
id. 

ing,"  said  the  old 
er  looks  pale  and 

Baronet,  "there's 
n  fact,  one  of  you 

lunted  room?  I 
— and  I,"  cried  a 
at  the  same  time. 
here  is  a  secret 

fee!  dispose;!  to 

none  of  you  shall 
)er,  until  circ  im^ 
low  it  myself  bjt 
allotir.enit  of  ;ht 
if  it  will  be  311} 
iir  the  hciiour  r.t 
scarcely  a  cha;r.. 

haunted.' 
t,  and  each  went 

one  wing  of  the 
le  at  its  resem 

apartments  de« 
r  table.  It  was 
ivith  lamp-black 
k,  with  a  testa 

of  state,  and  a 
iiioned  furniture. 


t|  Drew  a  great  claw-fuoted  arm-chair  before  the 
fRlde  tiru-place ;  stirred  up  the  fire ;  sat  looking  into 
it,  and  musing  upon  the  odd  stories  I  had  heard ; 
iintil.  partly  overcome  by  the  fatigue  of  the  day's 
tinting,  and  partly  by  the  wine  and  wassail  of  mme 
[  host,  I  fell  asleep  tn  my  chair. 
'  The  un<Asiness  of  my  position  made  my  slumber 
tiDubled,  and  laid  me  at  the  mercy  of  all  kinds  of 
,ild  and  fearful  dreams  ;  now  it  was  that  my  per- 
idious  dinner  and  supper  rose  in  rebellion  against 
•ny  peace.  I  was  hag-ridden  by  a  fat  saddle  of  mut- 
lon;  a  plum  pudding  weighed  like  lead  upon  my 
conscience ;  the  merry  thought  of  a  capon  filled  tne 
Kith  horrible  suggestions;  and  a  devilled  kg  of  a 
turkey  stalked  in  all  kinds  of  diabolical  shapes 
through  my  imagination.  In  short,  1  had  a  violent 
lit  of  the  nightmare.  Some  strange  indefinite  evil 
seemed  hanging  over  me  that  I  could  not  avert ; 
something  terrible  and  loathsome  oppressed  me  tliat 
I  could  not  shake  off.  I  was  conscious  of  being 
asleep,  and  strove  to  rouse  myself,  but  every  effort 
redoubled  the  evil ;  until  gasping,  struggling,  almost 
$traiii;liiig,  1  suddenly  sprang  bolt  upright  in  my 
chair,  and  awoke. 

The  light  on  the  mantel-piece  had  burnt  low, 
and  the  wick  was  divided  ;  there  was  a  great  vind- 
ing  sheet  made  by  the  dripping  wax,  on  the  side 
towards  me.  The  disordered  taper  emitted  a  broad 
flaring  flame,  and  threw  a  strong  light  on  a  paint- 
ing over  the  fire-place,  which  I  had  not  hitherto 
observed. 

It  consisted  merely  of  a  head,  or  rather  a  face, 
that  appeared  to  be  staring  full  upon  me,  and  with 
an  expression  that  was  startling.  It  was  without  a 
frame,  and  at  the  first  glance  I  could  hardly  persuade 
myjelf  that  it  was  not  a  real  face,  thrusting  itself 
out  of  the  dark  oaken  pannel.  I  sat  in  my  chair 
jaiing  at  it,  and  the  more  I  gazed  the  more  it  dis- 
qaictod  me.  I  had  never  before  been  affected  in  the 
jonie  way  by  any  painting.  The  emotions  it  caused 
were  strange  and  mdefinite.  They  were  something 
like  what  1  have  heard  ascribed  to  the  eyes  of  the 
basilisk ;  or  like  that  mysterious  influence  in  reptiles 
termed  fascination.  I  passed  my  hand  over  my 
•yes  several  times,  as  if  seeking  instinctively  to  brush 
away  this  allusion — in  vain — they  instantly  reverted 
to  the  picture,  and  its  chilling,  creeping  influence 
over  my  flesh  was  redoubled. 

I  looked  around  the  room  on  other  pictures,  either 
to  divert  my  .attention,  or  to  see  whether  the  same 
effect  would  be  produced  by  them.  Some  of  them 
were  grim  enough  to  produce  the  effect,  if  the  mere 
grimness  of  the  painting  produced  it — no  such  thing. 
My  eye  passed  over  them  all  with  perfect  indiffer- 
ence, but  the  moment  it  reverted  to  this  visage  over 
the  lire-place,  it  was  as  if  an  electric  shock  darted 
through  me.  The  other  pictures  were  dim  and 
faded ;  but  this  one  protruded  from  a  plain  black 
ground  in  the  strongest  relief,  and  with  wonderful 
truth  of  colouring.  The  expression  was  that  of 
agony-  the  agony  of  intense  bodily  pain ;  but  a 
pcnKe  scowled  upon  the  brow,  and  a  few  sprink- 
M,^  of  blood  added  to  its  ghastliness.  Yet  it  was 
sot  all  tliese  characteristics — it  was  some  horror  of 
t):e  mind,  some  inscrutable  antipathy  awakened  by 
iliis  picture  which  harrowed  up  my  feelings. 

1  tried  to  persuade  myself  that  this  was  chimeri- 
MJ ;  that  my  brain  was  confused  by  the  fumes  of 
mine  host's  good  cheer,  and,  in  some  measure,  by 
the  odd  stories  about  paintings  which  had  been  told 
»t  supper.  I  determined  to  shake  off  these  vapours 
of  the  mind ;  rose  from  my  chair,  and  walked  about 
fhc  room ;  snapped  my  fingers ;  rallied  myseii ; 
laughed  aloud.  It  wa&  a  forced  laugh,  and  the 
echo  of  it  in  the  old  chamber  jarred  upon  my  ear.    1 


walked  to  the  window ;  tried  to  discern  the  land< 
scape  through  the  glass.  It  was  pitch  darkness,  and 
howling  storm  without ;  and  as  I  heard  the  wind 
moan  among  the  trees,  I  caught  a  reflection  of  tbii 
accursed  visage  in  the  pane  of  glass,  as  though  it 
were  staring  through  the  window  it  me.  Even  the 
reflection  of  it  was  thrilling. 

How  was  this  vile  nervous  fit,  for  such  I  now  per 
suaded  myself  it  was,  to  be  conquered  ?  I  deter' 
mined  to  force  myself  not  to  look  at  the  painting 
but  to  undress  quickly  and  get  into  bed.  I  began  to 
undress,  but  in  spite  of  every  effort  I  could  not  keep 
myself  from  stealing  a  glance  every  now  and  then 
at  the  picture ;  and  a  glance  was  now  sufficient  to 
distress  me.  Even  when  my  back  was  turned  to  it, 
the  idea  of  this  strange  face  behind  me,  peering  ovei 
my  shoulder,  was  insufferable.  I  threw  off  my 
clothes  and  hurried  in>o  bed  ;  but  still  this  visage 
gazed  upon  me.  I  had  a  full  view  of  it  from  mj 
bed,  and  for  some  time  rould  not  take  my  eyes  front 
it     I  had  grown  nervous  to  a  dismal  degree. 

I  put  out  the  light,  and  tried  to  force  myself  to 
sleep; — all  in  vain  !  The  fire  gleaming  up  a  little, 
threw  an  uncertain  light  about  the  room,  leaving, 
however,  the  region  ol  the  picture  in  deep  shadow. 
What,  thought  1,  if  this  be  the  chamber  about  which 
mine  host  spoke  as  having  a  mystery  reigning  over 
it  ? — I  had  taken  his  words  merely  as  spoken  in 
jest;  might  they  have  ?  real  import?  I  looked 
around.  The  faintly-lighted  apartment  hail  all  the 
qualifications  requisite  for  »  haunted  chamber.  It 
began  in  my  infected  imagination  to  assume  strange 
appearances.  The  old  portiaits  turned  paler  and 
paler,  and  blacker  and  blacker ;  the  streaks  of  light 
and  shadow  thrown  amone  the  quaint  old  articJes  ol 
furniture,  gave  them  singular  shapes  and  characters, 
There  was  a  huge  dark  clothes-press  of  antique  foriu 
gorgeous  in  brass  and  lustrous  with  wajc,  that  began 
to  grow  oppressive  to  me. 

Am  I  then,  thought  I,  indeed,  the  hero  ot  the 
haunted  room  ?  Is  there  really  a  spell  laid  upon 
me,  or  is  this  all  some  contrivance  ot  mine  host,  to 
raise  a  laugh  at  my  expense?  The  idea  of  being 
hag-ridden  by  my  own  fancy  all  night,  and  then 
bantered  on  my  haggard  looks  the  next  day  was  in- 
tolerable ;  but  the  very  idea  was  sufficient  to  pro- 
duce the  effect,  and  to  render  me  still  more  nervous. 
Pish,  said  I,  it  can  be  no  such  thing.  How  could 
my  worthy  host  imagine  that  I,  or  any  man  would  be 
so  worried  by  a  mere  picture  ?  It  is  my  own  dis- 
eased imagination  that  torments  me.  I  turned  in 
my  bed,  and  shifted  from  side  to  side,  to  try  to  fall 
asleep  ;  but  all  in  vain.  When  one  cannot  get 
asleep  by  lying  quiet,  it  is  seldom  that  tossing  about 
will  effect  the  purpose.  The  fire  gradually  went  out 
and  left  the  room  in  darkness.  Still  I  had  the  idea 
of  this  inexplicable  countenance  gazing  and  keeping 
watch  upon  me  through  the  darkness.  Nay,  what 
was  worse,  the  very  darkness  seemed  to  give  it  .iddi- 
tional  power,  and  to  multiply  its  terrors.  It  was 
like  having  an  unseen  enemy  novering  about  one  in 
the  night.  Instead  of  having  one  picture  now  t3 
worry  me.  I  had  a  hundred.  I  fancied  it  in  every 
direction.  And  there  it  is,  thought  I, — and  thee, 
and  there, — with  its  horrible  and  mysterious  ex* 
pression,  still  gazing  and  gazing  on  me.  No— if  I 
must  suffer  this  strange  and  dismal  influence,  it 
were  better  face  a  single  foe,  than  thus  be  haunted 
by  a  thousand  images  of  it. 

Whoever  has  been  in  such  a  state  of  nervous  ci- 
tation, must  know  that  the  longer  it  continues,  the 
more  uncontroulable  it  grows;  the  very  ai  of  the 
chamber  seemed  at  length  infected  by  the  baleful 
presence  of  this  picture.  I  fancied  it  hovering  over 
me.    1  almost  felt  the  fearful  visage  from  the  wall 


M'A 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


rr.j- 


t'l' 


■  ■f' 


^r'r^. 


iS'li 


approaching  my  face,— it  seemed  breathing  upon 
me.  This  is  not  to  be  borne,  said  I,  at  length, 
tpringinff  out  of  bed.  I  can  stand  this  no  longer.  I 
shall  only  tumble  and  toss  about  here  all  night-t 
make  a  very  spectre  of  myself,  and  become  the  hero 
of  the  hauntea  chamber  in  good  earnest.  Whatever 
be  t^ie  consequence,  I'll  quit  this  cursed  room,  and 
seek  a  night's  rest  elsewliere.  They  can  but  laugh 
it  me  at  all  events,  and  they'll  he  sure  to  have  the 
laugh  upon  me  if  I  pass  a  sleepless  night  and  show 
liiem  a  haggard  and  wo-begone  visage  in  the 
ir.aming. 

All  this  was  half  muttered  to  myself,  as  I  hastily 
■lipped  on  my  clothes  ;  which  having  done,  1  groped 
my  way  out  of  the  room,  and  down-stairs  to  the 
drawing-room.  Here,  after  tumbling  over  two  or 
three  pir:ces  of  furniture,  I  made  out  to  reach  a 
sofa,  and  stretching  myself  upon  it  determined  to 
bivouack  there  for  the  night. 

The  moment  I  found  myself  out  of  the  neighbour- 
hood of  that  strange  picture,  it  seemed  as  if  the 
charm  were  broken.  All  its  influence  was  at  an  end. 
I  felt  assured  that  it  was  confined  to  its  own  dreary 
chamber,  for  I  had,  with  a  sort  of  instinctive  caution, 
turned  the  key  when  I  closed  the  door.  1  soon 
calmed  down,  therefore,  into  a  state  of  tranquillity ; 
from  that  into  a  drowsiness,  and  finally  into  a  deep 
sleep ;  out  of  which  I  did  not  awake,  until  the  house- 
maid, with  her  besom  and  her  matin  song,  came  to 
put  the  room  in  order.  She  stared  at  finding  me 
stretched  upon  the  sofa ;  but  I  presume  circum- 
stances of  the  kind  were  not  uncommon  after  hunt- 
ing dinners,  in  her  master's  bachelor  establishment ; 
for  she  went  on  with  her  song  and  her  work,  and 
look  no  farther  heed  of  me. 

I  had  an  unconquerable  repugnance  to  return  to 
ny  chamber ;  so  I  found  my  way  to  the  butler's 
quarters,  made  my  toilette  in  the  best  way  circum- 
jtances  would  permit,  and  was  among  the  first  to 
Kppcar  at  the  breakfast  table.  Our  breakfast  was  a 
substantial  fox-hunter's  repast,  and  the  company 
were  generally  assembled  at  it.  When  ample  justice 
had  been  done  to  the  tea,  coffee,  cold  meats,  and 
humming  ale,  for  all  these  were  furnished  in  abun- 
dance^ according  to  the  tastes  of  the  different  guests, 
the  conversation  began  to  break  out,  with  all  the 
liveliness  and  freshness  of  morning  mirth. 

"  But  who  is  the  hero  of  the  haunted  chamber? — 
Who  has  seen  the  ghost  last  night?"  said  the  in- 

Suisitive  gentleman,  rolling  his  lobster  eyes  about 
le  table. 

The  question  set  every  tongue  in  motion  ;  a  vast 
deal  of  bantering;  criticizing  of  counten  mces  ;  of 
mutual  accusation  and  retort  took  place.  ine  had 
drunk  deep,  and  some  were  unshaven,  so  that  there 
were  suspicious  faces  enough  in  the  assembly.  I 
alone  could  not  enter  with  ease  and  vivacity  into  the 
ioke.  I  felt  tongue-tied — embarrassed.  A  recol- 
lection of  what  I  had  seen  and  felt  the  preceding 
night  still  haunted  my  mind.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
mysterious  picture  stiU  held  a  thrall  upon  me.  I 
thought  also  that  our  host's  eye  was  turned  on  me 
with  an  air  of  curiosity.  In  short,  I  was  conscious 
that  I  was  the  hero  of  the  night,  and  felt  as  if  every 
one  might  read  it  in  my  looks. 

The  jokes,  however,  passed  over,  and  no  suspicion 
seemed  to  attach  to  me.  1  was  just  congratulating 
myself  on  my  escape,  when  a  servant  came  in,  say- 
ing, that  the  gentleman  who  had  slept  on  the  sofa  m 
the  drawing-room,  had  left  his  watch  under  one  of 
the  pillows.    My  repeater  was  in  his  hand. 

"What I"  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman,  "did 
any  gentleman  sleep  on  the  sola?  " 

"  Soho  !  soho  1  a  hare — a  hare  !  "  cried  the  old 
gentleman  with  the  fiexible  nose. 


I  could  not  avoid  acknowledging  the  w  -h,  anj 
was  rising  in  great  confusion,  wnen  a  boiste,  ^j  q]j 
squ're  who  sat  beside  me,  exclaimed,  slapping  nij 
on  the  shoulder,  "  'Sblood,  lad  !  thou'rt  the  man  ai 
has  seen  the  ghost  1 " 

The  attention  of  the  company  was  immedjatdu 
turned  to  me ;  if  my  face  had  been  pale  the  iiiotnet.i 
before,  it  now  glowed  almost  to  burning.  I  tried  t: 
laugh,  but  could  only  make  a  grimace ;  and  rouni; 
all  the  muscles  of  my  face  twitching  at  sixt  $  an^i 
sevens,  and  totally  out  of  all  controul. 

It  takes  but  little  to  raise  a  laugh  among  a  set  cl 
fox-hunters.  There  was  a  world  of  merriment  anil 
joking  at  my  expense ;  and  as  I  never  relisiicd  a  jokt 
overmuch  when  it  was  at  my  own  expense,  i  hv^^n 
to  feel  a  little  nettled.  I  tried  to  look  cool  and  calm 
and  to  restrain  my  pique ;  but  the  coolness  and 
calmness  of  a  man  in  a  passion  are  conioimded 
treacherous. 

Gentlemen,  said  I,  with  a  slight  cocking  nf  the 
chin,  arid  a  bad  attempt  at  a  smile,  this  is  all  very 
pleasant — ha !  ha  ! — veiy  pleasant — but  I'd  have  you 
know  I  am  as  little  superstitious  as  any  of  you— ha ! 
ha ! — and  as  to  any  thing  like  timidity— you  maj 
smile,  gentlemen — but  I  trust  there  is  no  one  here 

means  to  insinuate  that. As  to  a  room's  being 

haunted,  I  repeat,  gentlemen — (growing  a  little  warm 
at  seeing  a  cursed  grin  breaking  out  round  itu)— sj 
to  a  room's  being  haunted,  I  have  as  littlo  iaith  in 
such  silly  stories  as  any  one.  But,  since  you  put  the 
matter  home  to  me,  I  will  say  that  I  h.-vve  rnt:  with 
something  in  my  room  strange  and  inexplicable  to 
me— (a  shout  of  laughter).  Gentlemen,  I  am  scrioiyi 
— I  know  well  what  I  am  saying — I  am  calm.  grntlN 
men.  (striking  my  fist  upon  the  table) — by  heaven  1 
am  calm.  I  am  neither  trifling,  nor  do  I  v^ish  to  U. 
trifled  with — (the  laughter  of  tne  company  suppresv 
ed  with  ludicrous  attempts  at  gravity.)  There  is  i 
picture  in  the  room  in  which  I  was  put  last  niyht, 
that  has  had  an  effect  upon  me  the  most  singular 
and  incomprehensible. 

"  A  picture ! "  said  the  old  gentleman  wi;h  the 
hauntea  head.  "A  picture!"  cried  the  narrator 
with  the  waggish  nose.  "A  picture!  a  pictiitel' 
echoed  several  voices.  Here  there  was  an  ungov- 
ernable peal  of  laughter. 

I  could  not  contain  myself.  I  started  up  from  my 
seat — looked  round  on  the  company  with  fiery  indig- 
nation— thrust  both,  my  hands  into  my  pocicets,  and 
strode  up  to  one  of  the  windows,  as  though  1  would 
have  walked  through  it.  I  stopped  short ;  looked 
out  upon  the  landscape  without  distinguishing  a 
feature  of  it ;  and  felt  my  gorge  rising  almost  to  sutfo- 
cation. 

Mine  host  saw  it  was  time  to  interfere.  He  had 
maintained  an  air  of  gravity  through  the  whole  of 
the  scene,  and  now  stepped  forth  as  if  to  shelter 
me  from  the  overwhelming  merriment  of  my  com- 
panions. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "I  dislike  to  spoil  i port 
but  you  have  had  your  laugh,  and  the  joke  of  tl:; 
haunted  chamlier  has  been  enjoyed.  1  must  lun 
take  the  part  of  my  guest.  I  must  not  only  vindi. 
cate  him  from  your  pleasantries,  but  I  must  recon- 
cile him  to  himself,  for  I  suspect  he  is  a  little  out  o! 
humour  with  his  own  feelings ;  and  above  all,  I  .-lust 
crave  his  pardon  for  having  made  him  the  subject  ^f 
a  kind  of  experiment. 

"  Yes,  gentlemen,  there  is  something  strange  and 
peculiar  in  the  chamber  to  which  our  friend  was 
shown  last  night.  There  is  a  picture  which  pos- 
sesses a  singular  and  mysterious  influence ;  and  with 
which  there  is  connected  a  very  curious  story.  It  is 
a  picture  to  which  I  attach  a  value  from  a  variety  of 
circumstances ;    and    though    I    have    o^ten    beer 


TAIES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


868 


^t^K(i  to  destroy  it,  froir.  the  odd  and  uncomfort- 
ible  sensations  it  produces  in  every  one  that  beholds 
It;  yet  I  have  never  beer,  able  to  prevail  upon  my- 
^if  to  make  the  sacrifice.  It  is  a  picture  1  never 
liltc  to  look  upon  myself ;  and  which  is  held  in  awe 
by  all  niy  servants.  I  have,  therefore,  banished  it  to 
aioom  liut  rarely  used ;  and  should  have  had  it  cov- 
ered l:ist  night,  had  not  the  nature  of  our  conversa- 
Ijoii,  and  the  whimsical  talk  about  a  haunted  cham- 
[ci  tempted  me  to  let  it. remain,  by  way  of  experi- 
inint,  wnether  a  stranger,  totally  unacquainted  with 
its  story,  would  be  affected  by  it." 

The  words  of  tiie  Baronet  had  turned  every 
(hcuglit  into  a  different  channel ;  all  were  anxious 
to  hear  the  story  of  the  mysterious  picture ;  and  for 
myself,  so  strongly  were  my  feelings  interested,  that 
I  forgot  to  feel  piqued  at  the  experiment  which  my 
host  nad  made  upon  my  ner\'es,  and  joined  eagerly 
in  the  general  entreaty. 

As  the  morning  was  stormy,  and  precluded  all 
egress,  my  host  was  glad  of  any  means  of  entertain- 
ing his  company  ;  so  drawing  his  arm-chair  beside 
the  fire,  he  began — 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  MYSTERIOUS 
STRANGER. 


Many  years  since,  when  I  was  a  young  man,  and 
hid  just  left  Oxford,  I  was  sent  on  the  grand  tour 
to  finish  my  education.  1  believe  my  parents  had 
tred  in  vain  to  inoculate  me  with  wisdom  ;  so  they 
itnt  me  to  mingle  with  society,  in  hopes  I  might 
like  it  the  natural  way.  Such,  at  least,  appears  to 
fie  the  reason  for  which  nine-tenths  of  our  young- 
sters are  sent  abroad. 

In  the  course  of  my  tour  I  remained  some  time  at 
Venice.  The  romantic  character  of  the  place  de- 
lighted me ;  1  was  very  much  amused  by  the  air  of 
adventure  and  intrigfue  that  prevailed  in  this  region 
of  masks  and  gondolas;  and  I  was  exceedingly 
smitten  by  a  pair  of  languishing  black  eyes,  that 
played  upon  my  heart  from  under  an  Italian  mantle. 
So  I  persuaded  myself  that  I  was  lingering  at  Ven- 
ice to  study  men  and  manners.  At  least  I  per- 
suaded my  friends  so,  and  that  answered  all  my 
purpose.  Indeed,  I  was  a  little  prune  to  be  struck 
by  peculiarities  in  character  and  conduct,  and  my 
ima^nnation  was  so  full  of  romantic  associations 
with  Italy,  that  I  was  always  on  the  lookout  for  ad- 
venture. 

Every  thing  chimed  in  with  such  a  humour  in  this 
old  mermaid  of  a  city.  My  suite  of  apartments  wrre 
in  a  proud,  melancholy  palace  on  the  grand  canal, 
forme  ly  the  residence  of  a  Magnifico,  and  sump- 
tuoLJ  with  the  traces  of  decayed  grandeur.  My 
gondilier  was  one  of  the  shrewdest  of  his  class, 
activ  •,  merry,  intelligent,  and,  like  his  brethren,  se- 
cret ;is  the  grave ;  that  is  to  say,  secret  to  all  the 
world  except  his  master.  I  had  not  had  him  a  week 
before  he  put  me  behind  all  the  curtains  in  Venice. 
I  liked  the  silence  and  mystery  of  the  place,  and 
when  I  sometimes  saw  from  my  window  a  black 
jondoUi  gUding  mysteriously  along  in  the  dusk  of 
ihe  evening,  with  nothing  visible  but  its  little  glim- 
mering lantern,  I  would  jump  into  my  own  zendu- 
ItTIo,  and  gise  a  signal  lor  pursuit.  Hut  I  am  run- 
ning av,ray  from  my  subject  with  the  recollection  of 
youthful  follies,  said  the  Baronet,  checking  hinkself ; 
"let  me  come  to  the  point." 

Among  my  familiar  resorts  was  a  Cassino  under 

2a 


the  Arcades  on  one  side  of  the  grand  square  of  St 
Mark.  Here  I  used  frequently  to  lounge  and  take 
my  ice  on  those  warm  summer  nights  when  in  Italy 
every  body  lives  abroad  until  morning.  I  was  seated 
here  one  evening,  when  a  groupe  of  Italians  tooi 
seat  at  a  table  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  saIgcio. 
Their  conversation  was  gay  and  animated,  and  car<' 
ried  on  with  Italian  vivacity  and  gesticulation. 

I  remarked  among  them  one  young  man,  however, 
who  appeared  to  take  no  share,  and  find  no  enjoy- 
ment in  the  conversation ;  though  he  seemed  to  force 
himself  to  attend  to  it.  He  was  tall  and  slender,  and 
of  extremely  prepossessing  appearance.  His  features 
were  fine,  though  emaciated.  He  had  a  profusion  ol 
bLtck  glossy  hair  that  cm  ed  lightly  about  his  head, 
and  contrasted  with  the  extreme  paleness  of  his 
countenance.  His  brow  was  haggard  ;  deep  furrows 
seem  ';d  to  have  been  ploughed  into  his  visage  by 
care,  not  by  age,  for  he  was  evidently  in  the  prime 
of  y<uth.  His  eye  was  full  of  expression  ana  fire, 
but  wild  and  unsteady.  He  seemed  to  be  tormented 
by  some  strange  fancy  or  apprehension.  In  spite  of 
every  effort  to  hx  his  attention  on  the  conversation  of 
his  companions,  I  noticed  that  every  now  and  then 
he  would  turn  his  head  slowly  round,  give  a  glance 
over  his  shoulder,  and  then  withdraw  it  with  a  sud- 
den jerk,  as  if  something  painful  had  met  his  eye 
This  was  repeated  at  intervals  of  about  a  minute , 
and  he  appeared  hardly  to  have  got  over  one  shock 
before  I  saw  him  slowly  preparing  to  encounter  an- 
other. 

After  sitting  some  time  in  the  Cassino,  the  party 
paid  for  the  refreshments  they  had  taken,  and  depart- 
ed. The  young  man  was  the  last  to  leave  the  salocn, 
and  I  rerrrarked  him  glancing  behind  him  in  the  same 
way,  just  as  he  passed  out  at  the  door.  I  could  c&i 
resist  the  impulse  to  rise  and  follow  him ;  for  I  wai 
at  an  age  wnen  a  romantic  feeling  of  curiosity  if 
easily  awakened.  The  party  walked  slowly  down  the 
Arcades,  talking  and  laughing  as  they  went.  They 
crossed  the  Piazzetta,  but  paused  in  the  middle  of  it 
to  enjoy  the  scene.  It  was  one  of  those  moonlight 
nights  so  brilliant  and  clear  in  the  pure  atmosphere 
of  Italy.  The  moon-beams  streamed  on  the  tall 
tower  of  St.  Mark,  and  lighted  up  the  magnificent 
front  and  swelling  domes  of  the  Cathedral.  The 
party  expressed  their  delight  in  animated  terms.  I 
Kept  my  eye  upon  the  young  man.  He  alone  seem- 
ed abstracted  and  self-occupied.  I  noticed  the  same 
singular,  and,  as  it  were,  furtive  glance  over  the 
shoulder  that  had  attracted  my  attention  in  the  Cas- 
sino. The  party  moved  on,  and  I  followed;  they 
passed  along  the  walks  called  the  Broglio ;  turned  the 
comer  of  the  Ducal  palace,  and  getting  into  a  gon- 
dola, glided  swiftly  away. 

The  countenance  and  conduct  of  this  young  man 
dwelt  upon  my  mind.  There  was  something  in  his 
appearance  that  interested  me  exceedingly.  I  met 
him  a  day  or  two  after  in  a  gallery  of  paintings.  He 
was  evidently  a  connoisseur,  for  he  alwiys  singled 
out  the  most  masterly  productions,  and  tne  few  re- 
marks drawn  from  him  by  his  companions  shewed 
an  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  art.  His  own 
taste,  however,  ran  on  singular  extremes.  On  Scdva- 
tor  Rosa  in  his  most  savage  and  solitary  scenes ;  ob 
Raphael,  Titian,  and  Corregio  in  their  softest  delinea- 
tions of  female  beauty.  On  these  he  would  occa' 
sionally  gaze  with  transient  enthusiasm.  But  thii 
seemed  only  a  momentary  forgetfulness.  Still  would 
recur  that  cautious  glance  behind,  and  always  quickly 
withdrawn,  as  though  something  terrible  had  met 
his  view. 

I  encotmtered  him  frequency  afterwards.  At  the 
theatre,  at  b.ills,  at  concerts ;  at  the  promenades  in 
the  gardens  oi'  San  Georgio ;  at  the  grotesoue  exhi- 


064 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


?T 


^m 


^M'»- 


■        '— !•    -  ,J' 


bitions  in  the  square  of  St.  Mark ;  among  the  throng 
of  merchants  on  the  Eichange  by  the  Riaho.  He 
seemed,  in  fact,  to  seek  crowds ;  to  hunt  after  bustle 
and  amusement ;  yet  never  to  take  any  interest  in 
either  the  business  or  gayety  of  the  scene.  Ever  an 
air  of  pamful  thought,  of  wretched  abstraction  ;  and 
ever  that  strange  and  recurring  movement,  of  glanc- 
ing fearluUy  over  the  shoulder.  I  did  not  know  at 
ftrar  but  this  might  be  caused  by  apprehension  of  ar- 
Kcsi ;  or  perhaps  from  dread  of  assassination.  But,  if 
SO,  why  should  he  go  thus  continually  abroad ;  why 
sxpose  himself  at  all  times  and  in  all  places  ? 

I  became  anxious  to  know  this  stranger.  I  was 
drawn  to  him  by  that  romantic  sympathy  that  some- 
times draws  young  men  towards  each  other.  His 
melancholy  threw  a  charm  about  him  in  my  eyes, 
which  was  no  doubt  heightened  by  the  touching  ex- 

Eression  ot  his  countenance,  and  the  manly  graces  of 
is  person ;  for  manly  beauty  has  its  effect  even 
upon  man.  I  had  an  Englishman's  habitual  diffi- 
dence and  awkwardness  of  address  to  contend  with ; 
but  I  subdued  it,  and  from  frequently  moting  him 
in  the  Cassino,  gradually  edged  myself  into  his  ac- 
quaintance. 1  had  no  reserve  on  his  part  to  con- 
tend with.  He  seemed  on  the  contrary  to  court  so- 
ciety ;  and  in  fact  to  seek  any  thing  rather  than  be 
alone. 

When  he  found  I  really  took  an  interest  in  him  he 
threw  himself  entirely  upon  my  friendship.  He  clung 
to  me  like  a  drowning  man.  He  would  walk  with 
me  for  hours  up  and  down  the  place  of  St.  Mark — 
or  he  would  sit  until  night  was  far  advanced  in  my 
apartment ;  he  took  rooms  under  the  same  roof  with 
me  ;  and  his  constant  request  was,  that  I  would  per- 
mit him,  when  it  did  not  incommode  tn^,  to  sit  by 
me  in  my  saloon.  It  was  not  that  he  seemed  to 
Uke  a  particular  delight  in  my  conversation ;  but 
rather  that  he  craved  the  vicinity  of  a  human  be- 
ng ;  and  above  all,  of  a  being  that  sympathized  with 
dm.  "  I  have  often  heard,"  said  he,  "  of  the  sincerity 
of  Englishmen — thank  God  I  have  one  at  length  for 
ft  friend  I  " 

Yet  he  never  seemed  disposed  to  avail  himself  of 
my  sympathy  other  than  by  mere  companionship. 
He  never  sought  to  unbosom  himself  to  me  ;  there 
appeared  to  be  a  settled  corroding  anguish  in  his 
bosom  that  neither  could  be  soothed  •'  by  silence  nor 
Dy  speaking."  A  devouring  melancholy  preyed 
upon  his  heart,  and  seemed  to  be  drying  up  the  very 
blood  in  his  veins.  It  was  not  a  soft  melancholy — 
the  disease  of  the  affections  ;  but  a  parching,  wither- 
ing agony.  I  could  see  at  times  that  his  mouth  was 
dry  and  feverish  ;  he  almost  panted  rather  than 
breathed  ;  his  eyes  were  bloodshot ;  his  cheeks  pale 
and  livid  ;  with  now  and  then  faint  streaks  athwart 
them — baleful  gleams  of  the  fire  that  was  consum- 
ing his  heart.  As  my  arm  was  within  his,  I  fell 
him  press  it  at  times  with  a  convulsive  motion  to 
his  side  ;  his  hands  would  clinch  themselves  involun- 
tarily, and  a  kind  of  shudder  would  run  through  his 
frame.  I  reasoned  with  him  about  his  melancholy, 
and  sought  to  draw  from  him  the  cause — he  shrunk 
ft'om  all  confiding.  "  Do  not  seek  to  know  it,"  said 
he,  "you  could  not  relieve  it  if  you  knew  it;  you 
would  not  even  seek  to  relieve  it — on  the  contrary,  I 
should  lose  your  sympathy;  and  th.it,"  said  he,  press- 
ing my  hand  convulsively,  "  that  I  feel  has  become 
too  dear  to  me  to  risk." 

!  endeavoured  to  awaken  hope  within  him.  He 
was  young ;  life  had  a  thousand  pleasures  in  store  for 
him ;  there  is  a  healthy  reaction  in  the  youthful 
heart ;  it  medicines  its  own  wounds — "  Come,  come," 
aaid  I,  "  there  is  no  grief  so  great  that  youth  cannot 
outgrow  it." — "No!  no!"  said  he,  clinching  his 
teeth,  and  striking  repeatedly,  with  the  energy  of 


despair,  upon  his  bosom — "  It  is  here— here— deml 
rooted ;  draining  my  heart's  blood.  It  grovs  anal 
grows,  while  my  heart  withers  and  withers  !  I  havjl 
a  dreadful  monitor  that  gives  nie  no  repot :-that| 
follows  me  step  by  step;  and  will  follow  me  stepbjl 
step,  until  it  pushes  me  into  my  grave  I  "  I 

As  he  said  this  he  gave  involuntarily  onr  of  tlioMl 
fearful  glances  over  his  shoulder,  and  shrunk  bac^l 
with  more  than  usual  horror.  I  could  not  resist  tbcl 
temptation  to  allude  to  this  movement,  wiiich  I  %x^u\ 
posed  to  be  some  mere  malady  of  the  nerves.  The  I 
moment  I  mentioned  it  his  fac.  became  criir.sonedl 
and  convulsed — he  grasped  me  by  both  hands : "  Fori 
God's  saWe,"  exclaimed  he,  with  a  piercinsj  agony  of  I 
voice — "  never  allude  to  that  again ;  let  us  avoid  this  I 
subject,  my  friend:  you  cannot  relieve  me,  indeed  I 
you  cannot  relieve  me  ;  but  you  may  add  to  the  tor- 1 
ments  I  suffer ; — at  some  future  day  you  shall  know  I 
all."  ' 

I  never  resumed  the  subject ;  for  however  much  I 
my  curiosity  might  he  aroused,  I  felt  too  true  a  com- 1 
passion  for  his  sufferings  to  increase  them  by  my  in. 
trusion.     I  sought  various  ways  to  divert  his  mini! 
and  to  arouse  hnn  from  the  constant  niedilutions  iril 
which  he  was  plunged.      He  saw  my  etforts,  and! 
seconded  them  as  far  as  in  his  power,  for  there  was 
nothing  moody  or  wayward  in  his  nature ;  on  the  | 
contrary,  there  was  something  frank,  generous,  un- 
assuming, in  his  whole  deportment.     All  the  sen- 1 
timents  that  he  uttered  were  noble  and  lotiy.    He 
claimed    no   indulgence ;    he   asked    no  toleration,  | 
He  seemed  content  to  carry  his  load  of  miseiy  in  si 
lence,  and  only  sought  to  carry  it  by  my  side,    i'here  I 
was  a  mute  beseeching  manner  about  him,  a';  if  he 
craved  companionship  as  a  charitable  boon  ;  and  i 
tacit  thankfulness  in  his  looks,  as  if  he  felt  grateful  sc 
me  for  not  repulsing  him. 

I  felt  this  melancholy  to  be  infectious.  It  stole 
over  my  spirits ;  interfered  with  all  my  gay  pursuits, 
and  gradually  saddened  my  life ;  yet  I  could  not  pre- 
vail upon  myself  to  shake  off  a  being  who  seemed  to 
hang  upon  me  for  support.  In  truth,  the  generous 
traits  of  character  that  beamed  through  all  this 
gloom  had  penetrated  to  my  heart.  His  bounty  was 
lavish  and  open-handed.  His  charity  melting  and 
spontaneous.  Not  confined  to  mere  donations, 
which  o/ten  humiliate  as  much  as  they  relieve.  The 
tone  of  his  voice,  the  beam  of  his  eye,  enhanced  every 
gift,  and  surprised  the  poor  suppliant  with  that  rarest 
and  sweetest  of  charities,  the  charity  not  nierely  of 
the  hand,  but  of  the  heart.  Indeed,  his  lii)eraliiy 
seemed  to  have  something  in  it  of  self-abasement 
and  expiation.  He  humbled  himself,  in  a  manner, 
l)eibre  the  mendicant.  "  What  right  have  1  to  ease 
and  afhuonce,"  would  he  murmur  to  himself,  "when 
innoce.ice  \vanders  in  misery  and  rags  ?  " 

The  Carnival  time  arrived.  1  had  hoped  that  the 
gay  scenes  which  then  presented  themselves  might 
have  some  cheering  effect.  I  mingled  with  him  in 
the  motley  throng  that  crowded  the  plai,*  of  St.  Maik. 
We  frequented  operas,  masquerades,  balls.  All  in 
vain.  The  evil  kept  growing  on  him ;  he  bocami 
more  and  more  haggard  and  agitated.  Often,  alter 
we  had  returned  from  one  of  these  scenes  of  revelry, 
I  have  entered  his  room,  and  found  him  lying  on  hii 
face  on  the  sofa :  his  h.inds  clinched  in  his  fine  hair, 
and  his  whole  countenance  bearing  'i  aces  of  the 
convulsions  of  his  mind. 

The  Carnival  passed  away ;  the  season  of  Lent 
succeeded ;  Passion  week  arrived.  We  attend  J  one 
evening  a  solemn  service  in  one  of  the  churches ;  in 
the  course  of  which  a  grand  piece  of  vocal  arc!  in- 
stnlmental  music  was  performed  relating  to  the  death 
of  our  Saviour. 

I  had  remarked  that  he  was  always  powe>tuil; 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


lid  withers!  I  ha  J 
lie  no  rti,oi.~ihi,| 
II  Jollow  me  step  hil 
brave  1 "  'I 

pitarily  one  of  t]ioj«| 
T,  and  sliiunk  back! 
could  not  resist  ihj  I 
bment,  wfiich  I  sup.! 
pf  the  nerves.    jQ 
J  became  crimsoned 
ly  both  hands:  "For 
lapiercinsragonyof 
lin;  let  us  avoid  this  I 
I  relieve  me,  indeed 
Jmay  add  to  the  tor- 1 
|dayyou  shaiUnow 

for  however  much 
felt  too  true  a  com- 1 
ase  them  bv  my  in. 
to  divert  his  mind  i 
tant  medit.aions  in 
iw  my  etforts,  and 
ower,  for  there  waj 
his  nature ;  on  the  | 
frank,  generous,  un- 
nent.     Ail  tlie  sen. 
)ble  and  loltv.    He  I 
iked    no   toleration.  | 
load  of  mL-ueiy  in  si- 
I  by  my  side.  There 
about  him,  a^  if  he 
■itable  boon  ;  .-.nd  a  j 
if  he  felt  grateful » 

infectious.  It  stole 
all  my  gav  pursuits, 
yet  I  could  not  pre- 
eing  who  seemed  to 
truth,  the  generous 
d  through  all  this 
rt.  His  bounty  wis 
:harity  melting  and 
J  mere  donations, 
3  they  relieve.  The 
eye,  enhanced  every 
ant  with  that  rarest 
larity  not  riierelvof 
deed,  his  iii)er£dity 
t  of  self-abasemcni 
(iself,  in  a  manner, 
ight  have  I  to  ease 
■  to  himself,  "  when 
rags?" 

had  hoped  that  the 
themselves  might 
ingled  with  him  in 
eplaixofSt.  Miiilt 
ides,  balls.  All  in 
1  him ;  he  became 
ated.  Often,  after 
e  scenes  of  revelry, 
d  him  lying  on  hii 
ed  in  his  tine  hair, 
ring  <,  aces  of  the 

le  season  of  Lent 
We  attend,  u  one 
f  the  churches ;  in 
;e  of  vocal  and  in- 
lating  to  the  deatli 

always  powektull; 


I  illected  by  music ;  on  this  occasion  he  was  so  in  an 

yiraordinary  degree.  As  the  pealing  notes  swelled 
I  through  the  lofty  aisles,  he  seemed  to  Icindle  up  with 
Icrvour.  His  eyes  rolled  upwards,  until  nothing  but 
Ihe  whites  were  visible ;  his  hands  were  clasped  to- 
rtther,  until  the  fingers  were  deeply  imprinted  in  the 
'  Jesh.  When  the  music  expressed  the  dying  agony, 
kj]  face  gradually  sunk  upon  his  knees ;  and  at  the 
KiKhing  words    resounding  through    the    church, 

'  jftsu  mori,"  sobs  burst  from  him  uncontrouled.  I 
:  i J  never  seen  him  weep  before;  his, had  always 
been  a^Cfny  rather  than  sorrow.  I  augu'-.d  well  from 
the  circumstance.  I  let  him  weep  on  ur.  nterrupted. 
When  the  service  was  ended  we  left  the  church.  He 
hung  on  liiy  arm  as  we  walked  homewards,  with 
lomething  of  a  softer  and  more  subdued  manner ; 
instead  of  that  nervous  agitation  I  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  witness.  He  alluded  to  the  service  we  had 
lieard.  "  Music,"  said  he,  "is  indeed  the  voice  of 
heaven ;  never  before  have  I  felt  more  impressed  by 
the  story  of  the  atonement  of  our  Saviour.  Yes,  my 
Uriend,"  said  he,  clasping  his  hands  with  a  kind  of 
transport,  "  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth." 

We  parted  for  the  night.  His  room  was  not  far 
from  mine,  and  I  heard  nim  for  some  time  busied  in 
it.  I  fell  asleep,  but  was  awakened  before  daylight. 
The  young  man  stood  by  my  bed-side,  dressed  for 
travelling.  He  held  a  sealed  pacquet  and  a  large 
parcel  in  his  hand,  which  he  laid  on  the  table. 
'Farewell,  my  friend,"  said  he,  "  I  am  about  to  set 
ibrth  on  a  long  journey;  but,  before  I  go,  I  leave 
with  you  these  remembrances.  In  this  pacquet  you 
will  find  the  particulars  of  my  story.  When  you  read 
them,  I  shall  be  far  away ;  do  not  remember  me  with 
ivcrsion.  You  have  been,  indeed,  a  friend  to  me. 
^ou  h.ave  poured  oil  into  a  broken  heart,— but  you 
Lould  .iCt  heal  it. — Farewell — let  me  kiss  your  hand 

-I  am  unworthy  to  embrace  you."  He  sunk  on  his 
knees,  seized  my  hand  in  despite  of  my  efforts  to  the 
contrary,  and  covered  it  with  kisses.  I  was  so  sur- 
prised by  all  this  scene  that  I  had  not  been  able  to 
lay  a  word. 

But  we  shall  meet  again,  said  I,  hastily,  as  I  saw 
him  hurrying  towards  the  door. 

"  Never — never  in  this  world  I "  said  he  solemnly. 
He  sprang  once  more  to  my  bed-side — seized  my 
bnd,  pressed  it  to  his  heart  and  to  his  lips,  and 
nisheil  out  of  the  room. 

Here  the  Baronet  paused.  He  seemed  lost  in 
thought,  and  sat  looking  upon  the  floor  and  drum- 
ming with  his  fingers  on  the  artn  of  his  chair. 

"  And  did  this  mysterious  personage  return  ? " 
said  the  inquisiti*"!  gentleman.  "  Never  I "  replied 
the  Baronet,  with  a  ^ensive  shake  of  the  head :  "  I 
never  saw  him  again."  And  pray  what  has  all  this 
to  do  with  the  picture  ?  inquired  the  old  gentleman 
with  the  nose — "  True ! "  said  the  questioner — "  Is 
It  the  [wrtrait  of  this  crack-brained  Italian  ?  "  "  No!" 
said  the  Baronet,  drily,  not  half  liking  the  appellation 

Sven  to  his  hero  ;  but  this  picture  was  inclosed  in 
e  parcel  he  left  with  me.  The  sealed  pacquet  con- 
tained its  explanation.  There  was  a  request  on  the 
outside  that  1  would  not  open  it  until  six  months  had 
{la; sed.  I  kept  my  promise,  in  spite  of  my  curiosity. 
I  have  a  translation  of  it  by  me,  and  had  meant  to 
read  it,  by  way  of  accounting  for  the  mystery  of  the 
chamber,  but  I  fear  I  have  already  detained  the 
company  too  long. 

Hen:  there  was  a  general  wish  expressed  to  have 
the  manuscript  read ;  particularly  on  the  part  of  the 
mquisitive  gentleman.  So  the  worthy  Baronet  drew 
uut  a  fairly  written  manuscript,  and  wiping  his  spec- 
tacles, I'iad  aloud  the  following  story : — 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  YOUNQ  ITALIAN. 


I  WAS  bom  at  Naples.  My  parents,  though  of 
noble  rank,  were  limited  in  fortune,  or  rather  in; 
father  was  ostentatious  beyond  his  means,  and  ex 
pended  so  much  in  his  palace,  his  equipage,  and  hia 
retinue,  that  he  was  continually  straightened  in  h:i 
pecuniary  circumstances.  1  was  a  younger  soft,  and 
looked  upon  with  indifference  by  my  father,  who, 
from  a  principle  of  family  pride,  wished  to  leave  all 
his  property  to  my  elder  brother. 

I  showed,  when  quite  a  child,  an  extreme  sensi- 
bility. Every  thing  affected  me  violently.  While 
yet  an  infant  in  my  mother's  arms,  and  before  I  htd 
learnt  to  talk,  I  could  be  wrought  upon  to  a  wonder- 
ful degree  of  anguish  or  delight  by  the  power  of 
music.  As  I  grew  older  my  feelings  remained  equal- 
ly acute,  and  I  was  easily  transported  into  paroxysms 
of  pleasure  or  rage.  It  was  the  amusement  of  my 
relatives  and  of  the  domestics  to  play  upon  this  irri- 
table temperament.  I  was  moved  to  tears,  tickled 
to  laughter,  provoked  to  fury,  for  the  entertainment 
of  company,  who  were  amused  by  such  a  tempest 
of  mighty  passion  in  a  pigmy  frame.  They  little 
thought,  or  perhaps  little  needed  the  dangerous  sen- 
sibilities they  were  fostering.  I  thus  became  a  little 
creature  of  passion,  before  reason  was  developed. 
In  a  short  time  I  grew  too  old  to  be  a  plaything,  and 
then  I  became  a  torment.  The  tricks  and  passions  I 
had  been  teased  into  became  irksome,  and  I  was 
disliked  by  mv  teachers  for  the  verv  lessons  they  had 
taught  me. 

My  mother  died  ;  and  my  power  as  a  spoiled  child 
was  at  an  end.  There  was  no  longer  any  necessity 
to  humour  or  tolerate  me,  for  there  was  nothing  to 
be  gained  by  it,  as  I  was  no  favourite  of  my  father. 
I  therefore  experienced  the  fate  of  a  spoiled  child  io 
such  situation,  and  was  neglected,  or  noticed  only 
to  be  crossed  and  contradicted.  Such  was  the  earlv 
treatment  of  a  heart,  which,  if  I  am  judge  of  it  at  all, 
was  naturally  disposed  to  the  extremes  of  tender- 
ness and  affection. 

My  father,  as  I  have  already  said,  never  liked  me 
— in  fact,  he  never  understood  me ;  he  looked  upon 
me  as  wilful  and  wayward,  as  deficient  in  natural 
affection : — it  was  the  stateliness  of  his  own  manner ; 
the  loftiness  and  grandeur  of  his  own  look  that  had 
repelled  me  from  his  arms.  I  always  pictured  him 
to  myself  as  1  had  seen  him  clad  in  his  senatorial 
robes,  rustling  with  pomp  and  pride.  The  magnifi- 
cence of  his  person  had  daunted  my  strong  imagina- 
tion. I  could  never  approach  him  with  the  confiding 
affection  of  a  child. 

My  father's  feelings  were  wrapped  up  in  my  elder 
brother.  He  was  to  be  the  inheritor  of  tne  family  title 
and  the  family  dignity,  and  every  thing  was  sacrificed 
to  him — I,  as  well  as  every  thing  else.  It  was  deter- 
mined to  devote  me  to  the  church,  that  so  my  hu- 
mours and  myself  might  be  removed  out  of  the  way, 
either  of  tasking  my  father's  time  and  trouble,  or  in- 
terfering with  the  interests  of  my  brother.  At  an 
early  age,  therefore,  before  my  mind  had  dawned 
upon  the  world  and  its  delights,  or  known  any  thing 
of  it  beyond  the  precincts  of  my  father's  palace,  I  was 
sent  to  a  convent,  the  superior  of  which  was  my  un- 
cle, and  was  confided  entirely  to  his  care. 

My  uncle  was  a  man  totally  estranged  from  the 
world ;  he  had  never  relished,  for  he  had  never  tasted 
its  pleasures ;  and  he  deemed  rigid  self-denial  as  the 
great  basis  of  Christian  virtue.  He  considered  every 
one's  temperament  like  his  own  ;  or  at  le.ist  he  made 
them  conform  to  it.  His  character  and  habits  had 
an  influence  over  the  fraternity  of  which  he  was  su- 


866 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


■•??  r 


Jt.:;.| 


perior.  A  more  eloomy  saturnine  set  of  beings  were 
never  assembleu  together.  The  convent,  too,  was 
calculated  to  awaken  sad  and  solitary  thoughts.  It 
was  situated  in  a  gluomy  gorge  of  those  mountains 
away  south  of  Vesuvius.  All  distant  views  were 
shut  out  by  sterile  volcanic  heights.  A  mountain 
stream  raved  beneath  its  walls,  and  eagles  screamed 
about  its  turrets. 

I  had  been  sent  to  this  place  at  so  tender  an  age 
«3  s«An  to  lose  all  distinct  recollection  of  the  scenes 
.(  had  left  behind.  As  my  mind  expanded,  therefore. 
Hi  formed  its  idea  of  the  world  from  the  convent  and 
Its  vicinity,  and  a  dreary  world  it  appeared  to  me. 
An  early  tinge  of  melancholy  was  thus  infused  into 
my  character ;  and  the  dismal  stories  of  the  monks, 
about  devils  and  evil  spirits,  with  which  they  affright- 
ed my  young  imagination,  gave  me  a  tendency  to 
superstition,  which  I  could  never  effectually  shake 
on.  They  took  the  same  delight  to  work  upon  my 
ardent  feelings  that  had  been  so  mischievously  exer- 
cised by  my  father's  household. 

I  can  recollect  the  horrors  with  which  they  fed 
mv  heated  fancy  during  an  eruption  of  Vesuvius. 
We  were  distant  from  that  volcano,  with  mount- 
ains bet<;veen  us;  but  its  convulsive  throes  shook 
the  solid  foundations  of  nature.  Earthquakes  threat- 
ened to  topple  down  our  convent  towers.  A  lurid, 
baleful  light  hung  in  the  heavens  at  night,  and 
showers  of  ashes,  borne  by  the  wind,  fell  in  our  nar- 
row valley.  The  monks  talked  of  the  earth  being 
honey-combed  beneath  us ;  of  streams  of  molten  lava 
raging  through  its  veins ;  of  caverns  of  sulphurous 
flames  roaring  in  the  centre,  the  abodes  of  demons 
and  the  damned  ;  of  fiery  eulfs  ready  to  yawn  be- 
neath our  feet.  AH  these  tales  were  told  to  the  dole- 
Ail  accompaniment  of  the  mountain's  thunders,  whose 
kw  bellowing  made  the  walls  of  our  convent  vibrate. 

One  of  the  monks  had  been  a  painter,  but  had  re- 
ili^  from  the  world,  and  embraced  this  dismal  life 
in  expiation  of  some  crime,  lie  was  a  melancholy 
man,  who  pursued  his  art  in  the  solitude  of  his  cell, 
but  made  it  a  source  of  penance  to  him.  His  em- 
ployment was  to  portray,  either  on  canvas  or  in 
waxen  models,  the  human  face  and  human  form,  in 
the  agonies  of  death,  and  in  all  the  stages  of  dissolu- 
tion and  decay.  The  fearful  mysteries  of  the  chamel 
house  were  unfolded  in  his  labours — the  loathsome 

banquet  of  the  beetle  and  the  worm. 1  turn  with 

shuddering  even  from  the  recollection  of  his  works. 
Yet,  at  that  time,  my  strong,  but  ill-directed  imag- 
ination seized  with  ardour  upon  his  instructions  in 
his  art.  Any  thing  was  a  variety  from  the  dry 
studies  and' monotonous  duties  of  the  cloister.  In  a 
little  while  I  became  expert  with  my  pencil,  and  my 
pfloomy  productions  were  thought  worthy  of  decorat- 
ing some  of  the  altars  of  the  chapel. 

In  this  dismal  way  was  a  creature  of  feeling  and 
tancy  brought  up.  Every  thing  genial  and  amiable  in 
my  nature  was  repressed,  and  nothing  brought  out 
but  what  was  unprofitable  and  ungracious.  I  was 
ardent  in  my  temperament ;  quick,  mercurial,  impet- 
uous, formed  to  be  a  creature  all  Jove  and  adoration  ; 
but  a  leaden  hand  was  laid  on  all  my  finer  qualities. 
I  viss  taught  nothing  but  fear  and  hatred.  I  hated 
siv  i:ncle,  I  hated  the  monks,  I  hated  the  convent  in 
which  I  was  immured.  I  hated  the  world,  and  I 
^ilmost  hated  myself,  for  being,  as  I  supposed,  so 
Si&ting  and  hateful  an  animal. 

When  I  had  nearly  attained  the  age  of  sixteen,  I 
was  suffered,  on^ne  occasion,  to  accompany  one  of 
the  brethren  on  a  mission  to  a  distant  part  of  the 
country.  We  soon  left  behind  us  the  gloomy  valley 
in  which  I  had  been  pent  up  for  so  many  years,  and 
after  a  short  journey  among  the  mountains,  emerged 
apon  the  voluptuous  landscape  that  spreads  itself 


about  the  Bay  of  Naples.  Heavens  I  hu  w  i  ransport  I 
ed  was  I,  when  I  stretched  my  gaze  over  a  vast  reackl 
of  delicious  sunny  country,  pay  with  groves  and  vln^| 
yards ;  with  Vesuvius  reanng  its  forked  summit  tcl 
my  right;  the  blue  Mediterranean  to  my  1^0, with! 
its  enchanting  coast,  studded  with  shii.n^;  townil 
and  sumptuous  villas;  and  Naples,  my  native  N*| 
pies,  gleaming  far,  far  in  the  distance.  I 

Good  God  !  was  this  the  lovely  worid  fr  ti  whiclil 
I  had  been  excluded !    I  had  reached  thct  n^'e  wheal 
the  sensibilities  are  in  all  their  bloom  and  tr 'shness,! 
Mine  had  beeft  checked  and  chilled.  They  nuw  burst  I 
forth  with  the  suddenness  of  a  retarded  sprmi;,    My 
heart,  hitherto  unnaturally  shrunk  up,  expuiuitd  jnio 
a  riot  of  vague,  but  delicious  emotions.     The  Ijeaun  I 
of  nature  intoxicated,  bewildered  me.    Tl.e  song  of 
the  peasants ;  their  cheerful  looks;  their  happy  avo.  I 
cations ;   the  picturesque  gayety  of  their  dasses 
their  rustic  music  ;  their  dances  ;  all  brokt?  upun  me  | 
like  witchcraft.    My  soul  responded  to  the  music 
my  heart  danced  in  my  bosom.    All  the  men  ap- 1 
peared  amiable,  all  the  women  lovely. 

I  returned  to  the  convent,  that  is  to  say,  my  body 
returned,  but  my  heart  and  soul  never  entered  there 
again.  I  could  not  forget  this  glimpse  of  a  beautiful 
and  a  happy  world ;  a  world  so  suited  to  my  natural 
character.  I  had  felt  so  happy  while  in  it '  so  dif- 
ferent a  being  from  what  I  felt  myself  when  in  the  I 
convent— that  tomb  of  the  living.  I  contrasted  the 
countenances  of  the  beings  1  nad  seen,  lull  uf  tire 
and  freshness  and  enjoyment,  with  the  pallid,  leaden,  j 
lack-lustre  visages  of  the  monks ;  the  music  of  the 
dance,  with  the  droning  chant  of  the  chapel  I  hid 
before  found  the  exercises  of  the  cloister  wearisome; 
they  now  became  intolerable.  The  dull  rcmnd  ol 
duties  wore  away  my  spirit;  my  nerves  Ixxanic 
irritated  by  the  fretful  tinkling  of  the  convent  bell; 
evennore  dinging  among  the  mountain  echoes ;  ever. 
more  calling  me  from  my  lepose  at  night,  my  pencil 
by  day,  to  attend  to  some  tedious  and  niechanical 
ceremony  of  devotion. 

I  was  not  of  a  nature  to  meditate  lonj;.  without 
putting  my  thoughts  into  action.  My  spirit  hid  been 
suddenly  aroused,  and  was  now  all  awake  within 
me.  I  watched  my  opportunity,  fled  from  the  con- 
vent, and  made  my  way  on  foot  to  Naples,  As  1 
entered  its  gay  and  crowded  streets,  and  beheld  the 
variety  and  stir  of  life  around  me,  the  luxury  of  pal- 
aces, the  splendour  of  equipages,  and  the  panto- 
mimic animation  of  the  motley  populace,  1  seemed 
as  if  awakened  to  a  world  of  enchantment,  and 
solemnly  vowed  that  nothing  should  force  rnc  bacli 
to  the  monotony  of  the  cloister. 

I  had  to  inquire  my  way  to  my  father's  palace,  foi 
I  had  been  so  young  on  leaving  it,  that  I  knew  not 
its  situation.  I  found  some  difficulty  in  getting  ad- 
mitted to  my  father's  presence,  for  the  domestics 
scarcely  knew  that  there  was  such  a  being  as  myself 
in  existence,  and  my  monastic  dress  did  not  operate 
in  my  favour.  Even  my  father  entertained  no  recol- 
lection of  my  person.  I  told  him  my  name,  threw 
myself  at  his  feet,  implored  his  forgiveness,  and 
entreated  that  I  might  not  be  sent  back  to  the  con- 
vent. 

He  received  me  with  the  condescension  of  i 
patron  rather  than  the  kindness  of  a  parent.  He 
listened  patiently,  but  coldly  to  my  tale  of  ircnastic 
grievances  and  disgusts,  and  promised  to  think  whst 
else  could  be  done  for  me.  This  coldness  blighted 
and  drove  back  all  the  frank  affection  of  my  nature 
that  was  ready  to  spring  forth  at  the  least  warmth 
of  parental  kindness.  All  my  early  feelings  towards 
my  father  revived ;  I  again  looked  up  to liim  as  the 
sutely  magnificent  being  that  had  daunted  mi 
childish  imagination,  and  felt  as  if  I  had  no  piT 


TALES  OP  A   TRAVELLER. 


167 


Ipslons  to  his  sympathiei.  My  brother  engros»> 
I  id  all  l^i>  care  and  love;  he  inherited  his  nature, 
[ifd  carried  himself  towards  me  with  a  protecting 
[nther  than  a  fraternal  air.    It  wounded  my  pride, 

fhich  was  great.    I  could  brook  condescension  from 

ay  father,  for  I  loolced  up  to  him  with  awe  as  a 

fjpcnor  being ;   but  I  could  not  brook  p.itroiiagc 

Uom  a1''<'<'^'^ci',  who,  I  felt,  \^as  intellectually  my  in> 

,'trior    The  servants  perceived  that  I  was  an  unwel- 

sxne  intruder  in  the  paternal  mansion,  and,  mtniaU 

ilie,  they  treated  me  with  neglect.     Thus  bafllcd  at 

Utry point;  my  affections  outraged  wherever  they 

fould  attach  themselves,  1  became  sullen,  silent,  and 

Ntspondlng.     My  feelings  driven  b'tck  upon  myself, 

eitert'l  and  preyed  upon  my  own  heart.    I  remained 

dr  sume  days  an  unwelcome  guest  rather  than  a 

itstorcd  son  in  niv  father's  house.     1  was  doomed 

Kver  to  ))c  properly  known  there.    I  was  made,  by 

I  Mong  treatment,  strange  even  to  myself;  and  they 

judj{t;(l  of  inu  from  my  strangeness. 

I  was  startled  one  day  at  the  sight  of  one  of  the 

I  nonks  of  my  convent,  gliding  out  of  my  father's 

room,    i  Ic  saw  me,  but  pretended  not  to  notice  me ; 

I  iiid  this  very  hypocrisy  made  me  suspect  something. 

Ihad  bi'coine  sore  and  susceptible  in  my  feelings; 

I  citry  tiling  intlicted   a  wound  on  them.    In   Uiis 

iiate  of  mind  1  was  treated  with  marked  disrespect 

by  a  pani|)f  red  minion,  the  favourite  servant  of  my 

foher.    All  the  pride  and  passion  of  my  nature  rose 

in  an  instant,  and  1  struck  him  to  the  earth. 

My  I  iilier  was  passini;  by ;  he  stopped  not  to  in- 
quire the  reason,  nor  indeed  could  he  read  the  long 
course  of  mental  sufferings  which  were  the  real 
cause.  He  rebuked  me  with  anger  and  scorn ;  he 
lumniontMl  all  the  haughtiness  of  his  nature,  and 
pandeur  of  his  look,  to  give  weight  to  the  contume- 
j  with  which  he  treated  me.  I  felt  I  had  not  de- 
srved  ii — 1  felt  that  I  was  not  appreciated — I  felt 
bat  I  had  that  within  me  whicn  merited  better 
ircaimunt;  my  heart  swelled  against  a  father's  in- 
jiutice.  I  broke  through  my  habitual  awe  of  him. 
I  replied  to  him  with  impatience ;  my  hot  spirit 
flushed  in  my  cheek  and  kindled  in  my  eye,  but  my 
itnsitive  heart  swelled  as  quickly,  and  before  I  had 
half  venter!  my  passion  I  felt  it  suffocated  and 
quenched  in  my  tears.  My  father  was  astonished 
and  incensed  at  this  turning  of  the  worm,  and  or- 
dered me  to  my  chamber.  I  retired  in  silence, 
choakiiig  with  contending  emotions. 

I  had  not  been  long  there  when  I  overheard 
voices  in  an  adjoining  apartment.  It  was  a  con- 
sultation between  my  father  and  the  monk,  about 
the  means  of  getting  me  back  quietly  to  the  convent. 
My  resolution  was  taken.  I  had  no  longer  a  home 
nor  a  father.  That  very  night  I  left  the  paternal 
roof.  I  got  on  board  a  vessel  about  making  sail 
from  the  harbour,  and  abandoned  myself  to  the  wide 
world.  No  matter  to  what  port  she  steered ;  any 
part  of  so  beautiful  a  world  was  better  than  my  con- 
vent. No  matter  v  lere  I  was  cast  by  fortune ;  any 
place  would  be  more  a  home  to  me  than  the  home  I 
bad  left  behind.  The  vessel  was  bound  to  Genoa. 
We  arrived  there  after  a  voyage  of  a  few  days. 

As  I  entered  the  harbour,  between  the  moles 
which  embrace  it,  and  beheld  the  amphitheatre  of 
palaces  .and  churches  and  splendid  gardens,  rising 
sni:  alwve  another,  I  felt  at  once  its  title  to  the  ap- 
ptliation  of  Genoa  the  Superb.  I  landed  on  the 
sule  an  utter  stranger,  without  knowing  what  to  do, 
)r whither  to  direct  my  steps.  No  matter;  I  was 
released  from  the  thralaom  of  the  convent  and  the 
humiliations  of  home  I  When  I  traversed  the  Strada 
Balbi  and  the  Strada  Nuova,  those  streets  of  palaces, 
ar.d  g^ized  at  the  wonders  of  architecture  around 
oe;  when  1  wandered  at  close  of  day,  amid  a  gay 


throng  of  the  brilliant  and  the  beautiful,  through  th< 
freen  alleys  of  the  Aqua  Verdi,  or  among  the  col- 
onnades and  terraces  of  the  magnificent  Doria  Gar< 
dens ;  I  thought  it  impossible  to  be  ever  otherwis« 
than  happy  in  Genoa. 

A  few  days  sufficed  to  shew  me  my  mistake.  My 
scanty  purse  was  exhausted,  and  lor  the  first  time  ii 
my  lite  I  experienced  the  sordid  distress  of  pen'iry. 
I  had  never  known  the  want  of  money,  and  had 
never  adverted  to  the  possibility  of  such  an  eviL  1 
was  ignorant  of  the  world  and  all  its  ways ;  and 
when  first  the  idea  of  destitution  came  over  my  mind 
its  effect  was  withering.  I  was  wandering  pensively 
throujih  the  streets  which  no  longer  delighted  my 
eves,  when  chance  led  my  steps  into  the  magnificent 
church  of  the  Annunciata. 

A  celebrated  painter  of  the  day  was  at  .that  mo- 
ment superintending  the  placing  of  one  of  his  pict- 
ures over  an  alta'.  The  proficiency  which  I  had  ac- 
quired in  his  art  .uring  my  residence  in  the  convent 
had  made  me  an  enthusiastic  amateur.  I  was  struck, 
at  the  first  glance,  with  the  painting.  It  was  the  tace 
of  a  Madonna.  So  innocent,  so  lovely,  such  a  divinr 
expression  of  maternal  tenderness  !  I  lost  for  the 
moment  all  recollection  of  myself  in  the  enthusiasm 
of  my  art.  I  clasped  my  hancls  together,  and  uttered 
an  ej.iculation  of  delight.  The  painter  perceived  my 
emotion.  He  was  flattered  and  gratified  by  it.  My 
air  and  manner  pleased  him,  and  he  accosted  me. 
I  felt  too  much  tne  want  of  friendship  to  repel  rha 
advances  of  a  stranger,  and  there  was  something  in 
this  one  so  benevolent  and  winning  that  inu  mo- 
ment he  gained  my  confidence. 

I  told  him  my  story  and  my  situation,  concealing 
only  my  name  and  rank.  He  appeared  strongly  in- 
terested by  my  recital ;  invited  me  to  his  house,  and 
from  that  time  I  became  his  favourite  pupil.  He 
thought  he  perceived  in  me  extraordinary  talents  for 
the  art,  and  his  encomiums  awakened  all  my  ardour. 
What  a  blissful  period  of  my  existence  was  it  that  I 
passed  beneath  his  roof.  Another  being  seemed  cre- 
ated within  me,  or  rather,  all  that  was  amiable  and 
excellent  w-is  drawn  out.  I  was  as  recluse  as  ever  I 
had  been  at  the  convent,  but  how  different  was  my 
seclusion.  My  time  was  spent  in  storing  my  mind 
with  lofty  ana  poetical  ideas ;  in  meditating  on  all 
that  was  striking  and  noble  in  history  or  fiction ;  in 
studying  and  tracing  all  that  was  sublime  and  beau- 
tiful in  nature.  I  was  always  a  \isionary,  innagina- 
tive  being,  but  now  my  reveries  and  imaginings  all 
elevated  me  to  rapture. 

I  looked  up  to  my  master  as  to  a  benevolent  ge- 
nius that  had  opened  to  me  a  region  of  enchantment. 
I  became  devotedly  attached  to  him.  He  was  not  a 
native  of  Genoa,  but  had  been  drawn  thither  by  the 
solicitation  of  several  of  the  nobility,  and  had  re- 
sided there  but  a  few  years,  for  the  completion  of 
certain  works  he  had  undertaken.  His  health  was 
delicate,  and  he  had  to  confide  much  of  the  filling  up 
of  his  designs  to  the  pencils  of  his  scholars.  He 
considered  me  as  particularly  happy  in  delineating 
the  human  countenance;  in  seizing  upon  charsctei- 
istic,  though  fleeting  expressions  and  fixing  them 
powerfully  upon  my  canvas.  I  was  emplc/ed  con- 
tinually, therefore,  in  sketching  faces,  and  often  when 
some  particular  grace  or  beauty  or  expression  was 
wanted  in  a  countenance,  it  was  entrusted  to  my 
pencil.  My  benefactor  was  fond  of  bringing  me  for- 
ward ;  and  partly,  perhaps,  through  my  actual  skill, 
and  partly  by  his  partial  praises,  I  began  to  be  noted 
for  the  expression  of  my  countenances. 

Among  the  various  works  which  he  had  under- 
taken, was  an  historical  piece  for  one  of  the  palaces 
of  Genoa,  in  which  were  to  be  introduced  the  like- 
nesses of  several  of  the  family.    Among  these  was 


BS8 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


I'ly  ^<» 


!?!'...■• 


I'i 


U  i,^. 


■■■If. 


■  iTr !: 
;  ft- 


I 


■t 


4) 


one  entrusted  to  my  pencil.  It  was  that  of  a  young 
eirl  who  as  ym  was  in  a  convent  for  her  education. 
She  came  out  for  the  purpose  of  sitting  fcr  the  pict- 
ure. I  first  saw  her  in  .in  apartment  of  one  ot  the 
sumptuous  palaces  of  Genoa.  She  stood  before  a 
casement  ih.it  looked  out  u|)on  the  b.iy .  a  stream  of 
vernal  sunshine  tell  upon  her,  and  shed  a  kind  of 
ilory  round  her  as  it  lit  up  the  rich  crimson  cham- 
5er.  She  was  but  sixteen  years  of  age — and  oil,  how 
lOvely !  The  scene  l)u)ke  upon  me  like  a  mere  vision 
')f  spring  and  youth  and  beauty.  I  could  have  fallen 
dcwn  and  worshipped  her.  She  was  like  one  of 
those  fictions  of  poets  .ind  painters,  when  they  would 
express  the  ieau  ideal  that  haunts  their  minds  with 
■ha|ies  of  indescribable  perfection. 

I  was  permitted  to  sketch  her  countenance  in 
various  positions,  and  1  fondly  protracted  the  study 
that  was  \indoing  me.  The  more  I  gazed  on  her  the 
ntore  1  became  enamoured ;  there  was  something 
alm9st  painful  in  my  intense  admiration.  I  was  but 
nini:teen  years  of  age;  shy,  diflident,  and  inexpe- 
rienced. I  was  treated  with  attention  and  encour- 
agement, for  my  youth  and  my  enthusiasm  in  my  art 
had  won  favour  for  ine ;  and  I  am  inclined  to  think 
that  there  was  something  in  my  air  and  manner  that 
inspired  interest  and  respect.  Still  the  kindness  with 
which  I  was  treated  could  not  dispel  the  embarrass- 
ment into  which  my  own  imaruiation  threw  me 
when  in  presence  of  thij  lovely  oeing.  It  elevated 
her  into  something  almost  more  than  mortal.  She 
seemed  too  exquisite  tor  e.irthly  use ;  too  delicate 
and  exalted  for  huntan  attainment.  As  1  sat  tracing 
her  charms  on  my  canvas,  with  my  eyes  occasion- 
lilv  rivetted  on  her  features,  1  drank  in  delicious 
poison  that  made  me  giddy.     My  heart  alternately 

Eished  with  tenderness,  and  ached  with  despair, 
ow  I  became  more  than  ever  sensible  of  the  vio- 
lient  t^res  that  had  lain  dormant  .it  the  bottom  of  my 
Bcul.  You  who  are  born  in  a  more  temperate 
climate  and  under  a  cooler  sky,  have  little  idea  of  the 
violence  of  p.ission  in  our  southern  bosoms. 

A  few  days  finished  my  task  ;  Bianca  returned  to 
her  convent,  but  her  image  rem.iined  indelibly  im- 
pressed upon  my  heart.  It  dwelt  on  my  imagina- 
tion ;  it  became  my  pervading  idea  of  beauty.  It 
had  an  effect  even  upon  my  pencil ;  I  became  noted 
for  my  felicity  in  depicting  female  loveliness ;  it  was 
but  because  I  multiplied  the  image  of  Bianca.  I 
soothed,  and  yet  fed  my  fancy,  by  introducing  her  in 
all  the  productions  of  my  master.  I  have  stood  with 
delight  in  one  of  the  chapels  of  the  Annunciata,  and 
heard  the  crowd  extol  the  seraphic  beauty  of  a  saint 
which  I  had  painted,;  1  have  seen  them  bow  down 
in  adoration  l)efore  the  painting :  they  were  bowing 
before  the  loveliness  of  Bianca. 

I  existed  in  this  kind  of  dream,  I  might  almost  say 
delirium,  for  upwards  of  a  year.  Such  is  the  tenacity 
of  my  imagination  that  the  image  which  was  formed 
in  it  continued  in  all  its  power  and  freshness.  In- 
deed, I  was  a  solitary,  meditative  being,  much  given 
to  reverie,  and  apt  to  foster  ideas  which  had  once 
taken  strong  possession  of  me.  I  was  roused  from 
Ih)  fond,  melancholy,  delicious  dream  by  the  death 
of  my  worthy  benefactor.  I  cannot  describe  the 
^>&ags  his  death  occasioned  me.  It  left  me  alone  and 
iJniost  broken-hearted.  He  bequeathed  to  me  his 
little  property;  which,  from  the  liberality  of  his  dis- 
pOiiition  and  his  expensive  style  of  living,  was  indeed 
but  small;  and  he  most  particularly  recommended 
me,  in  dying,  to  the  protection  of  a  nobleman  who 
had  been  his  patron. 

The  latter  was  a  man  who  passed  for  munificent. 
He  was  a  lover  and  an  encourager  of  the  arts,  and 
evidently  wished  to  be  thought  so.  He  fancied  he 
■aw  in  me  indications  of  future  excellence ;  my  pen- 


cil had  already  attracted  attcntio*  ;  he  ti/  k  me  u| 
once  under  his  protection  ;  seeing  ihat  I    v n  oy^  f 

whelmed  with  ^icf,  and  incapable  of  extrin.j;  n,y.l 
self  in  the  mansion  of  my  late  liene factor,  hi  \\w\\l\ 
me  to  sojourn  for  a  time  in  a  villa  which  \w  ii(i:,s<'jje,j| 
on  the  border  of  the  sea,  in  the  picluresijic  ntih. 
bourhood  of  Sestri  de  Ponenti.  " 

I  found  at  the  villa  tHe  Count's  only  son  Pilippol 
he  was  nearly  of  my  age,  prepossessing  in  his  api 
pe.irance,  and   fascinating  m   nis  m.-tntu  rs ;  he  «• 
tached  himself  to  me,  anclseemed  to  court  ny  good 
opinion.     I  thought  there  was  something,'  ni  profes. 
sion  in  his  kindness,  and  of  caprice  in  his  disposj. 
tion  ;  but  I  had  nothing  tlse  near  me  to  ,-iii  n  h  my. 
self  to,  and  my  heart  felt  the  need  of  somcihing  to  I 
re])o.se   itself  upon.     His  education  had  hitn  net. 
lected ;  he  looketl  upon  me  .is  his  superior  in  mental ! 
powers  and  acquirements,  and  tacitly  aikm  ulcilged 
my  superiority.     I  felt  th.it  I  was  his  eqM.il  m  hirth, 
and  that  g.ive  an  independence  to  my  ni.iniKt,  which  1 
had   its  effect.     The  caprice    and    lyrnnnv   I  sav* 
sometimes  exercised  on  others,  over  whom  he  had 
power,   were   never  manifested    towards  nu-,    \V{ 
became  intimate  friends,  and  frequent  cuinp.mioni. 
Still  I  loved  to  be  alone,  and  to  indulge  in  the  rev:- 
nes  of  my  own   imagination,  among  the  tH'.iutituI 
scenery  by  which  I  was  surrounded. 

The  villa  stood  in  the  midst  of  ornatnented  gtoundi, 
finely  decoiated  with  statues  and  fountains,  ami  laid 
out  into  groves  and  alleys  and  shady  l>o\vers,  Ii 
commanded  a  wide  view  of  the  MediterraiuMn,  and 
the  picturesque  Ligurian  coast.  Every  thing  waj 
assembled  here  that  could  gratify  the  taste  or  agrtt- 
ably  occupy  the  mind.  Soothed  by  the  tranquiliity  ol 
this  elegant  retreat,  the  turbulence  of  my  helin^j 
gradu.iUy  subsided,  and,  blending  with  the  romantic 
spell  that  still  reigned  over  my  im.igin.uio.n,  pr^ 
duced  a  soft  voluptuous  melancholy. 

I  had  not  been  long  untler  the  roof  of  the  Count, 
when  our  solitude  was  enlivened  by  another  inhab- 
itant. It  was  a  daughter  of  a  relation  of  the  Count, 
who  had  lately  died  in  reduced  circumstances,  be 
queathing  this  only  child  to  his  protection.  I  had 
heard  much  of  her  lieauty  from  Filippo,  but  my  fancy 
had  become  so  engrossed  by  one  idea  ol  t)eaiity  as 
not  to  admit  of  any  otfier.  We  were  in  the  central 
saloon  of  the  villa  when  she  arrived.  She  was  still 
in  mourning,  and  approached,  leaning  on  the  Count's 
arm.  As  they  ascended  the  marble  portico,  1  was 
struck  by  the  elegance  of  her  figure  and  niavemcni, 
by  the  grace  with  which  the  mezsaro,  the  bewitching 
veil  of  Genoa,  was  folded  about  her  slender  tbrm. 
They  entered.  Heavens  I  what  was  my  surprise 
when  I  beheld  Bianca  before  me.  It  was  herself; 
pale  with  grief ;  but  still  more  matured  in  loveliness 
than  when  I  had  last  beheld  her.  The  time  that 
had  elapsed  had  developed  the  graces  of  her  person; 
and  the  .sorrow  she  hacf  undergone  had  diffused  over 
her  countenance  an  irresistible  tenderness. 

She  blushed  and  trembled  at  seeing  in  ,  anfl  tears 
rushed  into  her  eyes,  for  she  remembered  in  v,ho;c 
company  she  had  been  accustomed  to  behold  me. 
For  my  part,  I  cannot  express  what  were  my  emo- 
tions. By  degrees  I  overcame  the  extreme  siiyness 
that  had  formerly  paralyzed  me  in  her  presence.  We 
were  drawn  together  by  sympathy  of  situation.  We 
had  each  lost  our  Iwst  friend  in  the  world  ;  we  were 
each,  in  some  measure,  thrown  upon  the  kindnes? 
of  others.  When  I  came  to  know  her  intellectually, 
all  my  ideal  picturings  of  her  were  confirmed.  Hei 
newness  to  the  world,  her  delightful  susceptibility  to 
every  thing  beautiful  and  agreeable  in  nature,  re. 
minded  me  of  my  own  emotions  when  first  I  escaped 
from  the  convent.  Her  rectitude  of  thinking  delight 
ed  my  judgment ;  the  sweetness  of  her  nature  wrap' 


TALKS  OF  A  TRAVBLLRR. 


an 


•ed  Itsell  round  my  heart ;  and  then  her  jroung  and 
loidcr  and  budding  loveliness,  sent  a  delicious  mad- 
ira  to  my  brain. 

I  g.ued  upon  hrr  with  a  kind  of  idolatry,  as  some- 
thing more  than  mor*al ;  and  I  felt  humiliated  at 
tlic  iilea  of  my  comparative  unworthiness.  Yet  she 
0^i  mortal ;  and  one  of  mortality's  most  susceptible 
ind  lovinjf  compounds ;  for  she  loved  me  I 

How  nrst  I  discovered  the  transporting  truth  I 
(annot  recollect ;  I  believe  it  stole  upon  me  by  de- 

Ktti,  as  a  wonder  past  hope  or  belief.  We  were 
th  at  such  a  tender  and  loving  age  ;  in  constant 
intercourse  with  each  other ;  mingling  in  the  same 
elegant  pursuits;  for  music,  poetry,  and  painting 
were  our  mutual  delights,  and  we  were  almost  sepa- 
rated from  society,  among  lovely  and  romantic 
icenrry  !  Is  it  strange  that  two  young  hearts  thus 
brought  together  should  readily  twine  round  each 
other? 

Oh,  gods !  what  a  dream — a  transient  dream !  of  un- 
allojeJdelitjht  then  passe<l  over  njy  soul !  Then  it  was 
that  tlie  world  around  me  was  inueed  a  paradise,  fur 
1  had  woman — lovely,  delicious  woman,  to  share  it 
with  me.  How  often  have  I  rambled  over  the  pictur- 
esque shores  of  Sestri,  or  climbed  its  wild  mountains, 
with  the  coast  gemmed  with  villas,  and  the  blue  sea 
kr  below  me,  and  the  slender  Fharo  of  Genoa  on  its 
romantic  promontory  in  the  distance  ;  and  as  I  sus- 
tained the  faltering  steps  of  Bianca,  have  thought 
there  could  no  unhappiness  enter  into  so  beautiful  a 
world.  Why,  oh,  why  is  this  budding  season  of  life 
ind  love  so  transient — why  is  this  rosy  cloud  of  love 
th.it  sheds  such  a  glow  over  the  morning  of  our  days 
so  prone  to  brew  up  into  the  whirlwmd  and  the 
itonn  I 

I  was  the  tirst  to  awaken  from  this  blissful  de- 
lirium of  the  affections.  I  had  gained  Bianca's 
geait ;  what  w.is  I  to  do  with  it  ?  I  h.id  no  wealth 
ncr  prospects  to  entitle  me  to  her  hand.  Was  I  to 
take  advantage  of  her  ignorance  of  the  world,  of  her 
confiding  affection,  and  draw  her  down  to  my  own 
poverty  f  Was  this  requitine  the  hospitality  of  thf; 
Count? — was  this  requiting  tne  love  of  Hianca? 

Now  first  1  began  to  feel  that  even  successful  love 
may  have  its  bitterness.  A  corroding  care  gathered 
about  my  heart.  I  moved  about  the  palace  like  a 
guilty  being.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  abused  its  hospitality 
—as  if  I  were  a  thief  within  its  walls.  I  could  no 
longer  look  with  unembarrassed  mien  in  the  coun- 
tenance of  the  Count.  I  accused  myself  of  perfidy 
to  him,  and  I  thought  he  read  it  in  my  looks,  and 
began  to  distrust  and  despise  me.  His  manner  had 
always  been  ostentatious  and  condescending,  it  now 
appeared  cold  and  haughty.  Filippo,  too,  became 
reserved  and  distant ;  or  at  least  I  suspected  him  to 
be  so.  Heavens! — was  this  mere  coinage  of  my 
brain :  was  I  to  become  suspicious  of  all  tne  world  ? 
—a  poor  surmising  wretch ;  watching  looks  and 
gestures ;  and  torturing  myself  with  misconstruc- 
tions. Or  if  true — was  I  to  remain  beneath  a  roof 
where  I  was  merely  tolerated,  and  linger  there  on 
lulTerance?  "This  is  not  to  be  endured!"  ex- 
claimed I ;  "  I  will  tear  myself  from  this  state  of  self- 
abasement  ;  I  will  break  through  this  fascination 

wd  fly Fly  ? — whither  ? — from   the  world  ? — for 

where  is  the  world  when  I  leave  Bianca  behind 
(Bel" 

My  spirit  was  naturally  proud,  and  swelled  within 
me  at  the  idea  of  being  looked  upon  with  contumely. 
Manv  times  I  was  on  the  point  of  declaring  my 
fiiini^-  and  rank,  aQd  asserting  my  equality,  in  the 
presence  of  Bianca,  when  I  thought  her  relatives  as- 
turned  an  air  of  superiority.  But  the  feeling  was 
transient.  I  considered  myself  discarded  and  con- 
demned by  my  faimily;  and  had  solemnly  vowed 
13 


never  to  own  relationship  to  them,  until  the>  theni' 
selves  should  claim  it. 

The  struggl'-  of  my  mind  preyed  upon  my  happi- 
ness and  my  nealth.  It  seemed  as  if  the  uncertainty 
of  being  loved  would  be  less  intolerable  than  thus  to 
be  assured  of  it,  and  yet  not  dare  to  enjoy  the  oon< 
viction.  I  was  no  longer  the  enraptured  admirer  of 
Bianca ;  I  no  longer  hung  in  ecstasy  on  the  tones  of 
her  vuice,  nor  drank  in  with  insatiate  gaze  the  bcautj 
of  her  countenance.  Her  very  smiles  ceased  to  de- 
light me,  for  I  felt  culpable  in  naviiig  won  them. 

She  could  not  hut  lie  sensible  of  the  change  in 
me,  and  inquired  the  cause  with  her  usual  frankness 
and  simplicity.  1  cojid  not  evade  the  inquiry,  for 
my  heart  was  full  to  aching.  I  told  h'.:r  all  the  con- 
flict of  my  soul ;  my  devouring  pass.on,  my  bitter 
self-upbraid.ng.  "Yes I"  said  I,  "  I  am  unworthy 
of  you.  I  a*n  an  offcast  from  my  family — a  wander- 
er— a  nameless,  homeless  wanderer,  with  nothing 
but  |K)verty  for  my  portion,  and  yet  I  have  dared  to 
love  you — hiive  dan-d  to  aspire  to  your  love  I  " 

My  agitation  moved  her  to  tears;  but  she  saw 
nothing  m  my  situation  so  hopeless  as  I  had  depicted 
it.  Bruught  up  in  a  convent,  she  knew  nothing  of 
the  world,  its  wants,  its  cares ; — and  indeed,  what 
woman  is  a  worldly  casuist  in  matters  of  the  heart ! 
— Nay,  more — she  kindled  into  a  sweet  enthusiasm 
when  she  spoke  of  my  fortunes  and  myself.  We 
had  dwelt  together  on  tne  works  of  the  famous  mas- 
ters. I  had  related  to  her  their  histories  ;  the  high 
reputation,  the  influence,  the  magnificence  to  which 
they  had  attained  ; — the  companions  of  princes,  the 
favourites  of  kings,  the  pride  and  boast  of  nations. 
All  this  she  applied  to  me.  Her  love  saw  nothii  £ 
in  their  greatest  productions  that  I  was  not  able  tc 
achieve ;  and  when  I  saw  the  lovely  creature  glcw 
with  fervour,  and  her  whole  countenance  radiant 
with  the  visions  of  my  glory,  which  seemed  break* 
ing  upon  her.  I  was  snatched  up  for  the  moment 
into  the  heaven  of  her  own  Iniagination. 

I  am  dwelling  too  long  upon  this  part  of  my  story  i 
yet  I  cannot  help  lingering  over  a  period  of  my  life, 
on  which,  with  all  its  cares  and  conflicts,  I  look  back 
with  fondness ;  for  as  yet  my  soul  was  unstained  by 
a  crime.  I  do  not  know  what  might  have  been  the 
result  of  this  struggle  between  pride,  delicacy,  and 
passion,  had  I  not  read  in  a  Neapolitan  gazette  an 
account  of  the  sudden  death  of  my  brother.  It  was 
accompanied  by  an  earnest  inquiry  for  intelligence 
concerning  me,  and  a  prayer,  should  this  notice  meet 
my  eye,  that  I  would  hasten  to  Naples,  to  comfort  an 
infirm  and  afflicted  father. 

1  was  naturally  of  an  affectionate  disposition  ;  but 
my  brother  had  never  been  as  a  brother  to  me ;  I  had 
lone  considered  myself  as  disconnected  from  him, 
ancT  his  death  caused  me  but  little  emotion.  The 
thoughts  ot  my  father,  infirm  and  suffering,  touched 
me,  however,  to  the  quick ;  and  when  1  thought  of 
him,  that  lol^y  magnihcent  being,  now  bowed  down 
and  (lesolate^and  suing  to  me  for  comfort,  all  my  re- 
sentment for  past  neglect  was  subdued,  and  a  glow 
of  filial  affection  was  awakened  within  me. 

The  predominant  feeling,  however,  that  ovirpow- 
ered  all  others  was  transport  at  the  sudden  change 
in  my  whole  fortunes.  A  home — a  name — rank-- 
wealtn  awaited  me ;  and  love  painted  a  still  more 
rapturous  prospect  in  the  distance.  I  hastened  to 
Bianca,  and  threw  myself  at  her  feet.  "  Oh,  Bianca,'' 
exclaimed  I,  "  at  length  I  can  claim  you  for  my  own. 
I  am  no  longer  a  nameless  adventurer,  a  neglected, 
rejected  outcast.  Look — read,  behold  the  tidings 
that  restore  me  to  my  name  and  to  myself  I " 

I  will  not  dwell  on  the  scene  that  ensued.  Bianca 
rejoiced  in  the  reverse  of  my  situation,  because  she 
saw  it  lightened  my  heart  of  a  load  of  care ,  for  b«i 


mm* 

BijTr 

is '  ' 

IK     *' 

Mm    '' 

W-" 

It*  '' 

mi'*  ' 

IJ'U  . 

m-  '  ' 

MO 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVINU 


ill: 


u 


own  pari  the  had  lovfd  mi'  for  tnynrlf,  and  had  nrvf  r 
ciouhtrd  thnt  my  own  mirrits  would  comnund  both 
lamr  and  t'orune, 

1  now  frit  all  my  native  pride  buoyant  within  me. 
I  no  lon(;cr  wall<ed  with  my  eyca  betit  to  the  dust ; 
hope  elrvaifd  them  to  the  skicn;  my  aoul  wah  lit  up 
with  fresh  fires,  and  Ijenined  from  my  countenance. 

1  wished  to  impart  the  change  in  my  circumstances 
to  the  Count ;  to  let  him  Icnuw  who  and  wliat  I  was, 
and  to  make  formal  proposals  for  the  hand  of  Dianca ; 
iMt  the  Count  was  absent  on  a  distant  estate.  I 
opened  my  whole  soul  to  Filippo.  Now  first  I  told 
him  of  my  passion  ;  of  the  doubts  and  fears  that  had 
distracted  me,  and  of  the  tidings  that  li.%c{  suddenly 
dispelled  them.  He  overwhelmed  me  with  congratu- 
lations and  with  the  warmest  expressions  of  sym- 
pathy. I  embraced  him  in  the  fullness  of  my  heart. 
I  felt  compunctious  for  having;  suspected  him  of  cold- 
ness, and  asked  him  forgiveness  for  having  ever 
doubted  his  friendship. 

Nothing  is  so  warm  and  enthusiastic  as  a  sudden 
expansion  of  the  heart  between  youn^  men.  Filippo 
entered  into  our  concerns  with  the  most  e.nger  inttr- 
est.  He  was  our  confidant  and  counsellbr.  It  was 
determined  that  I  should  h-isten  at  once  to  Naples 
to  le-establish  myself  in  my  father's  affections  and 
my  paternal  home,  and  the  moment  the  reconcilia- 
tion was  effected  and  my  fathers  consent  insured.  I 
shovdJ  return  and  demand  Hianca  of  the  Count. 
Filippo  cng.-iged  to  secure  his  father's  ac/Juiescence  ; 
indeei,  he  undertook  to  watch  ovr  o'\t  interests,  and 
was  the  channel  through  which  we  were  to  corre- 
spond. 

My  parting  with  Rianca  was  tender— delicious — 
agonizmg.  It  was  in  a  little  pavilion  of  the  garden 
which  had  been  one  of  our  favourite  resorts.  How 
often  and  often  did  I  return  to  have  one  more  adieu 
—to  have  her  look  once  more  on  me  in  speechless 
emotion — to  enjoy  once  more  the  rapturous  sight  of 
those  tears  streaming  down  her  lovely  cheeks — to 
seize  once  more  on  tnat  delicate  hand,  the  frankly 
accorded  pledge  of  love,  and  cover  it  with  tears  and 
kisses  !  Heavens  I  There  is  a  delight  even  in  the 
oarting  agony  of  two  lovers  worth  a  thousand  tame 

Pleasures  of  the  world.  I  have  her  at  this  moment 
efore  my  eyes — at  the  window  of  the  pavilion,  put- 
ling  aside  the  vines  that  clustered  about  the  casement 
—her  light  form  beaming  forth  in  virgin  white — her 
countenance  all  tears  and  smiles — sending  a  thou- 
sand and  a  thousand  adieus  after  me,  as,  hesitating, 
in  a  .ieliritim  of  fondness  and  agitation,  I  faltered  my 
way  down  the  avenue. 

^s  the  bark  bore  me  out  of  the  harbour  of  Genoa, 
how  tagerly  my  eyes  stretched  along  the  co.ist  of 
Sestri,  till  it  discerned  the  villa  gleaming  from  among 
trees  M  the  foot  of  the  mountain.  As  long  as  day 
lasted,  I  gazed  and  gazed  upon  it,  till  it  lessened  aAd 
lessened  to  a  mere  white  speck  in  the  distance ;  and 
still  my  intense  and  fixed  gaze  discerned  it,  when  all 
other  objects  of  the  coast  n.id  blended  into  indistinct 
x>nfusion,  or  were  lost  in  the  evening  gloom. 

On  arriving  at  Naples,  I  hastened  to  my  paternal 
home.  My  neart  yearned  for  the  long-withheld 
blessing  of  a  father  s  love.  As  I  entered  the  proud 
portal  of  the  ancestral  palace,  my  emotions  were  so 
Treat  that  I  could  not  speak.  No  one  knew  me. 
'The  servants  gazed  at  me  with  curiosity  and  surprise. 
A  few  years  of  intellectual  elevation  and  develop- 
ment had  made  a  prodigious  change  in  the  poor 
fiigitive  stripling  from  the  convent.  Still  that  no 
one  should  know  me  in  my  rightful  home  was  over- 
powering. 1  felt  like  the  prwligal  son  returned.  I 
was  a  stranger  in  the  house  of  my  father.  I  burst 
Into  tears,  and  wept  aloud.  When  I  made  myself 
known,  however,  all  was  changed.    I  who  had  once 


been  almoit  repulsed  from  Itswallt,  and  forcrd  ta*. 
as  an  exile,  was  welcomed  back  wi())  accl.tinailM 
with  servility.  One  of  the  servants  hastennj  t,,  ,|^ 
pare  my  father  for  my  reception  ;  my  eaKrmpM  to 
receive  the  paternal  embr.ice  w.-u  so  great  tlii't  I  louM 
not  await  his  return  ;  but  hurritd  after  him. 

What  a  sfiectacle  met  my  eyes  as  I  en'  rrtl  ihr 
diainber.  My  father,  whom  I  had  left  in  ihcp.,i|, 
of  vigourous  age,  whose  noble  and  m.ijesiir  bi  ir.,u 
h:id  so  awed  my  young  im.igination,  w;i^  liovltj 
down  and  withered  into  decrepitude.  A  par.u\s,H  1;^,; 
rav.iged  his  stately  form,  and  left  it  a  sh.ikinj;  rl\n 
He  sat  propped  up  in  his  chair,  with  iiak',  rt'i;,xc(| 
^is.ige  and  glassy,  wandering  eye.  His  iniillpctj 
had  evidently  shared  in  the  ravage  ol  his  irame 
Th';  servant  was  endeavouring  to  make  hi^l^,)li|pr^ 
hend  the  visitor  that  w.^  at  hanil.  I  tottcnd  up  to 
him  and  sunk  at  his  feet.  All  his  p.ast  cnl.lncsHanc' 
neglfct  were  forgotten  in  his  present  sufleriiijjs  l  r( 
mvmbered  only  that  he  w.is  my  parent,  ami  ih.^t  I 
had  deserted  him.  I  clas|)ed  nis  knees ;  m\  volet 
was  almost  stifled  Vvith  convulsive  sobs.  "  I'.irilon 
—pardon  —oh  my  father  1 "  was  all  that  I  could  mter, 
His  apprehension  seemed  slowly  to  return  to  him! 
He  g.izfd  at  me  for  some  moments  with  a  v.i>,nie! 
inquiring  look ;  a  convulsive  tremor  quivered  .-xUoiit  hij 
lips ;  he  feebly  extended  a  shaking  hand,  lai<l  ii  upon 
my  head,  anil  burst  into  an  infantine  flow  of  ic.irs. 

From  that  moment  he  would  scarcely  spurt-  mt 
from  his  sij,'ht.  I  appeared  the  only  object  tint  his 
heart  responded  to  in  the  world :  all  else  was  as  i 
bl.ink  to  him.  He  h.id  almost  lost  the  powers  ol 
speech,  and  the  reasoning  faculty  seemed  at  in  eid 
He  was  mute  and  passive ;  exceoting  that  its  of 
child-like  weeping  would  sometimes  come  over  h'm 
without  any  immediate  cause.  If  1  left  the  room  \\ 
any  time,  his  eye  was  incessantly  fixed  on  the  don 
till  my  return,  and  on  my  entrance  there  was  another 
gush  of  tears. 

To  talk  with  him  of  my  concerns  in  this  ruined  sta'.r 
of  mind,  would  have  been  worse  than  usi-less :  to 
have  left  him,  for  ever  so  short  a  time,  would  ha\t 
been  cruel,  unnatural.  Here  then  was  a  new  tiia) 
for  my  affections.  I  wrote  to  liianca  an  aciount  ci 
my  return  and  of  my  actual  situation ;  pain' iig  in 
colours  vivid,  for  they  were  true,  the  tormcnis  1  suf- 
fered at  our  being  thus  scp.irated  ;  for  to  the  yoi'h- 
ful  lover  every  day  of  absence  is  an  age  of  luvc  lest. 
I  enclosed  the  letter  in  one  to  Filippo,  who  w.is  the 
channel  of  our  correspondence.  I  received  a  reply 
from  him  full  of  friendship  and  sympathy  ;  frmn  Bi. 
anca  full  of  assurances  of  affection  and  constancy. 

Week  after  week,  month  after  month  elaiistd, 
without  making  any  change  in  my  circumst.inces 
The  vital  flame,  which  had  seemed  nearly  txtiiici 
when  first  I  met  my  father,  kept  fluttering  on  with- 
out any  apparent  diminution.  I  watched  him  con- 
stantly, faithfully — 1  had  almost  said  patiently.  I 
knew  that  his  death  alone  would  set  me  free ;  yet  I 
never  at  any  moment  wished  it.  I  felt  too  glad  to  ix 
able  to  make  any  atonement  for  past  disobedience: 
and,  denied  as  I  had  been  all  endearments  of  reb- 
tionship  in  my  early  days,  my  he.irt  yearned  tow.irds 
a  father,  who,  in  his  age  and  helplessness,  had  thimwn 
himself  entirely  on  me  for  comfort.  My  passion  tor  Bi- 
anca  gained  daily  more  force  from  absence;  by  const  .^r 
meditation  it  wore  itself  adeeperand  deeper  channe>. 
I  made  no  new  friends  nor  acquaintance ;  sought  none 
of  the  pleasures  of  Naples  which  my  rank  :<nd  furtune 
threw  open  to  me.  Mine  was  a  heart  tivt  contined 
itself  to  few  objects,  but  dwelt  upon  thps<'  with  the 
intenser  passion.  To  sit  by  my  father,  and  adminiv 
ter  to  his  wants,  and  to  meditate  on  Biunca  in  the 
silence  of  his  chamber,  was  my  constant  habit 
Sometimes  I  amused  myself  with  my  pencil  in  pu^ 


TALKS  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


Ml 


I  (tying  ihe  image  that  wai  ever  present  to  my  imag* 
lutlnn.  I  tranitrerred  to  canvas  every  look  and  smITr 
^  hifi  that  dwelt  in  my  heart.  1  showed  them  to 
giy  f.iiher  in  hopes  of  awakening  an  interest  in  his 
I  ^win  for  the  mere  shadow  or  my  love  ;  liut  he  was 
Ifo  f.ir  sunk  in  intellect  to  take  any  more  than  a 
^iM  like  notice  of  them. 

Wiif  n  I  received  a  letter  from  Dianca  it  was  a  new 
I  KjjicL*  ■'(  solit.iry  luxury.  Her  letters,  it  is  true,  were 
|(ii  411(1  lt>.ss  tre(|uent,  \aH  thev  were  always  full  of 
mijrancM  of  unahated  afTcction,  They  breathed 
Ml  the  frank  4tid  innocent  w.irmth  with  which  she 
:ipn;!<so(t  hcrseli  in  convers.-ition,  but  I  accounted 
^r  ii  Irom  th'  embarrassment  which  inexperienced 
minils  li.ive  oftc"  to  express  tti'  mselves  upon  paj)er. 
ftliii|!  1  assured  me  of  her  un.ilter^^l  constancy.  They 
doth  l.in'""'ed  in  the  stfonjjest  tern^s  our  continued 
jfp,ir.iiion,  though  they  did  justice  to  the  filial  feel- 
in,-  thit  kept  m'-  by  my  father's  xjfie. 

Nc.irly  cifjhtecrt  foonths  elapsed  in  this  protr.icled 
ejilf.  To  nie  tiiey  wcce  so  many  ages.  Afdf nt  and 
iuiprtuous  by  nature,  1  scarcely  know  how  I  should 
havi;  su|)|M>rted  so  lonfi;  an  absence,  had  I  not  frit  as- 
lurrd  that  the  faith  uf  Dianca  was  c(|ual  to  my  own, 
At  lenijlh  my  father  died.  Life  went  frmT)  nim  al- 
most imperceptibly.  I  hunff  over  him  in  mute  atflic- 
liiin,  and  watched  the  expiring  spasms  of  nature. 
His  last  faltering  accents  whispered  repeatedly  a 
Wcssinjj  on  me — alas !  how  has  it  l)pen  fultilled  ! 

When  I  had  paid  due  honours  to  his  remains,  and 
laid  ihein  in  the  tomb  of  our  ancestors,  I  arranf^^ed 
bn' 7  my  affairs  ;  put  them  in  a  posture  to  be  easily 
at  my  command  from  a  distance,  and  eml)arked  once 
more,  with  a  boundinj}  heart  for  Genoa. 

Our  voya^^e  was  propitious,  and  oh  I  what  was  my 
nptiire  when  first,  m  tnedawn  of  mominc.  I  saw  the 
iJuiJowy  summits  af  the  Apennines  rising  almost 
Ut  '.louds  above  the  horizon.  The  sweet  breath  of 
i; miner  just  moved  us  over  the  long  wavering  bil- 
10  vs  that  were  roiling  us  on  towards  Genoa.  Uy 
Jt(frees  the  coast  of  Sestri  rose  like  a  sweet  creation 
of  enchantment  from  the  silver  bosom  of  the  deep. 
1  btliold  the  line  of  villages  and  palaces  studding  its 
ty)rdcrs.  My  eye  reverted  to  a  well-known  jwint, 
and  at  length,  from  the  confusion  of  distant  objects, 
it  singled  out  the  villa  which  contained  Bianca.  It 
was  a  mere  speck  in  the  land.sca|)e,  but  glimmering 
from  afar,  the  polar  star  of  my  heart. 

A^afn  I  gazed  at  it  for  a  livelong  summer's  day  ; 
but  oh  how  different  the  emotions  between  departure 
and  reium.  It  now  kept  growing  and  growing,  in- 
stead of  lessening  and  lessening  on  my  sight.  My 
heart  seemed  to  dilate  with  it.  I  looked  at  it 
through  a  telescope.  I  gradually  defined  one  feature 
after  another.  The  balconies  of  the  central  saloon 
where  tirst  1  met  ^Jianca  lieneath  its  roof;  the  ter- 
race where  we  so  often  -had  passed  the  delight  In! 
summer  evenings  ;  the  awning  that  shaded  her 
chamber  window — I  almost  fancied  I  saw  her  form 
beneath  it.  Could  she  but  know  her  lover  was  in  the 
bark  whose  white  sail  now  gleamed  on  the  sunny 
bosom  of  the  sea  !  My  fond  impatience  increased 
u  we  neared  the  coast.  The  sliip  seemed  to  lag 
luiiy  over  the  billows ;  I  could  almost  have  sprung 
rate  the  sea  and  swam  to  the  desired  shore. 

Thi-  shadows  of  evening  gradually  shrouded  the 
%ei.c,  but  the  moon  arose  in  all  her  fullness  and 
Deaaty,  and  shed  the  tender  light  so  dear  to  lovers, 
over  the  romantic  coast  of  Sestri.  My  whole  soul 
was  bathed  in  unutterable  tenderness.  1  anticipated 
the  heavenly  evenings  I  should  pass  in  wandering 
with  Bianca  by  the  light  of  that  blessed  moon. 

It  was  late  at  night  before  we  entered  the  harbour. 
Ks  early  next  morning  as  I  could  get  released  from 
the  fonnalities  of  landing  I  threw  myself  on  horse- 


back and  hastened  to  the  villa  As  I  galloped  round 
the  rocky  promontory  on  which  stands  the  Faro, 
and  saw  the  coast  of  Sestri  opening  upon  n^e,  ■ 
thousand  anxieties  and  doubts  suddenly  spran,{  uf 
In  my  Imsom.  Thei«  is  something  fearful  in  reluin- 
ing  to  those  we  love,  while  yet  uncertain  what  ilb 
or  changes  absence  may  h.ive  effected.  T!ie  lui- 
bulence  of  my  agitation  ihook  my  very  frame.  1 
spurred  my  horse  to  re(lojf)lcil  speed;  ne  was  cov- 
ered with  loam  when  we  l)<)th  arrived  panting  at  the 
gateway  that  o|)cned  to  the  grounds  around  the  vil- 
la. I  left  my  horse  at  a  cott.ige  and  walked  through 
the  grounds,  th.at  I  might  regain  iran<iuillity  for  tne 
approaching  interview.  1  cliid  irysrlf  for  having 
suffered  mere  doubts  and  surmises  thus  suddenly  to 
overcome  m<: ;  but  I  was  always  prone  to  be  carried 
away  by  theie  gusts  of  the  feelings. 

On  entering  the  garden  every  ining  bore  the  s.ime 
look  as  when  I  had  left  it;  and  this  uir  iianged  as- 
pect of  things  reassured  me.  There  were  ihe  alleyi 
m  which  I  nad  so  often  walked  with  Bianca ;  the 
same  shades  under  which  we  had  so  often  sat  dur- 
ing the  noontide  heat.  There  were  the  same  flowers 
of  which  she  was  fond  ;  and  which  appeared  still 
to  be  under  the  ntinistry  of  her  hand.  Lvery  thing 
around  looked  and  breathed  of  Uinncat ;  hope  ana 
ioy  liushed  in  my  bosom  at  every  step.  I  f**ss«d  ■ 
little  bower  in  which  we  had  often  sat  and  rcmJ  to- 
gether. A  book  and  a  glove  lay  on  the  bench.  It 
was  llianca's  glove ;  it  was  a  volume  of  the  Metes- 
tasio  I  h.id  given  her.  The  glove  lay  in  my  favour- 
ite pasHJige.  I  clasped  them  to  my  heart.  "  All  m 
safe  !"  exclaimed  I,  with  rapture,  "she  loves  me' 
she  is  still  my  own  I  " 

I  bounded  lightly  along  the  avenue  down  whirb 
I  had  faltered  so  shiwiy  at  my  dip.i'iure.  I  bthf.lil 
her  favourite  pavilion  which  liad  wiiucs*'' '  our  patt 
ing  scene.  The  window  sV:ii§  o|)eu,  with  ihe  sarn* 
vine  clamliering  about  it,  precls'"ly  as  when  sh« 
waved  and  wept  me  an  adieu.  Oh  !  hyw  transport- 
ing was  the  contrast  in  my  situation.  As  I  [>assed 
near  tlie  pavilion,  I  heard  the  tones  of  a  temak 
voice.  They  thrilled  through  me  with  an  appeal  le 
my  heart  not  to  be  mistaken.  Before  I  could  think, 
1  />//  they  were  Hianca's.  For  an  instant  I  paused, 
overpowered  with  agitation.  I  feared  to  break  in 
suddenly  upon  her.  1  softly  ascended  the  steps  of 
the  pavilion.  The  door  was  open.  I  saw  Bianca 
seated  at  a  table :  her  back  was  towards  me ;  she 
was  vv.arbling  a  soft  melancholy  air,  and  was  occu- 
pied in  drawing,  A  glance  suthced  to  show  me  that 
she  was  copying  one  of  my  own  p.aintings.  I  gazed 
on  her  fVir  a  moment  in  a  delicious  tumult  ofemo- 
tions.  She  paused  in  her  singing  ;  a  heavy  sigh,  al- 
most a  sol)  followed.  I  could  no  longer  contain 
myself.  "  Hianca  I "  exclaimed  I,  in  a  half  smother- 
ed voice.  She  started  at  the  sound ;  brushed  back 
the  ringlets  that  hung  clustering  about  her  face ; 
darted  a  glance  al  me ;  uttered  a  piercing  shriek, 
and  would  have  fallen  to  the  earth,  had  I  not  caught 
her  in  my  arms. 

"  Bianca  !  my  own  Bianca !  "  exclaimed  I,  folding 
her  to  my  bosom  ;  my  voice  stifled  in  sobs  of  con- 
vulsive joy.  She  lay  in  my  arms  without  senr*  or 
motion.  Alarmed  at  the  effects  of  my  own  pre- 
cipitation, I  scarce  knew  what  to  do.  I  tried  by  a 
thousand  endearing  words  to  call  her  back  to  con- 
sciousness. She  slowly  recovered,  and  h.iif  opening 
her  eyes — "where  am  1?"  murmured  she  uintly. 
"  Here,"  exclaimed  I,  pressing  her  to  my  bosom, 
■'Here!  close  to  the  heart  that  adores  you ;  in  the 
inns  of  your  laithful  Ottavio ! " 

"  Oh  no !  no  I  no  !  "  shrieked  she,  starting  into 
sudden  life  and  ierror — "away!  away  1  leave  me  ' 
leave  me  t " 


set 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


f  ■,•■». •i 


n 


,     if  It-        :i'? 


SP 


"il' 


!  -* 


She  tore  herself  from  my  arms ;  rushed  to  a  cor- 
ner  of  the  saloon,  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands,  as  if  the  very  sight  of  me  were  baleful.  I 
was  thunderstruck — I  could  not  believe  my  senses. 
I  followed  her,  trembling,  confounded.  I  endeav- 
oured to  take  her  hand,  but  she  shrunk  from  my  very 
touch  wi*'i  horror. 

"Good  hsivsns,  Bianca,"  exclaimed  I,  "what  is 
'J.e  meaning  of  this  ?  Is  this  my  reception  after  so 
kme  an  absence  ?  Is  this  the  love  you  professed  fur 
Qfier  " 

At  the  mention  of  love,  a  shuddering  ran  through 
her.  She  turned  to  me  a  face  wild  with  anguisii. 
"  No  more  of  that !  no  more  of  that !  "  gasped  she — 
"  talk  not  to  me  of  love — I^-I — am  married  !  " 

I  reeled  as  if  I  had  received  a  mortal  blow.  A 
sickness  struck  to  my  very  heart.  I  caught  at  a 
window  frame  for  support.  For  a  moment  or  two. 
every  thing  was  chaos  around  me.  When  I  recovered, 
I  beheld  Bianca  lying  on  a  sofa ;  her  face  buried  in 
the  pillow,  and  sobbing  convulsively.  Indignation 
at  her  fickleness  for  a  moment  overpowered  every 
other  feeling. 

"Faithless — perjured — "  cried  I,  striding  across 
the  room.  But  another  glance  at  that  beautiful  be- 
ing in  distress,  checked  ail  my  wrath.  Anger  could 
not  dwell  together  with  her  idea  in  my  soul. 

"  Oh,  Bian'ja,"  exclaimed  I,  in  anguish,  "  could  I 
have  dreamt  of  this ;  could  I  have  suspected  you 
would  have  been  false  to  me  ?  " 

She  raised  her  face  all  streaming  with  tears,  all 
disordered  with  emotion,  and  gave  me  one  appeal- 
ing look — "  False  to  you  ! — they  told  me  you  were 
dead !  " 

"  What,"  said  1,  "  in  spite  of  our  constant  corre- 
spondence? ' 

Sh.';  gazed  wildly  at  me  —  "  correspondence  1 — 
what  correspondence  ?  " 

"  Have  you  not  repeatedly  received  and  replied  to 
my  letters  ?  " 

She  clasped  her  hands  with  solemnity  and  fer- 
vour— "  As  1  hope  for  mercy,  never  !  " 

A  horrible  surmise  shot  through  my  brain — "  Who 
told  you  I  was  dead  ?  " 

"  It  was  reported  that  the  ship  in  which  you  em- 
oarked  for  Naples  perished  at  sea." 

"  But  who  told  you  the  report  ?  " 

She  paused  for  an  instant,  and  trembled — 

"  Filippo ! " 

"  May  the  God  of  heaven  curse  him  ! "  cried  I, 
extending  my  clinched  tists  aloft. 

"  Oh  do  not  curse  him — do  not  curse  him  ! "  ex- 
claimed she — "  He  is — he  is — my  husband  !  " 

This  was  all  that  was  wanting  to  unfold  the  per- 
fidy that  had  been  practised  upon  me.  My  blood 
boiled  like  liquid  fire  in  my  veins.  I  gasped  with 
rage  too  great  for  utterance.  I  remained  lor  a  time 
bewildered  by  the  whirl  of  horrible  thoughts  that 
rushed  through  my  mind.  The  poor  victim  of  de- 
ception before  me  thought  it  was  with  her  I  was  in- 
censed. She  faintly  murmured  forth  her  exculpa- 
tioa.  I  will  not  dwell  upon  it.  I  saw  in  it  more 
than  she  meant  to  reveal.  I  saw  with  a  glance  how 
lioth  of  us  had  been  betrayed.  "  'Tis  well  1  "  mut- 
Itred  I  to  myself  in  smothered  accents  of  concen- 
trated fury.    "  He  shall  account  to  me  for  this  !  " 

Bianca  ciarheard  me.  New  terror  flashed  in  her 
ccaintenatice.  "  For  mercy's  sake  do  not  meet  hun 
— say  nothing  of  what  has  passed — for  my  sake  say 
nothing  to  him — I  only  shall  be  the  sufferer ! " 

A  new  suspicion  darted  across  my  mind  — 
"  What  I  "  exclaimed  I — "do  you  then  /far  him — is 
he  unkind  to  you — tell  me,'  reiterated  I,  grasping 
her  hand  and  looking  her  eagerly  in  the  face — "  tefl 
me — dar*s  he  tu  use  you  harshly  I  " 


"  No  i  no  !  no  I "  cried  she  foltering  and  embu 
rassed  ;  but  the  glance  at  her  face  had  told  ine  vol. 
umes.  I  saw  in  her  pallid  and  wasted  features ;  in  th( 
prompt  terror  and  subdued  agony  of  her  eye  a  wholt 
history  of  a  mind  broken  down  by  tyranny.  Great 
God  !  and  was  this  beauteous  flower  snatched  frora 
me  to  be  thus  trampled  upon  ?  The  idea  roused  iin 
to  madnefis.  I  clinched  my  teeth  and  my  hatids ;  I 
foamed  at  the  mouth ;  every  passion  seemed  lu  hr.» 
resolved  itself  into  the  fury  that  like  a  lava  l)(nic<: 
within  my  heart,  Bianca  shi  ank  from  me  in  specci;! 
less  affright.  As  I  strode  by  the  window  nn  eye 
darted  down  the  alley.  Fatal  moment !  I  beheld 
Filippo  at  a  distance !  My  brain  was  in  deliriiiin--l 
sprang  from  the  pavilion,  and  was  before  him  with 
the  quickness  of  lightning.  He  saw  me  as  I  came 
rushing  upon  him— he  turned  pale,  looked  wildly  to 
ri^ht  and  left,  as  if  he  would  have  fled,  and  trem- 
bhng  drew  his  sword : — 

"  Wretch ! "  cried  I,  "  well  may  you  draw  your 
weapon  •! " 

I  spake  not  another  word  —  I  snatched  forth  a 
stiletto,  put  by  the  sword  which  trembled  in  hij 
hand,  and  buned  my  poniard  in  his  bosom.  He  fell 
with  the  blow,  but  my  rage  was  unsated.  I  sprang 
upon  him  with  the  blood-thirsty  feeling  of  a  tiger; 
redoubled  my  blows;  mangled  him  in  my  frenzy, 
grasped  him  by  the  throat,  until  with  reiterated 
wounds  and  strangling  convulsions  he  expired  in  nr.j 
grasp.  I  remained  glaring  on  the  countenance, 
horrible  in  death,  that  seemed  to  stare  back  with  iti 
protruded  eyes  upon  me.  Piercing  shrieks  roused 
me  from  my  delirium,  I  looked  round  and  beheld 
Bianca  flying  distractedly  towards  us.  My  braia 
whirled,  I  waited  not  to  meet  her,  but  fled  from 
the  scene  of  horror.  1  fled  forth  from  the  gardeu 
like  another  Cain,  a  hell  within  my  bosom,  and  s 
curse  upon  my  head,  I  fled  without  knowin.; 
whither  —  almost  without  knowing  why — my  only 
idea  was  to  get  farther  and  farther  from  the  horrors 
I  had  left  behind  ;  as  if  I  could  throw  space  between 
myself  and  my  conscience.  I  fled  to  the  Apennines, 
and  wandered  for  days  and  days  among  their  savage 
heights.  How  I  existed  I  cannot  tell — what  rox  ics 
and  precipices  1  braved,  and  how  I  braved  them  I 
know  not,  I  kept  on  and  on — tryinf^  to  outtravel 
the  curse  that  clang  to  me,  Alas,  the  shrieks  ol 
Bianca  rung  for  ever  in  my  ear.  The  horrible 
countenance  of  my  victim  was  for  ever  before  my 
eyes.  "  The  tdooa  of  Filippo  cried  to  me  from  the 
ground."  Rocks,  trees,  ana  torrents  all  resounded 
with  my  crime. 

Then  it  was  I  felt  how  much  more  insupponablt 
is  the  anguish  of  remorse  than  every  other  mcnta 
pang.  On  !  could  1  but  have  cast  off  this  crime  that 
festered  in  my  heart ;  could  I  but  have  regained  the 
innocence  that  reigned  in  my  breast  as  I  entered  the 
garden  at  Sestri ;  couid  I  but  have  restored  my  vic- 
tim to  life,  I  felt  as  if  I  could  look  on  with  transport 
even  though  Bianca  were  in  his  arms. 

By  degrees  this  frenzied  fever  of  remorse  settled 
into  a  permanent  malady  of  the  mind.  Into  one  of 
the  most  horrible  that  ever  poor  wretch  was  cursd 
with.  Wherever  1  went,  the  countenance  of  him  1 
had  slain  appeared  to  follow  me.  Wherever  I  turned 
my  head  I  beheld  it  behind  me,  hideous  with  the 
contortions  of  the  dying  moment,  I  have  tried  in 
ev  ry  way  to  escape  from  this  horril^le  phantom , 
but  in  vain,  I  know  not  whether  it  is  an  illusion  oi 
the  mind,  the  consequence  of  my  dismal  education 
at  the  convent,  or  whether  a  phantom  really  sent  bv 
heaven  to  punish  me;  but  there  it  ever  is — at  all 
times — in  all  places — nor  has  time  nor  habit  had 
any  efl'ect  in  familiarizing  me  with  its  terrors.  I 
have  travelled  from  place  to  place,  plunged  into 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


968 


eilng  and  embai 
:  had  told  me  vol. 
ed  features;  in  the 
of  her  eye  a  wholt 
y  tyranny.  Great 
rer  snatched  frora 
he  idea  roused  toh 
and  my  hands ;  1 
on  seemed  tu  hsv* 
like  a  lava  h(iii« 
om  me  in  speccii. 
!  window  m\'  eyt 
loment!  I  beheld 
was  in  delirium— I 
IS  before  him  with 
saw  me  as  I  came 
e,  looked  wildly  to 
ve  fled,  and  trem- 

ly  you  draw  your 

snatched  forth  a 
trembled  in  hii 
lis  bosom.  He  fell 
msated.     I  sprang 

feeling  of  a  tiger; 
lim  in  my  frenzy, 
;il  with  reiterated 
IS  he  expired  in  rcj 

the  countenance, 
stare  back  withitj 
ing  shrieks  roused 
round  and  l)ehrld 
ds  us.  My  braia 
her,  but  fled  from 
1  from  the  gardtu 
my  bosom,  and  j 

without  knowing 
Ing  why— my  only 
:r  from  the  horrors 
row  space  between 

1  to  the  Apennines, 
imong  their  savage 
t  tell — what  rovks 
r  I  braved  them  I 
tryinj.^  to  outtravel 
las,  the  shrieks  ot 
ar.  The  horrible 
Dr  ever  before  my 
ed  to  me  from  the 
ents  all  resounded 

(lore  insupportablt 
every  other  menta 
off  this  crime  that 
have  regained  the 
list  as  I  entered  the 

2  restored  my  vie- 
on  with  trans|X}rt 

rms. 

of  remorse  settled 
lind.  Into  one  of 
wretch  was  cursed 
ntenance  of  him  I 
Wherever  I  turned 

hideous  with  the 
it.  I  have  tried  in 
lorrili^  phantom, 
it  is  an  illusion  oi 
f  dismal  education 
I  torn  really  sent  bv 

it  ever  is — at  aJ 
ne  nor  habit  had 
ith  its  terrors.  I 
ace,  plunged  iuto 


[iniawinents— tried  dissipation  and  distraction  of 
Iflery  kind— all— all  in  vain. 

I  once  had  recourse  to  my  pencil  as  a  desperate 

leiperiment.    I  painted  an  exact  resemblance  of  this 

pMntom  face.    I  placed  it  before  me  in  hopes  that  bv 

instantly  contemplating  the  copy  I  might  diminish 

the  eflect  of  the  original.  But  I  only  doubled  instead 

I  if  diminishing  the  misery. 

I  Such  is  the  curse  that  has  clung  to  my  footsteps 
I  -that  has  made  my  life  a  burthen — but  the  thoughts 
Uf  death,  terrible.    God  knows  what  I  have  suffered. 
What  days  and  days,  and  nights  and  nights,  of 
ileepless  torment.    What  a  never-dying  worm  has 
I  oreyed  upon  my  heart ;  what  an  unquenchable  fire 
las  burned  within  my  brain.    He  knows  the  wrongs 
that  wrought  upon  my  poor  weak  nature  ;  that  coti- 
Brted  the  tenuerest  of  affections  into  the  deadliest 
of  fury.     He  ^knows  best   whether  a  frail   erring 
oeature  has  expiated  by  long-enduring  torture  and 
measureless  remorse,  the  crime  of  a  moment  of  mad- 
ness.   Olten,  often  have  I  prostrated  myself  in  the 
dust,  and  implored  that  he  would  give  me  a  sign  of 

his  forgiveness,  and  let  me  die. 

Thus  far  had  1  written  some  time  since.     I  had 
meant  to  l-jave  this  record  of  misery  and  crime  with 
I  jou,  to  be  read  when  I  should  be  no  more.    My 
I  prayer  to  heaven  has  at  length  been  heard.    You 
I  were  wiinrss  to  my  emotions  last  evening  at  the  per- 
Ibmiance  of  the  Miserere ;  when  the  vaulted  temple 
resounded  with  the  words  of  atonement  and  redemp- 
tion. 1  heard  a  voice  speaking  to  me  from  the  midst 
of  the  music  ;  I  heard  it  rising  above^the  pealing  of 
the  organ  and  the  voices  of  the  choir ;  it  spoke  to 
I  me  ic  tones  oi  celestial  melody ;  it  promised  mercy 
I  to:)  forpaveness,  but  demanded  from  me  full  expia- 
U»     I  go  to  make  it    To-morrow  I  shall  be  on 
Pf  »iy  to  Genoa  to  surrender  myself  to  justice. 


You  who  have  pitied  my  sufferings ;  whc  have 
poured  the  balm  of  sympathy  into  my  wounds,  do 
not  shrink  from  my  memory  with  abhorrence  nov» 
that  you  know  my  story.  Recollect,  when  you  read 
of  my  crime  I  shall  have  atoned  for  it  wilTb  niy 
blood  I  

When  the  Baronet  had  finished,  there  was  an  uni* 
versal  desire  expressed  to  see  the  painting  of  this 
frightful  visage.  After  much  entreaty  the  Baronet 
consented,  on  condition  that  they  should  only  visit  it 
one  by  one.  He  called  his  housekeeper  and  gav« 
her  charge  to  conduct  the  gentlemen  singly  to  the 
chamber.  They  all  returned  varying  in  their  stories ; 
some  affected  in  one  way,  some  in  another ;  some 
more,  some  leas ;  but  all  agreeing  that  there  was  a 
certain  something  about  the  painting  that  had  a  very 
odd  effect  upon  tne  feelings. 

I  stood  in  a  deep  bow  window  with  the  Baronet, 
and  could  not  help  expressing  my  wonder.  "  After 
all,"  said  I,  "  there  are  certain  mysteries  in  our  nat- 
ure, certain  inscrutable  impulses  and  influences,  that 
warrant  one  in  being  supeistitious.  Who  can  ac- 
count for  so  many  persons  of  different  characters 
being  thus  strangely  affected  by  a  mere  painting?" 

"  And  especially  when  not  one  of  them  has  sean 
it  I "  said  the  Baronet  with  a  smile. 

"  How  ?  "  exclaimed  I,  "  not  seen  it  ?  " 

"  Not  one  of  them  I  "  replied  he,  laying  his  finger 
on  his  lips  in  sign  of  secrecy.  "  I  saw  that  some  of 
them  were  in  a  bantering  vein,  and  1  did  not  chocso 
that  the  memento  of  the  poor  Italian  should  be  made 
a  jest  of.  So  I  gave  the  housekeeper  a  hint  to  show 
them  all  to  a  different  chamber  ! " 


Thus  end  the  Stories  of  the  Ner;ous  GentlenuM 


Tales  of  a  Traveller. 


PART    SECOND. 


BUCKTHORNE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 

"  'Til  a  wuj  good  world  that  w*  live  in, 

To  lend,  or  to  spend,  or  to  (ive  in  ; 

But  to  beg,  or  to  borrow,  or  get  a  man'i  own, 

'Til  the  very  wont  world,  sir,  that  ever  wee  known." 

Links  raoM  am  Inn  Window. 


LITERARY  LIFE. 


AMONG  the  great  variety  of  characters  which  fall 
J  h  a  traveller's  way,  I  became  acquainted  during  my 
liojowm  in  London,  with  an  eccentric  personage  of 
hiie  name  of  Buckthome.    He  was  a  literary  man, 
had  lived  much  in  the  metropolis,  and  had  acquired 
I  great  deal  of  curious,  though  unprofitable  knowl- 
edge concerning  it.      He  was  great  observer  of 
I  character,  and  could  give  the  natural  history  of  every 
I  odd  animal  that  presented  itself  in  this  great  wilder- 
I  ness  of  men.    Finding  me  very  curious  about  literary 
I  life  and  literary  characters,  he  took  m'<ch  pains  to 
■  (Tatny  my  curiosity. 


"  The  literary  world  of  England,"  said  he  to  me 
one  day,  "  is  made  up  of  a  number  of  little  fraterni- 
ties, each  existing  merely  for  itself,  an(^  thinking  th* 
rest  of  the  world  created  only  to  look  en  and  admire 
It  may  be  resembled  to  the  firmament,  consisting  of 
a  number  of  systems,  each  composed  of  its  own 
central  sun  with  its  revolving  train  of  moons  and 
satellites,  all  acting  in  the  most  harmonious  concord 
but  the  comparison  fails  in  part,  inasmuch  as  the 
literary  world  has  no  general  concord.  Each  sys- 
tem acts  independently  of  the  rest,  and  indeed  con- 
siders all  other  stars  as  mere  exh.alations  and  tran- 
sient meteors,  beaming  for  a  while  with  false  fires, 
but  doomed  soon  to  fall  and  be  forgotten ;  while  iff 
own  luminaries  are  the  lights  of  the  universe,  dst< 


dM 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Am 


m^f4  ■ 


''r.^. 


tiaed  to  increase  in  splendour  and  to  shine  steadily 
on  to  immortality." 

"  And  pray,"  said  I,  "  how  is  a  man  to  get  a  peep 
into  one  of  these  systems  you  tallc  of?  I  presume 
an  intercourse  with  authors  is  a  kind  of  intellectual 
exchange,  where  one  must  bring  his  commodities  to 
barter,  and  always  give  a  quid  pro  quo'' 

"  P«X)h,  pooh — how  you  mistake,"  said  Buckthome, 
smiling :  "  you  must  never  think  to  become  popular 
among  wits  by  shining.  They  go  into  society  to 
shine  themselves,  not  to  admire  the  brilliancy  of 
otfiers.  I  thought  as  you  do  when  I  first  cultivated 
the  society  of  men  ol  letters,  and  never  went  to  a 
blue  stockmg  coterie  without  studying  my  part  be- 
forehand as  diligently  as  an  actor.  The  consequence 
was,  I  soor>  got  the  name  of  an  intolerable  proser, 
and  should  in  a  little  while  have  beeii  completely 
excommunicated  had  I  not  changed  my  plan  of 
operations.  From  thenceforth  I  became  a  most 
assiduous  listener,  or  if  ever  I  were  eloquent,  it  was 
tete-a-t6te  with  an  author  in  praise  of  his  own  works, 
or  what  is  nearly  as  acceptable,  in  disparagement 
of  the  works  of  his  contemporaries.  If  ever  he 
spoke  favourably  of  the  productions  of  some  par- 
ticular friend,  I  ventured  boldly  to  dissent  from  him, 
and  to  prove  that  his  friend  was  a  blockhead ;  antl 
much  as  people  say  of  the  pertinacity  and  irritability 
of  authors,  I  never  found  one  to  take  oftence  at  my 
contradictions.  No,  no,  sir,  authors  are  particularly 
candid  in  admitting  the  faults  of  their  friends. 

"  Indeed,  I  was  extremely  sparing  of  my  remarks 
on  all  modem  works,  excepting  to  make  sarcastic 
observations  on  the  most  distinguished  writers  of 
the  day.  I  never  ventured  to  praise  an  author  that 
bad  not  been  dead  at  least  half  a  century ;  and  even 
then  I  was  rather  cautious ;  for  you  must  know  that 
many  old  writers  have  been  enlisted  under  the  ban- 
ners of  different  sects,  and  their  merits  have  become 
as  complete  topics  of  party  prejudice  and  dispute,  as 
the  merits  of  living  statesmen  and  politicians.  Nay, 
there  have  been  whole  periods  of  literature  absolute- 
ly taboo' d,  to  use  a  South  Sea  phrase.  It  is,  for  ex- 
ample, as  much  as  a  man's  reputation  is  worth,  in 
some  circles,  to  say  a  wor4  in  praise  of  any  writers 
of  the  reign  of  Charles  the  Second,  or  even  of 
Queen  Anne  ;  they  being  all  declared  to  be  French- 
men in  disguise." 

"  And  pray,  then,"  said  I,  "  when  am  I  to  know 
that  I  am  on  safe  grounds;  l)eing  totally  unac- 
auainted  with  the  literary  landmarks  and  the  boun- 
dary hnes  of  fashionable  taste  ?  " 

"Oh,"  replied  he,  "there  is  fortunately  one  tract 
of  literature  that  forms  a  kind  of  neutral  ground,  on 
which  ail  the  literary  world  meet  amicably ;  lay 
down  their  weapons  and  even  run  riot  in  their  ex- 
cess of  good  humour,  and  this  is,  the  reigns  of 
EUzabeth  and  James.  Here  you  may  praise  away 
at  a  venture;  here  it  is  'cut  and  come  again,"  and 
the  more  obscure  the  author,  and  the  more  quaint 
and  crabbed  his  style,  the  more  your  admiration  will 
smack  of  the  real  relish  of  the  connoisseur ;  whose 
taste,  like  that  of  an  epicure,  is  always  for  game  that 
has  an  antiquated  flavour. 

"  But,"  continued  he,  "  as  you  seem  anxious  to 
know  something  of  literary  society  I  will  take  an 
Oi>portunity  to  introduce  you  to  some  coterie,  where 
v^e  talents  of  the  day  are  assembled.  I  cannot 
^ironiise  vcu,  however,  that  they  will  be  of  the  first 
order.  Some  how  yc  other,  our  great  geniuses  are 
not  gregarious,  they  do  not  go  m  flocks,  hut  lly 
singly  in  general  society.  They  prefer  mingling, 
like  common  men,  with  trie  multitude  ;  and  are  apt 
to  carry  nothing  of  the  author  about  them  but  the 
reputation.  It  is  only  the  inferior  orders  that  herd 
together,  acquire  strength  and  importance  by  their 


confederacies,  and  bear  all  the  distinctive  chinctw 
istics  of  their  species." 


A  LITERARY  DINNER. 


A   PEW  days  after  this  conversation  with  Mr,l 
Buckthome,  he  called  upon  me,  and  took  me  witt  I 
him  to  a  regular  literary  dinner.     It  was  given  by  a 
great  bookseller,  or  rather  a  company  of  booksellers, 
wiiose  firm  surpassed  in  length  even  that  of  Shad- 
rach,  Meschach,  and  Abed-nego. 

I  was  surprised  to  find  between  twenty  and  thirtj 
guests  assembled,  most  of  whom  1  had  never  seen 
before.      Buckthome   explained  this  to  me  by  in. 
forming  me  th.it  this  was  a  "business  dinner,"  or 
kind  of  field  day,  which  the  house  gave  about  twice  I 
a  year  to  its  authors.     It  is  true,  they  did  occasion- 
ally give  snug  dinne:  s  to  three  or  four  literary  men  I 
at  a  time,  but  then  .hese  were  generally  select  au- 1 
thors  i  favourites  of  i.he  public  ;  such  as  hnd  arrived  | 
at  their  sixth  and  seventh  editions.    "  There  are, " 
said  he,    "  certain  geographical  boundaries  in  ttlt  I 
land  of  literature,  and  you  may  judge  tolerably  well  I 
01  an  author's  popularity,  by  the  wine  his  bookseller 
gives  him.     An  author  crosses  the  port  line  about 
the  third  edition  and  gets  into  chret.  b'Jt  when  he 
has  reached  the  sixth  and  seventh,  he  may  revel  ia  | 
champagne  and  burgundy." 

"  And  pray."  said  I,  "  how  far  may  these  gentl^  I 
men  have  reached  that  I  see  around  me  ;  are  any  of 
these  claret  drinkers  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly,  not  exactly.   You  find  at  these  grei, 
dinners  the  common  steady  run  of  authors,  one,  tw& 
edition  men;  or  if  any  others  are  invited  thevarci 
aware  that  it  is  a  kind  of  republican  meeting— You  I 
understand  me — a  meeting  of  the  republic  ot  leiters,  f 
and  that  they  must  expect  nothing  but  plain  substan' 
tial  fare." 

These  hints  enabled  me  to  comprehend  more  full;  I 
the  arrangement  of  the  table.    "The  two  ends  were  j 
occupied  by  two  partners  of  the  house.    And  the 
host  seemed  to  have  adopted  Addison's  ideas  as  to 
the  literary  precedence  of  his  guests.  A  popular  poet  I 
had  the  post  of  honour,  opposite  to  whom  was  a  hot- 

firessed  traveller  in  quarto,  with  plates.  A  grave- 1 
ooking  antiquarian,  who  had  produced  several  solid! 
works,  which  were  much  quoted  and  little  read,  was  I 
treated  with  great  respect,  and  seated  next  to  a  neai,[ 
dressy  gentleman  in  black,  who  had  written  a  thin,  I 
genteel,  hot-pressed  octavo  on  political  economy  [ 
that  was  getting  into  fashion.  Several  three-volunie  I 
duodecimo  men  of  fair  currency  were  placed  about  I 
the  centre  of  the  table;  while  the  lower  end  was! 
taken  up  with  small  poets,  translators,  and  authors,  | 
who  had  not  as  yet  risen  into  much  notice. 

The  conversation  during  dinner  was  by  fits  and] 
starts;  breaking  out  here  and  there  in  various  parB I 
of  the  table  in  small  flashes,  and  ending  in  smoke,  I 
The  poet  who  had  the  confidence  of  a  man  on  goodl 
terms  with  the  world  and  independent  of  his  book-r 
seller,  was  very  gay  and  brilliant,  and  said  manyl 
clever  things,  which  set  the  partner  next  himinil 
roar,  and  delighted  all  the  company.  The  otheij 
partner,  however,  maintained  his  sedateness,  ^dl 
kept  carving  on,  with  the  air  of  a  thorough  man  of  [ 
business,  intent  upon  the  occupation  of  the  monient.l 
His  gravity  was  explained  to  me  by  my  friend  Buclt-f 
thorne.  He  informed  me  that  the  concerns  of  thi I 
house  were  admirably  distributed  among  the  partnenl 
"  Thus,  for  instance, '  said  he,  "  the  grave  gentlemu  I 
is  the  car/ing  partner  who  attends  to  the  joints,  null 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


86C 


itinctive  chirtciM 


NER. 


■ereation  with  Mr,  I 
and  took  mewiti 
It  was  given  by  i 
pany  of  booksellers, 
even  that  of  Shad- 

;n  twenty  and  thirtj 

^  1  had  never  seen  I 

this  to  me  by  in.  I 

)usiness  dinner,"  or 

se  gave  about  twict 

5,  they  did  occasior- 

or  four  literary  men 

generally  select  au- 

such  as  hnd  arrived  I 

ions.     "There  are," 

I  boundaries  in  the  I 

judge  tolerably  well 

s  wine  his  bookseller  I 

the  port  line  about  I 

cliret.  but  when  he 

cnth,  he  may  revel  ia  I 

ar  nrjay  »h?se  gentl^ 
)und  me  ;  are  any  of  I 

ou  find  at  these  grti; 
of  authors,  one,  twci  l 
are  invited  they  are] 
)hcan  meeting— You  I 
he  republic  ol  letters,  I 
ng  but  plain  substan- 1 

)mprehend  more  fullj  I 
The  two  ends  were  I 
the  house.  And  the  I 
Addison's  ideas  as  to  I 
iiests.  A  popular  poet  I 
e  to  whom  was  a  hot- 1 
th  plates.  A  grai* 
)roduced  several  solid  I 
d  and  little  read,  was  I 
seated  next  to  a  neat,! 
10  had  written  a  thio,  I 
n  political  economy  [ 

Several  three-volunie  | 
cy  were  pl.iced  about  I 
:  the  lower  end  was  I 
nslators,  and  authors,] 
luch  notice, 
iner  was  by  fits  and  I 
there  in  various  pari'  I 
md  ending  in  smoke,! 
ice  of  a  man  on  good  [ 
jpendent  of  his  bock-f 
Lint,  and  said  manyl 
lartner  next  him  in  a  I 
jmpany.     The  othaj 

his  sedateness,  ^dl 
f  a  thorough  man  of  [ 
tation  of  the  moment,! 
le  by  my  friend  Buck-f 
t  the  concerns  of  thi  I 
d  among  the  partners,  I 
'  the  grave  gentlemul 
nds  to  the  jomts,  audi 


Le  other  is  the  laughing  partner  who  attends  to 

lh(  tokes." 

The  general  conversation  was  chiefly  carried  on 
It  the  upper  end  of  the  table ;  as  the  authors  there 
seemed  to  possess  the  greatest  courage  of  the 
tongue.  As  to  the  crew  at  the  lower  end,  if  they 
did  not  make  much  figure  in  talking,  they  did  in  eat- 
ing. Never  was  there  a  more  determined,  inveter- 
jie,  thoroughly-sustained  attack  on  the  trencher, 

[than  by  this  phalanx  of  masticators.    When  the 
h  w;u5  removed,  and  the  wine  began  to  circu- 

I  bte,  they  grew  very  merry  and  jocose  among  them- 
selves. Their  jokes,  however,  if  by  chance  any  of 
them  reached  the  upper  end  of  the  table,  selclom 
produced  much  effect.  Even  the  laughing  partner 
did  not  seem  to  think  it  necessary  to  honour  them 
mth  a  smile ;  which  my  neighbour  Buckthorne  ac- 
counted for,  by  informing  me  that  there  was  a  cer- 
tain degree  of  popularity  to  be  obtained,  before  a 

I  bookseller  could  atTord  to  laugh  at  an  author's  jokes. 
Among  this  crew  of  questionable  gentlemen  thus 

I  seated  below  the  salt,  my  eye  singled  out  one  in  par- 
ticular. He  was  rather  shabbily  dressed ;  though 
be  had  evidently  made  the  most  of  a  rusty  black 
coat,  and  wore  his  shirt-frill  plaited  and  pufled  out 
foluminously  at  the  bosom.  His  face  was  dusky, 
but  florid — perhaps  a  little  too  florid,  particularly 
ibout  the  nose,  though  the  rosy  hue  gave  the  greater 
lustre  to  a  twinkling  black  eye.  He  had  a  little  the 
look  of  a  boon  companion,  with  that  dash  of  the 
poor  devil  in  it  which  gives  an  inexpressibly  mellow 
tone  to  a  man's  humour.  I  had  seldom  seen  a  face 
of  richer  promise;  but  never  was  promise  so  ill 
kept  He  said  nothing ;  ate  and  drank  with  the 
keen  appetite  of  a  gazetteer,  and  scarcely  stopped 
to  laugh  even  at  the  good  jokes  from  the  upper  end 
of  the  tablo.  I  inquired  who  he  was.  Buckthorne 
boked  at  him  attentively.  "Gad,"  said  he,  "I 
hit  seer,  that  face  before,  but  where  I  cannot  recol- 
«t  He  cannot  be  an  author  of  any  note.  I  sup- 
pose some  writer  of  sermons  or  grinder  of  foreign 

I  travels." 
After  dinner  we  retired  to  another  room  to  take 

I  tea  and  coffee,  where  we  were  reinforced  by  a  cloud 
of  interior  guests.  Authors  of  small  volumes  in 
boards,  and  pamphlets  stitched  in  blue  paper. 
These  had  not  as  yet  arrived  to  the  importance  of 
i  dinner  invitation,  but  were  invited  occasionally  to 
pass  the  evening  "  in  a  friendly  way."  They  were 
very  respectful  to  the  partners,  and  indeed  seemed 
to  stand  a  little  in  awe  of  them ;  but  they  paid  ver\' 
devoted  court  to  the  lady  of  the  house,  and  were  ex- 
travagantly fond  of  the  children.  1  looked  round 
for  the  poor  devil  author  in  the  rusty  black  coat  and 
magnificent  frill,  but  he  had  disappeared  immediately 
alter  leaving  the  table ;  having  a  dread,  no  doubt,  of 
the  glaring  light  of  a  drawing-room.  Finding  noth- 
ing farther  to  interest  my  attention,  I  took  my  de- 
parture as  soon  as  coffee  had  been  served,  leaving 
the  port  and  the  thin,  genteel,  hot-pressed,  octavo 
pntlemen,  masters  of  the  field. 


THE  CLUB  OF  QUEER  FELLOWS. 


I  THINK  it  was  but  the  very  next  evening  th.at  in 
I  coming  out  of  Covent  Garden  Theatre  with  my  ec- 
centric friend  Buckthorne,  he  proposed  to  give  me 
inother  peep  at  life  and  character.  Finding  me  will- 
ing for  any  research  of  the  kind,  he  took  me  through 
I  variety  of  the  narrow  courts  and  lanes  about  Covent 
Garden,  until  wc  stopped  before  a  tavern  from  which 


we  heard  the  bursts  of  merriment  of  a  jovial  party. 
There  would  be  a  loud  peal  of  laughter,  then  an  in* 
terval,  then  another  peat,  as  if  a  prime  wag  were  tell- 
ing a  story.  j«After  a  little  while  there  was  a  song, 
and  at  the  close  of  each  stanza  3  hearty  roar  and  a 
vehement  thumping  on  the  table. 

"This  is  the  place,"  whispered  Buckthorne.  It 
is  the  '  Club  of  Queer  Fellows.'  A  great  resort  of 
the  small  wits,  third-rate  actors,  and  newspapei 
critics  of  the  theatres.  Any  one  can  go  in  on  pay- 
ing a  shilling  at  the  bar  for  the  use  of  the  club. 

We  entered,  therefore,  without  ceremony,  and  took 
our  seats  at  a  lone  table  in  a  dusky  corner  of  the 
room.  The  club  was  assembled  round  a  table,  on 
which  stood  beverages  of  various  kinds,  according  to 
the  taste  of  the  individual.  The  meitibers  were  a  set 
of  queer  fellows  indeed  ;  but  what  was  my  surprise 
on  recognizing  in  the  prime  wit  of  the  meeting  the 
poor  devil  author  whom  I  had  remarked  at  the  book- 
sellers' dinner  for  his  fromifing  face  and  his  com- 
plete tacitum'ty.  Matters,  however,  were  entirely 
changed  with  him.  There  he  was  a  mere  cypher: 
here  ne  was  lord  of  the  ascendant ;  the  choice  spirit, 
the  dominant  genius.  He  sat  at  the  head  of  the 
table  with  his  hat  on,  and  an  eye  beaming  even 
more  luminously  than  his  nose.  He  had  a  quiz  and 
a  fillip  for  every  one,  and  a  good  thing  on  every  oc- 
casion. Nothing  could  be  said  or  done  withoat 
eliciting  a  spark  from  him  ;  and  I  solemnly  declare  I 
have  heard  much  worse  wit  even  from  noblemen. 
His  jokes,  it  must  be  confessed,  were  rather  wet,  but 
they  suited  the  circle  in  which  he  presided.  The 
company  were  in  that  maudlin  mood  when  a  little 
wit  goes  a  great  way.  Every  time  he  opened  his 
lips  there  was  sure  to  be  a  roar,  and  sometimes  b» 
fore  he  had  time  to  speak. 

We  were  Ibrtunate  enough  to  enter  in  time  for  a  gict 
composed  by  him  expressly  for  the  club,  and  whicV 
he  sang  with  two  boon  companions,  who  would  haTC 
been  worthy  subjects  for  Hogarth's  pencil.  As  thej 
were  each  provided  with  a  written  copy,  I  was  en- 
abled to  procure  the  reading  of  it. 

Merrily,  merrily  pwih  round  the  glass. 

And  merrily  troll  the  glee, 
For  he  who  won't  drink  till  ne  wink  is  an  ass, 

So  neighbour  I  drink  to  thee. 
Merrily,  merrily  puddle  thy  nose, 

Until  it  right  rosy  shall  be  ; 
For  a  jolly  red  nose,  I  speak  under  the  rose, 

Is  a  sign  of  good  comps  ny. 

We  waited  until  the  party  broke  up,  and  no  one 
but  the  wit  remained.  He  sat  at  the  table  with  hi« 
legs  stretched  under  it,  and  wide  apart ;  his  hands 
in  his  breeches  pockets ;  his  head  drooped  upon  his 
breast ;  and  gazing  with  lack-lustre  countenance  on 
an  empty  tankard.  His  gayety  was  gone,  his  fire 
completely  quenched. 

My  companion  approached  and  startled  him  from 
his  ht  of  brown  study,  introducing  himself  on  the 
strength  of  their  having  dined  together  at  the  book- 
sellers', 

"  By  the  way,"  said  he,  "  it  seems  to  me  1  have  • 
seen  you  before ;  your  face  is  surely  the  lace  of  aa 
old  acquaintance,  though  for  the  life  of  nre  1  cznoot 
tell  where  I  have  known  you." 

"  Very  likely,"  replied  ne  with  a  smile ;  "  many  c( 
my  old  friends  have  forgotten  me.  Though,  to  leD 
the  truth,  my  memory  in  this  instance  is  as  bad  as 
your  own.  If,  however,  it  will  assist  your  recollec- 
tion in  anj'  way,  my  name  is  Thomas  Dribble,  at 
your  service." 

"  What,  Tom  Dribble,  who  Aras  at  old  BircheH's 
school  in  Warwickshire  ?  " 

"  The  same,"  said  the  other,  coolly.  '  Why,  then 
we  are  old  schoolmates,  though  it's  no  wonder  yoo 


Mf8 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


■  ihii 


don't  recollect  me.  I  was  your  junior  by  several 
years ;  don't  you  recollect  little  Jack  Uuckthome  ?  " 

Here  then  ensued  a  scene  of  school-fellow  recog- 
nition ;  and  a  world  of  talk  about  old  school  times 
and  school  pranks.  Mr.  Dribble  ended  by  observing, 
with  a  hea\7  sigh,  "  that  times  were  sadly  changed 
lance  those  days." 

"  Faith,  Mr.  Dribble,"  said  I,  "  you  seem  quite  a 
JiiTcrcnt  man  here  from  what  you  were  at  dinner.  1 
lad  no  idea  that  you  had  so  much  stuiT  in  you. 
fhere  you  were  all  silence ;  but  here  you  absolutely 
tecp  the  table  in  a  roar." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  sir,"  replied  he,  with  a  shake  of  the 
head  and  a  shrug  of  the  shoulder, "  I'm  a  mere  glow 
worm.  I  never  shine  by  daylight.  Besides,  it's  a 
hard  thing  for  a  poor  devil  of  an  author  to  shine  at 
the  table  of  a  rich  bookseller.  Who  do  you  tliink 
would  laugh  at  any  thing  I  could  say,  when  I  had 
some  of  the  current  wits  of  the  day  about  me  ?  But 
here,  though  a  poor  devil,  I  am  among  still  poorer 
devils  than  myself;  men  who  look  up  to  me  as  a 
man  of  letters  and  a  bel  esprit,  and  all  my  jokes  pass 
as  sterling  gold  from  the  mint." 

"  You  surely  do  yourself  injustice,  sir,"  said  I ;  "  I 
have  certainly  heard  more  good  things  from  you  this 
evening  than  from  any  of  those  beaux  esprits  by 
whom  you  appear  to  have  been  so  daunted.' 

"  Ah,  sir  !  but  they  have  luck  on  their  side  ;  they 
are  in  the  fashion — there's  nothing  like  being  in 
fashion.  A  man  that  has  once  got  his  character  up 
for  a  wit,  is  always  sure  of  a  laugh,  say  what  he  may. 
Hi  may  utter  as  much  nonsense  as  he  pleases,  and 
all  will  pass  current.  No  one  stops  to  question  the 
coin  of  a  rich  man ;  but  a  poor  devil  cannot  pass  off 
eitiier  a  joke  or  a  guinea,  without  its  being  examined 
fNi  both  sides.  Wit  and  coin  are  always  doubted 
with  a  threadbare  coat. 

"For  my  part,"  continued  he,  giving  his  hat  a 
twitch  a  little  more  on  one  side,  "  for  my  part,  1  hate 
your  tine  dinners  ;  there's  nothing,  sir,  like  the  free- 
dom of  a  chop-house.  I'd  rather,  any  time,  have  my 
■teak  and  tankard  among  my  own  set,  than  drink 
claret  and  eat  venison  with  your  cursed  civil,  elegant 
company,  who  never  laugh  at  a  good  joke  from  a 
poor  devil,  for  fear  of  its  being  vulgar.  A  good  joke 
grows  in  a  wet  soil ;  it  flourishes  in  low  places,  but 
withers  on  your  d — d  high,  dry  grounds.  I  once 
kept  high  company,  sir,  until  I  nearly  ruined  myself ; 
I  grew  so  dull,  and  vapid,  and  genteel.  Nothing 
saved  me  but  being  arrested  by  my  landlady  and 
thrown  into  prison  ;  where  a  course  of  catch-clubs, 
eight-penny  ale,  and  poor-devil  company,  manured 
my  mind  and  brought  it  back  to  itself  again." 

As  it  was  now  growing  late  we  parted  for  the 
evening ;  though  I  felt  anxious  to  know  more  of  this 
practical  philosophei.  I  was  glad,  therefore,  when 
Buckthome  proposed  to  have  another  meeting  to 
talk  over  old  school  times,  and  inquired  his  school- 
mate's address.  The  latter  seemed  at  first  a  little 
shy  of  naming  his  lodgings ;  but  suddenly  assuming 
an  air  of  hardihood — "  Green  Arbour  court,  sir,"  ex- 
claimed he — "  number  —  in  Green  Arl>our  court. 
You  must  know  the  place.  Classic  ground,  sir ! 
classic  ground  I  It  was  there  Guldsmith  wrote  his 
V  icar  of  Wakefield.  I  always  like  to  live  in  literary 
Haunts  " 

1  was  amused  with  this  whimsical  apology  for 
jhal>by  quarters.  On  our  way  homewards  Buck- 
thome assured  me  that  this  Dribble  had  been  the 
prime  wit  and  great  wag  of  the  school  in  their  boy- 
ish days,  and  one  of  those  unlucky  urchins  denomi- 
nated bright  geniuses.  As  he  perceived  me  curious 
respecting  his  old  schoolmate,  ne  promised  to  take 
me  with  him  ir  his  prooosed  visit  to  Green  Arbour 
coart. 


A  few  mornings  afterwards  he  called  upon  m*! 
and  we  set  forth  on  our  expedition.  He  led  i^l 
through  a  variety  of  singular  alleys,  and  courts,  and! 
blind  passages ;  for  he  appeared  to  be  profoundiyl 
versed  in  all  the  intricate  geography  of  tht;  imtron(v,| 
lis.  At  length  we  came  out  upon  Fleet  Market,  anj 
traversing  it,  turned  up  a  narrow  street  to  the  bot.l 
tom  of  a  long  steep  flight  of  stone  steps,  nam«l| 
Break-neck  Stairs.  These,  he  told  me,  ltd  up  tiil 
Green  Arbour  court,  and  that  down  tlitm  pooij 
Goldsmith  might  many  a  time  have  risked  l>is  neck,! 
When  we  entered  the  court,  I  could  not  but  sniletol 
think  in  what  out-of-the-way  comers  gmius  pro.! 
duces  her  bantlings  !  And  the  muses,  tliose  caprj.! 
cious  dames,  who,  forsooth,  so  often  refuse  to  visitl 
palaces,  and  deny  a  single  smile  to  votaries  inl 
splendid  studies  and  gilded  drawing-rooms,— whati 
holes  and  burrows  will  they  frequent  to  lavish  theiti 
favours  on  some  ragged  disciple  ! 

This  Green  Arbour  court  I  found  to  be  a  smalll 
square  of  tall  and  miserable  houses,  the  vi ;  y  inies.! 
tines  of  which  seemed  turned  inside  out,  lo  judgel 
from  the  old  garments  and  frippery  that  ilutteredl 
friMu  every  window.  It  appeared  to  be  a  region  ol[ 
washerwomen,  and  lines  were  stretched  about  thtl 
little  square,  on  which  clothes  were  danglir.i^  todry,[ 
Just  as  we  entered  the  square,  a  scuftle  took  phcjl 
between  two  viragos  about  a  disputed  ri^ht  to  al 
washtub,  and  immediately  the  whole  conimuniiyl 
was  in  a  hubbub.  Heads  in  mob  caps  pojjped  ouil 
of  every  window,  and  such  a  clamour  of  tongues  en-l 
sued  that  I  was  fain  to  stop  my  ears.  Every  Amajonl 
took  part  with  one  or  other  of  the  disputants,  and! 
brandished  her  anns  dripping  with  soapsuds,  sndl 
tired  away  from  her  window  as  from  the  pmhraiuttl 
of  a  fortress ;  while  the  swarms  of  children  nestledl 
and  cradled  in  every  procreant  chamber  ot  this  hivtl 
waking  with  the  noise,  set  up  their  shrill  pipes  to| 
swell  the  general  concert. 

Poor  Goldsmith  !  what  a  time  must  he  have  had) 
of  it,  with  his  quiet  disposition  and  nervous  habia,[ 
penned  up  in  this  den  of  noise  and  vulgarity.  Howl 
strange  that  while  every  sight  and  sound  was  suffi-F 
cient  to  embitter  the  heart  and  till  it  with  misanthropy,! 
his  pen  should  be  dropping  the  honey  ol  Hybla.! 
Yet  it  is  more  than  probable  that  he  drew  manyofl 
his  inimitable  pictures  of  low  life  Irom  the  sctnesl 
which  surrounded  him  in  this  abode.  The  circura-f 
stance  of  Mrs.  Tibbs  being  obliged  to  wash  her  bus- j 
band's  two  shirts  in  a  neighbour's  house,  who  re-l 
fused  to  lend  her  washtub,  may  have  been  no  sport  I 
of  fancy,  but  a  fact  passing  under  his  own  eye.  His  I 
landlady  may  have  sat  lor  the  picture,  and  Ikaul 
Tibbs'  scanty  wardrobe  have  been  a  fac-simile  o(  [ 
his  own. 

It  w.as  with  some  difficulty  that  we  found  our  wayl 
to  Dribble's  lodgings.  They  were  up  two  pair  of  | 
stairs,  in  a  room  that  looked  iipon  the  court,  andl 
when  we  entered  he  was  seated  on  the  edge  of  hit  I 
bed,  writing  at  a  brok^ji  table.  He  received  us,l 
however,  with  a  free,  o|jen,  poor  devil  air,  that  wail 
irresistible.  It  is  true  he  did  at  first  appear  sfghtlyj 
confused  ;  buttoned  up  his  waistcoat  a  little  highetl 
and  tucked  in  a  stray  frill  of  Unen.  But  he  recol-j 
lected  himself  in  an  instant ;  gave  a  half  swaggtr.f 
half  leer,  as  he  stepped  forth  to  receive  us;  drewij 
three-legged  stool  for  Mr.  Buckthome;  pointed  ir.fj 
to  a  lumbering  old  damask  chair  that  looked  iikeil 
dethroned  monarch  in  exile,  and  bade  us  welcome  io| 
his  garret. 

We  soon  got  engaged  in  conversation.  Buck  I 
thome  and  he  had  much  to  say  about  early  school  I 
scenes;  and  as  nothing  opens  a  man's  heart  monj 
than  recollections  of  the  Kind,  we  soon  drew  froB| 
him  a  brief  outline  cf  his  literary  career. 


w- 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


8«7 


THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR. 


1  BBGAN   life  unluckily  by  being  the  wag  and 

I  (light  fellow  at  school ;  and  I  had  the  farther  mis- 
jjrtune  of  becoming  the  great  genius  of  my  native 
nDjge.  My  father  was  a  country  attorney,  and  in- 
ttgded  that  I  should  succeed  him  in  business  ;  but 

I I  had  too  much  genius  to  study,  and  he  was  too 
t  (jnd  of  my  genius  to  force  it  into  the  traces.  So  I 
I  (>|l  into  bad  company  and  took  to  bad  habits.  Do 
I  (Of  mistake  me.  I  mean  that  I  fell  into  thf^  company 
j  ofvillagt:  literati  and  village  blues,  and  took  to  writ- 
ing viilajfe  poetry. 

It  was  quite  the  fashion  in  the  village  to  be  liter- 
I  ify.  We  had  a  little  knot  of  choice  spirits  who  as- 
'  jfliibleil  frequently  together,  formed  ourselves  into  a 
Literary,  Scientific,  and  Philosophical  Society,  and 
itncltd  ourselves  the  inost  learned  philos  in  exist- 
aice.  Every  one  had  a  great  character  assigned 
iiim,  suggested  by  some  casual  habit  or  affectation. 
One  heavy  fellow  drank  an  enormous  quantity  of 
tea;  roiled  in  his  ann-chair,  talked  sententiously, 
pronounced  dogmatically,  and  was  considered  a  sec- 
ond Dr.  Johnson ;  another,  who  happened  to  be  a 
curate,  uttered  coarse  jokes,  wrote  doggerel  rhymes, 
and  was  the  Swift  of  our  association.  Thus  we  had 
also  our  Popes  and  Goldsmiths  and  Addisons,  and 
a  blue-stocking  lady,  whose  drawing-room  we  fre- 
quented, who  corresponded  about  nothing  with  all 
the  world,  and  wrote  letters  with  the  stiffness  and 
formality  of  a  printed  book,  was  cried  up  as  another 
Mrs.  Montagu.  I  was,  by  common  consent,  the 
juvenile  prodigy,  the  poetical  youth,  the  great  genius, 
the  pride  and  nope  of  the  village,  through  whom  it 
vas  to  become  one  day  as  celebrated  as  Stratford- 
an-Avon. 

My  father  died  and  left  me  his  blessing  and  his 
businfits.  His  blessing  brought  no  money  into  my 
rocket ;  and  as  to  his  business  it  soon  deserted  me : 
for  I  was  busy  writing  poetry,  and  could  not  attend 
to  law ;  and  my  clients,  though  they  had  great  re- 
spect for  my  talents,  had  no  faith  in  a  poetical  at- 
torney. 

1  lost  my  business  therefot,  spent  my  money,  and 
finished  my  poem.  It  was  the  Pleasures  of  Nlelan- 
choiy,  and  was  cried  up  to  the  skies  by  the  whole 
circle.  The  Pleasures  of  Imagination,  the  Pleasures 
of  Hope,  and  the  Pleasures  of  Memory,  though  each 
had  placed  its  author  in  the  first  rank  of  poets,  were 
blank  prose  in  comparison.  Our  Mrs.  Montagu 
would  cry  over  it  from  beginning  to  end.  It  w.as 
pronounced  by  all  the  memiiers  of  the  Literary,  Sci- 
tntic,  and  Philosophical  Society  the  greatest  poem 
of  the  age,  and  all  anticipated  the  noise  it  would 
make  in  the  great  world.  There  was  not  a  doubt 
but  the  London  booksellers  would  be  mad  after  it, 
and  the  only  fear  of  my  friends  was,  that  I  would 
make  a  sacrifice  by  selling  it  too  cheap.  Every  time 
they  t.alked  the  matter  over  they  increased  the  price. 
They  reckoned  tip  the  great  sums  given  for  the  po- 
ems of  certain  popular  writers,  and  determined  that 
m'ne  was  worth,  more  than  all  put  together,  and 
{tight  to  be  paid  for  accordingly.  For  my  p.vt,  I 
tin  mo»lest  in  nw  expectations,  and  determined  that 
I  would  be  satisfied  with  a  thousand  guineas.  So  I 
put  my  poem  in  my  pocket  and  set  off  for  London. 

My  journey  was  joyous.  My  heart  was  light  as 
my  purse,  and  my  head  full  of  anticipations  of  fame 
and  fortune.  With  what  swelling  pride  did  I  cast 
my  eyes  upon  old  London  from  the  heights  of  High- 
gate.  I  was  like  a  general  looking  down  upon  a 
place  he  expects  to  conquer.  The  great  metropolis 
lay  5tre\chid  befiore  me,  buried  under  a  home-made 


cloud  of  murky  smoke,  that  wrapped  it  frcin  tne 
brightness  of  a  sunny  day,  and  formed  foi  it  a  kind 
of  artificial  bad  weather.  At  the  outskirts  of  the 
city,  away  to  the  west,  the  smoke  gradually  d^ 
creased  until  all  was  clear  and  sunny,  and  the  view 
stretched  uninterrupted  to  the  blue  line  of  the  Kent 
ish  Hills. 

My  eye  turned  fondly  to  where  the  mighty  cupollt 
of  St.  Paul's  swelle.^  dim.y  through  this  misty  chao* 
and  I  pictured  to  myse''  the  solemn  realm  of  leani' 
ing  that  lies  about  its  .)ase.  How  soon  sh>uld  the 
Pleasures  of  Melancholy  throw  this  world  of  buok- 
■sellers  and  printers  into  a  bustle  of  business  and  de- 
light !  How  soon  should  I  hear  my  name  repeated 
by  printers'  devils  throughout  Pater  Noster  Row, 
and  Angel  Court,  and  Ave  Maria  Lane,  until  Amen 
corner  should  echo  back  the  sound  ! 

Arrived  in  town,  I  repaired  at  once  to  the  most 
fashionable  publisher.  Every  new  author  patron- 
izes him  of  course.  In  fact,  it  had  been  determined 
in  the  village  circle  that  he  should  be  the  fortunate 
man.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  vaingloriously  I  walked 
the  streets ;  my  head  was  in  the  clouds.  I  felt  the 
airs  of  heaven  playing  about  it,  and  fancied  it  al- 
ready encircled  by  a  halo  of  literary  glory.  As  I 
passed  by  the  windows  of  bookshops,  1  anticipated 
the  time  when  my  work  would  be  shining  among  the 
hotpressed  wonders  of  the  day ;  and  my  face,  scratch- 
ed on  copper,  or  cut  in  wood,  figuring  in  fellowship 
with  those  of  Scott  and  Byron  and  Moore. 

When  I  applied  at  the  publisher's  houue  there  was 
something  in  the:  loftiness  of  my  air,  and  the  dingi-' 
ness  of  my  dress,  that  struck  the  clerks  with  r»»vei- 
ence.  They  doubtless  took  me  for  some  puEon  of 
consequence,  probably  a  digger  of  Greek  roots,  c\  B 
penetrator  of  pyramids.  A  proud  man  >n  a  diet* 
shirt  is  always  an  imposing  character  ii  the  woiifl 
of  letters;  one  must  feel  intellectually  secuie  beforn 
he  can  venture  to  dress  shabbily;  none  but  a  g'eat 
scholar  or  a  great  genius  dares  to  be  dirty ;  so  I  «iM 
usliered  at  once  to  the  sanctum  sanctorum  of  this 
high  priest  of  Minerva. 

The  publishing  of  books  is  a  very  different  affair 
now-a-days,  from  what  it  was  in  the  time  of  Bernard 
Lintot.  I  found  the  publisher  a  fashion.ably-dressed 
man,  in  an  elegant  drawing-room,  furnished  with 
sofas  and  portraits  of  celebrated  authors,  and  cases 
of  splendidly  bound  books.  He  was  writing  letteia 
at  an  elegant  table.  This  was  tnmsacting  business 
in  style.  The  pl.ace  seemed  suited  to  the  magnificent 
publications  that  issued  from  it.  I  rejoiced  at  the 
choice  I  had  made  of  a  publisher,  for  I  always  liked 
to  encourage  men  of  taste  and  spirit. 

I  stepped  up  to  the  table  with  the  lofty  poetical 
port  that  I  had  been  accustomed  to  maintain  in  our 
village  circle ;  though  I  threw  in  it  something  of  a 
patronizing  air,  such  as  one  feels  when  about  to 
make  a  man's  fortune.  The  publisher  paused  with 
his  pen  in  his  hand,  and  seemed  waiting  in  mute 
suspense  to  know  what  was  to  be  announced  by  so 
singular  an  apparition. 

1  put  him  at  his  ease  in  a  moment,  for  I  felt  that 
I  had  but  to  come,  see,  and  conquer.  I  made  known 
my  name,  and  the  name  of  my  poem  ;  proiluced  my 
precious  roll  of  blotted  manuscript,  lai.l  it  on  tljE 
tiible  with  an  emphasis,  and  told  him  at  once,  to 
save  time  and  come  directly  to  the  point,  the  price 
was  one  thousand  guineas. 

I  had  given  him  no  time  to  spe.ik,  nor  did  he  seem 
so  inclined.  He  continued  looking  at  me  for  a  mo- 
ment with  an  air  of  whimsical  perplexity  ;  scanned 
me  from  head  to  foot ;  looked  down  at  the  manu- 
script, then  up  again  at  me,  then  pointed  to  a  chair; 
and  whistling  softly  to  himself,  went  on  tvriting  his 
letter. 


568 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


W^M-l' 


f^,'-? 


Id!-- 


if. 


S  'fi' 


U-, 


14  V 


:^^:^:- 


it*- 


>«    ,;<!,<?«». 


.#-''/ 


*r|ie;^ 


■If ;  J  -.   ■. 

i  r;  at  Vi  : 


I  sat  for  some  time  waiting  his  reply,  supposine 
he  was  making  up  His  mind ;  but  he  only  pauseu 
occasionally  to  take  a  Iresh  dip  of  inic ;  lo  stroke  his 
chin  or  the  tip  of  his  ntise,  and  then  resumed  his 
writing.  It  was  evident  his  mind  was  intently  occu- 
pied upon  some  other  sulyect ;  but  I  had  no  idea 
thst  any  other  subject  should  be  attended  to  and  my 
poem  lie  unnoticed  on  the  t.ible.  I  had  supposed 
that  every  thing  would  make  way  for  the  Pleasures 
if  Melancholy. 

My  gorge  at  length  rose  within  me.  I  took  up 
aiy  manuscript ;  thrust  it  into  my  pocket,  and  walked 
out  of  the  room ;  making  some  noise  as  I  went,  to 
let  my  departure  be  heard.  The  publisher,  how- 
ever, was  too  much  busied  in  minor  concerns  to 
notice  it.  I  was  suffered  to  walk  down-stairs  with- 
out being  called  back.  I  sallied  forth  into  the  street, 
but  no  clerk  was  sent  after  me ,  nor  did  the  pub- 
lisher call  after  me  from  the  drawing-room  window. 
1  have  been  told  since,  that  he  considered  me  either 
a  madman  or  a  fool.  1  leave  you  to  judge  how 
much  he  was  in  the  wrong  in  his  opinion. 


When  I  turned  the  corner  my  crest  fell.     I  cooled,  »mind,  when  chance  threw  ine  in  the  way  of  Cnncn. 


down  in  my  pride  and  my  expectations,  and  reduced 
my  terms  with  the  next  bookseller  to  whom  I  ap- 
plied. I  had  no  better  success :  nor  with  a  third : 
nor  with  a  fourth.  I  then  desired  the  booksellers  to 
make  an  offer  themselves;  but  the  deuce  an  offer 
would  they  make.  They  told  me  poetry  was  a  mere 
drug ;  everybody  wrote  poetry ;  the  market  was 
overstocked  with  it.  And  then,  they  said,  the  title  of 
my  poem  was  not  Liking :  that  pleasures  of  all  kinds 
were  worn  threadbare ;  nothing  but  horrors  did 
now-a-days,  and  even  these  were  almost  worn  out. 
Tales  of  j^irates,  robbers,  and  bloody  Turks  might 
answer  tolerably  well ;  but  then  they  must  come 
crom  some  established  well-known  name,  or  the 
rjublic  v.'ould  not  look  at  them. 

•At  last  I  offered  to  leave  my  poem  with  a  book- 
seller to  read  it  and  judge  for  himself.  "  Why, 
really,  my  dear  Mr. — a — a — I  forget  your  name," 
said  he,  cutting  an  eye  at  my  rusty  coat  and  shabby 
gaiters,  "  really,  sir,  we  are  so  pressed  with  business 
just  now,  anc  have  so  many  manuscripts  on  hand  to 
read,  that  we  have  not  time  to  look  at  any  new  pro- 
duction, but  if  you  can  call  again  in  a  week  or  two, 
or  say  the  middle  of  next  month,  we  may  be  able  to 
look  over  your  writings  and  give  you  an  answer. 
Don't  forget,  the  month  after  next — good  mo-ning, 
sir — happy  to  see  you  any  time  you  are  passing 
this  way  " — so  saying  he  bowed  me  out  in  the  civil- 
est  way  imaginable.  In  short,  sir,  instead  of  an 
eager  cojupttition  to  secure  my  poem  J  could  not 
even  get  it  read  !  In  the  mean  time  I  was  h.ir.issed 
by  letters  from  my  friends,  wanting  to  know  when 
the  work  was  to  appear ;  who  whs  to  be  my  pub- 
lisher ;  btit  above  all  things  warning  me  noi  to  let  it 
go  too  cheap. 

There  was  but  one  alternative  left.  I  determined 
to  publish  the  poem  myself;  and  to  have  my  triumph 
over  the  booksellers,  wiien  it  shoidd  become  the 
fashion  of  the  day.  I  accordingly  pub''=hed  the 
Pleasures  of  Melancholy  and  ruined  myself.  Ex- 
cepting the  copies  sent  to  the  reviews,  and  to  my 
friends  in  the  couiitry,  not  one,  1  believe,  ever  left 
the  bookseller's  warehouse.  The  printer's  bill  drain- 
ed my  purse,  and  '.he  only  notice  tiiat  was  taken  of 
my  work  was  contained  m  the  advertisements  n.n. 
for  by  myself. 

I  could  have  borne  all  this,  and  have  attributed  it 
as  us«]al  to  the  mismanagement  of  the  publisher,  or 
the  want  of  taste  in  the  public ;  and  could  have 
made  the  usual  appeal  to  posterity :  but  my  village 
friends  would  not  let  me  rest  in  quiet.  They  were 
picturing  me  to  themselves  feasting  with  the  great 


communing  with  the  liter  dry,  and  n  the  high  cciirst 
of  fortune  and  renown.  Every  little  while,  some  one 
came  to  me  with  a  letter  of  introduction  trdin  the 
village  circle,  lecommending  him  to  my  attentions, 
and  requesting  that  I  woiud  make  him  kaown  in 
society;  with  a  hint  that  an  introduction  to  ihe 
house  of  a  celebrated^  literary  nobleman  wouM  be 
extremely  agreeable. 

I  determined,  therefore,  to  change  my  loiljjingj 
drop  my  correspondence,  and  disappear  altci^eihei 
from  the  view  of  my  village  admirers.  H.^wics,  I 
was  anxious  to  m.ike  one  more  poetic  attempt.  1 
was  by  no  means  disheartened  by  the  failure  of  n;j 
first.  My  poem  was  evidently  too  didactic.  TIi« 
public  was  wise  enough.  It  no  longer  read  for  in. 
struction.  "They  want  horrors,  do  they?"  said  l, 
"  /'faith,  then  they  shall  have  enough  of  them."  So 
I  looked  out  for  some  quiet  retired  place,  wiiere  I 
might  be  out  of  reach  of  my  friends,  and  have  kisure 
to  cook  up  some  delectable  dish  of  poetical  "  hdi- 
broth." 

I  had  some  difficulty  in  finding  a  place  to  mv 


bury  Castle.  It  is  an  ancient  brick  tower,  h.ird  b; 
"merry  Islington;"  the  remains  of  a  hu!itir,i^-seat 
of  Queen  Pllizabeth,  where  she  took  the  pleasures  of 
the  country,  when  the  neighbourhood  was  al!  wooj. 
land.  What  gave  it  particular  interest  in  my  eyes, 
was  the  circumstance  that  it  h.ad  been  the  residoiicj 
of  a  poet.  It  was  here  Goldsmith  resided  wI'mi  he 
wrote  his  Deserted  Village.  I  was  shown  the  very 
apartment.  It  was  a  relique  of  the  original  style  of 
the  casfle,  with  pannelled  wainscots  and  gothic 
windows.  I  w.is  pleased  with  its  air  of  antiijuity, 
and  with  its  having  been  the  residence  of  poor  (".oldy, 
"Goldsmith  was  a  pretty  poet."  said  I  to  mpeif,  "a 
very  pretty  poet ;  though  rather  of  the  oUl  school. 
He  did  not  think  and  feel  so  strongly  as  is  the 
fashion  now-a-days  :  but  had  he  lived  in  these  t/nes 
of  hot  hearts  and  hot  heads,  he  would  have  written 
quite  differently." 

In  a  few  days  I  was  quietly  established  in  my  new 
quarters ;  my  books  all  arranged,  my  writing  desk 
placed  by  a  window  looking  out  into  the  fields  ;  an'l 
I  felt  as  snug  as  Robinson  Crusoe,  when  he  had 
finished  his  bower.  For  several  days  I  enjoyed  all 
the  novelty  of  change  and  the  charms  which  grace 
a  new  lodgings  before  one  has  found  out  their  de- 
fects. I  rambled  al>out  the  fields  where  I  fancied 
Goldsmith  had  rambletl.  I  explored  merry  Islinijton ; 
ate  my  solitary  dinner  at  the  Black  Bull,  which  ac- 
cording to  tradition  w.is  a  country  seat  of  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  and  would  sit  and  sip  my  wine  and  muse 
on  old  times  in  a  quaint  old  room,  where  many  a 
council  had  been  held. 

All  this  did  very  well  for  a  few  days  :  I  Wiis  stimu- 
lated by  novelty  ;  inspired  by  the  associations  awai<- 
ened  in  my  mind  by  tnese  curious  haunts,  and  bejjan 
to  think  I  felt  the  spirit  of  com|K>sition  stirring  within 
me ;  but  Sunday  came,  and  with  it  the  whole  city 
world,  swarming  about  Canonbiiry  Castle.  1  could 
not  open  my  window  but  I  was  stunned  with  shojli 
and  noi.ses  from  the  cricket  ground.  The  late  quiet 
road  beneath  my  window  was  alive  with  the  tieid  o( 
feet  «nd  clack  of  tongues ;  and  to  complete  my 
misery,  I  found  that  my  quiet  retreat  was  ibsolutdy 
a  " show  house  ! "  tl.e  tower  and  its  contents  beng 
s'  own  to  strangers  at  sixpence  a  head. 

There  was  a  perpetual  tramping  up-stairs  of  citi- 
zens and  their  families,  to  look  about  the  country 
from  the  top  of  the  tower,  and  to  take  a  peep  at  the 
city  througn  the  telescope,  to  try  if  they  could  dis- 
cern their  own  chimneys.  And  then,  in  the  midst  ol 
a  vein  of  thought,  or  a  moment  of  inspiration,  I  v.m 
nterrupted,  and  all  my  ideas  put  to  flight,  by  my 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


»eB 


In  the  high  ccur« 

■e  while. someone 
•duction  Iroin  the 
[to  my  attnitions, 
Ice  him  k.irnvn  in 
Iroduction  to  ih( 
Pieman  wouid  he 

nge  my  lo.lfjinjj 
■appear  alio-cihei 
hirers.     H,,,,,^.^,^  j 

oetic  aittiiipt.  I 
Ithe  failure  u{  n;y 
to  didactic.  TliJ 
Inger  read  fcr  jn. 
Ko  they  ?"  .said  1 
Ighoftheni."  So' 
led  place,  wiiere  I 
3.  and  havt  leisure 
|of  poetical  ••  hell. 

'g  a  place  to  rtiv 

e  way  ot'  Canon'. 

;k  tower,  hi^d  h\ 

of  a  hmuinij.sea'i 

k  the  pleasures  of 

)od  was  ai:  v.ood- 

terest  in  mv  eyes, 

een  the  rtsidL'p.ce 

resided  wl.rii  he 

s  shown  the  very 

e  original  style  of 

icots    and    gothic 

air  of  anti(]uity, 

nee  of  poor  (ioldy, 

lid  I  to  mysL-if,  "a 

of  the  old  school, 

tronjfly  as  is  the 

ved  in  these  t  jic! 

'ould  have  wr'iien 

hiished  in  my  new 
,  my  writing  desk 
ito  the  fields  ;  and 
soe.  when  he  had 
lays  I  enjoyed  all 
irms  which  grace 
iind  out  their  de- 
5  where  I  fancied 
I  merry  Islington; 
;k  Bull,  which  ac- 
seat  of  Sir  Walter 
y  wine  and  muse 
n,  where  many  a 

lys  :  I  was  stimu- 
ssociations  awak- 
aunts,  and  began 
on  stirring-  within 
it  the  wliole  city 

Castle.  I  could 
nned  with  shoatii 
.  The  late  '^niet 
with  the  tread  o( 
to  complete  my 
it  was  v.bso!utcly 
5  contents  be.ni 
ad.  * 

up-stairs  of  citi- 
)out  the  country 
ke  a  peep  at  the 

they  could  d;s- 
,  in  the  midst  ol 
ispiration,  I  v,is 
o  fiight,  by  mj 


^tolerable  landlady's  tapping  at  the  door,  and 
atiking  mc,  if  I  would  "jist  please  to  let  a  lady  and 
gentleman  come  in  to  take  a  took  at  Mr.  Goldsmith's 

room- 

If  you  know  any  thing  what  an  author's  study  is,  and 
what  an  author  is  himself,  you  must  know  that  there 
lyas  no  standing  this.  I  put  a  positive  interdict  on 
my  room's  beirg  exhibited  ;  but  then  it  wa.s  shown 
when  1  Wcis  absent,  and  my  papers  put  in  confusion  ; 
111'  on  returning  home  one  day,  1  absolutely  found 
Uifj^'d  tradesman  and  his  daughters  gaping  over 
•tiy  manuscripts ;  and  my  landlady  in  a  panic  at  my 
appearance.  1  tried  to  make  out  a  little  longer  by 
uking  the  key  in  my  pocket,  but  it  would  not  do.  1 
overheard  mme  hostess  one  day  telling  some  of  her 
customers  on  the  stairs  that  the  room  was  occupied 
by  an  author,  who  was  always  in  a  tantrum  if  inter- 
nipted ;  and  I  immeiliately  perceived,  by  a  slight 
noise  at  the  door,  that  they  were  peeping  at  me 
through  the  key-hole.  By  tne  head  of  Apollo,  but 
this  was  quite  too  much  !  with  all  my  e.igemess  for 
fame,  and  my  ambition  of  the  stare  of  tne  million, 
1  had  no  idea  of  Ijeing  exhibited  by  retailj  at  sixpence 
a  head,  and  that  through  a  key-hole.  So  I  bade 
adieu  to  Canonbury  Castle,  merry  Islington,  and  the 
haunts  of  pfjor  Goldsmith,  without  having  advanced 
a  single  line  in  my  labours. 

My  next  quarters  were  at  a  small  white-washed 
cottage,  which  stands  not  far  from  Hempstead,  just 
on  the  brow  of  a  hill,  looking  over  Chalk  farm,  and 
Ciimbden  town,  remarkable  for  the  rival  houses  of 
Mother  Red  Cap  and  Mother  Black  Cap;  and  so 
across  Crackskuli  common  to  the  distant  city. 

The  cottage  is  in  rto  wise  remarkable  in  itself; 
but  I  regarded  it  with  reverence,  for  it  h.id  been  the 
asylum  of  a  persecuted  author.  Hither  poor  Steele 
hid  retreated  and  lain  perdue  when  persecuted  by 
creditors  and  bailiffs ;  those  immemorial  plagues  of 
luthors  and  free-spirited  gentlemen ;  and  here  he 
bad  written  many  numbers  of  the  Spectator.  It 
WoS  from  hence,  too,  that  he  had  despatched  those 
little  notes  to  his  lady,  so  full  of  atTection  and  whim- 
sicality ;  in  which  the  ibnd  husband,  the  careless  gen- 
tleman, and  the  shifting  spendthrift,  were  so  oddly 
blended.  I  thought,  as  I  first  eyed  the  wintlow  of 
his  apartment,  that  I  could  sit  within  it  and  write 
volumes. 

No  such  thing!  It  was  haymaking  sesison.  and, 
as  ill  luck  woulci  have  it,  immediately  opposite  the 
cottage  was  a  little  alehouse  with  the  sign  of  the 
load  of  hay.  Whether  it  was  there  in  Steele's  time 
or  not  I  cannot  say ;  but  it  set  all  attempt  at  con- 
ception or  inspiration  at  defiance.  It  was  the  resort 
of  all  Oie  Irish  haymakers  who  mow  the  broad  fields 
in  the  neighbourhood  ;  and  of  drovers  and  teamsters 
who  travel  that  road.  Here  wouUI  they  gather  in 
the  endless  summer  twilight,  or  by  the  light  of  the 
harvest  moon,  and  sit  round  a  tal)le  at  the  door ; 
and  tipple,  and  laugh,  and  quarrel,  and- fight,  ami 
sing  drowsy  songs,  and  dawdle  away  the  hours  until 
the  deep  solemn  notes  of  St.  Paul's  clock  would  warn 
the  varlets  home. 

In  the  day-time  I  was  still  less  able  to  write.  It 
wis  broad  summer.  The  h.aymakeis  were  at  work 
•n  the  fields,  and  the  perfume  of  the  new-mown  hay 
brought  with  it  the  recollection  of  my  native  fields. 
^  instead  of  remaining  in  my  room  to  write,  1  went 
wandering  aliout  Primrose  Hill  anrl  Hempstead 
Heights  and  Shepherd's  Field,  and  all  those  Arca- 
dian scenes  so  celebrated  by  London  bards.  I  can- 
aot  tell  you  how  many  delicious  hours  I  have  passed 
lying  on  the  cocks  of  new-mown  hay,  on  the  pleas- 
ant slopes  of  some  of  those  hills,  inhaling  the  fra- 
grance of  the  fields,  while  the  summer  tiy  buzied 
about  me,  or  the  grasshopper  leaped  into  my  bosom  ; 
24 


and  how  I  have  gazed  with  half-shut  eye  upon  tb* 
smoky  mass  of  London,  and  li'.>tened  to  the  distant 
sound  of  its  population,  and  pitied  the  psor  sons  of 
earth,  toiling  m  its  bowels,  like  Gnomes  in  "  the 
dark  gold  mine." 
People  may  say  what  they  please  about  Cockne) 

Castorals ;  but  after  all,  there  is  a  vast  deal  of  rural 
eauty  about  the  western  vicinity  of  Lon'ion;  and 
any  one  that  has  looked  down  upon  the  valley  ol 
Westend,  with  its  soft  bosom  of  green  p.isturage, 
lying  open  to  the  south  and  dotted  with  cattle  ;  itit 
steeple  of  Hempstead  r.sing  among  rich  groves  on 
the  tirow  of  the  hill,  and  the  learned  heiglit  of  Har- 
row in  the  distance  ;  will  confess  that  never  has  he 
seen  a  more  absolutely  rural  landscape  in  the  vicinity 
of  a  great  metropolis. 

Still,  however,  I  found  myself  not  a  whit  the  better 
off  for  my  frequent  change  of  lodgings ;  and  I 
began  to  discover  that  in  literature,  as  in  trade,  the 
old  proverb  holds  good,  "  a  rolling  stone  gathers  no 
moss.'* 

The  tranquil  beauty  of  the  country  played  the  very 
vengeance  with  me.  I  could  not  mount  my  fancy 
into  the  termagant  vein.  I  could  not  conceive, 
amidst  the  smiling  landscape,  a  scene  of  blood  and 
murder  ;  and  the  smug  citizens  in  breeches  and  gait- 
ers, put  all  ideas  of  heroes  and  bandits  out  of  mj 
brain.  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  dulcet  subjects. 
"  The  pleasures  of  spring" — "the  pleasures  of  soli- 
tude " — "  the  pleasures  of  tranquillity  " — "  the  pleas- 
ures of  sentiment  " — nothing  but  pleasures ;  and  I 
had  the  painful  experience  of  "  the  pleasures  of  mel- 
ancholy '  too  strongly  in  my  recollection  to  be  be- 
guiled by  them. 

Chance  at  length  befriended  me.  I  had  freouev.tly 
in  my  ramblings  loitered  about  HempstcAv'  HiU; 
which  is  a  kind  of  Parnassus  of  the  metropolis.  At 
such  times  I  occasionally  took  my  diimtr  at  Jack 
Straw's  Castle.  It  is  a  country  inn  so  named.  Tht 
very  snot  where  that  notorious  rebel  and  hi 5  follow- 
ers held  their  council  of  war.  It  is  a  favourite  resort 
of  citizens  when  rurally  inclined,  as  it  comm.inds  line 
fresh  air  and  a  good  view  of  the  city. 

I  sat  one  day  in  the  public  room  of  this  inn,  rumi- 
nating over  a  beefsteak  and  a  pint  of  port,  when  tay 
imagination  kindled  up  with  ancient  and  heroic 
images,  I  had  long  wanted  a  theme  and  a  hero ; 
both  suddenly  broke  upon  my  mind  ;  I  determined  to 
write  a  poem  on  the  history  of  Jack  Straw.  I  was 
so  full  of  my  subject  that  I  was  fearful  of  being  an- 
ticipated. I  wondered  that  none  of  the  poets  oT  the 
day,  in  their  researches  after  ruffian  heroes,  had  ever 
thought  of  Jack  Straw.  I  went  to  work  pell-mell, 
blotted  several  sheets  of  paper  with  choice  floating 
thoughts,  and  battles,  and  descriptions,  to  be  ready 
at  a  moment's  warning,  in  a  few  days'  time  I 
sketched  out  the  skeleton  of  my  poem,  and  nothing 
was  wanting  but  to  give  it  flesh  and  blood.  I  used 
to  take  my  manuscript  and  stroll  about  Caen  Wood, 
and  read  aloud  ;  and  would  iline  at  the  castle,  by  way 
of  keeping  up  the  vein  of  thought. 

I  was  taking  a  meal. there,  one  day,  at  a  rather 
late  hour,  in  the  public  room.  There  was  no  other 
company  but  one  num.  who  sat  enjoying  his  pint  of 
port  at  a  window,  and  noticing  the  passers-by.  He 
was  dressed  in  a  green  shooting  coat.  His  counte« 
nance  was  strongly  marked.  He  had  a  hooked  nos«, 
a  romantic  eye.  excepting  that  it  had  something  of  a 
squint ;  and  altogether,  as  I  thought,  a  poetical  style 
of  head.  I  was  quite  taken  with  the  mm  Tor  you 
must  know  I  am  a  little  of  a  physiognomist :  I  set 
him  down  at  once  for  either  a  poet  or  a  philosopher, 
As  I  like  to  make  new  acquaintances,  considering 
every  man  a  volume  of  human  nature,  I  soon  fell  into 
conversation  with  the  stranger,  who,  I  was  pleased  to 


870 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


'Vt 


.'4-\- 


bv 

had  dined,  I  joined  him  at  the  window,  and  we  be- 
came so  sociable  that  I  proposed  a  bottle  of  wine 
together ;  to  which  he  most  cheerfully  assented. 

I  was  too  full  of  my  poem  to  keep  long  quiet  on 
the  suliject,  and  began  to  talk  about  the  origin  of  the 
tavern,  and  the  history  of  Jack  Straw.  I  found  my 
new  acquaintance  to  be  perfectly  at  home  on  the 
topic,  and  to  jump  exactly  with  my  humour  in  every 
respect.  I  became  elevated  by  the  wine  and  the 
conversation.  In  the  fullness  of  an  author's  feel- 
ings, I  told  him  of  my  projected  poem,  and  repeat- 
ed some  passages ;  and  he  was  in  raptures.  He  was 
evidently  of  a  strong  poetical  turn. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  filling  my  glass  at  the  same  time, 
"our  poets  don't  look  at  home.  1  don't  see  why  we 
need  go  out  of  old  England  for  robbers  and  rebels 
to  write  about.  I  like  your  Jack  Straw,  sir.  He's  a 
home-made  hero.  I  like  him,  sir.  I  like  him  ex- 
ceedingly. He's  English  to  the  back  bone,  damme. 
Give  me  honest  old  England,  after  all ;  them's  my 
sentiments,  sir ! " 

"I  honour  your  st:ntiments,"  cried  I  zealously. 
"  They  are  exactly  my  own.  An  English  ruflian  for 
poetry  is  as  good  a  ruffi.in  for  poetry  as  any  in  Italy 
or  Germany,  or  the  Archijielago ;  but  it  is  hard  to 
make  our  poets  think  so." 

"  More  shame  for  them ! "  replied  the  man  in 
green.  "  What  a  plague  viould  they  have  ?  What 
nave  we  to  do  with  their  Archipelagos  of  Italy  and 
Germany?  Haven't  we  heaths  and  commons  and 
high-ways  on  our  own  little  island  ?  Aye,  and  stout 
fellows  to  pad  the  hoof  over  them  too  ?  Come,  sir, 
my  service  to  you — I  agree  with  your  perfectly." 

"  Poets  in  old  times  had  right  notions  on  this  sub- 
ject," continued  I ;  "  witness  the  tine  old  ballads 
about  Robin  Hood,  Allen  A'Uale,  and  other  staunch 
blades  of  yore." 

"  Right,  sir,  right,"  interrupted  he.  "  Robin 
Moo'J  !  He  was  the  lad  to  cr)'  stand  I  to  a  man, 
and  never  flinch." 

"  Ah,  sir,"  said  I,  "  they  had  famous  bands  of  rob- 
bers in  the  good  old  times.  Those  were  glorious 
poetical  days.  The  merry  crew  of  Sherwood  Forest, 
who  led  such  a  roving  picturesque  life,  '  under  the 
greenwood  tree.'  I  have  often  wished  to  visit  their 
haunts,  and  tread  the  scenes  of  the  exploits  of  Friar 
Tuck,  and  Clym  of  the  Clough,  and  Sir  William  of 
Cloud  eslie." 

"Nay,  sir,"  said  the  gentleman  in  green,  "we 
have  had  several  veiy  pretty  gangs  since  their  day. 
Those  gallant  dogs  that  kept  about  the  great  heaths 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  London ;  about  Bagshot, 
and  HounsTow,  and  Black  Heath,  for  instance — come, 
sir,  my  service  to  you.    You  don't  drink." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  I,  emptying  my  glass — "  I  sup- 
pose yoj  have  heard  of  the  famous  Turpin,  who  w;is 
bom  in  this  very  village  of  Hempstead,  and  who  used 
to  lurk  with  his  gang  in  Epping  Forest,  about  a 
hundred  years  since." 

"  Have  I  ?  "  cried  he — "  to  be  sure  I  have !  A 
bearty  old  blade  that ;  sound  as  pitch.  Old  Turpen- 
tine ! — as  we  used  to  call  him.  A  famous  fine  fellow, 
sir." 

"  Well,  sir,"  continued  I,  "  I  have  visited  Waltham 
Abbe)',  and  Chinkford  Church,  merely  from  the 
stories  I  heard,  when  a  boy,  of  his  exploits  there, 
and  I  have  searched  Epping  Forest  for  the  cavern 
where  he  used  to  conceal  himself.  You  must  know," 
added  I,  "  that  I  am  a  sort  of  amateur  of  highway- 
men. They  were  dashing,  daring  fellows  ;  tne  last 
apologies  that  we  had  for  the  knight  errants  of  yore. 
Ah,  sir  I  the  country  has  been  sinking  gradually  into 
tameness  and  commonplace.  We  are  losing  the  old 
English  spirit.    The  bold  knights  of  the  post  have  j 


all  dwindled  down  into  lurking  footpads  and  sneali, 
ing  pick-pockets.  There's  no  such  thing  as  a  dash- 
ing gentleman-like  robbery  con\mitted  now-a-dayj 
on  the  king's  highway.  A  man  may  roll  from  on? 
end  of  England  to  the  other  in  a  drowsy  coach  or 
jingling  post-chaise  without  any  other  .id vt-nturt 
than  that  of  being  occasionally  overturned,  sleepJnB 
in  damp  sheets,  or  having  an  ill-cooked  dinner, 

"  We  hear  no  more  of  public  coaches  bcin>;  stop. 
ped  and  robbed  by  a  well-mounted  gang  of  rcsclmj 
fellows  with  pistols  in  their  hands  and  crapes  ovci 
their  faces.  What  a  pretty  poetical  incident  was  ii 
for  example  in  domestic  life,  for  a  family  carnage, 
on  its  way  to  a  country  seat,  to  be  attacked  abuut 
dusk;  the  old  gentleman  eased  of  his  purse  .ind 
watch,  the  ladies  of  their  necklaces  and  ear-iiiij>s,  by 
a  politely-spoken  highwayman  on  a  blood  iii;ire, 
who  afterwards  leaped  the  hedge  and  r  dloped 
across  the  country,  to  the  admiration  of  Mis>,  Caro- 
lina the  daughter,  who  would  write  a  long  and  ro. 
mantic  account  of  the  adventure  to  her  friend  Misj 
Juliana  in  tov^.  Ah,  sir  I  we  meet  with  nothing  of 
such  incidents  now-a-days." 

"That,  sir," — said  my  companion,  taking  .ndvan- 
tage  of  a  pause,  when  1  stopped  to  recover  l)ieaih 
and  to  take  a  glass  of  wine,  which  he  had  just  pourtd 
out — "  that,  sir,  craving  your  pardon,  is  not  owing 
to  any  want  of  old  English  pluck.  It  is  the  ctlect  of 
this  cursed  system  of  banking.  People  do  not  travel 
with  bags  of  gold  as  they  did  formerly.  They  have 
post  notes  and  drafts  on  bankers.  To  rob  a  coach 
IS  like  catching  a  crow;  where  you  have  nothing 
but  carrion  flesh  and  feathers  for  your  pains.  iJut  i 
co.ich  in  old  times,  sir,  was  as  rich  as  a  Si)aiiiih 
galleon.  It  turned  out  the  yellow  boys  bravtly; 
and  a  private  carriage  was  a  cool  hundred  or  two  at 
least." 

I  cannot  express  how  much  I  was  delighted  witl, 
the  sallies  of  my  new  acquaintance.  Hrt  told  ine 
that  he  often  frequented  the  castle,  and  would  he 
glad  to  know  more  of  me ;  and  I  i^roinised  myself 
many  a  pleasant  afternoon  with  him,  when  I  should 
read  him  my  poem,  as  it  proceeded,  and  benefit  bj 
his  remarks;  for  it  was  evident  he  had  the  true 
poetical  feeling. 

"  Come,  sir !  "  said  he,  pushing  the  bottle,  "  Dam- 
me I  like  you  ! — You're  a  man  after  my  own  heart 
I'm  cursed  slow  in  making  new  .acquaintances  in 
general.  One  must  stand  on  the  reserve,  you  know 
But  when  I  meet  with  a  man  of  your  kidney,  damme 
my  heart  jumps  at  once  to  him.  Them's  my  semi- 
mcnts,  sir.  Come,  sir,  here's  Jack  Straw's  health! 
I  presume  one  can  drink  it  now-a-days  without 
treason ! " 

"With  all  my  heart,"  said  I  gayly,  "and  Dick 
Turpin's  into  the  bargain  !  " 

"  Ah,  sir,"  said  the  man  in  green,  "those  are  the 
kind  of  men  for  poetry.  The  Newgate  kalendar 
sir !  the  Newgate  kalendar  is  your  only  reailing ! 
There's  the  place  to  look  for  bold  deeds  and  d.i3hing 
fellows. " 

We  were  so  much  pleased  with  /each  other  that 
we  sat  until  a  late  hour.  I  insisted  on  paying  the 
bill,  for  both  my  purse  and  my  heart  were  full ;  and 
I  agreed  that  he  should  pay  the  score  at  our  next 
meeting.  As  the  coaches  had  all  gone  that  nin 
between  Hempstead  and  London  he  had  to  return 
on  foot.  He  was  so  delighted  with  the  idea  of  my 
poem  that  he  could  talk  of  nothing  else.  He  made 
me  repeat  such  passages  as  I  could  remember,  and 
thougn  I  did  it  in  a  very  mangled  m.anner,  having  a 
wretched  memory,  yet  he  was  in  raptures. 

Every  now  and  then  he  would  break  out  with 
some  scrap  which  he  would  misquote  most  terribly 
but  would  rub  his  hands  and  exclaim,  "  By  Jupitci 


ptpads  and  sneat 
h  thing  as  a  dash. 
iitted  now^.,iay, 
nay  roll  from  ont 
drowsy  coach  or 
other  adveiiiur, 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


871 


ayly,  "and  Dick 


mat's  fine  .  that's  noble  I  Damme,  sir,  if  I  can  con- 
ceive how  you  hit  upon  such  ideas  I  " 

1  must  confess  1  did  not  always  relish  his  mis- 
quotations, which  sometimes  made  absolute  non- 
icnse  of  the  passages ;  but  what  autiior  stands  upon 
liifles  when  h:  is  praised?  Never  had  1  spent  a 
gore  delightful  evening.  I  did  not  perceive  how 
the  time  new.  I  coulu  not  l>ear  to  separate,  l>ut 
continued  walking  on,  arm  in  arm  with  him  past 
my  lodgings,  through  Cambden  town,  and  across 
CrackscuU  Common,  talking  the  whole  way  about 
uy  poem. 

When  we  were  half-way  across  tlie  common  he 
iiitetiupted  me  in  the  midst  of  a  quotation  by  telling 
ine  that  this  had  been  a  famous  place  for  footpads, 
ind  was  still  occasionally  infested  by  them ;  and  that 
a  mill  had  recently  been  shot  there  in  attempting  to 
defend  himself. 

"The  more  fool  he  I  "cried  I.  "A  man  is  an 
idiot  to  risk  life,  or  even  limb,  to  save  a  paltry  purse 
of  money.  It's  auite  a  dilTerent  case  from  that  of  a 
duel,  where  one  s  honour  is  concerned.  For  my 
part,"  added  1,  "  I  should  never  think  of  making 
resistance  against  one  of  those  desperadoes." 

"Say  you  so  ?  "  cried  my  friend  in  green,  turning 
suddenly  upon  me,  and  putting  a  pistol  to  my  breast, 
"Wiiy,  then  have  at  you,  my  lad  ! — come,  disburse  ! 
tmpty  !  unsack  !  " 

In  a  word,  I  found  that  the  muse  had  played  me 
another  of  her  tricks,  and  had  betrayed  me  into  the 
hands  of  a  footpad.  There  was  no  time  to  parley ; 
he  made  me  turn  my  pockets  inside  out ;  and  hear- 
ing tiie  sound  of  distant  footsteps,  he  made  one  fell 
swoop  upon  purse,  watch,  and  all,  gave  me  a  thwack 
liver  my  unlucky  pate  that  laid  me  sprawling  on  the 
pound  ;  and  scampered  away  with  his  booty. 

I  saw  no  more  of  my  friend  in  green  until  a  year 
or  two  afterwards ;  when  I  caught  a  sij^ht  of  his  poet- 
ical countenance  among  a  crew  of  scapegraces, 
?,<:», ily  ironed,  who  were  on  the  way  for  transporta- 
tion. He  recognized  me  at  once,  tipped  me  an  iiu- 
pudent  wink,  and  asked  me  how  I  came  on  with  the 
nistory  of  Jack  Straw's  castle. 

The  catastrophe  at  CrackscuU  Common  put  an  end 
to  my  summer  s  campaign.  1  was  cured  of  my  po- 
etical enthusiasm  for  rebels,  robbers,  and  highway- 
men. 1  was  put  out  of  conceit  of  my  subject,  and 
what  was  worse,  I  was  lightened  of  my  purse,  in 
which  was  almost  ever)-  farthing  I  had  in  the  worUl. 
So  I  abandonerl  Sir  Kichard  Steele's  cottage  in  de- 
spair, and  crept  into  less  celeiirated,  though  no  less 
poetical  and  airy  lodgings  in  a  garret  in  town. 

I  see  you  are  growing  weary,  so  I  will  not  detain 
you  with  any  more  of  my  luckless  attempts  to  get 
astride  of  Peg.isus.  Still  I  couW  not  consent  to  give 
up  tiie  trial  and  abandon  those  dreams  of  renown  in 
which  1  had  indulged.  How  should  1  ever  be  able 
to  look  the  literary  circle  of  my  native  village  in  the 
face,  if  I  were  so  completely  to  falsify  their  predic- 
tions. For  some  time  longer,  therefore,  I  continued 
to  write  for  fame,  and  of  course  was  the  most  mis- 
crahle  dog  in  existence,  l>esides  being  in  continual 
r'sk  of  starvation.    . 

1  have  many  a  time  strolled  sorrowfully  along, 
'fith  a  sad  heart  and  an  empty  stomach,  about  five 
•'cliA'k,  and  looked  wistfully  down  the  areas  in  the 
mi  end  of  the  town ;  and  seen  through  the  kitchen 
•Tinc'ows  the  fires  gleaming,  and  the  joints  of  meat 
•uming  on  the  spits  and  dripping  with  gravy ;  and 
the  cook  maids  beating  up  puddings,  or  trussing  tur- 
keys, and  have  felt  for  the  moment  that  if  I  could 
but  h.ive  the  run  of  one  of  those  kitchens,  Apollo 
and  the  muses  might  have  the  hungry  heights  of 
P£m:i3sus  for  me.  Oh,  sir!  talk  of  meditations 
miong  the  tombs — they  are  nothing  so  melancholy 


as  the  meditations  of  a  poor  devil  without  penn) 
in  pouch,  along  a  line  of  kitchen  windows  towards 
dinner-time. 

At  length,  when  altnost  reduced  to  famine  and 
despair,  the  idea  all  at  once  entered  my  head,  thai 
perhaps  I  was  not  so  clever  a  fellow  as  the  village 
and  myself  had  supposed.  It  was  the  salvation  of 
me.  "The  moment  the  idea  popped  into  my  brain, 
it  brought  conviction  and  comfort  with  it.  1  awolw 
as  from  a  dream.  I  gave  itp  ir.:mortal  fame  to  thotc 
who  could  live  on  air;  .ook  to  writing  for  mere 
bread,  and  have  ever  since  led  a  very  tolerable  life 
of  it.  There  is  r.o  man  of  letters  so  much  at  his 
ease,  sir,  as  he  thit  has  no  character  to  gain  or  lose. 
I  had  to  train  myself  to  it  a  little,  however,  and  to 
clip  my  wings  short  at  irst,  or  they  would  have  car- 
ried me  up  into  poetry  n  spite  of  myself.  So  I  de- 
termined to  begin  by  the  opposite  extreme,  and 
abandoning  the  higher  regions  of  the  craft,  1  came 
plump  clown  to  the  lowest,  and  turned  creeper. 

"Creepier,"  interrupted  I,  "and  pray  what  is 
that  ? "  Oh,  sir !  I  see  you  are  ignorant  of  the 
language  of  the  craft ;  a  creeper  is  one  who  fumishw 
the  news|)apers  with  paragraphs  at  so  much  a  line 
one  that  g(ii-s  about  in  quest  of  misfortunes ;  attends 
the  Bow-street  oflice  ;  the  courts  of  justice  and  ever) 
other  den  of  mischief  and  iniquity.  We  are  paid  at 
the  rate  of  a  penny  a  line,  and  as  we  can  sell  the 
same  paragraph  to  almost  every  paper,  we  some- 
times pick  up  a  very  decent  day  s  work.  Now  and 
then  the  muse  is  unkind,  or  the  day  uncommonly 
auiet,  and  then  we  rather  starve ;  and  sometimes 
the  unconscionable  editors  will  clip  our  paragraphs 
when  they  are  a  little  too  rhetorical,  and  snip  tiT 
twopence  or  threepence  at  a  go,  I  have  many  a 
time  had  my  pot  ot  porter  snipjied  off  of  my  din!i:;i 
in  this  way ;  and  have  had  to  dine  with  dry  lips 
However,  l  cannot  complain.  I  rose  giadually  ii 
the  lower  r.mks  of  the  craft,  and  am  now,  I  think,  la 
the  most  comfortable  region  of  literature. 

"And  pray,"  said  I,  "what  may  you  be  at  fie»- 
ent  ?  " 

"  At  present,"  said  he,  "  I  am  a  regular  job  writer, 
and  turn  my  hand  to  anything.  I  work  up  the  writ- 
ings of  others  at  so  much  a  sheet ;  turn  off  transla- 
tions; write  second-rate  articles  to  till  up  reviews 
and  magazines;  compile  travels  and  voyages,  and 
furnish  theatrical  criticisms  for  the  newspapers.  All 
this    authorship,    ypu  perceive,   is  anonymous ;   it 

fves  no  reputation,  except  amonj*  the  trade,  wiiire 
am  considered  an  author  of  all  work,  and  am  al- 
ways sure  of  employ.  That's  the  only  reputation  I 
want.  1  sleep  soundly,  without  dread  of  duns  or 
critics,  and  leave  immortal  fame  to  those  that  choose 
to  fret  and  tight  about  it.  Take  my  word  for  it,  the 
only  happy  author  in  t!iis  world  is  he  who  is  below 
the  care  of  reputation." 

The  preceding  anecdotes  of  BuckthDme's  eirly 
schoolmate,  and  a  variety  of  peculiariiies  which  1 
h.ad  remarked  in  himself,  gave  me  a  strong  curiosity 
to  know  something  of  iiis  own  history,  'fherc  was 
a  dash  of  careless  good  humour  about  him  that 
pleased  me  exceedingly,  and  at  tiri'es  a  whimsical 
tinge  of  melancholy  ran  through  his  huniour  that 
gave  it  an  additional  relish.  He  had  evidently  been 
a  little  chilled  and  buffeted  by  fortune,  without  being 
soured  thereby,  as  some  fruits  become  mellower  ana 
sweeter,  from  having  been  bruised  or  fiost-bitten. 
He  smiled  when  I  expressed  my  desire.  "  I  have  nc 
great  story,"  said  he,  "  to  relate.  A  mere  tissue  of 
errors  and  follies.  But,  such  as  it  is,  you  shall  have 
one  epijch  of  it,  by  which  you  may  judge  of  the  rest." 
And  so,  without  any  farther  prelude,  he  gave  inc  the 
following  anecdotes  of  his  early  adventures. 


M 


tf7S 


WORKS  OF  WA&HINGTON   IRVING. 


BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE  YOUNQ  MAN  OF 
QREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


1  WAS  oorn  to  very  little  property,  but  to  great 
'iipectations;  which  is  perh.ips  one  of  the  most  un- 
lucky fortunes  that  a  man  can  be  born  to.  My 
bther  was  a  country  genileman,  the  last  of  a  very 
rtncient  and  honourable,  but  decayed  family,  and  re- 
lided  in  an  old  hunting  lodge  ii»  Warwickshire.  He 
was  a  keen  sportsman  and  rivcd  to  the  extent  of  his 
moderate  income,  so  that  I  had  little  to  expect  from 
chat  quarter;  but  then  I  had  a  rich  uncle  by  the 
mother's  side,  a  penurious,  accumulating  curmudg- 
eon, who  it  was  contidently  expected  would  make 
me  his  heir ;  because  he  w.as  an  old  bachelor ;  be- 
cause I  was  named  after  him,  and  because  he  hated 
ail  the  world  except  myself. 

He  was.  in  fact,  an  inveterate  hater,  a  miser  even 
m  misanthropy,  and  hoardal  up  a  grudge  as  he  did 
a  guinea.  Thus,  though  my  mother  w.-is  an  only 
sister,  he  had  never  forgiven  her  marri.ige  with  my 
father,  against  whom  he  h.id  a  cold,  still,  immove- 
able pique,  which  had  lain  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart, 
like  a  stone  in  a  well,  ever  since  they  had  been 
school  boys  together.  My  mother,  however,  con- 
sidered me  as  the  intermediate  being  that  w.is  to 
bring  every  thing  again  into  harmony,  ior  she  looked 
upon  me  as  a  prodigy — Cod  bless  her !  My  heart 
overflows  whenever  I  recall  her  tenderness :  she  was 
the  most  excellent,  the  most  indulgent  of  mothers, 
I  was  her  only  child ;  it  was  a  pity  she  had  no  more, 
for  she  had  fondness  of  heart  enough  to  have  spoiled 
a  dczen  1 

I  was  sent,  at  an  early  age,  to  a  public  school 
wjrely  against  my  mother's  wishes,  but  my  father  in- 
sisted that  it  was  the  only  way  to  make  bo)s  hardy. 
The  school  was  kept  by  a  conscienti<ius  prig  of  the 
ancient  system,  who  did  his  duty  by  the  boys  in- 
trusted to  his  care ;  that  is  to  say,  we  were  flogged 
soundly  when  we  did  not  get  our  lessons.  We  were 
put  into  classes  and  thus  flogged  on  in  droves  along 
the  highways  of  knowledge,  m  mr-rh  the  same  man- 
ner as  cattle  are  driven  to  market  ^-here  those  that 
ire  heavy  in  g.iit  or  short  in  leg  'lave  to  suffer  for 
the  superior  alertness  or  longer  limbs,  of  their  com- 
panions. 

For  my  part,  I  confess  it  with  shame,  I  was  an  in- 
:orrigible  laggard.  1  have  always  had  the  poetical 
teeling,  that  is  to  say,  I  have  always  been  an  idle 
fellow  and  prone  to  play  ihe  vagabond.  I  used  to 
get  away  from  my  Dooks  anJ  school  whenever  1 
could,  and  ramble  about  the  fields.  I  was  sur- 
rounded by  seductions  for  such  a  temperament. 
The  school-house  was  an  old-fashioned  white- 
washed mansion  of  wood  and  plaister,  standing  on 
the  skirts  of  a  beautiful  village.  Close  by  it  was  tlie 
venerable  church  with  a  tall  Gothic  s|)ire.  Before  it 
spread  a  lovely  green  valley,  with  a  little  stream  | 
glistening  along  through  willow  groves  ;  while  a  line 
of  blue  hills  that  bounded  the  Landscape  gave  rise  to 
many  a  summer  day  dream  as  to  the  fairy  land  thai 
lay  beyond. 

In  spite  of  all  the  scourgings  I  suffered  at  that 
ichool  to  m.ake  me  love  my  book,  I  cannot  but  look 
Mck  upon  ihe  place  with  fondness.  Indeed,  I  con- 
si  j.JTSil  this  frequent  flagellation  as  the  common  lot 
of  hu.Tiaz-'.ty,  and  the  regular  mode  in  which  scholars 
were  made.  My  kind  mother  used  to  lament  over 
my  details  of  the  sore  trials  I  underwent  in  the  cause  ! 
of'^leaming ;  but  my  father  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  her 
expostulations.  He  had  been  flogged  through  s<:hool 
bitnself,  and  swore  there  was  no  other  way  of  mak- 


ing; a  man  of  parts ;  though,  let  me  speak  It  with  u 
due  reverence,  my  father  was  but  an  indifferent  iiju). 
tration  of  his  own  theory,  for  he  was  considered  , ' 
grievous  blockhead. 

My  poetical  temperament  evinced  itself  at  a  ven 
early  period.  The  village  church  was  attended  evm 
Sunday  by  a  neighbouring  squire — the  lord  of  \}j 
manor,  whose  park  stretched  quite  to  the  viliap 
and  whose  spacious  country  seat  seemed  to  take  t\ 
church  under  its  protection.  Indeed,  you  woiili 
have  thought  the  church  had  been  consecrated  t( 
him  instead  of  to  the  Deity.  The  parish  clerk  howto 
low  before  hiti,  and  the  vergers  humbled  theniselvcj 
into  the  duit  in  his  presence.  He  always  enteruii  a 
little  late  and  with  some  stir,  striking  his  cane  in,. 
phatically  on  the  ground ;  swaying  his  hat  In  hii 
hand,  <ind  looking  Toftily  to  the  right  and  left,  as  ht 
walked  slowly  up  the  aisle,  and  the  parson,  whu  ai. 
ways  ate  his  Sunday  dinner  with  him,  ne,er  cun,- 
menced  service  until  he  appc.ired.  He  sat  with  iiij 
family  In  a  large  pew  gorgeously  lined,  humWlng 
himself  devoutly  on  velvet  cushions,  and  rcidmj; 
lessons  of  meekness  and  lowliness  of  spirit  out  oi 
splendid  gold  and  morocco  prayer-books.  When- 
ever the  parson  spoke  of  the  difTicultyof  a  rich  iiwn's 
entering  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  the  eyes  of  the  con- 
gregation would  turn  towards  the  "  grand  n.-v,,' 
and  I  thought  the  squire  seemed  pleased  witn  the 
application. 

The  pomp  of  this  pew  and  the  aristocrat ical  .lir  of 
the  family  struck  my  imagination  wonderfully,  .md  I 
fell  desperately  in  love  with  a  little  daughter  of  the 
squire's  about  twelve  years  of  age.  This  freak  oi 
fancy  made  me  more  truant  from  my  studies  than 
ever.  I  used  to  stroll  about  the  squire's  park,  md 
would  lurk  near  th^;  house,  to  catch  glimpses  of  this 
little  damsel  at  the  windows,  or  playmg  ab  mt  the 
lawns,  or  walking  out  with  her  governess. 

I  had  not  enterprise  or  impuclence  enough  to  ven- 
ture from  my  concealment ;  indeed,  I  felt  like  .-in  ar- 
rant poacher,  until  I  read  one  or  two  of  Ovid's  Mc  ta 
morpnoses,  when  I  pictured  myself  as  some  sylvan 
deity,  and  she  a  coy  wood  nymph  o*"  whom  i  was  in 
pursuit.  There  is  something  extremely  delicious  in 
these  early  aw.akenings  of  the  tender  passion.  1  cin 
feel,  even  at  this  moment,  the  thrilling  of  my  boyish 
bosom,  whenever  by  chance  I  caught  a  glimpse  ol 
her  white  frock  fluttering  among  the  shrubbery,  1 
now  began  to  read  poetry.  I  carried  about  in  mv 
bosom  a  volume  of  Waller,  which  I  had  purloimd 
from  my"  mother's  library  ;  and  I  applied  to  my  little 
fair  one  all  the  compliments  lavished  upon  S.ich- 
arissa. 

At  length  I  danced  with  her  at  a  school  hall,  1 
was  so  awkward  a  booby,  that  I  dared  scarcely  sperilf 
to  her  ;  1  was  filled  with  awe  and  embarrassiiitiu  in 
her  presence  ;  but  I  was  so  inspired  that  my  pocticil 
temjK-rament  for  the  first  time  broke  out  in  verse; 
and  1  fabricated  some  glowing  lines,  in  which  1  he 
rhymed  the  little  lady  under  the  favourite  name  of 
Sacharissa.  I  slipped  the  verses,  trembling  and 
blushing,  into  her  hand  the  next  Sunday  as  she  came 
out  of  church.  The  little  prude  handed  them  to  litr 
mamma;  the  mamma  handed  them  t(i  the  sqiii.t: 
the  squire,  who  had  no  soul  for  poetry,  ,«ent  tht:v  in 
dudgeon  to  the  school-master ;  and  the  school-masier 
with  a  barbarity  worthy  of  the  dark  ages,  gave  me  a 
sound  and  peculiarly  humiliating  flogging  for  thus 
trespassing  upon  Parnassus. 

This  was  a  sad  outset  for  a  votary  of  the  muse.  It 
ought  to  have  cured  me  of  my  passion  for  poetry; 
but  it  only  confirmed  it,  for  I  felt  the  spirit  oi  a 
martyr  rising  within  me.  What  w;is  as  well,  per- 
haps, it  cured  me  of  my  passion  for  the  young  lady; 
for  I  felt  so  indign.ant  at  the  ig:iominious  horsing  I 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLEH. 


«7l' 


I   ^ 


Mspeakitwithj, 
[an  Inditrerent  illu,. 
''.  was  considered  i 


III]  Incuned  in  celebrating  her  charms,  that  I  coi    1 
Yit  hold  up  my  head  in  church. 

Kortunately  for  my  wounded  sensibility,  the 
luinmcr  hoi) days  came  on,  and  I  returned  h 
my  mother,  as  usual,  inquired  into  all  my  school  <. 
(trns  my  little  pleasures,  and  cares,  and  sorro\N 
lor  boyhood  has  its  share  of  the  one  as  well  as  ut  tl 
glhers,     I  told  her  all,  and  she  was  indignant  at  ti 
ir«atment  I  had  experienced.     She  fired  up  at  lii 
yrogance  of  the  siquire,  and   the  prudery  of  the 
iiuRhter ;  and  as  to  the  school-master,  she  wondered 
irhcrc  was  the  use  of  having  school-masters,  and  why 
toys  could  not  remain  at  home  and  be  educated  by 
rjtors,  under  the  eye  of  their  mothers.    She  askeil 
[flsce  the  verses  I  had  written,  and  she  was  delight- 
jdwith  them;  for  to  confess  the  truth,  she  had  a 
pretty  taste  in  poetry.     She  even  showed  them  to  the 
parson's  wife,  who  protested  they  were  charming, 
ind  the  parson's  three  daughters  insisted  on  each 
having  a  copy  of  them. 

All  this  was  exceedingly  balsamic,  and  I  w.is  still 
more  consoled  and  encouraged,  when  the  young 
ladies,  who  were  the  blue-stockings  of  the  neigiibour- 
hood,  and  had  read  Dr.  Johnson's  lives  quite  through, 
assured  my  mother  that  great  geniuses  never  studied, 
but  were  always  idle;  upon  which  1  began  to  sur- 
mise that  I  was  myself  something  out  of  the  com- 
mon run.  My  father,  however,  was  of  a  very  dilTer- 
tnt  opinion,  (or  when  my  mother,  in  the  pride  of  her 
heart,  showed  him  my  copy  of  verses,  he  threw  them 
out  of  the  window,  asking  her  "  if  she  meant  to  make 
a  ballad  monger  of  the  Iroy."  But  he  was  a  careless, 
common-thinking  man,  and  I  cannot  say  that  I  ever 
Lived  him  much ;  my  mother  absorbed  all  my  filial 
alFcction. 

1  used  occasionally,  during  holydays,  to  be  sent  on 
iliort  visits  to  the  uncle,  who  was  to  m.ake  me  his 
h;ir ;  tney  thought  it  would  keep  me  in  his  mind, 
ar.d  render  him  fond  of  me.  He  was  a  withered, 
anxious-looking  old  fellow,  and  lived  in  a  desolate 
old  country  seat,  which  he  suffered  to  go  to  ruin  from 
absolute  niggardliness.  He  kept  but  one  man-serv- 
ant, who  had  lived,  or  rather  starved,  with  him  for 
fears.  No  woman  was  allowed  to  sleep  in  the  house. 
A  daughter  of  the  old  servant  lived  by  the  gate,  in 
what  had  been  a  porter's  lodge,  and  was  permitted 
to  come  into  the  house  about  an  hour  each  d.iy,  to 
nake  the  beds,  and  cook  a  morsel  of  provisions. 

1  he  p.irk  that  surrounded  the  house  was  all  run 
irild ;  the  trees  grown  out  of  shape  ;  the  tish-ponds 
sMFnant;  the  urns  and  statues  fallen  from  their 
pedestals  and  buried  among  the  rank  grass.  The 
hares  and  pheashnts  were  so  little  molested,  except 
by  poachers,  that  they  bred  in  great  abundance,  and 
sported  about  the  rough  lawns  and  weedy  avenues. 
To  j^iard  the  premises  and  frighten  off  robbers,  of 
whom  he  w.as  somewhat  apprehensive,  antl  visitors, 
whom  he  held  in  almost  equal  awe,  my  uncle  kept 
two  or  three  blood-hounds,  who  were  always  prowl- 
ing round  the  house,  and  were  the  dread  of  the 
neighbouring  peasantry.  They  were  gaunt  and  half- 
itarved,  seemed  ready  to  devour  one  from  mere 
hunger,  and  were  an  effectual  check  on  any  stranger's 
itpprovh  to  this  wizard  castle. 

Such  was  my  uncle's  house,  which  I  used  to  visit 
aow  and  then  during  the  holydays.  I  was,  as  I  have 
tcfore  said,  the  old  man's  favourite ;  that  is  to  say, 
M  did  not  hate  me  so  m  ich  as  he  did  the  rest  of  the 
■vcrld.  I  had  been  apprised  of  his  character,  and 
cautioned  to  cultivate  nis  good-will ;  but  I  was  too 
young  and  careless  to  be  a  courtier ;  and  indeed  have 
never  been  sufhciently  studious  of  my  interests  to  let 
them  govern  my  feelings.  However,  we  seemed  to 
jog  on  very  well  together  and  as  my  visits  cost  him 
ilmost  nothing,  they  did  lot  seem  to  be  very  un- 


wekome.  I  brought  wuh  me  my  g"*»  an.l  Rshing- 
rod,  and  h.alf  supplied  the  table  from  tli«  p'  "V  .W 
the  fish-ponds. 

Our  meals  c  ere  solitary  and  unsocial.     '    ■  unclf 
rare'     ipoke ;  ne  pointed  for  whatever  h'       anted 
t  perfectly  understood  him       nd"^-^ 
ot  Iron  John,  as  he  was  atu      in 
I,  W.1S  a  counterpart   of   ^'      la      ,. 


and    ne  irrv 
his  om  JoV 
neighbour! 
He  was  a  i 
seemed  nM' 


,  h*}ny  old 
of  tow' 


though  it  h.uf  lieof*  < 
generally  clad  m  a  Irn, 
out  of  the  wardrobe  <' 
loosely  about  him,  ha 
corpulent  predecessoi 
the  mansion.     From 


I'ilow,  with  a  u.y 
III.  and  a  fe.ce  a«  i 

->f  bull's 
,  itched  h 

K-  house  ;  ." 
fvidentlv 


nh 


Hit 


le.  H. 
.  coai,  tai.  ,1 
.hich  bng{^«:d 
on^ed  to  some 
the  more  ...cntrous  days  ol 
It;  habits  of  t.iciturnity,  the 
hinges  of  his  jaws  seemed  to  have  grown  absolutely 
rusty,  and  it  cost  him  as  much  el'tbrt  to  set  them  ajar, 
and  to  l«t  out  a  toler.ible  sentence,  as  it  wmjld  have 
done  to  set  open  the  iron  gales  of  the  park,  and  let 
out  the  family  carriage  that  was  dropping  to  pieces 
in  the  coacli-houtie. 

I  cannot  s.ay,  however,  but  that  I  was  for  some 
tiine  amused  with  my  uncle's  peculiarities.  Even  the 
very  desolateness  of  the  establishment  had  some- 
thing in  it  that  hit  my  fancy.  When  the  weather 
was  line  I  used  to  amuse  myself,  in  a  solitary  way, 
by  rambling  about  the  p  irk,  and  coursing  like  a  coll 
across  its  lawns.  The  hares  and  pheas.ints  seemed 
to  stare  with  surprise,  to  see  a  human  being  walking 
these  forbidden  grounds  by  day-light.  Sometimes  1 
amused  myself  by  jerking  stones,  or  shooting  at 
birds  with  a  bow  and  arrows ;  for  to  have  used  a 
gun  would  h.ive  been  treason.  Now  and  then  my 
path  was  crossed  by  a  little  red-heailed,  ragged- 
tailed  urchin,  the  son  of  the  woman  at  the  lodge 
who  ran  wild  about  the  premises.  I  tried  to  draw 
him  into  familiarity,  and  to  make  a  compauon  ol 
him  ;  but  he  seemoil  to  have  imbibed  the  strai  ge,  un 
social  character  of  every  thing  around  him ;  and 
always  kept  aloof;  so  I  considered  him  as  another 
Orson,  and  amused  myself  with  shooting  at  him  with 
my  l)ow  and  arrows,  and  he  would  hold  up  his 
breeches  with  one  hand,  and  scamper  away  like  a 
fleer. 

There  was  something  in  all  this  loneliness  and 
wildness  strangely  pivasing  to  me.  The  great  sta- 
bles, empty  and  weather-broken,  with  the  names  of 
favourite  horses  over  the  vacant  stalls ;  the  windows 
bricked  and  boarded  up ;  the  broken  roofs,  garri- 
soned by  rooks  and  jackdaws ;  all  had  a  singularly 
forlorn  appearance :  one  would  have  concluded  the 
house  to  be  totally  uninhabited,  were  it  not  for  a  lit- 
tle thread  of  blue  smoke,  which  now  and  then  curled 
up  like  a  corkscrew,  from  the  centre  of  one  of  the 
wide  chimneys,  when  my  uncle'i  starveling  meal  was 
cooking. 

My  uncle's  room  was  in  a  remote  corner  of  the 
builcling,  strongly  secured  and  generally  locked,  I 
was  never  admitted  into  this  strong-hold,  where  the 
old  man  would  remain  for  the  greater  part  of  the 
tune,  drawn  up  like  a  veteran  spider  in  the  citadel 
of  his  web.  The  rest  of  the  mansion,  however,  was 
open  to  me,  and  1  sauntered  about  it  unconstrained. 
The  damp  and  rain  which  beat  in  through  the  broken 
windows,  cnimbled  the  paper  from  the  walls ;  moidd- 
ered  the  pictures,  and  gradually  destroyed  the  furni- 
ture. I  loved  to  rove  about  the  wide,  waste  cham- 
l)ers  in  bad  weather,  and  listen  to  the  howling  of  the 
wind,  and  the  banging  about  of  the  doors  and  win- 
dow-shutters. I  pleased  myself  with  the  idea  how 
completely,  when  I  came  to  the  estate,  I  would  reno- 
vate all  things,  and  make  the  old  building  ring  with 
merrimenl,  till  it  was  astonished  at  its  own  jocundity, 
The  ch,amber  v/hich  I  occupied  on  these  visits  WM 


«74 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVINO. 


m- 


m: 


the  Mune  that  hnd  been  my  mother's,  when  a  ^rl. 
There  waa  itill  the  toilet-table  o(  her  own  adornmg ; 
the  landscaped  of  her  own  drawing.  She  had  never 
Men  it  flince  her  marriage,  liiit  would  often  ask  nie 
if  every  thinu  was  still  tlie  same.  All  was  just  th«? 
same  ;  for  I  lo>ed  that  chamlntr  on  her  account,  and 
liad  taken  pains  to  put  every  tiling;  in  order,  and  to 
mr.'nd  all  the  flaws  in  the  windows  with  my  own 
hands.  I  anticip  ted  the  time  when  I  should  once 
n  ore  welcome  her  to  the  house  of  her  fathers,  and 
restore  her  to  this  little  nestling-place  of  her  child- 

At  lentnth  my  evil  genius,  or,  what  perhaps  is  the 
same  thing,  the  musf,  inspired  rne  with  the  notion  of 
rhyming  again.  My  uncle,  who  never  went  to 
church,  used  on  Sundays  to  read  chapters  out  of 
the  Bible ;  and  Iron  John,  the  woman  from  the 
kxlge,  and  myself,  were  his  congregation.  It  seemed 
to  be  all  one  to  him  what  he  read,  so  long  as  it  was 
something  from  the  Bible ;  sometimes,  therefore,  it 
would  be  the  Song  of  Solomon ;  and  this  withered 
anatomy  would  read  about  being  "stayed  wilii  (lag- 

ffons  and  comforted  with  apples,  for  he  was  sick  of 
ove."  Sometimes  he  would  hoblilc,  with  spectacle 
on  nose,  through  whole  chapters  of  hard  Hebrew 
names  in  Deuteronomy;  at  which  the  poor  woman 
would  sigh  and  groan  as  if  wonderfully  moved.  His 
favourite  book,  however,  was  "  The  I'ilgrim's  Prog- 
ress ;  "  and  when  he  c.ime  to  that  part  which  treats 
of  Doubting  Castle  and  Giant  Despair,  I  thought  in- 
variably of  nim  and  his  desolate  old  country  seat. 
So  much  did  the  idea  amuse  me,  that  I  took  to 
scribbling  about  it  under  the  trees  in  the  park ;  and 
In  a  few  d.ays  had  made  some  progress  in  a  poem,  in 
which  I  had  given  a  description  of  the  place,  under 
the  name  of  Doubting  Castle,  and  personified  my 
uncle  as  Giant  Despair. 

I  lost  my  poem  somewhere  about  the  house,  and 
I  {.ion  suspected  that  my  uncle  had  found  it ;  as  he 
harshly  intim.ated  to  me  that  I  could  return  home. 
AT.d  that  I  need  not  come  and  see  him  again  until 
he  should  send  for  me. 

Just  about  this  time  my  mother  died. — I  cannot 
dwell  upon  the  circumstance ;  my  heart,  careless  and 
wayworn  as  it  is,  gushes  with  the  recollection.  Hit 
death  was  an  event  that  perhaps  gave  a  turn  to  all 
my  after  fortunes.  With  her  died  all  that  made 
home  attractive,  for  my  father  was  harsh,  as  1  have 
before  said,  and  h.ad  never  treated  me  with  kindness. 
Not  that  he  exerted  any  unusual  severity  towards 
me,  but  it  was  his  way.  I  do  not  complain  of  him. 
Ii.  fact,  I  have  never  been  much  of  a  complaining 
disposition.  I  seem  bom  to  be  buffeted  by  fricpds 
and  fortune,  and  nature  has  made  me  a  careless  cn- 
durer  of  buffetings. 

I  now,  however,  began  to  grow  very  impatient  of 
remaining  at  school,  to  be  flogged  for  things  that  1 
did  not  Tike.  I  longed  for  variety,  especially  now 
that  I  had  not  my  "inde's  to  resort  to,  by  way  of  di- 
versifying the  dullness  of  school  with  the  dre.mness 
of  his  country  seat.  I  was  now  turned  of  sixteen  ; 
tall  for  my  age,  and  full  of  idle  fancies.  I  had  a  rov- 
mg,  inextinguishable  desire  to  see  diff'irent  kinds  of 
life,  and  different  orders  of  society ;  and  this  v.ifjrant 
huinour  had  been  fostered  in  me  by  Tom  Drilible. 
'lie  prime  wag  and  great  genius  of  the  school,  who 
vftd  all  the  rambling  propensities  of  a  poet. 

.1  used  to  set  at  my  desk  in  the  scliool,  on  a  fine 
iunmer's  day,  and  instead  of  studying  the  book 
which  lay  open  before  me,  my  eye  was  gazing 
throucfh  the  window  on  the  green  fields  and  blue 
hills.  HoiV  I  envied  the  happy  groups  sedated  on 
the  tops  of  stage-coaches,  chatting,  and  joking,  and 
laughing,  as  they  v/ere  whirled  by  the  school-house, 
on  theb-  way  to  the  metropolis.    Even  the  wagon- 


er* trudging  along  beside  their  pondernu^  tr^ni* 
and  traversm^  the  kingdom,  from  one  end  to  ikn 
other,  were  objects  of  envy  to  me.  I  funcir.l  m  miv 
iclf  what  actventures  they  mutt  experience,  .m, I  wh^ 
Olid  scenes  of  life  they  must  witness.  All  iln^  vvi\i 
doubtless,  the  poetical  temperament  workiin;  wiihit 
me,  and  temptmg  me  forth  Into  a  world  oliisoitt 
creation,  which  I  mistook  for  the  world  of  rcil  life, 

While  my  -nother  lived,  this  strong  iwopotn tyi, 
rove  was  co  nteracted  by  the  stronger  aitr.irticti 
of  home,  and  by  the  powerful  ties  of  alfii;t|o„ 
whicli  ilri'W  nie  to  her  sitle ;  but  now  that  she  wn^ 
gone,  the  attractions  h.ad  ceased;  the  ties  \»,.^ 
severed.  I  h.ad  no  longer  an  anchorage  ground  fei 
my  heart!  but  w.as  at  the  mercy  of  every  vigrant 
impulse.  Nothing  but  the  narrow  allowar  e  on 
which  my  father  kept  me,  and  the  consequent  prfliiw 
of  my  purse,  prevented  me  from  mounting  tht- 1(,(,  ( 
a  stage-coach  and  launching  myself  adrilt  o-.  ^^ 
great  ocean  of  life. 

Just  about  this  time  the  village  was  agit.i  fd  f), 
a  day  or  two,  by  the  passing  through  of  rvrraj 
caravans,  containing  wild  beasts,  and  other  ^p.•ct;l. 
cles  for  a  great  fair  annually  held  at  a  ncighhwunng 
town. 

I  had  never  seen  a  fair  of  any  con.sequenci-,  .md 
my  curiosity  was  powerfully  .awakened  by  this  (>  i^tie 
of  preparation.  I  gazed  with  respect  antl  wonder 
at  the  vagrant  personages  who  accompanird  ihf» 
caravans.  I  loitered  alniut  the  village  inn,  lis'rm.ig 
with  curiosity  and  delight  to  the  slang  talk  and  cm 
jokes  of  the  showmen  and  their  followers ;  and 
I  felt  an  eager  desire  to  witness  this  fair,  which 
my  fancy  decked  out  as  something  wonderfully  tine, 

A  holyday  afternoon  presented,  when  1  cciVi'd  Sj 
absent  from  the  school  from  noon  until  evening,  A 
wagon  w.as  going  from  the  village  to  the  I.  ir,  I 
could  not  resist  the  temptation,  nor  the  eloquenr.-  of 
Tom  Dribble,  who  was  a  tru.ant  to  the  very  hcirt! 
core.  We  hired  seats,  and  siit  off  full  of  boyish  ei. 
pectation.  I  promised  myself  that  I  would  but  i.\!(( 
a  peep  at  the  land  of  promise,  and  hasten  back  a;,Min 
before  my  absence  should  fie  noticed. 

Heavens!  how  happy  I  was  on  arriving  .it  the 
fair !  How  I  was  enchanted  with  the  world  of  tun 
and  pageantry  around  me  !  The  humours  of  I'linch 
the  teats  of  the  equestrians;  the  m.igical  triiksof 
the  conjurors  I  Hut  wh.it  principally  caught  mv  at- 
tention was — an  itinerant  tneatre;  where  a  tr,ii;pdy, 
fiantomime,  and  farce  were  all  acted  in  the  cour'-i-  ol 
lalt  an  hour,  and  more  of  the  dramatis  persotij 
murdered,  than  at  either  Dniry  Lane  or  Covent 
Garden  in  a  whole  evening.  1  have  since  seen  ni.my 
a  play  performed  by  the  best  actors  in  the  world,  but 
never  have  I  derived  half  the  delight  from  any  that  1 
did  from  this  first  representation. 

There  was  a  ferocious  tyrant  in  a  skull  cap  like  an 
inverted  porringer,  and  a  dress  of  red  bai/e,  mngniii- 
cently  embroiilered  with  gilt  leather ;  with  his  l.i'.e 
so  be-whiskered  and  his  eyebrows  so  knit  ami  i- 
panded  with  burnt  cork,  that  he  m.ade  my  hear- 
(juake  within  me  as  he  stamped  about  the  littl" 
stage.  I  was  enraptured  foo  with  the  surpass'r.g 
beauty  of  a  di.stressed  damsel,  in  faded  pink  silk 
and  dirty  white  muslin,  whom  he  held  in  cruel  cao^ 
tivity  by  way  of  gaining  her  affections;  and  whp 
wept  and  wrung  her  hands  and  Hourished  a  rap^jed 
pocket  handkerchief  from  the  top  of  an  impregnable 
tower,  of  the  size  of  a  band-box. 

Even  after  I  had  come  out  ftom  the  play,  I  could 
not  tear  myself  from  the  vicinity  of  the  theatre ;  but 
lingered,  gazing,  and  wondering,  and  laughing  at 
the  dramatis  personge,  as  they  perfonned  their  antics, 
or  danced  upon  a  stage  in  front  of  uie  lHX>th,  tr 
decoy  a  neu  set  of  SDectatoni. 


t'.-.e  terrors 


W" 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


STK 


I  wfti  sn  bewndered  by  the  scene,  and  lo  Imt  in 

^  crowd  of  sensKtioni  hat  krpt  nwarminK  upon 
ft,  that  I  was  like  one  entranced.  I  lost  mv  com- 
«nion  Com  Uribble,  in  a  tumult  and  scufne  that 
jgoli  pure  near  one  of  the  shows,  but  I  wns  too 
fuch  orcuptrd  in  mind  to  think  lonf;  about  him.  I 
fnjWfii  .ibuut  until  dark,  when  the  fair  was  li^'htrd 
^p,  ^n^  a  new  scene  of  ma((ic  opened  upon   me. 

flic  illiiinination  of  the  tents  and  booths  ;  the  bril- 

iinl  fitfit  of  the  st.i^res  decorated  with  lamiM,  with 
Jrani'''ic  K''°uf)S  llauntini^  about  them  in  (jfaudy 
iftues,  contracted  splendidly  with  the  surrounding 
drkncss;  while  the  uproar  of  drums,  trumpets,  fid- 
d!fts,  h.nithoys,  and  cymbals,  minified  with  the  h.i- 
^^uts  ol  the  showmen,  the  squeakinff  of  I'unch,  and 
tli(;ho'its  and  laughter  of  the  crowd,  all  united  to 
(ompli'le  my  giddy  distraction. 

lim«*  flow  without  my  perceiving  it.  When  1 
jime  'D  mysolf  and  thougnt  of  the  school,  I  hastpne«l 
to  return.  I  inquired  for  the  wa^on  in  which  1  hail 
I  ;oine'  i'  bad  been  t^one  for  hours.  1  asked  the  time  : 
!  imM  .liniost  miiliiij(ht  I  A  sudden  tiuakin^j  sei/t^i 
I  n.t.  How  was  I  to  get  hack  to  school  ?  1  wis  too 
,,ary  to  make  the  journey  on  foot,  and  I  knew  not 
wirrc  to  apply  for  a  conveyance,  Kven  if  I  shoulil 
dnl  one,  could  1  venture  to  disturb  the  schonl-hoiise 
lon^  ifter  midnight  ?  to  arouse  that  sleeping  lion, 
the  usher,  in  the  very  midst  of  his  night's  rest? 
The  idea  was  too  dreadfid  for  a  delinciuent  school- 
boy. All  the  horrors  of  return  rushed  upon  me — 
my  ahsence  must  long  before  this  have  been  re- 
iniirl<i'.l — and  absent  for  a  whole  night  ! — a  deed  of 
ilirlcness  not  easily  to  be  expiated.  The  nwl  cf  the 
f<(l.ij?ogue  budded  forth  into  tenfold  terrors  before 
my  p.nrighteil  fancy.  I  pictured  to  myself  punish- 
(T.cnt  .ind  humiliation  in  every  variety  of  form ;  and 
ray  heart  sickened  .it  the  picture.  Alas  I  how  often 
\n  the  petty  ills  of  boyhood  as  painful  to  our  tender 
nauuet,  as  are  the  sterner  evils  of  manhood  to  our 
mbuster  minds. 

I  wandered  about  among  the  booths,  and  I  might 
havs  derived  a  lesson  from  my  actual  feelings,  how 
much  the  charms  of  this  world  depend  upon  our- 
telves;  for  I  no  longer  saw  anything  gay  or  delight- 
ful in  the  revelry  around  me.  At  length  I  lay  down, 
wearied  and  perplexed,  behind  one  of  the  large  tents, 
ind  covering  myself  with  the  margin  of  the  tent 
cloth,  to  keep  oft  the  night  chill,  I  soon  fell  asleep. 

1  hail  not  slept  long,  when  I  was  awakened  by 
the  noise  of  merrinKnt  witliin  an  adjoining  booth. 
It  was  the  itinerant  theatre,  mdely  constructed  of 
)oards  and  canvas.     I  peeped  through  an  aperture, 

nd  saw  the  whole  dramatis  personae,  tragedy, 
comedy,  pantomime,  all  refreshing  themselves  after 
the  final  dismissal  of  their  auditors.  They  were 
merry  and  gamesome,  and  made  their  flimsy  theatre 
ring  with  their  laughter.  I  was  astonished  to  see 
ihc  tragedy  tyrant  in  red  baize  and  tierce  whiskers, 
who  had  made  my  heart  quake  as  he  strutted  about 
the  hoards,  now  transformed  into  a  fat,  good  hu- 
moured fellow ;  the  beaming  porringer  laid  aside 
f;oiii  his  brow,  and  his  jolly  face  washed  from  all 
t!.e  terrors  of  burnt  cork.  I  was  delighted,  too,  to 
see  the  distressed  damsel  in  faded  silk  and  diny 
suislin,  who  had  trembled  under  his  tyranny,  and 
■.'flictcJ  me  so  much  by  her  sorrows ;  now  seated 
amiiiarly  on  his  knee,  and  quaffing  from  the  same 
imkaid.  Harlequin  lay  asleep  on  one  of  the  benches  ; 
and  monks,  satyrs,  and  vestal  virgins  were  grouped 
together,  laughing  outrageously  at  a  broad  story, 
told  by  an  unhappy  count,  who  had  been  barba- 
rously murdered  in  the  tragedy. 

This  was,  indeed,  novelty  to  me.  It  was  a  peep 
Into  another  planet.  I  gazed  and  listened  with  in- 
tense curiosity  and  ei\joyment.    They  had  a  thou- 


sand odd  stories  and  jokes  about  the  eveniii  of  tht 
day,  and  burlestiue  descriptions  ami  niimirkings  of 
the  spectators  wno  had  fieen  .idmiring  them.  Theii 
conversation  w.is  full  of  allusions  to  their  ndventurcf 
at  different  places,  where  they  h.id  exhibited  ;  th« 
chanrters  tliey  h.id  met  w'th  in  different  vill.agr«i 
and  the  ludicrous  difficulties  in  which  they  had  o<ca> 
sionally  been  involved.  All  n.'ist  cares  and  iroublet 
were  now  turned  by  these  tnoughtless  beini.'fs  into 
matter  of  merriment ;  and  made  to  contribute  lo  the 
gayety  of  the  moirent.  They  had  Iwen  moving  from 
lair  to  fiiir  about  the  kingdom,  and  were  the  nex* 
morning  to  set  cit  on  their  way  to  London. 

My  resolution  was  taken.  1  crept  from  my  weA, 
and  scrambled  through  a  hedge  into  a  neighbouring 
field,  where  I  went  to  wjrk  to  make  a  tatlerdem.ilion 
of  myself.  I  tore  my  clotl.es ;  soiled  them  with  dirt  ; 
begrimed  my  face  and  hands  ;  and,  crawling  near  one 
of  the  booths,  purloined  an  old  hat,  and  ielt  my  new 
one  in  its  place.  It  was  an  honest  tt-elt,  and  1  hope 
may  not  hereafter  rise  up  in  judgment  a;;ainst  me. 

I  now  ventured  to  the  scene  of  merrymaking,  and, 
presenting  myself  before  the  dr  imatic  corps,  offered 
myself  as  a  volunteer.  1  felt  terribly  agitated  and 
abashed,  for  "  never  before  stood  I  in  such  a  pres- 
ence." I  h.a<l  addressed  myself  to  the  maniiger  of 
the  company.  He  w.is  a  fat  man  dressed  in  dirty 
white  ;  with  a  red  sash  fringed  with  tinsri,  swathed 
round  his  body.  His  face  w.is  sniearei  with  I'^int, 
and  a  m.ijesiic  plume  toweied  from  an  old  spangled 
black  bonnet.  He  w.as  the  Jupittr  tonans  of  this 
Olympus,  and  was  surrounded  by  the  inferior  gcJl 
and  goddesses  of  his  court.  He  s.-it  on  the  end  U  I 
bench,  by  a  table,  with  one  arm  akimbo  and  tht 
other  extended  lo  the  handle  of  a  tankard,  which  f.e 
h.id  slowly  set  down  from  his  lips,  as  he  scrTcyeO 
me  from  head  to  foot.  It  was  a  moment  of  awfv' 
scnitiny,  and  I  fancied  the  groups  around  all  watch 
ing  us  in  silent  suspense,  and  waiting  for  the  impeci'. 
nod. 

He  questioned  me  as  to  who  I  was ;  wV»t  weT 
tny  qualifications;  and  wh.it  terms  I  expected.  1 
passed  myself  off  for  a  discharged  servant  from  a 
gentleman's  family ;  and  as,  happily,  one  does  not 
require  a  speci.d  recommendation  to  get  admitted 
into  bad  company,  the  questions  on  that  head  were 
easily  satistied.  As  to  my  accomplishments,  I  would 
spout  a  little  p<ietry,  and  knew  several  scenes  of 
plays,  which  I  had  learnt  at  school  exhibitions.    I 

could  dance  ,  that  was  enough ;   no  further 

questions  were  asked  me  as  to  accomplishments ;  it 
was  the  very  thing  they  wanted  ;  and,  as  I  asked  no 
wiiges,  h':t  merely  meat  and  drink,  and  safe  conduct 
ibiiut  the  world,  a  bargain  was  struck  in  a  moment. 

Behold  me,  therefore,  transformed  of  a  sudden, 
from  a  gentleman  student  to  a  dancing  buffoon  ;  for 
such,  in  fact,  was  the  character  in  which  1  made  my 
debut.  I  was  one  of  those  who  formed  the  groups  in 
the  dramas,  and  were  principally  employed  on  the 
stage  in  front  of  the  booth,  to  attract  comjjany.  I  was 
equipped  as  a  satyr,  in  a  dress  of  drab  frize  that  fitted 
to  my  shape ;  witli  a  great  laughing  mask,  omameiite<l 
with  huge  ears  and  short  horns.  I  was  pleased  with 
the  disguise,  bee:  >  use  it  kept  me  from  tlie  danger  of 
being  discovered,  whilst  we  were  in  that  part  of  tht 
country ;  and,  as  1  had  merely  to  dance  and  m.ikt 
antics,  the  character  was  favourable  to  a  debutant, 
being  almost  on  a  par  with  Simon  Snug's  part  of  the 
Lion,  which  required  nothing  but  roaring. 

I  cannot  tell  you  how  happy  I  was  at  this  sudden 
change  in  my  situation.  I  felt  no  degradation,  for  I 
had  seen  too  little  of  society  to  be  thoughtful  about 
the  differences  of  rank  ;  and  a  boy  of  sixteen  is  sel- 
dom aristocratical.  1  had  given  up  no  friend;  toi 
there  s*  emed  to  be  no  one  in  thr;  world  that  care 


876 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


■^•'J| 


NM^'Vi  I 


w-M 


■'■'■ '. 


■.'|jf  V  .-L  ..  -  * 


for  me,  now  my  poor  mc  thci  was  dead.  I  had  given 
up  no  pleasure ;  for  my  pleasure  was  to  ramble  about 
and  indulge  the  flow  of  a  poetical  imagination ;  and 
I  new  enjoyed  it  in  perfection.  There  is  no  life  so 
truly  poetical  as  that  of  a  dancing  buffoon. 

It  maj  be  said  that  all  this  argued  grovelling  incli- 
nations. I  do  not  think  so ;  not  that  I  mean  to  vin- 
dicate myself  in  any  great  degree  ;  I  know  too  well 
what  a  whimsical  compound  I  am.  But  in  this  in- 
stance I  was  seduced  by  no  love  of  low  company,  nor 
disjxisition  to  indulge  in  low  vices.  I  have  always 
despised  the  brutally  vulgar  ;  and  I  have  always  had 
a  disgust  at  vice,  whether  in  high  or  low  life.  I  was 
governed  merely  by  a  sudden  and  thoughtless  im- 
pulse. I  had  no  idea  of  resorting  to  this  profession 
as  a  mode  of  life ;  or  of  attaching  myself  to  these 
people,  as  my  future  class  of  society.  I  thought 
merely  of  a  temporary  gratification  of  my  curiosity, 
and  an  indulgence  of  my  humours.  I  had  already  a 
strong  relish  for  the  peculiarities  of  character  and 
the  varieties  of  situation,  and  I  have  always  been 
fond  of  the  comedy  of  life,  and  desirous  of  seeing  it 
through  all  its  shifting  scenes. 

In  mingling,  therefore,  among  mountebanks  and 
buffoons  I  was  protected  by  the  very  vivacity  of  imag- 
ination which  had  led  me  among  them.  I  moved 
about  enveloped,  as  it  were,  in  a  protecting  delu- 
sion, which  my  fancy  spread  around  me.  I  assimi- 
lated to  these  people  only  as  they  stnick  me  poetical- 
ly ;  their  whimsical  ways  and  a  certain  picturesqueness 
in  their  mode  of  life  entertained  me ;  but  1  was  nei- 
ther amused  nor  corrupted  by  their  vices.  In  short, 
I  mingled  among  them,  as  Prince  Hal  did  among  his 
graceless  associates,  merely  to  gratify  my  humour. 

I  did  not  investigate  my  motives  in  this  manner, 
at  the  time,  for  I  was  too  careless  and  thoughtless 
to  reason  about  the  matter ;  but  I  do  so  now,  when 
I  iook  oack  with  trembling  to  think  of  the  ordeal  to 
which  I  unthinkingly  exposed  myself,  and  the  man- 
ticr  in  which  I  passed  through  it.  Nothing,  I  am 
con^-inced,  but  the  poetical  temperament,  that  hur- 
ried me  mto  the  scrape,  brought  me  out  of  it  with- 
out my  becoming  an  arrant  vagabond. 

Full  of  the  enjoyment  of  tht  moment,  giddy  with 
the  wildness  of  anmial  spirits,  so  rapturous  in  a  boy, 
I  capered,  I  danced,  I  played  a  thousand  fantastic 
tricks  about  the  stage,  in  the  villages  in  which  we  ex- 
hibited ;  and  I  was  universally  pronounced  the  most 
agreeable  monster  that  had  ever  been  seen  in  those 
parts.  My  disappearance  from  school  had  awakened 
my  father  s  anxiety  ;  for  1  one  day  heard  a  descrip- 
tion of  myself  cried  before  the  very  booth  in  which  I 
was  exhibiting ;  with  the  offer  of  a  reward  for  any 
intelligence  of  me.  I  had  no  great  scnip'e  about 
letting  my  father  suffer  a  little  uneasiness  on  my  ac- 
count ;  it  would  punish  him  for  past  indifference,  and 
would  Tiake  him  value  me  the  more  when  he  found 
me  again.  I  have  wondered  that  some  of  my  com- 
rades did  not  recognize  in  me  the  stray  sheep  that 
was  cried ;  but  they  were  all,  no  doubt,  occupied  by 
their  own  concerns.  They  were  all  labouring  seri- 
ously in  their  antic  vocations,  for  folly  was  a  mere 
trade  with  most  of  them,  and  they  often  grinned  and 
capered  with  heavy  hearts.  With  me,  on  the  con- 
Snuy,  it  was  all  real.  I  acted  con  antore,  and  rattled 
isicl  laughed  from  the  irrepressible  gayety  of  my 
^p'rits.  It  is  true  that,  now  and  then,  I  started  and 
irjcked  grave  on  receiving  a  sudden  thwack  from  the 
wooden  sword  of  Harlequin,  in  the  course  of  my 
gambols ;  as  it  brought  to  mind  the  birch  of  my 
school-master.  But  1  soon  got  accustomed  to  it ; 
and  bore  all  the  cuffing,  and  kicking,  and  tumbling 
about,  that  form  the  prac  leal  wit  <rf  your  itinerant 
pantommie,  with  a  good  humour  that  made  me  a 
proiiigious  favourite. 


The  country  campaign  of  the  troupe  was  soon  it 
an  end,  and  we  set  off  for  the  metropolis,  to  ptrfoim 
at  the  fairs  which  are  held  it  its  vicinity.  The 
greater  part  of  our  theatrical  property  was  sent  on 
direct,  to  be  in  a  state  of  preparation  for  tlie  open. 
ing  of  the  fairs ;  while  a  detachment  of  tiie  company 
travelled  slowly  on,  foraging  among  the  villsj^es.  I 
was  amused  with  the  dssuftory,  hap-hazard  kinji  o( 
life  we  led  ;  Here  to-day,  and  gone  to-morrow.  Son  ^ 
times  revelling  in  ale-bouses;  sometimes  teasiinj 
under  hedges  in  the  green  fields.  When  audiinces 
were  crowded  and  business  profitable,  we  tared  well 
and  when  otherwise,  we  fared  scantily,  and  con- 
soled ourselves  with  anticipations  of  the  next  day's 
success. 

At  length  the  inceasing  frequency  of  coaches 
hurrying  past  us,  covered  with  passengers ;  the  in- 
creasing  number  of  carriages,  carts,  wai^uns,  gjirs^ 
droves  ct  cattle  and  Hocks  of  sheep,  all  throngmg 
the  road  ;  the  snug  country  boxes  with  trim  flower 
gardens  twelve  feet  square,  and  their  trees  twelve 
feet  high,  all  powdered  with  dust ;  and  the  innumer- 
able seminaries  for  young  ladies  and  gentlemen,  situ- 
ated along  the  road,  for  the  benefit  of  country  uir 
and  rural  retirement :  all  these  insignia  anmmnceil 
that  the  mighty  London  was  at  hand.  T'le  hiirr\-, 
and  the  crowd,  and  the  bustle,  and  the  noise,  and 
the  dust,  increased  as  we  proceeded,  until  1  saw  the 
great  cloud  of  smoke  hanging  in  the  air,  like  a  canopy 
of  state,  over  this  queen  of  cities. 

In  this  way,  then,  did  I  enter  the  metropolis ;  a 
strolling  vagabond  ;  on  the  top  of  a  caravan  with  a 
crew  of  vagabonds  about  me ;  but  I  was  as  hr.ppy 
as  1  prince,  for,  like  Prince  Hal,  I  felt  myscll  superior 
to  my  situation,  and  knew  that  I  could  at  any  time 
cast  it  off  and  emerge  into  my  proper  sphere. 

How  my  eyes  sparkled  as  we  passed  Hyde-psrk 
comer,  and  I  saw  splendid  equipages  rolling  by,  with 
powdered  footmen  behind,  in  rich  liveries,  and  line 
nosegays,  and  gold-headjd  canes;  and  with  love.y 
women  within,  so  sumptuously  dressed  and  so  sur- 
passingly fair.  I  was  always  extremely  sensible  to 
female  beauty ;  and  here  I  .saw  it  in  all  its  fascina- 
tion ;  for,  whatever  may  be  said  of  "  beauty  unadorn- 
ed," there  is  something  almost  awful  in  female  love- 
liness decked  out  in  jewelled  state.  The  swan-liice 
neck  encircled  with  diamonds ;  the  raven  locks, 
clustered  with  pearls ;  the  ruby  glowing  on  '-- 
snow7  bosom,  are  objects  that  I  could  never  contem- 
plate without  emotion  ;  and  a  dazzling  white  arm 
clasped  with  bracelets,  and  taper  transparent  fingers 
laden  with  sparkling  rings,  are  to  me  irresistible.  My 
very  eyes  ached  as  I  gazed  at  the  high  and  courtly 
beauty  that  passed  before  me.  It  surpassed  all  that 
my  imagination  had  coriceived  of  the  sex.  I  shrunk, 
for  a  moment,  into  shame  at  the  company  in  which 
I  was  placed,  and  repined  at  the  vast  distance  that 
seemed  to  intervene  between  me  and  these  magnifi- 
cent beings. 

I  forbear  to  give  a  det.iil  of  the  happy  life  which 
I  led  about  the  skits  of  the  metropolis,  playing  z\. 
the  various  fairs,  held  there  during  the  latter  part  of 
spring  and  the  beginning  of  summer.  This  ccjntinursJ 
cnange  from  place  to  place,  and  scene  to  sccr.e,  fed 
my  imagination  with  novelties,  and  kept  my  spirit; 
in  a  perpetual  state  of  excitement. 

As  I  was  tall  of  my  age  I  aspired,  at  one  time,  lo 
play  heroes  in  tragedy  ;  but  after  two  or  th»ee  trials, 
I  was  pronounced,  by  the  manager,  totally  unfit  loi 
the  line  ;  and  our  first  tragic  actress,  who  was  a  l.irj^e 
woman,  and  held  a  small  hero  in  abhorrence,  con- 
firmed his  decision. 

The  fact  is,  I  had  attempted  to  gi\'e  point  to  !:ip- 
guage  which  had  no  point,  and  nature  to  scciva 
,  which  -.ad  no  nature.    They  said  I  did  uot  (ill  o» 


TALES  OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


877 


M  characters  ;  and  they  were  right.  The  charac- 
ttnbad  all  been  preparea  for  a  different  sort  of  man. 
Our  tragedy  hero  was  a  round,  robustious  fellow, 
,t^;th  an  amazine  voice ;  who  stamped  and  slapped 
his  breast  until  his  wig  shook  again ;  and  who  roar- 
tA  and  bellowed  out  his  bombast,  until  every  phrase 
jwelled  upon  the  ear  like  the  sound  of  a  kettle-drum. 
I  might  as  well  have  attempted  to  fill  out  his  clothes 
ns  his  characters.  When  we  had  a  dialogue  together, 
1  v;as  nothing  before  him,  with  my  slender  voice  and 
fc:riii)inating  manner.  I  might  as  well  have  at- 
jmpted  to  parry  a  cudgel  with  a  small  sword.  If 
iie  found  me  in  any  way  gaining  ground  upon  him, 
iie  would  take  refuge  in  his  mighty  voice,  and  throw 
his  tones  like  peals  of  thunder  at  me,  until  they  were 
jrowned  in  the  still  louder  thunders  of  applause  from 
the  audience. 

Tn  tell  the  truth,  I  suspect  that  I  was  not  shown 
fair  piay,  and  that  there  was  management  at  the 
bottom ;  for  without  vanity,  I  think  I  was  a  better 
actor  than  he.  As  I  had  not  embarked  in  the  vaga- 
twnd  line  through  ambition,  I  did  not  repine  at  lack 
of  preferment ;  but  I  was  grieved  to  find  that  a  v?- 
jrant  life  was  not  without  its  cares  and  anxieties, 
and  that  jealousies,  intrigues,  and  mad  ambition 
were  to  be  found  even  among  vagabonds. 

Indeed,  as  I  became  more  familiar  with  my  situa- 
tion, and  the  delusions  of  fancy  began  to  fade  away, 
I  discovered  that  my  associates  were  not  the  happy 
careless  creatures  I  had  at  first  ima^ned  them. 
They  were  jealous  of  each  other's  talents ;  they  quar- 
relled about  parts,  the  same  as  the  actors  on  the 
grand  theatres ;  they  quarrelled  about  dresses  ;  and 
there  was  one  robe  of  yellow  silk,  trimmed  with  red, 
and  a  head-dress  of  three  rumpled  ostrich  feathers, 
which  were  continually  setting  the  ladies  of  the  com- 
pany by  the  ears.  Even  those  who  had  attained  the 
I'ghest  honours  were  not  more  happy  than  the  rest ; 
!W  Mr.  Flimsey  himself,  our  first  tragedian,  and  ap- 
parently a  jovial,  gocxl-humoured  fellow,  confessed 
to  r.ie  one  day,  in  the  fullness  of  his  heart,  that  he 
«as  a  miserable  man.  He  had  a  brother-in-law,  a 
relative  by  marriage,  though  not  by  blood,  who  was 
niinager  of  a  theatre  in  a  small  country  town.  And 
this  same  brother,  ("  a  little  more  than  kin,  but  less 
than  kind,")  looked  down  upon  him,  and  treated 
him  with  contumely,  because  forsooth  he  was  but  a 
itrolling  player.  I  tried  to  console  him  with  the 
thoughts  of  the  vast  applause  he  daily  received,  but 
it  was  all  in  vain.  He  declared  that  it  gave  him  no  de- 
light, and  that  he  should  never  be  a  happy  man  until 
the  name  of  Flimsey  rivalled  the  name  of  Crimp. 

How  little  do  those  before  the  scenes  know  of 
what  passes  behind  ;  how  little  can  they  judge,  from 
the  countenances  of  actors,  of  what  is  passing  in 
their  hearts.  I  have  known  two  lovers  quarrel  like 
cats  behind  the  scenes,  who  were,  the  moment  after, 
to  fly  into  each  other's  embraces.  And  I  have 
dreaded,  when  our  Belvidera  was  to  take  her  fare- 
well kiss  of  her  Jaffier,  lest  she  should  bite  a  piece 
out  of  his  cheek.  Our  tragedian  was  a  rough  joker 
ctT  the  stage ;  our  prime  clown  the  most  peevish 
mortal  living.  The  latter  used  to  go  about  snapping 
Mid  snarling,  with  a  broad  laugh  painted  on  his 
countenance ;  and  I  can  assure  you  that,  whatever 
may  be  said  of  the  gravity  of  a  monkey,  or  the  mel- 
iacholy  of  a  ^bed  cat,  there  is  no  more  melancholy 
tfeature  in  existence  than  a  mountebank  off  duty. 

The  only  thing  in  which  all  parties  agreed  was  to 
!)ackbite  tne  manager,  and  cabal  against  his  regula- 
tions. This,  however,  I  have  since  discovered  to  be 
i  common  trait  of  human  nature,  and  to  take  place 
in  all  communities.  It  would  seem  to  be  the  main 
business  of  mar  to  repine  .it  government.  In  all 
lituations  ot  life  into  which  I  nave  looked,  I  have 


i 


found  mankind  dividec  iito  two  graikd  parti  ts; — 
those  who  ride  and  those  who  are  ridden.  The 
great  struggle  of  life  seems  to  be  which  shall  ke«p 
in  the  saddle.  This,  it  appears  to  me,  is  the  funda- 
mental principle  of  politics,  whether  in  great  oi  little 
life.  However,  I  do  not  mean  to  moralize ;  but  one 
cannot  always  sink,the  philosopher. 

Well,  then,  to  return  to  myself.  It  was  deter- 
mined, as  I  said,  that  I  was  not  fit  for  tragedy,  and, 
unluckily,  as  my  study  was  bad,  having  a  vei7  pooi 
memory,  I  was  pronounced  unfit  for  comedy  also: 
besides,  the  line  of  young  gentlemen  was  already  en- 
grossed by  an  actor  with  whom  I  could  not  pretend 
to  enter  into  competition,  he  having  filled  it  for  al- 
most half  a  century.  I  came  down  again  therefore 
to  pantomime.  In  consequence,  however,  of  the 
good  offices  of  the  manager's  lady,  who  had  taken  a 
liking  to  me,  1  was  promoted  from  the  part  of  the 
satyr  to  that  of  the  lover ;  and  with  my  face  patched 
and  painted,  a  huge  cravat  of  paper,  a  steeple- 
crowned  hat,  and  dangling,  long-skirted,  sky-blue 
coat,  was  metamorphosed  into  the  lover  of  Colum- 
bine. My  part  did  not  call  for  much  of  the  tender 
and  sentimental.  I  had  merely  to  pursue  the  fugi- 
tive fair  one ;  to  have  a  door  now  and  then  slammed 
in  my  face ;  to  run  my  head  occasionally  against  a 
post ;  to  tumble  and  roll  about  with  Pantaloon  and 
the  clown  ;  and  to  endure  the  hearty  thwacks  of 
Harlequin's  wooden  sword. 

As  ill  luck  would  have  it,  my  poetical  tempera- 
ment began  to  ferment  within  me,  and  to  work  out 
new  troubles.  The  inflammatory  air  of  a  great  me- 
tropolis  added  to  the  rural  scenes  in  which  the  fairs 
were  held  ;  such  as  Greenwich  Park ;  Ef  ping  For- 
est ;  and  the  lovely  valley  of  West  End,  had  a  [xjwer  • 
ful  etlect  upon  me.  While  in  Greenwich  Park  I  w*' 
witness  to  the  old  holyday  games  of  running  down 
hill ;  and  kissing  in  the  ring ;  and  then  the  firma.neAf 
of  blooming  faces  and  blue  eyes  that  would  be  turned 
towards  me  as  I  was  playing  antics  on  the  stage  ;  all 
these  set  my  young  blood,  and  my  poetical  vein,  in 
full  flow.  In  short,  I  played  my  character  to  the 
life,  and  became  desperately  enamoured  of  Colum- 
bine. She  was  a  trim,  well-ma<le,  tempting  girl, 
with  a  roguish,  dimpling  face,  and  fine  chestnut  haii 
clustering  all  about  it.  The  moment  I  got  fairly 
smitten,  there  was  an  end  to  all  playing.  I  was  such 
a  creature  of  fancy  and  feeling  that  I  could  not  put 
on  a  pretended,  when  I  was  powerfully  affiected  by  a 
re.il  emotion.  I  could  not  sport  with  a  fiction  that 
came  so  near  to  the  fact.  I  became  too  natural  in 
my  acting  to  succeed.  And  then,  what  a  situation 
for  a  lover !  I  was  a  mere  stripling,  and  she  played 
with  my  passion ;  for  girls  soon  grow  more  adroit 
and  knowing  in  these  matters  than  your  awkward 
youngsters.  What  agonies  had  I  to  suffer.  Every 
time  that  she  danced  in  front  of  the  booth  and  made 
such  liberal  displays  of  her  charms,  I  was  in  tor- 
ment. To  complete  my  misery,  I  had  a  real  rival  in 
Harlequin ;  an  active,  vigorous,  knowing  varlet  of 
six-and-twenty.  What  had  i.  raw,  inexperienced 
youngster  like  me  to  hope  from  such  a  competition  ? 

I  had  still,  however,  some  advantages  in  my  fa- 
vour. In  spite  of  my  change  of  life,  I  retained  thit 
indescribable  something  which  always  disiinguishei 
the  gentleman  ;  that  somethang  which  dwells  in  a 
man  s  air  and  deportment,  and  not  in  his  clothes; 
and  which  it  is  as  difficult  for  a  gentleman  to  put 
off  as  for  a  vulgar  fellow  to  put  on.  The  company 
generally  felt  it,  and  used  to  call  me  little  gentleman 
Jack.  "The  girl  felt  it  too ;  and  in  spite  of  her  pre- 
dilection for  my  powerful  rival,  she  liked  to  flirt  with 
me.  This  only  aggravated  my  troubles,  by  increas- 
ing my  passion,  and  awakeni'  g  the  jealousy  of  hti 
parti-cofoured  lover. 


878 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVIUQ. 


ml 


'i'^^ 


H\  ■>^> 


Alas !  think  what  I  suffered,  at  being  obliged  to 
keep  up  an  ineffectual  chase  after  my  Columbine 
througii  whole  pantomimes ;  to  see  her  carried  olT 
in  the  vigorous  arms  of  the  happy  Harlequin ;  and 
to  be  obliged,  instead  of  snatching  her  from  him,  to 
tumble  sprawling  with  Pantaloon  and  the  clown  ; 
and  bear  the  infernal  and  degrading  thwacks  of  my 
rival's  weapon  of  lath ;  which,  mtiy  heaven  confound 
him  t  (excuse  my  passion)  the  villain  laid  on  with  a 
osalicious  good-will ;  nay,  I  could  absolutely  hear  him 
chuckle  and  laugh  beneath  his  accursed  mask. — I 
beg  pardon  for  growing  a  little  warm  in  my  narra- 
tion. I  wish  to  be  cool,  but  these  recollections  will 
sometimes  agitate  me.  I  have  heard  and  read  of 
many  desperate  and  deplorable  situations  of  lovers  ; 
Out  none,  1  think,  in  which  true  love  was  ever  exposed 
to  so  severe  and  peculiar  a  trial. 

This  could  not  last  long.  Flesh  and  blood,  at 
least  such  flesh  and  blood  as  mine,  could  not  bear  it. 
I  had  repeated  heart-burnings  and  quarrels  with  my 
rival,  in  which  he  treated  me  with  the  mortifying  for- 
bearance of  a  man  towards  a  child.  Had  he  quar- 
relled outright  with  me,  I  could  have  stomached  it , 
at  least  I  should  have  known  what  part  to  take ;  but 
to  be  humoured  and  treated  as  a  child  in  the  pres- 
ence of  my  mistress,  when  I  felt  all  the  bantam 
spirit  of  a  little  man  swelling  within  me — gods,  it 
was  insufferable  ! 

At  length  we  were  exhibiting  one  day  at  West 
End  fair,  which  was  at  that  time  a  very  fashionable 
resort,  and  often  beleaguered  by  gay  equipages  from 
town.  Among  the  spectators  that  filled  the  front 
row  of  our  little  canvas  theatre  one  afternoon,  when 
I  had  to  figure  in  a  pantomime,  was  a  party  of  young 
ladies  from  a  boarding-school,  with  their  governess. 
Guess  my  confusion,  when,  in  the  midst  of  my  an- 
tics, I  beheld  amon^  the  number  my  quondam 
flame ;  her  whom  I  had  berhymed  at  school ;  her  for 
whose  charms  I  had  smarted  so  severely ;  the  cniel 
Sacharissa !  What  was  worse,  I  fancied  she  recol- 
lected me ;  and  was  repeating  the  story  of  my 
humiliating  flagellation,  for  I  saw  her  whispering 
her  companions  .and  her  -governess.  I  lost  all  con- 
sciousness of  the  part  I  was  acting,  and  of  the  place 
where  I  was.  I  felt  shrunk  to  nothing,  and  could 
have  crept  into  a  rat-hole — unluckily,  none  was  open 
to  receive  me.  Before  I  could  recover  from  my 
confusion,  I  was  tumbled  over  by  Pantaloon  and 
the  clown ;  and  I  felt  the  sword  ot  Harlequin  mak- 
ing vigorous  assaults,  in  a  manner  most  degrading 
to  my  dignity. 

Heaven  and  earth  !  was  I  again  to  suffer  martyr- 
dom in  this  ignominious  manner,  in  the  knowledge, 
and  even  before  the  very  eyes  of  this  most  beautiful, 
but  most  disdainful  of  fair  ones?  All  my  long- 
smothered  wrath  broke  out  at  once ;  the  dormant 
feelings  of  the  gentleman  arose  within  me ;  stung  to 
the  quick  by  intolerable  mortification,  I  sprang  on 
my  feet  in  an  instant ;  leaped  upon  Harlequin  like  a 
young  tiger ;  tore  off  his  mask ;  buffeted  him  in  the 
face,  and  soon  shed  more  blood  on  the  stage  than 
bad  been  spilt  upon  it  during  a  whole  tragic  cam- 
paign of  battles  and  murders. 

As  soon  as  Harlequin  recovered  from  his  surprise 
he  returned  my  assault  with  interest.  1  was  nothing 
in  his  hands.     I  was  game  to  be  sure,  for  I  w.as  a 

Kntleman  ;  but  he  had  the  clownish  advantages  of 
ne  and  muscle.  I  felt  as  if  1  could  have  fought 
even  unto  the  death  ;  and  I  was  likely  to  do  so ;  for 
he  was,  according  to  the  vulgar  phrase,  "  putting 
my  head  into  Chancery,"  when  the  gentle  Colum- 
bine flew  to  my  assistance.  God  bless  the  women  ; 
they  are  always  on  the  side  of  the  weak  and  the  op- 
pressed. 
The  battle  now  became  ({cneral ;  the  dramatis 


personae  ranged  on  either  side.    The  rr.arai^ei  mtehl 
fered  in  vain.     In  vain  were  his  spangled  hlack  bon  I 
net  and  towering  white  feathers  seen  whisking  about  I 
and  nodding,  and  bobbing,  in  the  thirkc.st  of  th«l 
fight.  Warriors,  ladies,  priests,  satyrs,  k  ngs,  ijueens!  I 
gods  and  goddesses,  all  joined  pell-mell  in  tli«  fr^y 
Never,  since  the  conflict  undei  the  walls  of  Troy 
had  there  been  such  a  chance  medley  warfare  of 
combatants,  human  and  divine.    The  auditnce  aiv 
plauded,   the   ladies    shrieked    and  fled   iVom  ([A 
the.^.tre,  and  a  scene  of  discord  ensued  that  baffiej  I 
all  description. 

Nothing  but  the  interference  cf  the  peace  olficers 
restored  some  degree  of  order.  The  havoc,  liow. 
ever,  that  had  been  m.\de  among  dresses  and  deco  ' 
rations  put  an  end  to  all  farther  acting  for  that  day. 
The  battle  over,  the  next  thing  was  to  inquire  why 
it  was  begun ;  a  common  question  among  politicians  I 
after  a  bloody  and  unpiofitable  war;  and  one  not 
alsvays  easy  to  be  answered.  It  was  soon  traced  to 
me,  and  my  unaccountable  transport  of  passion 
which  they  could  only  attribute  to  my  ha  tin.;  run  a 
muck.  The  manager  was  judge  and  jmy,  and 
plaintiff  into  the  bargain,  and  in  such  cases  justice 
is  always  speedily  administered.  He  came  out  of 
the  fight  as  sublime  a  wreck  as  the  Santisslma 
Trinidada.  His  gallant  plumes,  which  once  tower- 
ed aloft,  were  drooping  about  his  ears.  His  lobe  cf 
state  hung  in  ribbands  from  his  back,  and  Imt  ill 
concealed  the  ravages  he  had  suffered  in  the  rear, 
He  had  received  kicks  and  cuffs  from  all  sides, 
during  the  tumult ;  for  every  one  took  the  oppor- 
tunity of  slyly  gratifying  some  lurking  gnuij^e  on  his 
fat  carcass.  He  was  a  discreet  man,  and  did  net 
choose  to  declare  war  with  all  his  company ;  so  he 
swore  all  those  kicks  and  cuffs  had  been  ^iven  by 
me,  arrd  I  let  him  enjoy  the  opinion.  Some  wounds 
he  bore,  however,  which  were  the  incontff'ihie 
traces  of  a  woman's  warfare.  His  sleek  rosy  cheek 
was  scored  by  trickling  furrows,  which  were  .iscrihcd 
to  the  nails  of  my  intrepid  and  devoted  Cohimhine. 
The  ire  of  the  monarch  was  not  to  be  appeased, 
He  had  suffered  in  his  person,  and  he  had  sulTred 
in  his  purse  ;  his  dignity  too  had  been  insulted,  and 
that  went  for  something  ;  for  dignity  is  always  mote 
irascible  the  more  petty  the  potentate.  He  wreaked 
his  wrath  upon  the  beginners  of  the  affray,  and 
Columbine  and  myself  were  discharged,  at  once, 
from  the  company. 

Figure  me,  then,  to  yourself,  a  stripling  ol  little 
more  than  sixteen ;  a  gentleman  by  birth  ;  a  vaga- 
bond by  trade;  turned  adrift  upon  the  world  ;  mak- 
ing the  best  of  my  way  through  the  crowd  of  We.'it 
End  fair ;  my  mountebank  dress  fluttering  in  rai;s 
about  me ;  the  weeping  Columbine  hanging  upon 
my  arm,  in  splendid,  but  tattered  finery ;  the  tears 
coursing  one  by  one  down  her  face ;  carry  ing  oii 
the  red  paint  in  torrents,  and  literally  "  preyini,'  iipon 
her  damask  cheek." 

The  crowd  made  way  for  us  as  we  passed  and 
hooted  in  our  rear.  I  felt  the  ridicule  of  my  sitja- 
tion,  but  had  too  much  g.allantry  to  desert  this  fair 
one,  who  h.ad  sacrificed  every  thing  for  me.  Having 
wandered  through  the  fair,  we  emerged,  like  anoihe; 
Adam  and  Eve,  into  unknown  regions,  and  "  \:\!. 
the  world  before  us  where  to  choose."  Nevsr  \v,u 
a  more  disconsolate  pair  seen  in  the  soft  vaJiey  o! 
West  End.  The  luckless  Columbine  cast  bacit 
many  a  lingering  look  at  the  fair,  which  seemed  tn 
put  on  a  more  than  usual  splendour ;  its  tents,  aa:i 
booths,  and  parti-coloured  groups,  all  brightening 
in  the  sunshine,  and  gleaming  among  the  trees ;  and 
its  gay  Hags  and  streamers  playing  and  flutteriiij^  in 
the  light  summer  airs.  With  a  heavy  sigh  she  wouid 
lean  on  my  arm  and  proceed.   I  had  no  hope  nr  con 


'\f\% 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


87S 


the  peace  officers 
The  havoc,  how. 
dresses  and  deco- ! 
acting  for  that  day- 
was  to  inquire  wh) 
arnons  politicians,  I 
war  ;  and  one  not 
was  soon  tracd  lo 
nsport  of  passion, 
o  my  hawn'^  run  a 
jje  and   juiy,  and 
such  cases  justice 
He  came  out  of 
as  the  Santissima 
which  once  tower- 
ears.    Hisrohecf 
>  back,  and  hut  ill 
ufTered  in  the  rear, 
fis  from  all  sides! 
le  took  the  oppor^ 
king  gnidge  on  hij 
man,  and  did  net 
is  company ;  so  he 
had  been  '^iven  by 
on.     Some  wouTids 
the   inconteririe 
lis  sleek  rosy  theek 
vhich  were  a'scrihcii 
levoted  Colmnhine. 
3t  to  be  appeasd, 
id  he  had  sutTc-ed 
been  insulted,  and 
nity  is  always  more 
itate.    He  wreaked 
of  the  affray,  and 
icharged,  ai'  once, 


'  lolation  to  give  her ;  but  she  had  linked  herself  to 
my  fortunes,  and  she  was  too  much  of  a  woman  to 
dtsert  me. 

Pensive  and  silent,  then,  we  traversed  the  beauti- 
liil  fields  tha!  lie  behind  Hempstead,  and  wandered 
on,  until  the  fiddle,  and  the  hautboy,  and  the  shout, 
isd  the  laugh,  were  swallowed  up  in  the  deep  sound 
(f  tiie  big  bass  drum,  and  even  that  died  away  into 
t  distant  rumble.  We  passed  along  the  pleasant 
isruestered  walk  of  Nightingale  lane.  For  a  pair 
;l  lovers  what  scene  could  be  more  proj..i(ouS  ? — 
Bit  such  a  pair  of  lovers  !  Not  a  nightingale  sang 
!o  soothe  us :  the  very  gypsies  who  were  encamped 
(here  during  the  fair,  macle  no  offer  to  tell  the  for- 
tunes of  such  an  ilUomened  couple,  whose  fortunes, 
I  suppose,  they  thought  too  legibly  written  to  need 
in  interpreter ;  and  the  gypsey  children  crawled  into 
their  cabins  and  peeped  out  fearfully  at  us  as  we 
went  by.  For  a  moment  I  paused,  and  was  almost 
tempted  to  turn  gypsey,  but  the  poetical  feeling  for 
the  present  was  fully  satisfied,  and  I  passed  on. 
Thus  we  travelled,  and  travelled,  like  a  prince  and 
princess  in  nursery  chronicle,  until  we  had  traversed 
apart  of  Hempstead  Heath  and  arrived  in  the  vicin- 
ity of  Jack  Straw's  castle. 

Here,  wearied  and  dispirited,  we  seated  ourselves 
on  the  margin  of  the  hill,  hard  by  the  very  mile 
stone  where  Whittington  of  yore  heard  the  Bow 
bells  ring  out  the  presage  of  his  future  greatness. 
Alas !  no  belt  rung  in  invitation  to  us,  as  we  looked 
disconsolately  upon  the  distant  city.  Old  London 
seemed  to  wrap  itself  up  unsociably  in  its  mantle  of 
brown  smoke,  and  to  offer  no  encouragement  to 
such  a  couple  of  tatterdemalions. 

For  once,  at  least,  the  usu.il  course  of  the  panto- 
mime was  reversed.  Harlequin  was  jilted,  and  the 
lover  had  carried  ofT  Columbine  in  good  earnest. 
Est  what  was  I  to  do  with  her  ?  I  had  never  con- 
templated such  a  dilemma  ;  and  I  now  felt  that  even 
t  fortunate  lover  may  be  embarrassed  by  his  good 
ft>rtune.  I  really  knew  not  what  was  to  become  of 
me;  for  1  had  still  the  boyish  fear  of  returning  home ; 
Stan  ling  in  awe  of  the  stem  temper  of  my  father, 
and  dreading  the  ready  arm  of  the  pedagogue.  And 
even  if  I  were  to  venture  home,  what  was  1  to  do 
with  Columbine  ?  I  could  not  take  her  in  my  hand, 
and  throw  myself  on  my  knees,  and  crave  his  for- 
giveness and  his  blessing  according  to  dramatic 
usage.  7  he  very  dogs  would  have  chased  such  a 
draggle-tailed  beauty  from  the  grounds. 

In  the  midst  of  my  doleful  dumps,  some  one 
tapped  me  on  the  shoulder,  and  looking  up  I  saw  a 
couple  of  rough  sturdy  fellows  standing  beliind  me. 
Not  knowing  wh.it  to  expect  I  jumped  on  my  legs, 
and  was  preparing  again  to  make  battle ;  but  I  was 
tripped  up  and  secured  in  a  twinkling. 

"Come,  come,  young  master,"  said  one  of  the  fel- 
lows in  a  gruff,  but  good-humoured  tone,  "don't 
let's  have  any  of  your  tantrums ;  one  would  have 
thought  you  had  had  swing  enoiigh  for  this  bout. 
Come,  it  s  high  time  to  leave  ofTharlequinading, 
and  go  home  to  your  father." 

In  fact  I  had  a  couple  of  Bow  street  officers  hold 
of  ir.3.  The  cruel  Sacharissa  had  proclaimed  who  1 
««.  snd  that  a  reward  had  \xa\  offered  throughout 
he  country  for  any  tidings  of  me ;  and  they  had 
rcn  a  description  of  me  which  had  been  forwarded 
lo  tlir  police  office  in  town.  Those  harpies,  there- 
fore, .'or  the  mere  sake  of  filthy  lucre,  were  resolved 
to  deliver  me  over  into  the  hands  of  my  father  and 
ihe  clutches  of  my  pedagogue. 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  swore  I  wouiJ  not  leave  my 
Juthfiil  and  afflicted  Columbine.  It  was  in  vain  that 
\  tore  myself  from  their  grasp,  and  flew  to  her ;  and 
fowed  to  protect  her ;  and  wiped,  the  tears  from  her 


cheek,  and  with  them  a  whole  blush  that  might  have 
vied  with  the  carnation  for  brilliancy.  My  persecu- 
tors were  inflexible ;  they  even  seemed  to  exult  ii 
our  distress ;  and  to  enjoy  this  theatrical  display  ol 
dirt,  and  finery,  and  tribulation.  1  was  carried  off 
in  despair,  leaving  my  Columbine  desti.ute  in  the 
wide  world  ;  but  many  a  look  of  agony  did  I  cast 
back  at  her,  as  she  stood  gazing  piteously  after  me 
from  the  brink  of  Hempstead  Hill ;  so  fcrlom,  so 
fine,  so  ragged,  so  bedraggled,  yet  so  beautirul. 

Thus  ended  my  first  peep  into  the  world.  I  re- 
turned home,  rich  in  good-for-nothing  experience, 
and  dreading  the  reward  I  was  to  receive  for  my 
improvement.  My  reception,  however,  was  quite 
different  from  what  I  had  expected.  My  father  had 
a  spice  of  the  devil  in  him,  and  did  not  seem  to  like 
me  the  worse  for  my  freak,  which  he  termed  "  sow- 
ing my  wild  oats."  He  happened  to  have  several  of 
his  sporting  friends  to  dine  with  him  the  very  day  of 
my  return  ;  they  made  ne  tell  some  of  my  advent- 
ures, and  laughed  heartily  at  them.  One  old  fellow, 
with  an  outrageously  red  nose,  took  to  me  huge- 
ly. I  heard  him  whisper  to  my  f;-.ther  that  I  was  a 
lad  of  mettle,  and  might  make  something  clever  ;  to 
which  my  father  replied  that  "  I  had  good  points,  but 
was  an  ill-broken  whelp,  and  required  a  great  deal 
of  the  whip."  Perhaps  this  very  conversation  raised 
me  a  little  in  his  esteem,  for  I  found  the  red-nosed 
old  gentleman  w,is  a  veteran  fox-hunter  of  the  neigh- 
oourhood,  for  whose  opinion  my  father  had  vast  def- 
erence. Indeed,  1  believe  he  wouhl  have  pardoned 
any  thing  in  me  more  readily  than  poetry ;  which  he 
called  a  cursed,  sneaking,  puling,  housekeeping  em- 
ployment, the  bane  of  all  tnie  manhood.  He  swore 
it  was  unworthy  of  a  youngster  of  my  expectations, 
who  was  one  day  to  have  so  great  an  estate,  and 
would  be  able  to  keep  horses  and  hounds  and  hirf 
poets  to  write  songs  for  him  into  the  bargain. 

1  h.id  now  satisfied,  for  a  time,  my  roving  pro- 
pensity. I  had  exhausted  the  poetical  feeling.  I 
had  been  heartily  buffeted  out  of  my  love  for  theat- 
rical display.  1  felt  humiliated  by  my  exposure,  and 
was  willing  to  hide  my  head  anywhere  for  a  season ; 
so  that  I  might  be  out  of  the  way  of  the  ridicule  of 
the  world  ;  for  I  found  folks  not  altogether  so  indul- 
gent abroad,  as  they  were  at  my  father's  table.  I 
could  not  stay  at  home ;  the  house  was  intolerably 
doleful  now  that  my  mother  was  no  longer  there  to 
cherish  me.  Every  thing  around  spoke  mournfully 
of  her.  The  little  flower-garden  in  which  she  de- 
lighted, w.as  all  in  disorder  and  overrun  with  weeds. 
I  attempted,  for  a  day  or  two,  to  arrange  it,  but  my 
heart  grew  heavier  and  heavier  as  1  lahiured. 
Every  little  broken-down  flower,  that  I  had  seen  her 
rear  so  tenderly,  seemed  to  plead  in  mute  eloquence 
to  my  feelings.  There  was  a  favourite  honeysuckle 
which  I  had  seen  her  often  training  with  assiduity, 
and  had  heard  her  say  it  should  be  the  pride  of  her 
garden.  I  found  it  grovelling  along  the  ground, 
tangled  and  wild,  and  twining  round  every  worth- 
less weed,  and  it  struck  me  as  an  emblem  of  myself; 
a  mere  sc.itterling,  running  to  waste  and  useless- 
ness.     I  could  work  no  longer  in  the  garden. 

My  father  sent  me  to  pay  a  visit  to  my  uncle,  by 
way  of  keeping  the  old  gentleman  in  mind  of  me,  I 
was  received,  as  usual,  without  any  expression  of 
discontent ;  which  we  always  considered  equivalent 
to  a  he.irty  welcome.  Whether  he  had  ever  he.-ud 
of  my  strolling  freak  or  not  I  could  not  discover ;  nt 
atid  his  man  were  both  so  taciturn.  I  spent  a  day 
or  two  roaming  about  the  dreary  mansion  and  neg- 
lected park ;  and  felt  at  one  time,  I  believe,  a  touch 
of  poetry,  for  I  was  tempted  to  drown  myself  in  a 
fish-pond ;  I  rebuked  the  evil  spirit,  however,  and  il 
left  me.     I  found  the  same  red-headed  boy  running 


880 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Ff 


H-'i^"-'-'^' 


l»-*^- 


ijftr  >;■;:■  ..i 


wild  about  the  park,  but  I  felt  in  no  humour  to  hunt 
hitn  at  present.  On  the  contrary,  I  tried  to  coax 
nim  to  me,  and  to  make  friends  with  him.  but  the 
youHK  savage  was  untameable. 

When  I  returned  from  my  uncle's  I  remained  at 
home  for  some  time,  for  my  father  was  disposed,  he 
said,  to  make  a  man  of  me.  He  took  me  out  hunt- 
ing with  him,  and  I  became  a  great  favourite  of  the 
red-nosed  squire,  because  I  rode  at  everj'  thing; 
never  refused  the  boldest  leap,  and  was  always  sure 
to  be  in  at  the  death.  I  i:sed  often,  however,  to  of- 
fend my  father  at  hunting  dinners,  by  taking  the 
wrong  side  in  politics.  My  father  was  amazingly 
ignorant— 50  ignorant,  in  fact,  as  not  to  know  that 
he  knew  nothing.  He  was  staunch,  however,  to 
church  and  king,  and  full  of  old-f;ishioned  preju- 
dices. Now,  1  had  picked  u,j  a  little  knowledge  in 
politics  and  religion,  during  my  rambles  with  the 
strollers,  and  found  myself  capable  of  setting  him 
right  as  to  many  of  his  antiquated  notions.  1  Jelt 
it  my  duty  to  do  so ;  we  were  apt,  therefore,  to 
differ  occasionally  in  the  political  discussions  that 
sometimes  arose  at  these  hunting  dinners. 

I  was  at  that  age  when  a  man  knows  least  and  is 
most  vain  of  his  knowledge;  and  when  he  is  ex- 
tremely tenacious  in  defencfing  his  opinion  upon  sub- 
jects about  which  he  knows  nothing.  My  father  was 
a  hard  man  for  any  one  to  argue  with,  for  he  never 
knew  when  he  was  refuted.  I  sometimes  posed  him 
a  little,  but  then  he  had  one  argument  that  always 
settled  the  question ;  he  would  threattn  to  knock  me 
doivn.  I  believe  he  at  last  grew  tired  of  me,  because 
I  both  out-talked  and  outrode  him.  The  red-nosed 
•quiie,  too,  got  out  of  conceit  of  me,  because  in  the 
h;»t  of  the  chase,  I  rode  over  him  one  day  as  he  and 
his  horse  'ay  sprawling  in  the  dirt.  My  father,  there- 
i'o'.e,  thought  it  high  time  to  send  me  to  college; 
irA  accordingly  to  Trinity  College  at  Oxford  was  I 

'MDt. 

1  had  lost  my  habits  of  study  while  at  home ;  and 
I  was  not  likely  to  find  them  again  at  college.  I 
found  that  study  was  not  the  fashion  at  college,  and 
that  a  lad  of  spirit  only  ate  his  terms ;  and  grew 
wise  by  dint  of  knife  and  fork.  I  was  ahv.iys  prone 
to  follow  the  fashions  of  the  company  into  which  I 
fell ;  so  I  th;ew  by  my  books,  and  became  a  man  of 
spirit.  As  my  father  made  me  a  tolerable  allow- 
ance, notwithstanding  the  narrowness  of  his  income, 
having  an  eye  always  to  my  great  expectations,  I 
was  enabled  to  appear  to  advantage  among  my 
fellow-students.  I  cultivated  all  kinds  of  sports  .and 
exercises.  I  was  one  of  the  most  expert  oarsmen 
that  rowed  on  the  Isis.  I  boxed  and  fenced.  I  was 
a  keen  huntsman,  and  my  chambers  in  college  were 
always  decorated  with  whips  of  all  kinds,  spurs, 
foils,  and  boxing  gloves.  A  pair  of  leather  breeches 
would  seem  to  be  throwing  one  leg  out  of  the  half- 
open  drawers,  and  empty  bottles  lumbered  the  bot- 
tom of  every  closet. 

I  soon  grew  tired  of  this,  and  relapsed  into  my 
vein  of  mere  poetical  indulgence.  I  was  charmed 
with  Oxford,  for  it  was  full  of  poetry  to  me.  I 
thought  I  should  never  grow  tireti  of  wandering 
abcu^  its  courts  and  cloisters ;  and  visiting  the  dif- 
fsrent  college  halls.  I  used  to  love  to  get  in  places 
r.urrounded  by  the  colleges,  where  all  modem  build- 
higs  were  screened  from  the  sight ;  and  to  walk 
aIx)Ui  them  in  twilight,  and  see  the  professors  and 
students  sweeping  along  in  the  dusk  in  their  caps 
and  gowns.  There  was  complete  delusion  in  the 
scene.  It  seemed  to  transport  me  among  the  edi- 
fices and  the  people  of  old  times.  It  was  a  great 
luxury,  too,  for  me  to  attend  the  evening  service  in 
the  new  college  ohapel,  and  to  hear  the  fine  organ 
and  the  choir  swellinK  an  mnthem  in  that  solemn 


building ;  where  painting  and  muac  and  architecHml 
seem  to  combine  their  grandest  effects.  ' 

I  became  a  loiterer,  also,  about  the  Bodleian  Ij. 
brary,  and  a  great  dipjier  into  books ;  but  too  idle  iqi 
follow  any  course  of  study  or  vein  of  research.  One  I 
of  my  favourite  haunts  was  the  beautiful  wa'k,  bor.  I 
derecl  by  lofty  elms,  along  the  Isis,  under  the  old! 
gray  walls  of  Magdalen  College,  which  j^oes  by  tin  I 
name  of  Addison's  Walk ;  and  was  his  report  whea  I 
a  student  at  the  college,  (used  to  tnke  n  voluniH 
of  poetry  in  my  hand,  and  stroll  up  ami  down  this  I 
walk  for  hours. 

My  father  came  to  see  me  at  college.    He  asked  j 
me  now  I  came  on  with  my  s'ndies  ;  and  what  kind  I 
of  hunting  there  was  in  the  neighbourhood.    He  ex- 
amined my  sporting  apparatus;  wanted  to  know  if 
any   of    the    professors    were    fox -hunters,   and 
whether  they  were  generally  good  shots;  for  he  I 
suspected  this  reading  so  much  was  rat' ler  hurtfull 
to  the  sight.    Such  was  the  only  person  to  whom  I 
was  responsibl;  for  my  improvement :  is  it  mat\er| 
of  wonder,  therefore,  tl^t  I  became  a  continued 
idler? 

I  do  not  know  how  it  is,  but  I  cannot  be  idlf  Ion 
without  getting  in  love.  I  became  de^pK  smitten 
with  a  shopkeeper's  daughter  in  the  hij,'li  street; 
who  in  fact  was  the  admiration  of  many  of  the  stit 
dents.  1  wrote  several  sonnets  in  praise  of  her,  and 
spent  half  of  my  pocket-money  at  the  shop,  in  buy. 
ing  articles  which  I  did  not  want,  that  I  nii>;ht  hav* 
an  opportunity  of  speaking  to  her.  Her  father  i 
severe-looking  old  gentleman,  with  bright  silver 
buckles  and  a  crisp,  curled  wig,  kept  a  strict  guam 
on  her ;  as  the  fathers  generally  do  upon  thdr 
daughters  in  Oxford  ;  and  well  they  may.  I  tried  tt 
get  into  his  good  graces,  and  to  be  sociable  wic 
him ;  but  in  vain.  I  said  several  good  things  in  hij 
shop,  but  he  never  laughed ;  he  nad  no  n  lish  fo; 
wit  and  humour.  He  was  one  of  those  dry  old  gen- 
tiemen  who  keep  youngsters  at  bay.  He  had  already 
brought  up  two  or  three  daughters,  and  v.  is  experi 
encea  in  the  ways  of  students.  He  was  as  knowing 
and  wary  as  a  gray  old  badger  that  has  often  been 
hunted.  To  see  him  on  Sunday,  so  stiff  and  | 
starched  in  his  deineanour ;  so  precise  in  his  dress; 
with  his  daughter  under  hu  arm,  and  his  ivoty. 
headed,  cane  in  his  hand,  was  enough  to  deter  all  I 
graceless  youngsters  from  .approaching. 

I  managed,  however,  in  spite  of  his  vigilance,  to 
have  several  conversations  with  the  daughter,  as  1 
cheapened  articles  in  the  shop.  I  made  terrible 
long  bargains,  and  examined  the  articles  over  and 
over,  before  I  purchased.  In  the  meantime,  1  would  I 
convey  a  sonnet  or  an  acrostic  under  cover  of  a 
piece  of  cambric,  or  slipped  into  a  pair  of  stockings; 
1  would  whisper  soft  nonsense  into  her  ear  as  I  hag- 
gled about  the  price ;  and  would  squeeze  her  hand 
tenderly  as  I  received  my  halfpence  of  change,  in  a 
bit  of  whity-brown  paper.  Let  this  serve  as  a  hint 
to  all  haberd.ashers,  who  have  pretty  daughters  foi 
shop-giris,  and  young  students  for  customers.  I  i 
not  know  whether  my  words  and  looks  were  vcj  i 
eloquent ;  but  my  poetry  was  irresistible ;  for,  ic 
tell  the  truth,  the  girl  had  some  literary  taste,  and 
was  seldom  without  a  book  fro.ii  the  circulatinj 
library. 

By  the  divine  power  of  poetry,  therefore,  which  is 
irresistible  with  the  lovely  sex,  did  I  subdue  the  heart 
of  this  fair  little  haberdasher.  We  carried  on  a  sen- 
timental correspondence  for  a  time  across  the  coun- 
ter, and  I  supplied  her  with  rhyme  by  the  stocking- 
ful.  At  length  I  prevailed  on  her  to  grant  me  ati  I 
assignation.  But  how  was  it  to  be  effected  ?  Ha 
i  father  kept  her  always  under  his  eye ;  she  neva 
I  walked  out  alone ;  and  the  bouse  was  locked  ud  tbf 


TALES   OF  A   TRAVELLER. 


881 


I  jioment  that  the  shop  was  shut.  All  these  difficul- 
jes  served  but  to  give  zest  to  the  adventure.  1  pro- 
posed that  the  assignation  should  be  in  her  own 
chamber,  into  which  I  would  climb  at  night.  Tiie 
plan  was  irresistible.  A  cniel  father,  a  secret  lover, 
jnd  a  clandestine  meeting !  All  the  little  jjirl's 
studifis  from  the  circulating  library  seemed  about 
10  be  realized.  But  what  had  I  in  view  in  making 
this  assignation  ?  Indeed  I  know  not.  I  had  no 
jvil  intentions ;  nor  can  I  say  that  I  had  any  good 
ones.  1  liked  the  girl,  and  wanted  to  have  an  op- 
portunity of  seeing  more  of  her ;  and  the  as.signation 
was  iiiMcle,  as  I  have  done  many  things  else,  heed- 
lessly and  without  forethought.  I  asked  myself  a 
few  quLSiions  of  the  kind,  after  all  my  arrangements 
litre  made ;  but  the  answers  were  very  unsatisfac- 
tory. "  Am  I  to  ruin  this  poor  thoughtless  girl  ?  " 
said  I  to  myself.  "No!"  was  the  prompt  and  in- 
dignant .inswer.  "Am  I  to  run  away  with  her  ?  " 
"Whitlier — and  to  what  purpose.*"  "Well,  then, 
M  I  to  marry  her  ?  " — "  Pah  !  a  man  of  my  expecta- 
tions marry  a  shopkeeper's  daughter  !  "      "  What, 

liien,  am  1  to  do  with  her?  "     "  Hum — why. Let 

me  get  into  her  chamber  first,  and  then  consider  " — 
and  so  liie  self-examination  ended. 

Well,  sir,  "  come  what  come  might,"  I  stole  un- 
der cover  of  the  darkness  to  the  dwelling  of  my  dul- 
:inea.  All  was  (|uiet.  At  the  concerted  signal  her 
window  was  gently  opened.  It  was  just  aljove  the 
projecting  bow-wirrdow  of  her  father's  shop,  which 
assisted  me  in  mounting.  The  house  was  low,  and 
1  was  enabled  to  scale  the  fortress  with  tolerable 
ease.  I  clambered  with  a  beating  heart ;  I  readied 
the  casement ;  I  hoisted  my  body  half  into  the  cham- 
ber and  was  welcomed,  not  by  the  embraces  of  my 
tipecting  fair  one,  but  by  the  grasp  of  the  crabbed- 
iMkinif  old  father  in  the  crisp  curled  wig. 

I  extricated  myself  from  his  clutches  and  endeav- 
3ur?d  to  make  my  retreat ;  but  I  was  confounded 
L,  his  criei  of  thieves !  anti  robbers  !  I  was 
bothered,  too,  by  his  Sunday  cane ;  which  was 
»ma.!ingly  busy  about  my  head  as  I  descended ;  and 
against  which  my  hat  was  but  a  poor  protection. 
Never  before  had  I  an  idea  of  the  activity  of  an  old 
man's  arm,  and  hardness  of  the  knob  of  an  ivory- 
headed  cane.  In  my  hurry  and  confusion  I  missed 
my  footing,  and  fell  sprawling  on  the  pavement.  I 
was  immediately  surrounded  by  myrmidons,  who  I 
doubt  not  were  on  the  watch  for  me.  Indeed,  I  was 
in  no  situation  to  escape,  for  1  h.ad  sprained  my  ankle 
in  the  fall,  and  coul:l  not  stand.  1  was  seized  as  a 
houst'l)reaker ;  and  to  exonenite  myself  from  a 
greater  crime  i  had  to  accuse  myself  of  a  less.  I 
made  known  who  I  was,  and  why  I  came  there. 
Alas!  the  varlets  knew  it  already,  .and  were  only 
amusing  themselves  at  my  expense.  My  perfidious 
muse  had  been  playing  me  one  of  her  slijjpery  tricks. 
The  old  curmudgeon  of  a  father  had  found  my  son- 
nets and  acrostics  hid  away  in  holes  and  comers  of 
his  shop ;  he  had  no  taste  for  poetr)'  like  his  daugh- 
ter, and  had  instituted  a  rigorous  though  silent  ob- 
servation. He  had  moused  upon  our  letters  ;  de- 
tected the  ladder  of  ropes,  and  prepared  every  thing 
far  my  reception.  Thus  was  I  ever  doomed  to  be 
W  into  scrapes  by  the  muse.  Let  no  man  hence- 
iorlh  carry  on  a  secret  amour  in  poetry. 

The  old  man's  ire  was  in  some  measure  appeased 
by  the  pummelling  of  my  head,  and  the  anguish  of 
iny  sprain  ;  so  he  cTid  not  put  me  to  death  on  the  spot. 
He  was  even  humane  enough  to  furnish  a  shutter,  on 
whxh  I  was  carried  back  to  college  like  a  wounded 
warrior.  The  porter  was  roysed  to  admit  me ;  the 
college  gate  was  thrown  open  for  my  entry ;  the  affair 
was  blazed  abroad  the  next  morning,  and  became 
the  joke  of  the  college  from  the  buttery  to  the  hall. 


I  had  leisure  to  repent  during  several  weeks'  con- 
finement by  my  sprain,  which  I  passed  in  translating 
Boethius'  Consolations  of  Philosophy.  I  received  a 
most  tender  and  ill-spelled  letter  from  my  mistress, 
who  had  been  sent  to  a  relation  in  Coventry.  She 
protested  her  innocence  of  my  misfortunes,  and 
vowed  to  be  true  to  me  "  till  death."  I  took  no 
notice  of  the  letter,  for  I  was  cured,  for  the  present, 
both  of  love  and  poetry.  Women,  however,  are 
more  constant  in  their  attachments  than  men,  what- 
ever philosophers  may  say  to  the  contrary.  1  am 
assured  that  she  actually  remained  faithful  to  hei 
vow  for  several  months ;  but  she  had  to  deal  with  a 
cruel  father  whose  heart  was  as  hard  as  the  knob  of 
his  cane.  He  was  not  to  be  touched  by  tears  or 
poetry ;  but  absolutely  compelled  her  to  marry  a 
reputable  young  tradesman  ;  who  made  her  a  happy 
woman  in  spite  of  herself,  and  of  all  the  rules  ol 
romance ;  and  what  is  more,  the  mother  of  scvera 
children.  They  are  at  this  very  day  a  thriving  couple 
and  keep  a  snug  corner  shop,  just  opposite  the  figure 
of  Peeping  Tom  at  Coventry. 

1  will  not  fatigue  you  by  any  more  details  of  my 
studies  at  Oxford,  though  they  were  not  always  as 
severe  as  these ;  not  did  I  alw.ws  pay  as  dear  for  my 
lessons.  People  may  say  what  they  please,  a  studious 
life  has  its  charms,  and  there  are  many  places  more 
gloomy  than  the  cloisters  of  a  university. 

To  be  brief,  then,  I  lived  on  in  my  usual  miscel- 
laneous manner,  gradually  getting  a  knowledge  of 
good  anil  evil,  until  I  had  attained  my  twenty-first 
year.  I  had  scarcely  come  of  age  when  I  heard  of 
the  sudden  death  of  my  father.  The  shock  was 
severe,  for  though  he  had  never  treated  me  with 
kiiulness,  still  he  was  my  father,  and  at  bis  deiitk  I 
felt  myself  alone  in  the  world. 

I  returned  home  to  act  as  chief  rnoumer  at  hs« 
funeral.  It  was  attended  by  many  of  the  sportsmen 
of  the  county;  for  he  was  an  important  member  of 
their  fraternity.  According  to  his  request  his  favour- 
ite hunter  was  led  after  the  hearse.  The  red-nosed 
fox-hunter,  who  had  taken  a  little  too  much  wine  at 
the  liouse,  made  a  maudlin  eulogy  of  the  deceased, 
and  wished  to  give  the  view  halloo  over  the  grave 
but  he  was  rebuked  by  the  rest  of  the  company. 
They  all  shook  me  kindly  by  the  hand,  said  many 
consolatory  things  to  me,  antl  invited  me  to  become 
a  member  of  the  hunt  in  my  father's  place. 

When  I  found  myself  alone  in  my  paternal  home, 
a  crowd  of  gloomy  feelings  came  thronging  upon  me. 
It  was  a  place  that  always  seemed  to  sober  me,  and 
bring  me  to  retlection.  Now,  especially,  it  looked  so 
desera-d  and  melancholy ;  the  furniture  displaced 
about  the  room ;  the  chairs  in  groups,  as  their  de- 
parted occupants  had  sat,  either  in  whispering  tete- 
.i-tctes,  or  gossiping  clusters ;  the  bottles  and  de- 
canters and  wine-glasses,  h.df  emptied,  and  scattered 
about  the  tables — all  dreary  traces  of  a  funeral 
festival.  I  entered  the  little  breakfasting  room. 
There  were  my  father's  whip  and  spurs  hanging  by 
the  fire-place,  and  his  favourite  pointer  lying  on  the 
hearth-rug.  The  poor  animal  came  fondling  about 
me,  and  licked  my  hand,  though  he  had  never  before 
noticed  me ;  and  then  he  looked  round  the  room, 
and  whined,  and  wagged  his  tail  slightly,  and  gCLzed 
wistfully  in  my  face.  I  felt  the  full  force  of  the  ap- 
peal. "  Poor  Dash  ! "  said  I,  "  we  are  l»oth  alone  in 
the  world,  with  nobody  to  care  for  us,  and  we'll  take 
care  of  one  another."  The  dog  never  quitted  me 
afterwards. 

I  could  not  go  into  my  mother's  room :  my  heajl 
swelled  when  I  passed- within  sight  of  the  door. 
Her  portrait  hung  in  the  parlour,  just  over  the  place 
where  she  used  to  sit.  As  I  cast  my  e>es  on  it  I 
thought  it  looked  at  me  v/ith  tenderness,  and  I  butsi 


VHi 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


S.:i 


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.^■*-- 


v^    ' 


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V 


IT 


•.,,^-i 


into  tears.  My  heart  had  long  been  seared  by  liv- 
ing ill  public  schools,  and  buffeting  about  "^inonj^ 
itrangcrs  who  carsd  nothing  for  me ;  but  the  recol- 
lection of  a  mother's  tenderness  was  overcoming. 

I  was  not  of  an  age  or  a  temperament  to  be  long 
depressed.  There  was  a  reaction  in  my  system  that 
always  brought  me  up  again  after  every  pressure; 
ind  indeed  my  spirits  were  most  buoy.ant  after  a 
temporar)'  prostration.  1  settled  the  concerns  of  the 
estate  as  soon  as  possible ;  realized  my  property, 
which  was  not  very  considerable,  but  which  ai> 
,"Hrired  a  vast  deal  to  me,  having  a  poetical  eye  that 
magnified  every  thing  ;  and  finding  myself,  at  the  end 
of  a  few  months,  free  of  all  farther  business  or  re- 
straint, I  determined  to  go  to  London  and  enjoy  my- 
self. Why  should  not  1  ? — I  was  young,  animated, 
joyous;  had  plenty  of  funds  for  present  pleasures, 
and  my  uncle  s  estate  in  the  perspective.  Let  those 
mope  at  college  and  pore  over  books,  thought  I,  who 
have  their  way  to  make  in  the  world ;  it  would  be 
ridiculous  drudgery  in  a  youth  of  my  expectations. 

Well,  sir,  away  to  London  I  rattled  in  a  tandem, 
determined  to  take  the  town  gayly.  I  passed  through 
several  of  the  villages  where  I  had  played  the  jack- 
pudding  a  few  years  before ;  and  I  visited  the  scenes 
of  many  of  mv  adventures  and  follies,  merely  from 
that  feeling  of  melancholy  pleasure  which  we  have 
in  stepping  again  in  the  footprints  of  foregone  ex- 
istence, even  when  they  have  passed  among  weeds 
and  briars.  I  made  a  circuit  in  the  latter  part  of  my 
journey,  so  as  to  take  in  West  End  and  Hempstead, 
the  scenes  of  my  last  dramatic  exploit,  and  of  the 
battle  royal  of  the  booth.  As  I  drove  along  the 
ridge  of  Hempstead  Hill,  by  Jack  Straw's  c.istle,  I 
paused  at  the  spot  where  Columbine  and  I  had  sat 
down  so  disconsolately  in  our  ragged  finery,  and 
looked  dubiously  upon  London.  1  almost  expected 
to  see  her  again,  standing  on  the  hill's  brink,  "  like 
Nicbe  all  tears;  " — mournful  as  Babylon  in  ruins  ! 

"  Poor  Columbine !  "  said  I,  with  a  heavy  sigh, 
"  thou  wert  a  gallant,  generous  girl — a  true  woman, 
faithful  to  the  distressed,  and  ready  to  sacrifice  thy- 
self in  the  cause  of  worthless  man  !  " 

1  tried  to  whistle  off  the  recollection  of  her ;  for 
there  was  always  something  of  self-reproach  with  it. 
I  drove  gayly  along  the  road,  enjoying  the  stare  of 
hostlers  and  stable-boys  as  I  man.iged  my  horses 
knowingly  down  the  steep  street  of  Hempstead; 
when,  just  at  the  skirts  of  the  vill.ige,  one  of  the 
traces  of  my  leader  came  loose.  I  pulled  up ;  and 
as  the  animal  was  restive  and  my  servant  a  bungler, 
I  called  for  assistance  to  the  robustious  master  of  a 
snug  ale-house,  who  stood  at  his  door  with  a  tankard 
in  his  hand.  He  came  readily  to  assist  me,  followed 
by  his  wife,  with  her  bosom  half  0[>en,  a  child  in  her 
arms,  and  two  more  at  her  heels.  I  stared  for  a  mo- 
ment as  if  doubting  my  eyes.  I  could  not  be  mis- 
taken ;  in  the  fat,  beer-blown  landlord  of  the  ale- 
house I  recognized  my  old  rival  Harlequin,  and  in  his 
slattern  spouse,  the  once  trim  and  dimpling  Colum- 
bine. 

The  change  of  my  looks,  from  youth  to  manhood, 
und  the  change  of  my  circumstances,  prevented  them 
from  recognising  me.  They  could  not  suspect,  in 
the  dashing  young  buck,  fashion.ibly  dressed,  and 
driving  his  own  equipage,  their  former  comrade,  the 
painted  beau,  with  old  peaked  hat  and  long,  Him.sy, 
sky-blue  coat.  My  heart  yearned  with  kindness 
•owards  Columbine,  and  I  was  glad  to  see  her  es- 
tablishment a  thriving  one.  As  soon  as  the  harness 
was  adjusted,  I  tossed  a  small  purse  of  gold  into  her 
ample  bosom ;  and  then,  pretending  to  give  my 
horses  a  hearty  cut  of  the  whip,  I  made  the  lash  curl 
with  a  whistling  about  the  sleek  sides  of  ancient 
Harlequin.    The  horses  dashed  off  like  ughtning, 


and  I  was  whirled  out  of  sight,  berore  either  of  tb« 
parties  could  get  over  their  surprise  ?♦  my  Hbcrv 
donations.  I  have  always  considered  tl  :s  as  one  of 
the  greatest  proofs  of  my  poetical  genius.  Ii  wy 
distributing  poetical  justice  m  perfc:\j3n. 

I  now  entered  London  en  cavalier-,  and  became  a 
blood  upon  town.  !  took  fashionable  iodj(ings  m  the 
West  End  ;  employed  the  first  tailor  ;  freciiiemt-fi  the 
regular  lounges ;  gambled  a  little ;  lost  niy  irii;,iei 
Kood-humouredly,  and  gained  a  number  of  t'n.shi,:n 
able  good-for-nothing  acquaintinces.  Had  1  ha,. 
more  industry  and  ambition  in  n\y  nature,  i  inij/||: 
have  worked  my  way  to  the  vety  height  of  faslvion 
as  I  saw  many  laborious  gentlemen  doing  ;iroiiiul  me 
But  it  is  a  toilsome,  an  anxious,  a.ul  an  unh.ippv  jiie, 
there  are  few  beings  so  sleepless  and  miser, tliie  aj 
your  cultiv.itors  of  fashionable  smiles. 

I  w.as  quite  content  with  thai  kind  of  society  \^hich 
forms  the  frontiers  of  fashion,  and  may  he  easily 
taken  possession  of.  I  found  it  a  light,  easy,  pro- 
ductive soil.  I  had  but  to  go  about  and  sow  visitin? 
cards,  and  1  reaped  a  whole  harvest  of  invitations. 
Indeed,  my  figure  and  address  were  by  no  means 
against  me.  It  was  whispered,  too,  among  the  young 
ladies,  that  I  was  prodigiously  clever,  and  wrote 
poetry ;  and  the  old  ladies  had  ascertained  that  1  was 
a  young  gentleman  of  good  family,  handsome  loitune, 
and  "great  expectations." 

I  now  was  carried  away  by  the  hurry  of  gay  life, 
so  intoxicating  to  a  young  man;  and  which  a  man 
of  poetical  temperament  enjoys  so  highly  on  his  first 
tasting  of  it.  "That  rapid  variety  of  sensations  ;  thai 
whirl  of  brilliant  objects  ;  that  succession  of  pungent 
pleasures.  1  h.id  no  time  for  thought ;  I  only  lelt.  I 
never  attempted  to  write  poetry ;  my  poetry  seemed 
all  to  go  off  by  transpiration.  I  lived  poetry  ;  it  waj 
all  a  poetical  dream  to  me.  A  mere  scnsualisi 
knows  nothing  of  the  delights  of  a  splendid  metropo- 
lis. He  lives  in  a  round  of  animal  gratifications  inn 
heartless  habits.  But  to  a  young  man  of  poetical 
feelings  it  is  an  ideal  world  ;  a  scene  of  enchantiiirat 
and  delusion ;  his  imagination  is  in  perpetual  excite- 
ment, and  gives  a  spiritual  zest  to  every  pleasure. 

A  season  of  town-life  somewhat  sobered  nie  of  m 
intoxication  ;  or  rather  I  was  rendered  more  scriou> 
by  one  of  my  old  complaints — 1  fell  in  love.  It  was 
with  a  very  pretty,  though  a  very  haughty  fair  one, 
who  had  come  to  London  under  the  care  of  an  oid 
maiden  aunt,  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  a  wie.tir  in 
town,  and  to  get  married.  There  was  not  a  douln 
of  her  commanding  a  choice  of  lovers  ;  for  she  had 
long  been  the  belle  of  a  little  cathedral  town ;  and 
one  of  the  prebendaries  had  absolutely  celebrated  her 
beauty  in  a  copy  of  Latin  verses. 

I  paid  my  court  to  her,  and  was  favourably  received 
both  by  her  and  her  aunt.  Nay,  I  had  a  marked 
preference  shown  me  over  the  younger  son  of  a  needy 
Baronet,  and  a  captain  of  dragoons  on  half  pay.  I 
did  not  absolutely  take  the  field  in  form,  for  1  w;.s 
determined  not  to  be  precipitate ;  but  I  drove  my 
equipage  frequently  through  the  street  in  which  .she 
lived,  and  was  always  sure  to  see  her  at  the  window 
generally  with  a  book  in  her  hand.  I  resumed  my 
knack  at  rhyming,  and  sent  her  a  lon^  copy  of  verr.ts; 
anonymously  to  be  sure ;  but  she  knew  my  hand- 
writing. They  displayed,  however,  the  most  delitihi- 
ful  ignorance  on  the  subject.  The  young  lady  siiowe  1 
them  to  me ;  wondered  who  they  could  be  writteti 
by:  and  declared  there  was  nothing  in  this  world 
she  loved  so  much  as  poetry :  while  the  maiden  aunt 
would  put  her  pinching  spectacles  on  her  nose,  and 
read  them,  with  blunders  in  sense  and  sound,  thai 
were  excruciating  to  an  author's  ears;  protestiflg 
there  was  nothing  equal  to  them  in  the  whole  elegan' 
extracts. 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


88a 


The  fashionable  season  closed  without  my  ad- 
venturing to  maiie  a  declaration,  tliough  I  certainly 
had  encouragement.  I  wa?  not  perfectly  sure  that  1 
had  etfccti'd  a  lodgement  ir  the  young  lady's  heart ; 
and,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  aunt  overdicT  her  part,  and 
wa5  a  little  too  extravagant  in  het  liking  of  me.  1 
Imesv  that  maiden  aunts  were  not  apt  to  be  captiva- 
t.'d  by  the  mere  personal  merits  of  their  nieces'  ad- 
•liirers,  and  I  wanted  to  ascertain  how  much  of  all 
ihJs  l.ivour  I  owed  to  my  driving  an  equipage  and 
having  great  expectations. 

I  had  received  many  hints  how  charming  their 
native  town  was  during  the  summer  months  ;  what 
ple.isaiit  society  they  had ;  and  what  be;iutiful  drives 
about  the  neighbourhood.  They  had  not,  therefore, 
reiurntd  home  long,  before  I  made  my  appearance 
in  dasliing  style,  driving  down  the  principal  street. 
It  is  an  easy  thing  to  put  a  little  quiet  c-iihetlral 
town  in  a  buzz.  The  very  next  morning  I  was  seen 
It  prayers,  seated  in  the  pew  of  the  reigning  belle. 
All  ihc  congregation  was  in  a  flutter.  The  prebends 
eyed  me  from  their  stalls;  questions  were  whispered 
about  the  isles  after  service,  "  who  is  he  ?  "  and 
"what  is  he?  "and  the  replies  were  as  usual — "A 
young  gentleman  of  good  family  and  fortune,  and 
great  expectations." 

1  was  i)leased  with  the  peculiarities  of  a  cathedral 
to\vn,  where  I  found  I  was  a  personage  of  some  con- 
sequence. I  was  quite  a  brilliant  accjuisition  to  the 
young  ladies  of  the  cathedral  circle,  who  were  glad 
to  have  a  beau  that  was  not  in  a  black  coat  and 
clerical  wig.  You  must  know  that  there  was  a  vast 
distinction  between  the  classes  of  society  of  the 
town.  As  it  was  a  place  of  some  tra<k!,  there  were 
in.iny  weidthy  inhabitants  among  the  commercial 
aiiJ  manufacturing  classes,  who  lived  in  style  and 
|t:ne  many  entertainments.  Nothing  of  trade,  how- 
fver,  was  admitted  into  the  cathedral  circle — faugh ! 
liie  thing  could  not  be  thought  of.  The  cathedral 
circle,  therefore,  was  apt  to  be  very  select,  very  dig- 
nified, and  very  dull.  They  had  evening  parties,  at 
wl.ich  the  old  ladies  played  cards  with  the  prebends, 
and  the  young  ladies  sat  and  looked  on,  and  shifted 
from  one  chair  to  another  about  the  room,  until  it  was 
tiuie  to  go  home. 

It  was  dilficult  to  get  up  a  ball,  from  the  want  of 
partners,  the  cathedral  circle  being  ver-  d':ficient  in 
dancers ;  and  on  those  occasions,  there  was  an  oc- 
casional drafting  among  the  dancing  men  of  the 
other  circle,  who,  however,  were  generally  regarded 
witli  great  reser\'e  and  condescension  by  the  gentle- 
men in  powdered  wigs.  Several  of  the  young  ladies 
assured  me,  in  confidence,  that  they  had  often  looked 
with  a  wistful  eye  at  the  gayety  of  the  other  circle, 
where  there  was  such  plenty  of  young  beaux,  and 
where  they  all  seemed  to  enjoy  themselves  so  merrily ; 
but  that  it  would  be  degradation  to  think  of  descend- 
ing from  their  sphere, 

I  admired  the  degree  of  old-fashioned  ceremony 
and  superannuated  courtesy  that  prevailed  in  this 
little  place.  The  bowings  and  courtseyings  that 
k'ould  take  place  about  the  cathedral  porcn  after 
morning  service,  where  knots  of  old  gentlemen  and 
ladies  would  collect  together  to  ask  after  each  other's 
health,  and  settle  the  card  party  for  the  evening. 
The  little  presents  of  fruits  and  delicacies,  and  the 
Jliousand  petty  messages  that  would  pass  from  house 
tu  house ;  for  in  a  tranquil  community  like  this,  liv- 
ing entirely  at  ease,  and  having  little  to  do,  little 
duties  and  little  civilities  and  I  '.tie  amusements,  fill 
i.p  the  day.  I  have  smiled,  as  1  looked  from  my 
window  on  a  quiet  street  near  the  cathedral,  in  the 
middle  of  a  warm  summer  day,  to  see  a  corpulent 
powdered  footman  in  rich  livery,  carrying  a  small  tart 
oil  a  large  silver  salver.    A  dainty  titbit,  sent,  no 


doubt,  by  some  wc  rth/  old  dow£.ger   to  top  off  the 
dinner  «  her  favourite  pre'uend. 

Nothing  could  be  more  delectable,  also,  than  tli* 
breaking  up  of  one  of  their  evening  card  parties. 
Such  shaking  of  hands ;  such  mobbing  up  in  cloaku 
and  tippets!  There  were  two  or  three  old  sedan 
chairs  that  did  the  duty  of  the  whole  place ;  though 
the  greater  part  made  their  exit  in  clogs  or  pattens, 
'Aith  a  footman  or  waiting-maid  carrying  a  lanthoru 
in  advance ;  and  at  a  certain  hour  of  the  night  the 
clank  of  pattens  and  the  gleam  of  these  jack  Ian- 
thorns,  here  and  there,  about  the  quiet  little  town, 
gave  notice  that  the  cathedral  card  party  had  dis- 
solved, and  the  luminaries  were  severally  seeking 
their  ho:nes.  To  such  a  community,  therefore,  or  at 
least  to  the  female  part  of  it,  the  accession  ol  a  gay. 
dashing  young  beau  was  a  matter  of  some  impor- 
tance. The  old  ladies  eyed  me  with  complacency 
through  their  spectacles,  and  the  young  ladies  pro- 
nounced me  divine.  Every  boi'y  received  me  favour 
ably,  excepting  the  gentleir  ui  who  had  written  the 
Latin  verses  on  the  belle.-  Not  that  he  w.is  jealous 
of  my  success  with  the  lady,  for  he  had  no  preten- 
sions to  her ;  but  he  heard  my  verses  praiied  wb'ir- 
ever  he  went,  and  he  could  not  endure  a  rival  with 
the  muse. 

I  was  thus  carrying  every  thing  before  me.  1  was 
the  Adonis  of  the  cathedral  circle  ;  when  one  even- 
ing there  was  a  public  ball  which  was  attended  like- 
wise by  the  gentry  of  the  neighbourhood.  I  took 
great  pains  with  my  toilet  on  the  occasion,  and  I  had 
never  looked  better.  I  had  determined  that  night  to 
make  my  grand  assault  on  the  heart  of  the  young 
lady,  to  baiter  it  with  all  my  forces,  and  the  next 
morning  to  demand  a  surrender  in  due  form. 

1  entered  the  ball-room  amidst  a  buzz  and  flutter, 
which  generally  took  place  among  the  young  ladies 
on  my  appearance.  I  was  in  fine  spirits  ;  for  to  tell 
the  truth,  I  had  exhilarated  myself  by  a  cheerful 
glass  of  wine  on  the  occasion.  I  talked,  and  rat- 
tled, and  said  a  thousand  silly  things,  slap-dash,  with 
all  the  confidence  of  a  man  sure  of  his  auditors , 
and  every  thing  had  its  effect. 

In  the  midst  of  my  triumph  I  observed  a  little 
knot  gathering  together  in  the  upper  part  of  the 
room.  By  degrees  it  increased.  A  tittering  broke 
out  there ;  and  glances  were  cast  round  at  me,  and 
then  there  would  be  fresh  tittering.  Some  of  the 
young  ladies  would  hurry  away  to  distant  parts  of 
the  room,  and  whisper  to  their  friends ;  wherever 
they  went  there  was  still  tins  tittering  and  glancing 
at  me.  i  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  all  this. 
I  looked  at  myself  from  head  to  foot ;  and  peeped  at 
my  back  in  a  glass,  to  see  if  any  thing  was  odd 
about  my  person ;  any  awkward  exposure ;  any 
whimsical  tag  hanging  out — no — every  thing  was 
right.     I  was  a  perfect  picture. 

1  determinedAliat  it  must  be  some  choice  saying 
of  mine,  that  was  bandied  about  in  this  knot  of 
merry  beauties,  and  I  detenr  ined  to  enjoy  one  of  my 
good  things  in  the  rebound. 

I  stepped  gently,  therefore,  up  the  room,  smiling 
at  every  one  as  I  passed,  who  I  must  say  ail  smile? 
and  littered  in  return.  I  approached  the  group, 
smirking  and  perking  my  chin,  like  a  man  who  is  fuU 
of  pleasant  feeling,  and  sure  of  being  well  received. 
The  cluster  of  little  belles  opened  as  1  advanced.    * 

Heavens  and  earth !  whom  should  I  perceive  in 
tlie  midst  of  them,  but  my  early  and  tormenting 
flame,  the  everlasting  Sacharissa  I  She  was  grown 
up,  it  is  true,  into  the  full  beauty  of  womanhood,  but 
showed  by  the  provoking  mernment  of  her  counte- 
nance, that  she  perfectly  rtcollectcd  me,  and  the 
ridiculous  flagellations  of  Arhich  she  had  twice  been 
the  cause. 


8M 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


t 


,flM 


ll<' 


,?^*-4<. 


I  saw  at  once  the  exterminating  cloud  of  ridicule 
that  was  bursting  over  me.  My  crest  fell.  The 
flamp  of  love  went  suddenly  out  in  my  bosom  ;  or 
was  exting^uished  by  overwhelminj;  shame.  How  I 
got  down  the  room  I  know  not ;  I  fancied  every  one 
tittering  at  me.  Just  as  I  reached  the  door,  I  caught 
a  glance  of  my  mistress  and  her  aunt  listening  to  the 
whispers  of  my  poetic  rival ;  the  old  lady  raising  her 
hands  antl  eyes,  and  the  lace  of  the  young  one  light- 
ed up  with  scorn  ineffable.  I  paused  to  see  no  more  ; 
but  made  two  steps  from  the  top  of  the  stairs  to  the 
iX>ttom.  The  next  morning,  before  sunrise,  1  beat  a 
retreat ;  and  did  not  feel  the  blushes  cool  from  my 
tingling  cheeks,  until  I  had  lost  sight  of  the  old 
towers  of  the  cathedral. 

I  now  returned  to  town  thoughtful  and  crestfallen. 
My  money  was  nearly  spent,  for  I  had  lived  freely 
and  without  calcul.ition.  The  dream  of  love  was 
over,  and  the  reign  of  pleasure  at  an  end.  I  deter- 
mined to  retrench  while  I  had  yet  a  trille  left ;  so 
selling  Illy  c^J•nage  and  horses  for  half  their  value, 
I  auictly  put  the  money  in  my  pocket,  and  turned 
pedestrian.  I  had  not  a  doubt  that,  with  my  great 
expectations,  I  could  at  any  time  raise  funds,  either 
on  usury  or  by  borrowing;  but  1  was  principled 
against  Ixjth  one  and  the  other ;  and  resolved,  by 
strict  economy,  to  make  my  slender  purse  hold  out, 
until  my  uncle  should  give  up  the  ghost ;  or  rather, 
the  estate. 

I  staid  at  home,  therefore,  and  read,  and  would 
have  written  ;  but  I  had  already  suffered  too  much 
from  my  poetical  productions,  which  had  generally 
involved  me  in  some  ridiculous  scr.ipe.  I  gradually 
acquired  a  nisty  look,  and  had  a  straightened,  money- 
borrowing  air,  upon  which  the  world  began  to  shy 
me.  I  have  never  felt  disposed  to  quarrel  with  the 
world  for  its  conduct.  It  has  always  used  me  well. 
When  I  have  been  flush,  and  gay,  and  disposed  for 
lociety,  it  'las  caressed  me  ;  and  when  I  have  been 
pinched,  and  reduced,  and  wished  to  be  alone,  why, 
it  has  left  me  alone ;  and  what  more  could  a  man 
desire  ?-— Take  my  word  for  it,  this  world  is  a  more 
obliging  world  than  people  generally  represent  it. 

Well,  sir,  in  the  midst  of  my  retrenchment,  my  re- 
tirement, and  my  studiousness,  I  received  news  that 
my  uncle  was  dangerously  ill.  I  hastened  on  the 
wings  of  an  heir's  affections  to  receive  his  dying 
breath  and  his  last  testament.  I  found  him  attended 
by  his  faithful  valet,  old  Iron  John  ;  by  the  woman 
who  occasionally  worked  about  the  house  ;  and  by 
the  foxy-headed  boy,  young  Orson,  whom  I  had  occa- 
sionally hunted  about  the  park. 

Iron  John  gasped  a  kind  of  asthmatical  salutation 
as  I  entered  the  room,  and  received  me  with  some- 
thing almost  like  a  smile  of  welcome.  The  woman 
sat  blubbering  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  ;  and  the  foxy- 
headed  Orson,  who  had  now  g^own  up  to  be  a  lub- 
berly lout,  stood  gazing  in  stupid  vacancy  at  a 
distance. 

My  uncle  lay  stretched  upon  his  back.  The  cham- 
ber was  without  fire,  or  any  of  the  comforts  of  a  sick- 
room. The  cobwebs  flaunted  from  the  ceiling.  The 
tester  was  covered  with  dust,  and  the  curtains  were 
tattered.  From  underneath  the  bed  peeped  out  one 
end  of  his  strong  box.  Against  the  wainscot  were 
suspended  rusty  blunderbusses,  horse  pistols,  and  a 
CUt-and-thrust  sword,  with  which  he  had  fortified  his 
room  to  defend  his  life  and  treasure.  He  had  em- 
ployed no  physician  during  his  illness,  and  from  the 
scanty  relics  lying  on  the  table,  seemed  almost  to 
have  denied  himself  the  assistance  of  a  cook. 

When  I  entered  the  room  he  was  lying  motionless ; 
his  eyes  fixed  and  his  mouth  open  ;  at  the  first  look 
I  thought  him  a  corpse.  The  noise  of  my  entrance 
made  nim  turn  his  head.    At  the  sight  of  me  a 


ghastly  smile  came  over  his  face,  and  his  gUilnj  evt 
gleamed  with  satisfaction.  It  was  the  only  smile  ht 
had  ever  given  me,  and  it  went  to  my  heart.  "  poot 
old  man  !  "  thought  I,  "  why  wouUl  you  not  let  tnt 
love  you  ?— Whv  would  you  force  me  to  lt;ivc  yoa 
thus  desolate,  when  I  see  that  my  piesence  i,i<.  tin 
power  to  cheer  you  ?  " 

"  Nephew,"  said  he,  after  several  efforts,  an-l  jr  » 
low  gasping  voice — "I  am  glad  you  are  c  lu!  ) 
shall  now  die  with  satisfaction.  Look,"  said  he,  njj! 
ing  his  withered  hand  and  pointing — "  look— i>i  tjia- 
box  on  the  table  you  will  find  that  1  nave  not  lorcot 
ten  you." 

I  pressed  bis  hand  to  my  heart,  and  the  tears 
stood  in  m.y  eyes.  I  sat  down  by  his  bed-side,  and 
watched  him,  but  he  never  spoke  again.  My  pres- 
ence, however,  gave  him  evident  satisfaction  —  for 
every  now  and  then,  as  he  looked  at  me,  a  vague 
smile  would  come  over  his  vis.ige,  and  he  woulil  fee- 
bly point  to  the  sealed  box  on  the  table.  As  ihs  day 
wore  away,  his  life  seemed  to  wear  away  wuh  jt. 
Towards  sunset,  his  hand  sunk  on  the  bed  and  lav 
motionless  ;  his  eyes  grew  glazed  ;  his  niouih  re- 
mained  open,  and  thus  he  gradually  died. 

I  could  not  but  feel  shocked  at  this  absoKiic  ex- 
tinction of  my  kindred.  I  dropped  a  tear  oi  n-al 
sorrow  over  this  strange  old  man,  who  had  ilms  re- 
served his  smile  of  kindness  to  his  death-bed  ;  like  an 
evening  sun  after  a  gloomy  day,  just  shining;  om  to 
set  in  darkness.  Leaving  the  corpse  in  charge  oi  die 
domestics,  I  retired  for  the  night. 

It  was  a  rough  night.  The  winds  seemed  as  if 
singing  my  uncle's  requiem  about  the  mansion  ;  nnd 
the  bloodhounds  howled  without  as  if  they  knew  cf 
the  death  of  their  old  master.  Iron  Joh'i  alir.p?' 
grudged  me  the  tallow  candle  to  bum  in  my  a;'irt- 
ment  and  light  up  its  dreariness ;  so  acciistoir.rd  h«? 
he  been  to  starveling  economy.  I  could  not  slefi' 
The  recollection  of  my  uncle's  dying  scene  and  tf.c 
dreary  sounds  about  the  house,  affected  my  ir.ind, 
These,  however,  were  succeeded  by  plans  for  tfic 
future,  and  I  lay  awake  the  greater  part  of  the  niijht, 
indulging  the  poetical  anticipation,  how  soon  1  would 
make  these  old  walls  ring  with  cheerful  life,  and  re- 
store the  hospitality  of  my  mother's  ancestors. 

My  uncle's  funeral  was  decent,  but  private.  I 
knew  there  was  nobody  th.at  respected  his  nienv 
ory ;  and  I  was  determined  that  none  should  he 
summoned  to  sneer  over  his  funeral  wines,  and 
make  merry  at  his  grave.  He  was  buried  in  the 
church  of  the  neighbouring  village,  though  it  \v,as 
not  the  burying  place  of  his  race ;  but  he  had  ex- 
pressly enjoined  that  he  should  not  be  buried  with 
his  family ;  he  had  quarrelled  with  the  most  of  i  hem 
when  living,  and  he  carried  his  resentments  even 
into  the  grave. 

1  defrayed  the  expenses  of  the  funeral  out  of  my 
own  purse,  that  I  might  have  done  with  the  under- 
takers at  once,  and  clear  the  ill-omened  birds  from 
the  premises.  1  invited  the  parson  of  the  parish,  and 
the  lawyer  from  the  village  to  attend  at  the  howt 
the  next  morning  and  hear  the  reading  of  the  w''i, 
I  treated  them  to  an  excellent  br-ikfast,  a  profusion 
that  had  not  been  seen  at  the  house  for  many  a 
year.  As  soon  as  the  breakfast  things  were  removed. 
I  summoned  Iron  John,  the  woman,  and  the  my, 
for  I  was  particular  in  having  every  one  present  and 
proceeding  regularly.  The  dox  was  placed  on  the 
table.  All  was  silence.  I  broke  the  seal;  raised 
the  lid ;  and  beheld — not  the  will,  but  my  accursed 
poem  of  Doubting  Castle  and  Giant  Despair ! 

Could  any  mortal  have  conceived  that  this  old 
withered  man ;  so  taciturn,  and  apparently  lost  tc 
feeling,  could  have  treasured  up  for  years  the 
thoughtless  pleasantry  of  a  boy,  to  punish  him  with 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER 


881 


I  (ich  cruel  Ingenuity  ?    I  now  could  account  for  his 

I  dying  smile,  Uie  only  one  he  had  ever  given  me.     He 

liad  been  a  ^rave  man  all  his  life ;  it  was  stranjje  that 

je  should  die  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  joke ;  and  it  was 

kard  that  tliat  joke  should  be  at  my  expense. 

The  lawyer  and  the  parson  seemed  at  a  loss  to 
comprehend  th;  matter.  "  Here  must  be  some  mis- 
alee,"  said  the  lawyer,  "there  is  no  will  here," 

■•Oh."  said  Iron  John,  creaking  forth  his  rusty 
iWs,  "  if  it  is  a  will  you  are  looking  for,  I  believe  1 
^,1  fmd  one." 

He  retired  with  the  same  singular  smile  with 
#hich  he  had  greeted  me  on  my  arrival,  and  which 
Inow  apprehended  boded  me  no  good.  In  a  little 
wiiile  he  returned  with  a  will  perlcct  at  all  points, 
properly  signed  and  sealed  and  witnessed  ;  worded 
»iih  liorrible  correctness;  in  which  he  left  large 
legacies  to  Iron  John  and  his  daughter,  and  the 
rssidiie  of  his  fortune  to  tlie  foxy-headed  boy  ;  who, 
10  my  utter  astonishment,  was  his  son  t)y  this  very 
woman  ;  he  having  married  her  privately  ;  and,  as  I 
verily  believe,  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  have  an 
heir,  and  so  baulk  my  father  and  his  issue  of  the  in- 
hentance.  There  Wiis  one  little  proviso,  in  wliich 
|,e  mentioned  that  having  discovered  his  nephew  to 
have  a  pretty  lurn  for  poetry,  he  presumed  he  had 
no  occasion  for  wealth ;  he  recommended  him,  how- 
ever, to  the  patronage  of  his  heir;  and  requested 
ihat  he  might  have  a  garret,  rent  free,  in  Doubting 
Castle. 


GRAVE  HEFLECTIONS  OF 
MAN. 


A  DISAPPOINTED 


Mr.  BuCKTHORNE  had  paused  at  the  death  of 
jt".  uncle,  and  the  downfall  of  his  great  expectations, 
wliich  formed,  as  he  said,  an  epoch  in  his  history ; 
ami  It  was  not  until  some  little  time  afterwards,  and 
in  a  very  sober  mood,  that  he  resumed  his  parti- 
coloured narrative. 

Alter  leaving  the  domains  of  my  defunct  uncle, 
laid  he,  when  the  gate  closed  between  me  and  what 
was  once  to  have  l)een  mine,  I  felt  thnist  out  naked 
into  the  world,  and  completely  abandoned  to  for- 


of  my  boyhood  ;  partly  because  I  absolutely  did  not 
know  what  to  do  with  myself,  and  partly  because  j 
did  not  know  that  I  should  ever  see  them  again.  ', 
clung  to  them  as  one  clings  to  a  wreck,  though  he 
knows  he  must  eventually  cast  himself  loose  and 
swim  for  his  life.  I  sat  down  on  a  hill  within  sight 
of  my  paternal  home,  but  1  did  not  venture  to  ap- 
proach it,  for  I  felt  compunction  at  the  thoughtless- 
ness with  which  I  had  dissipated  my  jiitrimony. 
But  was  I  to  blame,  when  I  had  the  rich  possession* 
of  my  curmudgeon  of  an  uncle  in  expectation  ? 

The  new  possessor  of  the  place  was  making  great 
alterations.  The  house  was  almost  rebuilt.  The 
trees  which  stood  about  it  were  cut  down ;  my 
mother's  flower-g<-  rden  was  throwr.  into  a  l.iwn  ;  ail 
was  undergoing  a  change.  I  lur"ed  by  b;»ck  upon 
it  with  a  sigh,  and  rambled  to  another  part  of  the 
country. 

How  thoujihtful  a  little  adversity  males  one.  As 
I  came  within  sight  of  the  school-house  where  I  had 
so  often  been  flogged  in  the  cause  of  wisdom,  you 
would  hardly  have  recognized  the  truant  boy  who 
but  a  few  years  since  had  eloped  so  heedlessly  from 
its  walls.  1  leaned  over  the  paling  of  the  play- 
ground, and  watched  the  scholars  at  their  games, 
and  looked  to  see  if  there  might  not  be  some  urchin 
among  them,  like  1  was  once,  full  of  gay  dreams 
about  life  and  the  world.  The  play-ground  seemed 
smaller  than  when  I  used  to  sport  about  it.  The 
house  and  park,  too,  of  the  neighbouring  scjuire,  the 
father  of  the  cruel  Sacharissa,  had  shrunk  in  size  and 
diminished  in  magnificerce.  The  distant  hills  no 
longer  appeared  so  far  off,  and,  alas!  no  longer 
awakened  ide.as  of  a  fairy  land  beyond. 

As  I  was  rambling  pensively  through  a  neighbour- 
ing meadow,  in  which  I  had  many  a  lime  gathered 
primroses,  1  met  the  very  pedagogue  who  had  been 
the  tyrant  and  dread  of  my  boyhood.  1  had  some- 
times vowed  to  niyself,  when  sutTering  under  his  rod, 
that  1  would  have  my  revenge  if  ever  1  met  him  when 
I  had  grown  to  be  a  man.  The  time  had  come;  but 
I  had  no  disposition  to  keep  my  vow.  The  few  years 
which  had  matured  me  in'.o  a  vigorous  man  had 
shrunk  him  into  decrepitude.  He  appeared  to  have 
had  a  paralytic  stroke.  1  looked  at  him,  and  won- 
dered that  this  poor  helpless  mortal  could  have  been 
an  object  of  terror  to  me !  That  I  should  have 
watched  with  anxiety  the  glance  of  that  failing  eye, 
or  dre.aded  the  power  of  that  trembling  hand  1    He 


t.;ne.    What  was  to  become  of  me?    I  had  been 

brought  up  to  nothing  but   expectations,  and  they  j  tottered  feebly  along  the  path,  and  had  some  ditti 

had  all  been  disappointed.     1  had  no  relations  to  |  culty  in  getting  over  a  stile.    1  ran  and  assisted  him, 


Icok  to  for  counsel  or  assistance.  The  world  seemed 
all  to  have  died  away  from  me.  Wave  after  wave 
of  relationship  had  ebbed  off,  and  1  was  lelt  a  mere 
hulk  upon  the  strand.  1  am  not  apt  to  be  gready 
cast  down,  but  at  this  time  I  felt  s;i(lly  ciishearlened. 
!  could  not  realize  my  situation,  nor  form  a  con- 
jecture how  I  was  to  get  forward. 

I  was  now  to  endeavour  to  make  money.  The 
idea  was  new  and  strange  to  me.  It  was  like  being 
asked  to  discover  the  philosopher's  stone.  I  had 
never  thought  about  money,  other  than  to  put  my 
iiand  into  my  pocket  and  tind  it,  or  if  there  were 
none  there,  to  wiit  until  a  new  supply  came  from 
home.  1  had  considered  life  as  a  mere  sp.ace  of  time 
>o  bo  filled  up  with  enjoyments ;  but  to  have  it  por- 
iined  out  into  long  hours  and  days  of  toil,  merely 
hit  I  might  gain  bread  to  give  me  strength  to  toil 
ji,  tc  labour  but  for  the  purpose  of  perpetu.iting  a 
lite  of  labour  was  new  and  appalling  to  me.  This 
may  appear  a  very  simple  matter  to  some,  but  it  will 
1)6  understood  by  every  unlucky  wight  in  my  pre- 
dicament, who  has  had  the  misfortune  of  being  born 
to  great  expectations. 

i  passed  several  days  in  rambling  about  the  scenes 
25 


He  looked  at  me  with  surprise,  but  did  not  recog- 
nize me,  and  made  a  low  bow  of  humility  and  thanks. 
1  had  no  disposition  to  make  myself  known,  for  I 
felt  that  1  had  nothing  to  boast  of.  The  pains  he 
had  taken  and  the  pains  he  had  inflicted  had  been 
equally  usel^s.  His  repeated  predictions  were  fully 
verified,  and  I  felt  th.it  little  Jack  Buckthorne,  tha 
idle  boy,  had  grown  up  to  be  a  very  good-for-nothing 
man. 

This  is  all  very  comfortless  detail ;  but  as  I  have 
told  you  of  my  follies,  it  is  meet  that  I  show  you  how 
for  once  I  was  schooled  for  them. 

The  most  thoughtless  of  mortals  wiH  some  t '.15 e 
or  other  have  this  day  of  gloom,  when  he  will  be 
compelled  to  reflect.  I  felt  on  this  occasion  as  if  I 
h.ad  a  kind  of  penance  to  perform,  and  1  made  a  pil- 
grimage in  expiation  of  my  past  levity. 

Having  passed  a  night  at  Leamington,  I  set  off  by 
a  private  path  which  leads  up  a  hill,  through  a 
grove,  and  acro<;s  quiet  fields,  until  1  came  to  the 
small  viluige,  or  r.ather  hamlet  of  Leninjfion.  I 
sought  the  village  church.  It  is  an  old  low  edifice  of 
gray  stone  on  the  brow  of  a  small  hill,  looking  ovei 
fertile  fields  to  where  the  proud  towers  of  Warwicli 


m 

■A-, 


f" 


886 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


H 


^^' 
K 


r 

'  VI 


.Vi 


•:il)t 

"4 


■   "  ' 


'■'if  \ 


Castle  lifted  themselvfs  neiilnst  the  distant  horizon, 
A  part  of  ihe  church-yaru  is  shiuled  by  large  trees. 
Under  one  of  tlit-se  my  motliL-r  lay  burie«i.  You 
ha\e,  no  doubt,  thouglU  nic  a  liglu,  heartless  being. 
I  thought  myself  so — but  there  are  moments  of  ad- 
versity whicin  let  us  into  some  feelings  of  our  nature, 
to  which  we  might  otherwise  remain  perpetual  stran- 
gers. 

I  sought  my  mother's  grave.  The  weeds  were 
already  matted  over  it,  and  the  tombstone  was  half 
hiJ  amonjf  nettles,  1  cleared  them  away  and  they 
•tune  my  hands;  but  I  wns  heedless  of  the  pain,  for 
my  heart  ached  too  severely.  I  sat  down  on  the 
f,rave,  and  reatl  over  and  over  .igain  the  epitaph  on 
the  stone.  It  was  simple,  hut  it  was  true.  I  had 
wiltten  it  myself.  I  had  tried  to  write  a  poetical 
cpuaph,  but  in  v-  ,  .ly  feelings  refused  to  utter 
themselves  in  rh  .nc.  My  heart  had  gradu.ally  been 
filling  during  inv  lonely  wanderings;  it  was  now 
charged  to  the  orim  and  overflowed.  I  s.ink  upon 
the  grave  and  buried  my  face  in  the  tall  grass  and 
wept  like  a  child.  Yes,  I  wept  in  manhootl  upon  the 
grave,  as  I  had  in  infancy  upon  the  bosom  of  my 
mother.  Alas  1  how  little  do  we  appreciate  a  moth- 
er's tenderness  while  living  !  How  needless  are  we, 
In  youth,  of  all  her  anxieties  and  kindness.  But 
when  she  is  dead  and  gone ;  when  the  cares  and 
coldness  of  the  world  come  withering  to  our  hearts ; 
when  we  find  how  hard  it  is  to  find  true  sympathy, 
how  few  love  us  for  ourselves,  how  few  will  befriend 
us  in  our  misfortunes ;  then  it  is  we  think  of  the 
mother  we  have  lost.  It  is  true  I  had  always  loved 
my  mother,  even  in  my  most  heedless  days;  but  I 
felt  how  inconsiderate  and  ineffectual  had  been  my 
k)vc.  My  heart  melted  as  I  retraced  the  days  of  in- 
iucy,  when  I  was  led  by  a  mother's  hand  and  rock- 
ed to  sleep  in  a  mother's  arms,  and  was  without  care 
or  sorrow.  "  Oh,  my  mother  !  "  exclaimed  I,  bury- 
kiff  my  face  again  in  the  grass  of  the  grave — "  Oh, 
that  I  were  once  more  by  your  side ;  sleeping,  never 
to  wake  again,  on  the  cares  and  troubles  of  this 
world  I " 

I  am  not  naturally  of  a  morbid  temperament,  and 
the  violence  of  my  emotion  gradually  exhausted  it- 
self. It  was  a  hearty,  honest,  natural  disch.irge  of 
gpriefs  which  had  been  slowly  accumulating,  and 
gave  me  wonderful  relief.  I  rose  from  the  grave  as 
if  I  had  been  offering  up  a  sacrifice,  and  I  felt  as  if 
that  sacrifice  had  been  accepted. 

1  sat  down  again  on  the  grass,  and  plucked,  one 
by  one,  the  weeds  from  her  grave ;  the  tears  trickled 
more  slowly  down  my  cheeks,  and  ceased  to  be  bitter. 
It  was  a  comfort  to  think  that  she  had  died  before 
sorrow  and  poverty  came  upon  her  child,  and  that 
all  his  great  expectations  were  blasted. 

I  leaned  my  cheek  upon  my  hand  and  looked 
upon  the  landscape.  Its  quiet  beauty  soothed  me. 
The  whistle  of  a  peasant  from  an  adjoining  field 
came  cheerily  to  my  ear.  I  seemed  to  respire  hope 
•and  comfort  with  the  free  air  that  whispered  through 
the  leaves  and  played  lightly  with  my  hair,  and  dried 
the  tears  upon  my  cheek.  A  lark,  rising  from  the 
field  before  me,  and  leaving,  as  it  were,  a  stream  of 
song  behind  him  as  he  rose,  lifted  my  fancy  with 
him.  He  hovered  in  the  air  just  above  the  place 
where  the  towers  of  Warwick  Castle  marked  the 
horixon  ;  and  seemed  as  if  Muttering  with  delight  at 
his  own  melody.  "  Surely,"  thought  I,  "  if  there 
were  such  a  thing  as  transmigration  of  souls,  this 
might  be  taken  for  some  poet,  let  loose  from  earth, 
but  btil.  revelling  in  song,  and  carolling  about  fair 
fields  and  lordly  towns." 

At  this  moment   the  long  forgotten  feeling  of 

Ctetiy  rose  within  me.     A  thought  sprung  at  once 
to  uiy  nind :  "  I  will  become  an  author,"  said  I. 


"  I  have  hitherto  indulged  in  poetry  as  a  plcwurt 
and  it  has  brought  me  nothing  but  pain.  I.^i  pit 
try  what  it  will  do,  when  1  cultivate  it  with  dtvotiou 
as  a  pursuit." 

The  resolution,  thus  suddenly  aroused  within  mc 
heaved  a  load  from  ofTmy  he.irt.  I  felt  a  comidcncj 
in  it  from  the  very  place  where  it  was  fornud,  it 
seemed  as  though  my  mother's  spirit  whisn  rt'  ji 
to  me  from  her  grave.  "  I  will  henceforth,  s,  i'i  i 
"endeavour  to  be  all  that  she  fondly  ini.ig'iud  nit 
I  will  endeavour  to  act  as  if  she  were  'niintss  ol 
my  actions.  I  will  endeavour  to  acquit  nns( If  in 
such  manner,  th.it  when  I  revisit  her  grave  th^rj 
may,  .it  least,  be  no  compunctious  bitterness  in  m, 
tears." 

1  bowed  down  and  kisjed  the  turf  in  solemn  at- 
testation of  my  vow.  I  plucked  some  primrusej 
that  were  crowing  there  and  laid  them  next  mj 
heart.  I  left  the  church-yard  with  my  spirits  one? 
more  lifted  up,  and  set  out  a  third  time  for  London^ 
in  thd  character  of  an  author. 


Here  my  companion  made  a  pause,  and  I  waited 
in  anxious  suspense ;  hoping  to  have  a  whole  volij;i)e 
of  literary  life  unfolded  to  me.  He  seemed,  how- 
ever,  to  have  sunk  into  a  fit  of  pensive  musing ;  and 
when  after  some  time  I  gently  roused  him  by  a  (|uis- 
tion  or  two  as  to  his  literary  career.  "  No,  smd  Ik 
smiling,  "over  that  part  ol  my  story  I  wish  to  Ica.f 
a  cloud.  Let  the  mysteries  of  the  craft  rest  sacred 
for  me.  Let  those  who  have  never  adventured  inio 
the  republic  of  letters,  still  look  upon  it  as  a  f.iir^ 
land.  Let  them  supiwse  the  author  the  vciy  beinj- 
they  picture  him  from  his  works :  I  am  not  tne  man 
to  mar  their  illusion.  I  am  not  the  man  to  him, 
while  one  is  admiring  the  silken  web  of  I'trsiti, 
that  it  has  been  spun  from  the  entrails  of  a  miser- 
able worm." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  if  you  will  tell  me  nothing  of 
your  literary  history,  let  me  know  at  least  if  you 
have  had  any  farther  intelligence  from  Doubtint 
Castle." 

"  Willingly."  replied  he,  "  though  I  have  but  littl? 
to  communicate." 


THE  BOOBY  SQUIRE. 


A  LONG  time  elapsed,  said  Buckthome,  without 
my  receiving  any  accounts  of  my  cousin  and  his 
estate.  Indeed,  I  felt  so  much  soreness  on  the  sub- 
ject, that  1  wished,  if  possible,  to  shut  it  from  mj 
thoughts.  At  length  chance  took  me  into  that  part 
of  the  country,  and  I  could  not  refrain  from  making 
some  inquiries. 

1  learnt  that  my  cousin  had  grown  up  ignor.ant, 
self-willed,  and  clownish.  His  ignorance  and  clown- 
ishness  had  prevented  his  mingling  with  the  neigli- 
bouring  gentry.  In  spite  of  his  great  fortune  he  had 
been  unsuccessful  in  an  attempt  to  gain  the  hand  ol 
the  daughter  of  the  parson,  and  had  at  length  shnink 
into  the  limits  of  such  society  as  a  mere  man  of 
we.alth  can  gather  in  a  country  neighbourhood. 

He  kept  horses  and  hounds  and  a  roaring  table, 
at  which  were  collected  the  loose  livers  of  the  coun- 
try round,  and  the  shabby  gentlemen  of  a  village  in 
the  vicinity.  When  he  could  get  no  other  compar.y 
he  would  smoke  and  drink  with  his  own  sen'ants. 
who  in  their  turns  Heeced  and  despised  him.  Still, 
with  all  this  apparent  ;ic\I°gality,  he  had  a  leaver 
of  the  old  man  m  him,  whitch  snowed  that  he  w;u 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVBLLBR. 


887 


gju  true •nom  Mn.  He  lived  far  within  hit  income, 
fit  vul'^ar  in  his  expenses,  and  penurious  on  many 
points  on  which  a  gentleman  would  be  extiavagant. 
[)i,  hiiuse   servants   were  obliged    occasionally  to 

liorkon  the  estate,  and  part  of  the  pleasure  grounds 

I  «irt  i)l"ut{hed  up  and  devoted  to  husbandry. ' 
His  table,  though  plentiful,  was  coarse  ;  his  liquors 

jlironB  iind  bad;  and  more  ale  and  whiskey  were 
(ipemlcd  in  his  establishment  than  generous  wine. 
;i(  was  loud  and  arrogant  at  his  own  table,  and 

{.,;,ciiii  a  rich  man's  homage  from  his  vulgar  and 
iiwq  lious  guests. 
As  to  Iron  John,  his   old    grandfather,  he   had 

Irown  itupatient  of  the  tight  hand  his  own  grandson 
fcptovfr  him,  and  quarrelled  with  him  soon  after  he 
cune  Id  the  estate.  The  old  man  had  retired  to  a 
neighliDiiring  village  where  he  lived  on  the  legacy  of 
hislaif  master,  in  a  stnall  cottage,  and  was  as  sel- 
dom sitn  out  of  it  as  a  rat  out  ot  nis  hole  in  day- 
ight. 
The  cub,  like  Caliban,  seemed  to  have  an  instinct- 

I  ivc attachment  to  his  mother.  She  resided  with  him  ; 
but,  Iroin  long  habit,  she  acted  more  as  servant  than 

lismistri^ss  of  the  mansion ;  for  she  toiled  in  all  the 

I  domestic  drudgery,  and  was  oftener  in  the  kitchen 

I  than  I  He  parlour.  Such  w.is  the  information  which 
Icnilected  of  my  rival  cousin,  who  had  so  unexpect- 

I  ediy  ell)(>wed  me  out  of  all  my  expectations. 

I  iiiiw  lelt  an  irresistible  hankering  to  pay  a  visit 
to  this  scene  of  my  boyhood  ;  and  to  get  a  peep  at 
tt^^c  0(1(1  kind  of  life  that  was  passing  witl^in  the 
mansion  of  jny  maternal  ancestors.  1  determined 
toe*)  so  in  disguise.  My  booby  cousin  had  never 
iKii  enough  of  me  to  be  very  familiar  with  my  coun- 
lenaiice,  and  a  few  years  make  great  difference  be- 
tween youth  and  manhood.  I  understood  he  was  a 
breeder  of  cattle  and  proud  of  his  stock.  I  dressed 
ayseir,  therefore,  as  a  substantial  farmer,  and  with 
the  assistance  of  a  red  scratch  that  came  low  down 
on  my  forehe.id,  made  a  complete  change  in  my 
physiognomy, 
it  was  past  three  o'clock  when  I  arrived  at  the 

I  gate  nt  the  park,  and  w.is  admitted  by  an  old  woman, 
who  was  washing  in  a  dilapidated  building  which  had. 
once  been  a  porter^s  lodge.  I  advanced  up  the  re- 
mains ol  a  noble  avenue,  many  of  the  trees  of  which 
had  been  cut  down  and  sold  for  timber.  The  grounds 
were  in  scarcely  better  keeping  than  during  my  un- 
cle's liJetime.  The  grass  was  overm-own  with  weeds, 
anil  tlie  trees  wanted  pruning  and  clearing  of  dead 

I  branches.      Cattle  were  grazing  about  the  lawns, 
ind  (lucks  and  geese  swimming  in  the  fish-ponds. 
Tne  road  to  the  house  bore  very  few  traces  of 

I  caiTiag;e  wheels,  as  my  cousin  received  few  visitors 
but  such  as  came  on  foot  or  horseb-ick,  and  never 
used  a  carriage  himself.  Once,  indeed,  as  I  was 
told,  he  had  had  the  old  family  carriage  drawn  out 
from  among  the  dust  and  cobwebs  of  the  coach-house 

I  ind  furbished  up,  and  had  drove,  with  his  mother, 
othe  village  church  to  take  formal  possession  of 
ihe  lamily  pew ;  but  there  was  such  hooting  and 
laughing  after  them  as  they  passed  through  the  vil- 
lage and  such  giggling  and  bantering  about  the 
..hurch  door,  that  the  pageant  had  never  made  a 
Jiappearance. 
As  I  approached  the  house,  a  legion  of  whelps 

I  lallied  out  barking  at  me,  accompanied  by  the  low 

[  fowling,  rather  than  barking,  of  two  old  worn-out 
blood-hounds,  which  I  recognized  for  tne  ancient  life- 

I  guards  of  my  uncle.  The  house  had  still  a  neglected, 
random  appearance,  though  much  altered  for  the 
better  since  my  last  visit.  Several  of  the  winilows 
were  broken  and  patched  up  with  boards  ;  and  oth- 
ere  had  been  bricked  up  to  save  taxes,  I  observed 
Knoke,  however,  rising  front  the  chimneys ;  a  phe- 


nomenon rarely  witnessod  In  the  ar.dent  establish- 
ment. On  passing  that  part  of  the  huurse  where  th» 
dining-room  was  situated,  I  heard  the  sound  of  bois« 
terous  merriment ;  where  three  or  four  voices  were 
talking  at  uncc,  and  oaths  and  laughter  were  hor- 
ribly mingled. 

The  uproar  of  the  dogs  had  brought  a  servant  to 
the  door,  a  tall,  hard-t'isted  country  clown,  with  ii 
livery  coat  put  over  the  under-garinents  of  a  plougb^ 
man.  I  requested  to  see  the  master  of  the  housA 
but  wiis  toll!  he  was  at  dinner  with  some  "  gemmen ' 
of  the  neighbourhood.  I  m.ide  known  my  business 
and  sent  in  to  know  if  I  might  talk  with  the  master 
about  his  cattle  ;  for  I  felt  a  great  desire  to  have  a 
peep  at  him  at  his  orgies.  Word  w.is  returned  that 
he  W.IS  engaged  with  company,  and  could  not  attend 
to  business,  nut  that  if  I  would  "step  in  and  take  a 
drink  of  something,  I  was  heartily  welcome."  I  ac- 
cordingly entered  the  hall,  where  whips  and  hats  of 
all  kinds  and  shapes  were  lying  on  an  oaken  table 
two  or  three  clownish  servants  were  lounging  about ; 
every  thing  had  a  look  of  confusion  and  carelessness. 

The  apartments  through  which  I  passed  had  the 
same  air  of  departed  gentility  and  sluttish  house- 
keeping. The  once  rich  curtains  were  faded  and 
dusty  ;  the  furniture  greased  and  tarnished.  On 
entering  the  dining-room  I  found  a  number  of  odd, 
vulgar-looking,  rustic  gentlemen  seated  round  a  table, 
on  which  were  bottles,  decanters,  tankards,  pipes, 
and  tobacco.  Several  dogs  were  lying  about  the 
room,  or  sitting  and  watching  their  masters,  and 
one  was  gnawing  a  bone  under  a  side-table. 

The  master  of  the  feast  sat  at  the  head  of  the 
board.  He  was  greatly  altered.  He  had  grown 
thick-set  .and  rather  gummy,  with  a  fiery,  foxy  head 
of  hair.  There  was  a  singular  mixture  of  foolishness, 
arrogance,  and  conceit  in  his  countenance.  He  wa£ 
dressed  in  a  vulgarly  fine  style,  with  leather  breech- 
es, a  red  waistcoat,  and  green  coat,  and  was  evi- 
dently, like  his  guests,  a  httle  Hushed  with  drinking. 
The  whole  company  stared  at  me  with  a  whimsical 
muggy  look,  like  men  whose  senses  were  a  little 
obfruscated  by  beer  rather  than  wine. 

My  cousin,  (God  forgive  me  !  the  appellation  sticks 
in  my  throat,)  my  cousin  invited  me  with  awkward 
civility,  or,  as  he  intended  it,  condescension,  to  sit  to 
the  table  and  drink.  We  talked,  as  usual,  about  the 
we.ather,  the  crops,  politics,  and  hard  times.  My 
cousin  was  a  loud  politician,  and  evidently  accus- 
tomed to  talk  without  contradiction  at  his  own  table. 
He  was  amazingly  loyal,  and  talked  of  standing  by 
the  throne  to  the  last  guinea,  "  as  every  gentleman 
of  fortune  should  do."  The  village  exciseman,  who 
was  half  asleep,  could  just  ejaculate,  "  very  true,"  to 
every  thing  he  said. 

The  conversation  turned  upon  cattle  ;  he  boasted 
of  his  breed,  his  mode  of  managing  it,  and  of  the 
general  management  of  his  estate.  This  unluckily 
drew  on  a  history  of  the  place  and  of  the  family. 
He  spoke  of  my  late  uncle  with  the  greatest  irrever- 
ence, which  I  could  easily  forgive.  He  mentioned 
my  name,  and  my  blood  began  to  boil.  He  described 
my  frequent  visits  to  my  uncle  when  I  was  a  lad,  and 
1  found  the  varlet,  even  at  that  time,  imp  as  he  was. 
had  known  that  he  was  to  inherit  the  estate. 

He  described  the  scene  of  my  uncle's  death,  and 
the  opening  of  the  will,  with  a  degree  of  coarse 
humour  that  I  had  not  expected  from  him ;  and, 
vexed  as  I  w.is,  I  could  not  help  joining  in  the  laugh ; 
for  I  have  always  relished  a  joke,  even  though  made 
at  my  own  expense.  He  went  on  to  speak  of  my 
various  pursuits ;  my  strolling  freak,  and  that  some- 
what nettled  me.  At  length  he  talked  of  my  parents. 
He  ridiculed  my  father:  I  stomached  even  that, 
'.-ougb  with  great  difficulty.     He  mentioned  mf 


1^, 


■I 


I'-  ■  ■ 


1188 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


v. 


ti 


,    1 
1. 


■■^  •  ■;■ , 

Sit 


; 


4,    ■'    l<'f» 


'I  A 


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4  -■  '^-4 

'it'-  '.-T-*'.' 


v-.'i 


It'* 


i^H 


in  an  Instant  he  lay 


(tiother  with  a  sneer — and 
«pra\vling  nt  tny  feet. 

Here  a  scene  of  tumuli  succeeded.  The  table  w.ns 
ncirly  overturned.  Mottles,  glasses,  and  t.ink.irtlH 
rolled  crashing  and  cl.ttii-ring  about  the  Hoor.  VUe 
company  seized  hold  o(  both  of  us  to  Iteep  us  from 
doing  farther  misciuef.  I  struijjjied  to  g»rt  loose,  for 
I  was  Iwiling  with  fury.  My  cousin  cletied  mi;  to 
«trip  and  fight  him  on  the  lawn.  1  agreed  ;  for  I 
!tU  the  strength  of  a  giant  in  me,  and  1  lunged  to 
;;iimmel  him  soundly. 

Away  then  we  were  borne.  A  ring  w.is  formed. 
1  had  a  second  assinncd  me  in  true  boxing  style.  My 
cousin,  as  he  advanced  to  fight,  said  something  about 
his  generosity  in  showing  me  such  fair  play,  when  I 
h.-id  made  such  .in  utiprovoked  attack  upon  him  at 
his  own  table, 

"  Stop  there  ! "  crirri  I,  in  a  rage—"  unprovoked  ! 
— know  that  I  am  John  Hue kt home,  and  you  have 
insulted  the  memory  of  my  mother." 

The  lout  was  suddiidy  struck  by  what  I  said.  He 
drew  back  and  retlecti'd  for  a  moment. 

"  N.iy,  damn  it,"  said  he,  "that's  too  much— th.it's 
clear  another  thing.  I've  a  mother  myself,  and  no 
one  shall  spi-.ik  ill  of  her,  b.ul  as  shi:  is,  ' 

He  paused  again.  Nature  seemed  to  have  a  rough 
struggle  in  his  ru>lc  bosom. 

"  Damn  it,  cousin,"  cried  he,  "  I'm  sorry  for  what 
I  said.  Thou'st  served  me  light  in  knocking  me 
dov/n,  and  I  like  thee  the  lietter  for  it.  Here  s  my 
hand.  Come  and  live  with  me,  and  damme  but  the 
best  room  in  the  house,  and  the  b«:.u  horse  in  the 
•table,  shall  be  at  thy  service." 

I  declare  to  you  1  wiis  strongly  moved  at  this  in- 
stance of  nature  breaking  her  W3y  through  such  a 
lump  of  flesh.  I  forgave  the  lellow  in  a  moment  all 
bis  crimes  of  having  been  born  in  wedlock  and  in- 
*ieriting  my  estate,  I  shook  the  hand  he  offereil  me, 
^n  convince  him  that  I  bore  him  no  ill  will ;  and 
hen  m.iking  my  way  through  the  gaping  crowd  of 
iccd-^aters,  bade  .idieu  to  my  uncle's  domains  for- 
ever. This  is  the  List  I  have  seen  or  heard  of  my 
cousin,  or  of  the  domestic  concerns  of  Doubting 
Castle. 


THE  STROLLING  MANAGER, 


AS  I  was  walking  one  morning  with  Buckthome, 
near  one  of  the  principal  theatres,  ne  directed  my  at- 
tention to  a  group  of  those  equivocal  beings  that 
may  often  be  seen  hovering  about  the  stage-doors  of 
theatres.  They  were  marvellously  ill-favoured  in 
their  attire,  their  coats  buttoned  up  to  their  chins ; 
yet  they  wore  their  hats  smartly  on  one  side,  and  had 
a  certain  knowing,  dirty-gentlem.anlike  air,  which  is 
common  to  the  subalterns  of  the  drama.  Buck- 
thorne  knew  them  well  by  early  experience. 

These,  said  he,  are  the  ghosts  of  departed  kings 
and  heroes ;  fellows  who  sw.iy  sceptres  and  trunch- 
erns ;  command  kingdoms  and  armies ;  and  after 
fiving  away  realms  and  treasures  over  night,  have 
Marc.c  a  shilling  to  pay  for  a  breakfast  in  the  morn- 
ng.  Yet  they  have  the  true  vagabond  abhorrence 
if  ail  useful  and  industrious  employment ;  and  they 
\ave  their  pleasures  too  :  one  of  which  is  to  lounge 
m  this  way  in  the  sunshine,  at  the  stage-door,  during 
rehearsals,  and  make  hackneyed  theatrical  jokes  on 
all  passers-by. 

Nothing  is  more  traditional  and  legitim.ite  than 
the  stage.  Old  scenery,  old  clothes,  old  sentiments, 
(rid  ranting,  and  old  jokes,  are  handed  down  from 
generation  to  generation ;  and  will  probably  continue 


to  be  so,  until  time  shall  be  no  more.  E>Rry  lun^f  I 
on  of  n  theatre  becomes  a  wag  by  in.icni.iiicr,  and  I 
flourishes  about  at  tap-rooms  antl  six-pmny  cjuhi,] 
with  the  property  jokes  of  the  green'room. 

While  amuMiig  ourselves  with  reconnoiinntr  ^\^\^\ 
group,  we  noticed  one  in  particular  who  .i|i|v,irwj 
to  be  the  or.acle.     He  was  a  wealher-beaipn  vt  ;praa, 
a  littled  broniied  by  time  and  beer,  wlm  li.id  f^A 
doubt,  grown  gray  in  the  parts  o:  robhi  is,  cirdmaj.-, 
Roman  senators,  and  walking  ncblcmen. 

"  There's  something  in  the  set  of  that  li.it,  .mil  the  1 
turn  of  that  physiognomy,  that  is  extrcmdv  l.innliar 
to  me,"  said  Hucklhorne.  He  looked  a  liiilr  (|„stf, 
"  I  cannot  be  mistaken,"  added  he,  "  tli.it  musi  be  I 
my  old  brother  of  the  truncheon,  Flimsey,  ili«  tra^c 
hero  of  the  strolling  company." 

It  w.as  he  in  fact.  The  poor  fellow  showed  evident  I 
signs  that  times  went  hard  with  him ;  hi-  w.,s  so 
linely  and  shabbily  dressed.  His  coat  w.i,  ^omt. 
what  threadbare,  and  of  the  Lord  Townly  cut;! 
single-breasled,  and  scarcely  capable  of  nurtiin;  i^ 
front  of  his  body  ;  which,  from  long  intimu  y,  jnu]  | 
acquired  the  symmetry  and  rol)ustiiess  ol  i  iiecr. 
barrel.  He  wore  a  nair  of  dingy  white  siuikintt  1 
pantaloons,  which  h;ui  much  ado  to  reach  h  ^  waist 
cofit ;  a  great  quantity  of  dirty  cravat  j  and  ii  i)air  of 
old  russet-coloured  tragedy  boots. 

When  his  companions  had  dispersed,  Hurkitiorne 
drew  him  aside  and  made  himself  known  td  him, 
The  tragic  veteran  could  scarcely  recogni/e  liim,  or 
believe  that  he  was  really  his  quondam  associite 
"  little  gentleman  Jack."  Buckthome  invited  liim  to 
a  neighbouring  colfee-house  to  talk  over  old  imics; 
and  in  the  course  of  a  little  while  we  were  put  ir 
possession  of  his  history  in  brief. 

He  had  continued  to  act  the  heroes  in  the  strolling 
company  for  some  time  after  Hucklhorne  had  left  it 
or  rather  had  been  driven  from  it  so  ahru|>ily.  At 
length  the  manager  died,  and  the  troop  was  iluown 
into  confusion.  Every  one  .xsnired  to  the  irown; 
every  one  was  for  taking  the  lead  ;  and  the  ninnn^jcr's 
widow,  although  a  tr.agedy  queen,  and  a  brim  tone 
to  boot,  pronounced  it  utterly  impossible  tokerpanj 
controul  over  such  a  set  of  tempestuous  rascallmns. 
Upon  this  hint  I  spoke,  saiu  Flimsey — 1  sti  jipnl 
forward,  and  oflered  my  services  in  the  most  tiin  lu.il 
way.  'rhey  were  accepted.  In  a  week's  lime  I 
married  the  widow  anil  succeeded  to  tiie  throne. 
"  The  funeral  baked  meats  did  coldly  furnisli  i nrtli 
the  marriage  table,"  as  Hamlet  says.  But  the  i;host 
of  my  predecessor  never  haunted  me ;  and  I  iniicnt. 
ed  crowns,  sceptres,  bowls,  daggers,  and  all  tlu-  si,.^.: 
trappings  and  trumpery,  not  omitting  the  widow. 
witnout  the  least  molestation. 

I  now  led  a  flourishing  life  of  it ;  for  our  company 
was  pretty  strong  and  att  \clive,  and  as  my  wile  .in! 
I  took  the  heavy  parts  of  tragedy,  it  was  a  great 
saving  to  the  treasury.  We  carried  olTthe  i)alin  iroin 
all  the  rival  shows  at  country  fairs ;  and  I  as.sure  you 
we  have  even  drawn  full  houses,  and  been  appl  uidtd 
by  the  critics  at  Bartlemy  fair  itself,  though  we  h.iJ 
Astley's  troupe,  the  Irish  giant,  and  "the  death  of 
Nelson  "  in  wax-work  to  contend  against. 

1  soon  began  to  experience,  however,  th<  tares  ol 
comin.ind.  I  discovered  that  there  were  talwi 
breaking  out  in  the  company,  headed  by  the  clown, 
who  you  may  recollect  was  a  terribly  peevish,  frac- 
tious fellow,  and  always  in  ill-humour.  1  had  a  ^ka\ 
mind  to  turn  him  off  at  once,  but  I  could  not  do 
without  him,  for  there  was  not  a  droller  scoundrel 
on  the  stage.  His  very  shape  was  comic,  for  he  hail 
but  to  turn  his  back  upon  the  audience  and  all  iht 
ladies  were  ready  to  die  with  laughing.  He  felt  his 
importance,  and  took  advantage  of  it.  He  would 
keep  the  audience  in  a  continual  roar,  and  then  coint 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER 


881 


nore.    E^erylunw, 

hv  in.T-n(,-,t,ce.  ,„4 

.ml  »ix.|H>nny  duhi 

'fcn-roorn.  I 

h  reconnoilritij;  (U 

cular  wh„  ..|,|^.a,,^ 

ither-heau-n  vtirraa. 

beer.  wti..  I,,,,!  no 

>.  robbn  s.  crdinab, 

cblcineii. 

of  that  lint,  ami  the 
i»  cxlrL-incIv  l.iniiiia, 
ookcd  ii  liiilr  iloser. 
he,  "  that  niiisi  be 
•  '''lirnsey.  tin-  ira^jc 

;IIow  showi'd  evident 

ith  hitn;  hr  w,-,,  jo 

lis  coat  was  some. 

Lord     I  ownly  cut' 

)at)Ie  ol'  mil  tiiijr  j,,' 

lonjr  intii„,i,,y^  l,.yj 

business  ol    i  i„.ef. 

riKT  white  sinrkinet 

o  to  reach  \vs  w^si 

ravat ;  and  ii  |i,,ir  of 

:s. 

spersed.  HiK-kthorne 
isclf  known  in  him, 
rly  recoirni^e  iii,,,  ^j 

quondam  associate 
ihorne  invited  hiin  to 
talk  over  old  tuncj; 
[hile  we  were  put  ir 

erocs  in  the  strollinj; 
jckthorne  had  left  j^ 
|i  it  so  abruptly.  At 
le  troop  was  thrown 
pired  to  the  irown; 
I ;  an<l  the  inanaj;cr  $ 
:n,  and  a  briinstont 
ipossibie  tokfipapj 
)estuous  rascallKins. 
Fliinsey— I  si.jipcd 
in  the  most  eth  c  lu.il 
n  a  week's  timt  1 
:ded  to  tiie  thtonf. 
coidiy  furnish  t^rth 
says.  'But  thf -liosi 
il  me ;  and  I  iniicnt. 
;ers,and  all  ihcsiu^s 
intiitting  the  wiijuw. 

it;  for  our  company 
,  and  as  my  wile  and 
;edy,  it  was  a  great 
ed  olT  the  palm  iroin 
rs  ;  and  I  assure  you 

and  been  appi  uidcd 
tself,  though  we  had 

and  "  the  death  of 
d  against, 
awevcr,  th<  tares  ol 

there  were  tal)aii 
?aded  by  the  clown, 
:rribly  peevish,  frac- 
mour.  I  had  a  ^rrtl 

but  I  could  not  i!o 

a  droller  scoundrel 
as  comic,  for  hr  haJ 
udience  and  all  the 
ighing.  He  felt  his 
e  of  it.  He  wnuld 
roar,  and  then  coin< 


Uhind  the  accnes  «ncl  (Vet  and  fume  and  play  the 

J,ery<l''vil.    I  excused  a  great  deal  in  him,  however, 

|tinwin){  that  comic  actors  are  a  little  prone  to  this 

Iwrmitv  of  temper. 

1  h.ii!  mother  trouble  of  a  nearer  and  dearer  nat- 

Lfe  to  stru^Kle  with;  which  was,  the  atTcction  of 

Lywife.  As  ill  luck  would  have  it,  she  took  it  into 
Jet  head  to  l)e  very  fond  of  me,  and  became  intoler- 
ably jC'^luus.  I  could  not  keep  a  pretty  girl  in  the 
C3inp"y  *"*'  hardly  dared  etnbrace  an  u>;ly  one, 
(ven  when  my  part  required  it.     1  h.ivc  known  her 

L  reduce-  a  fine  lady  to  utters,  "  to  very  rags,"  :is 
Kimlct  says,  in  an  in'  tant,  and  destroy  one  of  the 

Ler)' Ix'st  dresses  in  the  wardrobe;  merely  because 

ilieww  me  kiss  her  at  the  side  scenes; — though  I 

yve  you  my  honour  it  was  done  tncrely  by  way  of 

rehearsal. 

This  w.'is  doubly   annoying,   because    I   have  a 

I  natural  liking  to  pretty  faces,  and  wish  to  h.ive  them 
ibiiut  me ;  and  oecaiise  they  are  indispensable  to 
ihe  success  of  a  company  at  a  fair,  where  one  has 
10  vie  with  so  tnany  rival  theatres.  But  when  once 
iji'alous  wiie  /ets  a  freak  in  her  head  tiiere's  no  use 

I  inialkmj,'  o»  interest  or  any  thing  else.  Eg.-\d,  sirs, 
I  have  more  than  once  trembled  when,  during  a  tit 

j  01  her  tantrums,  she  was  playinj;  hi^jh  tragedy,  and 
jourisliing  her  tin   dagger  on  the  stage,  lest    she 

I  ihiHild  give  way  to  her  humour,  and   stab  some 
ancifd  rival  in  good  earnest. 
1  went  on  better,  however,  than  could  be  expected. 

I  con5idi:ring  the  weakness  of  my  tlesh  and  the  violence 
of  my  rib.  I  h.ad  not  a  much  worse  time  of  it  than 
old  Jupiter,  whose  spouse  was  continually  ferreting 
out  some  new  intrigue  and  making  the  heavens  al- 
giost  too  hot  to  hold  him. 

At  length,  as  luck  would  have  it,  we  were  per- 
lorming  at  a  country  fair,  when  I  understood  the 
heatre  of  a  neighbouring  town  to  be  v.acant.  I  had 
ilways  been  desirous  to  be  enrolled  in  a  settled 
cuii.p any,  and  the  height  of  my  desire  was  to  get  on 
ipar  with  a  brother-in-  law,  who  was  manager  of  a 
r.'gulir  theatre,  and  who  had  looked  down  upon  me. 
Here  WIS  an  opportunity  not  to  be  neglected.  1 
concluded  an  agreement  with  the  proprietors,  and  in 
I  few  (lays  opened  the  theatre  with  great  eclat. 

Behold  me  now  at  the  summit  of  my  ambition. 
"the  high  top-gallant  of  my  joy,"  as  'Ihoinas  says. 
Nc  Ion;;er  a  chieftain  of  a  wandering  lril)e,  but  the 
monanti  of  a  legitimate  throne — and  entitled  to  ci^li 
'vcn  tlie  gre.at  potentates  of  Covent  Garden  and 
Dniry  Lane  cousin. 

You  no  doubt  think  my  happiness  cv>mplete. 
Alas,  sir !  I  w.is  one  of  the  most  uiu>omtbrtablc 
dogs  living.  No  one  knows,  who  h.as  not  tried,  the 
miseries  of  a  man.iger ;  but  above  all,  of  a  country 
manager — no  one  can  conceive  the  contentions  and 
Quarrels  within  doors,  the  oppressions  and  vexations 
l^rom  without. 

1  was  pestered  with  the  bloods  and  loungers  of  a 
country  town,  who  infested  my  green-room,  and 
played  the  mischief  among  my  actresses.  But  there 
ras  no  shaking  them  off.  It  would  have  been  ruin 
to  affront  them ;  for,  though  troublesome  friends, 
they  would  have  been  dangerous  enemies.  Then 
there  were  the  village  cnncs  and  village  amateurs, 
who  were  continuHiily  tormenting  me  with  advice, 
»nd  getting  into  a  passion  if  I  would  not  take  it : — 
specially  tne  village  doctor  and  the  vill.age  attorney; 
who  had  both  been  to  London  occasionally,  and 
knew  what  acting  should  be. 

I  had  also  to  manage  as  arrant  a  crew  of  scape- 
graces as  were  ever  collected  together  within  the 
walls  ot  a  theatre.  I  had  been  obliged  to  combine 
myorii^nnal  troujie  with  some  of  the  former  troupe  of 
the  theatdc,  whio  were  favourites  with  the  public. 


Here  was  a  mixture  that  produced  per|  etual  fe  inent 
They  were  all  the  lime  either  lighting  or  frolicking 
with  c.nch  other,  and  I  scaii  ely  knew  which  mood 
was  least  troublesome.  If  they  (|tia'relle«l.  every 
thing  went  wrong;  and  ii  they  wer:  Iriends.  they 
were  continually  playing  olf  some  ciinfoiinded  pr.tni 
upon  each  oth'-r,  or  n^on  m*  :  lor  I  li.id  uiihappil) 
nc(|uired  among  then>  the  character  of  ,in  easy,  gocxl- 
natured  fellow,  the  worst  character  thai  a  manag.n 
can  possess. 

Their  waggery  at  times  drove  me  almost  crazy 
for  there  is  nothing  so  vi-xalious  as  the  hackneyed 
tricks  and  hoaxes  and  pleasantries  of  a  veteran  band 
of  theatrical  vagabonds,  I  r.  lished  ihem  well  enough, 
it  is  true,  while  I  was  nuntly  .>ne  of  the  company, 
but  as  manager  I  found  them  ■  letestable.  They  were 
incessantly  bringing  some  ilisgr.ice  upon  the  tneatre 
by  their  tavern  Indicks,  and  tht:ir  pranks  about  the 
country  town.  All  my  leriures  upon  the  importance 
of  keeping  up  the  dignity  ol  the  profession,  and  the 
respectability  of  the  company  were  in  vain.  The 
villains  could  not  syinpailiize  with  the  delicate  feel- 
ings of  a  man  in  station.  They  ""vcn  trilled  with  the 
.seriousness  of  stage  business.  1  h  ive  had  the  whole 
piece  interrupted  and  a  crowded  audience  of  at  least 
twenty-tive  pounds  kept  wailing,  bet.iuse  the  .actors 
had  hid  away  the  breeches  of  Rosalind ;  and  have 
known  Hamlet  stalk  solemnly  on  to  deliver  his  solil- 
o(|uy,  with  a  dish-clout  pinned  to  his  skirls.  Such 
are  the  baleful  conse(|uences  of  a  manager's  getting 
a  character  for  good  nature. 

I  was  intolerably  annoyed,  too,  by  the  great  actor* 
who  c.'ime  down  start  im::,  as  it  is  called,  from  Lon- 
don. Of  all  baneful  intluences,  keep  me  from  that 
of  a  London  st  ir.  A  lirst-rate  actress,  going  the 
rounds  of  the  country  theatres,  is  as  bad  as  a  bUzirg 
comet,  whisking  about  the  heavens,  and  shaking 
fire,  and  pl.agues.  and  discords  from  its  tail. 

The  moment  one  of  these  "  heavenly  iiodies"  ap- 
peared on  my  horizon,  I  w.as  sure  to  be  !n  hot  water. 
My  theatre  was  overrun  by  provincial  dandies,  cop- 
per-washed counterfeits  of  Bond-street  loungers ; 
who  are  .always  proud  to  be  in  the  train  of  an  actress 
from  town,  and  anxious  to  be  thought  on  exceeding 
good  terms  with  her.  It  was  really  a  relief  to  me 
when  some  random  young  nobleman  would  come  in 
pursuit  of  the  bait,  and  awe  all  this  small  fry  to  a 
distance.  I  have  always  felt  myself  more  at  ease 
with  a  nobleman  than  with  the  dandy  of  a  country 
town. 

And  then  the  injuries  I  suffered  in  my  personal 
dignity  and  my  manageri.al  authority  from  the  visits 
of  these  great  London  actors.  Sir,  I  was  no  longer 
master  of  myself  or  my  throne.  1  was  hectored  and 
lectured  in  my  own  green-room,  and  made  an  abso- 
lute nincompoop  on  my  own  stage.  There  is  no 
tyrant  so  absolute  and  capricious  as  a  London  stai 
at  a  country  theatre. 

I  dreaded  the  sight  of  all  of  them ;  and  yet  if  I 
did  not  eng.age  them,  i  was  sure  of  having  the  pub- 
lic clamourous  against  me.  They  drew  full  houses, 
and  appeared  to  be  making  my  fortune ;  biit  thr;y 
swallowed  up  all  the  profits  by  their  itisati.able  de- 
mands. They  were  absolute  tape-worms  to  my  little 
theatre;  the  more  it  took  in,  the  poorer  it  grew. 
They  were  sure  to  leave  me  with  an  exhausted  pu}>- 
iic,  empty  benches,  and  a  score  or  two  of  affronts  to 
settle  among  ths  townsfolk,  in  consequence  of  rrr.s- 
understandings  about  the  taking  of  places. 

But  the  worst  thing  I  had  to  undergo  in  nr.y  man- 
agerial career  was  patronage.  Oh,  sir,  of  all  things 
deliver  me  from  the  patronage  of  the  great  people 
of  a  country  town.  It  was  my  ruin.  You  must  know 
that  this  town,  though  small,  was  filled  with  feuds  , 
and  parties,  and  great  folks  ;  oeing  a  busy  little  trad 


m 


880 


WORKS  OP  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


j^. 


^tf- 


ing  and  maii.utacturing  town.  The  mischief  was, 
,  that  their  greatness  was  of  a  kind  not  to  be  settled 
by  reference  to  the  court  calendar,  or  college  of  her- 
aldry. It  was  therefore  the  most  quarrelsome  kind 
of  greatness  in  existence.  You  smile,  sir,  but  let  me 
tell  you  there  are  no  feuds  more  furious  than  the 
frontier  feuds,  which  take  place  on  these  "  debat- 
able lands  "  of  gentility.  The  most  violent  dispute 
that  I  ever  knew  in  high  life,  was  one  that  occurred 
it  a  country  town,  on  a  question  of  precedence  be- 
fween  the  ladies  of  a  manufacturer  of  pins,  and  a 
manufacturer  of  '■•.cedles. 

At  the  town  where  I  was  situated  there  were  per- 
cefjal  altercations  of  the  kind.  The  head  manu- 
facturer's lady,  for  mstance,  was  at  daggers  draw- 
ings with  the  head  shopkeeper's,  and  both  were  too 
rich  and  had  too  many  frieiuls  to  be  treated  lightly. 
The  doctor's  and  lawyer's  ladies  held  their  heads 
Still  higher ;  but  they  in  their  turn  were  kept  in 
check  by  tlie  wife  of  a  country  banker,  who  kept  her 
own  carriage ;  while  a  masculine  widow  of  cracked 
character,  and  second-hand  fashion,  who  lived  in  a 
large  house,  and  was  in  some  way  related  to  nobil- 
ity, looked  down  uiwn  them  all.  She  had  been  ex- 
iled from  the  great  world,  but  here  she  ruled  abso- 
lute. To  be  sure  her  manners  were  not  over-ele- 
gant, nor  her  fortune  over-large ;  but  then,  sir.  her 
blood — oh,  her  blood  carried  it  all  hollow;  there 
was  no  withstanding  a  woman  with  such  blood  in 
her  veins. 

After  all,  she  had  frequent  battles  for  precedence 
at  balls  and  assemblies,  with  some  of  the  sturdy 
dames  of  the  neighbourliood,  who  stood  upon  their 
wealth  and  their  reputations ;  but  then  she  had  two 
dashing  daughters,  who  dressed  as  fine  as  dragons, 
tnd  bar*  as  high  blood  as  their  mother,  and  second- 
sri  ber  in  every  thing.  So  they  carried  their  point 
with  hi^h  heads,  and  every  body  hated,  abused,  and 
atood  in  s.we  of  the  Fantadlins. 

Such  was  the  state  of  the  fashionable  world  in  this 
lelf-important  little  town.  Uniuckily  I  was  not  as 
well  acquainted  with  its  politics  as  I  should  have 
been.  1  had  found  myself  a  stranger  and  in  great 
perplexities  during  my  first  season ;  I  detennined, 
therefore,  to  put  myself  under  the  patronage  of 
some  powerful  name,  and  thus  to  take  the  field 
with  the  prejudices  of  the  public  in  iny  favour.  I 
c.vst  round  my  thoughts  for  the  purpose,  and  in  an 
e\il  hour  they  fell  upon  Mrs.  Fantadlin.  No  one 
seemed  to  me  to  have  a  more  absolute  sway  in  the 
w(>rld  of  fashion.  I  had  cdways  noticed  that  her 
paity  slammed  the  box  door  the  loudest  at  the  the- 
atre ;  had  most  beaux  attending  on  them  ;  and  talked 
and  laughed  loudest  during  the  performance ;  and 
then  the  Miss  Fantadlins  wore  always  more  feathers 
and  tlowers  than  any  other  ladles ;  and  used  quizzing 
glasses  incessantly.  The  first  evening  of  my  thea- 
tre's reopening,  therefore,  was  announced  in  fiaring 
capitals  on  the  pl.iy  bills,  "  under  the  patronage  of 
the  Honourable  Mrs.  Fantadlin." 

Sir,  the  whole  community  tlcw  to  arms  1  The 
banker's  wife  felt  her  dignity  grievously  insulted  at 
not  having  the  preference ;  her  husband  being  high 
bailiff,  and  the  richest  man  in  the  place.  She  imme- 
diately issued  invitations  for  a  large  party,  for  the 
iiight  of  the  jjerformance,  and  asked  many  a  lady  to 
it  whom  she  never  had  noticed  before.  The  fashion- 
able world  had  long  groaned  under  the  tyranny  of 
the  Fantadlins,  and  were  glad  to  make  a  common 
cause  against  this  new  instance  of  assumption. — 
Presume  to  patronize  the  theatre !  insutferable ! 
Those,  too,  who  had  never  before  been  noticed  by 
the  banker's  lady,  were  ready  to  enlist  in  any  quar- 
rel, for  the  honour  of  her  acquaintance.  All  minor 
feuds  were  therefore  forgotten.    The  doctor's  lady 


and  the  lawyer's  lady  met  together ;  and  the  maniv| 

facturer's  lady  and  the  shopkeeper's  lady  kissed  each! 
other ;  and  all,  headed  by  the  banker's  lady,  votedl 
the  theatre  a  iore,  and  determined  to  encouraetl 
nothing  but  the  Indian  Jugglers,  and  Mr.  Walkepjl 
Eidonianeon.  I 

Alas  for  poor  Pillgarlick  I  I  little  knew  th;  mis.! 
chief  that  was  brewing  against  me.  My  Imx  booil 
remained  blank.  The  evening  arrived,  hut  no  au-f 
dience.  The  music  struck  up  to  a  toleral.le  pit  andl 
gallery,  but  no  fashionables!  I  peeped  .iiuiouslvl 
from  behind  the  curtain,  but  the  time  passu!  away  I 
the  play  was  retarded  until  pit  and  gallery  hecanitl 
furious ;  and  1  had  to  raise  the  curtain,  and  |)lay  my  I 
greatest  part  in  tragedy  to  "  a  beggarly  account  of  | 
empty  boxes." 

It  is  true  the  Fantadlins  came  late,  as  was  their  I 
custom,  and  entered  like  a  tempest,  with  a  lluiterof  I 
feathers  and  red  shawls;    but  they  were  eviiltmlyl 
disconcerted  at   finding  they  had  no  one  to  admirt 
and  envy  them,  and  were  enraged  at  this  gl.iriiv^rde. 
fection  of  their  fashionable  followers.     All  tiie  lieau. 
monde  were  engaged  at  the  banker's  lady's  rout,  I 
They  remamed  for  some  time  in  solitary  and  uiicom- 1 
fortable  state,  and  though  they  had  the  tticaire  al 
most   to  themselves,   yet,   for  the  first  time,  they 
talked   in  whispers.      They  left   the   house  at  the 
end  of  the  first  piece,  and  I  never  saw  ihcin  after- 1 
wards. 

Such  was  the  rock  on  which  I  split.  I  never  got  1 
over  the  patronage  of  the  Fantadlin  family.  It  be- 
came  the  vogue  to  abuse  the  theatre  and  dfclare  the 
performers  shocking.  An  equestrian  troupe  opened  a 
circus  in  the  town  abojt  the  same  time,  and  lose  oj 
my  ruins.  My  house  was  deserted  ;  my  actors  grew 
discontented  because  they  were  ill  paid  ;  my  door 
became  a  hammering-pl.ice  for  every  bailiff  in  ihj 
county ;  and  my  wife  became  more  and  more 
shrewish  and  tormenting,  the  more  1  wanted  corn- 1 
fort. 

The  est.ablishment  now  became  a  scene  of  confu. 
sion  and  peculation.  I  was  considered  a  ruined 
man,  and  of  course  fair  game  for  every  one  to  pluck 
at,  as  every  one  plunders  a  sinking  ship.  Day  after 
day  some  of  the  troupe  deserted,  and  like  deserting 
soldiers,  carried  off  their  arms  and  accoutrements 
with  them.  In  this  manner  my  wardrobe  took  legs 
and  walked  away ;  my  finery  strolled  all  over  the 
country ;  my  swords  and  daggers  glittered  in  every 
bam  ;  until  at  last  my  tailor  made  "  one  fell  swoop,' 
and  carried  off  three  dress  coatr,  half  a  dozen 
doublets,  and  nineteen  pair  of  flesh-coloured  panta- 
loons. 

This  was  the  "be  all  and  the  end  all  "  of  niy  for- 
tune. I  no  longer  hesitated  what  to  do.  Egad, 
thought  I,  since  stealing  is  the  order  of  the  day,  I'll 
steal  too.  So  I  secretly  gathered  together  the  jewels 
of  my  wardrobe  ;  packed  up  a  hero's  dress  in  a  hand- 
kerchief, slung  it  on  the  end  of  a  tmgedy  sword,  and 
quietly  stole  off  at  dead  of  night — "the  bell  then 
beating  one," — leaving  my  queen  and  kingdom  toth« 
mercy  of  my  rebellious  subjects,  and  n.y  mercilcsi 
foes,  the  bum-bailitfs. 

Such,  sir,  was  the  "end  of  all  my  greatness."  1 
was  heai  tily  cured  of  all  p.ission  for  goverii.ng,  and 
returned  once  more  into  the  ranks.  I  had  for  some 
time  the  usual  run  of  an  actor's  life.  I  played  ic 
various  country  theatres,  at  fairs,  and  in  bams; 
sometimes  hard  pushed ;  sometimes  flush,  iiiitil  on 
one  occasion  I  came  within  an  ace  of  making  ray 
fortune,  and  becoming  one  of  the  wonders  of  the 
age. 

I  was  playing  the  part  of  Richard  the  Third  in  i 
country  barn,  and  absolutely  "  out-Heroding  Hetod." 
An  agent  of  one  of  the  great  London  theatres  wu 


TALES   OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


891 


ither ;  and  the  rr,ana.| 

:pers  lady  kissed  each! 

banker's  lady,  vonJI 

rmined  to  encouraeel 

:rs,  and  Mr.  Walker'sl 

I  little  knew  the  mis.! 
*  me.     My  Wn  ho^A 
arrived,  luit  no  au-f 
toatoleral,K:pi,anj| 
I  peeped  anxiouslvl 
tie  time  passed  .iway' I 
and  gallfly  hecanJ 
curtain,  and  play  my  I 
'  beggarly  account  of 

■ime  late,  as  was  their 
pest,  wilhallutterof 

_  they  were  evidtntlv 
lad  no  one  to  admirj 
red  at  this  j;l,irin|r  lie. 

lawers.  All  tiie  beau. 
banker's  lady's  rout 
n  solitary  and  uncom." 
y  had  the  theatre  al. 
the  first  time,  they 
:ft  the  house  at  tjij 
ever  saw  them  after.  | 

I  split.  I  never  got  I 
tadlin  family.  It  (jj. 
leatre  and  declare  the  I 
trian  troupe  opened  a 
ime  time,  and  rose  oa 
rted  ;  my  actors  grew 
re  ill  paid ;  -ny  door 
3r  every  baililT  in  the  | 
ne  more  and  more 
more  I  wanted  coin- 

»me  a  scene  of  confu. 

considered  a  ruined 
for  every  one  to  pluck 
iking  ship.  Day  after 
ed,  and  like  deserting 
5  and  accoutrements 
ly  wardrobe  took  legj 

strolled  all  over  the 
ers  glittered  in  every 
ide  "  one  fell  s\v(jop, 
coatF,   half   a  dozen 
flesh-coloured  panu- 

e  end  all  "  of  my  for- 
what  to  do.  Egad, 
order  of  the  day,  I'll 
d  together  tlie  jewels 
iro'b  dress  in  a  hand- 
a  tragedy  sword,  and 
ighl— "  the  l>ell  then 
n  and  kingdom  to  the 
s,  and  n.y  mercilesi 

11  my  greatness."  1 
n  for  goverfi.ng,  and 
ks.  1  had  for  some 
"s  life.  I  played  in 
lirs,  and  in  barns; 
imes  flush,  ui.til  on 
ace  of  making  my 
the  wonders  of  the 

hard  the  Third  in  a 
it-rieroding  Herod." 
ondon  theatres  wu 


present.  He  was  on  the  lookout  for  somsthing 
that  might  be  got  up  as  a  prodigy.  The  theatre,  it 
jeems,  was  in  desperate  condition — nothirj  but  a 
miracle  could  save  it.  He  pitched  upon  me  for  that 
niiracle.  I  had  a  remarkable  bluster  in  my  style,  and 
jwagger  in  my  gait,  and  having  taken  to  drink  a  little 
during  my  troubles,  my  voice  was  .somewhat  crack- 
ed ;  so  that  it  seemed  like  two  voices  run  into  one. 
The  tiiought  struck  the  agent  to  bring  me  out  as  a 
llffltrical  wonder;  as  the  restorer  of  natural  and 
i;gitimate  acting ;  as  the  only  one  who  could  under- 
itand  and  act  Shakspeare  rightly.  He  waited  ypon 
me  the  next  morning,  and  opened  his  plan.  I 
shiiink  from  it  with  becoming  modesty  ;  for  well  as 
I  thought  of  myself,  I  felt  myself  unworthy  of  such 
praise. 

"  'Sblood,  man  ! "  said  he,  "  no  praise  at  all.  You 
don't  imagine  that  I  think  you  all  this.  I  only  want 
the  public  to  think  so.  Nothing  so  easy  as  gulling  the 
public  if  you  only  set  up  a  prodigy.  You  need  not 
tiy  to  act  well,  you  must  only  act  furiously.  No 
matter  what  you  do,  or  how  you  act,  so  that  it  be 
but  odd  and  strange.  We  will  have  all  the  pit 
packed,  and  the  newspapers  hired.  Whatever  you 
do  dilTerent  from  famous  actors,  it  shall  be  insisted 
that  you  are  right  and  they  were  wrong.  If  you 
rant,  it  shall  b^  pure  passion  ;  if  you  are  vulgar,  it 
shall  be  a  touch  of  nature.  Every  one  shall  be  pre- 
pared to  fall  into  raptures,  and  shout  and  yell,  at  cer- 
tain points  which  you  shall  make.  If  you  do  but 
escape  pelting  the  first  night,  your  fortune  and  the 
fortune  of  the  theatre  is  Tiade.' 

I  set  off  for  London,  therefore,  full  of  new  hopes. 
I  was  to  be  the  restorer  of  Shakspeare  and  nature, 
ml  the  legitimate  drama ;  my  very  swagger  was  to 
be  heroic,  and  my  cracked  voice  the  standard 
of  elocution.  Alas,  sir  !  my  usual  luck  attended  me. 
Befon-  I  arrived  in  the  metropolis,  a  rival  wonder 
had  appeared.  A  woman  who  could  dance  the 
ilack  rope,  and  run  up  a  cord  from  the  stage  to  the 
gallery  with  fire-works  all  round  her.  She  was 
seized  on  by  the  management  with  avidity ;  she  was 
the  saving  of  the  great  national  theatre  for  the  sea- 
son. Nothing  was  talked  of  but  Madame  Saqui's 
lire-works  ana  flame-coloured  pantaloons  ;  and  nat- 
ure, Shakspeare,  the  legitimate  drama,  and  poor  Pill- 
garlick  were  rompletely  left  in  the  lurch. 

However,  as  the  manager  was  in  honour  bound  to 
provide  for  me,  he  kept  his  word.  It  had  been  a 
turn-up  of  a  die  whether  I  should  be  Alexander  the 
Great  or  Alexander  the  coppersmith:  the  latter  car- 
ried it.  I  could  not  be  put  at  the  head  of  the  drama, 
so  1  was  put  at  the  tail.  In  other  words,  I  was  en- 
rolled among  the  number  of  what  are  called  usfful 
men  ;  who,  let  me  tell  you,  are  the  only  comfortable 
actors  on  the  stage.  We  are  safe  from  hisses  and 
below  the  hope  of  applause.  We  fear  not  the  sue-  I 
cess  of  rivals,  nor  dread  the  critic's  pen.  So ! 
Ions;  as  we  get  the  words  of  our  parts,  and  they  are 
not  often  many,  it  is  all  we  care  for.  We  have 
our  own  merriment,  our  own  friends,  and  our  own 
admirers ;  for  every  actor  has  his  friends  and  admi- 
:trs,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest.  The  first-rate 
actor  dines  with  the  noble  amateur,  and  entertains  a 
fishionable  table  with  scraps  and  songs  and  theatri- 
cal slipHslop.  The  second-rate  actors  have  their 
iccond-rate  friends  and  admirers,  with  whom  they 
likewise  spout  tragedy  and  talk  sli|>-slop ;  and  so 
down  even  to  us ;  who  have  our  friends  and  admirers 
among  spruce  clerks  and  aspiring  apprentices,  who 
treat  us  to  a  dinner  now  and  tnen,  and  enjoy  at 
14 


tenth  hand  the  same  scraps  and  songr;  and  slip-slop 
that  have  been  served  un  by  our  more  fortunate 
brethren  at  the  tables  of  tne  great. 

I  now,  for  the  first  time  in  my  theatrical  life,  knew  ' 
what  true  pleasure  is.  I  have  known  enough  of  no- 
toriety to  pity  the  poor  devils  who  are  called  favour- 
ites of  the  public.  I  would  rather  be  a  kitten  in  rht 
arms  of  a  spoiled  child,  to  be  one  moment  petted 
and  pampered,  and  the  next  moment  thumped  <>ver 
the  head  with  the  spoon.  I  smile,  too,  to  see  ooi 
leading  actors,  fretting  themselves  with  envy  and 
jealousy  about  a  trumpery  renown,  questionable  in 
its  quality  and  uncertain  in  its  duration.  1  laugh, 
too,  though  of  course  in  my  sleeve,  at  the  bustle  and 
importance  and  trouble  and  perplexities  of  our  man- 
ager, who  is  harassing  himself  to  death  in  the  hope- 
less eflTort  to  please  every  body. 

I  have  found  among  my  fellow  subalterns  two  oi 
three  quondam  managers,  who,  like  myself,  have 
wielded  the  sceptres  of  country  theatres ;  and  we 
have  many  a  sly  joke  together  at  the  expense  of  the 
manager  and  the  public.  Sometimes,  too,  we  meei 
like  deposed  and  exiled  kings,  talk  Over  the  events 
of  our  respective  reigns ;  moralize  over  a  tankard 
of  ale,  and  laugh  at  the  humbug  of  the  great  and 
little  world  ;  which,  I  take  it,  is  the  very  essence  of 
practical  philosophy. 


Thus  end  the  anecdotes  of  Buckthome  and  his 
friends.  A  few  mornings  after  our  hearing  the  his- 
tory of  the  ex-manager,  he  bounced  into  my  room 
belore  I  was  out  of  bed. 

"  Give  me  joy  !  give  me  joy ! "  said  he,  rubbii-^ 
his  hands  with  the  utmost  glee,  "  my  great  expeclrt- 
tions  are  realized  !  " 

1  stared  at  him  with  a  look  of  wonder  and  inciuiry. 

"  My  booby  cousin  is  dead  !  "  cried  he,  "  may  ht 
rest  in  peace !  He  nearly  broke  his  neck  in  a  fail 
from  his  horse  in  a  fox-chase,  by  good  luck  he  lived 
long  enough  to  make  his  will.  He  has  made  me  his 
heir,  partly  out  of  an  odd  feeling  of  retributive  jus- 
tice, and  partly  because,  as  he  says,  none  of  his  own 
family  or  friends  knew  how  to  enjoy  such  an  estate. 
I'm  off"  to  the  country  to  take  jwssession.  I've  done 
with  authorship. — That  for  the  critics ! "  said  he, 
snapping  h's  fingers.  "Come  down  to  Doubting 
Castle  when  I  get  settled,  and  egad  !  I'll  give  you  a 
rouse."  So  saying  he  shook  me  heartily  by  the  hand 
and  bounded  off"  in  high  spirits. 

A  long  time  elapsed  betore  I  heard  from  him 
again.  Indeed,  it  was  but  a  short  time  since  that  I 
received  a  !■  iter  written  in  the  happiest  of  moods. 
He  was  getting  the  estate  into  fine  order,  every  thing 
went  to  his  wishes,  and  what  was  more,  he  was  mar- 
ried to  Sacharissa :  who,  it  seems,  had  always  enter- 
tained an  ardent  though  secret  attachment  for  him^ 
which  he  fortunately  discovered  just  after  coming  tt 
his  estate. 

"I  find,"  said  he,  "you  are  a  little  g-7entothe 
sin  of  authorship,  which  I  renounce.  If  the  anec- 
dotes I  have  given  you  of  my  story  are  of  any  in- 
terest, you  may  make  use  of  them ;  but  come  down 
to  Doubting  Castle  and  see  how  we  live,  and  I'll 
give  you  my  whole  London  life  over  a  social  gJaas; 
and  a  rattling  history  it  shall  be  about  author*  and 
reviewers."  

If  ever  I  visit  Doubting  Castle,  and  get  the  his- 
tory he  promises,  the  public  shall  be  sure  to  heai 
of  It 


'"^•■r 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


Tales  of  a  Traveller. 


PART    THIRD. 


THE  ITALIAN  BANDITTI. 


THE  INN  AT  TERRACINA. 


C;rack  !  crack  I  crack  !  crack !  crack ! 

"  Here  comes  the  estafette  from  Naples,"  said  mine 
host  of  the  inn  at  Terracina,  "  bring  out  the  relay." 

The  estafette  came  as  usual  galloping  up  the  road, 
brandishing  over  his  head  a  short-handled  whip,  with 
a  long  knotted  lash  ;  everj'  smack  of  which  made  a 
report  like  a  pistol.  He  was  a  tight  square-set  young 
fellow,  in  the  customary  uniform — a  smart  blue  coat, 
ornamented  with  facings  and  gold  lace,  but  so  short 
behind  as  to  reach  scarcely  below  his  waistt)and,  and 
cocked  up  not  unlike  the  tail  of  a  wren.  A  cocked 
hat,  edged  with  gold  lace  ;  a  pairof  stiff  riding  boots  ; 
but  instead  of  the  usual  leathern  breeches  he  had  a 
fragment  of  a  pair  of  drawers  that  scarcely  furnished 
an  apology  for  modesty  to  hide  behind. 

The  estafette  galloped  up  to  the  door  and  jumped 
(torn  his  horse. 

"  A  glass  of  rosolio,  a  fresh  horse,  and  a  pair  of 
breeches,"  said  he,  "  and  quickly— 1  am  behind  my 
lime,  and  must  be  off." 

"  San  Genaro  !  "  replied  the  host,  "  why,  where 
^ast  thou  left  thy  garment  ?  " 

"Among  the  robbers  between  this  and  Fondi." 

"  What  I  rob  an  estafette  !  I  never  heard  of  such 
folly.     What  could  they  hope  to  get  from  thee  ?  " 

"  My  leather  breeches  !  '  replied  the  estafette. 
"  rhey  were  bran  new,  and  shone  like  gold,  and  hit 
the  fancy  of  the  captain." 

"  Well,  these  fellows  grow  worse  and  worse.  To 
meddle  with  an  estafette  !  And  that  merely  for  the 
sake  of  a  pair  of  leather  breeches  !  " 

The  robbing  of  a  government  messenger  seemed 
to  strike  the  host  with  more  astonishment  than  any 
attier  enormity  that  had  taken  place  on  the  road  ;  and 
indeed  it  was  the  first  time  so  wanton  an  outrage  had 
been  committed ;  the  robbers  generally  taking  care 
".ot  to  meddle  with  any  thing  belonging  to  govern- 
ment. 

The  estafette  was  by  this  time  equipped ;  for  he 
had  rot  lost  an  instant  in  making  his  preparations 
wh'le  talking.  The  relay  was  readv :  »he  rosolio 
tossed  off.      He  grasped  the  reins  and  the  stirrup. 

"  Were  there  many  robbers  in  the  band  ?  "  said  a 
handsome,  dark  young  man,  stepping  forward  from 
''ie  dvx)r  of  the  ii;n. 

*■  As  fomiidable  a  b.ind  as  ever  I  saw,"  s.'iid  the 
estafette,  springing  into  the  saddle, 

"  Are  they  cruel  to  travellers?"  said  a  beautiful 
young  Venetian  lady,  who  had  been  hanging  on  the 
gentleman's  arm. 

"  Cruel,  signora  I "  echoed  the  estafette,  giving  a 
glance  at  the  lady  as  he  put  spurs  to  his  horse. 
'•  Cor/>o  dd  Baccol  they  stiletto  all  the  men,  and  as 
10  the  women " 

Crack  !  crack  I  crack  !  crack  I  crack  I  —  the  last 
words  were  drowned  in  the  smacking  of  the  whip, 
and  away  galloped  the  estafette  along  the  road  to 
tbe  Pontine  marshes. 


"Holy  Virgin  I"  ejaculated  the  fair  Venetian, 
"  what  will  become  of  us  ! " 

The  inn  of  Terrr.cina  stands  just  outside  of  thf. 
w.alls  of  the  old  town  of  that  name,  on  the  froutierj 
of  the  Roman  territorv-.  A  little,  lazy,  Italian  town, 
the  inhabitants  of  which,  apparently  heedless  a;id 
listless,  are  said  to  be  little  belter  than  the  brigands 
which  surround  them,  and  indied  are  half  of  ihcrr, 
s  jpposed  to  be  in  some  way  or  other  connected  with 
the  robbers.  A  vast,  rocky  height  rises  perptiulicu- 
larly  above  it,  with  the  niins  of  the  castle  of  Thco- 
doric  the  Goth,  crowning  its  summit;  before  it 
spreads  the  wide  bosom  of  the  Mediterranean,  that 
sea  without  Hux  or  retiux.  There  seems  an  idle  p.iuse 
in  every  thing  about  this  place.  The  port  is  without 
a  sail,  excepting  that  once  in  a  while  a  solitan,  feluc- 
ca may  be  seen,  disgorging  its  holy  cargo  of  baccala, 
the  meagre  provision  for  the  Quaresima  or  Lent. 
The  naked  watch  lowers,  rising  here  and  there  along 
the  coast,  speak  of  pirates  and  corsairs  which  hover 
about  these  shores:  while  the  low  huts,  as  stations 
for  soldiers,  which  dot  the  distant  road,  as  it  wimli 
through  an  olive  grove,  intimate  that  in  the  .tsrent 
there  is  danger  for  the  traveller  and  facility  for  tivc 
bandit. 

Indeed,  it  is  between  this  ov, .  .  nd  Fondi  tl.  it  thr- 
road  to  Naples  is  mostly  i'  '  /  bamliiii.    li 

winds  among  rocky  and  sc  .'  .  ii.  :es.  where  I'lC 
robbers  are  enabled  to  see  th  '  .^iter  from  a  di.- 
tance,  from  the  brows  of  hills  or  impending  preci 
pices,  and  to  lie  in  wait  for  him,  at  the  lonely  ami 
difficult  passes. 

At  the  time  that  the  estafette  made  this  sudden  ap- 
pearance, almost  in  cuerpo,  the  audacity  of  the  rjh- 
})ers  had  risen  to  an  unparalleled  height.  They  had 
their  spies  and  emissaries  in  every  town,  villaf;e,  and 
osteria,  to  give  them  notice  of  the  quality  and  imive- 
tnents  of  travellers.  They  did  not  scruple  to  send 
messages  into  the  country  towns  and  vilhis,  {lemaiid- 
ing  certain  sums  of  nioney,  or  articles  of  dress  and 
luxury  ;  with  menaces  of  vengeance  in  case  of  relu- 
sal.  They  had  plundered  carriages;  carried  people 
of  rank  and  fortune  into  the  mountains  and  obhijed 
them  to  write  for  heavy  ransoms ;  and  had  commit- 
ted outrages  on  females  who  had  fallen  in  their 
power. 

The  police  exerted  its  rigour  in  vain.  The  brigands 
were  too  numerous  and  powerful  for  a  weak  police. 
They  Were  countenanced  and  cherished  by  sevcrai 
of  the  villages  ;  and  though  now  and  then  the  liTbi 
of  malefactors  hung  blackening  in  the  trees  nea' 
which  they  had  committed  some  atrocity;  or  ihci 
heads  stuck  upon  posts  in  iron  cages  made  scr..* 
dreary  part  of  the  road  still  more  dreary,  still  they 
seemed  to  strike  dismay  into  no  bosom  but  that  of 
the  traveller. 

The  dark,  handsome  young  man,  and  the  Vene- 
tian lady,  whom  I  have  mentioned,  had  arrived  earl) 
that  f.fiernoon  in  a  private  carriage,  drawn  by  inulei 
and  attended  by  a  single  servant.  They  had  been 
-ecently  marrierl,  weie  spending  the  honeynwim  in 
ravelling  through  these  delicious  cour.tncs,  and  wer« 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELI ER. 


he  fair  Veri'tlan, 


oa  their  way  to  visit  a  rich  aunt  of  the  young  lady's 

at  Naples, 

The  lady  was  young,  and  tender  and  timid.,  The 
stories  she  had  heard  along  the  road  had  filled  her 
with  apprehension,  not  more  for  herself  than  for  her 
husband ;  for  though  she  had  been  married  almost 
a  month,  she  still  loved  him  almost  to  idoLatry. 
When  she  reached  Terracina  the  rumours  of  the 
loa'l  had  increased  to  an  alarming  magnitude  ;  and 
tit  sight  of  two  robbers'  skulls  grinning  in  iron 
cages  on  each  side  of  the  old  gateway  of  the  town 
brought  her  to  a  pause.  Her  husband  had  tried  in 
vain  to  reassure  her.  They  had  lingered  all  the 
afternoon  at  the  inn,  until  it  was  too  late  to  think  of 
starting  that  evening,  and  the  parting  words  of  the 
est.ifette  completed  her  affright. 

"  Let  us  return  to  Rome,"  said  she,  putting  her 
arm  within  her  husband's,  and  drawing  towards  him 
as  if  for  protection — "  let  us  return  to  Rome  and  give 
up  this  visit  to  Naples." 

"  And  give  up  the  visit  to  your  aunt,  too,"  said 
the  husband. 

"  Nay — what  is  mv  aunt  in  comparison  with  your 
sdlcty,'  said  she,  looking  up  tenderly  in  his  face. 

There  was  something  in  ner  tone  and  manner  that 
show?d  she  really  was  thinking  more  of  her  hus- 
band's safety  at  that  moment  than  of  her  own ;  and 
being  recently  married,  and  a  match  of  pure  affec- 
tion, too,  it  is  very  possible  that  she  was.  At  least 
her  husband  thought  so.  Indeed,  any  one  who  has 
heard  the  sweet,  musical  tone  of  a  Venetian  voice, 
and  the  melting  tenderness  of  a  Venetian  phrase, 
and  felt  the  solt  witchery  of  a  Venetian  eye,  would 
not  wonder  at  the  husband's  believing  whatever  they 
professed. 

He  clasped  the  white  hand  that  had  been  laid 
trllhin  his,  put  his  arm  round  her  slender  waist,  and 
drawing  her  fondly  to  his  bosom — "This  night  at 
!e.^st."  said  he,  "we'll  pass  at  Terracina." 

Crack  !  crack  I  crack  !  crack  !  crack  ! 

Another  apparition  of  the  road  attracted  the  at- 
tt.ntion  of  mine  host  and  his  g^uests.  From  the  road 
across  the  Pontine  marshes,  a  carriage  drawn  by 
half  a  dozen  horses,  came  driving  at  a  furious  pace 
—the  postilions  smacking  their  whips  like  mad,  as 
is  the  case  when  conscious  of  the  greatness  or  the 
munificence  of  their  fare.  It  was  a  bndaulet,  with 
a  servant  mounted  on  the  dickey.  The  compact, 
highly  finished,  yet  proudly  simple  construction  of 
the  carriage ;  the  quantity  of  neat,  well-arranged 
tnir.ks  and  conveniences  ;  the  loads  of  box  coats  and 
upper  benjamins  on  the  dickey — and  the  fresh,  burly, 
fTuff-looking  face  at  the  window,  proclaimed  at  once 
that  it  was  the  equipage  of  an  Englishman. 

*•  Fresh  horses  to  Fondi,"  said  the  Englishman, 
as  the  landlord  came  bowing  to  the  carriage  door. 

"  Would  not  his  Excellenza  alight  and  take  some 
refreshment  ?  " 

"  No — he  did  not  mean  to  eat  until  he  got  to 
Fondi ! " 

"  But  the  horses  will  be  some  time  in  getting 
rusjly-" 

"Ah — that's  always  the  case — nothing  but  delay 
ij  (his  cursed  country." 

"if  his  Excellenza  would  only  walk  into  the 
h  lase-  " 

"  No,  no,  no ! — I  tell  you  no  ! — I  want  nothing 
but  horses,  and  as  quick  as  [wssible.  John !  se-j 
that  the  horses  .are  got  ready,  and  don't  let  us  be 
kept  here  an  hour  or  two.  Tell  him  if  we're  delayed 
over  the  time,  I'll  lodge  a  complaint  with  the  post- 
mister." 

John  touched  his  hat,  and  set  off  to  obey  his 
master's  orders,  with  the  taciturn  obedience  of  an 
E-iglish  servant.    He  was  a  ruddy,  round-faced  fel- 


low, with  hair  cropped  cIo.hc;  a  short  coat,  drab 
breeches,  and  long  gaiters ;  and  appeared  to  have 
almost  as  much  contempt  as  his  master  for  every 
thing  around  him. 

In  the  meantime  the  Englishman  got  out  of  the 
carriage  and  walked  up  and  down  before  the  inn 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets :  taking  no  notice  ol 
the  crowd  of  idlrrs  who  were  gazing  at  him  and  his 
equipage.  He  was  tall,  stout,  and  well  made , 
dressed  with  nettness  and  precision,  wore  a  travel- 
ling-cap of  the  cclour  of  gingerbread,  and  had  rathei 
an  unhappy  expression  about  the  comers  of  his 
mouth  ;  partly  from  not  having  yet  made  his  dinner, 
and  partly  from  not  having  been  able  to  get  on  at  a 
greater  rate  than  seven  miles  an  hour.  Not  that  he 
n.ad  any  other  cause  for  haste  than  an  Englishman's 
usual  hurry  to  get  to  the  end  of  a  journey ;  or,  to  use 
the  regular  phrase,  "  to  get  on." 

After  some  time  the  servant  returned  from  the 
stable  with  as  ''oui  a  look  as  his  master. 

"  Are  the  horses  ready,  John  ?  " 

"  No,  sir — I  never  saw  such  a  place.  There's  no 
gettin^f  anything  done.  I  think  your  honour  had 
better  step  into  the  house  and  get  something  to  eat ; 
it  will  be  a  long  while  before  we  get  to  Fundy." 

"  D n  the  ?.'use — it's  a  mere  trick — I'll  not 

eat  any  thing,  just  tc  rpite  them."  said  the  English- 
man, still  more  crusty  at  the  prospect  of  being  so 
long  without  his  dinner. 

"  They  say  your  honour's  very  wrong,"  «aid  John, 
"  to  set  off  M  this  late  hour.  The  road's  full  of 
highwaymen." 

"  Mere  tales  to  get  custom." 

"  The  estafette  which  passed  us  was  stopped  by 
a  whole  gang,"  said  John,  increasing  his  etnphssb 
with  each  additional  piece  of  information. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it." 

"They  robbed  him  of  his  breeches,'  said  John 
giving  at  the  same  time  a  hitch  to  his  own  waist- 
band. 

"  All  humbug ! " 

Here  the  dark,  handsome  young  man  stepped  for- 
ward and  addressing  the  Englishman  very  politely 
in  broken  English,  invited  him  to  pan.-^ke  of  a 
repast  he  was  about  to  make.  "Thank'ci."  said 
the  Englisman,  thrusting  his  hands  deeper  in'o  his 
pockets,  and  casting  a  slight  side  glance  of  sus- 
picion at  the  young  man,  as  if  he  thought  from  his 
civility  he  must  have  a  design  upon  his  purse. 

"  We  shall  be  most  happy  if  you  will  do  us  that 
favour,"  said  the  lady,  in  her  soft  Venetian  dialect. 
There  was  a  sweetness  in  her  accents  that  was  most 
persu.asive.  Tl.e  Englishman  c;tst  a  look  upon  he» 
countenance ;  her  beauty  was  still  more  eloquent. 
His  features  instantly  relaxed.  He  made  ar  at- 
tempt at  a  civil  bow.  "  With  great  pleasure,  sig- 
nora,"  said  he. 

In  short,  the  eagerness  to  "get  on  "  was  suddenly 
slackened ;  the  determination  to  famish  himself  a* 
far  as  Fondi  by  way  of  punishing  the  landlord  was 
abandoned ;  John  chose  the  best  apartment  In  the 
inn  for  his  master's  reception,  and  preparations  wee 
made  to  remain  there  until  morning. 

The  carriage  was  unpacked  of  .such  of  its  contcct 
as  were  indispensable  for  the  niglit.  There  was  tbt 
usual  parade  of  trunks  and  writing-desks,  and  port- 
folios, and  dressing-boxes,  and  those  other  oppress- 
ive conveniences  which  burthen  a  comfortable  man. 
The  obscrv.ant  loiterers  about  the  inn  door,  wrapped 
up  in  great  dirt-coloured  cloaks,  with  only  a  hawk's 
eye  uncovered,  made  many  remarks  to  each  other  on 
this  quantity  of  lu^age  that  seemed  enough  for  an 
army.  And  the  domestics  of  the  inn  talked  with 
wonder  of  the  spltndid  dressing-case,  with  its  gold 
1  and  silver  furniture  that  was  spread  out  on  the  tol 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


w 


ki. 


iW-: 


,M 


lette  table,  and  the  bag  of  gold  that  chinked  as  it 
was  taken  out  of  the  trunk.  The  strange  "  Milor's  " 
wealth,  and  the  treasures  he  carried  about  him,  were 
the  talk,  that  evening,  over  all  Terracina. 

The  Englishman  took  some  time  to  make  his 
ablutions  and  arrange  his  dress  for  table,  and  after 
considerable  labour  and  eifort  in  putting  himself  at 
his  ease,  made  his  appearance,  with  stitT  white  cravat, 
his  clothes  free  from  the  least  speck  of  dust,  and  ad- 
justed with  precision.  He  made  a  formal  bow  on 
catering,  which  no  doubt  he  meant  to  be  cordial, 
but  which  any  one  else  would  have  considered  cool, 
and  took  his  seat 

The  supper,  as  it  was  termed  by  the  Italian,  or 
dinner,  as  tne  Englishman  called  it,  was  now  served. 
Heaven  and  earth,  and  the  waters  under  the  earth, 
had  been  moved  to  fumisli  it,  for  there  were  birds  of 
the  air  and  beasts  of  the  earth  and  fish  of  the 
sea.  The  Englishman's  servant,  too,  had  turned 
the  kitchen  topsy-turvy  in  his  zeal  to  cook  his  master 
a  beefsteak ;  and  made  his  ap])earance  loaded  with 
ketchup,  and  soy,  and  Cayenne  pepper,  and  Harvey 
sauce,  and  a  bottle  of  port  wine,  from  that  ware- 
house, the  carriage,  in  which  his  master  seemed 
desirous  of  carrying  England  about  the  world  with 
him.  Every  thing,  however,  according  to  the  En- 
glishman, was  execrable.  The  tureen  of  soup  was  a 
black  sea,  with  livers  and  limbs  and  fragments  of  all 
kinds  of  birds  and  beasts,  floating  like  wrecks  about 
it.  A  meagre  winged  animal,  which  my  host  called 
a  delicate  chicken,  was  too  delicate  for.  his  stomach, 
for  it  had  evidently  died  of  a  consumption.  The 
macaroai  was  smoked.  The  iieefsteak  was  tough 
buffalo's  flesh,  and  the  countenance  of  mine  host 
contirmt'd  the  assertion.  Nothing  seemed  to  hit 
his  palate  but  a  dish  of  stewed  eels,  of  which  he  ate 
•*itii  great  relish,  but  had  nearly  refunded  them 
when  told  that  they  were  vipers,  caught  among  the 
fo>cks  of  Terracina,  and  esteemed  a  great  delicacy. 

In  short,  the  Englishman  ate  and  growled,  and 
m:  and  growled,  like  a  cat  eating  in  company,  pro- 
nouncing himself  poisoned  by  every  dish,  yet  eating 
on  in  defiance  of  death  and  the  doctor.  The  Vene- 
tian lady,  not  accustomed  to  English  travellers,  al- 
most repented  having  persuaded  him  to  the  meal ; 
for  though  very  gracious  to  her,  he  was  so  crusty  to 
all  the  world  beside,  that  she  stood  in  awe  of  him. 
There  is  nothing,  however,  that  conquers  John 
Bull's  crustiness  sooner  than  eating,  whatever  may 
be  the  cookery ;  and  nothing  brings  him  into  good 
humour  with  his  company  sooner  than  eating  to- 
gether; the  Englishman,  therefore,  had  not  half 
finished  his  repast  and  his  bottle,  before  he  began 
to  think  the  Venetian  a  very  tolerable  fellow  for  a 
foreigner,  and  his  wife  almost  handsome  enough  to 
be  an  Englishwoman. 

In  the  course  of  the  repast  the  tales  of  robbers 
which  harassed  the  mind  of  the  fair  Venetian,  were 
brought  into  discussion.  The  landlord  and  the 
waiter  served  up  such  a  number  of  them  as  they 
served  up  the  dishes,  that  they  almost  frightened 
away  the  poor  Lady's  appetite.  Among  these  was 
the  story  of  the  school  of  Terracina,  still  tresh  in 
every  mind,  where  the  students  were  carried  up  the 
mountains  by  the  banditti,  in  ho])es  of  ransom,  and 
one  of  them  massacred,  to  bring  the  parents  to 
Jcmis  for  the  others.  There  was  a  story  also  of  a 
g^entleman  of  Rome,  who  delayed  remitting  the  ran- 
som demanded  for  his  son,  detained  by  the  banditti, 
and  received  one  of  his  son's  ears  in  a  letter  with 
information  that  the  other  would  be  remitted  to  him 
•oon,  if  the  money  were  not  forthcoming,  and  that 
in  this  way  he  would  receive  the  boy  by  mstalments 
until  he  came  to  terms. 

The  fair  Venetian  shuddered  as  she  heard  these 


tales.  The  landlord,  Hke  a  true  story-teller,  doiibled 
the  dose  when  he  saw  how  it  operated.  He  was  jusi 
proceeding  to  relate  the  misfortunes  of  a  great  En- 
glish lord  and  his  family,  when  the  Englishman, 
tired  of  his  volubility,  testily  interrupted  him,  and 
pronounced  these  accounts  mere  traveller's  tales,  ot 
the  exaggerations  of  peasants  and  innkeepers.  The 
landlord  was  indignant  at  the  doubt  levelled  at  hu 
stories,  and  the  innuendo  levelled  at  his  cloth;  Yn 
cited  half  a  dozen  stories  still  more  terrible,  to  cor- 
roborate  those  he  had  already  told. 

"  1  don't  believe  a  word  of  them,'  ss,id  the  En- 
glishman. 

"  But  the  robbers  had  been  tried  and  executed  " 

"  All  a  farce !  " 

"  But  their  heads  were  stuck  up  along  the  road." 

"  Old  skulls  accumulated  during  a  century." 

The  landlord  muttered  to  himself  as  he  went  out 
at  the  duor,  "San  Genaro,  come  sono  singoLtn 
questi  Inglesi." 

A  fresh  hubbub  outside  of  the  inn  announrol  the 
arrival  of  more  travellers ;  and  from  the  vanrty  of 
voices,  or  rather  clamours,  the  clattering  of  horses 
hoofs,  the  rattling  of  wheels,  and  the  general  uproar 
Iwth  within  and  without,  the  arrival  seemed  iv  be 
numerous.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  procaccio,  and  it: 
convoy — a  kind  of  caravan  of  merchandise,  thai  sets 
out  on  stated  days,  under  an  escort  of  solditry  to 
protect  it  from  the  robbers.  Travellers  avail  them- 
selves of  the  occasion,  and  many  carriages  accom- 
pany the  procaccio.  It  was  a  long  time  before 
either  landlord  or  waiter  returned,  being  hurried 
away  by  the  tempest  of  new  custom.  Whtn  mine 
host  appeared,  there  was  a  smile  of  triumph  un  hij 
countenance.— r"  Perhaps,"  said  he,  as  he  clciired 
away  the  table,  "  perhaps  the  signer  has  not  heard 
of  what  has  happened.' 

"  What  ?  "  said  the  Englishman,  drily. 

"  Oh,  the  procaccio  has  arrived,  and  has  brought 
accounts  of  fresh  exploits  of  the  robbers,  signer. 

"  Pish  I " 

"  There's  more  news  of  the  English  Milor  and  his 
family,"  said  the  host,  emphatically. 

"  An  English  lord. — What  English  lord  ?  " 

"  Milor  Popkin." 

"Lord  Popltin?    I  never  heard  of  such  a  title!" 

"  O  Sicuro — a  great  nobleman  that  passed  through 
here  lately  with  his  Milady  and  daughters — a  inag- 
nifico— one  of  the  grand  councillors  of  London— un 
almanno. " 

"  Almanno  —  almanno  ?  —  tut  I  he  means  al- 
derman." 

"  Sicuro,  aldermanno  Popkin,  and  the  principeiu 
Popkin,  and  the  signorina  Popkin  ! "  said  mine  host, 
triumphantly.  He  would  now  have  entered  into  a 
full  detail,  but  was  thwarted  by  the  Englishman 
who  seemed  determined  not  to  credit  oi  indulge  him 
in  his  stories.  An  Italian  tongue,  however,  is  not 
easily  checked  :  that  of  mine  host  continued  to  run 
oa  with  increasing  volubility  as  he  conveyed  thi 
traf,mcnts  of  the  repast  out  of  the  room,  and  tht 
last  that  could  be  distinguished  of  his  voice,  as  r 
died  away  along  the  corridor,  was  the  constant  \t 
currence  of  the  favourite  word  Popkm — Fopkin- 
Popkin — pop— pop — pop. 

The  arrival  of  the  procaccio  had  indeed  filled  the 
house  with  stories  as  it  had  with  guests.  The  En 
glishman  and  his  companions  walked  out  after  sup 
per  into  the  great  hall,  or  common  room  of  the  inn, 
which  runs  through  the  centre  building ;  a  gloomy, 
dirty-looking  apartment,  with  tables  placed  in  vari- 
ous parts  of  it,  at  whxh  some  of  the  travellers  wert 
seated  in  groups,  whLe  others  strolled  about  in  fam- 
ished impatience  for  their  evening's  meal.  As  the 
procaccio  was  a  kind  of  caravan  of  travellers,  thert 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


881 


I     he    means   al- 


ireie  people  of  every  class  and  country,  who  had 
come  m  all  kinds  of  vehicles ;  and  though  they  kept 
in  some  measure  in  separate  parties,  yet  the  being 
united  under  one  common  escort  had  jumbled  them 
into  companionship  on  the  road.  Their  formidable 
number  and  the  formidable  guard  that  accompanied 
them,  had  prevented  any  molestation  from  the  ban- 
(Jitt  ;  but  every  carriage  had  its  tale  of  wonder,  and 
gac  vied  with  another  in  the  recital.  Not  one  but 
Ijal  seen  groups  of  robbers  peering  over  the  rocks; 
jt  their  guns  peeping  out  from  among  the  bushes, 
^r  ha<t  been  reconnoitred  by  some  suspicious-looking 
fellow  with  scowling  eye.  who  disappeared  on  seeing 
the  ^lard. 

The  fair  Venetian  listened  to  all  these  stories  with 
that  eager  curiosity  with  which  we  seek  to  pamper 
any  feeling  of  alarm.  Even  the  Englishman  began 
to  leel  interested  in  the  subject,  and  desirous  of 
rainmg  more  correct  information  than  these  mere 
flyinii  reports.  He  mingled  in  one  of  the  groups 
which  appeared  to  be  the  most  respectable,  and 
whirii  was  assembled  round  a  tall,  thin  person,  with 
long  Roman  nose,  a  high  forehead,  and  lively  prom- 
inent eye,  beaming  from  under  a  green  velvet  trav- 
elling-cap with  gold  tasseL  He  was  holding  forth 
with  all  the  fluency  of  a  man  who  talks  well  and 
likes  to  exert  his  talent.  He  was  of  Rome ;  a  sur- 
geon by  profession,  a  poet  by  choice,  and  one  who 
was  something  of  an  improvvisatore.  He  soon  gave 
the  Englishman  abundance  of  information  respect- 
ing the  banditti.  "The  fact  is,"  said  he,  "that 
many  of  the  people  in  the  villages  among  the  mount- 
ains arc  robbers,  or  rather  the  robbers  find  perfect 
aaylum  among  them.  They  range  over  a  vast  ex- 
tent of  wild  impracticable  counti-y,  along  the  chain 
61  A|«r>nines,  bordering  on  different  states;  they 
iuiow  all  the  difficult  passes,  the  short  cuts  and 
jj-ong-holds.  They  are  secure  of  the  good-will  of 
'Jje  poor  and  peaceful  inhabitants  of  those  regions, 
whi-m  they  never  disturb,  and  whom  they  often  en- 
rich. Indeed,  they  are  looked  upon  as  a  sort  of  il- 
legitimate heroes  among  the  mountain  villages,  and 
some  of  the  frontier  towns,  where  they  dispose  of 
their  plunder.  From  these  mountains  they  keep  a 
look-out  upon  the  plains  and  valleys,  and  meditate 
their  descents. 

"The  road  to  Fondi,  which  you  are  about  to 
travel,  is  one  of  the  places  most  noted  for  their  ex- 
loits.  It  is  overlooked  from  some  distance  by  little 
laiiilets,  perched  upon  heights.  F"rom  hence,  the 
brigands,  like  hawks  in  their  nests,  keep  on  the 
watch  for  such  travellers  as  are  likely  to  afford 
either  booty  or  ransom.  The  windings  of  the  road 
enable  them  to  see  carriages  long  before  they  pass,  so 
that  they  have  time  to  get  to  some  advantageous  lurk- 
ing-place from  whence  to  pounce  upon  their  prey." 

"  But  why  does  not  the  police  interfere  and  root 
them  out  ?  '    said  the  Englishman. 

"  The  police  is  too  weak  and  the  banditti  are  too 
strong,"  replied  the  improvvisatore.  "To  root  them 
out  would  be  a  more  difficult  task  than  you  imagine. 
They  are  connected  and  identilied  with  the  iM;ople 
)f  the  villages  and  the  peasantry  generally ;  the  nu- 
merous bands  have  an  understanding  with  each 
other,  and  with  people  of  various  conditions  in  all 
parts  of  the  country.  They  know  all  that  is  going 
on  ;  a  jrgns  d\irmes  cannot  stir  without  their  being 
Aware  of  it.  They  have  their  spies  and  emissaries 
ui  fvery  direction ;  they  lurk  about  towns,  villages, 
inns.— mingle  in  every  crowd,  pervade  every  place 
of  resort,  I  should  not  be  surprised,"  said  he, 
"  if  some  one  should  be  supervising  us  at  this  mo- 
ment." 

The  fair  Venetian  looked  round  fearfully  and 
turned  pale.  ,    ., 


"One  peculiarity  of  the  Italian  banditti"  con 
tinned  the  improvvisatore,  "  is  that  they  wear  a  kind 
of  uniform,  or  rather  costume,  which  designates  theii 
profession.  This  is  probably  done  to  take  away  from 
Its  skulking  lawless  character,  and  to  give  it  some- 
thing of  a  miUtary  air  in  the  eyes  of  ths  coirmon 
people ;  or  perhaps  to  catch  by  outward  dash  end 
show  the  fancies  of  the  young  men  of  the  villages 
These  dresses  or  costumes  are  often  rich  and  fan ;! 
ful.  Some  wear  jackets  and  breeches  of  bright  col- 
ours, richly  embroidered ;  broad  bells  of  cloth ;  or 
sashes  of  silk  net ;  broad,  high-crowned  hats,  deco- 
rated with  feathers  or  variously-coloured  ribbands, 
and  silk  nets  for  the  hair. 

"  Many  of  the  robbers  are  peasants  who  follow 
ordinary  cccupations  in  the  villages  for  a  part  of  the 
year,  and  take  to  the  mountains  for  the  rest.  Some 
only  go  out  for  a  season,  as  it  were,  on  a  hunting  ex- 
pedition, and  then  resume  the  dress  and  habits  of 
common  life.  Many  of  the  young  men  of  the  vil- 
lages take  to  this  kind  of  life  occasionally  from  a 
mere  love  of  adventure,  the  wild  wandering  spirit  of 
youth  and  the  contagion  of  bad  example ;  but  it  is 
remarked  that  they  can  never  after  brook  a  long 
continuance  in  settled  life.  They  get  fond  of  the 
unbounded  freedom  and  rude  license  they  enjoy ; 
and  there  is  something  in  this  wild  mountain  life 
checquered  by  adventure  and  peril,  that  is  wonder- 
fully fascin.ating,  inde()endent  of  the  gratification  of 
cupidity  by  the  plunder  of  the  wealthy  traveller." 

Here  the  improvvisatore  was  interrupted  by  a 
lively  Neapolitan  lawyer.  "  Your  mention  of  the 
younger  robbers,"  said  he,  "  puts  me  in  mind  of  an 
adventure  of  a  learned  doctor,  a  friend  of  mine, 
which  happened  in  this  very  neighbourhood. 

A  wish  was  of  course  expressed  to  hear  the  advent 
ure  of  the  doctor  by  all  except  the  improvvisatore, 
who,  being  fond  of  talking  and  of  hearing  himseli 
talk,  and  accustomed  moreover  to  harangue  without 
interruption,  looked  rather  annoyed  at  being  checked 
when  in  full  career. 

The  Neapolitan,  however,  took  no  notice  of  his 
chagrin,  but  related  the  following  anecdote. 


I 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  LITTLE  ANTIQUARY. 


My  friend  the  doctor  was  a  thorough  antiquary : 
a  little,  rusty,  musty  old  fellow,  always  groping 
among  ruins.  He  relished  a  building  as  you  En- 
glishmen relish  a  cheese,  the  more  mouldy  and 
crumbling  it  was,  the  more  it  was  to  his  taste.  A 
shell  of  an  old  nameless  temple,  or  the  cracked  walls 
of  a  broken-down  amphitheatre,  would  throw  him 
into  raptures  ;  and  he  took  more  delight  in  these 
crusts  and  cheese  parings  of  antiquity  than  in  the 
best-conditioned  modern  edifice. 

He  had  taken  a  maggot  into  his  brain  at  one  time 
to  hunt  after  the  ancient  cities  of  thu  Pelasgi  which 
are  said  to  exist  to  this  day  among  the  mountains  oi 
the  Abruzzi ;  but  the  condition  of  which  is  strangely 
unknown  to  antiquaries.  It  is  said  that  he  Tiad 
made  a  gp-eat  many  valuable  notes  and  memoran- 
dums on  the  subject,  which  he  always  carried  about 
with  him,  either  for  the  purpose  of  frequent  refer- 
ence, or  because  he  feared  the  precious  documents 
miglit  fall  into  the  hands  of  brother  antiquaries.  He 
had  therefore  a  large  pocket  behind,  in  which  he 
carried  them,  banging  against  his  rear  as  he  walked. 

Be  this  as  it  may  ;  happening  to  pass  a  few  days 
at  Terracina,  in  the  course  of  his  researches,  he  one 
day  mounted  the  rocky  chfiis  which  overhang  lh< 


(196 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


hr^-i 


f!    :■*• 


■'■rs4. 


li^^ 


»;5t',*'.i 


town,  to  visit  the  castle  of  Theodoric.  He  was  grop- 
ng  about  these  ruins,  towards  the  hour  of  sunset. 
buried  in  his  reflections, — his  wits  no  doubt  wool- 
gathering among  the  Goths  and  Romans,  when  he 
heard  footsteps  tjehind  him. 

He  turned  and  beheld  live  or  six  young  fellows, 
of  rough,  saucy  deine.itiour,  clad  in  a  singular 
manner,  half  peasant,  h.ilf  huntsman,  with  fusils  in 
their  hands.  Their  whole  appearance  and  car- 
riige  left  him  in  no  doubt  into  what  company  he 
Vad  fallen. 

The  doctor  was  a  feeble  little  man,  poor  in  look 
and  poorer  in  purse.  He  had  but  little  money  in  his 
pocket  ;  but  he  had  certain  valuables,  such  as  an 
old  silver  watch,  thick  as  a  turnip,  with  figures  on  it 
large  enough  for  a  clock,  and  a  set  of  seals  at  the 
end  of  a  steel  chain,  that  dangk-d  half  down  lo  his 
knees  ;  all  which  were  of  precious  esteem,  being 
family  reliques.  He  had  also  a  seal  ring,  a  verital)le 
antique  intaglio,  that  covered  half  his  knuckles  ;  but 
what  he  most  valued  w.as.  the  precious  treatise  on 
the  Pelasgian  cities,  which  he  would  gladly  have 
given  all  the  money  in  his  pocket  to  have  had  safe 
at  the  bottom  of  his  trunk  in  Tcrracin.a. 

However,  he  plucked  up  a  stout  heart  ;  at  least  as 
stout  a  heart  as  he  could,  seemg  th.at  he  '.Vas  but  a 
puny  little  man  at  the  best  of  times.  So  he  wished 
the  hunters  a  "buon  giomo."  They  returned  his 
salutation,  giving  the  old  gentleman  a  sociable 
slap  on  the  back  that  made  nis  heart  leap  into  his 
throat. 

They  fell  into  conversation,  and  walked  for  some 
time  together  among  the  heights,  the  doctor  wishing 
them  all  the  while  at  the  bottom  of  the  crater  ol 
Vesuvius.  At  length  they  came  to  a  small  osteria 
cn  th;  mountain,  where  they  proposed  to  enter 
«;d  hav°  f  cup  of  wine  together.  The  doctor  con- 
•\'  ited  ;  though  he  would  as  soon  have  been  invited 
:r.  dhnk  hemlock. 

One  of  the  gang  remained  sentinel  at  the  door ; 
the  others  swaggered  into  the  hous^  ;  stood  their 
fusils  in  a  corner  of  the  room  ;  and  each  drawing 
a  pistol  or  stiletto  out  of  his  belt,  laid  it,  with  some 
emphasis,  on  the  table.  They  now  called  lustily  for 
wine  ;  drew  benches  round  the  table,  and  hailing 
the  doctor  as  though  he  had  been  a  boon  companion 
of  long  standing,  insisted  upon  his  sitting  down  and 
making  merry.  He  complied  with  forced  grimace, 
but  with  fear  and  trembling  ;  sitting  on  the  edge  of 
his  bench;  supping  down  heartburn  with  every  drop 
of  liquor  ;  eyeing  ruefully  the  black  muzzled  pistols, 
and  cold,  naked  stilettos.  They  pushed  the  bottle 
bravely,  and  plied  him  vigorously  ;  sang,  laughed, 
told  excellent  stories  of  robberies  and  coiiib.ats,  and 
th.e  little  <loctor  was  fain  to  laugh  at  these  cut-throat 
pleasantries,  though  his  heart  w,as  dying  away  at 
the  very  bottom  of  his  bosom. 

By  their  own  account  they  were  young  men  from 
the  villages,  who  had  recently  taken  up  this  line  of 
life  in  the  mere  wild  caprice  of  youth.  They  talked 
of  their  exploits  as  a  sportsman  talks  of  his  amuse- 
ments. To  shoot  down  a  traveller  seemed  of  little 
nncre  consequence  to  theni  than  to  shoot  a  hare. 
They  spoke  w^th  rapture  of  the  glorious  roving  life 
il.ey  led  ;  free  as  birds  ;  here  to-day.  gone  lo-'nior- 
Tow  ;  ranging  the  forests,  climbing  the  rock.s.  scoiir- 
'ng  the  valleys,  the  world  their  own  wherever  they 
cr^dd  lay  hold  oi  it  ;  full  jrurses.  merry  coiniianions  ; 
pietty  women. — The  little  anticjuary  got  fuddled  with 
their  talk  ;md  their  wine,  for  they  did  not  spate 
bumpers.  He  half  Ibrgot  his  fears,  his  seal  ring,  and 
his  family  waich ;  even  the  treatise  on  the  Pelasgian 
cities  which  was  warming  under  him,  for  a  time 
faded  from  his  memory,  in  the  glowing  picture  whfch 
they  drew.     He  declares  thdt  he  no  longer  wonders 


at  the  prevalence  of  this  robber  'nania  amonp  tin 
mountains;  for  he  felt  at  the  time,  that  had  h.'befp 
a  young  man  and  a  strong  man,  and  had  then 
been  no  danger  of  the  ealleys  in  the  hackgrnunt' 
he  should  have  been  half  tempted  hiniscll  to  lup) 
b.indil. 

At  length  the  fearful  hoi.r  of  separatinj>  arri\pt| 
The  doctor  was  suddenly  called  to  himself  aad  V,;? 
fears,  by  seeing  the  rob'jers  resume  their  weapciu 
He  new  quaked  for  his  valuables,  and  aliuve  all  for 
his  antiquarian  treatise.  He  endeavoured,  hov.'e.ev 
to  look  cool  and  unconcerned  ;  and  drew  from  oui 
of  his  ileep  pocket  a  long,  lank,  leathern  purse,  h, 
gom;  in  consumption,  at  the  bcttom  of  which  a  few 
coin  chinked  with  the  trembling  of  his  hand. 

The  chief  of  the  party  observed  his  moveiiiont; 
and  laying  his  hand  upon  the  antiquary's  shoulder— 
"  Harkee  !  Signor  Dottore  1 "  said  he,  "  v/e  have  ir.ink 
together  as  friends  and  comrades,  let  us  part  as  suoh. 
We  understand  you  ;  we  know  who  and  wli.ii  yo,; 
are  ;  for  we  know  who  every  body  is  that  sl-.eps  r.t 
Terracina,  or  that  puts  foot  upon  the  road.  Yon 
are  a  rich  man,  but  you  carry  all  your  wealth  in  youi 
head.  We  can't  get  at  it.  and  we  should  noi  know 
what  to  do  with  it.  if  we  could.  1  see  you  arc  un 
easy  about  your  ring;  but  don't  worry  your  tuind; 
it  is  not  worth  taking  ;  you  think  it  an  antique,  hut 
it's  a  couniert'eit — a  mere  sham." 

Here  the  doctor  would  have  put  in  a  word,  fur  his 
antiquarian  pride  w.as  touched. 

"  Nay,  nay,"  continued  the  other,  "we've  no  time 
to  dispute  about  it.  Value  it  as  you  please.  C:)rne, 
you  are  a  brave  little  old  signor — one  more  c'.:ii  cf 
wine  and  ".ve'll  pay  the  reckoning.  No  coinpliii.eu'j 
— I  insist  on  it.  So — now  make  the  best  ol  vo'ir 
w.ay  back  to  Terracina ;  it's  growing  late  — Iniont 
viaggio  ! — and  hark'ee,  take  care  how  you  w;.i.iii! 
among  these  mountains." 

They  shouldered  their  fusils,  sprang  gayly  up  the 
rocks,  and  the  little  doctor  hobbled  back  to  1  rra- 
cina.  rejoicing  that  the  robbers  had  let  his  se  d  r  v:', 
his  watch,  and  his  treatise  escape  unmolesteil.  tt n:  jii 
rather  nettled  that  they  should  have  proiioum  i^'  ins 
veritable  intaglio  a  counterfeit. 

The  iiiiprovvisatore  had  shown  mrmy  symptdiusof 
impatience  ihiring  this  recital.  He  saw  his  ti.eir,  ir, 
danger  of  being  taken  out  of  his  hands  by  a  nv.il 
story-teller,  which  to  an  able  talker  is  alw  iy=;  a 
serious  grievance ;  it  was  also  in  danger  ol  in  inj; 
taken  away  by  a  Neapolitan,  and  that  was  still  ir.ure 
vexatious;  as  the  members  of  the  different  It  dian 
states  have  an  incessaiu  jealousy  ol  each  other  in  all 
things,  great  and  small.  He  tock  adv.mtage  cl  the 
first  pause  ol  the  Neajiolitan  to  catch  hoUl  ag»in  of 
the  thread  of  the  conversation. 

"  As  1  was  saying,"  resumed  he,  "the  prevaler.ct 
of  these  banititti  is  so  extensive  ;  their  power  so 
combined  and  interwoven  with  other  ranks  ot  so- 
ciety— " 

"  I'or  that  matter,"  said  the  Neapolit.an,  "  1  h  vr 
heard  that  your  government  has  had  some  ii;i;':r 
standing  with  these  gentry,  or  at  least  winkp'l  3 
them." 

"  My  government  ?  "  said  the  Roman,  impatier.i'.i. 

"Aye — they  s.iy  that  Cardinal  tjon.salv; — " 

"  Hush  !"  said  the  Roman,  holding  up  his  ti.i,,?;. 
and  rolling  his  large  eyes  about  the  room. 

"  N.ay — 1  only  repeat  what  1  heard  commonly 
rumoured  in  Rome,"  replied  the  other,  sturdily,  "li 
was  whispijred  that  the  Cardinal  had  been  up  tc  the 
mountain,  and  h.ad  an  interview  with  some  of  the 
chiefs.  And  I  have  Ijeen  told  that  when  hones! 
people  have  been  kicking  their  heels  in  the  Cardiiial'! 
anti-chamber,  waiting  by  the  hour  for  admittance, 
one  of  these  stiletto-looking  fellows  has  c  bowed  ttia 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


W 


nania  am  one  tj,, 
that  had  h.^'l^pen 
.  and  hai)  there 
the  backprounc' 
I  hiiHsell  to  luM 

;paratin('  arri\f:(| 

•  himself  mui  \,\, 

ne  their  weapctij 

and  alicive  all  for 

ivoured,  hov/cer, 

»d  dri'w  Iroin  out 

;alhern  pursi;,  far 

n  of  which  a  few 

his  band. 

'd  his  moveiiicnt  ■ 

luary's  shoiil.ler— 

le,  "wehavedrnnk 

let  us  part  as  such. 

■ho  and  whai  yoa 

y  is  that  s\:'v\k  at 

n  the  road,    Yoi; 

our  we.'ihli  in  your 

e  should  not  know 

I  see  you  are  im 

worry  your  mind; 

it  an  antique,  hut 

in  a  word,  I'ur  his 

er,  "  we've  nn  time 
ou  please.  Come, 
-one  more  cup  cf 
No  compliii.eii'j 
;  the  best  ol  your 
)wing  late— Inionc 
:  how  you  wamis! 

nran.cj  gayly  up  the 
led  b.-ick  to  Trrra- 
id  let  his  seal  nntr, 
unmolested,  tluj-^ii 
;ive  proii()unce<l  his 

m.iny  symptoms  of 
le  saw  his  tliene  in 
is  hands  by  a  rival 
talker  is  alw  lys  a 
n  danger  of  luini; 
that  was  still  more 
le  ditTerent  Itiiiaa 
oJ  each  other  in  all 
;  adv.intage  cf  the 
Itch  hold  agiin  of 

e,  "  the  prevalence 
e  ;  their  power  so 
Jther  ranks  ot  so- 

eapolitan,  "  I  h  vt 

had  some  unti'ir 

It  least  winkeil  3 

Oman,  impatient!;, 
jonsalt?; — " 
linjj  up  his  tinge;, 
le  room. 

heard  comnionly 
)ther,  sturdily.  "It 
i.id  been  up  tc  the 
with  some  of  the 
that  when  hones'. 
;ls  in  the  Cardinal'! 
jr  for  admittance, 
fs  has  e'  bowed  his 


way  through  the  crowd,  and  entered  without  cere- 
mony into  the  Cardinal's  presence." 

"  I  know,"  replied  the  Roman,  "  that  there  have 
Ixen  such  reports ,  and  it  is  not  impossible  that 
government  may  have  made  use  of  these  men  at  par- 
ticular periods,  such  as  at  the  time  of  your  abortive 
revolution,  when  your  carbonari  were  so  busy  with 
their  machinations  all  over  the  country.  The  infor- 
mation that  men  lil(e  these  could  collect,  who  were 
jiPiiliar,  not  merely  with  ali  the  recesses  and  secret 
places  of  the  mountains,  but  also  with  all  the  dark 
.inti  dangerous  recesses  of  society,  and  knew  all  that 
was  plotting  in  the  world  of  mischief;  the  utility  of 
such  instruments  in  the  hands  of  government  was 
too  obvious  to  be  overlooked,  and  Cardinal  Gonsalvi 
as  a  ix)litic  statesman,  may,  perhaps,  have  made  use 
of  them ;  for  it  is  well  known  the  robbers,  with  all 
their  atrocities,  bit  respectful  towards  the  church, 
and  devout  in  their  religion." 

"  Keligion  ! — religion  ? "  echoed  the  Englishman. 

"  Yes — religion  !  '  repeated  the  improvvisatore. 
"Scarce  one  of  thetw  but  will  c.  jss  himself  and  say 
his  prayers  when  he  hears  in  his  mountain  fastness 
the  matin  or  the  ave  tnaria  bells  sounding  from  the 
valleys.  Tl'  will  often  confess  themselves  to  the 
village  pi  .s,  to  obtain  absolution ;  and  occasion- 
ally visit  the  village  churches  to  pray  at  some  favourite 
shrine.  I  recollect  an  instance  in  point :  I  was  one 
evening  in  the  village  of  Frescati,  which  lies  below 
the  mountains  of  Abruzri.  The  people,  as  usual  in 
tine  evenings  in  our  Italian  towns  and  villages,  were 
standing  about  in  groups  in  the  public  square,  con- 
versing and  amusing  themselves.  I  observed  a  tall, 
muscular  fellow,  wrapped  in  a  great  mantle,  passing 
across  the  square,  but  skulking  along  in  the  dark,  as 
if  avoiding  notice.  The  i)eople,  too,  seemed  to  draw 
b'.ck  as  he  passed.  It  was  whispered  to  me  that  he 
VIS  a  notorious  bandit." 

"But  why  was  he  not  immediately  seized?  "  said 
the  Englishman. 

"  liecause  it  was  nobody's  business  ;  because  no- 
body wished  to  incur  the  vengeance  of  his  comrades  ; 
because  there  were  not  sulhcient  ^ens  d'armes  near 
to  insure  security  against  the  numbers  ofdesper.adoes 
'e  :iiight  have  at  hand  ;  because  the  gens  d'arines 
might  not  have  received  particular  instructions  with 
respect  to  him,  and  might  not  feel  disposed  to  en- 
g.ige  in  the  hazardous  conflict  without  ct«npulsion. 
In  ihort,  I  might  give  you  a  thousand  reasons,  rising 
out  of  the  state  of  our  government  and  manners,  not 
one  of  which  after  all  might  appear  satisfactory." 

The  Englishman  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  an 
air  of  contempt. 

"  I  have  been  told,"  added  the  Roman,  rather 
quickly,  "that  even  in  your  metropolis  of  London, 
notorious  thieves,  well  Known  to  the  police  as  such, 
walk  the  streets  at  noon-day,  in  search  of  their  prey, 
and  are  not  molested  unless  caught  in  the  very  act 
of  robbery." 

The  Englishman  gave  another  shrug,  but  with  a 
different  expression. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  lixed  my  eye  on  this  daring  wolf 
thus  prowling  through  the  fold,  and  saw  hiin  enter 
it  church.  1  was  curious  to  witness  his  devotions. 
Yo',1  know  our  spacious,  magnificent  churches.  The 
one  in  which  he  entered  w;»s  vast  and  shrouded  in 
ths  dusk  of  evening.  At  the  extremity  of  the  long 
iiales  a  couple  of  tapers  feebly  glimmered  on  the 
grand  iltar.  In  one  of  the  side  chapels  was  a  votive 
candle  placed  before  the  image  of  a  saint.  Before 
this  image  the  robber  had  prostrated  himself.  His 
mantle  partly  falling  off  from  his  shoulders  as  he 
knelt,  revealed  a  form  of  Herculean  strength ;  a 
stil'jtto  and  pistol  glittered  in  his  belt,  and  the  light 
iailing  on  his  countenance  showed  feature^  not  un- 


handsome, but  strongly  and  fiercely  chaiactered. 
As  he  prayed  he  became  vehemently  agitated ;  hii 
lips  quivered ;  sighs  and  murmurs,  almost  groans 
burst  from  him ;  he  beat  his  breast  with  violence,' 
then  clasped  his  hands  and  wrung  them  convulsively 
as  he  extended  them  towards  the  image.  Never  had 
I  seen  such  a  terrific  picture  of  remorse.  I  felt  fc.ar< 
ful  of  being  discovered  by  him,  and  withdrew 
Shortly  after  I  saw  him  issue  from  the  church  wrap 
ped  in  his  mantle ;  he  recrossed  the  scjuare,  and 
no  doubt  returned  to  his  mountain  with  disbur^ 
thened  conscience,  ready  to  incur  a  fresh  arrear  ot 
crime. " 

The  conversation  was  here  taken  up  by  two  other 
travellers,  recently  arrived,  Mr.  Hobbs  and  Mr. 
Dobbs,  a  linen-draper  and  a  green-grocer,  just  re- 
turning from  a  tour  in  Greece  and  the  Holy  Land : 
and  who  were  lull  of  the  story  of  Aldemian  Popkins, 
They  were  astonished  that  the  robbers  should  dare 
to  molest  a  man  of  his  importance  on  'change  ;  he 
being  an  eminent  dry-salter  of  Throgmorton-street, 
and  a  magistrate  to  boot. 

In  fact,  the  story  of  the  Popkins  family  was  but 
too  true  ;  it  was  attested  by  too  many  present  to  be 
(or  a  moment  doubled  ;  and  from  the  contradictory 
and  concordant  testimony  of  half  a  score,  all  eagci 
to  relate  it,  the  company  were  enabled  to  make  out 
all  the  particulars. 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  POPKINS  FAMILY. 


It  was  but  a  few  days  before  that  the  carriage  &• 
Alderman  Popkins  had  driven  up  to  the  inn  of  Terra 
cina.  Those  who  have  seen  an  English  family  car- 
riage on  the  continent,  must  know  the  sensation  \i 
|)roduces.  It  is  an  epitome  of  England;  a  Utile 
morsel  of  the  old  island  rolling  about  the  world— 
every  thing  so  compact,  so  snug,  so  finished  and 
titling.  The  wheels  that  roll  on  patent  axles  with- 
out rattling ;  the  body  that  hangs  so  well  on  its 
springs,  yielding  to  every  motion,  yet  proof  .against 
every  shock.  The  ruddy  faces  gaping  out  of  the 
windows;  sometimes  of  a  portly  old  citizen,  some- 
times of  a  voluminous  dowager,  and  sometimes  of 
a  fine  fresh  hoyden,  just  from  boarding  school. 
And  then  the  dickeys  loaded  with  well-dressed  serv- 
ants, beef-fed  and  blulT;  looking  down  from  their 
heights  with  contempt  on  all  the  world  around ; 
profoundly  ignorant  of  the  country  and  the  people, 
and  devoutly  certain  that  every  thing  not  English 
must  be  wrong. 

Such  was  the  carriiige  of  Alderiii:in  Popkins,  as  it 
made  its  appearance  at  Terracina.  The  courier  who 
had  ])recedeil  it,  to  order  horses,  and  who  was  a 
Neapolitan,  had  given  a  magnificent  account  of  the. 
riches  and  greatness  of  his  master,  blundering  with 
all  an  It.ilian's  splendour  of  imaj^nation  a')ou)  the 
alderman's  titles  and  dignities ;  the  host  had  added 
his  usual  share  of  exaggeration,  so  that  by  the  time 
the  alderman  drove  up  to  the  door,  he  w;'is  Milor — 
Magnifico— Principe — the  Lord  knows  what ! 

The  alderman  was  advised  to  t.ake  an  escort  to 
Fondi  and  Itri,  but  he  refused.  It  was  as  much  as 
a  man's  life  was  worth,  he  said,  to  stop  him  on  the 
king's  highway ;  he  would  complain  of  it  to  the 
aml)assador  at  Naples ;  he  would  make  a  national 
affair  of  it.  The  principezza  Popkins,  a  fresh,  moth- 
erly dame,  seemed  perfectly  secure  in  the  protection 
of  her  husband,  so  omnipotent  a  man  in  the  city. 
Thi  sigpiorini  Popkins,  two  fine  bouncing  girls,  look- 
\  ed  '.o  their  brotlier  Tqv\,  who  had  taken  lesson! 


i 


I 


S9H 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING 


J  ■■ 


'*;.  »  ■'  -^,; 


■*■.  *■ 


♦••, 


1^4  * 


■'-'■• 


!'r': 


In  boxing  ;  and  as  to  the  dandy  himself,  he  was  sure 
no  scaramouch  of  an  Italian  robber  would  dare  to 
meddle  with  an  Englishman.  The  landlord  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  turned  out  the  palms  of  his  hands 
with  a  true  Italian  grimace,  and  the  carriage  of 
Milor  Popkins  rolled  on. 

They  passed  through  several  very  suspicious  places 
without  any  molestation.  The  Misses  Popkins,  who 
were  very  rom.^ntic,  and  had  learnt  to  draw  in  water 
colours,  were  enchanted  with  the  savage  scenery 
wound ;  it  was  so  like  what  they  hati  read  in  Mrs. 
RadclitTe's  romances,  they  should  like  of  all  things 
to  make  sketches.  At  length,  the  carriage  arrived  at 
a  place  where  the  road  wound  up  a  long  hill.  Mrs, 
Popkins  had  sunk  into  a  sleep ;  the  young  ladies 
were  reading  the  last  works  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  and 
Lord  Ryron,  and  the  dandy  was  hectoring  the  postil- 
ions from  the  coach  box.  The  aldennan  got  out,  as 
he  said,  to  stretch  his  legs  uj)  the  hill.  It  was  a  long 
winding  ascent,  and  obliged  him  every  now  and 
then  to  stop  and  blow  and  wipe  his  forehead  with 
many  a  pish  !  and  phew !  being  rather  pursy  and 
short  of  wind.  As  the  carri.ige,  however,  was  far 
behind  him,  and  toiling  slowly  under  the  weight  of 
so  many  well-stuffed  trunks  and  well-stuffed  travel- 
lers, he  had  plenty  of  time  to  walk  at  leisure. 

On  a  jutting  point  of  rock  that  overhung  the  road 
nearly  at  the  summit  of  the  hill,  just  where  the  route 
began  again  to  descend,  he  s.iw  a  solitary  man  se.at- 
ed,  who  appeared  to  be  tending  goats.  Alderman 
Popkins  was  one  of  your  shrewd  travellers  that  al- 
ways Uke  to  be  picking  up  small  information  along 
the  road,  so  he  thought  he'd  just  scramble  up  to 
the  honest  man,  and  have  a  little  talk  with  him  by 
way  of  learning  the  news  and  getting  a  lesson  in 
flaiian.  As  he  drew  near  to  the  peasant  he  did  not 
'ialf  like  his  looks.  He  was  partly  reclining  on  the 
"Ocks  v/rapped  in  the  usual  long  mantle,  which,  with 
his  slouched  hat,  only  left  a  part  of  a  swarthy  visage, 
wnth  a  keen  black  eye,  a  beetle  brow,  and  a  fierce 
nuoustache  to  be  seen.  He  had  whistled  several 
times  to  his  dog  which  was  roving  about  the  side  of 
the  hill.  As  the  alilennan  approached  he  rose  and 
greeted  him.  When  standing  erect  he  seemed  al- 
most gigantic,  at  least  in  the  eyes  of  Alderman  Pop- 
kins ;  who,  however,  being  a  short  man,  might  be 
deceived. 

The  latter  would  gladly  now  have  been  b.ack  in 
the  carriage,  or  even  on  'change  in  London,  for  he 
was  by  no  means  well  pleased  with  bis  company. 
However,  he  determined  to  put  the  best  face  on 
matters,  and  was  beginning  a  conversation  about 
the  state  of  the  weather,  the  baddishness  of  the 
crops,  and  the  price  of  goats  in  that  part  of  the 
country,  when  he  heard  a  violent  screaming.  He 
ran  to  the  edge  of  the  rock,  and,  looking  over,  saw 
away  down  the  road  his  carriage  surrounded  by  rob- 
bers. One  held  down  the  fat  footman,  another  had 
the  dandy  by  his  starched  cravat,  with  a  pistol  to  his 
head  ;  one  was  rummaging  a  portmanteau,  another 
rur.'jmaging  the  pnncipezza's  pockets,  while  the  two 
Misses  Popkins  were  screaming  from  e.ach  window 
of  the  carriage,  and  their  waiting  maid  stiualling 
u'cni  the  dickey. 

Alderman  Popkins  felt  all  the  fury  of  the  parent 
wtd  the  magistrate  roused  within  him.  He  grasped 
h(S  cane  :ind  was  on  the  point  of  scrambling  down 
the  rocks,  either  to  assault  the  robl^ers  or  to  read 
the  riot  act,  when  he  was  suddenly  grasped  by  the 
arm.  It  was  by  his  friend  the  goatherd,  whose  cloak, 
falling  partly  off,  discovered  a  belt  stuck  full  of  pis- 
tols and  stilettos.  In  short,  he  found  himself  in  the 
clutches  of  the  captain  of  the  band,  who  had  station- 
ed himself  on  the  rock  to  look  out  for  travellers  and 
to  give  notice  to  his  men. 


A  sad  ransacking  took  place.  Trunks  wete  turned 
insi<le  out,  and  all  the  finery  and  the  frippery  ot  thj 
Popkins  family  scattered  about  the  road.  Such  j 
chaos  of  Venice  beads  and  Roman  mosaics ;  .md 
Paris  bptinets  of  the  young  ladies,  mingled  with  ths 
alderman's  night-caps  and  lamb's  wool  stockrirs 
and  the  dandy's  hair-brushes,  stays,  and  starchwi 
cravats. 

The  gentlemen  were  eased  of  their  purse,  m^ 
their  watches;  the  ladies  of  their  jewels,  arul  il.f 
whole  party  were  on  the  point  of  being  carri;(  iij, 
into  the  mountain,  when  fortunately  the  appiai,  ,,ce 
of  soldiery  at  a  distance  obliged  the  robbers  to  m.ike 
ofTwith  the  spoils  they  had  secured,  and  leaviMlie 
Popkins  family  to  gather  together  the  remn.uits  ol 
their  effects,  and  make  the  best  of  their  w.i,  to 
Fondi. 

When  safe  arrived,  the  alderman  m.ide  a  terrible 
blustering  at  the  inn  ;  threatened  to  complain  to  ihe 
ambassador  at  Naples,  and  was  ready  to  sh.iks'  h.ij 
cane  at  the  whole  country.  The  dandy  had  innny 
stories  to  tell  of  his  scuffles  with  the  brigands,  wtia 
overpowered  him  merely  by  numbers.  As  to  the 
Misses  Popkins,  they  were  quite  delighted  wiih  the 
adventure,  and  were  occupied  the  whole  evening  in 
writing  it  in  their  journ.ils.  They  declared  the  ■  ij,. 
tain  ot  the  band  to  be  a  most  romantic-lookint;  mm ; 
they  dared  to  say  some  unfortunate  lover,  or  v.w'h'i} 
nobleman  :  and  sever.d  of  the  band  to  be  verj'  h.ind- 
some  young  men — "  quite  picturesque  !  " 

"  In  verity."  said  mine  host  of  Terracina,  "the) 
say  the  captain  of  the  band  is  un^^alant  u:»ho." 


'  A  g.illant  man  !  "  said  the  Englishman. 


I'd 


have  your  g.illant  man  hang'd  like  a  dog  ! ' 

"  To  dare  to  meddle  with  Englishmen  !  "  said  Mr 
Hobbs, 

"  And  such  a  family  as  the  Popkinses  ! '  sai<l  Mt 
Dobbs. 

"They  ought  to  come  upon  the  countj  "or  ri?.m 
ages  !  "  said  Mr.  Hobbs. 

"  Our  ambassador  should  make  a  com)>ia;nt  to  the 
government  of  Naples,"  said  Mr.  Dobbs. 

"  They  should  be  requested  to  drive  tb'tse  rasciis 
out  of  the  country,"  said  Hobbs. 

"  If  they  did  not,  we  should  declare  w^r  agiunst 
them  !  "  said  Uobbs. 

The  Englishm.m  was  a  little  wearied  by  'his  storv, 
and  by  the  ultra  zeal  of  his  countrymen,  ami  w.Ls 
glad  when  a  summons  to  their  supper  reheved  hi.m 
from  the  crowd  of  travellers.  He  w.alked  out  with 
his  Venetian  friends  and  a  voung  Frenchman  ol'  an 
interesting  demeanour,  who  had  become  socinlile 
with  them  in  the  course  of  the  conversation.  Thev 
directed  their  steps  toward  the  sea,  which  wis  lit 
up  by  the  rising  moon.  The  Venetian,  out  of  iinlite- 
ness,  left  his  beautiful  wife  to  be  escorted  by  the 
Englishman.  The  latter,  however,  eithei  from  shy- 
ness or  reserve,  did  not  avail  himself  of  the  civility, 
but  walked  on  without  offering  his  arm.  T.'^e  lair 
Venetian,  with  all  her  devotion  to  her  husband,  v.;is 
a  little  nettled  at  a  want  of  gallantry  to  which  her 
charms  had  rendered  her  unaccustomed,  ane!  foci; 
the  proffered  arm  of  the  Frenchman  with  a  preit> 
air  of  pique,  which,  however,  was  entirely  lost  upjR 
the  phlegmatic  delinquent. 

Not  far  distant  from  the  inn  they  came  to  wf-.erc 
there  was  a  body  of  soldiers  on  the  be.ach,  encircling 
and  guarding  a  number  of  galley  slaves,  who  were 
permitted  to  refresh  themselves  in  the  evening  bi-LK, 
and  to  sport  and  roll  upon  the  sand. 

"It  was  difficult,"  the  Frenchman  observed,  "to 
conceive  a  more  frightful  mass  of  crime  than  waj 
here  collected.  The  parpcide,  the  fratricide,  the  in- 
fanticide, who  had  first  Hed  from  justice  and  turned 
mountain  bandit,  and  then,  bv  betraying  his  brothei 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


linses  ! '  sai;!  Mr 
s  counfj  'brdp.m 


Clare  w^r  against 


desperadoes,  had  bought  a  commutation  of  punish- 
ment, and  the  privileee  of  wallowing  on  the  shore  for 
in  hour  a  day,  with  this  wretched  crew  of  mis- 
creants t " 

The  remark  of  the  Frenchman  had  a  stroni;  effect 
ipoi  the  company,  particularly  upon  the  Venetian 
\itiy,  who  shuddered  as  she  cast  a  timid  loolc  at  this 
hoi  le  of  wretches  at  their  evening  relaxation.  "  They 
teemed,"  she  said,  "  like  so  many  serpents,  wreathing 
ind  twisting  together." 

The  Frenchman  now  adverted  to  the  stories  they 
tiad  been  listening  to  at  the  inn,  addinf]^,  that  if  they 
bad  any  farther  curiosity  on  the  subject,  he  could 
recinint  an  adventure  which  happened  to  himself 
among  the  robbers,  and  which  might  give  them  some 
idea  of  the  habits  and  manners  ot  those  beings. 
There  was  an  air  of  modesty  and  frankness  about 
the  Frenchman  which  had  gained  the  good-will  of 
the  whole  party,  not  even  excepting  the  Englishman. 
They  all  gladly  accepted  his  proposition  ;  and  as  they 
strolled  slowly  up  and  down  the  sea-shore,  he  refs.  ed 
the  following  adventure. 


I  HE  PAINTER'S  ADVENTURE. 


I  AM  an  historical  painter  by  profession,  and  re- 
sided for  some  time  in  the  family  of  a  foreign  prince, 
at  his  villa,  about  fifteen  miles  from  Rome,  among 
loine  of  the  most  interesting  scenery  of  Italy.  It  is 
situated  on  the  heights  of  ancient  Tusculum.  In  its 
neighJMiurhood  arc  the  ruins  of  the  villas  of  Cicero, 
Syli'i,  Lucullus,  Kufinus,  and  other  illustrious  Ro- 
mans who  sought  refuge  here  occasionally,  from 
thi'ir  toils,  in  the  bosom  of  a  soft  and  'uxurious  re- 
ijse.  From  the  midst  of  delightful  bowers,  refreshed 
oy  the  pure  mountain  breeze,  the  eye  looks  over  a 
romantic  landscape  full  of  poetical  and  historical  as- 
toi'iations.  The  Albanian  mountains,  Tivoli,  once 
.he  favourite  residence  of  Honice  and  Maecenas  ;  the 
vast  deserted  Campagna  with  the  Tiber  running 
through  it,  and  St.  Peter's  dome  swelling  in  the 
midst,  the  monument — as  it  were,  over  the  grave  of 
ancient  Rome. 

1  assisted  the  prince  in  the  researches  which  he 
was  making  among  the  classic  ruins  of  his  vicinity. 
His  exertions  were  highly  successful.  Many  wrecks 
of  admirable  statues  and  fragments  of  exquisite 
sculpture  were  dug  up;  monuments  of  the  taste  an(d 
magnihcence  that  reigned  in  the  ancient  Tusculan 
abodes.  He  had  studded  his  villa  and  its  grounds 
wiih  statues,  relievos,  vases,  .ind  sarcophagi,  thus 
retrieved  from  the  bosom  of  the  earth. 

The  mode  of  life  pursued  at  the  villa  was  delight- 
fully serene,  «iiversitied  by  interesting  occupations 
and  elegant  leisure.  Every  one  passed  the  day  ac- 
cording to  his  p'tasure  or  occupation;  and  we  all 
assembled  in  a  c.*iecrful  dinner  party  at  sunset.  It 
was  on  the  fourin  of  November,  a  beautiful  serene 
day,  that  we  had  assemble<l  in  the  saloon  at  the 
BC  md  of  the  first  dinner-bell.  The  family  were  sur- 
pi  .«J  At  the  absence  of  the  prince's  confessor.  They 
waitetl  for  him  in  vain,  and  at  length  placed  them- 
kJves  it  table.  They  first  attributed  his  absence  to 
his  having  prolonged  his  customary  walk  ;  and  the 
first  part  of  the  dinner  passed  without  any  une;isi- 
ness.  When  the  dessert  was  served,  however,  without 
his  making  his  apj)earance,  they  be^^an  to  feel  anx- 
ious. They  feared  he  might  have  been  laktn  ill  in 
some  alley  of  the  woods ;  or,  that  he  might  have 
tJlen  into  the  hands  of  robbers.  At  the  interval  of 
1  small  valley  rose  the  mountains  of  the  Abruzzi,  the 


strong-hold  of  banditti.  Indeed,  the  neighbourhood 
had,  for  some  time,  been  infeste(l  by  them  ;  anc'  Bar 
bone,  a  notorious  b.tndit  chief,  had  often  been  met 
prowling  about  the  solitudes  of  Tusculum.  The  dar« 
mg  enterprises  of  these  ruffians  were  well  known 
the  objects  of  their  cupidity  or  vengeance  were  insfr 
cure  even  in  pal.aces,  As  yet  they  had  respected  the 
possessions  of  the  prince  ;  but  the  idea  of  such  dan- 
gerous spirits  hovering  about  the  neighbourhood  wai 
sufficient  to  occasion  alarm. 

The  fears  of  the  company  increased  as  evening 
closed  in.  The  prir.ce  ordered  out  forest  guards,  ana 
domestics  with  flambeaux  to  search  for  the  confei- 
sor.  They  had  not  departed  long,  when  a  slight  noise 
was  heard  in  the  corridor  of  the  ground  floor.  The 
family  were  dining  on  the  first  floor,  and  the  remain- 
ing domestics  were  occupie<l  in  attendance.  There 
was  no  one  on  the  ground  floor  at  this  moment  but 
the  housekeeper,  the  laundress,  and  three  field  la- 
bourers, who  were  resting  themselves,  and  convers- 
ing with  the  women. 

I  heard  the  noise  from  below,  and  presuming  it  to 
be  occasioned  by  the  return  of  the  absentee,  I  left 
the  table,  and  hastened  down-stairs,  eager  to  gain 
intelligence  that  might  relieve  the  anxiety  of  the 
prince  and  princess.  I  had  scarcely  reached  the  last 
step,  when  I  beheld  before  me  a  man  dressed  as  a 
bandit ;  a  carbine  in  his  h.ind,  and  a  stiletto  and  pis 
tols  in  his  belt.  His  countenance  had  a  mingled  ex 
pression  of  ferocity  and  trepidation.  He  sprang  upor 
me,  and  exclaimed  exultingly,  "  Ecco  il  principe  I  " 

I  saw  at  once  into  what  hands  I  had  fallen,  but 
endeavoured  to  summon  up  coolness  and  presence 
of  mind.  A  glance  towards  the  lower  end  of  the 
corridor  showed  me  several  ruffians,  clothed  and 
armed  in  the  same  manner  with  the  one  who  ha«J 
seized  me.  They  were  guarding  the  two  femaJns 
and  the  field  labourers.  The  robber,  who  held  me 
firmly  by  the  collar,  demanded  repeatedly  whether 
or  not  1  were  the  prince.  His  object  evidently  was 
to  carry  oil  the  prince,  and  extort  an  immense  ran- 
som. He  was  enraged  at  receiving  none  but  vague 
rei)lies  ;  for  I  felt  the  importance  of  misleading  him. 

A  sudden  thought  struck  me  how  1  might  extri- 
cate myself  from  his  clutches.  I  was  unarmed,  it  is 
true,  but  I  was  vigorous.  His  companions  were  at 
a  distance.  By  a  sudden  exertion  I  might  wrest  my- 
self from  him  and  spring  up  the  staircase,  whither  he 
would  not  dare  to  follow  me  singly.  The  idea  was 
put  in  execution  as  soon  as  conceived.  The  ruffian's 
throat  was  bare:  with  my  right  hand  I  seized  him 
by  it,  just  between  the  mastoides;  with  my  left  hand 
I  grasped  the  arm  which  held  the  carbine.  The 
suddenness  of  my  attack  took  him  completely  una- 
wares ;  and  the  strangling  nature  of  my  grasp  para- 
lyzed him.  He  choked  and  faltered.  I  felt  his  hand 
relaxing  its  hold,  and  was  on  the  point  of  jerking 
myself  away  and  darting  up  the  staircase  before  he 
could  recover  himself,  when  1  was  suddenly  setked 
by  some  one  from  behind. 

I  had  to  let  go  my  grasp.  The  bandit,  once  ;nore 
released,  fell  upon  me  with  fury,  and  gave  me  sev- 
eral blows  with  the  butt  end  of  his  carbine,  one  of 
which  wounded  me  severely  in  the  forehead,  and 
covered  me  with  Mooil.  He  took  advantage  of  my 
being  stunned  to  rifle  me  of  my  watch  and  whatever 
valuables  I  had  about  my  person. 

When  1  recovered  from  the  effects  of  the  blow,  I 
heard  the  voice  of  the  chief  of  the  banditti,  who  ex- 
claimed :  "  Quello  e  il  principe,  si.inio  contente,  au- 
di.imo  ! "  (It  is  the  prince,  enough,  let  us  be  off.) 
The  band  immediately  closed  rou  id  me  and  dragged 
me  out  of  the  palace,  bearing  off  ihn  three  labourers 
likewise. 

I  had  no  hat  on,  and  the  blood  was  flowing  fron 


•00 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


^«h 


.;  ,<J 


,;-i'. 


)  ? 


I 


•.*:.. 


my  wound  ;  I  manaeed  to  staunch  it,  however,  with 
my  pocket-handkerchief,  which  I  bound  round  my 
forehead.  The  captain  of  tlie  band  conducttil  me  in 
triumph,  supposing  me  to  be  the  prince.  We  had 
gone  some  distance  before  he  learnt  his  mistake  from 
one  of  the  labourers.  His  rasje  was  terrilile.  It  w.as 
too  late  to  return  to  the  villa  and  endeavour  to  re- 
trif  i)c  his  error,  for  by  this  time  the  alarm  must  h.ave 
bften  given,  and  every  one  in  arms.  He  darted  at 
ae  a  furious  look ;  swore  I  had  deceived  him,  and 
WJStd  him  to  miss  his  fortune ;  and  told  me  to  pre- 
Mre  for  death.  The  rest  of  the  robi)ers  were  equally 
i'urious.  I  saw  their  hands  upon  their  poniards  : 
and  I  knew  that  death  was  seldom  an  empty  menace 
with  these  ruffians. 

The  labourers  saw  the  peril  info  which  their  in- 
iormation  h.ad  betrayed  me,  and  eagerly  assure!  the 
captain  that  I  was  a  man  for  whom  the  prince  would 
pay  a  great  ransom.  This  produced  a  pause.  For 
my  part,  1  cannot  say  that  I  h:id  been  much  dis- 
mayed by  their  menaces.  1  mean  not  to  make  any 
boast  of  coumge  ;  but  I  have  been  so  schooled  to 
hardship  during  the  late  revolutions,  and  have  beheld 
death  around  me  in  so  many  perilous  and  disastrous 
scenes  that  I  have  become,  in  some  measure,  callous 
to  its  terrors.  The  frequent  h.izard  of  life  makes  a 
man  at  length  as  reckl'.'ss  of  it  as  a  gambler  of  his 
money.  To  their  threat  of  death,  1  replied  :  "  That 
the  sooner  it  was  executed,  the  better. '  This  reply 
teemed  to  astonish  the  captain,  and  the  prospect  of 
ransom  held  out  by  the  labourers,  had,  no  doubt,  a 
still  greater  elTect  on  him.  He  considered  for  a  mo- 
ment ;  assumed  a  calmer  manner,  and  made  a  sign 
to  his  comp.anions,  who  had  remained  waiting  for 
rr.y  death  warrant.  "  J-'onv.ini,"  said  he,  "we  will 
»ee  about  this  matter  by  and  bye." 

We  descended  rapidly  towards  the  road  of  la  Mo- 
'ara,  which  leads  to  Rocca  Priori.  In  the  midst  of 
*his  mad  is  a  solitary' inn.  The  captain  ordered  the 
troop  to  halt  at  the  distance  of  a  pistol  shot  from  it ; 
and  enjoined  profound  silence.  He  then  approached 
the  threshold  alone  with  noiseless  steps.  He  exam- 
ined the  outside  of  tlie  door  very  narrowly,  and  then 
returning  precipitately,  made  a  sign  for  the  troop  to 
continue  its  march  in  silence.  It  has  since  been 
ascertained  that  this  was  one  of  those  infamous 
inns  which  are  the  secret  resorts  of  banditti.  The 
innkeeper  had  an  understanding  with  the'  captain, 
as  he  most  probably  had  with  the  chiefs  of  the  dif- 
ferent bands.  When  any  of  the  patroles  and  gens 
d'armes  were  quartered  at  his  house,  the  brigands 
were  warned  of  it  by  a  preconcerted  signal  on  the 
door ;  when  there  was  no  suih  signal,  they  might 
enter  with  safely  and  be  sure  of  welcome.  Many  an 
isolated  inn  among  the  lonely  parts  of  the  Roman 
territories,  and  espt.'cially  on  the  skirts  of  the  mount- 
ains, have  the  same  dangerous  and  suspicious  char- 
acter. They  are  places  where  the  banditti  gather 
mformation ;  where  they  concert  their  plans,  and 
K/h'erc  the  unwary  traveller,  remote  from  hearing  or 
ass'stance,  is  sometimes  betrayed  to  the  stiletto  of 
t^ie  r:;idiii>,dii  murderer. 

After  pu.*suing  our  road  a  little  farther,  we  struck 
off  tow.ards  the  w(  ody  mountains  which  envelope 
R^ca  Friori.  Ou:  march  was  long  and  painful, 
T/i.h  many  circuits  and  windings  ;  at  length  we 
claubered  a  steep  ascent,  covered  with  a  thick  for- 
est, and  when  we  had  re.iched  the  centre,  I  was  told 
to  seat  myself  on  the  earth.  No  sooner  had  1  done 
so,  than  at  a  si;^n  from  their  chief,  the  robbers  sur- 
roundetl  me,  and  spreading  their  great  cloaks  from 
one  to  the  other,  formed  a  kind  of  pavilion  of  man- 
tles, to  v/hich  their  bo<lies  might  be  said  to  seem  as 
columns.  The  captain  then  struck  a  light,  and  a 
flambeau  was  lit  immediately.    The  mantles  were 


extended  to  prevent  the  light  of  the  fJambeau  froti 
being  seen  through  the  forest.  Anxious  as  was  n\\ 
situation,  I  coidu  not  look  round  upon  this  screen 
of  dusky  drapery,  relieved  by  the  bright  colours  of 
the  robbers'  under-dresses,  the  gleaming  of  iheji 
weapons,  and  the  variety  of  strong-marked  cnunic 
nances,  lit  up  by  the  llamhcau,  without  ad  nidng 
the  picturesque  effect  of  the  scene.  It  was  quit; 
theatric.ll. 

The  captain  now  held  an  ink-horn,  and  givim/  mt 
pen  and  paper,  ordered  me  to  write  what  he  slunih] 
(lict:.te.  I  obeyed.  It  was  a  demand,  coulIiciI  in 
the  style  of  robber  eloquence,  "that  the  prince 
should  send  three  thousand  dollars  for  my  ransuni 
or  that  my  death  should  be  the  consequenf;  of  a 
refusal." 

I  knew  enough  of  the  desperate  character  ot  thcsf 
beings  to  feel  assured  this  was  not  an  idle  hk  n.ice. 
Their  only  mode  of  insuring  attention  to  thi  ir  di.! 
mands.  is  to  make  the  infliction  of  the  penihy  in. 
evitable.  I  s.iw  at  once,  however,  that  the  ili  iri.nnj 
was  preposterous,  and  made  in  improper  lanf,'\i.i;;c 

I  told  the  capt.ain  so,  and  .assured  him,  th.it  'o  ex. 
travag.int  a  sum  would  never  lie  granted  ;  "  th.\t  I 
was  neither  a  friend  or  rel.ative  of  the  prince,  but  a 
mere  artist,  employed  to  execute  certain  painiin^'s, 
That  I  had  nothing  to  offer  as  a  ransom  hut  ilie 
price  of  my  labours;  if  this  were  not  sutlicient,  my 
life  was  at  their  disposal :  it  wiis  a  thing  on  which  I 
s.at  but  little  value.' 

I  was  the  more  hardy  in  my  reply,  because  I  saw 
that  coolness  and  hardihood  had  an  effect  \.^u^n  tiic 
robbers.  It  is  true,  .as  I  finished  sneaking  thi*  cip. 
tain  laid  his  hand  upon  his  stiletto,  nut  he  r(Btn>ir,-(| 
himself,  and  snatching  the  letter,  folded  it,  and 
ordered  me,  in  a  peremptory  tone,  to  address  :t  lo 
the  prince.  He  then  desp.atched  one  of  the  iabovr. 
ers  with  it  to  Tusculum,  who  promised  to  return  with 
all  possible  speed. 

The  robbers  now  prepared  themselves  for  sleep, 
and  I  was  told  that  I  might  do  the  same.  Ihey 
spread  their  great  cloaks  on  the  ground,  and  lay 
down  around  me.  One  was  stationed  at  a  little  dij. 
tance  to  keep  watch,  and  was  relieved  every  twc 
hours.  The  strangeness  and  wildness  of  this  luoiint 
ain  bivouac,  among  lawless  beings  whose  liami? 
seemed  ever  ready  to  gnisp  the  stiletto,  an<l  ui'h 
whom  life  was  so  trivial  and  insecure,  was  innu^'h 
to  banish  repose.  The  coldness  of  the  earth  and  of 
the  dew,  however,  had  a  stili  greater  effect  ili.m 
mental  causes  in  disturbing  my  rest.  The  airs  \v,,tt- 
ed  to  these  mountains  from  the  distant  Mediier- 
ranean  diffused  a  great  chilliness  as  the  ni^du  ad- 
vanced. An  expetlient  suggested  itself.  1  railed 
one  of  my  l"ellow  prisoners,  the  laliourers,  and  mtde 
him  lie  down  beside  me.  Whenever  one  of  niy  liiiit's 
became  chilled  I  approached  it  to  the  robust  limli 
of  my  neighl)our,  and  borrowed  some  of  his  warnrli. 
In  this  way  I  w.as  .able  to  obtain  a  little  sleep. 

Day  at  length  dawned,  and  1  was  roused  from  iiiv 
slumber  by  tne  voice  of  the  chieftain.  He  ik-sircd 
me  to  rise  and  follow  him.  I  obeyed.  On  ccnsuier- 
ing  his  physiognomy  attentively,  it  appeared  a  liltli' 
softeneci.  He  even  assisted  me  in  scrambling  up  the 
steep  forest  among  rocks  and  brambles.  Habit  hH 
made  him  a  vigorous  mountaineer;  but  I  Immd  it 
excessively  toilsome  to  climb  those  rugged  heights. 
We  arrived  at  length  at  the  summit  of  the  mountain. 

Here  t  was  that  I  felt  all  the  enthusiasm  of  my 
art  suddenly  awakened ;  and  I  forgot,  in  an  instant. 
all  perils  and  fatigues  at  tliis  magnificent  view  of  the 
sunrise  in  the  midst  of  the  mountains  of  Abruz/'.  U 
was  on  these  heights  that  Hannibal  first  pitched  his 
camp,  and  pointed  out  Rome  to  his  followers.  The 
eye  embraces  a  vast  extent  ot  country.    The  minoi 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


401 


>m,  anrl  pvinir  mr 
le  what  he  sh,)„|,i 
mand,  comhnj  in 
"that  the  prince 
■s  for  my  raMs.im 
conscqufiKv  of  a 

character  ol  thpsf 
t  an  idle  n,,  n.ice 
ntion  to  tin  ir  d,..' 
of  the  pen.ihy  ,n. 
.  that  the  ilriiianj 
proper  lanf,'u,i|;p 
'<!  him.  that  ^n  ^x. 
granl.xi;  '•  ih.it  I 
tlie  prince,  hut  j 
certain  paintin;^',. 
a  ransom  hut  ifu' 
not  siiHicier.t,  tny 
i  thing  on  winch  I 


nselves   for  sleep, 
the  same.     They 
!  ground,  and  jay 
ined  at  a  htile  dis- 
slieved  every  iwc 
less  of  this  ii'ioimt 
igs    whose   haiuje 
stiletto,  and  wi'h 
cure,  was  enmiiri, 
"  the  earth  andof 
■eater  effeci   than 
t.     The  airs  Wilt- 
distant  iMaliier. 
as  the  ni^'ht  ad- 
itseif,     I   calleil 
)urers,  and  made 
rone  of  my  hnibs 
J  the  rohuM  hmij 
neof  his  warmth. 
ittle  sleep. 
>  reused  Iront  mv 
lin.      He  desiral 
d.     On  ccn.sider- 
appeared  a  litt'i' 
cramblin^  up  th: 
t)les.     Hahil  hH 
;  but  1  found  it 
rugged  heights, 
of  the  mountain. 
uhusiasm  of  my 
It,  in  an  instant, 
icent  view  cf  the 
sofAbruzz'.   it 
first  pitched  his 
followers.    The 
ry.    The  minoi 


l^ght  ol  Tuiculum,  with  its  villas,  and  Its  sacred 
niiiis,  lie  below ;  the  Sabine  hills  and  the  Albanian 
oioMntains  stretch  on  cither  hand,  and  beyond  Tus- 
culuin  and  Frcscati  snre.ad.s  out  the  immen.se  Cam- 
pagii.i,  with  its  line  of  tombs,  and  here  and  there  a 
broken  aqueduct  stretching  across  it.  and  the  lowers 
tnd  domes  of  the  eternal  city  in  the  midst. 

Fmcy  this  scene  lit  up  by  the  glories  of  a  rising 
(un,  and  bursting  upon  my  sight,  as  I  looked  forth 
jfuiii  among  the  majestic  forests  of  the  Abruzzi. 
fancy,  too,  the  savage  foreground,  made  still  more 
lavage  by  groups  of  the  banditti,  armed  and  dressed 
in  their  wild,  picturesque  manner,  and  you  will  not 
wonder  that  the  enthusiasm  of  a  painter  for  a  mo- 
ment overpowered  all  his  other  feelings. 

The  banditti  were  astonished  at  my  admiration  of 
a  scene  which  familiarity  had  made  so  common  in 
their  eyes.  I  took  advantage  of  their  hailing  at  this 
spot,  drew  forth  a  ((uire  of  (Irawin^-paper,  and  began 
tosl<etch  the  features  of  the  landscape.  The  height, 
on  which  I  was  seated,  was  wild  and  solitary,  sepa- 
r.ifil  from  the  ridge  of  Tusculum  by  a  valley  nearly 
ihrif  miles  wide  ;  though  the  <listance  appeared  less 
from  ihe  purity  of  the  atmosphere.  This  height  was 
oiif  of  the  favourite  retreats  ol  the  banditti,  com- 
iii.>n<ling  a  look-out  over  the  country ;  while,  at  the 
same  time,  it  was  covered  with  lorests,  and  distant 
frdin  the  populous  haunts  of  men. 

While  I  was  sketching,  my  attention  was  cdled 
jff  lir  a  moment  uy  the  cries  of  birds  and  the  blcat- 
itifjs  of  sheep.  I  looked  around,  but  could  see  noth- 
ing' of  the  animals  that  uttered  them.  They  were 
repeated,  and  appeared  to  come  from  the  summits 
of  th;  trees.  On  looking  more  narrowly,  1  perceived 
six  of  the  robbers  perched  on  the  tops  of  oaks,  which 
grew  on  the  breezy  crest  of  the  mountain,  and  com- 
manded an  unmternipted  prospect.  From  hence 
ta  were  keeping  a  look-out,  like  so  many  vultures  ; 
;isiing  their  eyes  into  the  depths  of  the  valley  below 
3j;  communicating  with  each  other  by  signs,  or 
:\0:'!'.i.s  discourse  in  .sounds,  which  might  be  mis- 
taken uy  the  wayfarer  for  the  cries  of  hawks  an<l 
crows,  or  the  bleating  of  the  mountain  tlocks.  After 
they  had  reconnoitred  the  neighbourhood,  and 
finished  their  singular  discourse,  they  descended 
from  their  airy  perch,  and  returned  to  their  prison- 
ers. The  captain  posted  three  of  them  at  three 
naked  sides  of  the  mountain,  while  he  reinained  to 
guard  us  with  what  appeare<l  his  most  trusty  com- 
panion. 

I  h.ad  m>  book  of  sketches  in  my  hand ;  he  re- 
qups'.ed  to  see  it,  and  after  having  run  his  eye  over 
;t,  expressed  himself  convinced  of  the  truth  of  my 
assertion,  that  1  was  a  painter.  I  thought  I  saw  a 
gl>ani  of  goo<l  feeling  dawning  in  him,  and  deter- 
mined to  avail  myself  of  it,  I  knew  that  the  worst 
of  men  have  their  good  points  and  their  accessible 
sides,  if  one  would  but  study  them  carefully.  Indeed. 
there  is  a  singular  mixture  in  the  character  of  the 
Italian  robber.  With  reckless  ferocity,  he  often 
minj{les  traits  of  kindness  and  good  humour.  He  is 
often  not  radically  bad,  but  driven  to  his  course  of 
lifs  by  some  unpremeditated  crime,  the  ctTect  of 
those  sudden  bursts  of  passion  to  which  the  Italian 
temperament  is  prone.  Tliis  has  comi>elled  him  to 
tJike  to  the  mountains,  or,  as  it  is  technically  termed 
niong  them,  "andare  in  Campagna."  He  has  be- 
come a  robber  by  profession ;  but  like  a  soldier, 
A'hen  not  in  action,  he  can  lay  aside  his  weapon  and 
his  fierceness,  and  become  like  other  men. 

I  took  occa.sion  from  the  ohserv.'itions  of  the  cap- 
tain on  my  sketchings,  to  fall  into  conversation  with 
him.  I  found  him  sociable  and  communicative. 
By  degrees  I  became  completely  at  my  ease  with 
him.    1  had  farcied  I  perceived  about  him  a  degree 


of  self-love,  which  I  determined  to  make  use  of.  I 
assumed  an  air  of  careless  frankness,  and  told  him 
that,  as  artist,  1  pretended  to  the  power  of  judg- 
ing of  the  physiognomy;  that  1  thought  I  perceived' 
something  in  his  features  and  demeanour  which  an- 
nounced nim  worthy  of  higher  fortunes.  That  he 
was  not  formed  to  exercise  the  profession  to  which 
he  had  abandoned  himself;  that  he  had  talents  and 
ijualities  fitted  for  a  nobler  sphere  of  action  ;  that  he 
had  but  to  change  his  course  of  life,  and  in  a  legiti- 
mate career,  the  s.ariie  courage  and  endowm.;nt» 
which  now  maile  him  an  object  of  terror,  would  en* 
sure  him  the  nppl.iuse  and  ailniiration  of  society. 

1  had  not  mistaken  my  man.  My  discourse  both 
touched  and  excited  him.  He  seized  my  hand, 
pressed  it,  and  re]<lied  with  strong  emotion,  "  You 
nave  guessetl  the  truth  ;  you  have  judged  me  rightly." 
Me  remained  for  a  moment  silent :  tlien  with  a  k:nd 
of  effort  he  resumed.  "  I  will  tell  you  some  particu- 
lars of  my  life,  and  yo'.i  will  perceive  that  it  was  the 
oppression  of  others,  rather  than  my  own  crimes, 
that  drove  me  to  the  mountains.  1  sought  to  serve 
my  fellow-men,  and  they  h'  ve  persecuted  me  from 
among  them."  We  seated  ourselves  on  the  grass, 
and  the  robber  gave  me  the  following  anecdotes  of 
his  history. 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  BANDIT  CHIEFTAIN. 


I  AM  a  native  of  the  village  of  Prosscdi.  My 
father  was  easy  enough  in  circumstances,  and  w« 
lived  peaceably  and  independently,  cultivating  our 
fields.  All  went  on  well  with  us  until  a  new  chie  o( 
the  sbirri  was  sent  to  our  village  to  take  comma.id 
of  the  police.  He  was  an  arbitrary  fellow,  p»yi*ig 
into  every  thing,  and  practisinj^  all  starts  of  vexations 
and  oppressions  in  the  discharge  of  his  office. 

I  was  at  that  time  eighteen  years  of  age,  and  h.id 
a  natural  love  of  justice  and  good  neighbourhood. 
I  had  also  a  little  education,  and  knew  something  ol 
history,  .so  as  to  be  able  to  judge  a  little  of  men  and 
their  actions.  All  this  inspired  ine  with  hatred  for 
this  paltry  despot,  ivlyown  family,  also,  became  the 
object  of  his  suspicion  or  dislike,  and  felt  more  than 
once  the  arbitrary  abuse  of  his  power.  These  things 
worked  together  on  my  miixl.and  I  gasped  after  ven- 
geance. IVIy  character  was  always  ardent  and  ener- 
getic ;  and  acted  upon  by  my  love  of  justice,  de- 
termined me  by  one  blow  to  rid  the  country  of  the 
tyrant. 

Full  of  my  projecf  I  rose  one  morning  before 
peep  of  day,  and  concealing  a  stiletto  under  my 
waistcoat — here  you  see  it  ! — (and  he  drew  forth  a 
long  keen  poniard) — !  lay  in  w.ait  for  him  in  the  out- 
skirts of  the  village.  I  knew  all  his  haunts,  and  his 
habit  of  making  his  rounds  and  prowling  about  like 
a  wolf,  in  the  gray  of  the  morning;  at  length  I  met 
him  and  attackeil  him  with  fury.  He  w:.s  armed, 
but  I  took  him  unawares,  and  was  full  of  youth  and 
vigour.  I  gave  him  repeated  blows  to  make  sure 
work,  and  laid  him  lifeless  at  my  feet. 

When  I  was  satisfied  that  1  had  done  for  him,  I 
returned  with  all  haste  to  the  village,  but  h.ad  the  ill- 
luck  to  meet  two  of  the  sbirri  as  1  entered  it.  Thsy 
accosted  me  and  asked  if  I  had  seen  their  chief.  I 
assumed  an  air  of  tran(|uillity,  and  told  them  I  had 
not.  They  continued  on  their  way,  and,  within  a 
few  hours,  brought  back  the  dead  body  to  Prossedi. 
Their  suspicions  of  me  being  already  Awakened,  I 
was  arresttd  and  thrown  into  prison.  Here  I  lay 
several  weeks,  when  the  prince,  who  was  Seigneur  (d 


«01 


♦VORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVINO. 


;,  ;;  .♦; 


r 


1  •■''■, 


t: 


■  -i-  '- 


,f:^f 


mm 

a-- 


Pross«dl,  dir«cted  judicial  proceeding*  itgainit  me. 
I  wai  brought  to  trial,  und  a  witness  was  pro<lureil 
who  pretended  to  have  seen  me  not  far  trom  the 
bleeding  body,  and  flying  with  precipitation,  so  I 
was  condemned  to  the  galleys  for  thirty  years. 

"  Curse  on  such  I.iwh,"  vociferatea  the  bandit, 
fcaming  with  rage ;  "  curse  on  such  a  government. 
Mid  ten  thousand  curses  on  the  prince  who  caused 
me  to  be  adjudged  so  rigorously,  while  so  many 
other  Roman  princes  harbour  ana  protect  assassins 
■  Thousand  times  more  culpable.  What  h.id  I  done 
but  what  was  inspired  by  a  love  of  justice  and  my 
country  ?  Why  was  my  act  more  cuipable  than  that 
of  Hrutus,  when  he  sacrificed  Caesar  to  the  cause  of 
liberty  and  justice  ?  " 

There  w.is  something  at  once  both  lofty  and  ludi- 
crous in  the  rhapsody  of  this  robber  chief,  thus  as- 
sociating himself  with  one  of  the  great  names  of  an- 
tiquity. It  showed,  however,  that  ne  had  at  lca5».  the 
merit  of  knowing  the  remark.ible  facts  in  the  history 
of  his  country.  Me  became  more  calm,  and  resumed 
his  narrative. 

1  was  conducted  to  Civita  Vecchia  in  fetters.  My 
heart  was  burning  with  rage.  I  had  been  married 
scarce  six  months  to  a  wx>man  whom  I  p.-issionately 
loved,  and  who  was  pregnant.  My  family  was  in 
despair.  For  a  long  time  1  made  unsuccessful  efforts 
to  break  my  chain.  At  length  1  found  a  morsel  of 
Iron  which  I  hid  carefully,  and  endeavouretl  with  a 
pointed  flint  to  fashion  it  into  a  kind  of  file.  I  occu- 
pied myself  in  this  work  during  the  night-time,  .and 
when  it  was  tit<  ^hed,  I  made  out,  after  a  long  time,  to 
sever  one  of  the  rings  of  my  chain.  My  tVight  was 
successful. 

I  w.andered  for  several  weeks  in  the  mountains 
which  surround  Prossedi.  and  found  means  to  inform 
my  vife  of  the  place  where  I  was  concealed.  She 
eimc  often  to  see  me.  I  had  determined  to  put  my- 
self at  the  he.ad  of  an  armed  band.  She  endeav- 
oured for  a  long  time  to  dissu.ade  me  ;  but  finding 
my  resolution  fixed,  she  at  length  united  in  my  pro- 
ject of  vengeance,  and  brought  me,  herself,  my  pon- 
iard. 

By  her  means  I  communicated  with  several  brave 
fellows  of  the  neighbouring  villages,  who  I  knew  to 
be  ready  to  take  to  the  mountains,  and  only  panting 
for  an  opportunity  to  exercise  their  daring  spirits. 
We  soon  formed  a  combination,  procured  arms,  and 
we  have  had  ample  opportunities  of  revenging  our- 
selves for  the  wrongs  and  injuries  which  most  of  us 
have  suffered.  Every  thing  has  succeeded  with  us 
until  now,  and  had  it  not  been  ior  our  blunder  in 
mistaking  you  for  the  prince,  our  fortunes  would 
have  been  made. 

Here  the  robber  concluded  his  story.  He  had 
talked  himself  into  complete  companionship,  and 
assured  me  he  no  longer  bore  me  any  grudge  for  the 
error  of  which  I  had  been  the  innocent  cause.  He 
even  professed  a  kindness  for  me,  and  wished  me  to 
remain  some  time  with  them.  He  promised  to  give 
me  a  •light  of  certain  grottos  which  they  occupied 
beyond  Villetri,  and  whither  they  resorted  during 
the  intervals  of  their  expeditions.  He  assured  me 
that  they  led  a  jovial  life  there ;  had  plenty  of  good 
cheer ;  slept  on  beds  of  moss,  and  were  waited  upon 
by  young  an  1  beautiful  females,  whom  I  might  take 
tot  models. 

I  confess  I  felt  my  curiosity  roused  by  his  descrip- 
tions of  these  grottos  and  their  inhabitants:  they 
realiied  those  scenes  in  robber-story  which  I  had  al- 
ways looked  upon  as  mere  creations  of  the  fancy.  I 
should  gladly  nave  acceptsd  his  invitation,  and  paid 
a  visit  to  those  caverns,  could  I  have  felt  more  secure 
in  my  co*npany. 


I  began  to  find  my  situation  less  painful.  I  had 
evidently  propitiated  the  good-will  of  the  chit  M.iit 
and  hoped  tnat  he  might  rele.ase  me  for  a  mmlcr.u/ 
ransom.  A  new  alarm,  however,  aw.iiicd  nif, 
While  the  captain  w.as  looking  out  with  'mp.THrncii 
for  the  return  of  the  mes«ienger  who  h.ad  hern  sen* 
to  the  prince,  the  sentinel  who  had  been  posted  c,, 
the  side  of  the  mountain  facing  the  plain  ot  |;i  Mj. 
lara,  came  nmning  tow.ards  us  with  precipit.ttion, 
"We  are  betrayecTl"  exclaimed  he.  "The  polm 
of  Frescati  are  after  us.  A  party  of  car.alnnun 
h.ave  just  stonned  at  the  inn  below  the  mount  lin,' 
Then  Laying  nis  hand  on  his  stiletto,  he  sworr.  with 
a  terrible  oath,  that  if  they  made  the  least  movtimnt 
towards  the  mount.ain,  my  life  and  the  lives  ni  my 
fellow-prisoners  should  answer  for  it. 

The  chieftain  resumed  all  his  ferocity  of  <lrn\fat>- 
our,  and  approved  of  what  his  companion  said  ;  but 
when  the  l.atter  h.a<l  returned  to  his  post,  he  turned 
to  me  with  a  softened  air:  "I  must  act  as  ( tuef," 
said  he,  "  and  humour  my  dangerous  subalterns,  li 
is  a  law  with  us  to  kill  our  prisoners  rather  than  sui- 
ter them  to  be  rescued  ;  but  do  not  be  alarnvd,  in 
case  we  are  surprised  keep  by  me  ;  fly  with  us,  and 
I  will  consider  myself  responsible  for  your  life." 

There  w.as  nothing  very  consolatory  in  this  ar- 
niniTfment,  which  would  have  pl.aced  me  bctwf-in 
two  dangers ;  I  scarcely  knew,  in  ca.se  of  flight,  whit  h 
I  should  h.ave  most  to  apprehend  from,  the  carhin'^s 
of  the  pursuers,  or  the  stilettos  of  the  pursued.  [ 
remained  silent,  however,  and  endeavouretl  to  main- 
tain a  look  of  tranquillity. 

For  an  hour  was  I  kept  in  this  state  of  pt-ril  and 
anxiety.  The  roblters,  crouching  among  their  W.v.y 
coverts,  kept  an  e.agle  w.atch  upon  the  caral'inicri 
below,  as  they  loitered  about  the  inn;  sotwiintrj 
lolling  about  the  portal ;  sometimes  disappear, r;' 
for  several  minutes,  then  salWing  out,  exaimniiij 
their  weapons,  pointing  in  diflerent  directions  and 
.apparently  askmg  questions  about  the  neighlwur- 
hood  ;  not  a  movement  or  gesture  w.as  lost  un<in  tiic 
keen  eyes  of  the  brigands.  At  length  we  were  re- 
lieved (rom  our  apprehensions.  The  carabiniers  hav- 
ing finished  their  refreshment,  seized  their  anus,  con- 
tinued along  the  valley  towards  the  great  ro.id,  and 
gr.adually  left  the  mountain  behind  them.  "  1  lelt 
almost  certain."  said  the  chief,  "that  they  could 
not  be  sent  after  us.  They  know  too  well  how  pns- 
oners  have  fared  in  our  hands  on  similar  occasions. 
Our  laws  in  this  respect  are  inflexible,  and  are  necfs- 
sar^'  for  our  safety.  If  we  once  flinched  from  them, 
there  would  no  longer  be  such  thing  as  a  ransom  to 
be  procured." 

There  were  no  signs  yet  of  the  messenger's  re- 
turn. I  was  prepiiring  to  resume  my  sketching, 
when  the  captain  drew  a  quire  of  paper  from  his 
knapsack — "Come,"  said  he,  laughing,  "you  area 
painter ;  take  my  likeness.  The  leaves  of  your  port- 
folio are  sm.all ;  draw  it  on  this."  I  gladly  con- 
sented, for  it  was  a  study  that  seldom  presents  itself 
to  a  painter.  I  recollected  that  Salvator  Rosa  in  his 
youth  had  voluntarily  sojourned  for  a  time  among 
the  banditti  of  Calabria,  and  had  filled  his  m  nd 
with  the  savage  scenery  and  savage  associates  by 
which  he  was  surrounded.  I  seized  my  pencil  with 
enthusiasm  at  the  thought.  I  found  the  captain 
the  most  docile  of  subjects,  and  after  various  shift- 
ings  of  position,  I  placed  him  in  an  attitude  to  my 
mind. 

Picture  to  yourself  a  stem,  muscular  figure,  in 
fanciful  bandit  costume,  with  pistols  and  poniards  in 
belt,  his  brawny  neck  bare,  a  handkerchief  loosely 
thrown  around  it,  and  the  two  ends  .n  front  strung 
with  rings  of  all  kinds,  the  spoils  of  travellers ;  rel- 
iques  and  medals  hung  on  his  bre.ast ;  his  hat  deco- 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELi.ER. 


101 


I'jJ^"''"'.     I  had 
J  of  the  chiftia,, 
M  'or  A  mn.|,.r.,|, 

(  with  .mpatirnc, 
ho  had  hern  sen' 
1  been  posie.j  c,, 
!  pUiti  Ot  1;,  M^. 

fy  of  carahinif.,, 
/  the  mount.iin.' 
p.  he  sworp,  with 
■  least  movciii'-nt 
'  the  lives  ni  niy 

'City  of  (Irtiuan. 
panion  said ;  h,„ 
P  post,  he  iiirrifd 
isl  act  as  .  tiitf/' 
^1  subaltern y    i, 
rather  than  suf- 
be  alarmed,    \„ 
fly  with  tis,  ami 
•r  your  life." 
«<ory  in  this  ar- 
:e«l  me  bctufcn 
e  of  flight,  whuii 
om.  the  carliiiin 
the  pursued,    i 
>voure<l  to  m'm- 

tatc  of  peril  and 

^fnong  their  Ifafy 

the  caralnnicri 

inn;   sonieimin 
les  (lisappcar.rtj 

out.  examiniiig 
t  directions  and 
:  the  neij;ht)oi.r. 
f^s  lost  unon  the 
iffth  we  were  ro- 
cnrabiniers  hav 
I  their  amis,  con- 
:  great  road,  aiul 

them.  "  I  (Hi 
that  they  could 
0  well  how  pris- 
milar  occasions. 
!.  and  are  neccs- 
:he(l  from  them, 

as  a  ransom  to 

■nessenger's  re- 

my  sketching, 
paper  from  his 
If,'.  "  you  are  a 
»  of  your  port- 

'   gladly  con. 

presents  itself 
tor  Rosa  in  his 
a  time  among 
'!!ed   his  mnd 

associatts  bv 
"ly  pencil  with 
d  the  captain 
r  various  shift- 
attitude  to  my 

liar  figure,  in 
td  poniarrls  in 
irchief  loosely 
n  front  strung 
ravellers ;  rel- 
his  ha:  deco- 


S' 


ijird  wi^i  various-coloured  ribbandi ;  his  vest  and 

ihori  oreflcne*  of  brii;ht  colours  and  finely  embroi- 
lierrd  ;  l)t<i  legs  in  buskins  or  leggins.  F'ancy  hitn  on 
I  ni»untain  height,  among  wild  rocks  and  rugged 
(■ks,  leaning  on  his  carbine  as  if  meditating  some 
(iploit,  while  far  below  are  beheld  villages  and  villas, 
the  scenes  of  his  maraudings,  with  the  wide  Cam- 
pagna  dimlv  extending  in  the  distance. 

Tne  robber  was  pleased  with  the  sketch,  and 
tieniei!  to  admire  himself  upon  paper.  1  had 
jMftely  finished,  when  the  labourer  arrived  who 
*i.iil  been  sent  for  my  ransom.  He  had  reached 
TiiKulum  two  hours  after  midnight.  He  brought 
me  a  letter  from  the  prince,  wh:)  was  in  bed  at  the 
time  of  his  arrival.  As  I  had  predicted,  he  treated 
the  demand  as  extravagant,  but  offered  five  hundred 
ilollars  for  my  ransom.  Having  no  money  by  him 
It  the  moment,  he  had  sent  a  note  for  the  amount, 
pa)  ible  to  whomever  should  conduct  me  safe  anil 
wiiiid  to  Uome.  I  presented  the  note  of  h.ind  to 
the  chieftain ;  he  received  it  with  a  shrug.  "  Of 
wh.ii  use  are  notes  of  hand  to  us?  "  said  he.  "  who 
can  we  send  with  you  to  Rome  to  receive  it  ?  We 
are  all  marked  men,  known  and  described  at  every 
aie  and  military  post,  and  village  church-<loor. 
to  we  must  have  gold  and  silver;  let  the  surr  be 
j)ai<l  in  cash  and  you  shall  be  restorer'  '.o  liberty." 

The  captain  again  plaf^^'J  a  sheet  >"  paper  I).'  hi-e 
me  u>  communicate  his  determination  '  »  ihc  pi  I'ice 
W'herk  I  h.id  finished  '.he  lette(-  an'!  ti>  "'  Mie  jnetit 
from  the  ouire,  I  found  on  th'  <>p,">osit'.  .•.idf  of  if  ♦K.- 
portrait  vnich  I  had  just  been  ti  u'inj;.  I  v.  is  al-  ut 
to  tear  it  otTand  give  it  to  the  chief" 

"  Hold,"  said  he,  "  let  it  go  ti  Rome ;  Ici  then 
lee  what  ki-.;d  of  looking  tc'l;;\v  i  ar.K  1  erhni  >  .he 
pjince  and  his  friends  may  lorr^,  '.i  jjood  'in  o^iiiion 
of  me  from  my  face  aa  you  have  (U.u:'." 

Tills  was  said  sportivciv  yet  :t  Wii«  ;  videni  there 
wa"<  vanity  lurking  .it  f'l  ■  ooit-  .n.  Even  u-.is  <.'i..iy. 
ilwtrustfui  chief  ot  b.inditt!  forg  I  hr  .\  moTivni:  hi? 
usual  foresight  and  prx.  Miior,  lO  the  com'  -■•n  wi«h 
:o  be  admired.  He  ncv<;r  rc*li>cted  wha*  .se  .Mxh' 
be  made  of  this  portrait  in  hii  pursuit  ud  •...'  ic- 
tion. 

I'hu  letter  was  folded  and  (ir.'Cteu,  nr.  J  vhc  mes- 
vntjer  departed  s.gr.in  for  'I'usrulum.  It  wax.  nov/ 
eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  as  j«t  ^^v:  had 
eater,  nothing.  In  spite  of  p.u  try  anxiety,  I  hogan 
to  teel  a  craving  appetite.  I  was  {{i'-d,  the, Sore,  '.,< 
hear  the  captain  tallc  something  ol  c&thif.  Me  ob- 
sened  th.it  for  three  d.iys  ano  ni),hi.^  thry  hn  l  f<ern 
lurking  about  among  rocks  an;,  woo'ls,  ni'diiutirij^ 
their  expedition  to  Tusculum,  during  which  nil  'hci' 
provisions  '.ad  been  cxhauste<l.  He  shoulii  nov,- 
lake  nieiisurcs  to  procure  a  supply.  Leaving  me, 
thercibre,  in  the  charge  of  his  coMradr,  in  whoi..  he 
appeared  to  have  implicii  con  i  ience  he  ilefi.^rted, 
issuring  me  that  in  l-.ts  ihm  two  hours  we  ^iiould 
make  a  good  din-ier.  Wlure  it  was  to  co.ie  from 
was  an  enigma  to  me,  thciif.ii  ;  >V.'s  evitlcnt  the.se 
beings  h.id  their  secret  friends  ar.J  i  ;ents  i!irouj,h- 
out  the  countiy. 

Indeed,  tiie  inhaS -^in  >  if  these  mountains  and  of 
the  v.illeys  wliich  .  hey  tinbosom  are  a  ride,  half  civil- 
itec!  .set.  The  c  n\ns  iiuj  villages  among  the  forests 
cf  t-V  AI.'Mza,  shut  up  irom  the  rest  of  the  world. 
»rc  jiuiO't  like  savage  dens.  It  is  wonderful  that 
i.'ch  rude  abodes,  so  Tittle  known  and  visited,  should 
be  emlxjsomed  in  the  midst  of  one  of  the  most 
travelled  and  civilized  countries  of  Europe,  Among 
these  regions  the  robber  prowls  unmolested ;  not  a 
mountaineer  hesitates  to  give  him  secret  harbour 
and  assistance.  The  shepherds,  however,  who  tend 
their  flocks  among  the  mountains,  are  the  favourite 
emissaries  of  the  robbers,  when  they  would  send 


me^s-agrs  down  to  the  valleys  either  for  random  oi 
supplies.  The  shepherds  of  the  Abruzzi  are  as  wild 
as  the  scenes  they  frequent.  They  aie  clad  in  • 
rude  garb  of  black  or  brown  shcep-»kin  ;  they  hav . 
high  conical  hats,  and  coarse  sandals  of  cloth  bounr 
round  their  legs  with  thongs,  similar  to  those  woiij 
by  the  robl)ers.  They  carry  long  stalls,  on  which  ai 
they  lean  they  form  picturesque  objects  in  the  lonclj 
landscape,  and  they  are  followed  by  their  ever-con' 
stant  companion,  the  <log.  They  are  a  curious,  qjea 
tioning  set,  gl.id  at  any  time  to  relieve  the  monctonj 
of  their  solitude  by  the  conversation  ol  the  passer-by, 
and  the  dog  will  lend  an  attentive  ear,  and  |>ut  on  as 
sag.'icious  and  inuuisitive  a  look  as  his  master. 

But  I  am  wandering  fiom  my  story.  I  was  now 
left  alone  with  one  of  the  robbers,  the  confidential 
companion  of  the  chief.  He  was  the  youngest  and 
most  vigorous  of  the  hand,  and  thougn  his  counte- 
nance h.'id  something  of  that  dissolute  fierceness  which 
seems  natural  to  this  desperate,  lawless  mode  of  liie 
yet  there  were  traits  of  manly  beauty  about  it.  Ai 
an  artist  1  cuuld  not  but  admire  it.  I  had  reniarkeo 
in  him  an  air  of  abstraction  and  reverie,  and  a) 
times  a  movement  of  inwani  suffering  and  impa- 
tience. He  now  sat  on  the  ground;  his  elimws  on 
his  knees,  Ms  head  resting;  between  his  clenched 
fists,  .-ml  his  .-yes  fixed  on  the  earth  with  an  expres- 
^'^■n  oi"  sad  and  bitter  rumination.  I  had  grown 
•tniiliar  with  him  from  repeated  conversations,  and 
»nd  lound  him  superior  in  mind  to  the  rest  of  the 
Lind.  I  was  anxious  to  seize  every  opportuniiy  of 
sounding  the  feelings  of  these  singular  beings.  I 
fancied  I  re.'ul  in  the  countenance  of  this  one  traces 
of  self-c'.ndemnation  and  remorse;  and  the  ease 
with  whLii  1  had  drawn  forth  the  corfi(lcni:e  of  the 
Liiiertin,  eucfur.-xged  me  to  'lope  ttie  same  with  hii 
foiling  er.s, 

.'i..'i(.r  a  little  pn't.ninary  conversation  1  ventured 
(o  .".hk  litn  if  he  i'.!  . ..  /eel  regret  at  having  aliari. 
di;i',';;'  !..■>  fdiiiiy  .-.r','  lakcn  to  this  dangerous  proiev 
r.if'M  "J  f«',"  rep'ini  he,  "but  one  regiet,  and 
xh:.t  'vi'l  fi''"  o);v  with  mv    ife;"  as  he  said  this  he 


f. 


r».sictl  !)  M  c'.- I'.hed  fifts  iip;n  his  bosom,  drew  his 
reii.t  tl'.iaugh  li!S  .sv.    erih.  and  added  w-ith  deep 


emcdon,  "  I  have  r.^nv^ 
ir,e ;  it  i«  like  \  Lttrrit. 
oearl.     !  coild  t»ii  yo ' 


-i.r,   viihin  here  that  stifles 

-I'jr   consuming  my  very 

'  oearl.     !  coild  t*ii  vo  •  ii   miseiable  story,  but  not 

I  now — ancther  tiirii;.*  --He  itlapsed  into  his  former 

I  pc'.ition,  and  sat  wit'*  'j'r  head  between  his  hands, 

1  mijtt:^ring   to   1.;;  ,sfM   in   broken   ejacul.iticns,  and 

I  wnat  appvaitd  ;(i  tiires  tc  be  curses  and  maledic- 

I  '.ic  IS.     1  S.5W  hr  was  -lot  in  a  moo  J  to  be  disturbed, 

j  r«.i  J  left  Irrii  t(>  himself.     In  a  little  time  the  exhaus- 

i  lion  I'l  !ns  .'eejr|,cs,  and  probably  the  latig'ucs  he  had 

!u!-.(!cisone    in   ih\s  expedition,   began    to    produce 

dr^v/smefs.   He  struggle<l  with  it  for  a  timt,  but  the 

w  rni.h  ;  nJ  su'f.iness  of  mid-day  made  it  irresistible, 

ai'd  le  ai  length  stretched  himself  upon  the  herbage 

and  'el  asleep. 

I  now  lieheld  a  chance  of  escape  wi'.hin  .ny  reach 
My  guard  lay  before  me  at  my  mercy.  Hi*,  vigorous 
limbs  relaxed  by  sleep ;  his  bosom  cper.  for  che  blow 
his  carbine  slipped  from  his  neneicss  grtsp,  anc 
lying  by  his  side ;  his  stiletto  half  out  of  the  pocke 
in  which  it  was  usually  carried.  But  two  of  lii; 
comrades  were  in  sight,  and  those  at  a  considerabk 
dist.mcei  on  the  edge  of  the  mountain  ;  their  backs 
turned  to  us,  and  tneir  attention  occupied  in  keep- 
ing a  look-out  upon  the  plain.  Through  a  strip  of 
intervening  forest,  and  at  the  foot  of  a  steep  descent, 
I  beheld  the  village  of  Rocca  Priori,  To  h.ave  se- 
cured the  carbine  of  the  sleeping  brigand,  to  have 
seized  upon  his  poniard  and  liave  plunged  it  in  his 
heart,  would  have  been  the  work  of  an  instant. 
Should  he  die  without  noise,  I  might  dart  through 


\ 


«U4 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Wis*-'  ■■,  ' 


-■*•." 


if  •'J' 


4^ 


the  forest  and  down  tc  Rocca  Priori  before  my  flight 
might  be  discovered.  In  case  of  alarm,  I  should  still 
have  a  fair  start  of  the  robbers,  and  a  chance  of  get- 
ting beyond  the  reach  of  their  shot. 

Here  then  was  an  opportunity  for  both  escape  and 
vengeance ;  perilous,  indeed,  but  powerfully  tempt- 
ing. Had  my  situation  been  more  critical  I  could 
r.ot  have  resisted  it.  I  reflected,  however,  for  a 
moment.  The  attempt,  if  successful,  would  be  fol- 
lowed by  tl'.e  sacrifice  of  niy  two  fellow  prisoners, 
who  were  sleeping  profoundly,  and  could  not  be 
awakened  in  time  to  escape.  The  labourer  who  had 
gone  after  the  ransom  might  also  fall  a  victim  to  the 
rage  of  the  robbers,  without  the  money  which  he 
brought  being  saved.  Besides,  the  conduct  of  the 
chief  towards  me  made  me  feel  certain  of  speedy  de- 
liverance. These  reflections  overcame  the  first  pow- 
erful impulse,  and  I  calmed  the  turbulent  agitation 
which  it  had  awakened. 

I  again  took  out  my  materials  for  drawing,  and 
amused  myself  with  sketching  tiie  magnificent  pros- 
pect. It  was  now  about  noon,  and  every  thing 
seemed  sunk  into  repose,  like  the  bandit  that  lay 
sleeping  before  me.  The  noon-tide  stillness  that 
reigned  over  these  mountains,  the  vast  landscape 
below,  gleaming  with  distant  towns  and  dotted  with 
various  habitations  and  signs  of  life,  yet  all  so  silent, 
had  a  powerful  eff<;cl  upon  my  mind.  The  inter- 
mediate valleys,  too,  that  lie  among  mountains  have 
a  peculiar  air  of  solitude.  Few  sounds  are  heard  at 
mid-day  to  break  the  quiet  of  the  scene.  Sometimes 
the  whistle  of  a  solitary  muleteer,  lagging  with  his 
lazy  animal  along  the  road  that  winds  through  the 
centre  of  the  valley  ;  sometimes  the  faint  pijv.ng  of  a 
shepherd's  reed  liom  the  side  of  the  mountain,  or 
sometimes  the  bell  of  an  ass  slowly  pacing  along, 
followed  by  a  monk  with  bare  feet  and  bare  shining 
head,  and  carrying  provisions  to  the  convent. 

I  had  continued  to  sketch  tor  some  time  among 
my  sleeping  companions,  when  at  length  I  saw  the 
captain  of  the  band  approaching,  followed  by  a 
peasant  leading  a  mule,  on  which  was  a  well-filled 
sack.  I  at  first  apprehended  that  this  was  some 
new  prey  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  robbers,  but 
the  contented  look  of  the  peasant  soon  relieved  me, 
and  I  was  rejoiced  to  hear  that  it  was  our  promised 
repast.  The  brigands  now  came  running  from 
the  three  sides  of  the  mountain,  having  the  quick 
scent  of  vultures.  Every  one  busied  himself  in 
unloading  the  mule  and  relieving  the  sack  of  its 
contents. 

The  first  thing  that  made  its  appearance  was  an 
enormous  ham  of  a  colour  and  plumpness  that 
would  have  inspired  the  pencil  of  Teniers.  It  was 
followed  by  a  large  cheese,  a  bag  of  boiled  chestnuts, 
a  little  barrel  of  wine,  and  a  quantity  of  good  house- 
hold bread.  Every  thing  was  arrangid  on  the  grass 
with  a  degree  of  symmetry,  and  the  captain  present- 
ing me  his  knite,  requested  me  to  help  myself.  We 
all  seated  ourselves  round  the  viands,  and  nothing 
was  heard  tor  a  time  but  the  sound  of  vigorous 
icr.stication,  or  the  gurgling  of  the  barrel  of  wine  as 
it  revolved  briskly  about  the  circle.  My  long  fasting 
and  the  mountain  air  and  exercise  had  given  me  a 
k«r;  appetite,  and  never  did  repast  appear  to  me 
more  ex;.*llent  or  picturesque. 

From  time  to  time  one  of  the  band  was  despatched 
to  keep  a  look-out  upon  the  plain  ;  no  enemy  was  at 
^and,  and  the  dinner  wrvs  undisturbed. 

The  peasant  received  nearly  twice  the  value  of  his 
provisions,  and  set  off  down  (he  mountain  highly 
satisfied  with  his  bargain.  I  felt  invigorated  by  the 
hearty  meal  I  had  made,  and  notwithstanding  that 
the  wound  I  had  received  the  evening  before  was 
painful,  yet  I  could  not  but  feel  extremely  interested 


and  gratified  by  the  singular  scenes  continuall)  pi«, 
sented  to  me.  Every  thing  seemed  pictured  about 
these  wild  beings  and  their  haunts.  Their  bivouaci^ 
their  groups  on  guard,  their  indolent  noon-tide  reoon 
on  the  mountain  brow,  their  rude  repast  on' the 
herbage  among  rocks  and  trees,  every  thing  pj^ 
sented  a  study  for  a  painter.  But  it  was  towards  i* 
approach  of  evening  that  I  felt  the  highest  enthuiids;); 
awakened. 

The  setting  sun,  declining  beyond  the  vast  Caip. 
pagna,  shed  its  rich  yellow  beams  on  the  wood) 
summits  of  the  Abruzzi.  Several  mountains  crown- 
ed with  snow  shone  brilliantly  in  the  distance,  con- 
trasting their  brightness  with  others,  wliich,  thrown 
into  shade,  assumed  deep  tints  of  purple  and  violet, 
As  the  evening  advanced,  the  landscape  dar'ap.sd 
into  a  sterner  character.  The  immense  solitude 
around  ;  the  wild  mountains  broken  into  rocks  and 
precipices,  intermingled  with  vast  oak,  cork,  and 
chestnuts  ;  and  the  groups  of  banditti  in  the  lo.e- 
ground,  reminded  me  of  those  savage  cenes  of 
Salvator  Rosa. 

To  beguile  the  time  the  captain  proposed  to  his  com 
rades  to  spread  before  me  their  jewels  and  cameos, 
as  I  must  doubtless  be  a  judge  of  such  articles,  and 
able  to  inform  them  of  their  nature.  He  set  the 
example,  the  others  followed  it,  and  in  a  few  moments 
I  saw  the  grass  before  me  sparkling  with  jewels  and 
gems  that  would  have  delighted  the  eyes  of  an  anti- 
quary or  a  fine  lady.  Among  them  were  several 
precious  jewels  and  anti()ue  intaglios  and  cameos  of 
great  value,  the  spoils  doubtless  of  travellers  ol"  dis- 
tinction. I  found  that  they  were  in  the  habit  of 
selling  their  booty  in  the  frontier  towns.  As  thesf 
in  general  were  thinly  and  poorly  peopled,  and  littlt 
frequented  by  travellers,  they  could  otter  no  mirke' 
for  such  valuable  articles  of  taste  and  luxury.  I  sug 
gested  to  them  the  certainty  of  their  readily  obtairv- 
ing  great  prices  for  these  gems  among  the  rici: 
strangers  with  which  Rome  was  thronged. 

The  impression  made  upon  their  greedy  mind; 
was  immediately  apparent.  One  of  the  band,  s 
young  man,  and  the  least  known,  requested  pen.iis- 
sion  of  the  captain  to  depart  the  following  day  in 
disguise  for  Rome,  for  tne  purpose  of  lrat]icl< ; 
promising  on  the  faith  of  a  bandit  (a  sacred  pled^'e 
amongst  them)  to  return  in  two  days  to  any  place 
he  might  appoint.  The  captain  consented,  and  a 
curious  scene  took  place.  The  robbers  crowded 
round  him  eagerly,  confiding  to  him  such  of  their 
jewels  as  they  wished  to  dispose  of,  and  giving  him 
instructions  what  to  demand.  There  was  bargain- 
ing and  exchanging  and  selling  of  trinkets  among 
themselves,  and  I  oeheld  my  watch,  which  h,\d  a 
chain  and  valuable  seals,  purchased  by  the  youii(i 
robber  merchant  of  the  rufnan  who  had  plundered 
me,  for  sixty  dollars.  I  now  conceived  a  faint  hope 
that  if  it  went  to  Rome,  I  might  somehow  or  oiler 
re;(ain  possession  of  it. 

In  the  meantime  day  declined,  and  no  messengii 
returned  from  Tusculum. 

The  idea  of  passing  another  night  in  the  wcxh1» 
was  extremely  disheartening ;  for  I  began  to  be 
satisfied  with  what  I  had  seen  of  robber  hie.  Tht 
chieftain  now  ordered  his  men  to  follow  him,  th.it  h; 
might  station  them  at  their  posts,  adding,  that  it 
the  messenger  did  not  return  before  night  they  m  isi 
shift  their  quarters  to  some  other  place. 

I  was  again  left  alone  with  the  young  bandit  who 
had  before  guarded  me ;  he  had  the  same  gloon  y 
air  and  haggard  eye,  with  now  and  then  a  bittei 
sardonic  smiTe.  1  was  determined  to  probe  this 
ulcerated  heart,  and  reminded  him  of  a  kind  ul 
promise  he  had  given  me  to  tell  me  the  cauK  ot 
his  suffering. 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


406 


It  seeirrt.1  to  :ne  as  if  these  troubled  spirits  were 
glad  of  an  o^.tiortunitv  to  disburthen  tlieihselvt^s ; 
md  of  having  some  fresh  undiscased  mind  with 
wiiich  they  could  com.-nunicate.  I  had  hardly  made 
the  request  but  he  seated  himself  by  my  side,  and 
nve  me  his  story  in,  as  nearly  as  1  can  recollect,  the 
fcllowing  words. 


no  messenger 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  YOUNG  ROBBER. 


I  WAS  bom  at  the  little  town  of  Frosinone,  which 
lies  at  the  skirts  of  the  Abruzzi.  My  father  had 
made  a  little  property  in  trade,  and  gave  me  some 
education,  as  he  intended  nie  for  the  church,  but  I 
ha;i  kept  g^ay  company  too  much  to  relish  the  cowl, 
so  I  grew  up  a  !oitprer  about  the  place.  I  was  a 
heniless  fellow,  a  little  quarrelsome  on  occasions, 
but  good-humoured  in  the  main,  so  I  made  my  way 
my  well  for  a  time,  until  I  fell  in  love.  There  lived 
in  our  town  a  surveyor,  or  land  bailiff,  of  the  prince's, 
who  had  a  young  daughter,  a  beautiful  girl  of  six- 
tefn.  She  was  looked  upon  as  something  better 
than  the  common  run  of  our  townsfolk,  and  kept  al- 
most entirely  at  home.  I  saw  her  occasionally,  and 
became  madly  in  love  with  her,  she  looked  so  fresh 
and  tender,  and  so  different  from  the  sunburnt  fe- 
males to  whom  I  had  been  accustomed. 

As  my  father  kept  me  in  money,  I  always  dressed 
well,  and  took  all  opportunities  of  showing  myself  to 
advantage  in  the  eyes  of  the  little  beauty.  I  used  to 
see  her  at  church  ;  and  as  I  could  play  a  little  upon 
the  gui:.'ir,  I  gave  her  a  tune  sometimes  under  her 
window  of  an  evening;  and  I  tried  to  have  interviews 
with  her  in  her  father's  vineyard,  not  far  from  the 
town,  where  she  sometimes  walked.  She  was  evi- 
diiitly  pleased  with  me,  but  she  was  young  and  shy, 
an  I  her  father  kept  a  strict  eye  ui)on  her,  and  took 
alarm  at  my  attentions,  for  he  had  a  bad  opinion  of 
me.  and  looked  for  a  better  n  itch  for  his  daughter. 
I  bi'canie  furious  at  the  dilticulties  thrown  in  my 
way,  having  been  accustomed  always  to  easy  success 
among  the  women,  being  considered  one  of  the 
smartest  young  fellows  of  the  place. 

Her  father  brought  home  a  suitor  for  her ;  a  rich 
farmer  from  a  neighbouring  town.  The  wedding- 
day  was  appointed,  and  preparations  were  making. 
1  giH  sight  of  her  at  her  window,  and  I  thought  she 
looked  sadly  at  me.  I  determined  the  match  should 
not  t.ake  place,  cost  what  it  might.  I  met  her  in- 
tended bridegroom  in  the  market-place,  and  coidd 
not  restrain  the  expression  of  my  rage.  A  few  hot 
words  passed  between  us,  when  I  drew  my  stiletto, 
and  st.ibbed  him  to  the  heart.  I  tied  to  a  neighbour- 
ing church  for  rcfuee ;  and  with  a  little  money  I  oi)- 
tained  absolution ;  but  I  did  not  dare  to  venture  from 
my  asylum. 

At  that  time  our  captain  was  forming  his  troop. 
He  had  known  me  from  boyhood,  and  hearing  of 
my  situation,  cime  to  me  in  secret,  ar.d  made  such 
niters,  that  I  agreed  to  enlist  myself  among  his  fol- 
lowers, Iideed,  I  had  nioiC  than  once  thought  of 
taking  t:  this  mode  of  life,  having  known  several 
brave  feliows  of  the  mountains,  who  used  to  spend 
their  money  freely  among  us  youngsters  of  the  town. 
I  accordingly  left  my  asylum  late  one  night,  repaired 
to  the  appointed  place  of  meeting ;  took  the  oaths 
prescribed,  and  l)ecame  one  of  the  troop.  We  were 
for  some  time  in  a  distant  part  of  the  mountains,  and 
ou-  wild  adventurous  kind  of  life  hit  my  fancy  won- 
det  fully,  and  diverted  my  thoughts.  At  length  they 
ret  imed  with  all  their  violence  to  the  recollection  of 


R'osetta.  The  solitude  in  which  T  often  fo  ind  my- 
self gave  me  time  to  brood  over  her  image,  and  as  1 
have  kept  watch  at  night  over  our  sleeping  camp  in 
the  mountains,  my  feelings  have  been  roused  almost 
to  a  fever. 

At  length  we  shifted  our  ground,  and  detf  rmined 
to  make  a  descent  upon  the  road  between  Terracina 
and  Naples.  In  the  course  of  our  expedition,  wc 
passed  a  day  or  two  in  the  woody  mountains  which 
rise  above  Frosinone.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  I  felt 
when  1  looked  down  upon  the  place,  and  distinguish- 
ed the  residence  of  Rosetta.  I  determined  to  have 
an  interview  with  her;  but  to  what  purpose?  1 
could  not  expect  that  she  would  quit  her  home,  and 
accompany  me  in  my  hazardous  life  among  the 
mountains.  She  had  been  brought  up  too  tenderly 
for  that ;  and  when  1  looked  upon  the  women  whc 
were  associated  with  some  of  our  troop,  I  could  not 
have  borne  the  thoughts  of  her  being  tneir  compan- 
ion. All  return  to  my  former  life  was  likewise  hope- 
less; for  a  price  was  set  upon  my  head.  Still  I 
determined  to  see  her ;  the  very  hazard  and  fruit- 
lessness  of  the  thing  made  me  furious  to  acc(>m- 
plish  it. 

It  is  about  three  weeks  since  I  persuaded  pur  cap 
tain  to  draw  down  to  the  vicinity  of  Frosinone,  vr 
hopes  of  entrapping  some  of  its  principal  inhabit- 
ants, and  compelling  them  to  a  ransom.  We  were 
lying  in  ambush  towards  evening,  not  far  from  the 
vineyard  of  Rosetta's  father.  I  stole  quietly  f-om 
my  companions,  and  drew  near  to  reconnoitre  ths 
place  of  her  frequent  walks. 

How  my  heart  beat  when,  among  the  \'ines,  I  be- 
held the  gleaming  of  a  white  dress  !  I  knew  it  must 
be  Rosetta's ;  it  being  rare  for  any  female  of  the 
place  to  dress  in  wh  "".  I  advanced  secretly  and 
without  noise,  until  putting  aside  the  vines,  I  stood 
suddenly  before  her.  She  uttered  a  piercing  shriek, 
but  I  seized  her  in  my  arms,  put  my  hand  ujwn  hei 
mouth  and  conjured  her  to  be  silent.  I  poured  out 
all  the  frenzy  of  my  passion  ;  offered  to  renounce  my 
motie  of  life,  to  put  my  fate  in  her  hands,  to  fly  with 
her  where  we  might  live  in  safety  together.  All  that 
I  could  say,  or  do,  woidd  not  pacify  her,  IifStead  of 
love,  horror  and  affright  seemed  to  have  taken  pos- 
session of  her  breast. — She  stniggled  partly  from  my 
grasp,  and  filled  the  air  with  her  cries.  In  an  in- 
stant the  captain  and  the  rest  of  my  comp?nions 
were  around  us.  I  would  have  given  anything  at 
th.'it  moment  had  she  been  safe  out  of  our  h.-xnds. 
and  in  her  father's  house.  It  was  too  l.ate.  The 
captain  pronounced  her  a  prize,  and  ordered  that 
she  should  be  borne  to  the  mountains.  1  represeni- 
i  ed  to  him  that  she  was  my  prize,  that  1  had  a^  pre- 
vious claim  to  her ;  and  I  mentioned  my  former  at 
tachment.  He  sneered  bitterly  in  reply ;  observed 
that  brigands  had  no  business  with  village  intrigues, 
and  that,  according  to  the  laws  of  the  troop,  al' 
spoils  of  the  kind  were  detennined  by  lot.  Love  and 
jen  lousy  were  raging  in  my  heart,  but  1  had  t( 
choose  l)etween  oiiedience  and  death.  I  surrender 
ed  her  to  the  captain,  and  we  mado  for  the  mount 
ains. 

She  was  overcome  by  affright,  ar  1  her  steps  wer( 
so  feeble  and  faltering,  that  it  was  necessary  to  sup- 
port her.  I  could  not  endure  the  idea  th.it  my  com- 
rades should  touch  her,  and  assuming  a  forced  tran 
quillity,  begged  that  she  might  be  ccnfidcd  to  me,  as 
one  to  whom  she  was  more  accustomed.  The  cap- 
tain regarded  me  for  a  moment  with  a  searching  look 
but  I  bore  it  without  flinching,  and  he  consented.  1 
took  her  in  my  arms:  she  was  alnr^ost  scnseleu. 
Her  head  rested  on  my  shoulder,  her  mouth  was  neu 
to  mine.  I  felt  her  breath  on  my  face,  and  it  seemeij 
to  fan  the  flame  which  devoured  me.    Oh,  God  1  te 


406 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING 


'»jiS,s  •■■■'''' 


n:,:.^ 


'  Jv: , ..: 


■^  ' 


m 


% 


have  this  glowing  treasure  in  my  arms,  and  yet  to 
think  it  was  not  mine  I 

Wc  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain.  I  as- 
cended it  with  difficulty,  particularly  where  the 
woods  were  thick ;  but  I  would  not  relinquish  my 
delicious  burthen.  I  reflected  with  rage,  however, 
that  I  must  soon  do  so.  The  thoughts  that  so  deli- 
cate a  creature  must  be  abandoned  to  my  rude  com- 
panions, maddened  me.  I  felt  tempted,  the  stiletto 
:n  n:y  hand,  to  cut  my  way  through  them  all,  and 
bear  her  off  in  triumph.  I  scarcely  conceived  the 
idea,  before  I  saw  its  rashness ;  but  my  brain  was 
levered  with  the  thought  that  any  but  myself  should 
enjoy  her  charms.  I  endeavoured  to  outstrip  my 
companions  by  the  quickness  of  my  movements; 
and  to  get  a  little  distance  ahead,  in  case  any  fa- 
vourable opportunity  of  escape  should  present.  Vain 
effort !  The  voice  of  the  captain  suddenly  ordered 
a  halt.  I  trembled,  hut  had  to  obey.  The  poor  girl 
partly  opened  a  languid  eye,  but  was  without  strength 
or  motion.  I  laid  her  upon  the  grass.  The  captain 
darted  on  me  a  terrible  look  of  suspicion,  and  or- 
dered me  to  scour  the  woods  with  my  companions, 
in  search  of  some  shepherd  who  might  be  sent  to 
her  father's  to  demand  a  r.msom. 

I  saw  at  once  the  peril.  To  resist  with  violence 
was  certain  death ;  but  to  leave  her  alone,  in  the 
power  of  the  captain ! — I  spoke  out  then  with  a 
fervour  inspired  by  my  passion  and  my  despair.  I 
reminded  the  captain  that  I  was  the  first  to  seize 
her ;  that  she  was  my  prize,  and  that  my  previous 
attachment  for  her  should  make  her  sacred  among 
my  companions.  I  insisted,  therefore,  that  he  should 
pledge  me  his  word  to  respect  her;  otherwise  I 
should  refuse  obedience  to  his  orders.  His  only  re- 
ply was,  to  cock  his  carbine ;  and  at  the  signal  my 
ccmrades  did  the  same.  They  laughed  with  cruelty 
at  my  impotent  rage.  What  could  1  do  ?  I  felt  the 
^nadness  of  resistance.  I  was  menaced  on  all  hands, 
!Wd  my  companions  obliged  me  to  follow  them.  She 
»eir lined  alone  with  the  chief — yes,  alone — and  al- 
most lifeless ! — 

Here  the  robber  paused  in  his  recital,  overpowered 
by  his  emotions.  Great  drops  of  sweat  s'ood  on  his 
forehead ;  he  panted  rather  than  brciihed ;  his 
brawny  bosom  rose  and  t\;!l  like  the  waves  of  a 
troubled  sea.  When  he  had  become  ii  little  calm, 
he  continued  his  recital. 

I  was  not  long  in  finding  a  shepherd,  said  he.  I 
ran  with  the  rapidity  of  a  deer,  eager,  if  possible,  to 

fet  back  before  what  I  dreaded  might  take'  place, 
had  left  my  companions  far  behind,  and  I  rejoined 
them  before  they  had  reached  nne-half  the  distance 
I  had  made.  I  hurried  them  back  to  the  place  where 
we  had  left  the  captain.  As  we  approached,  I  be- 
held him  seated  by  the  side  of  Rosetta.  His  triumph- 
ant look,  and  the  desolate  condition  of  the  unfortu- 
nate girl,  left  me  no  doubt  of  her  fate.  I  know  not 
how  I  restrained  my  fury. 

It  was  with  extreme  difficulty,  and  by  guiding  her 
hand,  that  she  was  made  to  trace  a  few  characters, 
requesting  her  father  to  send  three  huncired  dolla.s 
as  her  ransom.  The  letter  was  despatched  by  the 
shepherd.  When  he  was  gone,  the  chief  turned 
sterr.ly  to  me  •  "  You  have  set  an  example,"  said  he, 
of  mutiny  and  self-will,  which  if  indulged  would 
be  ruinous  to  the  troop.  Had  I  treated  you  as  our 
laws  require,  this  bullet  would  have  been  driven 
ihrough  your  brain.  But  you  are  an  old  friend :  I 
have  Dome  patiently  with  your  fury  and  your  folly ; 
I  have  even  protected  you  from  a  foolish  passion  that 
would  have  unmanned  you.  As  to  this  girl,  the  laws 
of  our  association  must  have  their  course."  So  say- 
ing, he  gave  his  commands,  lots  were  drawn,  and 
the  helpless  girl  was  abandoned  to  the  troop. 


Here  the  robber  paused  again,  panting  with  tns 
and  it  was  some  moments  before  he  cculd  resunu 
his  story.  ' 

Hell,  said  he,  was  raging  in  my  heart.  I  beheld 
the  impossibility  of  avenging  myself,  and  I  felt  that 
according  to  the  articles  m  which  we  stood  bound  to 
one  another,  the  captain  was  in  the  right.  I  rushed 
with  frenzy  from  the  place.  I  threw  myself  upon  thj 
earth ;  tore  up  the  grass  with  my  hands,  and  Ijcni 
my  head,  and  gnashed  my  teeth  in  agony  and  rage 
When  at  length  I  returned,  I  beheld  the  wreicheri 
victim,  pale,  dishevelled ;  her  dress  torn  and  dis! 
ordered.  An  emotion  of  pity  for  a  moment  sulxlued 
my  fiercer  feelings.  I  bore  ner  to  the  foot  of  a  tree, 
and  leaned  her  gently  against  it.  I  took  my  jjourdi 
which  was  filled  with  wine,  and  applying  it  to  hei 
lips,  endeavoured  to  make  her  swallow  a  liitli>.  Tr 
what  a  condition  was  she  recovered  !  She,  whom  1 
had  once  seen  the  pride  of  Frosinone,  who  but  a  short 
time  before  I  had  beheld  sporting  in  her  fathers 
vineyard,  so  fresh  and  beautiful  and  happy !  Her 
teeth  were  clenched ;  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground ; 
her  form  without  motion,  and  in  a  state  of  ah'^ojute 
insensibility.  I  hung  over  her  in  an  agony  of  n^coi- 
lection  of  all  that  she  had  been,  and  of  anguish  at 
what  I  now  beheld  her.  I  darted  round  a  look  of 
horror  at  my  companions,  who  seemed  like  so  many 
fiends  exulting  in  the  downfall  of  an  angel,  and  1 
felt  a  horror  at  myself  for  being  their  accomplice. 

The  captain,  always  suspicious,  saw  with  his  usual 
penetration  what  was  passing  within  me,  and  ordered 
me  to  go  upon  the  ridge  of  woods  to  keep  a  look-out 
upon  the  neighbourhood  and  await  the  return  of  the 
shepherd.  I  obeyed,  of  course,  stifling  the  fury  that 
raged  within  me,  though  I  felt  for  the  moment  ihs! 
he  was  my  most  deadly  foe. 

On  my  way,  however,  a  ray  of  reflection  came 
across  my  mind.  I  perceived  that  the  captain  wai 
but  following  with  strictness  the  terrible  laws  to 
which  we  had  sworn  fidelity.  That  the  passiun  '  y 
which  I  had  been  blinded  might  with  justice  have 
been  fat.al  to  me  but  for  his  forbearance ;  that  he  had 
penetrated  my  soul,  and  had  taken  precautions,  hy 
sending  me  out  of  the  way,  to  prevent  my  comniitting 
any  excess  in  my  anger.  From  that  instant  I  felt 
that  I  was  capable  of  pardoning  him. 

Occupied  with  these  thoughts,  I  arrived  at  the  fool 
of  the  mountain.  The  country  was  solitary  and 
secure  ;  and  in  a  short  time  I  beneld  the  shepherd  at 
a  distance  crossing  the  plain.  I  hastened  to  meet 
him.  He  had  obtained  nothing.  He  had  found  the 
father  plunged  in  the  deepest  distress.  He  hail  read 
the  letter  with  violent  emotion,  and  then  cahning 
himself  with  a  sudden  exertion,  he  had  replied  coldly, 
"  My  daughter  has  been  dishonoured  by  those 
wretches ;  let  her  be  returned  without  ransom,  or  let 
her  die !  " 

I  shuddered  at  this  reply.  I  knew,  according  to 
the  taws  of  our  troop,  her  death  was  inevitable.  Our 
oaths  required  it,  I  felt,  nevertheless,  that,  not 
having  been  able  to  have  her  to  myself,  I  could  lx> 
come  tier  executioner  1 

The  robber  again  paused  with  agitation.  1  sat 
musing  upon  his  last  frightful  words,  which  nrovec 
to  what  excess  the  passions  may  be  carrie<J  whei, 
escaped  from  all  moral  restraint.  There  was  a  hor- 
rible verity  in  this  story  that  reminded  me  of  sone 
of  the  tragic  fictions  of  uante. 

We  now  come  to  a  fatal  moment,  resumed  the 
bandit.  After  the  report  of  the  shepneid,  I  returned 
with  him,  and  the  chieftain  received  from  his  lips  the 
refusal  of  the  father.  At  a  signal,  which  we  all  un- 
derstood, we  followed  him  some  distance  from  the 
victim.  He  then  pronounced  her  sentence  of  death, 
Every  one  stood  ready  to  execute  his  order ;  but  1 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


un 


panting  with  fj„ 
I  he  could  resani' 

'heart     I  beheld 
W.  and  I  felt  that 
Ve  stood  bound  to 
s  nght.    I  nishod 
■wmj  self  upon  th, 
y  iiands,  and  l,eni 
h  agony  and  rage 
helcT  the  wretch^ 
:ss  torn  and  di;,' 
moment  suUlued 
the  toot  of  a  tree 
I  took  my  fr„urH' 
l^I'Plying  it  to  hei 
[allow  a  littl(>.    If 
•d  !    She,  whom  I 
le,  who  but  a  short 
»g  in  her  fathers 
md  happy!    Her 
\d  on  the  ground; 
state  of  absolute 
^n  agony  of  rwol- 
ind  of  anguish  at 
i  round  a  lo(;k  of 
med  like  so  many 
.an  angel,  and  1 
eir  accomplice. 
saw  with  his  usual 
n  me,  and  ordered 
to  keep  a  louk-oui 
:  the  return  of  the 
fling  the  fury  that 
the  moment  th.i; 

if  reflection  came 
It  the  captain  was 
:  terrible  laws  to 
at  the  passiun  '-j 
with  justice  have 
ance;  that  he  had 
;n  precautions,  by 
!nt  my  committing 
that  mstant  J  felt 
m, 

arrived  at  the  foot 
was  solitary  and 
Id  the  shepherd  at 
hastened  to  meet 
He  had  found  the 
ss.  He  had  read 
nd  then  calming 
lad  replied  coldly, 
loured  by  those 
lut  ransom,  or  lei 

ew,  according  to 

inevitable.    Our 

'leless,  that,  not 

yself.  I  could  Iv 

agitation.  I  sal 
Is,  which  nro.fc 
be  carric(l  wher, 
'fiere  was  a  hur- 
led me  of  sone 

It,  rrsumed  the 
neid,  I  returned 
irom  his  lips  the 
■hich  we  all  un- 
itance  from  the 
itence  of  death, 
is  order;  but  ] 


errd.  I  observed  that  there  was  something  due 
^  n  as  well  as  to  justice.  That  I  was  as  ready 
Kany  one  to  approve  the  implacable  larw  which  was 
It  serve  as  a  warning  to  all  those  who  hesitated  to 
l«y  the  ransoms  demanded  for  our  prisoners,  but 
lilt,  though  the  sacrifice  was  proper,  it  ought  to  be 
|(ide  without  cruelty.  The  night  is  approaching, 
|(cntin-'''l  I ;  she  will  soon  be  wrapped  in  sleep :  let 
1^  then  be  despatched.  All  that  I  now  claim  on 
[ihe  score  of  fornier  fondness  for  her  is,  let  me  strike 
Itlieblow.  I  will  do  it  as  surely,  but  more  tenderly 
ll^r.  another. 

J  Several  raised  their  voices  against  my  proposition, 
jjatthe  ciptain  imposed  silence  on  them.     Retold 
Ise!  rr.ij.''*  conduct  her  intq  a  thicket  at  some  dis- 
[lance.  and  he  relied  up^T  my  promise. 
I   1  hastened  to  seize  'tiy  irty.     Tliere  was  a  forlorn 
I  kind  of  triumph  at  havini;  at  length  become  her  ex- 
I  elusive  possessor.     I  t/.n    her  on  into  the  thickness 
J  of  the  forest.     She  remained  in  the  same  state  of  in- 
Ijcnsibility  and  stupor.     I  was  thankful  that  she  did 
I  (ot  recollect  me ;  for  had  she  once  murmured  my 
[name,  I  should  have  been  overcome.    She  slept  at 
[length  in  the  arms  of  him  who  was  to  poniard  her. 
[MMy  were  the  conflicts  I  underwent  before  I  could 
bring  myself  to  strike  the  blow.     My  heart  had  be- 
come soie  by  the  recent  conflicts  it  had  undergone, 
iml  I  dreaded  lest,  by  procrastination,  some  other 
jhould  become  her  executioner.    When  her  repose 
\  had  continued  for  some  time,  I  separated  myself 
I  pntly  from  her,  that  I  might  not  disturb  her  sleep, 
cid  seizing  suddenly  my  poniard,  plunged  it  into 
ker  bosom.     A  painful  and  concentrated  murmur, 
but  ivithoL-t  any  convulsive  movement,  accompanied 
hfr  last  sigh.     So  perished  this  unfortunate. 

He  ceased  to  speak.  I  sat  horror-struck,  covering 
my  face  with  my  hands,  seeking,  as  it  were,  to  hide 
lio.Ti  myself  the  frightful  images  he  had  presented  to 
Ey  mind.  I  was  roused  from  this  silence  by  the 
voice  of  the  captain.  "  You  sleep,"  said  he,  "  and  it 
is  time  to  be  off.  Come,  we  must  abandon  this 
height,  as  night  is  setting  in,  and  the  messenger  is 
not  returneil.  I  will.post  some  one  on  the  mountain 
edge,  to  conduct  him  to  the  place  where  we  shall 
pass  the  night." 

This  was  no  agreeable  news  to  me.  I  was  sick  at 
heart  with  the  dismal  story  I  had  heard.  1  was  har- 
assed and  fatigued,  and  the  sight  of  the  banditti  be- 
gan to  grow  insupportable  to  me. 

The  cantain  assembled  his  comrades.  We  rapidly 
descen<le(l  the  forest  which  we  had  mounted  with  so 
much  (lidiculty  in  the  morning,  and  soon  arrived  in 
what  appearetl  to  be  a  frequented  road.  The  rob- 
bers prccei.'ded  with  great  caution,  carrying  their 
guns  cocked,  and  looking  on  every  side  with  wary 
and  suspicious  eyes.  They  were  apprehensive  of  en- 
countering the  civic  patrole.  We  left  Rocca  Priori 
behind  us.  There  was  a  fountain  near  by,  and  as  i 
ir.\s  excessively  thirsty,  1  l)egged  permission  to  stop 
icd  (Irin!{.  The  captain  himself  went,  and  brought 
ax  water  in  K's  hat.  We  pursued  our  route,  when. 
It  the  extremity  of  an  alley  which  crossed  the  road, 
I  perceived  a  female  on  horseback,  dressed  in  white. 
See  was  alone.  I  recollected  the  fate  of  the  poor 
|irl  in  the  story,  and  trembled  for  her  safety. 

One  of  the  brigands  saw  her  at  the  same  instant, 
md  plunging  into  the  bushes,  he  ran  precipitately  in 
the  direction  towards  her.  Stopping  on  the  border 
of  the  alley,  he  put  one  knee  to  the  ground,  presented 
his  carbine  ready  for  menace,  or  to  shoot  her  horse 
if  she  attempted  to  fly,  and  in  this  way  awaited  her 
Rpprcach.  1  kept  my  eyes  fixed  on  her  with  intense 
uixiety:  I  felt  tempted  to  shout,  and  warn  her  of  her 
danger,  though  my  own  destruction  woidd  have  been 


the  consequence.  It  was  awful  to  see  this  tiger 
crouching  ready  for  a  bound,  and  the  poor  innocent 
victim  wandering  unconsciously  near  htm.  Nothing 
but  a  mere  chance  could  save  her.  To  my  joy,  the 
chance  turned  in  her  favour.  She  seemed  almost 
accidentally  to  take  an  opposite  path,  which  led  out- 
side of  the  wood,  where  the  robber  dare  not  venture. 
To  this  casual  deviation  she  owed  her  safety. 

I  could  not  imagine  why  the  captain  of  the  han<l 
had  ventured  to  such  a  distance  irom  the  height,  on 
which  he  had  placed  the  sentine  to  watch  the  return 
of  the  messenger.  He  seemed  hin^self  uneasy  at  the 
risk  to  which  he  exposed  himself.  His  movements 
were  rapid  and  uneasy;  I  could  scarce  keep  pace 
with  him.  At  length,  after  three  hours  of  what 
might  be  termed  a  forced  march,  we  mounted  the 
extremity  of  the  same  woods,  the  summit  of  which 
we  had  occupied  during  the  day ;  and  I  learnt  with 
satisfaction,  that  we  had  reached  our  quarters  for  the 
night.  "  You  must  be  fatigued,"  said  the  chieftain ; 
"  hut  it  was  necessary  to  survey  the  environs,  so  as 
not  to  be  surprised  during  the  night.  Had  we  met 
with  the  famous  civic  guard  of  Rocca  Priori  you 
would  have  seen  fine  sport."  Such  was  the  indefat- 
igable precaution  and  forethought  of  this  robber 
cnief,  who  really  gave  continual  evidences  of  military 
talent. 

The  night  was  magnificent.  The  moon  rising 
above  the  horizon  in  a  cloudless  sky,  faintly  lit  up 
the  grand  features  of  the  mountains,  while  lights 
twinkling  here  and  there,  like  terrestrial  stars,  in  the 
wide,  dusky  expanse  of  the  landscape,  betrayed  the 
lonely  cabins  of  the  shepherds.  Exhausted  by  fatigue, 
and  by  the  many  agitations  I  had  experienced,  I  pre> 
pared  to  sleep,  soothed  by  the  hope  of  approaching 
deliverance.  The  captain  ordered  his  companions 
to  collect  some  dry  moss  ;  he  arranged  with  his  own 
hands  a  kind  of  mattress  and  pillow  of  it,  and  gare 
me  his  ample  mantle  as  a  covering.  I  could  not  but 
feel  both  surprised  and  gratified  by  such  unexpected 
attentions  on  the  part  of  this  benevolent  cut-throat : 
for  there  is  nothing  more  striking  than  to  find  the 
ordinary  charities,  which  are  matters  of  course  in 
common  life,  flourishing  by  the  side  of  such  stem 
and  sterile  crime.  It  is  like  finding  the  tender  flow- 
ers and  fresh  herbage  of  the  valley  growing  among 
the  rocks  and  cinders  of  the  volcano. 

Before  I  fell  asleep,  1  had  some  farther  discourse 
with  the  captain,  who  seemed  to  put  great  confidence 
in  me.  He  referred  to  our  previous  conversation  of 
the  morning ;  told  me  he  was  weary  of  his  hazardous 
profession  ;  that  he  had  acquired  sufficient  property, 
and  was  anxious  to  return  to  the  world  and  lead  a 
peaceful  life  in  the  bosom  of  his  family.  He  wished 
to  know  whether  it  was  not  in  rny  power  to  procure 
him  a  passport  for  the  United  States  of  America.  I 
applauded  his  good  intentions,  and  promised  to  do 
every  thing  in  my  power  to  promote  its  success.  We 
then  parted  for  the  night.  1  stretched  myself  upon 
my  couch  of  moss,  which,  after  my  fatigues,  felt  like 
a  bed  of  down,  and  sheltered  by  the  robber's  mantle 
from  all  humidity,  I  slept  soundly  without  waking, 
until  the  signal  to  arise. 

It  was  nearly  six  o'clock,  and  the  day  was  iust 
dawning.  As  the  place  where  we  had  passed  the 
night  was  too  much  exposed,  we  moved  up  into  the 
thickness  of  the  woods.  A  fire  was  kindled.  While 
there  was  any  flame,  the  mantles  were  again  e«- 
tended  round  it ;  but  when  nothing  remained  but 
glowing  cinders,  they  were  lowered,  and  the  robbers 
seated  themselves  in  a  circle. 

The  scene  before  me  reminded  me  of  some  of  those 
described  by  Homer.  There  wanted  only  the  victim 
on  the  coals,  and  the  sacred  knife,  to  cut  off  the  suc- 
culent parts,  and  distribute  them  around.    My  con> 


ft08 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVlNu. 


pantons  might  have  rivalled  the  grim  warriors  of 
Greece.  In  place  of  the  noble  repasts,  however,  of 
Achilles  and  Agamemnon,  I  beheld  displayed  on  the 
grass  the  remains  of  the  ham  which  had  sustained 
so  vigorous  an  attack  on  the  preceding  evening,  ac- 
companied by  the  reliques  of  the  bread,  cheese,  and 
wine. 

We  had  scarcely  commenced  our  frugal  breakfast, 
when  I  heard  again  an  imitation  of  the  bleating  of 
sheep,,  similar  to  what  I  had  heard  the  day  before. 
The  captain  answered  it  in  the  same  tone.  Two 
inen  were  soon-  after  seen  descending  from  the 
woody  height,  where  we  had  passed  the  preceding 
evening.  On  nearer  approach,  they  proved  to  be  the 
sentinel  and  the  messenger.  The  captain  rose  and 
went  to  meet  them.  He  made  a  signal  for  his  com- 
rades to  join  him.  They  had  a  short  conference, 
and  then  returning  to  me  with  eagerness,  "  Your 
ransom  is  paid,"  said  he ;  "  you  are  free  ! ' 

Though  I  had  anticipated  deliverance,  I  ca.'.not 
tell  you  what  a  rush  of  delight  these  tidings  gave  me. 
I  cared  not  to  finish  my  repast,  but  prepared  to  de- 
part. The  captain  took  me  by  the  hand  ;  requested 
permission  to  write  to  me,  and  begged  me  not  to  for- 
get the  passport.  I  replied,  that  I  hoped  to  be  of 
effectual  service  to  him,  and  that  I  relied  on  his  hon- 
.  our  to  return  the  prince's  note  ^  ,r  five  hundred  dol- 
lars, now  that  the  cash  was  paio.  He  regarded  me 
for  a  moment  with  surprise ;  then,  seeming  to  recol- 
lect himself,  "  E  giusto,"  said  he,  "  eccolo — adio  !  "♦ 
He  delivered  me  the  note,  pressed  my  hand  once 
more,  and  we  separated.  The  labourers  were  permit- 
ted to  folloXv  me,  and  we  resumed  with  joy  our  road 
towards  Tusculum. 


The  artist  ceased  to  speak  ;  the  party  co.  "nued 
tsr  a  few  moments  to  pace  the  shore  of  Terracina  in 
ijlence.  The  story  they  had  heard  had  made  a  deep 
impression  on  them,  particularly  on  the  fair  Venetian, 
who  had  gradually  regained  her  husband's  arm.  At 
the  part  tnat  related  to  the  young  girl  of  Frosinone, 
•he  had  been  violently  affected  ;  sobs  broke  from  her ; 
she  clung  close  to  her  husband,  and  as  she  looked 
up  to  him  as  if  for  protection,  the  moon-beams  shin- 

Eon  her  beautifully  fair  countenance  showed  it 
er  than  usual  with  terror,  while  tears  glittered  in 
fine  dark  eyes.  "  O  caro  mio  ! "  would  she  mur- 
mur, shuddering  at  every  atrocious  circumstance  of 
the  story. 

"  Corragio,  mia  vita  !"  was  the  reply,  as  the  htJs- 
band  gently  and  fondly  tapped  the  white  hand  that 
lay  upon  his  arm. 

The  Englishman  alone  preserved  his  usual  phlegm, 
and  the  fair  Venetian  was  piqued  at  it. 

She  had  pardoned  him  a  want  of  gallantry  to- 
wards herself,  though  a  sin  of  omission  seldom  met 
with  in  the  gallant  climate  of  Italy,  but  the  ouiet 
coolness  which  he  maintained  in  matters  wliich  so 
■nuch  affected  her,  and  the  slow  credence  which  he 
had  given  to  the  stories  which  had  filled  her  with 
ftlarm,  were  quite  vexatious. 

"  Santa  Maria  ! "  said  she  to  her  husband  as  they 
retired  for  the  night,  "  what  insensible  beings  these 
^"ngljsh  ire  1 " 

\u  the  morning  all  was  bustle  at  the  inn  at  Terra- 
cina. 

The  procaccio  had  departed  at  day-break,  on  its 
noute  towards  Rome,  but  the  Englishman  was  yet  to 
start,  and  the  departure  of  an  English  equipage  is 
always  tnough  to  keep  an  inn  in  a  bustle.  On  this 
occasion  there  was  more  than  usual  stir ;  for  the 
Englishman  having  much  property  about  him,  and 


*  It  it  iuot— »hon  it  i»— adlm  I 


having  been  convinced  of  the  real  danger  of ;, 
road,  nad  applied  to  the  police  and  obtained  by  ly 
of   liberal  pay,   an  escort   of  eight. dragccis  ad 
twelve  foot-soldiers,  as  far  a  Fondi. 

Perhaps,  too,  there  might  have  been  .\  little  osteJ 
tation  at  bottom,  from  which,  with  great  (l(;l;cacv  bL 
ft  spoken,  English  travellers  are  not  always  exemptl 
though  to  say  the  truth  he  had  nothing  of  it  in  hJ 
manner.    He  moved  about  taciturn  and  resened  i 
usual,  among  the  gaping  crowd,  in  his  ginf^crbreaS 
coloured  travelling  cap,  with  his  hands  in  his  pocl(ctJ 
He  g.ive  laconic  orders  to  John  as  he  packed  away  thj 
thousand  artd  one  indispensable  conveiiiencirs  of  thl 
night,  double  loaded  his  pistols  with  great  M'.^/'flM 
and  deposited  them  in  the  pockets  of  the  cirriagJ 
taking  no  notice  of  a  pair  of  keen  eyes  fr,:\z\n^  on 
him  from  among  the  herd  of  loitering  idkVs.    Th* 
fair  Venetian  now  came  up  with  a  request  made  id 
her  dulcet  tones,  that  he  would  permit  tlitiicarria?i 
to  proceed  under  protection   of   his  escort.    Th3 
Englishman,  who  was  busy  loading  anotler  pairofl 
pistols  for  his  servant,  and  held  the  ramrod  httweeiT 
his  teeth,  nodded  assent  as  a  matter  of  covirse,  bud 
without  lifting  up  his  eyes.     The  fair  Vencti.an  wa; 
not  accustomed  to  such  indifference.     "0  Dio!"| 
ejaculated   she   softly  .as   she   retired,  "cume  sonol 
freddi  questi  Inglesi."     At  length  off  they  set  in  gal-[ 
lant  style,  the  eight  dragoons  pnancing  in  fiont,  thel 
twelve  foot-soldiers  marching  in  rear,  and  ttie  car-f 
riages  moving  slowly  in  the  centre  to  enable  the  in- 
fantry to  keep   pace  with   them.     They  had  pro-1 
ceeded  but  a  few  hundred  yards  when  it  w;is  dis.| 
covered  that  some  indispensable  article  had  beenieftj 
behind. 

In  fact,  the  Englishm.in's  purse  was  missing,  an.^j 
John  was  despatched  to  the  inn  to  search  tor  it.      I 

This  occasioned  a  little  delay,  and  the  carriage  oil 
the  Venetians  drove  slowly  on.  John  came  hacijouil 
of  breath  and  out  of  humour ;  the  purse  was  not  to  I 
be  found ;  his  master  was  irritated ;  he  recollected  the  I 
very  place  where  it  lay;  the  cursed  Italian  servant] 
had  pocketed  it.  John  was  .again  sent  back.  Here- 
turned  once  more,  without  the  purse,  but  with  the  I 
landlord  and  the  whole  household  at  his  heels.  A  ( 
thousand  ejaculations  and  protest.itions,  accom- 
panied by  ali  sorts  of  grimaces  and  contortions.  "  No  I 
purse  h.id  been  seen — his  excellent  must  be  mis- 1 
taken." 

No — his  excellenra  was  not  mist.iken  ,  the  purse  I 
lay  on  the  marble  table,  under  the  mirror  :  a  green  ] 
purse,  half  full  of  gold  and  silver.    Again  a  thou- 
sand grimaces  and  contortions,  and  vows  by  San 
Genario,  that  no  purse  of  the  kind  had  been  seen. 

The  Englishman  became  furious.  "  The  waiter 
had  pocketed  it.     The  landlord  was  a  knave.    The 

inn  a  den  of  thieves — it  was  a  d d  country— he 

had  been  cheated  and  plundere<l  from  one  end  of  it 
to  the  other— but  he'd  have  satisfaction — he'd  drive 
right  off  to  the  police." 

He  was  on  the  point  of  ordering  the  postilions  to 
turn  back,  when,  on  rising,  he  displaced  the  c.ish'on 
of  the  carriage,  and  the  purse  of  money  fell  chinking 
to  the  floor. 

All    the  blood   in  his  body  seemed  to  rush  into 

his   face.     "  D n  the  purse,"    said   he,'  as  he 

snatched  it  up.  He  d.oshed  a  handful  of  money  on 
the  ground  betbre  the  pale,  cmigpng  waiter.  "  There 
— be  off,"  cried  he ;  "  John,  order  the  postilions  to 
drive  on." 

Above  half  an  hour  had  been  exhausted  in  this  al- 
tercation. The  Venetian  carri.age  had  loitered  aloni»; 
its  passengers  looking  out  from  time  to  time,  and  ei 
pecting  the  escort  every  moment  to  follow.  They 
had  grradually  turned  an  angle  of  the  road  that  shut 
them  out  of  sight.    The  little  army  was  again  it 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


401 


■n  a  request  made  id 

permit  their  carrian 
|oi    his  escort.    Thi 

•cling  another  piirofl 
the  ramrod  ht-twcej 
natter  of  course,  buj 
he  fair  Venetian  was 
erence.     "()  Dioi'- 

^^"'■£.^-  "coniesonol 
thoffthevset  ingalj 
■ancmer  in  hont.thel 
n  rear,  and  tlie  car-P 
itre  to  ena!ile  the  in. 
m.  They  had  pro. 
■as  when  it  was  (lis.! 
E  article  h«(l  been  left! 

rse  was  missing,  ai.^ 
to  search  Ibr  it, 
,  and  the  rarria^jo: 
John  came  hacijouil 
the  purse  was  not  to 
:a;  he  recollected  the  f 
irsed  Italian  servant 
n  sent  back.    Here. 
'  purse,  but  with  the 
)id  at   his  heels,    Af 
rotestations,    accom- 
nd  contortions.  "\o| 
lenza  must  be  mis- 

nistaken  ,  the  piirst  ] 
;ne  mirror :  a  green 
■er.  Again  a  thou- 
,  and  vows  by  Sao 
id  had  been  seen. 
ious.  "  The  waiter 
was  a  knave.    The 

I d  country— he 

I  from  one  end  of  it 
sfaction— he'd  drive 


ithausted  in  this  al. 
lad  loitered  alonfr; 
ne  to  time,  and  ex 
t  to  follow.  They 
the  road  that  shul 
rmy  was  again  it 


^tlon>  and  made  a  very  picturesque  appearance  as 

Uour.d  along  at  the  bottom  of  the  rocks ;  the 

ning  sunshine  beaming  upon  the  weapons  of  the 

„iery. 

[The  Enjjlishman  lolled  bacK  in  his  carriage,  vexed 
jli  himself  at  what  had  passed,  and  consequently 
jiol  humour  with  all  the  world.  As  this,  however, 
rjo  uncommon  case  with  gentlemen  who  travel  for 
|(jr  ple.tsure,  it  is  hardly  worthy  of  remark. 
•fhey  h'«l  wound  up  from  the  coast  among  the 
is,  and  came  to  a  part  of  the  road  that  admitted 
Jsome  prospect  ahead. 

•  1  see  nothing  of  the  lady's  carriage,  sir,"  said 
tin,  leaning  over  from  the  coach  box. 
"Hang  the  lady's  carriage!"  said  the  English- 
Ipan,  crustily ;  "don't  plague  me  about  the  lady's 
riage ;  must  1  be  continually  pestered  with 
luraiigers .' " 

I  John  said  not  another  word,  for  he  understood  his 
■liaster's  mood.  The  road  grew  more  wild  and  lone- 
lit;  t!i*y  ^^'^''e  slowly  proceeding  in  a  foot  pace  up  a 
lliill ;  the  dragoons  were  some  distance  ahe.id,  and 
Ikad  just  reached  the  summit  of  the  hill,  when  they 
littered  an  exclamation,  or  rather  shout,  and  galloped 
Itirward.  The  Englishm'>n  vas  roused  from  his  sulky 
liperie.  He  stretched  nis  head  from  the  carriage, 
l«liich  hail  attained  the  brow  of  the  hill.  Hefore  him 
Itiiendtd  a  long  hollow  detile,  commanded  on  one 
jjide  by  rugged  precipitous  heights,  covered  with 
Ibushes  and  scanty  forest  trees.  At  some  distance 
Ihe  beheld  the  carnage  of  the  Venetians  overturned ; 
Ijnuinerous  gang  of  desperadoes  were  rifling  it ;  the 
[loung  man  .and  his  servant  were  overpowered  and 
iBrtiy  stripped,  and  the  lady  was  in  the  hands  of 
|t»o  of  the  rullians.  The  Englishinan  seizwl  bis 
jpistois,  sprang  from  the  carriage,  and  called  ui)on 
Ijchn  to  follow  him.  In  the  meantime,  as  the  dra- 
Ijoons  came  forward,  the  robbers  who  were  busy 
[with  the  carriage  quitted  their  spoil,  formed  them- 
[lelves  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  taking  deliberate 
liim,  fired.  One  of  the  dragoons  fell,  another  was 
[wo'jnded,  and  the  whole  were  for  a  moment  checked 
land  thrown  in  confusion.  The  robbers  loaded  again 
[in  an  instant.  The  dragoons  had  discharged  their 
[arhints,  but  without  apparent  effect;  tbey  received 
[jnoiher  volley,  which,  though  none  fell,  threw  them 
again  into  confusion.  The  robbers  were  loading  a 
second  lime,  when  they  saw  the  Ibot-sokliers  at 
j  hand.— "  Scampa  via  !  "  was  the  word.  Theyaban- 
[doned  their  prey,  and  retreated  up  the  rocks;  the 
soldiers  after  them.  They  fought  from  clitT  to  cliff, 
I  aid  bush  to  bush,  the  robbers  tuniing  every  now 
[and  then  to  fire  upon  their  pursuers;  the  soldiers 
Kramhling  after  them,  and  disch:<rging  their  mus- 
kets whenever  they  could  get  a  chance.  Sometimes 
a  soldier  or  a  robber  was  shot  down,  and  came 
tumbling  among  the  cliffs.  The  dragoons  kept 
firing  Irom  below,  whenever  a  robber  came  in  sight. 
The  Englishman  had  hastened  to  the  scene  of 
action,  ^and  the  balls  discharged  at  the  dragoons  had 
whistled  past  him  as  he  advanced.  One  object,  how- 
titr,  engrossed  his  attention.  It  was  the  beautiful 
I  Venetian  lady  in  the  hands  of  two  of  the  robl)eis, 
'*ho,  during  the  confusion  of  the  fight,  carrie'  her 
ihrieking  up  the  mountains.  He  saw  her  dress 
gleaming  pmong  the  bushes,  and  he  sprang  up  the 
rocks  to  intercept  the  robbers  as  tbey  bore  off  their 
prey.  The  ruggedness  of  the  steep  and  the  entangle- 
ments of  the  bushes,  delayed  and  impeded  him.  He 
lost  sight  of  the  lady,  but  w«s  still  guided  by  her 
cries,  which  grew  fainter  and  fainter.  They  were 
off  to  the  leu,  while  the  report  of  muskets  showed 
i.bat  the  battle  was  raging  to  the  right. 

At  length  he  came  upon  what  appeared  to  be  a 
niggiKl  toot-path,  tiaunily  worn  in  a  ^my  of  the  rock, 


and  beheld  the  ruffians  at  some  distance  hurrying 
the  lady  up  the  defile.    Cue  of  them  hearing  his  ap- 

f>roach  let  go  his  prey,  advanced  towards  him,  and 
evelling  the  carbine  which  had  been  slung  on  his 
back,  fired.  The  ball  whizzed  through  the  English- 
man's hat,  and  carried  with  it  some  of  his  hair.  He 
returned  the  fire  with  one  of  his  pistols,  and  the  robber 
fell.  The  other  brigand  now  dropped  the  lady,  ar.d 
drawing  a  long  pistol  from  his  belt,  fired  on  his  ail 
versary  with  deliberate  aim  ;  the  ball  passed  betweer, 
his  left  arm  and  his  side,  slightly  wounding  the  arwi 
The  Englishman  advanced  and  discharged  his  re- 
maining pistol,  which  wounded  the  robber,  but  not 
severely.  The  brigand  drew  a  stiletto,  and  rushed 
upon  his  adversary,  who  eluded  the  blow,  receiving 
merely  a  slight  wound,  and  defended  himself  with 
his  pistol,  which  had  a  spring  bayonet.  They  closec* 
with  one  another,  and  a  desperate  struggle  ensued 
The  robber  was  a  square-built,  thick-set  man,  power 
ful,  muscular,  and  active.  The  Englishman,  though 
of  larger  frame  and  greater  strength,  was  less  active 
and  less  accustomed  to  athletic  exercises  and  feats 
of  hardihood,  but  he  showed  himself  practised  and 
skilled  in  the  art  of  defence.  They  were  on  a  craggy 
height,  and  the  Englishman  perceived  that  his  an- 
tagonist was  striving  to  press  him  to  the  edge. 

A  side  glance  showed  him  also  the  robber  whom 
he  had  first  wounded,  scrambling  up  to  the  assistance 
of  his  comrade,  stiletto  in  hand.  He  had,  in  fact, 
attained  the  summit  of  the  cliff,  and  the  Englishman 
saw  him  within  a  few  steps,  when  he  heard  suddenly 
the  report  of  a  pistol  anu  the  ruffian  fell.  The  shot 
came  from  John,  who  had  arrived  just  in  time  to 
save  his  master. 

The  remaining  robber,  exhausted  by  loss  of  bl  jo.i 
and  the  violence  of  the  contest,  showed  signs  ol 
faltering.  His  adversary  pursued  his  advantage ; 
pressed  on  him,  and  as  his  strength  relaxed,  dasheii 
him  headlong  from  the  precipice.  He  looked  after  him 
and  saw  him  lying  motionbss  among  the  rocks  below. 

The  Englishman  now  sought  iTie  fair  Venetian. 
He  found  her  senseless  on  the  ground.  With  his 
servant's  assistance  he  bore  her  down  to  the  road, 
where  her  husband  was  raving  like  one  distracted. 

The  occasional  discharge  of  fire-arms  along  the 
height  showed  that  a  retreating  fight  was  still  kept 
up  by  the  robbers.  The  carriage  was  righted ;  the 
baggage  was  hastily  replaced  ;  the  Venetian,  trans- 
ported with  joy  and  gratitude,  took  his  lovely  and 
senseless  burthen  in  his  arms,  and  the  party  resumed 
their  route  towards  Fondi,  escorted  by  the  dragoons, 
leaving  the  foot-soldiers  to  ferret  out  the  banditti. 

While  on  the  way  John  dressed  his  master's 
wounds,  which  were  loiind  not  to  be  serious. 

Before  arriving  at  Fondi  the  fair  Venetian  had 
recovered  from  her  swoon,  and  was  made  conscious 
of  her  safety  and  of  the  mode  of  her  deliverance. 
Her  transports  were  unbounded  ;  and  mingled  with 
them  were  enthusiastic  ejaculations  of  gratitude  to 
her  deliverer.  A  thousand  times  did  she  reproach 
herself  for  having  accused  him  of  coldness  and  in- 
sensibility. The  moment  she  saw  him .  sue  rushed 
into  his  arms,  and  claspeii  him  round  the  neck  with 
all  the  vivacity  of  her  nation. 

Never  was  man  more  embarrassed  by  the  em- 
braces of  a  fine  woman. 

"  My  deliverer !  mv  angel !  "  exclaimed  she, 

"Tut!  tut!"  said  the  Englishman. 

"  You  are  wounded  !  "  shrieked  the  fair  Venetian 
as  she  saw  the  blood  upon  his  clothes. 

"  Pooh — nothing  at  all !  " 

"b  Dio!"  exclaimed  she,  clasping  him  agaic 
round  the  neck  and  sobbing  on  his  bosom. 

"  Pooh  ! "  said  the  Englishman,  looking  some 
what  oolish ;  "  this  is  all  noDtense." 


ilQ 


■1?- 


1 


'■■■    :i    , 


4  ! 


ft- 


1 


.  I- 


^is 


^■-■y^^r-Hi 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVINO 


Tales  of  a  Traveller 


PART    FOURTH. 


THE    MONEY   DIGGERS. 

fOCIfD  AMONO  THE  PAPERS  OF  THE  LATE   DIEDRICH    KNICrERBOCKEK. 

Now  I  renember  those  old  women')  woijs 
Who  in  my  youth  would  tell  me  winter't  tiklet  • 
And  (peak  ol  ipinti  and  ghoiti  that  glide  by  night 
About  the  place  where  treaiure  hath  been  hid. 

MAJU/>w't  Jaw  or  Malta. 


HELL  GATE. 


About  six  miles  from  the  renowned  city  of  the 
Manhattoes,  and  in  that  Sound,  or  arm  of  the  sea, 
which  passes  between  the  main  land  and  Nassau  or 
Long-Island,  there  is  a  narrow  strait,  where  the 
current  is  violently  compressed  between  shouldering 
promontories,  and  horribly  irritated  and  perplexed 
oy  rocks  and  shoals.  Being  at  the  best  of  times  a 
very  violent,  hasty  current,  it  takes  these  impedi- 
irents  in  mighty  dudgeon  ;  boiling  in  whirlpools ; 
brawling  and  fretting  in  ripples  and  breakers  ;  and, 
in  short,  indulging  in  all  kinds  of  wrong-headed 
f.4roxysms.  At  such  times,  wo  to  any  unlucky  vessel 
^^'at  ventures  within  its  clutches. 

This  termagant  humour  is  said  to  prevail  only  at 
biJf  tides.  At  low  water  it  is  as  pacific  as  any  other 
ifrram.  As  the  tide  rises,  it  begins  to  fret ;  at  half 
tide  it  rages  and  roars  as  if  bellowing  for  more 
water;  but  when  the  tide  is  full  it  relapses  again 
into  ouiet,  and  for  a  time  seems  almost  to  sleep  as 
oundly  as  an  alderman  after  dinner.  It  may  be 
compared  to  an  inveterate  hard  drinker,  who  is  a 
peaceable  fellow  enough  when  he  has  no  l-quor  at  all, 
or  when  he  has  a  skin  full,  but  when  half  seas  over 
plays  the  very  devil. 

This  mighty,  blustering,  bullying  little  strait  was 
a  place  of  great  difficulty  and  danger  to  the  Dutch 
navigators  of  ancient  days ;  hectoring  their  tub-built 
barlu  in  a  most  unruly  style ;  whirling  them  about, 
in  a  manner  to  make  any  but  a  Dutchman  giddy, 
»nd  not  unfrequently  stranding  them  upon  rocks  and 
reefs.  Whereupon  out  of  sheer  spleen  they  denomi- 
nated it  Hellegat  (literally  Hell  Gut)  and  solemnly 
gave  it  over  to  the  devil.  This  appellation  has  since 
been  aptly  rendered  into  English  by  the  name  of  Hell 
Gate ;  and  into  nonsense  by  the  name  of  Hurl  Gate, 
according  to  certain  foreign  intruders  who  neither 
anderstood  Dutch  nor  English. — May  St.  Nicholas 
confound  them ! 

From  this  strait  to  the  city  of  the  Manhattoes  the 
borders  of  the  Sound  are  greatly  diversified  ;  in  one 
part,  on  the  eastern  shore  of  the  island  of  Mannahata 
&nd  opposite  Blackwell's  Island,  being  very  much 
broken  and  indented  by  rocky  nooks,  overhung  with 
trees  which  give  them  a  wild  and  romantic  look. 

The  fiux  and  reflux  of  the  tide  through  this  part 
ol  the  Sound  is  extremely  rapid,  and  the  navigation 
troublesome,  by  reason  of  tne  whirling  eddies  and 
counter  currents.  I  speak  this  from  experience, 
having  been  much  of  a  navigator  of  these  small  seas 
in  my  boyhood,  and  having  more  tiian  once  njn  the  ' 


risk  of  shipwreck  and  drowning  in  the  ctmrse  oil 
divers  holyday  voyages,  to  which  in  common  witl 
the  Dutch  urchins  I  was  rather  prone. 

In  the  midst  of  this  perilous  strait,  and  hard  by  a 
group  of  rocks  c.illed  "  the  Hen  and  Chicki-n-;,"  therd 
lay  in  my  boyish  days  the  wreck  of  a  vessel  whicW 
had  been  entangled  in  the  whirlpools  and  stranded! 
during  a  storm.    There  was  some  wild  siory  abmitl 
this  being  the  wreck  of  a  pirate,  and  of  some  bioodyl 
murder,   connected   with   it,  which    I    cannot  now! 
recollect.    Indeed,  the  desolate  look  of  this  foriornl 
hulk,  and  the  fearful  place  where  it  lay  rotting,  wtrel 
sufficient  to  awaken  strange  notions  com  frning  jt.| 
A  row  of  timber  heads,  blackened  by  tune,  p<:erfd| 
above  the  surface  at  high  water;  but  at  low  tide  a| 
considerable  part  of  the  hull  was  bare,  and  its  griwl 
ribs  or  timbers,  partly  stripped  of  their  plinks,  loclt.f 
ed  like  the  skeleton  of  some  sea  monster.    Tl;eit| 
was  also  the  stump  of  a  mast,  with  a  few  ropes  and 
blocks  swinging  about  and  whistling  in  the  wind, I 
while  the  sea  gull  wheeled  and  screamed  around  | 
this  melancholy  carcass. 

The  stories  connected  with  this  wreck  made  it  an  I 
object  of  great  awe  to  my  boyish  fancy  ;  but  in  truth  I 
the  whole  neighbourhood  was  full  of  faWe  and  ro- 
mance for  me,  abounding  with  traditions  about 
pirates,  hobgoblins,  and  buried  money.  As  I  grew  I 
to  more  mature  years  I  made  many  researches  aft»!  I 
the  truth  of  these  strange  traditions ;  for  1  have  al- 
ways been  a  curious  investigator  of  the  valuable, but  I 
obscure  branches  of  the  history  of  my  native  province, 
I  found  infinite  difficulty,  however,  in  arriving  at  any 
precise  information.  In  seeking  to  dig  up  one  fact 
It  is  incredible  the  number  of  fables  which  I  un- 
earthed ;  for  the  whole  course  of  the  Sound  seemed 
in  my  younger  days  to  be  like  the  straits  of  Pylorus 
of  yore,  the  very  regwn  of  fiction,  I  will  say  nothing 
of  the  Devil's  Stepping  Stones,  by  which  that  arch  | 
fiend  made  his  retreat  from  Connecticut  to  Long. 
Island,  seeing  that  the  subject  is  likely  to  be  leara- 
edly  treated  by  a  worthy  friend  and  contemporar) 
historian*  whom  I  have  furnished  with  particu!an 
thereof.  Neither  will  I  say  anything  of  the  blacli 
man  in  a  three-cornered  hat,  seated  in  the  stem  ot 
a  jolly  boat  who  used  to  be  seen  about  Hell  Date  in 
stormy  weather ;  and  who  went  by  the  name  of  ihf 
Wrate's  Spuke,  or  Pirate's  Ghost,  because  I  never 
could  meet  with  any  person  of  stanch  credibility  who 
professed  to  have  seen  this  spectrum ;  unless  it  wen; 
the  widow  of  Manus  Conklin,  the  blacksmith  of  Frcfj's 


*  For  a  very  interettinK  account  of  the  Devil  and  hi*  Stepfiti 
Stonei,  see  the  learned  memoir  read  before  the  New- York  Hutomil 
Society  since  tlie  death  of  Mr.  Knickerbocker,  by  hii  frimd.  a 
eminent  jurist  of  the  place. 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


ill 


^,  but  then,  poor  woman,  she  was  a  little  pur- 

juj,  and  might  nave  been  mistaken ;  though  they 

J  she  saw  farther  than  other  folks  in  the  dark. 

Hll  this,  however,  was  but  little  satisfactory  in 

^f(l  to  the  tales  of  buried  money  about  which 

[Jjs  most  curious ;  and  the  following  was  all  that 

[jjuld  for  a  long  time  collect  that  had  anything  like 

,iir  of  authenticity. 


KIDD  THE  PIRATE. 


!  [H  old  times,  just  after  the  territory  of  the  New 
Jlldherlaiids  had  been  wrested  from  the  hands  of 
lllieir  High  Mightinesses,  the  Lords  States  General 
L  Holland,  by  Charles  the  Second,  and  while  it  was 
Id  yet  in  an  unouiet  state,  the  province  was  a  favour- 
l>:  resoil  of  adventurers  of  all  kinds,  and  particu- 
liilv  of  buccaneers.  These  were  piratical  rovers  of 
Ijit  deep,  who  made  sad  work  in  times  of  peace 
IJiong  the  Spanish  settlements  and  Spanish  mer- 
lijiant  ships.  They  took  advantage  of  the  easy  access 
llo the  harbour  of  the  Manhattoes,  and  of  the  laxity 
»its  scarcely-organized  government,  to  make  it  a 
lliiid  of  rendezvous,  where  they  might  dispose  of 
llheir  ill-gotten  spoils,  and  concert  new  depredations. 
Icrews  of  these  desperadoes,  the  runagates  of  every 
Iffluntrv  and  clime,  might  be  seen  swaggering,  in 
lopen  d.iy,  about  the  struts  of  the  little  burgh  ;  el- 
Ibowing  its  quiet  Mynheers ;  trafficking  away  their 
Inch  outlandish  plunder,  at  half  price,  to  the  wary 
lintrchant,  and  then  squandering  their  gains  in  tav- 
lems;  drinking,  gamblmg,  singing,  swearing,  shout- 
jiig,  and  astounding  the  neighbourhood  with  sudden 
|tfa<vl  and  ruffian  revelry. 

I  At  length   the  indign.ation  of  government   was 

lircused,  and  it  was  determined  to  ferret  out  thisver- 

jin  brood  from  the  colonies.     Great  consternation 

Icok  place  among  the  pirates  on  finding  justice  in 

(orsuit  of  them,  and  their   old   haunts  turned   to 

places  of  peril.      They  secreted   their   money  and 

I  jewels  in  lonely  out-of-the-way  places ;  buried  them 

I  ibout  the  wild  shores  of  the  rivers  and    sea<oast, 

aid  dispersed  themselves  over  the  face  of  the  coun- 

Among  the  agents  employed  to  hunt  them  by  sea 
was  the  renowned  Captain  Kidd.  He  h.id  long  been 
1  hardy  adventurer,  a  kind  of  equivocal  borderer, 
half  trader,  half  smuggler,  with  a  tolerable  dash  of 
the  pickaroon.  He  had  traded  for  some  time  among 
I  the  pirates,  lurking  about  the  seas  in  a  little  rakish, 
musquito-built  vessel,  prying  into  all  kinds  of  odd 
places,  as  busy  as  a  Mottier  Cary's  chicken  in  a  gale 
of  wind. 

This  nondescript  personage  was  pitched  upon  by 
eoveminent  as  the  very  man  to  command  a  vessel 
htted  out  to  cruise  against  the  pirates,  since  he  knew 
all  their  haunts  and  lurking-places ;  acting  upon  the 
jhrewd  old  maxim  of  "  setting  a  rogue  to  catch  a 
rogue."  Kidd  accordingly  sailed  from  New-York  in 
tiie  Adventure  galley,  gallantly  armed  and  duly  com- 
missioned, and  steered  his  course  to  the  Madeiras, 
io  Bonavista,  to  Madagascar,  and  cruised  .it  the  en- 
tranct^  of  the  Red  Sea.  Instead,  however,  of  mak- 
;nf  war  upon  the  pirates  he  turned  pirate  himself : 
rapturea  friend  or  foe ;  enriched  himself  with  the 
spoils  ot  a  wealthy  Indiaman,  manned  by  Moors, 
though  com.randed  by  an  Englishman,  and  h.iving 
disposed  of  his  prize,  had  the  hardihood  to  return  to 
Boston,  laden  with  wealth,  with  a  crew  of  his  com- 
rades at  his  heels. 


Measures  were  taken  for  his  arrest ;  but  hs  had  time, 
it  is  said,  to  bury  the  greater  part  of  his  treasures, 
He  even  attempted  to  draw  his  sword  anil  defend 
himself  when  arrested  ;  but  was  secured  and  thrown 
into  prison,  with  several  of  his  followers.  They 
were  carried  to  England  in  a  frigate,  where  they 
were  tried,  condemned,  and  hanged  at  Execution 
Dock.  Kidd  died  hard,  for  the  rope  with  which  he 
was  first  tied  up  broke  with  his  weight,  and  he  turn 
bled  to  the  ground  ;  he  was  tied  up  a  second  time, 
and  eflfectualTy ;  from  whence  arose  the  story  of  his 
having  been  twice  hat  ged. 

Such  is  the  main  ouMine  of  Kidd's  history ;  but  it 
has  given  birth  to  an  innumerable  progeny  of  tradi- 
tions. The  circumstance  of  his  having  buried  great 
treasures  of  gold  and  jewels  after  returning  from 
his  cruising  set  the  brains  of  all  the  good  people 
along  the  coast  in  a  ferment.  There  were  rumours 
on  rumours  of  great  sums  found  here  and  there; 
sometimes  in  one  part  of  the  country,  sometimes  in 
another ;  of  trees  and  rocks  bearing  mysterious 
marks ;  doubtless  indicating  the  spots  where  treasure 
lay  hidden.  Of  coins  found  with  Moorish  charac- 
ters, the  plunder  of  Kidd's  eastern  prize,  but  which 
the  common  people  took  for  diabolical  or  magic  in- 
scriptions. 

Some  reported  the  spoils  to  have  been  buried  in 
solitary  unsettled  places  about  Plymouth  and  Cape 
Cod ;  many  other  parts  of  the  eastern  coast,  also, 
and  various  places  in  Long-Island  Sound,  h.we  been 
gilded  by  these  rumours,  and  have  been  ransacked 
By  adventurous  money-diggers. 

In  all  the  stories  of  these  enterprises  the  devil 
played  a  conspicuous  part.  Either  he  was  concill" 
ated  by  ceremonies  ana  invocations,  or  some  bargain 
or  compact  was  made  with  him.  Still  he  was  sure 
to  play  the  money-diggers  some  slippery  trick, 
Some  had  succeeded  so  far  as  to  touch  the  iron  chest 
which  contained  the  treasure,  when  some  baffling 
circumstance  was  sure  to  take  place.  Either  the 
earth  would  fall  in  and  fill  up  the  pit,  or  some  direful 
noise  or  apparition  would  throw  the  party  into  a 
panic  and  frighten  them  from  the  piace ;  and  some- 
times the  devil  himself  would  appear  and  bear  off 
the  prize  from  their  very  grasp ;  and  if  they  visited 
the  place  on  the  next  day,  not  a  trace  would  be  seen 
of  their  labours  of  the  preceding  night. 

Such  were  the  vague  rumours  which  for  a  long 
time  tantalized  without  gratifying  my  curiosity  on 
the  interestihg  subject  of  these  pirate  traditions. 
There  is  nothing  in  this  world  so  hard  to  get  at  as 
truth.  I  sought  among  my  favourite  sources  of  au- 
thentic information,  the  oldest  inhabitants,  and  par- 
ticularly the  old  Dutch  wives  of  the  province ;  but 
though  I  flatter  myself  I  am  better  versed  than  most 
men  in  the  curious  history  of  my  native  province, 
yet  for  a  long  time  my  inquiries  were  unattended 
with  any  substantial  result. 

At  length  it  happened,  one  calm  day  in  the  latter 
part  of  summer,  that  I  was  relaxing  myself  from  the 
toils  of  severe  study  by  a  day's  amusement  in  fishing 
in  those  waters  which  had  been  the  favourite  resort 
of  my  boyhood.  I  was  in  company  w"th  se'^eral 
worthy  burghers  of  my  native  city.  Our  sport  w?n 
indifferent ;  the  fish  did  not  bite  freely  ;  and  we  had 
frequently  ch<anged  our  fishing  giound  without  bet- 
tering our  luck.  We  at  length  anchored  close  under 
a  ledge  of  rocky  coast,  on  the  eastern  side  of  the 
island  of  Mannahata.  It  was  a  still,  warm  day.  The 
stream  whirled  arid  dimpled  by  us  without  a  wave 
or  even 'a  ripple,  and  every  thing  was  so  calm  and 
quiet  that  it  was  almost  startling  when  the  kingfisher 
would  pitch  himself  from  the  branch  ot  some  diy 
tree,  and  after  suspending  himself  for  a  moment  in 


His  fame  had  preceded  him.  The  alarm  was  given 
it  the  reappearance  of  this  cut-jpurse  of  the  ocean.  I  the  air  to  take  his  aim,  would  souse  irto  the  smooth 


<12 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


^^?v,:: 


'  i  ''■  ■ 


water  after  his  prey.  While  we  were  lolling  in  our 
scat,  halt  drowsy  with  the  w.arm  stillness  of  the  day 
and  the  dullness  of  our  sijort,  one  of  our  party,  a 
worthy  alderman,  was  overtaken  by  a  slumber,  and, 
as  he  dozed,  suffered  the  sinker  of  his  drop-line  to 
lie  upon  the  bottom  of  the  "ver.  On  waking,  he 
found  he  had  caught  somcthiig  of  importance,  from 
the  weight ;  on  drawing  it  to  the  surface,  we  were 
much  surprised  to  find  a  long  pistol  of  very  curious 
»nd  outlandish  fashion,  which,  from  its  rusted  condi- 
tion, and  its  stock  htiing  worm-eaten  and  covered 
with  barnacles,  appearefl  to  have  been  a  long  time 
under  water.  The  unexpected  appearance  of  this 
document  of  warfare  occasioned  much  sijeculation 
among  my  pacific  companions.  One  supposed  it  to 
have  fallen  there  during  the  revolutionary  war.  An- 
other, from  the  peculiarity  of  its  fashion,  attributed 
it  to  the  voyagers  in  the  earliest  days  of  the  settle- 
ment ;  perch.mce  to  the  renowned  Adrian  IJIock, 
who  explored  the  Sound  and  discovered  Block  Island, 
since  so  noted  for  its  cheese.  But  a  third,  after  re- 
garding it  for  some  time,  pronounced  it  to  be  of 
veritable  Spanish  workmanship. 

"I'll  warrant,"  said  he,  "if  this  pistol  could  talk 
it  would  tell  strange  stories  of  hard  tights  among 
the  Spanish  Dons.  I've  not  a  doubt  but  it's  a 
relique  of  the  buccaneers  of  old  times." 

"  Like  enough,"  said  another  of  the  party.  "  There 
was  liradish  the  pirate,  who  at  the  time  Lord  Bella- 
mont  made  such  a  stir  after  the  buccaneers,  buried 
money  and  jewels  .somewhere  in  these  parts  or  on 
Long-Island  ;  and  then  there  was  Captain  Kidd — " 

"  Ah,  that  Kidd  was  a  daring  dog,'  said  an  iron- 
faced  Cape  Cod  whaler.  "  There's  a  fine  old  song 
abcut  him,  all  to  the  tune  of 

'  My  name  is  Robert  Kidd, 
As  I  sailed,  u  I  sailed.' 

And  it  tells  how  he  gained  the  devil's  good  graces 
by  burying  the  Bible  : 

*  I  had,  the  Bible  in  my  hand, 
As  1  sailed,  as  1  sailed. 
And  I  buried  it  iu  the  sand, 
As  I  sailed.' 

E^d.it  this  pistol  had  belonged  to  him  I  should  set 
some  store  by  it  out  of  sheer  curiosity.  Ah,  well, 
there's  an  oild  story  I  have  heard  about  one  Tom 
Walker,  who,  they  say,  dug  up  some  ot  Kidd's  buried 
money ;  and  as  the  tish  don't  seem  to  bite  at  present, 
I'll  tell  it  to  you  to  pass  away  time." 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER. 


A  FEW  miles  from  Boston,  in  Massachusetts,  there 
a  a  deep  inlet  winding  several  miles  into  the  interior 
of  the  country  from  Charles  Bay,  and  terminating  in 
a  thickly-wooded  swamp,  or  morass.  On  one  side  of 
this  inlet  is  a  beautiful  dark  grove  ;  on  the  opposite 
ride  the  land  rises  abruptly  from  the  water's  edge, 
intt  a  high  ridge  on  which  grow  a  few  scattered 
iiaks  of  great  age  and  immense  size.  It  was  under 
ijat  of  these  gigantic  trees,  according  to  old  stories, 
Jiat  Kidd  the  pirate  buried  his  tre.-isure.  The  inlet 
allowed  a  facility  to  bring  the  money  in  a  boat  secretly 
and  at  night  to  the  very  foot  of  the  hill.  The  eleva- 
tion of  the  place  pennitted  a  good  look-out  to  be  kep*. 
that  no  one  was  at  hand,  while  the  remarkable  trees 
formed  good  landmarks  by  vvhich  the  place  might 
easily  be  found  again.  The  old  stories  add,  more- 
over, that  the  devil  presided  at  the  hiding  of  the 
money,  and  took  it  unaer  hisguaidianship ;  but  this,  it 


is  well  known,  he  always  does  with  burle  J  treasuJ 
particulariy  when  it  has  been  ill  gotten.  He  that  i 
it  m.iy,  Kidd  never  returned  to  recover  his  wealth 
being  shortly  after  seized  at  Boston,  sent  out  to  Ei 
glanil,  and  there  hanged  for  a  pirate. 

AI)out  the  year  1727,  just  at  the  time  when  e.irtll 
quakes  were  prevalent  m  New-Engi.ami,  ami  sho 
many  tall  sinners  down  upon  their  knees,  there  livij 
near  this  place  a  me.agre  miseriy  fellow  ol  the  n»n 
of  Tom  Walker.     He  had  a  wife  as  niiseriv  as  liin 
self;  they  were  so  miserly  that  they  even  CdiupirJ 
to  cheat  each  other.    Whalev-r  the  woman  coul 
lay  hands  on  she  hid  away  ;  a  hen  could  not  cackll 
but  she  was  on  the  alert  to  secure  the  new-l.iiil  1 
Her  husband  was  continually  prying  about  to  \k 
tect  her  secret  hoards,  and  many  and  ticrre  were  thl 
conflicts  that  took  place  about  what  ou^jht  to  havj 
been  common  property.     They  lived  in  a  lurlnml 
looking  house,  that  stood  alone  .and  h.id  an  air  off 
starvation.     A  few  str.iggling  s.avin  trees,  emhlemj 
of  sterility,  grew  near  it;  no  smoke  ever  curled  Iron 
its  chimney ;  no  traveller  stopped  at  its  ,loor. 
miserable  horse,  whose  ribs  were  as  articulate  as  thd 
bars  of  a  gridiron,  stalked  .about  a  tield  where  a  thin 
carpet  of  moss,  scarcely  covering  the  rai;^;eil 
of  pudding-stone,  tantalized  and  balked  his  h'in),'erj 
and   sometimes  he  would  lean  his  head  over  the'l 
fence,  look  piteously  a*  the  passer-by,  and  seem  tol 
petition  deliverance  from  this  land  ot  famine.    The! 
house  .and  its  inm.ates  had  altogether  a  had  name.i 
Tom's  wife  was  a  tall  termagant,  fierce  ot  temper  J 
loud  of  tongue,  and  strong  of  arm.     Her  voice  w.yl 
often  heard  in  wordy  warfare  with  her  husband ;  and! 
his  face  sometimes  showed  signs  th.at  their  conliictjl 
were  not  confined  to  words.     No  one  ventured,  hw- 
ever,  to  interfere  between  them;    the  lonely  wrv.L 
farer  shrunk  within  himself  at  the  horrid  clamour  sni I 
clapper-cKawing ;  eyed  the  den  of  discord  askance,! 
and  hurried  on  his  way,  rejoicing,  if  a  bachtlor,  in| 
his  celibacy. 

One  day  that  Tom  Walker  had  been  to  a  distant  | 
part  of  the  neighbourhood,  he  took  what  he  consid- 
ered  a  short  cut  homewards  through  the  swamp, 
Like  most  short  cuts,  it  was  an  ill-chosen  route  The  I 
swamp  was  thickly  grown  with  great  gloomy  pines 
and  hemltKks,  some  of  them  ninety  feet  high ;  which 
made  it  dark  at  noon-day,  and  a  retreat  lor  all  the 
owls  of  the  neighbourhood.     It  was  full  of  pits  and 
quagmires,  partly  covered  with  weeds  and  mosses 
where  the  green  surface  often  betrayed  th('  traveller  I 
into  a  gulf  of  black  smothering  mud ;  there  were 
also  dark  and  stagnant  pools,  the  abodes  of  the  t.id- 
pole,  the  bull-frog,  and  the  water-snake,  and  where  | 
trunks  of  pines  and  hemlocks  lay   half   drowned, 
half  rotting,  looking  like  alligators,  sleeping  in  the  j 
mire, 

Tom  had  long  been  picking  his  way  cautiously 
through  this  treacherous  forest ;  stepping  from  tuit 
to  tuft  of  rushes  and  roots  which  afforded  precaricus 
footholds  among  deep  sloughs;  or  pacing  care  lully, 
like  a  cat,  along  the  prostrate  trunks  of  trees ,  star- 
tled now  and  then  by  the  sudden  screaming  ot  ths 
bittern,  or  the  quacking  of  a  wild  duck,  lising  on  the 
wing  from  some  solitary  pool.  At  length  he  arrived 
at  a  piece  of  firm  ground,  which  ran  out  like  a  penin- 
sula into  the  deep  bosom  of  the  swamp.  !t  had 
been  one  of  the  strong-holds  of  the  Indians  durine 
their  wars  with  the  first  colonists.  Here  they  had 
thrown  up  a  kind  of  fort  which  they  had  looked  upon 
as  almost  impregnable,  and  had  used  as  a  place  of 
'efuge  for  their  squaws  and  children.  Nothing  re- 
mained of  the  Indian  fort  but  a  few  einbankmentj 
gradually  sinking  to  the  level  of  the  surrounding 
earth,  and  already  overgrown  in  part  by  oaks  .m 
other  forest  trees,  the  foliage  of  which  t'onned  1 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER 


418 


ptrast  to  the  dark  pines  and   heniIock!i  of  the 

liinP' 

[  |(  was  late  in  the  dusk  of  eveniniK  that  Tom 
fjiker  reached  the  old  fort,  and  he  paused  there  for 
|ifhil«  to  f^cst  himself.  Any  one  but  he  would  have 
__,  unwilling  to  linger  in  this  lonely,  melancholy 
bee,  for  the  common  people  had  a  bad  opinion  of 
firom  the  stories  handed  down  from  the  time  of 
he  Indian  wars ;  when  it  was  asserted  that  the  sav- 

f  held  incantations  here  and  made  sacrifices  to 
evil  spirit.    Tom  Walker,  however,  was  not  a 
lltn  to  be  troubled  with  any  fears  of  the  kind. 

He  reposed  himself  for  some  time  on  the  trunk  of 
■ifallen  hemlock,  listening  to  the  boding  cry  of  the 
Lte-ioad,  and  delving  with  his  walking-staff  into  a 
jnound  of  black  mould  at  his  feet.  As  he  turned  up 
Idle  soil  unconsciously,  his  staff  struck  against  some- 
jlhiiig  hard.  He  raked  it  out  of  the  vegetable  mould, 
Igid  ill  I  a  cloven  skull  with  an  Indian  tomahawk 
jjcrieii  ileep  in  it,  lay  before  him.  The  rust  on  the 
Iweapon  showed  the  time  that  had  elapsed  since  this 
Ifcath  iilow  had  been  given.  It  was  a  dreary  me- 
laento  of  the  tierce  struggle  that  had  taken  place 
linlhislast  foothold  of  the  Indian  warriors. 

"Humph!"  said  Tom  Walker,  as  he  gave  the 
[iulla  kick  to  shake  the  dirt  from  it. 

"Let  that  skull  alone  !  "  said  a  gruff  voice. 

Tom  lifted  up  his  eyes  and  beheld  a  great  black 
[nan,  seated  directly  opposite  him  on  the  stump  of  a 
I  tree.    He  was  exceedingly  surprised,  having  neither 
[leen  nor  heard  any  one  approach,  and  he  was  still 
I  mere  perplexed  on  observing,  ,as  well  as  the  gather- 
ting  gloom  would  permit,  that  the  stranger  was  nei- 
ther negro  nor  Indian.     It  is  true,  he  was  dressed 
j  in  a  rude,  half  Indian  garb,  and  had  a  red  belt  or 
[iish  swathed  round  his  body,  but  his  face  was  nei- 
ther black  nor  copper  colour,  but  swarthv  and  dingy 
[  jnJ  bfgrimed  with  soot,  as  if  he  had  been  accus- 
;  lomed  to  toil  among  fires  and  forges.    He  had  a 
'  ihock  of  coarse  blacK  hair,  that  stood  out  from  his 
I  bead  in  all  directions ;  and  bore  an  axe  on  his  shoul- 
der. 

He  scowled  for  a  moment  at  Tom  with  a  pair  of 
peat  red  eyes. 

"What  are  you  doing  in  my  grounds?"  said  the 
black  man,  with  a  hoarse  growling  voice. 

'  Your  grounds  ?  "  said  Tom,  with  a  sneer ;  "  no 
more  your  grounds  than  mine  :  they  belong  to  Dea- 
con Pc.ibody." 

"  Deacon  Peabody  be  d d,"  said  the  stranger, 

"as  1  flatter  myself  he  will  be,  if  he  does  not  look 
more  to  his  own  sins  and  less  to  his  neighbour's. 
Look  yonder,  and  see  how  Deacon  Peabody  is  far- 
ing." 

Tom  looked  in  the  direction  that  the  stranger 
pointed,  and  beheld  one  of  the  great  trees,  fair  and 
flourishing  without,  but  rotten  at  the  core,  and  saw 
(hat  it  had  been  nearly  hewn  through,  so  that  the 
first  high  wind  was  likely  to  blow  it  down.  On  the 
ba'k  of  the  tree  was  scored  the  name  of  Deacon  Pea- 
bcJy.  He  now  looked  round  and  found  most  of  the 
(all  trees  marked  with  the  names  of  some  great  men 
cf  the  colony,  and  all  more  or  less  scored  by  the 
ue.  The  one  on  which  he  had  been  seated,  and 
which  had  evidently  just  been  hewn  down,  bore  the 
Dame  ofCrowninshield;  and  he  recollected  a  mighty 
rich  man  of  that  name,  who  made  a  vulgar  display 
of  wealth,  which  it  was  whispered  he  had  acquired 
by  buccaneering. 

"He's  just  ready  for  burning!"  said  the  black 
man,  with  a  growl  of  triumph.  "You  see  I  am 
likely  to  have  a  good  stock  of  firewood  for  winter." 

"  But  what  right  have  you,"  said  Tom,  "  to  cut 
down  Dtacon  Peabody's  timber  ?  " 

"  The  right  of  prior  claim,"  said  the  other.  "  This 


woodland  belonged  to  me  long  before  one  of  jrom 
white-faced  r.ace  put  foot  tpon  the  soil," 

"  And  pray,  who  are  you,  if  I  may  be  so  bold  ?  " 
said  Tom. 

"Oh.  I  ^o  by  various  nanes.  I  am  the  Wild 
Huntsman  in  some  countries;  the  HIack  Mi>:er  in 
others.  In  this  neighbourhood  I  am  known  by  thi 
name  of  the  Black  Woodsm.an.  I  am  he  to  whoR. 
the  red  men  devoted  this  spot,  and  now  and  then 
roasted  a  white  man  by  way  of  sweet-smelling  sac- 
rifice. Since  the  red  men  have  been  exterminated 
by  you  white  savages,  I  amuse  myself  by  presidinB 
at  the  persecutions  of  ciuakers  and  anabaptists ;  I 
am  the  great  patron  and  prompter  of  slave  dealers, 
and  the  grind  master  of  the  S.ilem  wi'ches." 

"The  upshot  of  all  which  is,  that,  if  I  mistake 
not,"  said  Tom,  sturdily,  "you  are  he  commonly 
called  Old  Scratch." 

"  The  same  at  your  service  !  "  replied  the  black 
man,  with  a  half  civil  nod. 

Such  was  the  opening  of  this  inter\'iew,  according 
to  the  old  story,  though  it  has  almost  too  familiar 
an  air  to  be  credited.  One  would  think  that  to 
meet  w,f"i  such  a  singular  personage  in  this  wild, 
lonely  place,  would  have  shaken  any  man's  nerves  : 
but  Tom  was  a  h.ar(l-minded  fellow,  not  easily  daunt- 
ed, and  he  had  lived  so  long  with  a  termagant  wife, 
that  he  did  not  even  fear  the  devil. 

It  is  said  that  after  this  commencement,  they  had 
a  long  .and  earnest  conversation  together,  as  Tom 
returned  homewards.  The  black  man  told  him  of 
great  sums  of  money  which  had  been  buried  by 
Kidd  the  pirate,  under  the  oak  trees  on  the  higr 
ridge  not  far  from  the  morass.  All  thrse  were  un 
der  his  command  and  protected  by  his  power,  so 
that  none  could  find  them  but  such  as  propitiated 
his  favour.  These  he  offered  to  place  within  Tom 
Walker's  re.ach,  having  conceived  an  especial  kind' 
ness  for  him  :  but  they  were  to  be  had  only  on  cer- 
tain conditions.  What  these  conditions  were,  may 
easily  be  surmised,  though  Tom  never  disclosed 
them  publicly.  They  must  have  been  very  hard,  for 
he  required  time  -to  think  of  them,  and  he  was  not 
a  man  to  stick  at  trifles  where  money  was  in  view. 
When  they  had  reached  the  edge  of  the  swamp  the 
stranger  paused. 

"  What  proof  have  I  that  all  you  have  been  tell- 
ing me  is  true  ?  "  said  Tom. 

"There  is  my  signature,"  said  the  black  man, 
pressing  his  finger  on  Tom's  forehead.  So  saying, 
ne  turned  off  arnong  the  thickets  of  the  swamp,  and 
seemed,  as  Tom  said,  to  go  down,  down,  down,  into 
the  earth,  until  nothing  but  his  head  and  shoulders 
could  be  seen,  and  so  on  until  he  totally  disap- 
peared. 

When  Tom  reached  home  he  found  the  black 
print  of  a  finger  burnt,  as  it  were,  into  his  forehead, 
which  nothing  could  obliterate. 

The  first  news  his  wife  had  to  tell  him  was  the 
sudden  death  of  Absalom  Crowninshield,  the  rich 
buccaneer.  It  was  announced  in  the  papers  with 
the  usual  flourish,  that  "  a  great  man  had  fallen  in 
Israel." 

Tom  recollected  the  tree  which  his  black  friend 
had  just  hewn  down,  and  which  was  ready  for  burn- 
ing. "  Let  the  freebooter  roast,"  said  Tom,  "who 
cares ! "  He  now  felt  convinced  that  all  he  had 
heard  and  seen  was  no  Illusion.  . 

He  was  not  prone  to  let  his  wife  into  his  confi- 
dence; but  as  this  was  an  uneasy  secret,  he  willingly 
shared  it  with  her.  All  her  avarice  was  awakened 
at  the  mention  of  hidden  gold,  and  she  urged  her 
husband  to  comply  with  the  black  man's  terms  and 
secure  what  would  make  them  wealthy  for  life 
However  Tom  might  have  felt  disposed  to  sell  him 


<1< 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


♦.  • 


•  ■J*'.".  ■' 


XV.' 


•ell  to  the  devil,  he  was  determined  not  to  do  so  to 
oblige  his  wife  ;  so  he  flatly  refused  out  of  the  mere! 
spirit  of  contradiction.  Many  and  bitter  were  the 
(]uarreis  they  had  on  the  subject,  but  the  more  she 
talked  the  more  resolute  was  Tom  not  to  be  damned 
to  please  her.  At  length  she  determined  to  drive 
the  bargain  on  her  own  account,  and  if  she  suc- 
ceeded  to  keep  all  thr  gain  to  herself. 

Pein  f  of  the  sami.'  fearless  temper  as  her  husliand, 
ihe  sal  off  for  the  old  Indian  fort  towards  the  close 
of  a  summer's  d.iy.  She  was  many  hours  absent. 
When  she  came  b.ick  she  was  reserved  and  sullen 
In  her  replies.  She  spoke  something  of  a  black  man 
whom  she  had  met  abn\it  twilight,  hewing  at  the 
root  of  a  tall  tree.  He  was  sulky,  however,  and 
would  not  come  to  terms ;  she  was  to  go  again 
with  a  propitiatory  offering,  but  what  it  was  she 
forbore  to  say. 

The  next  evening  she  sat  off  again  for  the  swamp, 
with  her  apron  heavily  laden.  Tom  wailed  and 
waited  for  her,  but  in  vain :  midnight  came,  but  she 
did  not  make  her  appearance ;  morning,  noon,  night 
returned,  but  still  she  did  not  come.  Tom  now  grew 
uneasy  for  her  safety  ;  especially  as  he  found  she  had 
carried  off  in  her  apron  the  silver  teapot  and  spoons 
and  every  portable  article  of  value.  Another  night 
elapsed,  another  morning  came ;  but  no  wife.  In  a 
word,  she  was  never  heard  of  more. 

What  was  her  leal  fate  nobody  knows,  in  con- 
sequence of  so  many  pretending  tu  know.  It  is  one 
of  those  facts  that  have  become  confounded  bv  a 
variety  of  historians.  Some  asserted  th.it  she  lost 
her  way  among  the  tangled  mazes  of  the  swair.-  and 
sunk  into  some  pit  or  slough  ;  others,  more  unchari- 
table, hinted  that  she  had  eloped  with  the  household 
booty,  and  made  off  to  some  other  province ;  while 
others  assert  that  the  tempter  had  decoyed  her  into 
a  disn  al  quagmire,  on  top  of  which  her  hat  w.as 
found  ly.ng.  in  confirmation  of  this,  it  was  s.iid  a 
great  blacK  man  with  an  axe  on  his  shoulder  w.is 
seen  late  that  very  evening  coming  out  of  the  swamp, 
carrying  a  bundle  tied  in  a  check  apron,  with  an  air 
of  surly  triumph. 

The  most  current  and  probable  story,  however, 
observes  that  Tom  Walker  grew  so  anxious  about 
the  fate  of  his  wife  and  his  property  that  he  sat  out  at 
length  to  seek  them  both  at  the  Indian  tort.  During 
a  long  summer's  afternoon  he  searched  alxjut  the 
fflootny  place,  but  no  wife  was  to  be  seen.  He  called 
her  name  repeatedly,  but  she  was  no  where  to  be 
heard.  The  bittern  alone  responded  to  his  voice,  as 
he  Hew  screaming  by ;  or  the  bull-frog  croaked  dole- 
fully from  a  neighbouring  pool.  At  length,  it  is 
said,  just  in  the  brown  hour  of  twilight,  when  the 
owls  began  to  hoot  and  the  bats  to  tlit  about,  his 
attention  was  attracted  by  the  cLamour  of  carrion 
crows  that  were  hovering  about  a  cypress  tree.  He 
looked  and  beheld  a  bundle  tied  in  a  check  apron 
and  hanging  in  the  branches  of  the  tree  ;  with  a 
great  vulture  perched  hard  by,  as  if  keeping  watch 
upon  it.  He  leaped  with  joy,  for  he  recognized  his 
wife's  apron,  and  supposed  it  to  contain  the  house- 
irold  valuables. 

'  Let  us  get  hold  of  the  property,"  said  he  con- 
sclingly  to  himself,  "  and  we  will  endeavour  to  do 
!rithout  the  woman." 

As  he  scrambled  up  the  tree  the  vulture  spread  its 
(ride  wings,  and  sailed  off  screaming  into  the  deep 
•hadows  of  the  forest.  Tom  seized  the  check  apron, 
Dut,  woful  sight !  found  nothing  but  a  heart  and 
liver  tied  up  in  it. 

Such,  according  to  the  most  authentic  old  story, 
was  all  that  was  to  be  found  of  Tom's  wife.  She 
had  probably  attempted  to  deal  \v-ith  the  black  man 
as  she  had  been  accustomed  to  deal  with  her  hus- 


band ;  but  though  a  female  a  cold  is  generalU  coJ 
sidered  a  match  (or  the  devil,  yet  In  this  instance  sM 
appears  to  have  had  the  worst  of  it.    She  imistluvl 
died  gatne,  however :  from  the  p.irt  that  n maine 
unconquercd.     Indeed,  it  is  said  Tom  nnticcii  inanl 
prints  of  cloven  feet  deeply  stamped  .ilwut  the  tr« 
and  several  handfuls  of  hair,  that  lookeil  as  if  the 
had  been  plucked  from   the  coarse  black  jhotiol 
the  woodsman.    Tom  knew  his  wile's  prowess  h 
experience.    He  shrugged  his  shoulders  is  he  looke 
at  the  signs  of  a  tierce  clapper-clawing,    ••  l.jrad  A 
said  he  to  himself,  "  Old  Scratch  must  have  had  i 
tough  time  of  it !" 

Tom  consoled  himself  for  the  loss  of  his  prnpertl 
by  the  loss  of  his  wife  ;  for  he  was  a  little  ot  a  phil 
losopher.  He  even  felt  r.Jinething  like  gratitude  tol 
wards  the  bl.ick  woodsman,  who  he  consid'  rt^d  haJ 
done  him  a  kindness.  He  sought,  theretorr.  to  ciilJ 
tivate  a  farther  acquaintance  with  him,  but  f  r  somj 
time  without  success  ;  the  old  black  legs  pl.ivoilshyj 
for  whatever  people  may  think,  he  is  not  always t' 
be  had  for  calling  for ;  he  knows  how  to  pi  ly 
cards  when  pretty  sure  of  his  game. 

M  length,  it  is  said,   when  delay  had   whcueij 
Tom's  eagerness  to  the  quick,  and  prepared  him  to 
.agree  to  any  thing  rather  than  not  gain  the  promised 
treasi'.-e,  he  met  the  black  m.in  one  evenir.ij  in  hii 
usual  woodman  dress,  with  his  axe  on  his  'lioulderl 
sauntering  along  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  .md  hum-l 
ming  a  tune.    He  affected  to  receive  Tom's  advanceT 
with  great  indifference,  made  brief  replies,  and  wenfl 
on  humming  his  tune.  1 

By  degrees,  however,  Tom  brought  him  to  buji, 
ness,  and  they  began  to  haggle  about  the  terms  onl 
which  the  former  was  to  have  the  pir.ite's  treas,,ifJ 
There  was  one  condition  which  need  not  he  mm-l 
tioned,  being  generally  understood  in  all  cases  wher«| 
the  devil  grants  favours  ;  but  there  were  others  ahoull 
which,  though  of  less  importance,  he  was  inflexihlyl 
obstinate.  He  insisted  th.at  the  money  found  throui;n| 
his  means  should  be  employed  in  his  service,  Kel 
proposed,  therefore,  that  'I'om  should  employ  it  ini 
the  black  traffick  ;  that  is  to  say,  that  he  should  li;l 
out  a  slave  ship.  This,  however,  Tom  re;ioiiitcly| 
refused;  he  was  bad  enough,  in  all  conscience;! 
but  the  devil  himself  could  not  tempt  him  to  tuni 
slave  dealer.  I 

Finding  Tom  so  squeamish  on  this  point,  he  did  I 
not   insist   upon   it,  but   proposed   instead  th.it  he  I 
should  turn  usurer;  the  devil  being  exlreineiy  anxi- 
ous for  the  increase  of  usurers,  looking  upon  themasl 
his  peculiar  people.  I 

To  this  no  objections  were  made,  for  it  was  just  I 
to  Tom's  taste.  I 

"  You  shall  open  a  broker's  shop  in  Boston  next  I 
month,"  said  the  black  man.  I 

"  I'll  do  it  to-morrow,  if  you  wish,"  said  Tom 
Walker. 

"  You  shall  lend  money  at  two  per  cent,  a  month," 

" Egad,  I'll  charge  four ! "  replied  Tom  Wilker. 

"  You  shall  extort  bonds,  foreclose  mortgagt  s,  diive  I 
the  merchant  to  bankruptcy "  ' 

"  I'll  drive  him  to  the  d 1,"  cried  Tom  WaJktt, 

eagerly. 

"  You  are  the  usurer  for  my  money  ! "  said  the  I 
black  legs,  with  delight.  "  When  will  you  want  tlw  [ 
rhino  } ' 

"  This  very  night." 

"  Done  I  "  said  the  devil. 

"Done!"  said  Tom  Walker.  — So  they  shooli| 
hands,  and  struck  a  bargain. 

A  few  days'  time  saw  Tom  Walker  seated  behind 
his  desk  in  a  counting  house  in  Boston.  His  repu- 
tation for  a  ready-money e<l  man,  who  wou  d  ierid 
money  out  for  a  good  consideration,  soon  spreid 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVBLl.ER. 


411 


1,"  cried  Tom  Walker, 


!ker. — So  they  shook 


^lovl     Every  body  remem«era  the  days  of  Gov- 1 
(jor  Ilf^lcher,  whtn  money  was  particularly  scarce. 
|(«ras  a  time  of  paper  <  re(lit.   The  country  had  bi*en 
jelugeit  with  government  bills ;    the  tamouF   Land 
^k  luil  been  established  ;  there  had  been  a  ra^r 
^{  j|«culating ;    the    people   had    nm    mad   with 
ichemcs  for  new  settlements ;  for  biiildintj  cities  in 
J.  wiMfrness  ;  land  jobbers  went  about  with  maps 
/grants,  and  tow  nships,  and  lildorados,  lying  no- 
\ff\y  knew  where,  but  which  every  body  was  ready 
li)  purchase.     In  a  word,  the  great  siwculating  fever 
IfWh  breaks  out  every  now  anti  then  in  the  country, 
[M  r-iKf'<l  to  an  alarming  decree,  and  every  bo(ly 
Ljsdrc.iniing  of  making  sudden  fortunes  from  noth- 
ing,   As  usual,  the  fever  had  subsided;  the  dream 
had  fi'""'  off>  '^ntl  'lie  imaginary  fortunes  with  it ; 
lli^piients  were  left  in  doleful  plight,  and  the  whole 
country  resounded  with  the  consequent  cry  of  "  hard 
f  times." 

At  this  propitious  time  of  public  distress  did  Tom 

I  Walker  set  up  as  a  usurer  in  Boston.     His  door  was 

loon  thronged  by  customers.     The  needy  and  the 

adventurous  ;  the  gambling  speculator  ;  the  dream- 

'nglaml  jobber;  the  thriftless  tradesman  ;  the  mer- 

I  chant  with  cracked  credit ;  in  short,  every  one  driven 

10  raise  money  by  desperate  means  and  despertite 

I  BcriticfS,  hurried  to  Tom  Walker. 

Tims  Tom  was  the  universal  friend  of  the  needy, 

I  ind  he  actt;d  like  a  "  friend  in  need  ; "  that  is  to  say, 

lie  always  exacted  good  pay  and  gooil  security.     In 

I  pro^'Ortion  to  the  distress  of  the  applicant  was  the 

tardn'^^s  of  his  terms.     He  accumulated  bonds  and 

inortg.iK''s  ;  gradu.ally  squeezed  his  customers  closer 

I  md  closer ;  and  sent  them,  at  length,  dry  as  a  sponge 

from  his  door. 

In  this  way  he  made  money  h.ind  over  hand  ;  be- 

I  Bime  :\  rich  and  mighty  man,  and  e.xalted  his  cocked 

I  hat  iiiHin  'change.     He  built  himself,  as  usual,  a  vast 

I  liouse,  out  of  ostentation  ;  but  left  the  greater  part 

[of  it  iinllnished  and  unfurnished  out  of  parsimony. 

He  even  set  up  a  carriage  in  the  fullness  of  his  v.iin- 

jh)r)',  though  he  nearly  starved  the  horses  which 

drew  it ;  and  as  the  ungreased  wheels  groaned  and 

<  icreechcd  on  the  axle-trees,  you  would  have  thought 

1  you  hi  ird   the  souls  of  the   poor  debtors  he  was 

I  squeezing. 

As  Tom  waxed  old,  however,  he  grew  thoughtful. 
H.ivint;  secured  the  good  things  of  this  world,  ne  be- 
gan to  ttrl  anxious  about  those  of  the  n'.-xt.  He 
thought  with  regret  on  the  bargain  he  h.ad  made  with 
his  bl.ick  friend,  and  set  his  wits  to  work  to  cheat 
him  out  of  the  conditions.  He  became,  therefore, 
all  ol  a  sudden,  a  violent  church-goer.  He  pray(-(l 
louuly  .irid  strenuously  as  if  heaven  were  to  be  taken 
by  force  of  lungs.  Indeed,  one  might  always  tell 
when  he  had  sinned  most  during  the  week,  by  the 
clamour  of  his  Sunday  devotion.  The  quiet  chris- 
tians who  had  been  modestly  and  steadfastly  travel- 
ling Zionward,  were  struck  with  self-repro.ich  at  see- 
ing thetiisclves  so  suddenly  outstripped  in  their  career 
by  this  new-made  convert.  Tom  was  as  rigid  in  re- 
ligious, as  in  money  matters ;  he  was  a  stern  super- 
riior  and  censurer  of  his  neighbours,  and  seemed  to 
tjnk  every  sin  ent-.red  up  to  their  account  became  a 
"id\'.  on  his  own  side  of^  the  page.  He  even  talked 
;f  the  expediency  of  reviving  the  persecution  of  qua- 
liits  ind  anabaptists.  In  a  word,  Tom's  zeal  became 
«  notorious  as  his  riches. 

Still,  in  snite  of  all  this  strenuous  attention  to 
forms,  Tom  nad  a  lurking  dread  that  the  devil,  .ifter 
ill,  would  have  his  due.  That  he  might  not  l)e  taken 
anawares,  therefore,  it  is  said  he  suways  carried  a 
small  Uible  in  his  coat  pocket.  He  had  also  a  great 
Tolic  Bible  on  his  counting-house  desk,  and  would 
^uuejitlv  be  fuund  reading  it  when  people  called  on 


business  ;  on  such  occasions  he  would  lav  his  ^een 
spectacles  on  the  book,  to  mark  the  place,  while  h« 
turned  round  to  drive  some  usurious  bargain. 

.Some  say  that  Tom  grew  a  little  cr.ick-brained  in 
his  old  days,  and  that  fancying  his  end  ajiproaching, 
he  had  his  horse  new  sho<(,  saddled  and  nndled,  and 
burii:d  with  his  feel  uppermost ;  becaiMe  he  supposed 
th.at  at  the  last  day  the  world  would  '«  turned  u|> 
side  down ;  in  which  case  he  should  find  his  horM 
standing  ready  foi  mounting,  and  he  was  determined 
at  the  worst  to  give  his  old  friend  a  run  for  it.  This, 
however,  is  proh.ibly  a  mere  old  wives'  fable.  If  he 
re.illydid  lake  such  a  precaution  it  w-ts  tot.illy  super- 
flous ;  at  least  so  s.iys  the  authentic  old  legend,  which 
closes  his  story  in  the  following  manner; 

On  one  hot  afternoon  in  the  dog  days,  just  as  a  terri 
blel)l.ick  thunder-gust  was  coming  up,  Tom  sat  in  hij 
counting-house  in  his  white  linen  cap  and  India  silk 
morning-gown,  He  w.as  on  the  point  of  foreclosing 
a  mortgage,  by  which  he  would  complete  the  ruin 
of  an  uiducky  land  speculator  for  whom  he  had  pro- 
fessed the  greatest  friendship.  The  poor  land  jol> 
ber  begged  him  to  grant  a  few  months'  indulgence. 
Tom  had  grown  testy  and  irritated  and  reluseil  an 
other  d;iy. 

"My  (aniily  will  be  ruined  and  brought  upon  the 
parish,"  said  the  land  jobber.  "  Charity  begins  at 
home,"  replied  Tom,  "  I  must  take  care  of  myself  in 
these  hard  times." 

"  You  have  made  so  much  money  out  of  me,"  said 
the  speculator, 

Tom  lost  his  patience  and  his  piety — "  The  devil 
take  me,"  said  he,  "  if  I  have  made  a  tarthing  !  " 

Just  then  there  were  three  loud  knocks  at  the 
street  door.  He  stepped  out  to  see  who  was  there, 
A  bliick  man  was  holding  a  black  horse  which 
neighed  and  stamped  with  impatience. 

"Tom,  you're  come  for!"  said  the  black  fellow, 
gnitfly.  Tom  shrunk  back,  but  too  late.  He  had 
left  his  little  Bible  at  the  bottom  of  his  coat  pocket, 
and  his  big  Bible  on  the  desk  buried  under  the  mort- 
gage he  was  about  to  foreclose  :  never  was  sinner 
taken  more  unawares.  The  black  man  whisked  him 
like  a  child  astride  the  horse  and  away  he  galloped 
in  the  midst  of  a  thunder-storm.  The  clerks  stuck 
their  pens  behind  their  ears  and  stared  after  him 
from  the  windows.  Away  went  Tom  Walker,  dash- 
ing down  the  streets  ;  his  white  cap  bobbing  up  and 
down ;  his  morning-gown  fluttering  in  the  wind,  and 
his  steed  striking  fire  out  of  the  pavement  at  every 
bound.  When  the  clerks  turned  to  look  for  the 
black  man  he  had  disappeared. 

Tom  Walker  never  returned  to  foreclose  the  mort- 
gage. A  countryman  who  lived  on  the  borders  of 
the  swamp,  reported  that  in  the  height  of  the  thun- 
der-gust he  had  heard  a  great  clattering  of  hoofs  and 
a  howling  alonj^  the  road,  and  that  when  he  ran  to 
the  winilow  he  just  caught  sight  of  a  figure,  such  as 
I  have  described,  on  a  horse  that  galloped  like  mad 
across  the  fields,  over  the  hills  and  down  into  the 
black  hemlock  swamp  towards  the  old  Indian  fort; 
and  that  shortly  after  a  thunderbolt  fell  in  that 
direction  which  seemed  to  set  the  whole  forest  in  a 
blaze. 

The  good  people  of  Boston  shook  their  heads  and 
shrugged  their  shoulders,  but  had  been  so  much 
accustomed  to  witches  and  goblins  and  tricks  of  the 
devil  in  all  kinds  of  shapes  from  the  first  settlement 
of  the  colony,  that  they  were  not  so  much  horror- 
struck  as  might  have  been  expected.  Trustees  were 
appointed  to  take  charge  of  Tom's  effects.  There 
was  nothing,  however,  to  administer  upon.  On 
searching  his  coffers  ajl  his  bonds  and  mortgages 
were  found  reduced  to  cinders.  In  place  of  gold  and 
silver,  his  iron  chest  was  filled  with  chips  and  shav- 


iifl 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVINO. 


if  -p. 


'<^\ 


\K\\ 


V 


Inn ;  two  skeletons  lay  in  hii  itable  instead  of  his 
aalf-ttarvcd  liorses,  ami  the  very  next  day  his  great 
house  took  fire  and  was  burnt  to  the  ground. 
Such  was  the  end  ol  Tom  Walker  and  his  ill- 

Solten  wealth.  Let  all  |i(ri|)ini{  inuney-brukurs  lay 
lis  stor)  to  heart.  The  truth  of  it  is  not  to  be 
doubled.  The  very  hole  under  the  oak  trees,  from 
whence  he  dug  Kiud's  money,  is  to  be  seen  to  this 
day ;  and  the  neighbouring  swamp  and  old  Indian 
fort  is  of\en  haunted  in  stunny  nigiits  by  a  figure  on 
horseback^  in  a  mominc-guwn  and  white  cap,  wliich 
k  doubtless  the  troubrcd  spirit  of  the  usurer.  In 
hct,  the  story  has  resolved  itself  into  a  proverb,  and 
is  the  origin  of  that  popular  sayiir;  prevalent  through- 
out New-England,  of"  The  Uevil  and  Tom  Walker." 


Such,  as  nearly  as  I  can  recollect,  was  the  tenor 
of  the  tale  told  by  the  Cape  Cod  whaler.  There 
were  divers  trivial  particulars  which  I  have  omitted, 
and  which  whilcd  away  the  morning  very  pleasantly, 
until  the  time  of  tide  favour.ible  for  fishing  being 
passed,  it  was  proposed  that  we  should  go  to  land, 
and  refresh  ourselves  under  the  trees,  until  the  noun- 
tide  heat  should  have  abated. 

Wo  accor(!ini,Hy  landed  on  a  delectable  part  of  the 
island  of  M.innahatta.  in  that  shady  and  embowered 
tract  formerly  under  t'ominion  of  the  ancient  family 
of  the  Hardenbrooks.  ii  was  a  spot  well  known  to 
me  In  the  course  of  the  aouatic  expeditions  of  my 
boyhood.  Not  far  from  where  we  landed,  was  an 
old  Dutch  family  vault,  in  the  s:.le  of  a  bank,  which 
had  been  an  object  of  great  awe  and  fable  among 
my  school-boy  associates.  There  were  several  mould- 
enng  coftins  within ;  but  what  gave  it  a  fearful  in- 
terest with  us,  was  its  being  connected  in  our  minds 
with  the  pirate  wreck  whicfi  lay  among  the  rocks  of 
Hell  Gate.  There  were  also  stories  of  smuggling 
connected  with  it,  particularly  during  a  time  that 
this  reti/ed  spot  was  owned  by  a  noted  burgher 
called  Ready  Money  Prevost ;  a  man  of  whom  it  was 
whispered  that  he  had  many  and  mysterious  dealings 
with  |)arts  beyond  seas.  All  these  things,  however, 
had  been  jumbled  together  in  our  minds  in  that 
vag^e  way  in  which  such  things  are  mingled  up  in 
the  tales  of  boyhood. 

While  I  was  musing  upon  these  matters  my  com- 
panions had  spread  a  repast,  from  the  contents  of 
our  well-stored  pannier,  and  we  solaced  ourselves 
during  the  warm  sunny  hours  of  mid-day  under  the 
shade  of  a  broad  chestnut,  on  the  cool  grassy  carjiet 
that  swept  down  to  the  water's  edge.  While  lolling 
on  the  grass  I  summoned  up  the  dusky  recollections 
of  my  boyhood  respecting  this  place,  and  repeated 
them  like  the  imperfectly  remembered  traces  of  a 
dream,  for  the  entertainment  of  my  companions. 
When  I  had  finished,  a  worthy  old  burgher,  John 
Josse  Vandermoere,  the  same  who  once  related  to 
me  the  adventures  of  Dolph  Heyliger,  broke  silence 
and  ob3er\'ed,  that  he  recollected  a  story  about 
money-digging  which  occurred  in  this  very  neigh- 
bourhood. As  we  knew  him  to  be  one  of  the  most 
authentic  narrators  of  the  province  we  begged  him 
to  let  us  have  the  particulars,  and  accordingly,  while 
we  refreshed  ourselves  with  a  clean  long  pipe  of 
Blase  Moore's  tobacco,  the  authentic  John  Josse 
Vandermoere  related  the  following  tale. 


WOLFERT  WEBBER;  OR,  GOLDEN  DREAMP;. 


In  the  year  of  grace  one  thousand  seven  hundred 
aud-  -blank — for  1  do  not  remember  the  precise  date , 


however,  it  was  somewhei  \  in  the  early  pari  of  ih|| 
last  century,  there  lived  in  the  ancient  rit;  of  \\\ 
Manhaliocs  a  worthy  burgher,  Wolfcrt  VVt  liiicr  |,y| 
name.  He  was  descended  from  ohl  Cohus  Wihlicrl 
of  the  Urille  in  Holland,  one  of  the  origin  I  >.  ulcrj,! 
famous  for  introducing  the  cultivation  of  ci.hli.irrn  I 
and  who  came  over  to  the  province  during  ihc  ptc".! 
tcctorship  of  OlofTe  Van  Kortlandt,  otherwise  calitif 
the  Dreamer.  I 

The  field  in  which  Cohus  Webber  first  r'lntetil 
himself  and  his  cabbages  had  remained  ever  since  in  I 
the  family,  who  continued  in  the  same  llnrit  iiuj. 
bandry,  with  that  praiseworthy  perseveiin't-  fori 
which  our  Dutch  burghers  are  noted.  The  whole  I 
family  genius,  during  several  generations,  wns  de.  I 
votea  to  the  study  and  development  of  this  ont| 
noble  vegetable  ;  and  to  this  concentration  ol  irtel- 
lect  may  doubtless  be  ascribed  the  prodi^'iniit  i^i^^j 
and  renown  to  v/hich  the  Webber  caboa^jes  an  hikiI, 

The  Webl)er  dyn.asty  continued  in  uiiiniirrniitcd 
sUC'jession;  ami  never  did  a  line  give  rnore  uiu|iie;s. 
tior.ibli.'  proofs  of  legitim.acy.  The  eldest  son  sue- 
ceedjd  to  the  looks,  as  well  as  the  territory  dI  his  I 
sire  ;  and  had  the  portraits  of  this  line  of  tran(|inl  pn. 
tentctes  bten  taken,  they  would  have  prtsuud  jj 
row  of  heads  marvellously  resembling  in  .sh.i|ir  :in(| 
magnitude  the  vegetables  over  which  they  r(;L;ni(i, 

The  seat  of  government  continued  unchaiijvil  in  i 
the  family  mansion : — a  Dutch-built  house,  with  a 
front,  or  rather  gable-end  of  yellow  brick,  iipmng 
to  a  point,  with  the  customary  iron  weathered  k  ai 
the  top.     F.very  thing  about  the  building  horr  the  air 
of  long-sett leil  ease  and  security.     Flights  ol  niaiimi  | 
peopled  the  little  coops  nailed  against  the  w.ilis,  anc' 
swallows  built  their  nests  under  the  eaves  ;  anil  i-voij  | 
one  knows  that  these  house-loving  birds  briiii;  ^.v,;, 
luck  to  the  dwelling  where  they  take  up  their  a   ,\'.. 
In  a  bright  sunny  morning  in  early  suninur,  n  wai 
delectable  to  hear  their  cheerful  notes,  as  tlii\  >i  Mricd 
•about  in  the  pure,  sweet  air,  chirping  form,  .is  n 
were,  the  gre^atness  and  prosperity  of  the  Wcdiht-,. 

Thus  (juietly  and  comfortably  did  this  exctllrnt 
family  vetjetate  under  the  shade  of  a  mighty  buttua- 
wood  tree,  which  by  little  and  little  grew  so  f;rcat  as 
entirely  to  overslia(low  their  pal.acc.  The  ciiv  j,'rad- 
ually  spread  its  suburbs  round  their  domain.  Houses 
sprung  up  to  interrunt  their  prosi)ects.  Tin;  nral 
lanes  in  the  vicinity  began  to  grow  into  the  liustie 
and  populousness  of  streets;  in  short,  with  all  the 
habits  of  rustic  lite  they  beg.in  to  find  thenisilvLs  ihc 
inhabitants  of  a  city.  Still,  however,  they  niaiiit.imi'd 
their  hereditary  character,  and  hereditary  poiist  ssions, 
with  all  the  tenacity  of  petty  German  princes  in  the 
midst  of  the  Empire.  Wolfert  was  the  last  ol  the 
line,  and  succeeded  to  the  patriarchal  bench  at  the 
door,  under  the  family  tree,  and  swayed  the  sceptre 
of  his  fathers,  a  kind  of  rural  potentate  in  tl'.e  midst 
of  a  metroiHjlis. 

To  share  the  cares  and  sweets  of  sovcrcijjnty,  he 
had  taken  unto  himself  a  help-mate,  one  ot  thai  ex- 
cellent kind  called  stirring  women ;  that  is  to  say, 
she  w  s  one  of  those  notable  little  housewives  .vhi 
are  always  busy  when  there  is  nothing  to  do.  Hei 
activity,  however,  took  one  particular  directior. :  hei 
whole  life  seemed  devoted  to  intense  knit!  n^: 
whether  at  home  or  abroad;  walking  or  sitting;,  h  • 
needles  were  continu.ally  in  motion,  and  it  is  ever, 
affirmed  that  by  her  unwearied  industry  she  vcnf 
nearly  supplied  her  household  with  stockings  tliroiit;ii- 
out  the  year.  This  worthy  couple  xvere  blcss;  li  with 
one  daughter,  who  was  brought  up  with  great  tender- 
ness and  care ;  uncommon  pains  had  been  taken  with 
her  education,  so  that  she  could  stitch  in  every  va^ 
1  riety  of  way ;  make  all  kinds  of  pickles  and  preserves, 
I  and  mark  her  own  name  on  a  uampier.     The  in6u> 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


«I1 


1  notes,  as  tlii'i  'portrd 


|g)C<  01  her  Uste  was  wen  also  in  the  family  B.irden, 
i^ttr  the  ornamcnul  t>r)(an  to  m^ntrie  with  the  unr- 
I  III;  whole  rowH   of  fiery   marii^olds  and    nplendid 

[tic  nunllowcni  lolled  their  hroaiH  jolly  faces  ov«t  thci 
Itnces,  seeming  to  ogle  most  alfecticmatuly  the  pass- 
fvl'y. 

Thus  reigned  and  vcgetatec*  Wolfert  Wehher  over 
I U]  [uternaT acres,  peaceably  and  contcniedly.     Not 
)H  that,  like  all  other  sovereigns,  lie  h;id  his  oc- 
I,  uion^l  cares  and  vex.itions.     The  growth  ol  his 
;,iiive  city  sometimes  caused  him  annoyiinct;.     His 
I  ittli:  tirritory  gr.ulually  liecainc  hemmed  m  hy  streets 
i  iiiil  lumacs,  which  intercepted  .air  and  sunshine.    Me 
I  »«  now  and  then  subject  to  the  irruptions  of  the 
bi;rder  population,  th.it  infest  the  streets  of  a  metrop- 
'  olii,  ^'"^  svould  sometimes  make  midni){ht  forays  in- 
to his  dominions,  and  carry  off  captive  whole  pla- 
toons ol  his  noblest  subjects.     Va);r.'int  swine  would 
majjc  .1  descent,  too,  now  and  then,  when  the  gate 
was  It'tt  open,  and  lay  all  waste  before  them  ;  and 
miscliii-vous  urchins  would  often  decapitate  the  illus- 
trious sunllowers,  the  glory  of  tiie  garden,  as  they 
lolled  ihcir  lieatls  so  fondly  over  the  walls.     Still  all 
these  were  petty  grievances,  which  mii;ht  now  and 
then  nillle  the  surface  of  his  mind,  as  a  summer 
bref/r  will  ruffle  the  surface  of  a  mill-pond  ;  but  they 
coul'l  not  disturb  the  deep-seateil  auiet  of  his  soul. 
He  would  but  seize  a  trusty  stalT,  that  stood  behind 
the  door,  issue  suddenly  out,  and  anoint  the  b.ick 
of  the  ijijjressor,  whether  pig  or  urchin,  and  then  re- 
turn within  doors,  marvellously  refreshed  and  tran- 
quillufd. 

The  chiel  cause  of  anxiety  to  honest  Wolfert,  how- 
ever, was  the  growing  prosperity  of  tin-  city.  The 
tipciiics  of  living  doubled  and  trebled  ;  hut  he  could 
jot  double  and  treble  tlie  m.agnitude  ol  his  cabbages  ; 
im!  ilie  number  of  competitors  prevented  the  in- 
rreaic  of  price ;  thus,  therefore,  while  every  one 
uouiul  him  grew  richer,  Wolfert  grew  poorer,  and 
tt  could  not,  for  the  life  of  him,  perceive  how  the 
evil  was  to  be  remedied. 

This  growing  cace,  which  incre,ased  from  day  to 
day,  lull  its  gradual  efTect  upon  our  worthy  burt,'her  ; 
insniiuich,  that  it  at  length  implanted  two  or  three 
wriniiles  on  his  brow  ;  things  unknown  before  in  the 
family  of  the  Webbers;  and  it  seemed  to  pinch  up 
the  corners  of  his  cocked  hat  into  an  expression  of 
iiuiiiy,  totally  opposite  to  the  tranquil,  l)road-brim- 
med,  low-crowned  beavers  of  his  illustrious  progen- 
itors. 

Perhaps  even  this  would  not  have  materially  dis- 
turbed the  serenity  of  his  mind  had  he  h.id  only 
himself  ;md  his  wife  to  care  for ;  hut  there  was  his 
daughter  gradually  growing  to  maturity;  and  all  the 
world  knows  when  daughters  begin  to  ripen  no  fruit 
or  flower  requires  so  much  looking  after.  I  have  no 
talent  at  describing  female  charms,  else  'ain  would  I 
depict  the  progress  of  this  little  Dutch  beauty.  How 
her  blue  eyes  grew  deeper  and  deeper,  and  her  cherry 
hps  redder  and  redder ;  and  how  she  rijKined  and 
ri;ened,  and  rounded  and  rounded  in  the  opening 
bieath  of  sixteen  summers,  until,  in  her  seventeenth 
iprin)^,  she  seemed  ready  to  burst  out  of  her  boddice, 
iixe  a  half-blown  rose-bud. 

All,  well-a-tlay  !  could  I  but  show  her  as  she  was 
then,  tricke<i  out  on  a  Sund.ay  morning,  in  the  hered- 
itary finery  of  the  old  Dutch  clothes-press,  of  which 
her  mother  had  conlkled  to  her  the  key.  The  wed- 
ding dress  of  her  grandmother,  modernized  for  use, 
with  sundry  ornaments,  handed  down  as  heirlooms 
in  the  family.  Her  pale  brown  hair  smoothed  with 
buttermilk  in  flat  waving  lines  on  each  side  of  her 
fair  forehead.  The  chain  of  yellow  virgin  gold,  that 
encircled  her  neck ;  the  little  cross,  that  just  rested 
27 


at  the  entrance  of  a  soft  valle)  of  happiness,  as  if  it 
would  sanctify  the  pl.icc.  The — but  pt)oh  !-  -it  is  nol 
for  an  old  man  like  inc  to  be  prosing  about  female 
beauty :  sufTice  it  to  say.  Amy  had  attnineil  her 
seventeenth  yejr.  Long  since  had  her  sampler  ex- 
hibited hearts  in  couples  des(H!rately  tr.instixed  with 
arrows,  and  true  liners  knots  v.offced  in  deep  blue 
silk;  and  it  was  evident  she  began  to  languish  foi 
;ome  more  interesting  lucupation  than  the  reiiifn{| 
of  sunflowers  or  picklin^'  of  cuou.nbtrs. 

At  this  critical  period  of  fcm.ile  exister -.e,  Viihet 
the  heart  within  a  daiiisel's  bosom,  like  ii  tmblcm, 
the  miniature  which  h.invjs  wiMioui,  is  api  to  be  en- 
grossed by  a  single  im:it'e,  a  new  visiior  began  to 
m.ike  his  anpearaiice  ui.der  the  roof  of  Wolfert 
Wet)ber.  Tnis  was  Dirk  Waldron,  the  only  son  of 
a  poor  widow,  but  who  could  boast  of  m >re  fathen 
than  any  lad  in  the  prDvinie;  for  his  mother  had 
had  four  husbands,  and  this  only  child,  so  that 
though  boin  in  her  last  wedlock,  he  iiii^jht  fairly 
claim  to  r.e  the  tardy  fniit  of  a  long  course  of  culti- 
vation. This  son  of  lour  t.ithers  united  the  merits 
and  the  vigour  of  his  sires.  If  he  h.ad  not  a  great 
family  before  him,  he  seemed  likely  to  have  a  great 
one  after  him  ;  for  you  had  only  to  look  at  the  fresh 
gamesome  youth,  to  see  that  he  was  formed  to  be 
tlie  lounder  of  a  mighty  race. 

This  youngster  gradually  became  an  intim.ate 
visitor  of  the  family.  He  talked  little,  but  he  s;U 
long.  He  tilled  the  father's  pipe  when  it  was  empty, 
gathered  un  the  mother's  knitting-nfiedle,  or  b.ill  of 
worsted  when  it  fell  to  the  ground  ;  stroked  the 
sleek  coat  of  the  tortoise-shell  cat,  ami  re|)lenishcd 
the  te.a-pot  for  the  daughter  from  the  briglit  copper 
kettle  that  sung  before  the  fire.  All  these  (|uiet  little 
olFiccs  niiiy  seem  of  trifling  import,  but  when  triii 
love  is  translated  into  Low  Dutch,  it  is  in  this  way 
that  it  eloquently  expresses  itself.  They  were  not 
lost  upon  the  Webber  family.  The  winning  young- 
ster found  mar\'ellous  favour  in  the  eyes  of  the 
mother;  the  tortoise-shell  cat,  albeit  the  most  staid 
and  demure  of  her  kind,  g.ive  indubitable  signs  of 
approbation  of  his  visits,  the  tea-kettie  seemed  to 
sing  out  a  cheering  note  of  welcome  at  hi.»  ap|iroach, 
and  if  the  sly  glances  of  the  daughter  might  lie 
rightly  read,  as  she  sat  bridling  ami  din  pling,  and 
.sewing  by  her  mother's  side,  she  was  not  a  whit  be- 
hind Dame  Webber,  or  grimalkin,  or  the  tea-kettle 
in  good-will, 

Wolfert  alone  saw  nothing  of  what  was  going  on. 
Profoundly  wrapt  up  in  meditation  on  the  growth  of 
the  city  and  his  cabbages,  he  sat  looking  in  the  fire, 
and  pulFmg  his  pipe  in  silence.  One  night,  however, 
as  the  gentle  Amy,  .according  to  custom,  lighted  her 
lover  to  the  outer  door,  and  he,  according  to  custom, 
took  his  parting  salute,  the  smack  resounded  so 
vigoiirously  through  the  long,  silent  entry,  as  to 
startle  even  the  dull  ear  of  Wolfert.  He  was  slowly 
roused  to  a  new  source  of  anxiety.  It  had  never 
entered  into  his  head,  that  this  mere  child,  who,  as 
it  seemed  but  the  other  day,  had  been  climbing 
about  his  knees,  and  pl.aying  with  dolls  and  baby- 
houses,  could  all  at  once  bie  thinking  of  love  and 
matrimony.  He  rubb<;d  his  eyes,  examined  into  the 
fact,  and  really  found  that  while  he  had  been  dream- 
ing of  other  matters,  she  had  actually  grown  into  a 
woman,  and  what  w;is  more,  had  fallen  in  luv. 
Here  were  new  cares  lor  poor  Wolfert.  He  was  a 
kind  father,  but  he  w.as  a  prudent  man.  The  your.g 
man  was  a  very  stirring  Kid  ;  but  then  he  had  neither 
money  nor  land.  Woll'ert's  ide.as  all  ran  in  one 
channel,  .and  he  sa.v  no  alternative  in  case  of  a  mar- 
ri.age,  but  to  portion  otf  the  young  couple  with  a 
corner  of  his  cabbage  garden,  the  whole  of  which 
was  barely  sufficient  for  the  support  of  his  family. 


Mb 


<VORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING 


'v? 


-.t'V' 


i:; 


,« -' 


:j 


".if  ' 


Like  a  prudent  father,  therefore,  he  determined  to 
nip  this  passion  in  the  bud,  and  forbade  the  young- 
ster the  house,  tliough  sorely  did  it  go  against  his 
fatherly  heart,  and  many  a  silent  tear  did  it  cause  in 
th :  bright  eye  of  his  daughter.  She  showed  herself, 
however,  a  pattern  of  filial  piety  and  obedience. 
She  nevei  pouted  and  sulked ;  she  never  flew  in  the 
fane  of  parental  authority;  she  never  fell  into  a 
passion,  or  fell  into  hysterics,  as  many  romantic 
iicvel-read  young  ladies  would  do.  Not  she,  indeed  ! 
She  was  none  such  heroical  rebellious  trumperj',  1 
aiarrant  ye.  On  the  contrary,  she  acquiesced  like 
aa  obedient  daughter;  shut  the  street-door  in  her 
lover's  face,  and  if  ever  she  did  grant  him  an  inter- 
view, it  was  either  out  of  the  kitchen  window,  or 
over  the  garden  fence. 

Wolfert  was  deeply  cogitating  these  things  in  his 
mind,  and  his  brow  wrinkled  with  unusual  care,  as 
he  wended  his  way  one  Saturday  afternoon  to  a  rural 
inn,  about  two  miles  from  the  city.  It  was  a  favour- 
ite resort  of  the  Dutch  part  of  the  community  from 
being  always  held  by  a  Dutcii  line  of  landlorcls,  and 
retaining  an  air  and  relish  of  the  good  old  times.  It 
was  a  Dutch-built  house,  that  had  probably  been  a 
country  seat  of  some  opulent  burgher  in  the  early 
time  of  the  settlement.  It  stood  near  a  point  of  land, 
called  Corlears  Hook,  which  stretches  out  into  the 
Sound,  and  against  which  the  tide,  at  its  flux  and 
reflux,  sets  with  extraordinary  rapidity.  The  vener- 
able and  somewhat  crazy  mansion  was  distinguished 
from  afar,  by  a  grove  of  cbns  and  sycamores  that 
seemed  to  wave  a  iiospitable  invitation,  while  a  few 
weeping  willows  with  their  dank,  drooping  foliage, 
resembling  falling  waters,  gave  an  idea  of  coolness, 
that  rendered  it  an  attractive  spot  during  the  heats 
of  summer. 

Here,  therefore,  as  I  said,  resorted  many  of  the  old 
Inhabitants  of  the  Manhattoes  where,  while  some 
played  at  the  shufl3e-board  and  quoits  and  ninepins, 
others  smoked  a  deliberate  pipe,  and  talked  over 
public  affairs. 

It  was  on  a  blustering  autumnal  afternoon  that 
Wolfert  made  his  visit  to  the  inn.  The  grove  of  elms 
and  willows  was  stripped  of  its  leaves,  which  whirled 
in  rustling  eddies  about  the  tields.  The  ninepin  al- 
ley was  deserted,  for  the  premature  chilliness  of  the 
day  had  driven  the  company  within  doors.  As  it 
was  Saturday  afternoon,  the  habitual  club  was  in 
session,  composed  principally  of  regular  Dutch 
burghers,  though  mingled  occasionally  with  persons 
of  various  character  and  country,  as  is  natural  in  a 
place  of  such  motley  population. 

Beside  the  fire-place,  and  in  a  huge  leather-bot- 
tomed arm-ch-air,  sat  the  dictator  of  this  little  world, 
the  venerable  Rem,  or,  as  it  was  pronounced,  Ramm 
Rapeiye.  He  was  a  man  of  Walloon  race,  and  illus- 
trious for  the  antiquity  of  his  line,  his  great  grand- 
mother having  been  the  first  white  child  Ijorn  in  the 
province.  But  he  was  still  more  illustrious  for  his 
wealth  and  dignity ;  he  had  long  filled  the  noble  of- 
fice of  alderman,  and  was  a  man  to  whom  the  gov- 
ernor himself  took  off  his  hat.  He  had  maintained 
possession  of  the  leathern-bottomed  chair  from  time 
Immemorial ;  and  had  gradually  waxed  in  bulk  as  he 
aat  in  his  seat  of  government,  until  in  the  course  of 
years  he  filled  its  whole  magnitude.  His  word  was 
decisive  with  his  subjects  ;  for  he  was  so  rich  a  man, 
that  he  was  never  expected  to  support  any  opinion 
by  argument.  The  landlord  waited  on  him  with 
peculiar  otficiousness  ;  not  that  he  paid  better  than 
bis  neighbours,  but  then  the  coin  of  a  rich  man 
serms  always  to  be  so  much  more  acceptable.  The 
landlord  had  always  a  pleasant  word  and  a  joke,  to 
insinuate  in  the  eai  of  the  august  Kamm.  It  is  true, 
Ramm  never  laughed,  and,  indeed,  niaintained  a 


mastifT-Uke  gravity,  and  even  suriineu  of  aspect 
he  now  and  then  rewarded  mine  host  with  a  toW 
of  approbation ;  which,  though  nothing  more  nd 
less  than  a  kind  o<"  grunt,  yet  delighted  the  landlori 
more  than  a  broad  laugh  from  a  poorer  man.       1 

"  This  will  be  a  rough  night  for  the  inoiiey..(iiJ 
gers,"  said  mine  host,  as  a  gust  of  wind  howlo 
round  the  house,  and  rattled  at  the  windows. 

"  What,  are  they  at  their  works  ag;iin  ? "  said 
English  half-pay  captain,  with  one  eye,  -vho  was  i 
frequent  attendant  at  the  inn. 

"  Aye,  are  they,"  said  the  landlord,  "  an  1  well  maJ 
they  be.  They've  had  luck  of  late.  T.'iey  say  f 
great  pot  of  money  has  been  dug  up  in  the  field,  juJ 
behind  Stuyvesant's  orchard.  Folks  think  it  mus 
have  been  buried  there  in  old  times,  by  Peier  Stuvl 
vesant,  the  Dutch  Governor."  ' 

"  Fudge !  "  aoiJ  the  one-eyed  man  of  war,  as  hJ 
added  a  smai:  portion  of  water  to  a  bottcn 
brandy. 

. "  Well,  you  may  believe,  or  not,  as  you  please.i 
said  mine  host,  somewhat  nettled  ;  "  but  every  bodJ 
knows  that  the  old  governor  buried  a  great  deal  on 
his  money  at  the  time  of  the  Dutch  troubles,  whej 
the  English  red-coats  seized  on  the  province.  Thej 
say,  too,  the  old  gentleman  walks ;  aye,  and  in  thd 
very  same  dress  that  he  wears  in  the  picture  whica 
hangs  up  in  the  family  house." 

"  Fudge  ! "  said  the  half-pay  officer, 

"  Fudge,  if  you  please  ! — But  didn't  Comey  Vau 
Zandt  see  hirn  at  midnight,  stalking  about  in  tha 
meadow  with  his  wooden  leg,  and  a  drawn  sword  tn| 
his  hand,  that  flashed  liice  fire  ?  And  what  can  iiJ 
be  walking  for,  but  because  people  have  been  troubJ 
ling  the  place  where  he  buried  his  money  in  oldl 
times?"  I 

Here  the  landlord  was  interrupted  by  several  gm.l 
tural  sounds  from  Ramm  Rapeiye,  betokening;  tlatl 
he  was  labouring  with  the  unusual  production  of  anl 
idea.  As  he  was  too  great  a  man  to  be  sli<;lued  byl 
a  prudent  publican,  mine  host  respectful)'  piustdl 
until  he  should  deliver  himself.  The  corpulent  Iramel 
of  this  mighty  burgher  now  gave  all  the  symptorasl 
of  a  volcanic  mountain  on  the  point  of  an  eniption.f 
First,  there  was  a  certain  heaving  of  the  abdomen,! 
not  unlike  an  earthquake  ;  then  was  emitted  a  cloud  f 
of  tobacco  smoke  from  that  crater,  his  mouth;  tlicnl 
there  was  a  kind  of  rattle  in  the  throat,  as  if  tlie  ideal 
were  working  its  way  up  through  a  region  of  i)hlegn;| 
then  there  were  several  disjointed  members  of  a  I 
sentence  thrown  out,  ending  in  a  cough  ;  at  length  I 
his  voice  forced  its  way  in  the  slow,  but  ahsoiuiel 
tone  of  a  man  who  feels  the  weight  of  his  purse 
not  of  his  ideas;  every  portion  of  his  speech  being! 
marked  by  a  testy  puff  of  tobacco  smoke.  I 

"Who  talks  of  old  Peter  Stuyvesant's.  walking.'- 1 
puiT— Have  people  no  resj)ect  tor  persons  .'—put'^- 1 
putf^Peter  Stuyvesant  knew  better  what  to  do  with) 
his  money  than  to  bury  it — pufl" — 1  know  the  .Stuyvfr 
sant  family — puff— every  one  of  them — putf-noi  A 
more  resp'Xtable  family  in  the  province — puti-old 
standers — puff — warm  householders — puff— ni?;ie  of 
your  upstarts — puff — puff — puff,— Don't  talk  to  r.t  | 
of    Peter   Stuyvesant's   walking- puff — puff— ;)ufT- 
puff." 

Here  the  redoubtable  Ranun  contracted  his  brow, 
claspci!  up  his  mouth,  till  it  wrinkled  at  each  corner, 
and  redoubled  his  smoking  with  such  vehtnicnce,  ] 
that  the  cloudy  volumes  soon  wreathed  round  hu 
head,  as  the  smoke  envelopes  the  awful  suniinit  of 
Mount  L.na. 

A  general  silence  followed  the  sudden  rebuU  ot 
this  very  rich  man.     The  subject,  however,  was  IM  I 
interestin  ,  to  he  readily  abandoned.     The  conversa- 
tion soon  broke  forth  again  from  the  lips  ot  I'eechv 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


411 


■uriiness  of  aspect  « 
ine  host  with  a  toka 
gh  nothing  more  nd 
dehghted  the  iandioH 
1  a  poorer  man,  1 
:ht  for  the  inoiiey-dig 
gust  of  wind  howl* 
It  the  windows. 
/orks  again?"  said  « 
one  eye,  -vho  was  i 


5d  man  of  war,  as  hJ 
vater  to  a  bouo;n  ol 

not,  as  yon  please.l 
tied  ;  "  but  every  bodJ 
buried  a  great  deal  ofl 
Dutch  troubles,  wheij 
n  the  province.  Tliei 
k^alks ;  aye,  and  in  thj 
i  in  the  picture  which 


a  contracted  his  hrow, 
inkled  at  each  curner. 
vith  such   vel)ciiH';;ce,  I 
I  wreatlicd  round  hu 
the  4wfui  suniMiit  of  | 

the  sudden  rebii»;e  ol 
ect,  however,  was  tos  I 
oned.     The  tonversa- 1 
Jtn  the  lips  ot  Icechv 


now  Van  Hook,  the  chronicler  of  the  dub,  one  of 
:  narrative  old  nnen  who  seem  to  grow  inconti- 
lint  01  words,  as  they  grow  old,  until  their  talk 
lltws  from  them  almost  involuntarily. 

Ferchy,  who  could  at  any  time  tell  as  many  stories 
If  an  evening  as  his  hearers  could  digest  in  a  month, 
Ikiw  resumed  the  conversation,  by  affirming  that,  to 
Ikis  icnowledge,  money  had  at  different  times  been 
Ijgg  up  in  various  parts  of  the  island.  The  lucky 
iKTSons  who  had  discovered  them  had  always 
i^nt  of  them  three  times  beforehand,  and  what 
lias  worthy  of  remark,  these  treasures  had  never 
lleen  found  but  by  some  descendant  of  the  good  old 
iDdtch  families,  which  clearly  proved  that  they  had 
[been  buried  by  Dutchmen  in  the  olden  time. 

'Fidiilc-stick  with  your  Dutchmen!''  cried  the 
[lull-pay  ollicer.  "The  Dutch  had  nothing  to  do 
[liili  them.  They  were  all  buried  by  Kidd,  the  pi- 
lijte,  and  his  crew." 

Here  a  key-note  was  touched  that  roused  the 
Uhole  company.  The  name  of  Capuin  Kidd  was 
like  a  talisman  in  those  times,  and  was  associated 
[liih  a  thousand  marvellous  stories. 

The  half-pay  officer  was  a  man  of  great  weight 
limong  the  |)eaceable  members  of  the  club,  by  rea- 
[nn  of  his  military  character,  and  of  the  gunpow- 
[der  scenes  which,  by  his  own  account,  he  nad  wit- 
'  nesscd. 

The  golden  stories  of  Kidd,  however,  were  reso- 
[hiiely  rivalled  by  the  tales  of  Peechy  Prauw,  who, 
[Biher  than  sulTer  his  Dutch  progenitors  to  be 
[(dipsed  by  a  foreign  freebooter,  enriched  every  spot 
intne  neighbourhood  with  the  hidden  wealth  of  Pe- 
[terStuyvesant  and  his  contemporaries. 

Nut  a  word  of  this  conversation  was  lost  upon 
[Wollert  Webber.  He  returned  pensively  home,  full 
sf  magnificent  ideas  of  buried  riches.  The  soil  of 
kis  native  island  seemed  to  be  turned  into  gold-dust ; 
W'J  every  field  teemed  with  treasure.  His  head  a!- 
aost  reeled  at  the  thought  how  often  he  must  have 
hwdlessiy  rambled  over  places  where  countless  sums 
by,  scarcely  covered  by  the  turf  beneath  his  feet. 
His  inind  was  in  a  vertigo  with  this  whirl  of  new 
ideas.  As  he  came  in  sight  of  the  venerable  man- 
sion of  his  forefathers,  and  the  little  realm  where 
the  Webbers  had  so  long  and  so  contentedly  flour- 
ished, his  gorge  rose  at  the  narrowness  of  his  des- 

I  "oy' 

"Unlucky  Wolfert !"  exclaimed  he,  "others  can 

I  go  to  bed  and  dream  themselves  into  whole  mines 

I  of  wtidth ;  they  have  but  to  seize  a  spade  in  the 

morning,  and  turn  up  doubloons  like  potatoes ;  but 

1  thou  must  dream  of  hardship,  and  rise  to  poverty — 

[  must  dig  thy  field  from  year  s  end  to  year's  end,  and 

-and  yet  raise  nothing  but  cabbages  !  " 

Wolfert  Webber  went  to  bed  with  a  heavy  heart; 

I  and  it  was  long  before  the  golden  visions  that  dis- 

j  turbed  his  brain,  peni'tted  him  to  sink  into  repose. 

The  aa'i'o  visions,  however,  extended  into  his  s'eep- 

ing  thoughts,  antl  assumed  a  mor^;  definite  form.  He 

I  disax.i  '.hat  he  had  discovered  an  immense  treasure 

in  the  centre  of  his  garden.     At  every  stroke  of  the 

sptde  he  laid  bare  a  goklcn  inijot  ;  diamond  crosses 

jpafkled  out  of  the  dust  ;  b.igs  of  money  turned  up 

their  Ix-llies,  corpulent  with  pieces  of  eiglit,  or  ven- 

tra'.ilf  doubloons  ;   and  chests,  wedged  close  with 

moiiii'i  s,  ilucats,  and  pistareens,  yawned  belbre  his 

ravlsiicd  eyes,  and  vomited  Ibrth  their  glittering  con- 

ttn;s. 

Wcliert  awoke  a  poorer  man  than  ever.  He  had 
no  heart  to  go  about  his  daily  concerns,  which  ap- 
pcareii  so  paltry  and  profitless  ,  but  sat  a!!  day  long 
ill  the  '.hiinney-conier,  picturing  to  himself  ii  ..;ots 
and  heaps  of  gold  in  the  fire.  The  next  night  his 
dreani  vias  repeated.    He  was  agair  in  his  garden, 


dwging,  and  laying  open  stores  of  hidden  wealth. 
There  was  something  very  singular  in  this  repeti- 
tion. He  passed  another  day  of  reverie,  and 
though  it  was  cleaning-day,  and  the  house,  as 
usual  in  Dutch  households,  completely  topsy-turvy 
yet  he  sat  unmoved  amidst  the  general  uproar. 

The  third  night  he  went  to  bed  with  a  palpitating 
heart.  He  put  on  his  red  nightcap,  wrong  side  out- 
wards for  good  luck.  It  was  deep  midnight  Refore 
his  anxious  mind  could  settle  itself  into  sleep. 
Again  the  golden  dream  was  repeated,  and  again 
he  saw  his  gar  Jen  teeming  with  ingots  and  rr.oney- 
b£^s. 

Wolfert  rose  the  next  morning  in  complete  bewil- 
derment. A  dream  three  times  repeated  was  never 
known  to  lie ;  and  if  so,  his  fortune  was  made. 

In  his  agitation  he  put  on  his  waistcoat  with  the 
hind  part  before,  and  this  was  a  corroboration  of 
good  luck.  He  no  longer  doubted  that  a  huge 
store  of  money  lay  buried  somewhere  in  his  cab- 
bage-field, coyly  waiting  to  be  sought  for,  and  he 
half  repined  at  having  so  long  been  scratching  about 
the  surface  of  the  soil,  instead  of  digging  to  the 
centre. 

He  took  his  seat  at  the  breakfast-table  full  of 
these  speculations ;  asked  his  daughter  to  put  a 
lump  of  gold  into  his  tea,  and  on  handing  his  wife 
a  plate  of  slap-jacks,  begged  her  to  help  herself  to 
a  doubloon. 

His  grand  care  now  was  how  to  secure  this  im- 
mense treasure  without  its  being  known.  Instead 
of  working  regularly  in  his  grounds  in  the  day-time, 
he  now  stole  from  his  bed  at  night,  and  with  spade 
and  pickaxe,  went  to  work  to  rip  up  and  dig  about 
his  paternal  acres,  from  one  end  to  the  other.  In  a 
little  time  the  whole  garden,  which  had  presented 
such  a  goodly  and  regular  appearance,  with  its  pha- 
lanx of  cabbages,  like  a  vegetable  army  in  battle  ar- 
ray, was  reduced  to  a  scene  of  devastation,  while 
the  r<?lentless  Wolfert,  with  nightcap  on  head,  and 
lantern  and  spade  in  hand,  stalked  through  the 
slaughtered  ranks  the  destroying  anr,el  of  his  own 
vegetable  world. 

Every  morning  bore  testimony  to  the  ravages  of 
the  preceding  night  '.n  cabbages  of  all  ages  and  con- 
ditions, from  the  tender  sprout  to  the  full-^jrown 
head,  piteously  rjoted  from  their  quiet  beds  like 
worthless  weeds,  and  left  to  wither  in  the  sunshine. 
It  was  in  vain  Wolfert 's  wife  remonstrated ;  it  was 
in  Vain  his  darling  daughter  wept  over  the  destnic- 
tion  of  some  favourite  marygold.  "  Thou  shalt  have 
gold  of  another  guess-sort,"  he  would  cry,  chucking 
her  under  the  chin ;  "  thou  shalt  have  a  string  of 
crooked  ducats  for  thy  wedding-necklace,  my  child." 
His  family  began  really  to  fear  that  the  poor  man's 
wits  were  diseased.  He  muttered  in  his  sleep  at 
night  of  mines  of  wealth,  of  pearls  and  diamonds 
and  bars  of  gold.  In  the  day-time  he  was  moody 
and  abstracted,  and  walked  about  as  if  in  a  trance. 
Dame  Webber  held  frequent  councils  with  all  the 
old  women  of  the  neighbourhood,  not  omitting  the 
p.arish  dominie ;  scarce  an  hour  in  the  day  but  a 
knot  of  them  might  be  seen  wagging  their  white 
caps  together  round  her  door,  while  the  poor  womaii 
made  some  piteous  recital.  The  daiiRiiter,  too,  was. 
fain  to  seek  for  more  frequent  consolation  from  the 
stolen  interviews  of  her  favoured  swain,  Dirk  Wal- 
dron.  The  delectable  little  Dutch  songs  with  which 
she  used  to  dulcify  the  house  grew  less  and  less  frt> 
quert,  and  she  would  forget  her  sewing  and  look 
wistfully  in  her  father's  face  as  he  sat  pondering  by 
the  fireside.  Wc'fert  caught  her  eye  one  day  fixed 
on  him  thus  anxiously,  and  for  a  moment  was  roused 
from  his  golden  reveries. — "  Cheer  up,  my  girl,"  said 
he,  cxultingly,  "why  dost  thou  droop? — thou  shall 


<20 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


■V» 


3 


4M 


-l-v   1 


■  111  '■  • 


hold  up  thy  head  one  day  with  the and  the 

Schernierhoms,  the  Van  Homes,  and  the  Van 
Dams  —the  patroon  himself  shall  be  glad  to  get  thee 
for  his  son  ! 

Amy  shook  her  head  at  t"-  vain-glorious  boast, 
and  was  more  tlian  ever  in  doubt  of  the  soundtiess 
of  the  good  man's  intellect. 

In  the  meantime  Wolfert  went  on  digging,  but 
tVij  field  v/as  extensive,  and  as  his  dream  nac  indi- 
^tjd  no  precise  spot,  he  h.id  to  dig  at  random.  The 
winter  set  in  before  one-tenth  of  the  scene  of  promise 
had  been  explored.  The  ground  became  too  frozen 
and  the  nights  too  cold  for  the  labours  of  the  spade. 
No  sooner,  however,  did  the  returning  warmth  of 
spring  loosen  the  soil,  and  the  small  frogs  begin  to 
pipe  in  the  meadows,  but  Wolfert  resumed  his  la- 
bours with  renovated  zeal.  Still,  however,  the  hours 
of  industry  were  reversed.  Instead  of  working  cheer- 
ily all  day,  planting  and  setting  out  his  vegetables, 
he  remained  thoughtfully  idle,  until  the  shades  of 
night  summoned  him  to  his  secret  labours.  In  this 
way  he  continued  to  dig  from  night  to  night,  and 
week  to  week,  and  month  to  month,  but  not  a  stiver 
did  he  find.  On  the  contrary,  the  more  he  digged 
the  poorer  he  grew.  The  rich  soil  of  his  garden  was 
digged  away,  and  the  sand  and  gravel  from  beneath 
were  thrown  to  the  surface,  until  the  whole  field 
presented  an  aspect  of  sandy  barrenness. 

In  the  meantime  the  seasons  gradually  rolled  on. 
The  little  frogs  that  had  piped  in  the  meadows  in 
early  spring,  croaked  as  buli-frogs  in  the  brooks 
during  the  summer  heats,  and  then  sunk  into  silence. 
The  peach  tree  budded,  blossomed,  and  bore  its 
fniii.  The  swallows  and  martins  came,  twittered 
about  the  roof,  built  their  nests,  reared  their  young, 
held  thfir congress  along  the  eaves,  and  then  winged 
their  flight  in  search  of  another  spring.  The  cater- 
pillar spun  its  winding-sheet,  d.ingled  in  it  from  the 
51  eat  buitonwood  tree  that  sh.'uled  the  liouse,  turned 
Into  a  moth,  fluttered  with  the  last  sunshine  of  sum- 
irer,  and  disappeared  ;  and  hnally  the  leaves  of  the 
bii.onwood  tree  turned  yellow,  then  brown,  then 
rustled  one  hy  one  to  the  ground,  and  whirling  about 
in  little  eddies  of  wind  and  dust,  whispered  th.tt  win- 
ter was  at  hand. 

Wolfert  gr.idually  awoke  from  his  dream  of  we.alth 
as  the  year  declined.  He  had  reared  no  crop  to 
supply  the  wants  of  his  household  during  the  sterility 
of  winter.  The  season  was  long  and  severe,  and  for 
the  first  time  the  family  was  really  straightiiied  in 
its  comforts.  By  degrees  a  revulsion  of  thought  took 
place  in  Wolfm's  mind,  common  to  those  whost 
golden  dreams  have  been  disturbed  by  pincliing  re- 
alities. The  idea  gradually  stole  upon  him  that  ho 
should  come  to  want.  He  already  considered  him- 
self one  of  the  most  unfortunate  men  in  the  province, 
having  lost  such  an  incalculable  amount  of  imdi.scov- 
ered  treasure,  and  now,  when  thou.saiuls  of  pounds 
had  eluded  his  starch,  to  be  perplexed  for  shillings 
and  pence  was  cruel  in  the  extreme. 

Haggard  care  gathered  about  his  brow  ;  he  went 
about  with  a  moii^y-seeking  air,  his  eyes  bent  down- 
wards into  the  dust,  and  carrying  his  hands  in  his 
pock'i'ts,  as  men  are  apt  to  do  when  they  have  noth- 
;n>i  cist  to  put  into  them.  He  could  not  even  pass 
ilis  city  almshouse  without  giving  it  a  njefu!  glance, 
as  if  destined  10  be  his  future  abode. 

The  strangen';.ss  of  his  conduct  and  of  his  looks 
occasioned  mucr  speculation  and  remark.  For  a 
long  time  he  was  suspected  of  being  crazy,  and  then 
every  body  pitied  him ;  at  length  it  began  to  be  sus- 
pected that  he  was  poor,  and  then  every  body  avoided 
aim. 

The  rich  old  burghers  of  his  acquainlatice  met  him 
jutside  of  the  door  when  he  called,  entertained  him 


hospitably  on  the  threshold,  pressed  him  wam.lv  h 
the  hand  on  parting,  shook  their  heads  as  he  walkd 
away,  with  the  kind-hearted  expression  of  "pqI 
Wolfert,"  and  turned  a  corner  rimbly,  if  by  chand 
they  saw  him  approaching  as  they  walked  the  streeU 
Even  the  barber  and  cobbler  of  tne  neighhourhooJ 
and  a  tattered  tailor  in  an  alley  hard  byrthr^e  of  tR 
poorest  and  merriest  rogues  in  the  world,  eyed  hii 
with  that  abundant  sympathy  which  usually  attend 
a  lack  of  means,  and  there  is  not  a  doubt 'but  tliel 
pockets  would  have  been  at  his  command,  only  th3 
they  happened  to  be  empty.  1 

Thus  every  body  deserted  the  Weblwr  ni,\nsioJ 
as  if  poverty  were  contagious,  like  the  pl.-ii^ie  ;  ever! 
body  but  honest  Dirk  Waldron,  who  still  kejit  up  h] 
stolen  visits  to  the  daughter,  and  indeed  seemed  t| 
wax  more  affectionate  as  the  fortunes  of  his  inistresT 
were  on  the  wane.  ] 

Many  months  had  elapsed  since  WolRrt  h.rl  frJ 
quented  his  old  resort,  the  rural  inn.  Hk  w,..3  t.ikind 
a  long  lonely  walk  one  Saturday  afternoon,  niusinl 
over  his  wants  and  disappointitients,  wlnn  his  feel 
took  instinctively  their  wonted  direction,  uni  oil 
awaking  out  of  a  reverie,  he  found  hiTn-^'ii  heforJ 
the  door  of  the  inn.  For  some  moments  l,e  hesiJ 
tated  whether  to  enter,  but  his  heart  ycarntd  foj 
companionship;  and  where  can  a  ruined  ninitinT 
better  companionship  than  at  a  tavern,  whir"  thera 
is  neither  sober  example  nor  sober  advice  {o  put  liiir 
out  of  countenance  ? 

Wolfert  found  several  of  the  old  frequcnurs  of  th«| 
tavern  at  their  usual  posts,  and  seated  in  tii'ir  usua 
places;  but  one  was  missing,  the  great  R.i:;)m  R.iJ 
pelye,  who  for  many  years  had  filled  the  chair  ofl 
state.  His  place  was  supplied  by  a  strani;»T,  whijl 
seemed,  however,  comjjleti'ly  at  home  in  the  ch,v;il 
and  the  tavern.  He  was  rather  under-size,  hut  deep.! 
chested,  s()uare,  and  muscular.  His  bro.i !  shoulj 
ders,  double  joints,  and  bow-knees,  gave  loKcns  of) 
prodigious  strength.  His  face  was  dark  and  \\!Mther-[ 
beaten  ;  a  deep  scar,  as  if  from  the  slash  of  .1  cutlass,! 
had  almost  divided  Ws  nose,  and  made  a  '/^-.i^^h  in  liisi 
upper  lip,  through  which  his  t(;eth  shone  like  a  Inill.f 
dog's.  A  mass  of  iron  gray  hair  gave  a  grizzly  finihl 
to  his  hard-favoured  visage.  His  dress  was  of  an  I 
amphibious  character.  He  wore  an  old  h.it  edgedj 
with  tarnished  lace,  and  cockttd  in  martial  style,  i.nl 
one  side  of  his  head  ;  a  rusty  blue  milit.iry  ciLitwithl 
brass  buttons,  and  a  wide  pair  of  short  ptiticortll 
trowsers,  or  rather  breeches,  for  they  were  g.ilherul 
up  at  the  knees.  He  ordcn-d  every  tjody  .iliout  hiinl 
with  an  authoritative  air;  talked  in  a  brattlin;^-  voicj,| 
that  sounded  like  the  crickling  of  thorns  under  j I 
pot ;  d.imned  the  landlord  and  sei^v.mls  with  iierfcct] 
impunity,  and  w.is  waited  upon  with  greater  obseqiji- 
ousnoss  than  had  ever  been  shown  to  the  miyiiiyl 
Fvamin  himself. 

Wolfert's  curiosity  was  aw.akened  to  know  who 
an<l  what  w.is  this  stranger  who  had  thus  u-urpfd 
absolute   sway  in   this   ancient  domain.     He  could 
get  nothing,  however,  but  vague  inloriii.uion.  I'tcthy 
Prauw  took  him  aside,  into  a  remote  cornii  of  iht  I 
hall,   and   there  in   an  umlfr-voice,  and  with  jjra 
caution,  imparted  to  him  .ill  that  he  knfw  on  Ihf  I 
subject.     The  inn  had  been  aroused  several  iiicnitij 
before,  on   a  dark  stormy  night,  by  repeated  lon^ 
shouts,  that  seemed   like   the    bowlings  of  :i  woll, 
They  came   from   the   water-side;    and   at   !»ng)h 
were  distinguislit-d  to  be  h.iiling  the  house  in  tht 
seal.uing    maimc-r.      "  House-a-noy  ! "      The  land-l 
lord  lurned  out  with  his  head  waiter,  tapster,  liu'.iier, 
and  errand  boy— that  is  to  say,  with  his  old  nt'i.'TC  1 
Cuff.     On  approaching    the  clace  from  whence  ih« 
V(.iice  proceeded,  they  found  iliis  amphibious-lt,: 1 1;.?  j 
personage  at   the  water's  edge,   (juiie  alon'', 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


421 


jhown  lo  the 


iiilbriii.iiion.  I'ecchy 


ited  on  a  great  oaken  sea-chest.  How  he  came 
!^,  whether  he  had  been  set  on  shore  from  some 
'boat,  or  had  floated  to  land  on  his  chest,  nobody  could 
{tlI,forhe  did  not  seem  disposed  to  answer  questions, 
igd  there  was  something  in  his  looks  and  manners 
llitt  put  a  stop  to  all  questioning.  Suffice  it  to  say, 
be  took  possession  of  a  corner  room  of  the  inn,  to 
fhich  his  chest  was  removed  with  great  difficulty. 
Here  he  had  remained  ever  since,  keeping  about  the 
iiii  and  Its  vicinity.  Sometimes,  it  is  true,  he  disap- 
idred  lor  one,  two,  or  three  days  at  a  time,  going 
md  returning  without  giving  any  notice  or  account 
/his  movements.  He  always  appeared  to  have 
I  plenty  of  money,  though  often  of  very  strange,  out- 
■  Wish  coinage ;  and  he  regularly  paid  his  bill  everj' 
pening  before  turning  in. 

He  had  titled  up  his  room  to  his  own  fancy,  hav- 
ing slung  a  hammock  from  the  ceiling  instead  of  a 
bed,  ar.d  decorated  the  walls  with  rusty  pistols  and 
tutlassts  of  foreign  workmansRip.  A  great  part  of 
bis  time  was  passed  iii  this  room,  seated  by  the 
widow,  which  commanded  a  wide  view  of  the 
Sound,  a  short  old-fashioned  pipe  in  his  mouth,  a  glass 
drum  icrldy  at  his  elbow,  and  a  pocket  telescope  in 
his  h.u.ii.  with  which  he  reconnoitred  every  boat 
llut  iiiDved  upon  the  water.  Large  square-rigged 
"lessels  si-eined  to  excite  but  little  attention  ;  but  the 
moiiuiit  lie  descried  any  thing  with  a  shoukler-of- 
mutton  sail,  or  that  a  barge,  or  yawl,  or  jolly  boat 
hove  ill  sight,  lip  went  the  telescope,  and  he  examin- 
tdiiwiih  the  niost  scrupulous  attt   tion. 

All  this  might  have  passed  without  much  notice, 
for  in  iJKjse  times  the  province  was  so  much  the  re- 
Mrt  of  ^idvcnturers  of  all  characters  and  climes  that 
any  oddity  in  dress  or  behaviour  attracted  but  little 
jtttTiiiiin.  hit  in  a  little  while  this  strange  sea 
wiiisiii,  thus  strangely  cast  up  on  dry  land,  began 
e  jncro.ich  upon  the  long-established  customs  aiul 
Uoiiii'rs  of  the  place  ;  to  interfere  in  a  dictatorial 
lar.iiir  in  the  affairs  of  the  ninepin  alley  and  the 
jjr-rouiii.  until  in  the  end  he  usurped  an  absolute 
jimiiMiKl  over  the  little  inn.  It  was  in  vain  lo  al- 
td.iipi  1)  withstand  his  authority.  He  was  not  ex- 
actly quarrelsonii',  but  boisterous  and  peremptory, 
iikeoiif  accustomed  to  tyrannize  on  a  quartvr  deck  ; 
ird  till !'  was  a  dare-devil  air  about  every  thing  he 
Bid  iiul  did,  that  inspired  a  wariness  in  all  bystand- 
ers, l.vtii  the  half-pay  olficer,  so  long  the  hero 
of  tin  {[id),  was  soon  silenced  by  him;  and  the 
quiet  l)ui>;hers  stared  with  wonder  at  seeing  their 
inll.uiiMi.ible  man  of  war  su  readily  and  quietly  ex- 
linguisliicl. 

And  ilien  the  tales  that  he  woidd  tell  \vre  enough 
to  niikc-  a  peaceable  man's  liali  stand  on  end. 
Then  was  not  a  sea  fight,  or  inaraudiiig  or  free- 
bootir,^'  adventure  that  had  lia|)()(iie(l  within  the  last 
twenty  years  but  he  seeiiied  ptrjiitly  vtfsed  in  it. 
He  (I'.ligiited  to  talk  of  the  exploits  ol  the  hiic- 
caneur^  in  the  West-Indies  and  on  the  Sp.iinsh 
Main.  How  his  eyes  would  j^listen  as  he  descriiied 
the  waylaying  of  treasure  ships,  the  desperate  fights, 
yard  ,'ini  and  yard  arm  -broadside  aiul  broadside  - 
Ihc  b  ifvling  and  capturing  of  large  Spanish  gal- 
Itons  v.ith  what  chutldiiig  r(  lish  woiid  he  describe 
the  li  iceni  u|).  ri  some  rich  Spanish  cidoiiy  ;  the 
iifling  :)i  a  church  ;  the  sacking  of  a  convent  !  You 
TOuid  have  thought  you  heard  sonic  gormandizer 
ilLiin,.  upon  the  roasting  a  sa^'ory  goose  at  Mich.iel- 
mai  1-  he  descritwd  the  toasting  of  some  Spanish 
Don  Id  make  him  discover  his  treasure  -  a  detail 
pen  with  a  minuteness  that  made  every  rich  old 
Burgher  present  turn  uncomfortably  in  his  chaif  Ail 
ihis  would  be  told  with  inhriitc  glee,  as  if  he  con- 
Jider.d  it  an  excellent  joke  ;  and  then  he  would  givj 
luch  .1  tyrannical  luci  Ui  'he  |m>  >  of  1)1$  nt'Hl  I"Tb\)- 


bour,  that  the  poor  man  would  be  bin  to  laugh  out  of 
sheer  faint-heartedness.  If  any  cne,  ho\yever,  pre- 
tended to  contradict  him  in  any  of  his  stories  he  waa 
on  fire  in  an  instant.  His  very  cocked  hat  assumed 
a  momentary  fierceness,  and  seemed  to  resent  the 
contradiction. — "  How  the  devil  should  you  know  as 
well  as  1 !  I  tell  you  it  was  as  I  say  I "  and  he 
would  at  the  same  time  let  slip  a  broadside  oi 
thundering  oaths  and  tremendous  sea  phrases,  su":h 
as  had  never  been  hec.rd  before  within  those  peac& 
ful  walls. 

Indeed,  the  worthy  burghers  began  to  surmise  thai 
he  knew  more  of  these  stories  than  mere  hearsay. 
Day  after  day  their  conjectures  concerning  him  grew 
more  and  more  wild  and  tearful.  The  strangeness 
of  his  manners,  the  mystery  that  surrounded  him,  all 
made  him  something  mcomprehensible  in  their  eyes. 
He  was  a  kind  of  monster  of  the  deep  to  them — he 
was  a  merman — he  was  behemoth — he  was  levia- 
than— in  short,  they  knew  not  what  he  was. 

The  domineering  spirit  of  this  boisterous  sea  ur- 
chin at  length  grew  qu.te  intolerable.  He  was  no 
respecter  of  persons ;  he  contradicted  the  richest 
burghers  without  hesitation  ;  he  took  possession  of 
the  sacred  elbow  chair,  which  time  out  of  mind  had 
been  the  seat  of  sovereignty  of  the  illustrious  Ram.m 
Rapelye.  Nay,  he  even  went  so  far  in  one  of  his 
roui^h  jocular  moods,  as  to  slap  that  mighty  burgher 
on  the  back,  drink  his  toddy  and  wink  in  his  face,  a 
thiiijj  scarcely  to  be  believed.  From  this  tir.ie  Ramm 
Kapelye  appeared  no  more  at  the  inn  ;  his  example 
was  followed  by  several  of  the  most  eminent  custom- 
ers, who  w<rre  too  rich  to  tolerate  being  bullied  out  of 
their  opinions,  or  being  obliged  to  laugh  at  another 
III  ins  jokes.  The  landlord  was  almost  in  despair, 
but  he  knew  not  how  to  get  rid  of  this  sea  monster 
and  his  sea.-chest,  which  seemed  to  have  grown  Hke 
fixtures,  or  excrescences  on  his  establishment. 

Such  was  the  account  whispered  cautiously  in 
Woltert's  ear,  by  the  narrator,  Peechy  I'rauvv,  as  he 
held  him  l)y  the  button  in  acorn  r  of  the  hall,  casting 
a  wary  glance  now  and  then  towards  the  door  of  the 
bar-rooin,  lest  he  should  be  overheard  by  the  terrible 
hero  of  his  talc. 

VV'olfert  took  his  seat  in  a  remote  part  of  the  room 
in  silence ;  impressed  with  profound  awe  of  this  un- 
known, so  versed  in  freebooting  history.  It  was  to 
hiin  a  wonderful  inst?nce  of  the  revolutions  of  mighty 
empires,  to  find  the  venerable  Ramm  Rapelye  thus 
ousted  from  the  throne  ;  a  rugged  tarpaulin  dictating 
from  his  ellx)w  chair,  hectoring  the  patriarchs,  and 
filling  this  tranquil  little  realm  with  brawl  and 
bravado. 

The  stranger  was  on  this  evening  in  a  more  than 
usually  communicative  mood,  and  was  narrating  a 
number  of  astounding  stories  of  plurlderings  and 
burnings  upon  the  high  seas.  He  dwelt  upon  them 
with  peculiar  relish,  heightening  the  frightful  par- 
"iculars  in  proportion  to  their  effect  on  his  peaceful 
auditors.  He  gave  a  long  swaggering  detail  of  the 
capture  of  a  Spanish  merchantman.  She  was  laying 
becalmed  duriii,;  a  long  summer's  day,  just  off  from 
an  island  which  was  one  of  the  lurking  places  of  thf. 
pirates.  They  had  reconnoitred  her  with  their  spy. 
i  gla-ises  from  the  shore,  and  asrertained  her  charac- 
i  icr  and  force.  At  night  a  picked  crew  of  daring 
fellows  set  off  for  her  in  a  whale  boat.  They  ap- 
proached with  miitlled  oars,  as  she  lay  rocking  idly 
with  the  undulations  of  the  sea  and  her  sails  Happing 
against  the  ma.sts.  They  were  close  under  her  stem 
before  the  guard  on  deck  was  awo/e  of  their  ap- 

firoach,     The  alarm  was  given  ;    the  pirates  threw 
land   grenades  on  'r    k  an-J  sprang   up   the  n'.ate 
chains  swonl  in  hami, 
The  crew  flew  to  arnr.s,  but  in  great  co.tMnoo 


«3a 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


»•■'.  '.r 


W 


'*^-^ 


Bointo  were  shot  down,  others  took  refuge  in  the  tops ; 
others  were  driven  overboard  and  drowned,  while 
others  fought  hand  to  hand  from  the  main  deck  to 
the  quarter  deck,  disputing  gallantly  every  inch  of 
ground.  There  were  three  Spanish  gentlemen  on 
Board  with  their  ladies,  who  made  the  most  desper- 
af<"  resistance ;  they  defended  the  companion-way,  cut 
down  several  of  their  assailants,  and  fought  like  very 
ri'.vils,  for  they  were  maddened  by  the  shrieks  of  the 
ladies  from  the  cabin.  One  of  the  Dons  was  old  and 
men  despatched.  The  other  two  kept  their  ground 
vigourously,  even  though  the  captain  of  the  pirates 
was  among  their  assailants.  Just  then  there  was  a 
khout  of  victory  from  the  main  ('erk.  "  The  ship  is 
ours  ! "  cried  the  pirates. 

One  of  the  Dons  immediately  dropped  his  sword 
and  surrendered  ;  the  other,  who  was  a  hot-headed 
youngster,  and  just  married,  gave  the  captain  a  slash 
m  the  face  that  laid  all  open.  The  captam  just  made 
out  to  articulate  the  words  "  no  quarter." 

"And  what  did  they  do  with  their  prisoners?" 
said  Peechy  Prauw,  eagerly. 

"  Threw  them  all  overboard  !  "  said  the  merman. 

A  dead  pause  followed  this  reply.  Peechy  Prauw 
shrunk  quietly  back  like  a  man  who  had  unwarily 
stolen  ujx)n  the  lair  of  a  sleeping  lion.  The  honest 
burghers  cast  fearful  glances  at  the  deep  scar  slashed 
across  the  visage  of  the  stranger,  and  moved  their 
chairs  a  little  farther  off.  The  seaman,  however, 
smoked  on  without  moving  a  muscle,  as  though  he 
either  did  not  perceive  or  did  not  regard  the  unfa- 
vourable effect  he  had  produced  upon  his  hearers. 

The  half-pay  officer  was  the  first  to  break  the 
silence:  for  he  was  continually  tempted  to  make  in- 
efiectual  head  against  this  tyrant  of  the  seas,  and  to 
tx'gsin  his  lost  consequence  ir.  the  eyes  of  his  ancic.t 
companions.  He  now  tried  to  match  the  gunpowder 
tales  of  the  stranger  by  others  equally  tremendous. 
Kidd.  as  usual,  was  his  hero,  concerning  whom  he 
Sflemed  to  have  picked  up  many  of  the  Heating  tradi- 
tions of  the  province.  The  seaman  had  always 
evinced  a  settled  pique  against  the  red-faced  war- 
rior. <Jn  this  occasion  he  listened  with  pt;culiar  im- 
patience. He  sat  with  one  arm  a-kimbo,  the  other 
elbow  on  a  table,  the  hand  holding  on  to  the  small 
pipe  he  was  pettishly  puffing ;  his  legs  crossed, 
drumming  with  one  foot  on  the  ground  and  casting 
every  now  and  then  the  side  glance  of  a  basilisk  at 
the  prosing  captain.  At  length  the  latter  spoke  of 
Kidd's  having  ascended  the  Hudson  with  some  of  his 
crew,  to  land  his  plunder  in  secrecy. 

"  Kidd  up  the  Hudson  !  "  burst  forth  the  seaman, 
with  a  tremendous  oath ;  "  Kidd  never  was  up  the 
Hudson  !  " 

"I  tell  you  he  was,"  said  the  other.  "Aye,  and 
they  say  he  buried  a  quantity  of  treasure  on  the  little 
flat  that  runs  out  into  the  river,  cali^d  the  Devil's 
Dans  Kammer." 

"  The  Devil's  Dans  Kamimw  in  your  teeth  ! " 
cried  the  seaman.  '  I  tell  you,  Kidd  r^ver  was  up 
the  Hudson — what  a  plague  do  you  know  of  Kidd 
and  his  haunts?  " 

"  What  do  I  know?  "  echoed  the  half-pay  officer  ; 
why,  I  was  in  London  at  the  tiinp  of  hes  trial,  aye, 
Siid   1   had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him   hanged  at 
Execution  Dock." 

'•  Tb;n.  sir,  let  me  tell  you  that  yon  saw  as  pretty 
a  fellow  hanged  as  ever  trod  shoe  leather.    Aye  t 
putting  his  face  nearer  to  that  of  the  officer,  "  and 
there  was  many  a  coward  looked  on,   that    might 
much  better  have  swung  in  his  stead." 

The  half-pay  officei  was  silenced ;  but  the  indig- 
aation  thus  pent  up  in  his  bosom  glowed  with  intense 
vehemence  iu  bis  single  eye,  which  kindled  like  a 
cmI. 


3il;n 


Peechy  Prauw,  who  never  could  remain  su-ni 
now  took  up  the  word,  and  in  a  pacifyinjr  tone  oU 
served  that  the  gentleman  certainly  was  in  the  wrQ 
Kidd  never  did  bury  money  up  the  Hudson,  noHiJ 
deed  in  any  of  those  parts,  though  many  riffm.n  thJ 
fact.    It  was  Bradish  and  others  of  the  hut  cnneen 
who  had  buried  money,  some  said  in  Turiln  Bavl 
others  on  Long-Island,  others  in  the  neigSihoiihoo 
of  Hell  Gate.     Indeed,  added  he,  I  rerolUct  .-.u  an 
venture  of  Mud  Sam,  the  negro  fisherman,  mar 
years  ago,  which  some  think  had  some;hi!i(^  to  i'l 
with  the  buccaneers.  As  we  are  all  friends  hort:,  and 
as  it  will  go  no  farther,  I'll  tell  it  to  you. 

"  Upon  a  dark  night  many  years  ago,  as  Sam  wasl 
returning  from  fishing  in  Hell  Gate — "  I 

Here  the  story  was  nipped  in  the  bud  by  a  siuldenl 
m  ivement  from  the  unknown,  who,  laying  his  iron! 
fist  on  the  table,  knuckles  downw.ird,  with  a  (|uiet  torcel 
that  indented  the  very  boards,  and  lookinj;  griinlyl 
over  his  shoulder,  with  the  grin  of  an  anj;ry  bear.l 
"  Heark'ee,  neighbour,"  said  he,  with  signitic;-nt  nnJ-| 
ding  of  the  head,  "  you'd  better  let  the  buccaneersl 
and  their  money  alone — they're  not  tor  old  iua\  and! 
old  women  to  meddle  with.  They  fouglu  hard  fori 
their  money,  they  gave  body  and  soul  for  it,  and! 
wherever  it  lies  buried,  depend  upon  it  he  must  have| 
a  tug  with  the  devil  who  gets  it.' 

This  sudden  explosion  was  succeeded  by  aljlankl 
silence  throughout  the  room.     Peechy  Pramv  shrunk  I 
within  himself,  and  even  the  red-faced  officer  turned 
pale.     Wolfert,  who,  from  a  dark  corner  of  the  room, 
nad  listened  with  intense  eagerness  to  all  this  talli 
about  buried  treasure,  looked  with  mingled  awe  and 
reverence  on  this  bold  buccaneer,  for  such  he  really 
suspected  him  to  be.     There  was  a  chinking  of  gold 
and  a  sparkling  of  jewels  in  all  his  stories  ahout  ttif 
Spanish  Main  t'^at  gave  a  value  to  every  period,  and  | 
Wolfert  would  have  given  any  thing  for  the  nimmaj,- 
ing  of  the  ponderous  sea-chest,  which  his  iniajjina- 
tion  crammed  full  of  golden  chalices  and  crucitixcs 
and  jolly  round  bags  of  doubloons. 

The  dead  stillness  that  had  fallen  upon  the  com- 
pany was  at  length  interrupted  by  the  stranj^tr,  who 
pulled  out  a  prodigious  watch  of  curious  and  ancient 
workmanship,  and  which  in  Wolfert's  eyes  h.ad  a  de- 
cidedly Spanish  look.  On  touching  a  spring  it  struck 
ten  o clock;  upon  which  the  sailor  called  f.r  Is 
reckoning,  and  having  paid  it  out  of  a  handfa!  ii 
outlandish  coin,  he  drank  off  the  remainder  of  hi? 
beverage,  and  without  taking  leave  of  any  one,  rolled 
out  of  the  room,  muttenng  to  himself  as  he  stanip».; 
up-stairs  to  his  chamber. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  company  could  nv 
cover  from  the  silence  into  which  they  had  been 
thrown.  The  very  footsteps  of  the  stranger,  whxh 
were  heard  now  and  then  as  he  traversed  his  chain- 
t)er,  inspired  a've. 

Still  tlie  co'iversation  in  which  they  had  hi  en  en- 
gaged was  loo  intcrrsting  not  to  be  resumed.  A 
hf-avy  thunccr-gusi  Ua<.  gathered  up  imnoiiced  whii; 
they  were  lost  in  talk,  and  the  tcrrer  ts  ot  run 
that  fell  forbade  all  thou"hts  of  setting  off  for  hciit 
until  the  storm  should  subside.  They  drew  ne ucr 
together,  therefore,  and  entreated  the  worthy  I'eechi 
Prauw  to  continue  the  tale  which  had  been  so  <lii; 
cotirteously  interrupted.  He  readily  con>plie(l,  whis 
pering,  however,  in  a  tone  scarcely  above  riis  htcaili 
and  drowned  occasionally  by  the  rolling  of  the  thundfi- 
and  he  wotild  pause  evcrj'  now  and  then,  and  listen 
with  esident  awe.  »■<■.  he  heard  the  heavy  foot.Jtepsol 
the  stranger  pacing  overhead. 

The  loTlowing  is  the  puiport  ot  his  story. 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


4S8 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  SAM,  THE  BLACK  FISH- 
ERMAN. 

COMMONLY  DENOMINATED  MUD  SAM. 


Every  body  knows  Mud  Sam,  the  old  negro  fish- 
ennan  who  has  fished  about  the  Sound  for  the  last 
tweiKy  or  thirty  years.  Well,  it  is  now  many  years 
since  that  Sam,  who  was  then  a  young  fellow,  and 
A'ori<ed  on  the  farm  of  Killian  Suydam  on  Long 
Island,  having  finished  his  work  early,  was  fishing, 
one  still  summer  evening,  just  about  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Hell  Gate.  He  was  in  a  light  skiff,  and 
b(^ing  well  acquainted  with  the  currents  and  eddies, 
he  had  been  able  to  shift  his  station  with  the  shift- 
ing of  the  tide,  from  the  Hen  and  Chickens  to  the 
Hog's  back,  and  from  the  Hog's  back  to  the  Pot, 
and  from  the  Pot  to  the  Frying-pan ;  but  in  t!ie 
eagerness  of  his  sport  Sam  did  not  see  that  the  tide 
was  rapidly  ebbing;  until  the  roaiing  of  the  whirl- 
pools and  rapids  warned  him  of  his  Jinger,  and  he 
had  some  difficulty  in  shooting  his  skiff  from  among 
the  rocks  and  breakers,  and  getting  to  the  point  of 
Biackwell's  Island.  Here  he  cast  anchor  (or  some 
time,  waiting  the  turn  of  the  tide  to  enable  him  to 
return  homewards.  As  the  night  set  in  it  grew 
blustering  and  gusty.  Dark  clouds  came  bundling 
up  in  the  west ;  and  now  and  then  a  growl  of  thun- 
der or  a  flash  of  lightning  told  that  a  summer  storm 
waa  at  hand.  Sam  pulled  over,  therefore,  under  the 
lee  of  Manhattan  Island,  and  coasting  along  came 
to  a  snug  nook,  just  under  a  steep  beetling  rock, 
where  he  fastened  his  skifT  to  the  root  of  a  tree  that 
shot  out  from  a  cleft  and  spread  its  broad  branches 
like  a  canopy  over  the  water.  The  gust  came  scour- 
ing along;  the  wind  threw  up  the  river  in  white 
surjjes ;  the  rain  rattled  among  the  leaves,  th ;  thun- 
der bellowed  worse  than  that  which  is  now  bellow- 
ing, the  lightning  seemed  to  lick  up  the  surges  of  the 
stream  ;  but  Sam,  snugly  sheltered  under  rock  and 
tree,  l.iy  crouched  in  his  skiff,  rocking  upon  the  bil- 
lows until  he  fell  asleep.  When  he  awoke  all  was 
'juiet.  The  gust  had  passed  away,  and  only  now 
ind  then  a  faint  gleam  of  lightnini^  in  the  east 
showed  which  way  it  had  gone.  The  night  was 
dark  and  moonless ;  and  from  the  state  of  the  tide 
Sam  concluded  it  was  near  midnight.  He  was  on 
the  point  of  making  loose  his  skiff  to  return  hoine- 
wirds,  when  he  aaw  a  light  gleaming  along  the  water 
from  a  distance,  which  seemed  rapidly  approach- 
ing. As  it  drew  near  he  perceived  it  came  from  a 
lanthorn  in  the  bow  of  a  boat  which  was  gliding 
alone  under  shadow  of  the  land.  It  pulled  up  in  a 
sr.ialT  cove,  close  to  where  he  w;is.  A  man  Jumped 
on  shore,  and  searching  about  with  the  l;inthorn  ex- 
claimed, "  This  is  the  place — here's  the  Iron  ring." 
Tlie  boat  w<is  then  made  last,  and  the  man  return- 
ing on  board,  assisted  his  comrades  in  conveying 
so'nethin^'  heavy  on  shore.  As  the  light  gle.imed 
among  them,  Sam  saw  that  they  were  five  stout,  des- 
perate-looking fellows,  in  red  woollen  caps,  with  a 
leader  in  a  three-cornered  hat,  and  that  some  of 
them  were  armed  with  dirks,  or  long  knives,  and 
piriols,  They  talked  low  to  one  another,  and  occa- 
sionally in  some  outlandish  tongue  which  he  could 
not  understand. 

On  landing  they  made  their  way  among  the  bushes, 
taking  turns  to  relieve  each  otlifir  in  lugginjj  their 
buahen  up  the  rocky  bank.  Sim's  curiosity  was 
now  fully  aroused,  so  leaving  his  skiff  he  clambered 
silen'.ly  up  the  ridge  that  overlooked  their  path. 
Tlipy  Had  stopped  to  rest  for  a  moment,  and  the 
leader  waj  looking  about  amon?  the  bushes  with  his 
15 


lanthorn.  "  Have  you  brotight  the  spades  ?  "  said 
one.  "  They  are  here,"  replied  another,  who  had 
them  on  his  shoulder.  "  We  must  dig  deep,  wheir 
there  will  be  no  risk  of  discovery,"  said  a  third. 

A  cold  chill  ran  through  Sam's  veins.  He  fanciec 
he  saw  before  him  a  gang  of  murderers,  about  to 
bury  their  victim.  His  knees  smote  together.  In 
his  agitation  he  shook  the  branch  of  a  tree  wUh 
which  he  was  supporting  himself  as  he  looked  over 
the  edge  of  the  cliff. 

"  Wnat's  that  ?  "  cried  one  of  the  gang.  ".  Some 
one  stirs  among  the  bushes !  " 

The  lanthorn  was  held  up  in  the  direction  of  the 
noise.  One  of  the  red-caps  cocked  a  pistol,  and 
pointed  it  towards  the  very  place  where  Sam  was 
standing.  He  stood  m'ltionless — breathless ;  expect- 
ing the  next  moment  ti»  be  his  last.  Fortunately  his 
dingy  complexion  was  n  his  favour,  and  made  lo 
glare  among  the  leaves. 

"'Tis  no  one,"  said  the  man  with  the  lantnom. 
"What  a  yjlague  .  you  would  not  fire  off  ycur  pistol 
and  alarm  the  country." 

The  pistol  was  uncocked ;  the  burthen  was  re- 
sumed, and  the  party  slowly  toiled  along  the  bank. 
Sam  watched  them  as  they  went ;  the  light  sending 
back  fitful  gleams  througi  the  dripping  bushes,  and 
it  was  not  till  they  were  fairly  out  of  sight  that  he 
ventured  to  draw  breath  freely.  He  now  thought 
of  getting  b.ack  to  his  boat,  and  making  his  escape 
out  of  the  reach  of  such  dangerous  neighbours  ;  but 
curiosity  Wiis  all-powerl'ul  with  f)oor  Sam.  He  hesi- 
tated and  lingered  and  listened.  By  and  bye  he 
heard  the  strokes  of  spades. 

"  They  are  digging  the  grave  I  "  said  he  to  him- 
self; and  the  cold  sweat  started  upon  his  forehead. 
Every  stroke  of  a  spade,  as  it  sounded  through  the 
silent  groves,  went  to  his  heart ;  it  was  evident  there 
was  as  littl?  noise  made  as  possible  ;  every  thing  had 
an  air  of  mystery  and  secrecy.  Sam  had  a  great 
relish  for  the  horrible, — a  tale  of  murder  was  a  treat 
for  him ;  and  he  was  a  constant  attendant  at  execu- 
tions. He  could  not,  therefore,  resist  an  impulse,  in 
spite  of  every  danger,  to  steal  nearer,  and  overlook 
the  villains  at  their  work.  He  crawled  along  cau- 
tiously, therefore,  inch  by  inch ;  stepping  with  the 
utmost  care  among  the  dry  leaves,  lest  their  rustling 
should  betray  him.  He  came  at  length  to  where  a 
steep  rock  intervened  between  him  and  the  gang  ; 
he  saw  the  light  of  their  lanthorn  shining  up  against 
the  branches  of  the  trees  on  the  other  side.  Satn 
slowly  and  silenUy  clambered  up  the  surface  of  the 
rock,  and  raising  his  head  above  its  naked  edge,  be- 
held the  vill.ains  immediately  below  him,  and  so  near 
that  1  hough  he  dreaded  discovery  he  dared  not  with- 
draw lest  the  least  movement  should  be  heard.  In 
this  way  he  remained,  with  his  round  black  face 
peering  above  the  edge  of  the  rock,  like  the  sun  just 
emerging  above  the  edge  of  the  horizon,  or  the 
round-cheeked  moon  on  the  dial  of  a  clock. 

The  red-caps  had  nearly  finished  their  work ;  th« 
grave  was  filled  up,  and  they  were  ca'efully  replacing 
the  turf.  ,This  done,  they  scattered  dry  leaves  ovef 
the  pl.ace.  "  And  now,"  said  the  leader,  "  I  defy  tht 
devil  himself  to  find  it  out. 

"  The  murderers!"  exclaimed  Sam,  iuvoluntarilv. 
The  whole  gang  started,  and  looking  up,  behdd 
the  round,  hlac-k  head  of  Sain  just  above  them.  Hit 
white  eyes  strained  h.ilf  out  of  their  orbits  ;  his  white 
teeth  chattering,  and  his  whole  visage  shining  with 
cold  perspiration. 

"  We're  discovered  !  "  cried  one. 
'•  Down  with  him  !  "  cried  another. 
Sam  heard  the  cocking  of  a  pistol,  but  did  no' 
|)ause  for  the  report.     He  scrambled  over  rock  and 
stone,  through  bush  and  briar ;  rolled  down  banks  liln 


124 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


fiM':. 


to-.- 


-'4,   .,'.. 


WMK 


life-?*  ,"  V 

A'  ',1  -I'    if  *V-    -    -•;>•' 


U' 


rti 


j-^'  :- 


w 


a  hcdgi-hog ;  scrambled  up  others  like  a  catamount. 
In  every  direction  he  heard  somepne  or  other  of  the 
gang  hemming  him  in.  At  length  he  reached  the 
rocky  ridge  along  the  river ;  one  of  the  rod-caps  was 
hard  behind  him.  A  steep  roci<  lil<e  a  wall  ruse  di- 
rectly in  his  way  ;  it  seemed  to  cut  off  all  retreat, 
when  he  espied  the  strong  cord  like  branch  of  a 
grape-vine,  reaching  h^lf  way  down  it.  He  sprang 
at  it  with  the  force  of  a  desperate  man,  seized  it  with 
both  hands,  and  being  young  ;ind  agile,  succeeded  in 
swinging  himself  to  the  summit  of  the  clitT.  Here  he 
stood  in  full  relief  against  the  sky,  when  the  red-cap 
cocked  his  pistol  and  fired.  The  ball  whistled  by 
Sam's  head.  With  the  lucky  thought  of  a  man  in  an 
emergency,  he  uttered  a  yell,  fell  to  the  ground,  and 
detacned  at  the  same  time  a  fragment  of  the  rock, 
which  tumbled  with  a  loud  splash  mto  the  river. 

"  I've  done  his  business,"  said  the  red-cap,  to  one 
or  two  of  his  comrades  as  they  arrived  panting. 
"  Hell  tell  no  tales,  except  to  the  lishes  in  the  river." 

His  pursuers  now  turned  off  to  meet  their  com- 
panions. Sam  sliding  silently  down  the  surlace  of 
the  rock,  let  himself  quietly  into  his  skiff,  cast  loose 
the  fastening,  and  abandoned  himself  to  the  rapid 
current,  which  in  that  place  runs  like  a  mill-stream, 
and  soon  swept  him  off  from  the  neighbourhood.  It 
was  not,  however,  until  he  had  drifted  a  great  dis- 
tance that  he  ventured  to  ply  his  oars ;  when  he 
made  his  skiff  dart  like  an  arrow  through  iha  strait 
of  Heli  Gate,  never  heeding  the  danger  of  Pot,  Fry- 
ing-pan,  or  Hog's-back  itself;  nor  did  he  feel  him- 
self thoroughly  secure  until  safely  nestled  in  bed  in 
the  cockloft  of  the  ancient  farm-house  of  the  Suy- 
dams. 

Here  the  worthy  Peechy  paused  to  take  breath 
and  to  take  a  sip  of  the  gossip  tankarc^that  stood  at 
his  elbow.  His  auditors  remained  with  open  mouths 
and  outstretched  necks,  gaping  like  a  nest  of  swal- 
lows for  an  additional  mouthful. 

"  And  is  that  all  ?  "  exclaimed  the  half-pay  officer. 

"  That's  all  that  belongs  to  the  story,"  said  I'cochy 
Prauw. 

"  And  did  Sam  never  find  out  what  was  buried  by 
the  red-caps?  "  said  Woll'ert,  eagerly;  whose  mind 
was  haunted  by  nothing  but  ingots  and  doubloons. 

"Not  that  I  know  of ;  he  had  no  time  to  sp.ire 
from  his  work ;  and  to  tell  the  truth,  he  did  not  like 
to  run  the  risk  of  another  race  among  the  rocks.  IJe- 
sides,  how  should  he  recollect  the  spot  where  the 
^ave  had  bei  n  digged  ?  every  thing  would  look  dif- 
ferent by  dayiight.  And  then,  where  was  the  use 
of  looking  for  a  dead  body,  when  there  w;is  no 
chance  of  hanging  the  murderers  ?  " 

"  Aye,  but  are  you  sure  it  was  a  dead  body  they 
burie'i?  "  said  Wolfert. 

"To  be  sure,"  cried  Peechy  Prauw,  exultingly. 
"  Does  it  not  haunt  in  the  neighbourhood  to  this 
wery  day  ?  ' ' 

"  Haunts  !  "  exclaimed  several  of  the  party,  open- 
ing their  eyes  still  wider  and  edging  iheir  chairs  still 
I  loser. 

"  Aye,  haunts,"  repeated  Peechy  ;  "  has  none  of 
you  heard  ol  lather  red-cap  that  haunts  theolo  'vrnt 
Lirm -house  in  the  woods,  on  the  border  ol  the  Sound, 
licar  Hell  oava?  ' 

"Oh,  to  ^e  sure,  I've  heard  fell  of  something 
of  th:  kind,  but  then  I  took  it  for  some  old  wives' 
fjible.  • 

"OW  wives'  fable  or  not,"  said  Peechy  Prauw, 
"that  farm-house  stands  ha-d  by  the  vcr}'  sjjot.  It's 
t>een  unoccu|)ied  time  out  of  mind,  and  stands  in  a 
wild,  lonely  part  of  the  coast ;  but  those  who  fish  in 
th*  neighbourhood  h.ive  often  heard  strange  n')ises 
there ;  and  lights  have  been  seen  about  the  wood  at 
uuht ;  and  an  rid  fellow  in  a  red  cap  has  been  seen 


at  the  windows  more  than  i)nce,  which  people  tiin 
to  be  the  ghost  of  the  body  that  was  buried  there 
Once  upon  a  time  three  soldiers  took  sheltor  In  ih™ 
building  for  the  night,  and  rummaged  it  from  too  tc 
bottom,  when  they  found  old  father  rtd-cap  astride 
of  a  cider-barrel  in  the  cellar,  with  a  jug  in  one  hnid 
and  a  goblet  in  the  other.  He  ofTercd  tluni  a  'I;;;]i( 
out  of  his  goblet,  but  just  as  one  of  the  soldieis  was 
putting  it  to  his  mouth — Whew !  a  fl.isii  of  f'yf. 
blazed  through  the  cellar,  blitided  every  inothirs 
son  of  them  fo'  several  minutes,  and  when  they  re- 
covered their  eye-sight,  jug,  goblet,  and  red-c;i,)  had 
vanished,  and  nothing  but  the  empty  cider-barrel  re- 
mained " 

Here  the  half-pay  officer,  who  was  growinj;  verv 
muzzy  and  sleepy,  and  nodding  over  his  lii|uorl  with 
half-extinguished  eye,  suddenly  gleamed  up  like  an 
expiring  rushlight, 

'•  That's«ill  humbug  1 "  said  he,  as  Peechy  finished 
his  last  story. 

"Well,  I  don't  vouch  for  the  truth  of  it  nnsi.lf," 
said  Peechy  Prauw,  "  though  all  the  wodd  knows 
th.at  there's  something  strange  about  the  houst  and 
grounds ;  but  as  to  the  story  of  Mud  Sam,  I  bclitve 
it  just  as  well  as  if  it  had  happened  to  myself." 

The  deep  interest  taken  in  this  conversatinn  by 
the  company,  had  made  them  unconscious  of  th'!  up. 
roar  thai  prevailed  abroad  among  the  elcnxnts, 
when  suddenly  they  were  all  electrified  by  a  tre- 
mendous clap  of  thunder.  A  lumbering  crash  fol- 
lowed  instantaneously  that  made  the  building  shake 
to  its  foundation.  All  started  from  their  seals, 
imagining  it  the  shock  of  an  earthquake,  or  that  old 
father  red-cap  was  coming  amoiig  them  ii  a!i  1 ;» 
terrors.  They  listened  for  a  moment,  but  only  1  cv.  J 
the  rain  pelting  against  the  windows,  and  the  wind 
howling  among  the  trees.  The  explosion  was  soon 
explained  by  the  appaiition  of  an  old  negro's  bald 
head  thrust  in  at  the  door,  his  white  goggle  cyts 
contrasting  with  his  jetty  poll,  which  was  wet  wi'i- 
rain  and  shone  like  a  bottle.  In  a  jaigon  but  h.Jf 
intelligible  he  announced  that  the  kitciien  rhinmcy 
had  been  struck  with  lightning. 

A  sullen  pause  of  the  storm,  which  now  rose  and 
sunk  in  gusts,  produced  a  momentary  stillness.  In 
this  interval  the  report  of  a  musket  was  heard,  and 
a  long  shout,  almost  like  a  yell,  resounded  from  the 
shore.  Every  one  crowded  to  the  window ;  another 
musket  shot  was  heard,  and  another  lonij  slioi;!, 
that  mingled  wildly  with  a  rising  bl.ist  of  wind.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  cry  came  up  from  the  bosom  of 
the  waters;  for  though  incessant  flashes  of  light- 
ning spread  a  light  about  the  shore,  no  one  was  to 
be  seen. 

Suddenly  the  window  of  the  room  overhead  was 
opened,  and  a  loud  halloo  uttered  by  the  inyskriiJDs 
stianger.  Several  bailings  passed  from  one  paityto 
the  other,  but  in  a  language  wliich  none  of  the  com- 
pany in  the  bar-room  could  understand  ;  and  pre;!'!  t- 
ly  they  heard  the  window  closed,  and  a  great  noise 
overhead  as  if  all  the  furniture  were  pulkd  art! 
hauled  about  the  room.  The  negro  strvant  w.is 
summoned,  and  shortly  after  was  seen  assisting  tltf 
veteran  to  lug  the  ponderous  se.i-chcst  d'^wnsta  r?. 

The  landlord  was  in  amazement.  "  Whai.  yoi 
are  not  going  on  the  water  in  such  a  storm  ?  " 

"  Storm  ! '  .said  the  other,  scornfully,  "  do  you  Cil' 
such  a  sputter  of  weather  a  storm  ?  " 

"  You'll  get  drenched  to  the  skin — You'll  Cutch 
your  death  !"  s.iid  Peechy  Prauw,  utTectionately. 

"  Thunder  and  lightning !  "  exclaimed  the  merman, 
"don't  preach  abon!  weather  to  a  man  that  has 
cruised  in  whirlwinds  and  tornadoes." 

The  obsequious  I'eechy  w.is  again  struck  dumb. 
The  voice  from  the  water  was  again  heard  in  a  tout 


\  .<: 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


431 


as  Peechy  finished 


of  impatience ;  the  bystanders  stared  with  redoubled 
jiwt'  at  this  man  of  storms,  which  seemed  to  have 
come  up  out  of  the  deep  and  to  t>e  called  back  to  it 
again.  As,  with  the  assistance  of  the  negro,  he 
slow.y  bore  his  ponderous  sea-chest  towards  the 
shore,  tney  eyed  it  with  a  superstitious  feeling;  half 
doubting  whether  he  were  not  really  about  to  em- 
Iwrk  upon  it,  and  launch  forth  upon  the  wild  waves. 
fhi^y  followed  him  at  a  distance  with  a  lanthorn. 

"  (Jouse  the  light  1"  roared  the  hoarse  voice  from 
he  water.    "  No  one  wants  lights  here  ! " 

"  Tnunder  and  lightning  1 "  exclaimed  the  veteran  ; 
"back  to  the  house  witfi  you  !  " 

Wolfert  and  his  companions  shrunk  back  in  dis- 
inay.  Still  their  curiosity  would  not  allow  them  en- 
tirely to  withdraw.  A  long  sheet  of  lightning  now 
fliciicred  across  the  waves,  and  discovered  a  boat, 
filiiMl  with  men,  just  under  a  rocky  point,  rising  and 
5iiil<ing  with  the  heaving  surges,  and  swashing  the 
water  at  every  heave.  It  was  with  difficulty  held  to 
the  rocks  by  a  boat  hook,  for  the  current  rushed 
furiously  round  the  point.  'The  veteran  hoisted  one 
end  of  the  lumbering  sea-chest  on  the  gunwale  of 
the  boat ;  he  seized  the  handle  at  the  other  end  to 
lilt  it  in,  when  the  motion  propelled  the  boat  from 
the  shore ;  the  chest  slipped  off  from  the  gunwale, 
sunk  into  the  waves,  and  pulled  the  veteran  head- 
long after  it.  A  loud  shriek  was  uttered  by  all  on 
shore,  and  a  volley  of  execrations  by  those  on  board  ; 
but  i)oat  and  man  were  hurried  away  by  the  rushing 
swiftness  of  the  tide.  A  pitchy  darkness  succeeded  ; 
Woll'iTt  Webber  indeed  fancied  that  he  distinguished 
a  cry  for  help,  and  that  he  beheld  the  drowning  man 
beckoning  for  assistance ;  but  when  the  lightning 
again  gleamed  along  the  water  all  was  drear  and 
void.  Neither  man  nor  boat  was  to  be  seen  ;  noih- 
jij  but  the  dashing  and  weltering  of  the  waves  as 
they  liurried  past.  ' 

'Fhe  company  returned  to  the  tavern,  for  they 
;oi!ld  not  leave  it  before  the  storm  should  subside. 
Tht'N  resumed  their  seats  and  gazed  on  each  other 
with  .lismay.  Tiie  whole  transaction  had  not  occu- 
pied five  minutes  and  not  a  dozen  words  h.id  been 
spoken.  When  they  looked  at  the  oaken  chair  they 
could  scarctly  realize  the  fact  that  the  strange  being 
who  had  so  lately  tenanted  it,  full  of  life  and  Hercu- 
lean vigour,  should  already  be  a  corjise.  There  w.as 
the  very  glass  he  had  just  drunk  from  ;  there  lay  the 
asht-s  from  the  pipe  which  he  had  smoked  as  it  were 
with  his  last  breith.  As  the  worthy  burghers  pon- 
ilcred  on  these  things,  they  felt  a  terrible  conviction 
of  the  unceitainty  ol  human  existence,  and  each  felt 
as  if  the  ground  on  which  he  stood  was  rendered 
less  stable  by  this  awful  example. 

A'i.  however,  the  most  of  the  company  were  pos- 
sessed of  that  valiiaiile  philosojihy  which  enables  a 
m.m  to  bear  up  with  tbrtitude  against  the  misfortunes 
of  his  ni-i>;libours,  they  soon  man.<ged  to  console 
themselves  tor  the  tragic  end  of  the  veteran.  The 
landlord  «'as  hni)py  that  the  poor  dear  man  h.id  paid 
hv.i  r  .koning  before  he  went. 

"  He  came  in  a  storm,  and  he  went  in  a  stonn  ;  he 
came  in  the  night,  and  he  went  in  the  night ;  he 
■rii  e  nobody  knows  froin  whence,  and  he  has  gone 
•j-'lody  knows  where.  For  aught  1  know  he  has 
ji\;e  to  sea  once  more  on  his  chest  and  may  laii<l  to 
wih'r  some  people  on  the  other  side  >!"  the  world  ! 
rf;oiigh  it's  1  thousand  pities,"  a<lded  the  lamllonl, 
'  :t  h."  has  gone  to  Davy  Jones  that  he  had  not  leli 
his  sett-chest  behind  him." 

•'The  sea-chest !  .St.  Nicholas  preserve  us  !  "  said 
!'e?chy  Prauw.  "  I'd  not  have  had  that  sea-chest  in 
tiio  house  for  any  money ;  I'll  warrant  he'il  come 
r.Kketing  after  it  at  nights,  and  making  a  haunted 
house  of  the  ino.    And  as  to  his  going  to  sea  on  his 


chest,  I  recollect  what  happened  to  Skipper  Onder 
donk's  ship  on  his  voer.ge  from  Amsterdam. 

"The  boatswain  died  during  a  storm,  so  the> 
wrapped  him  up  in  a  sheet,  and  put  him  in  his  own 
sea-cnest,  and  threw  him  overboard ;  but  they  neg 
lected  in  their  hurry-  skurry  to  say  prayers  over  him 
— and  the  storm  raged  and  roared  louder  than  ever, 
and  they  saw  the  dead  man  seated  in  Ins  chest,  with 
his  shroud  for  a  sail,  coming  haid  alter  the  ship; 
and  the  sea  breaking  before  him  in  g.'eat  spr.ays  lilce 
fire,  and  there  they  kept  scudding  day  alter  day  and 
night  after  night,  expecting  ever/  moment  to  go  to 
wreck ;  and  every  night  they  saw  the  dead  boat- 
swain in  his  sea-chest  trying  to  get  up  with  them, 
and  they  heard  his  whistle  above  the  blasts  of  wind, 
and  he  seemed  to  send  great  seas  mountain  high 
after  them,  that  would  have  swamped  the  ship  if 
they  had  not  put  up  the  dead  lights.  And  so  it  went 
on  till  they  lost  sight  of  him  in  the  fogs  of  Newfound- 
land, and  supposed  he  had  veered  ship  and  stood 
for  Dead  Man's  Isle.  So  much  for  burying  a  man 
at  sea  without  saying  prayers  over  him." 

The  thunder-gust  which  had  hitherto  detained  the 
company  was  now  at  an  end.  The  cuckoo  clock  in 
the  hall  struck  midnight ;  every  one  pressed  to  depart, 
for  seldom  was  such  a  late  hour  trespassed  on  by  t.htae 
quiet  burghers.  As  they  sallied  forth  ihey  lound  the 
heavens  once  more  serene.  The  storm  which  had 
lately  obscured  them  had  rolled  aw.ay,  and  lay  piled 
up  in  fleecy  masses  on  the  horizon,  lighted  up  by  the 
bright  crescent  of  the  moon,  which  looked  like  a 
silver  lamp  hung  up  in  a  palace  of  clouds. 

The  dismal  occurrence  of  the  night,  and  the  dis- 
mal narrations  they  had  made,  had  left  a  supersti- 
tious feeling  in  every  mind.  They  cast  a  fearful 
glance  at  the  spot  where  the  buccaneer  had  disapr- 
peared,  almost  expecting  to  see  him  sailing  on  his 
chest  in  the  cool  moonshine.  The  tremliling  /ayi 
glittered  along  the  waters,  but  all  was  placid ;  and 
the  current  dimpled  over  the  spot  where  he  had 
gone  down.  The  party  huddled  together  in  a  little 
crowd  as  they  repaired  homewards;  particularly 
when  they  passed  a  lonely  field  where  a  man  had 
b^en  murdered  ;  and  he  who  had  farthest  to  go  and 
had  to  complete  his  journey  alone,  though  a  veteran 
sexton,  and  accustomed,  one  would  think  to  ghosts 
and  goblins,  yet  went  a  long  way  round,  rather  than 
pass  by  his  own  church-yard. 

Wolfert  Webber  had  now  carried  home  a  fresh 
stock  of  stories  and  notions  to  ruminate  upon.  His 
mind  was  ail  of  a  whirl  with  these  freebooting  tales  ; 
and  then  these  accounts  of  pots  of  money  and  Span- 
ish treasures,  buried  here  and  there  and  everywhere 
about  the  rocks  and  bays  of  this  wild  shore,  made 
him  almost  di/zy. 

"  Blessed  .St.  Nicholas  !  "  ejaculated  he,  half  aloud, 
"  is  it  not  possible  to  come  upor.  one  of  tlv  s*;  golden 
hoards,  and  so  make  one's  self  ich  in  i  twinkling. 
How  hard  that  I  must  go  on,  delving  ;ind  dehing, 
day  in  and  d.ay  out,  merely  to  make  a  niursel  o' 
bread,  when  one  lucky  stroke  of  a  spade  might  en- 
able me  to  ride  in  my  carriage  for  the  rest  of  my 
hfe  ! " 

As  he  turned  over  in  his  thoughts  all  that  hzd 
been  told  of  the  singular  adventure  of  the  black 
fisherman,  his  imagination  gave  a  totally  different 
complexion  to  the  tile.  He  saw  in  the  gang  of  red- 
caps nothing  but  a  crew  of  pirates  burying  their 
spoils,  and  his  cupidity  was  tmce  more  awakened  by 
the  possil)ility  of  at  k-ngth  getting  on  the  traces  of 
some  of  this  lurking  wealth.  Indeed,  his  infected 
fancy  tinged  every  thing  with  gold.  He  ielt  like  the 
greedy  inhabitant  of  IJagdad,  when  his  eye  had  been 
greased  with  the  .n.agic  ointment  of  the  tier-vise,  thai 
gave  him  to  see  all  the  treasures  of  the  earth.    Ca»- 


tiM 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


':>!■■  V. 


lime 


'^'  4\!'fe 


.'i.V 


::i^.tt 


■U' 


*  . 


tf 


Itcts  of  buried  jewels,  chests  ot  ingots,  bags  ol  out- 
landish coins,  seemed  to  court  him  from  their  con- 
:i:alnients,  and  supplicate  him  to  reheve  them  from 
their  unlii,ieiy  graves. 

On  mai<i,ig  private  inquiries  about  the  grounds 
iaid  to  be  huunted  by  father  red-cap.  he  was  more 
in(]  more  conhrmed  in  his  surmise.  He  learned  that 
'.he  place  had  several  times  been  visited  by  experi- 
enced money-diggers,  who  had  heard  Mud  Sam's 
'tory,  though  none  of  them  had  met  with  success. 
Jn  the  contrary,  they  had  always  been  dogged  with 
.11  luck  of  some  kind  or  other,  in  consequence,  as 
VVolferl  concluded,  of  their  not  going  to  work  at  the 
proper  time,  and  with  the  proper  ceremonials.  The 
last  attempt  had  been  made  by  Cobus  Quackenbos, 
who  dug  for  a  whole  night  and  met  with  incredible 
ditficulty,  tor  as  fast  as  he  threw  one  shovel  full  of 
earth  out  of  the  hole,  two  were  thrown  in  by  invisi- 
ble hands.  He  succeeded  so  far,  however,  as  to  un- 
cover an  iron  chest,  when  there  was  a  terrible  roar- 
ing, and  ramping,  and  raging  of  uncouth  figures 
ibout  the  hole,  and  at  length  a  shower  of  lilows, 
dealt  by  invisible  cudgels,  that  fairly  belaboured  him 
jff  the  forbidden  ground.  This  Cobus  Quackenbos 
had  declared  on  his  death-bed,  so  that  there  could 
not  be  any  doubt  of  it.  He  was  a  man  that  had 
devoted  many  years  of  his  life  to  money-digging,  and 
.t  was  thought  would  have  ultimately  succeeded,  had 
he  not  died  suddenly  of  a  brain  fever  in  the  alms-house, 

Wolfei  t  Webber  was  now  in  a  worr)-  of  trepida- 
tion and  impatience ;  fearful  lest  some  rival  advent- 
urer should  get  a  scent  of  the  buried  gold.  He 
determined  privately  to  seek  out  the  negro  fisher- 
man and  get  him  to  serve  as  guide  to  the  place 
where  he  had  witnessed  the  mysterious  scene  of 
interment.  Sam  was  easily  found  ;  for  he  was  one 
cf  those  old  habitual  beings  that  live  about  a  neigh- 
bourhood until  they  wear  themselves  a  place  in  the 
public  mind,  and  become,  in  a  manner,  public  char- 
icters.  There  was  not  an  unlucky  urchin  about 
'.own  that  did  not  know  Mud  Sam  the  fisherman, 
and  think  that  he  had  a  right  to  play  his  tricks  upon 
the  old  negro.  Sam  was  an  amphibious  kind  of 
animal,  something  more  of  a  fish  than  a  man ;  he  had 
led  the  life  of  an  otter  for  more  than  half  a  century, 
about  the  shores  of  the  bay,  and  the  fishing  grounds 
of  the  Sound.  He  passed  the  greater  part  of  his 
time  on  and  in  the  water,  particularly  about  Hell 
Gate ;  and  might  have  been  taken,  in  bad  weather, 
tor  one  of  the  hobgoblins  that  used  to  hauni  that 
strait.  There  would  he  be  seen,  at  all  times,  ai.d  in 
all  weathers ;  sometimes  in  his  skiff,  anchored  among 
the  eddies,  or  prowling,  like  a  shark,  about  some 
wreck,  where  the  fish  are  supposed  to  be  most 
ibundant.  Sometimes  seated  on  a  rock  from  houi 
10  hour,  looming  through  mist  and  diizzle,  like  a 
solitary  heron  watching  for  its  prey.  He  was  well 
acquainted  with  every  hole  and  corner  of  the  Sound  ; 
from  the  \Vallal)oul  to  Hell  Gate,  and  from  Hell 
Gate  even  unto  the  Devil's  Step|)ing  Stones ;  and  it 
•vas  even  affirmed  that  he  knew  all  the  fish  in  the 
river  by  their  christian  names. 

VVoliert  found  him  at  his  cabin,  which  was  not 
nuch  larger  than  a  tolerable  dog-house.  It  was  rudely 
:onstructwI  of  fragments  of  wrecks  and  drift-woocl, 
\nd  built  on  the  rocky  shore,  at  the  foot  of  the  old 
fort,  just  about  what  at  present  forms  the  point  of 
'iie  Battery.  A  "most  ancient  and  fish-like  smell  " 
peivaded  the  place.  Oars,  paddles,  and  fishing-rods 
were  leaning  against  the  wall  of  the  fort ;  a  net 
was  spread  on  the  sands  to  dry;  a  skiff  was  drawn 
up  on  the  beach,  and  at  the  door  of  his  cabin  lay 
Mud  Sam  himself,  indulging  in  a  true  negro's  luxury 
—sleeping  in  the  sunshine. 

Many  years  had  passed  away  since  the  time  of 


Sam's  youthful  adventure,  and  the  snows  of  many  t 
winter  had  grizzled  the  knotty  wool  upon  his  hpad 
He  perfectly  recollected  the  circumstances,  howvei 
for  he  had  often  been  c.al  ed  upon  to  relate;  tl.crr; 
though  in  his  version  of  the  story  he  differed  in  nian\ 
points  from  Peechy  I'rauw ;  as  is  not  unfiiqaenil^ 
the  case  with  authentic  historians.     As  to  the  sii!)'. 
sequent   researches   of   money-diggers,   Sam   kii'?^ 
nothing  about  them  ;  they  were  matters  quiie  ou:  c' 
his  line;  neither  did  the  cautious  Wolfert  care  i 
disturb  his  thoughts  on  that  point.     HisonK wis 
was  to  secure  the  old  fisherman  as  a  pilot  to  tin-  ,|,ot, 
and  this  was  readily  effected.     The  long  tiiiu!  that 
had   intervened   since  his  nocturnal  advenuiie  hud 
etTaced  all  Sam's  awe  of  the  place,  and  the  prciiii  ;e 
of  a  trifling  reward  roused  him  at  once  troiii  his 
sleep  and  his  sunshine. 

The  tide  was  adverse  to  making  the  expedition  hy 
water,  and  Wolfert  was  too  impatient  to  get  to  the 
land  of  promise,  to  wait  for  its  turning ;  they  set  otT, 
therefore,  by  land.  A  walk  of  four  or  five  miles 
brought  them  to  the  edge  of  a  wood,  which  at 
that  time  covered  t.'ie  greater  part  of  the  eastern 
side  o(  the  island.  It  was  just  beyond  the  pk-asani 
region  of  Uloomen-dael.  Here  they  striak  itiio  a 
long  lane,  straggling  among  trees  and  bushes,  very 
imicii  overgrown  with  weeds  and  mullein  stalks  as  il 
but  seldom  used,  and  so  completely  overshadowed 
as  to  enjoy  but  a  kind  of  twilight.  Wild  vines  en- 
tangled the  trees  and  flaunted  in  their  faces  ,  bram- 
bles and  briars  caught  their  clothes  as  they  passed ; 
the  garter-snake  glided  across  their  path  ;  the  spot- 
ted toad  hopped  .and  waddled  before  them,  ami  the 
restless  c.at-l)inl  mewed  at  them  from  every  thicket. 
Had  Wolfert  Webber  been  dc-ply  read  in  romantic 
legend  he  might  have  fancied  himself  enterirg  upon 
forbitlden,  enchanted  grouml ;  or  that  thcs;  wen: 
some  of  the  guardians  set  to  keep  a  watch  upon  burj'd 
treasure.  As  it  was,  the  loneliness  of  the  place,  and 
the  wild  stories  connected  with  it,  had  their  etfeci 
upon  his  mind. 

On  reaching  the  lower  end  of  the  lane  they  foimd 
themselves  near  the  shore  of  the  Sound,  in  a  ki'ui  of 
amphitheatre,  surrounded  by  forest  trees.  The  art^a 
had  once  been  a  grass-plot,  but  was  now  shagged 
with  briars  and  rank  weeds.  At  one  end.  ami  jm^i 
on  the  river  biink,  w.is  a  ruined  building,  little  bif.er 
than  a  heap  of  rubbish,  with  a  stack  of  chimni  yc 
rising  like  a  solitary  tower  cut  of  the  centre.  'I'lrii- 
current  of  the  Sound  rushed  along  just  Ix  low  it , 
with  wildly-grown  trees  drooping  their  branches  into 
its  waves. 

Wolfert  had  not  a  doubt  that  this  was  the  hauntei: 
house  of  father  red-cap,  and  called  to  miml  ihr 
story  of  i'eechy  I'rauw.  The  evening  was  approach- 
ing,,  and  the  light  falling  dubiously  among  tln'se 
places,  gave  a  melancholy  tone  to  the  scene,  we! 
calculated  to  foster  any  lurking  feeling  of  awe  ui 
superstition.  The  night-hawk,  wheeling  about  in 
the  highest  regions  ot  the  air,  emitted  his  peevish 
boding  cry.  The  woodpecker  gave  a  lonely  tap  now 
and  then  on  some  hollow  tree,  and  the  fire-biid,*  a-. 
he  streamed  by  them  with  his  deep-red  iiluin.i-e, 
seemed  like  some  genius  flitting  about  this  region  oi 
mystery. 

They  now  came  to  an  enclosure  that  had  oiri: 
been  a  garden.  It  extended  along  the  foot  of  .1 
rocky  ridge,  but  was  little  better  than  a  wildeniess 
of  weeds,  with  here  and  there  a  malted  rose-biisli 
or  a  peach  or  plum  tree  grown  wild  and  ragged)  and 
covered  with  moss.  At  the  lower  end  of  the  garden 
they  p.assed  a  kind  of  vault  in  the  side  of  the  bank, 
lacing  the  water     It  had  the  look  of  a  root-hoiL'm 


*  Orchard  OrMl*. 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER 


420 


I  The  do  tr.  though  decayed,  was  still  strong,  and  ap- 
I  pear«(l  to  h.ive  bef;n  recently  patched  up.    Woltcrt 

E'   slied  it  open.    It  gave  a  harsh  grating  upon  its 
igch,  and  strii<ing  against  something  like  a  box,  a 
I  nl'7>">7  sound  ensued,  and  a  sl(ull  roiled  on  the  floor. 
Wolf'Tt  (irtw  back  shuddering,  but  was  reassured  on 
being  iniornied  by  Sam  that  this  was  a  family  vault 
WonKing  to  one  of  the  old  Dutch  families  that  own- 
ed this  estate  ;  an  assertion  which  was  corroborated 
I  ^  the  liiRlit  of  cotfins  of  various  sizes  piled  within. 
Sain  hill  been  familiar  with  all  these  scenes  when  a 
I  |)oy,  and  now  knew  that  he  could  not  be  far  from  the 
place  of  which  they  were  in  quest. 
!    They  now  made  their  way  to  the  water's  edge, 
I  icrambling  along  ledges  of  rocks,  and  having  often 
[  toholil  by  shrubs  and  grape-vines  to  avoid  slipping 

nto  ilie  deep  and  hurried  stream.  At  length  they 
I  came  to  a  sin.ill  cove,  or  rather  indent  of  the  shore. 
Itwius  protected  by  steep  rocks  and  overshadowed 
I  k  a  thick  copse  of  oaks  and  chestnuts,  so  as  to  be 
I  sheltered  and  almost  concealed.  The  beach  sloped 
aradiially  within  the  cove,  but  the  current  swept 
deep  ini'.  black  and  rapid  along  its  jutting  points. 
Sam  paused ;  raised  his  remnant  of  a  hat,  and 
I  scratched  his  grizzled  poll  for  a  moment,  as  he  re- 
gartleil  this  nook  ;  then  suddenly  clapping  his  hands, 
he  stepped  exultingly  forward,  and  pointed  to  a  large 
iron  ring,  stapled  tirmly  in  the  rock,  just  where  a 
broad  shelve  of  stone  furnished  a  commodious  land- 
ing-place. It  w.is  the  very  spot  where  the  red-caps 
had  landed.  Years  had  changed  the  more  perishable 
features  of  the  scene  ;  but  rock  and  iron  yield  slowly 
to  the  induence  of  time.  On  looking  more  narrowly, 
Wolfcrt  remarked  three  crosses  cut  in  the  rock  just 
ibove  the  ring,  which  had  no  doubt  some  mysterious 
Bgniiication.  Old  Sam  now  readily  recognized  the 
overia  iging  rock  under  wh'ch  his  skiff  had  been 
iheitered  during  the  thunder-gust.  To  foUosv  up 
io  course  which  the  midnight  gang  had  taken,  how- 
'evtr,  was  a  harder  task.  His  mind  had  been  so 
much  taken  up  on  tlial  eventl'id  occasion  by  the  per- 
sons of  the  drama,  as  to  pay  but  little  attention  to  the 
scenes ;  and  places  look  ditferent  by  niglu  and  day. 
After  wandering  about  for  some  time,  however,  they 
;anie  to  an  opening  among  the  trees  which  Sam 
thoujjht  resembled  the  place.  Tliere  was  a  ledije 
of  rock  of  moderate  heii^ht  like  a  wall  on  one  side, 
which  Sam  thought  might  be  the  very  ridge  from 
which  he  overlooked  tlie  diggers.  Wolfert  examined 
it  narrowly,  and  at  length  described  three  crosses 
similar  to  those  above  the  iron  ring,  cut  deeply  into 
he  lace  of  the  rock,  but  nearly  obliterated  by  the 
mos'j  that  had  grown  on  them.  His  heart  leaped 
with  joy,  for  he  doubted  not  but  they  were  the  pri- 
rate  marks  of  the  buccaneers,  to  denote  the  places 
where  tiieir  treasure  lay  buried.  All  now  that  re- 
mained was  to  ascertain  the  precise  spot ;  for  other- 
wise he  might  dig  at  random  without  coming  upon 
llie  spoil,  and  he  had  already  had  enough  of  such 
protitless  labo-jr.  Heie,  however,  Sam  was  perfectly 
It  a  loss,  and,  indeed,  perplexed  him  by  a  variety  of 
opinions ;  for  his  recollections  were  all  confused. 
Sonietimes  he  declared  it  must  have  been  at  the  foot 
of  a  mulberry  tree  hard  by  ;  then  it  was  just  beside 
'  1  great  white  stone  ;  then  it  must  have  been  under 
iSTri-dl  green  knoll,  a  short  distance  from  the  letlge 
91  rock ;  until  at  hnglh  Wolfert  became  as  bewil- 
dereJ  as  himself. 

The  shadows  of  evening  were  now  spreading  them- 
selves over  the  woods,  and  rock  and  tree  began  to 
mingle  together,  it  was  evidently  too  late  to  attempt 
any  thing  farther  at  present ;  and,  indeed,  Wolfert 
had  come  unprepared  with  implements  to  prosecute 
his  researches.  Satistied,  therefore,  with  having  as- 
oertained  the  place,  he  took  note  of  all  its  landmarks, 


that  he  might  recognize  it  again,  ind  set  out  on  hi* 
return  homeward,  resolved  to  prosecute  this  golden 
enterprise  without  delay. 

The  le.ading  anxiety  which  had  hitherto  absorbed 
every  feeling  being  now  in  some  measure  appeased 
fancy  began  to  wander,  and  to  conjure  up  a  tnousand 
shapes  and  chimeras  as  he  returned  through  thii 
haunted  region.  Pirates  hanging  in  chains  seemed 
to  swing  on  every.tree,  and  he  almost  expected  to 
see  some  Spanish  Don,  with  his  throat  cut  from  e  ii 
to  ear,  rising  slowly  out  of  the  ground,  and  snakii.g 
the  ghost  ofa  money-bag. 

Their  way  back  .ay  through  the  desolate  garden, 
and  Wolfert 's  nerves  had  arrived  at  so  sensitive  a 
state  that  the  flitting  of  a  bird,  the  rustling  of  a  leaf, 
or  the  falling  of  a  nut  was  enough  to  startle  him.  As 
they  entered  the  confines  of  the  garden,  they  caught 
sight  of  a  figure  at  a  distance  advancing  slowly  up 
one  of  the  walks  and  bending  under  the  weight  ofa 
burthen.  They  paused  and  regarded  him  attentively. 
He  wore  what  appeared  to  be  a  woollen  cap,  and 
still  more  alarming,  of  a  most  sanguinary  red.  The 
figure  moved  slowly  on,  ascended  the  bank,  and 
stopped  at  the  very  door  of  the  sepulchral  vault. 
Just  before  entering  it  he  looked  around.  What  was 
the  horror  of  Wolfert  when  he  recognized  the  grizzly 
visage  of  the  drowned  buccaneer.  He  uttered  an 
ejaculation  of  horror.  The  figpire  slowly  raised  his 
iron  fist  and  shook  it  with  a  terrible  menace.  Wol- 
fert did  not  pause  to  see  more,  b"t  hurried  off  as 
fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him,  nor  was  Sam  slow 
in  following  at  his  heels,  having  all  his  ancient  ter- 
rors revived.  Away,  then,  did  they  scramble,  through 
bush  and  brake,  horribly  frightened  at  every  brambh 
that  t.igged  at  their  skirts,  nor  did  they  pause  to 
breathe,  until  they  had  blundeied  thoir  way  through 
this  perilous  wood  and  had  fairly  reached  the  higli- 
road  to  the  city. 

Several  days  elapsed  before  Wolfert  could  sum- 
mon courage  enough  to  prosecute  the  enterprise,  so 
much  had  he  been  dismayed  by  the  apparition, 
wh-^ther  living  or  dead,  of  the  grizzly  buccaneer.  In 
the  meantime,  what  a  contlict  of  mind  did  he  suffer  ! 
He  neglected  .all  his  concerns,  was  moody  and  rest- 
less all  day,  lost  his  appetite ;  wandered  in  his 
thoughts  and  words,  and  committed  a  thousand 
blunders.  His  rest  was  broken;  and  when  he  fell 
asleep,  the  nightmare,  in  shape  of  a  huge  money-bag, 
sat  sciuatted  upon  his  breast.  He  babbled  about  in- 
calculable sums  ;  fancied  himself  engaged  in  mon^y- 
'hgging;  threw  the  bed-clothes  right  and  left,  in  the 
idea  th.il  he  was  shovelling  among  the  dirt,  groped 
under  the  btil  in  quest  of  the  treasure,  and  lugged 
forth,  as  he  supposed,  an  inestimable  pot  of  gold. 

Dame  Webber  and  her  d.iughter  were  in  despair 
at  what  they  conceived  a  returning  touch  of  insanity. 
There  are  two  family  or.acles,  one  or  other  of  which 
Dutch  housewives  consult  in  all  cases  of  great  doubt 
and  perplexity :  the  dominie  and  the  doctor.  In 
tlie  present  instance  they  repaireil  to  the  doctor. 
There  was  at  that  time  a  little,  dark,  mouldy  man  o( 
medicine  famous  among  the  old  wives  of  the  Man- 
hattoes  for  his  skill  not  only  in  the  heal.ng  art,  but  in 
all  matters  of  strange  and  mysterious  nature.  His 
name  was  Dr.  Knipperhausen,  but  he  was  more 
commonly  known  by  the  appellation  of  the  High 
Gennan  doctor.*  To  him  did  the  poor  wothcn  re- 
pair for  counsel  .and  assistance  touching  the  mental 
vagaries  of  Wolfert  Webber. 

They  found  the  doctor  seated  in  his  little  study, 
cl.id  in  his  dark  camblet  robe  of  knowledge,  with  hu 
black  velvet  cap,  after  the  ir.anner  of  Boorhaave,  Van 


*  The  same,  no  doubt,  of  whom  meotioD  u  oada  in  Ik*  kiston 
of  Dolph  Heyligei. 


U8 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVINO. 


udM 


W^M' 


'^' 


A.»u  ■: 


■^t 


Helmont,  and  other  medical  sag^s :  a  pair  of  green 
■pectacles  set  in  black  horn  upon  his  clubbed  nose, 
and  poritig  over  a  German  folio  that  seemed  to  re- 
flect baclt  the  daikness  of  hi<«  physiofrnomy.  The 
doctor  listened  to  their  statement  of  tiic  symptoms 
of  Wollen's  malady  with  profound  attention ;  but 
when  they  came  to  mention  his  raving  about  uuricd 
money,  the  little  man  pricked  up  his  ears.  Al.is,  poor 
women  1  they  little  knew  the  aid  they  had  called  in. 

Dr.  Knipperhausen  had  been  half  his  life  engai^ed 
In  seeking  tne  short  cuts  to  fortune,  in  quest  of  which 
•o  many  a  long  lifetime  is  wasted.  He  had  passed 
•ome  years  of  his  vouth  in  the  Harz  mountains  of 
Germany,  and  had  derived  much  valuable  instruc- 
tion from  the  miners,  touching  the  mode  of  seeking 
treasure  buried  in  the  earth.  He  had  prosecuted 
his  studies  also  under  a  travelling  s.ige  who  united 
allthe  mysteries  of  medicine  with  mai,nc  and  leger- 
demain. His  mind,  therefore,  had  become  stored 
with  all  kinds  of  mystic  lore :  he  had  dabbled  a  little 
In  astrology,  alchemy,  and  divination  ;  knew  how  to 
detect  stolen  money,  and  to  tell  where  springs  of 
Water  lay  iiulden  ;  in  a  word,  by  the  dark  nature  of 
his  knowledge  he  had  acquired  the  name  of  the  High 
German  doctor,  which  is  pretty  nearly  equivalent  to 
that  of  ..ecromancer.  The  doctor  had  often  heard 
rumours  of  treasure  being  buried  in  various  parts  of 
the  isLind,  and  had  long  been  anxious  to  get  on  the 
traces  of  it.  No  sooner  were  VVolfert's  waking  and 
slc-ping  vagaries  confided  to  him,  than  he  beheld  in 
them  tlie  confirmed  symptoms  of  a  case  of  money- 
digging,  and  lost  no  time  in  probing  it  to  the  bot- 
tom. Wolfert  had  long  been  sorely  depressed  in 
mind  by  the  golden  secret,  and  as  a  family  physici.in 
is  a  kind  of  father  confessor,  he  was  glad  of  the  op- 
portunity of  unburthening  himself.  So  far  from 
curing,  the  doctor  caught  the  malady  from  his  patient. 
The  circumstances  unfolded  to  him  awakened  all  his 
cupidity  ;  ha  had  not  a  doubt  of  money  being  buried 
somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  mysterious 
crosses,  and  offered  to  join  Wolfert  in  the  search. 
He  informed  him  that  much  secrecy  and  caution 
must  be  oliserved  in  enterprises  of  the  kind ;  that 
money  is  only  to  be  digged  for  at  night ;  with  certain 
forms  and  ceremonies;  the  burning  of  drugs;  the 
repeating  of  mystic  words,  and  above  all,  that  the 
seekers  must  be  provided  with  a  divining  rod,  which 
had  the  wonderful  property  of  pointing  to  thi^  very 
spot  on  the  surface  of  the  earth  under  which  treasure 
lay  hidden.  As  the  doctor  had  given  much  of  his 
mind  to  these  matters,  he  charged  himself  with  ail 
the  necessary  preparations,  and,  as  the  quarter  of  the 
moon  was  propitious,  he  undertook  to  have  the 
divining  rod  ready  by  a  certain  night.* 

Wolfert 's  heart  leaped  with  joy  at  having  met  with 
so  learned  and  able  a  coadjutor.  Every  thing  went 
on  secretly,  but  swimmingly.  The  doctor  had  many 
consultations  with  his  patient,  and  the  good  women 
of  the  household  lauded  the  comforting  effect  of  his 
visits.  In  the  meantime  the  wonderful  divining  rod, 
that  great  key  to  nature's  secrets,  was  duly  prepared. 


*  Tile  fotlowinf  note  was  found  appended  to  this  paper  in  the 
Ikandwi-itinK  of  Mr.  Knickerbocker.  "  There  has  been  much  writ- 
Xttt  against  the  divining  rod  by  those  liKht  minds  who  are  ever  ready 
to  frnff  at  the  mysteries  of  nature,  but  I  fully  join  with  Dr.  Knip- 
pKfhausen  in  giving  it  my  faith.  I  shall  not  insist  upon  iu  efficacy 
■  discovering  the  conceain  :at  of  stolen  goods,  the  boundarj— stones 
ot  Irelds,  the  traces  of  robbers  and  murderers,  or  even  the  existence 
of  subterraneous  springs  and  streams  of  water :  albeit,  I  think  these 
pioperties  oot  to  be  easily  discredited  ;  but  of  its  potency  in  dis- 
sovering  veins  of  precious  metal,  and  hidden  sums  of  money  and 
jewels,  I  h  tve  not  the  least  doubt.  Some  said  that  the  rod  turned 
only  in  the  hands  of  pcisuus  who  had  been  burn  in  particular  months 
of  the  year;  hence  astrologers  had  recourse  to  planeury  influence 
when  they  would  procure  a  tatismajn.  Others  declared  that  the 
p;opertics  of  the  rod  were  either  an  effect  of  chance,  or  the  fraud  of 
Ihc  holder,  or  the  work  of  the  devil.  Thus  sayetli  the  reverend 
Fathar  Gaipard  Schott  in  his  Treatise  on  Magic.  '  Propter  haec  et 
oailia  arKunenta  ttidacter  ego  pranuncio  riot  conversivam  virgulas 


i!ie 
''"5 1 


The  doctor  had  thumbed  over  all  nis  bookt  o'  knowiL 
edge  for  the  occasion;  and  Mjd  Sam  was  •?  iMprcJl 
to  take  them  in  his  skiff  to  the  scene  of  tritcrprise  I 
to  work  with  spade  and  pick-axe  in  uncirtl,;;  , 
treasure;  and  to  freight  his  bark  with  the  v.> 
spoils  they  were  certain  of  finding. 

At  length  the  appointed  night  arrived  for  thi.  wr. 
ilous  undertaking.  Before  Wolfert  left  his  hon  .•  in 
counselled  his  wife  and  daughter  to  gp  to  h-d,  .m,) 
feel  no  alarm  if  he  should  not  return  during  ihu  tii.'ht, 
Like  reasonable  women,  en  being  told  not  lo  wt' 
alarm  they  fell  immediately  into  a  panic,  Tli.-v  siw 
at  once  by  his  manner  that  something  unusu.ii  w.ij 
in  agitation  ;  all  their  fears  about  the  unstntk-d  state 
of  his  mind  \vere  roused  with  tenfold  force :  they 
hung  about  l.im  entreating  him  not  to  expoM'  him- 
self to  the  night  air,  but  all  in  vain.  When  Wolfert 
was  once  mounted  on  his  hobby,  it  was  no  ea  -y  mat- 
ter  to  get  him  out  oU  the  saddle.  It  was  n  clear 
starlight  night,  when  he  issued  out  of  the  port  il  of 
the  Webber  palace.  He  wore  a  large  tlappcd  hat 
tied  under  the  chin  with  a  handkerchief  of  his  d  unjh- 
ter's,  to  secure  him  from  the  night  damp,  whih?  Oaint 
Webber  threw  her  long  red  cloak  about  his  shoui- 
ders,  and  fastened  it  round  his  ne.;k. 

The  doctor  had  been  no  less  carefully  arnu'd  and 
accoutred  by  his  housekeeper,  the  vigilant  i'r.m  Usy, 
and  s.illied  forth  in  his  camblet  robe  by  way  of  sur- 
tout ;  his  black  velvet  cap  under  his  cockt^d  h  it,  a 
thick  clasped  book  under  nis  arm,  a  basket  ot  drugs 
and  dried  herbs  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other  iht 
miraculous  rod  of  divination. 

The  great  church  clock  struck  ten  as  Wolftrt  and  tli« 
doctor  p.assed  by  the  church-yard,  and  the  watchmi/i 
bawled  in  hoarse  voicea  long  and  doleful "  ;-»li'sv/e!! ! 
A  deep  sleep  had  alre.idy  fallen  upon  this  iriinitivt 
little  burgh :  nothing  disturbed  this  awful  silcnw, 
excepting  now  and  then  the  bark  of  some  ptoth^te 
night-walking  dog,  or  the  serenade  Df  some  roman- 
tic cat.  It  is  true,  Wolfert  fancied  more  than  once 
that  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  stealthy  footfall  it  a  dis- 
tance behind  them ;  but  it  might  have  lu'cii  merely 
the  echo  of  their  own  steps  echoing  along  the  quiet 
streets.  He  thought  also  ai  one  time  that  he  saw  a 
tall  figure  skulking  after  them — stopping  when  they 
stopped,  and  moving  on  as  they  proceeded  ;  bet  the 
dim  and  uncertain  lamp  light  threw  such  vagut 
gleams  and  shadows,  that  this  might  all  have  been 
mere  fancy. 

They  found  the  negro  fisherman  waiting  for  them, 
smoking  his  pipe  in  the  stern  of  his  skiff,  which  was 
moored  just  in  front  of  his  little  cabin.  A  pick-axe 
and  spade  were  lying  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  with 
a  dark  lanthom,  and  a  stone  bottle  of  good  Dutch 
courage,  in  which  honest  Sam  no  doubt  put  even 
more  faith  than  Dr.  Knipperhausen  in  his  drugs. 

Thus  then  did  these  three  worthies  embark  in  theii 
cockle-shell  of  a  skiff  upon  this  nocturnal  expedition, 
with  a  wisdom  and  valour  equalled  only  by  the  three 
wise  n  en  of  Gotham,  who  adventured  to  sea  in  a 
bowl.     The  tide  was  rising  and  running  rapidly  up 


befurcatB  nequaquam  nituralem  ease,  led  vel  cuu  vd  fraude  ik- 
gulam  tractantis  vel  ope  diaboli,'  etc. 

"  Georgius  Agricula  also  was  of  opinion  that  it  was  a  nifie  ilfr 
lusion  of  the  devil  to  invei|;l«  the  avaricioMS  and  unwary  into  hi) 
clutches,  and  in  his  treatise  'de  re  Metallica,'  lays  particular  stiesi 
on  the  mysterious  words  pronounced  by  those  persons  who  ea- 
ployed  the  divining  rod  during  his  time.  But  I  malte  iint  a  doiilK 
that  the  divining  rod  is  one  of  those  secrets  of  natural  ma^ic.  ihi 
mystery  of  which  is  to  be  explained  by  the  sympathies  ^lisiinc  b» 
tween  physical  things  operated  upon  by  the  planets,  antl  rendcrvl 
efficacious  by  the  strong  faith  of  the  individual.  Let  the  divisini 
rod  be  properly  gathered  at  the  proper  time  of  the  moon,  cut  ima 
the  proper  form,  used  with  the  necessary  ceremonies,  and  w'ift  • 
perfect  faith  in  its  efficacy,  and  I  can  confidently  recoinn-.rnd  it  It 
my  fellow-citizens  as  an  infallible  means  of  discovering  the  vario'ji 
places  on  the  Island  of  the  Mauhattoac  wh«r*  bcasure  halh  b»» 
buried  in  the  olden  time. 

'D.  K," 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


4M 


nisbookiorknowl.j 
I  Sam  was  i"ni;.i(»f(j| 
scene  of  t-nterprise;! 
-  in  uncanliiri;  thc| 
wflli  the  v.f  jjiitjf 


I  vel  CMU  <rd  fraudc  ti^ 


^  Sounil.  The  current  bore  them  alonf;;  almost 
I  inthout  the  aid  of  an  oar.  Fhe  profile  of  the  town 
liy  all  in  shadow.  Here  and  there  a  light  feebly 
jlimniered  from  some  «i(  k  chamber,  or  from  the 
cabin  window  of  some  vessel  at  anchor  in  the 
jire.im.  Not  a  cloud  obscured  the  deep  starry  firma- 
ment, the  lights  of  which  wavered  on  the  surface  of 
the  pl.icid  river  ;  and  a  shooting  meteor,  streaking 
lis  pale  course  in  the  very  direction  they  were  tak- 
ing, was  interpreted  by  the  doctor  into  a  most  pro- 
"itious  omen. 

[n  ^  little  while  they  glided  by  the  point  of  Cor- 
lears  Piook  with  the  rural  inn  which  had  been  the 
icene  of  such  night  adventures.  The  family  had  re- 
tired to  rest,  and  the  house  was  dark  and  still.  Wol- 
icrt  ftit  a  chill  pass  over  him^as  they  passed  the 
point  where  the  buccaneer  had  disappeared.  He 
pnted  It  out  to  Dr.  Knipperhausen.  While  regard- 
ing it,  they  thought  they  saw  a  boat  actually  lurking 
It  the  very  place ;  but  the  shore  cast  such  a  shadow 
over  the  border  of  the  water  that  they  could  discern 
noiliiiig  distinctly.  They  had  not  proceeded  far  when 
they  heard  the  low  sounds  of  distant  oars,  as  if  cau- 
tiously pulled.  Sam  plied  his  oars  with  redoubled 
vigour,  and  knowing  all  the  eddies  and  currents  of 
the  stream,  soon  left  their  followers,  if  such  ihty  were, 
far  astern.  In  a  little  while  thiey  stretched  across 
Turtle  bay  and  Kip's  bay,  then  shrouded  themselves 
in  the  deep  shadows  of  the  Manhattan  shore,  and 
tlidcd  swiftly  along,  secure  from  observation.  At 
length  Sam  shot  his  skiff  into  a  little  cove,  darkly 
embowered  by  trees,  and  made  it  fast  to  the  well 
known  iron  ring.  They  now  landed,  and  lighting  the 
lanthorn,  gathered  their  various  implements  and  pro- 
ceedt'd  slowly  through  the  bushes.  Every  sound 
jtarilcd  them,  even  that  of  their  footsteps  among  the 
iln  leaves ;  and  the  hooting  of  a  screech  owl,  from 
th.e  shattered  chimney  of  father  red-cap's  ruin,  made 
Ihetr  blood  run  cold. 

In  spitf  of  all  Wolfcrt's  caution  in  taking  note  of 
the  landmarks*  it  was  some  time  before  they  could 
(iml  the  open  place  among  the  trees,  where  the 
ireiisure  was  supposed  to  be  Duried.  At  length  they 
came  to  the  ledge  of  rock ;  and  on  examining  its  sur- 
tace  by  the  aid  of  the  lanthom,  Wolfert  recognized 
the  three  mystic  crgsses.  Their  hearts  beat  quick, 
fur  the  momentous  trial  was  at  hand  that  was  to  de- 
termine their  hopes. 

The  lanthom  was  now  held  by  Wolfert  Webber, 
whilf  the  doctor  produced  the  divining  rod.  It  was 
a  forked  twig,  one  end  of  which  was  grasped  firmly 
in  each  hand,  while  the  centre,  forming  the  stem, 
pointed  per|)endicularly  upwards.  The  doctor  moved 
this  wand  about,  witnin  a  certain  distance  of  the 
earth,  from  place  to  place,  but  for  some  time  with- 
out any  effect,  while  Wolfert  kept  the  light  of  the 
lanthom  turned  full  upon  it,  and  watched  it  with  the 
most  breathless  interest.  At  length  the  rod  began 
ilowly  to  turn.  The  doctor  grasi^ed  it  with  greater 
earnestness,  his  hand  trembling  with  the  agitation  of 
his  mind.  The  wand  continued  slowly  to  turn,  until 
at  iength  the  stem  had  reversed  its  position,  and 
pointe<l  perpendicularly  downward ;  and  remained 
pointing  to  one  spot  as  fixedly  as  the  needle  to  the 
yc\t. 

"  This  is  the  spot !  "  said  the  doctor  in  an  almost 
JBiudible  tone. 

Wolfert's  heart  was  in  his  throat. 

'■'  Shall  I  dig  ?  "  said  Sam,  grasping  the  spade. 

"  Pots  tausenJs,  no ! "  repliecl  the  little  doctor, 
fMtily.  He  now  ordered  his  companions  to  keep 
close  by  him  and  to  maintain  the  most  inflexible 
silence.  That  certain  precautions  must  be  taken  and 
ceremonies  used  to  prevent  the  evil  spirits  which 
lieep  about  buried  treasure  from  doing  them  any 


harm.  The  doctor  then  drew  a  circle  round  the 
place,  enough  to  include  the  whole  party.  He  next 
gathered  dry  twigs  and  leaves,  and  made  a  fire,  upoo 
which  he  threw  certain  drugs  and  dried  herbs  which 
he  had  brought  in  his  basket.  A  thick  smoke  rose, 
diffusing  a  potent  odour,  savouring  marvrllously  of 
brimstone  and  assafoetida,  which,  however  gratef\il 
rt  might  be  to  the  olfactory  nerves  of  spirits,  ncarl) 
strangled  poor  Wolfert,  and  produced  a  til  ot  cough 
ing  and  wheezing  that  made  the  whole  grove  r«y 
sound.  Doctor  Knipperhausen  then  unclasped  the 
volume  which  he  had  Drought  under  his  arm,  which 
was  printed  in  red  and  bl.ick  characters  in  German 
text.  While  Wolfert  held  the  lanthom,  the  doctor, 
by  the  aid  of  his  spectacles,  read  off  several  forms  of 
conjuration  in  Latin  and  German.  He  then  ordereo 
Sam  to  seize  the  pick-axe  and  proceed  to  work 
The  close-bound  soil  gave  obstinate  signs  of  not 
h.aving  been  disturbed  for  many  a  year.  After  hav- 
ing picked  his  way  through  the  surface,  Sam  came 
to  a  Ded  of  sand  and  gravel,  which  he  threw  briskly 
to  right  and  left  with  tne  spade. 

"  Hark  I "  said  Wplfert,  who  fancied  he  heard 
a  trampling  among^the  dry  leaves,  and  a  rustling 
through  the  bushes.  Sam  fyaused  for  a  moment,  and 
they  listened.  No  footstep  was  near.  The  bat  flit- 
ted about  them  in  silence  ;  a  bird  roused  from  its 
nest  by  the  light  which  glared  up  among  the  trees, 
flew  circling  about  the  flame.  In  the  profound  still- 
ness of  the  woodland  they  cc^ld  distinguish  the  cur- 
rent  rippling  along  the  rocky  shore,  and  the  distant 
murmuring  and  roaring  of  Hell  Gate. 

Sam  continued  his  labours,  and  had  already  digged 
a  considerable  hole.  The  doctor  stood  on  tlie  cdjje, 
reading  formulae  every  now  and  then  from  the  black 
letter  volume,  or  throwing  more  dmgs  and  herbs 
upon  the  fire  ;  while  Wolfert  bent  anxiously  over  the 
pit,  watching  every  stroke  of  the  spade.  Any  one 
witnessing  the  scene  thus  strangely  lighted  up  by 
fire,  lanthorn,  and  the  reflection  of  Wolfert's  red 
mantle,  mi^;ht  have  mistaken  the  little  doctor  tor 
some  foul  magician,  busied  in  his  incantations,  and 
the  grizzled-headed  Sam  as  some  swart  goblin,  obt> 
dient  to  his  commands. 

At  length  the  spade  of  the  fisherman  struck  upon 
something  that  sounded  hollow.   The  sound  vibrated 
to  Wolfert's  he.irt.     He  struck  his  spade  again. 
"  'Tis  a  chest,"  said  Sam. 

"Full  of  gold,  I'll  w.arrant  it!"  cried  Wolfert, 
clasping  his  hands  with  rapture. 

Scarcely  h.id  he  uttered  the  words  when  a  sound 
from  over^jead  caught  his  ear.  He  cast  up  his  eyes, 
and  lo  !  by  the  expiring  light  of  the  fire  he  beheld, 
just  over  the  disk  of  the  rock,  what  appeared  to  be 
the  grim  visage  of  the  drowned  buccaneer,  grinning 
hideously  down  upon  him. 

Wolfert  gave  a  loud  cry  and  let  fall  the  lanthorn. 
His  panic  communicated  itself  tq  his  companions. 
The  negro  leaped  out  of  the  hole,  the  doctor  dropped 
his  book  and  basket  and  began  to  pray  in  German 
All  was  horror  and  confusion.  The  nre  was  scat- 
tered about,  the  lanthorn  extinguished.  In  their 
hurry-skurry  they  ran  against  and  confounded  one 
another.  They  fancied  a  legion  of  hobgoblins  let 
loose  upon  them,  and  that  they  saw  by  the  fitfu! 
gleams  of  the  scattered  embers,  strange  figures  in 
red  caps  gibbering  and  ramping  around  them.  1  he 
doctor  ran  one  way,  Mud  Sam  another,  and  Wolfert 
made  for  the  water  side.  As  he  plunged  stmggling 
onwards  through  bush  and  brake,  he  heard  the  tiead 
of  some  one  in  pursuit.  He  scrambled  frantically 
forward.  The  footsteps  gained  upon  him.  He  feh 
himself  grasped  by  his  cloak,  when  suddenly  his 
pursuer  was  attacked  in  turn :  a  fierce  fight  and 
struggle  ensued — a  pistol  was  discharged  that  lit  up 


m 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


1.1 


11.25 


ttilU    125 

|50     ^^"       MIH 

^  ^    122 

IJil 


Photographic 

Scmces 

Corporation 


23  WIST  MAIN  STMIT 

VVIiSTIR.N.Y.  MSM 

(716)  •72-4S03 


p1 


tKO 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


i; 


w 


'^  'ft  1 


1^ 


rock  and  busb  for  a  period,  and  showed  two  figures 
grappling  together — all  was  then  darker  than  ever. 
The  contest  continued — the  combatants  clenched 
each  other,  and  panted  and  groaned,  and  rolled 
among  the  rftcks.  There  was  snarling  and  growling 
as  of  a  cur,  mingled  with  curses  in  which  Wolfert 
fancied  he  could  recognize  the  voice  of  the  bucca- 
neer. He  would  fain  have  fled,  but  he  was  on  the 
brink  of  a  precipice  and  could  go  no  farther. 

Again  the  parties  were  on  their  feet ;  again  there 
was  a  tugging  and  struggling,  as  if  strength  alone 
could  decide  the  combat,  until  one  was  precipitated 
ftom  the  brow  of  the  cliff  and  sent  headlong  into  the 
deep  stream  that  whirled  below.  Wolfert  heard  the 
plunge,  and  a  kind  of  stranc^ling  bubbling  murmur, 
but  the  darkness  of  the  night  hid  every  thing  from 
view,  and  the  swiftness  of  the  current  swept  every 
thing  instantly  out  of  hearing.  One  of  the  '.ombat- 
ants  was  disposed  of,  but  whether  friend  or  foe  Wol- 
fert could  not  tell,  nor  whether  they  might  not  both 
be  foes.  He  heard  the  survivor  approach,  and  his 
terror  revived.  He  saw,  where  the  profile  of  the 
rocks  rose  ag.ainst  the  horizon,  a  human  form  ad- 
vancing. He  could  not  be  mistaken  :  it  must  be  the 
buccaneer.  Whither  should  he  Hy  !  a  precipice  was 
on  one  side ;  a  murderer  on  the  other.  The  enemy 
approached :  he  was  close  at  hand.  Wolfert  at- 
tempted to  let  himself  down  the  face  of  the  cliff. 
His  cloak  caught  in  a  thorn  that  grew  on  the  edge. 
He  was  jerked  from  off  his  feet  and  held  dangling 
in  the  air,  half  choaked  by  the  string  with  which  his 
careful  wife  had  fastened  the  garment  round  his 
neck.  Wolfert  thought  his  last  moment  had  arrived  ; 
already  had  he  committed  his  soul  to  St.  Nicholas, 
when  the  string  broke  and  he  tumbled  down  the 
bank,  bumping  from  rock  to  rock  and  bush  to  bush, 
asd  leaving  the  red  cloak  fiuttering  like  a  bloody 
banner  in  the  air. 

It  was  a  long  while  before  Wolfert  came  to  him- 
«ell.  When  he  opened  his  eyes  the  ruddy  streaks 
of  the  morning  were  already  shooting  up  the  sky. 
He  found  himself  lying  in  the  bottom  of  a  boat,  griev- 
ously battered.  He  attempted  to  sit  up,  but  was  too 
sore  and  stiff  to  move.  A  voice  requested  him  in 
friendly  accents  to  lie  stilL  He  turned  his  eyes  to- 
wards the  speaker :  it  was  Dirk  Waldron.  He  had 
dogged  the  party,  at  the  earnest  request  of  Dame 
Webber  and  her  daughter,  who,  with  the  laudable 
curiosity  of  their  sex,  had  pried  into  the  secret  con- 
sultations of  Wolfert  and  the  doctor.  Dirk  had  been 
completely  distanced  in  following  the  light  skiff  of 
the  fisherman,  and  had  just  come  in  time  to  rescue 
the  poor  money-digger  from  his  pursuer. 

Tnus  ended  this  perilous  enterprise.  The  doctor 
and  Mud  Sam  severally  found  their  way  back  to  the 
Manhattoes,  each  having  some  dreadful  talc  of  peril 
to  relate.  As  to  poor  Wolfert,  instead  of  returning 
in  triumph,  laden  with  bags  of  gold,  he  was  borne 
home  on  a  shutter,  followed  by  a  rabble  rout  of  curi- 
ous urchins.  His  wife  and  daughter  saw  the  dismal 
pageant  from  a  distance,  and  alarmed  the  neigh- 
bourhood with  their  cries:  they  thought  the  poor 
aun  had  niddenly  settled  the  great  debt  of  nature 
'n  o;ie  oi  his  wayward  moods.  Finding  him,  how- 
•vei  still  living,  they  had  him  conveyed  speedily  to 
bed,  and  a  jury  of  old  matrons  of  the  neighbourhood 
usemblcd  to  determine  hpw  he  should  be  doctored. 
The  whole  town  was  in  a  buzz  with  the  story  of  the 
money-diggers.  Many  repaired  to  the  scene  of  the 
previous  night's  adventures :  but  though  they  found 
the  very  place  of  the  digging,  they  discovered  noth- 
ing that  compensated  for  their  trouble.  Some  say 
they  found  the  fragments  of  an  oaken  chest  and  an 
iron  pot-lid,  wliich  savoured  strongly  of  hidden 
OMMiey;  and  that  in  the  old  family  vault  there  were 


traces  of  bales  and  boxes,  bu.  this  Is  all  very  ci ! 
bious. 

In  fact,  the  secret  of  all  this  story  has  nevni  tc  I 
this  day  been  discovered  :  whether  any  treasure  was 
ever  actually  buried  at  that  place ;  whether,  if  so,  it 
was  carried  off  at  night  by  those  who  had  bur.ed  t  • 
or  whether  it  still  remains  there  under  the  guardian- 
ship of  gnomes  and  spirits  until  it  shall  be  [  rcpeily 
sought  for,  is  all  matter  of  conjecture.  For  my  pait 
I  incline  to  the  latter  opinion ;  and  make  no  cioubl 
that  great  sums  lie  buried,  both  there  and  in  many 
other  prts  of  this  island  and  its  neighbourhocid, 
ever  since  the  times  of  the  buccaneers  and  the  | 
Dutch  colonists;  and  I  would  earnestly  recom- 
mend  the  search  <:fter  them  to  such  of  my  fellow 
citizens  as  are  net  engaged  in  any  other  specula 
tions. 

There  were  many  conjectures  formed,  also,  as  to  I 
who  and  what  was  the  strange  man  of  the  seas  who  | 
had  domineered  over  the  little  fraternity  at  Corlears 
Hook  lor  a  time ;  disappeared  so  strangely,  and  re- 
appeared so  fearfully.  Some  supposed  him  a  smug- 1 
gler  stationed  at  that  place  to  assist  his  comrades  m 
landing  their  goods  among  the  rocky  coves  of  the 
island.  Others  that  he  was  a  buccaneer ;  one  of  the 
ancient  comrades  either  of  Kidd  or  Bradish,  returned 
to  convey  away  treasures  formerly  hidden  in  the  vi- 
cinity. The  only  circumstance  that  throws  any 
thing  like  a  vague  light  over  this  mysterious  matter 
is  a  report  which  prevailed  of  a  strange  foreign-built 
shallop,  with  the  look  of  a  piccaroon,  having  been 
seen  hovering  about  the  Sound  for  several  days  with- 
out landing  or  reporting  herself,  though  boats  were 
seen  going  to  and  from  her  at  night :  and  that  she 
was  seen  standing  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  harbour, 
in  the  gray  of  the  dawn  after  the  catastrophe  of  *)a 
money-^liggers. 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention  another  report,  abo, 
which  I  confess  is  rather  apocryphal,  of  the  biicca- 
neer,  who  was  supposed  to  have  been  drowned,  ce- 
ing  seen  before  daybreak,  with  a  lanthorn  in  his  hand, 
seated  astride  his  great  sea-chest  and  sailing  through 
Hell  Gate,  which  just  then  began  to  roar  and  bellow 
with  redoubled  fury. 

While  all  the  gossip  world  was  thus  filled  with 
talk  and  rumour,  poor  Wolfert  lay  sick  and  borrow- 
ful  in  his  bed,  bruised  in  bofy  and  sorely  beaten 
down  in  mind.  His  wife  and  daughter  did  ail  they 
could  to  bind  up  his  wounds  both  corporal  and  spir- 
itual. The  good  old  dame  never  stirred  Irom  his 
bedside,  where  she  sat  knitting  from  morning  till 
night ;  while  his  daughter  busied  herself  about  him 
with  the  fondest  care.  Nor  did  they  lack  assistance 
from  abroad.  Whatever  may  be  said  of  the  deser- 
tions of  friends  in  distress,  they  had  no  complaint 
of  the  kind  to  make.  Not  an  old  wife  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood but  abandoned  her  work  to  crowd  to  the 
mansion  of  Wolfert  Webber,  inquire  after  his  health 
and  the  particulars  of  his  story.  Not  one  came, 
moreover,  without  her  little  pipkin  of  pennyroyal, 
sage,  balm,  or  other  herb-tea,  delighted  at  an  oppor- 
tunity of  signalizing  her  kindness  and  her  doctor- 
ship.  What  drenchings  did  not  the  poor  Wolfert 
undergo,  and  all  in  vam.  It  was  a  moving  sight  to 
behold  him  wasting  away  day  by  day;  growing 
thinner  and  thinner  and  ghastlier  and  ghastlier,  and 
staring  with  rueful  visage  from  under  an  old  natch- 
work  counterpane  upon  the  jury  of  matrons  kindly 
assembled  to  sigh  and  groan  and  look  inXippy 
around  him. 

Dirk  Waldron  was  the  only  being  thii  seemed  to 
shed  a  ray  of  sunshine  into  this  house  of  mourning. 
He  came  in  with  cheery  look  and  manly  spirit,  and 
tried  to  reanimate  tS.e  expiring  heart  of  the  poot 
money-digger,  but  it  was  all  in  vain.    Wolfert  was 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


481 


s,  bu.  this  Is  all  very  a^ 

.11  this  story  has  npvo.i  tc 
whether  any  treasure  was 
It  place ;  whether,  if  so.  it 
iT  those  who  had  bur.ed  t ; 
there  under  the  guaidian^ 
Is  until  it  shall  be  irc|>f.iiy 
\  conjecture.  For  mv  paif 
inion ;  and  make  no  cionbi 
d,  both  there  and  in  many 
i  and  its  neighbourhood, 
the  buccaneers  and  the  | 
would  earnestly  recom- 
lem  to  such  of  my  fellow 
jed  in  any  other  specula 

ictures  formed,  also,  as  to  I 
inge  man  of  the  seas  who 
little  fraternity  at  Corlears 
eared  so  strangely,  and  re- 
me  supposed  him  a  smug- 
e  to  assist  his  comrades  ;n 
ng  the  rocky  coves  of  the 
s  a  buccaneer ;  one  of  the 
Kidd  or  Bradish,  returned 
formerly  hidden  in  the  vi- 
nstance  that  throws  any 
ver  this  mysterious  matter 
I  of  a  strange  foreign-built 
a  piccaroon,  having  been 
lund  for  several  days  with- 
herself,  though  boats  were 
her  at  night :  and  that  she 
;he  mouth  of  the  harbour, 
fter  the  catastrophe  of  *he 

ntion  another  report,  alio, 
apocryphal,  of  tne  bucca- 
o  have  been  drowned,  dc- 
rith  a  lanthorn  in  his  hand, 
-chest  and'sailing  througii 
began  to  roar  and  bellow 

orld  was  thus  filled  with 
)lfert  lay  sick  and  sorrow- 

bofy  and  sorely  beaten 
and  daughter  did  all  they 
Is  both  corporal  and  spir- 
never  stirred  ironi  his 
kitting  from  morning  till 

busied  herself  about  him 
r  did  they  lack  assistance 
may  be  said  of  the  dcset- 
s,  they  had  no  complaint 
an  old  wife  of  the  neign- 
her  work  to  crowd  to  the 
:r,  inquire  after  his  health 
i  story.  Not  one  came, 
lie  pipkin  of  pennyroyal, 
ea,  delighted  at  an  oppor- 
indncss  and  her  doctor- 
id  not  the  poor  Wolfert 

It  was  a  moving  sight  to 
'  day  by  day;  growing 
lastlier  and  ghastlier,  and 
from  under  an  old  patch- 
e  jury  of  matrons  kindly 
roan  and  look  iTiMppy 

nly  being  thu  seemed  to 
this  house  of  mourning. 
)ok  and  manly  spirit,  and 
}iring  heart  of  the  pooi 
ill  in  vain.    Woll'ert  wai 


^pletely  done  over. — If  any  thing  was  wanting  to 
Inmplete  his  despair,  it  was  a  notice  served  upon 
thim  in  the  midst  of  his  distress,  that  the  corporation 
I  were  about  to  run  a  new  street  through  the  very  cen- 
ftreof  his  cabbage  garden.  He  saw  nothing  before 
lliim  but  Poverty  and  ruin;  his  last  reliance,  the 
I  prdun  of  his  forefathers,  was  to  be  laid  waste,  and 
I  iln  th.en  was  to  become:  of  his  poor  wife  and  child  ? 

His  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  they  followed  the  du- 

:  lifnl  Amy  out  of  the  room  one  morning.    Dirk  Wal- 

'  Iron  was  seated  beside  him ;  Wolfert  grasped  his 

hand,  pointed  after  his  daughter,  and  for  the  first 

lime  since  his  illness  broke  the  silence  he  had  main- 

i  tained. 

"  I  am  going  I "  said  he,  shaking  his  head  feebly, 
I  "and  when  I  am  gone — my  poor  daughter —  " 
[    "  Leave  her  to  me,  father  I  "  said  Dirk,  manfully 
I  -"  I'll  take  care  of  her  I  " 

Wolfert  looked  up  in  the  face  of  the  cheery, 
i  strapping  youngster,  and  saw  there  was  none  better 
I  lUe  to  take  care  of  a  woman. 

"Enough,"   said  he,    "she  is  yours! — and  now 
[fetch  me  a  lawyer — let  me  make  my  will  and  die." 
i    The  lawyer  was  brought  —  a  dapper,  bustling, 
I  round-headed  little  man.  Roorback  (or  Rollebuck,  as 
!  it  was  pronounced)  by  name.    At  the  sight  of  him 
the  women  broke  into  loud  lamentations,  for  they 
looked  upon  the  signing  of  a  will  as  the  signing  of  a 
death-warrant.    Wolfert  made  a  feeble  motion  for 
them  to  be  silent.    Poor  Amy  buried  her  face  and 
her  grief  in  the  bed-curtain.    Dame  Webber  re- 
sumed her  knitting  to  hide  her  distress,  which  be- 
trayed   itself,    however,  in    a    pellucid    tear,   that 
trickled  silently  down  and  hung  at  the  end  of  her 
peaked  nose ;  while  the  cat,  the  only  unconcerned 
member  of  the  family,  played  with  the  good  dame's 
Sill  of  worsted,  as  it  rolled  about  the  floor. 

Wolfert  lay  on  his  back,  his  nightcap  drawn  over 
his  forehead ;  his  eyes  closed ;  his  whole  visage  the 
uicture  of  death.  He  begged  the  lawyer  to  be  brief, 
lor  he  felt  his  end  approachine,  and-  that  he  had  no 
time  to  lose.  The  lawyer  nibbed  his  pen,  spread 
out  his  paper,  and  prepared  to  write. 

"  1  g  ve  and  bequeath,"  said  Wolfert,  faintly,  "  my 
small  farm — " 

"  What — all ! "  exclaimed  the  lawyer. 

Wolfert  half  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  upon  the 
lawyer. 

"  Yes— all,"  said  he. 

"  What !  all  that  great  p.itch  of  land  with  cab- 
bages and  sunflowers,  which  the  corporation  is  just 
going  to  run  a  main  street  through  ? ' 

"  The  same,"  said  Wolfert,  with  a  heavy  sigh  and 
sinking  back  upon  his  pillow. 

"  1  wish  him  ioy  that  inherits  it ! "  said  the 
little  lawyer,  chuckhng  and  rubbing  his  hands  in- 
voluntarily. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Wolfert,  again  open- 
ing his  eyes. 

"That  hell  be  one  of  the  richest  men  in  the 
place!"  cried  little  Rollebuck. 

The  expiring  Wolfert  seemed  to  step  back  from 
the  threshold  of  existence :  his  eyes  again  lighted 
up ;  he  raised  himself  in  his  bed,  shoved  back  his  red 
vented  nightcap,  and  stared  broadly  at  the  lawyer. 

"  You  don't  say  so ! "  exclaimed  he. 

"  Faith,  but  I  do ! "  rejoined  the  other.  "  Why, 
^tt  that  great  field  and  that  piece  of  meadow  come 


to  be  bud  out  in  streets,  and  cut  up  into  snug  b:iild-. 
ing  lots — why,  whoever  owns  them  need  not  pull  ofl 
his  hat  to  the  patroon  !  " 

"  Say  you  so  ?  "  cried  Wolfert,  half  thrusting  one 
leg  out  of  bed,  "  why,  then  I  think  I'll  not  make  rTi> 
will  yet ! " 

To  the  surprise  of  every  bcdy  the  dying  man  achi 
ally  recovered.  The  vital  spark  which  had  glim- 
mered faintly  in  the  socket,  received  fresh  fu:' 
from  the  oil  of  gladness,  which  the  little  lawyc! 
poured  into  his  soul.  It  once  more  burnt  up  into  a 
flame. 

Give  physic  to  the  heart,  ye  who  would  revive  the 
body  of  a  spirit-broken  man !  In  a  few  days  Wol- 
fert left  his  room  ;  in  a  few  days  more  his  table  was 
covered  with  deeds,  plans  of  streets  and  building 
lots.  Little  Rollebuck  was  constantly  with  him, 
his  right-hand  man  and  adviser,  and  instead  of  mak- 
ing his  will,  assisted  in  the  more  agreeable  task  of 
making  his  fortune.  In  fact,  Wolfert  Webber  was 
one  of  those  worthy  Dutch  burghers  of  the  Manhat- 
toes  whose  fortunes  have  been  made,  in  a  manner, 
in  spite  of  themselves  ;  who  have  tenaciously  held 
on  to  their  hereditary  acres,  raising  turnips  and  cab- 
bages about  the  skirts  of  the  ci^,  hardly  able  tc 
make  both  ends  meet,  until  the  corporation  has 
cruelly  driven  streets  through  their  abodes,  and 
they  have  suddenly  awakened  out  of  a  lethargy,  and, 
to  their  astonishment,  found  themselves  rich  men. 

Before  many  months  had  elapsed  a  great  bustling 
street  passed  through  the  very  centre  of  the  Webber 
garden,  just  where  Wolfert  had  dreamed  of  tinding 
a  treasure.  His  golden  dream  was  accomplished ; 
he  did  indeed  find  an  unlooked-for  source  of  wealth ; 
for,  when  his  paternal  lands  were  distributed  into 
building  lots,  and  rented  out  to  safe  tenants,  instead 
of  producing  a  paltry  crop  of  cabbages,  they  returned 
him  an  abundant  crop  of  rents ;  insomuch  that  on 
quarter  day,  it  was  a  goodly  sight  to  see  his  tenants 
rapping  at  his  door,  from  morning  to  night,  each 
with  a  little  round-bellied  bag  of  money,  the  golden 
produce  of  the  soil. 

The  ancient  mansion  of  his  forefathers  was  still 
kept  up,  but  instead  of  being  a  little  yellow-fronted 
Dutch  house  in  a  garden,  it  now  stood  boldly  in  the 
midst  of  a  street,  the  grand  house  of  the  neighbour- 
hood ;  for  Wolfert  enlarged  it  with  a  wing  on  each 
side,  and  a  cupola  or  tea  room  on  top,  where  he 
might  climb  up  and  smoke  his  pipe  in  hot  weather ; 
and  in  the  course  of  time  the  whole  mansion  was 
overrun  by  the  chubby-faced  progeny  of  Amy  Web- 
ber and  Dirk  Waldron. 

As  Wolfert  waxed  old  and  rich  and  corpulent,  he 
also  set  up  a  great  gingerbread-coloured  carriage 
drawn  by  a  pair  of  black  Flanders  mares  with  tails 
that  swept  the  ground;  and  to  commemorate  the 
origin  of  his  greatness  he  had  for  a  crest  a  full- 
blown cabbage  painted  on  the  pannels,  with  the 
pithy  motto  ^IIm  %opf :  that  is  to  say,  all  head  ; 
meaning  thereby  that  he  had  risen  by  sheer  head- 
work. 

To  fill  the  measure  of  his  greatness,  in  the  fullness 
of  time  the  renowned  Ramm  Rapelye  slept  with  his 
fathers,  and  Wolfert  Webber  succeeded  to  the  leath- 
ern-bottomed arm-chair  in  the  inn  parlour  at  Cor 
lears  Hook  ;  where  he  long  rei{^ed  greatly  honour- 
ed and  respected,  insomuch  that  he  was  nevei 
known  to  tell  a  story  without  its  being  bolieved,  not 
to  utter  a  joke  without  its  being  laughel  at 


'Tsjfsa  ' 


h 


» 


A  History  of  New-York, 


BEGINNING  OF  THE  WORLD  TO  THE  END  OF  THE  DUTCH  DYNA3TV. 

AMONG  MANY  SURPRISING  AND  CinUOVS  MATTERS, 

TBE  VirVTTRRABLB  PONDERINGS  OP  WALTER  THE  DOUBTER, 

THE  DISASTROUS  PROJECTS  OF  WILUAM  THE  TESTY,  AND 

THE  CHIVALRIC  ACHIEVEMENTS  OF  PETER  THE  HEADSTRONG 

THB  THBXa  DUTCH  OOVXBK0B8  OV  NEW-AJCSTXBDAX. 

rtING  TUB   ONLY  AXJTHENTIC   HISTORY  OF  THE  TIMES   THAT  EVER  HATH  BEEN  OI 

EVER  WILL  BE  PUBLISHED.  , 


BY  DIEDRICH  KNICKERBOCKER. 


9i  temitik  kU  (K  Mitit  I«i. 
Mt  koKt  aitt  ktenieilr  un  btn  tif. 


.  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 


IT  wu  some  time.  If  I  recollect  right,  in  the  early 
pan  of  the  autumn  of  1808,  that  a  stranger  applied  for 
lodgings  at  the  Independent  Columbian  Hotel  in  Mul- 
berry-street, of  which  I  am  landlord.  He  was  a  small, 
brisk-looking  old  gentleman,  dressed  in  a  rusty  blaclc 
coat,  a  pair  of  olive  velvet  breeches,  and  a  small  cociced 
hat  He  had  a  few  gray  hairs  plaited  and  clubbed  be- 
hind, and  his  beard  seemed  to  be  of  some  eight-and- 
fatty  hours'  growth.  The  only  piece  of  finery  which 
\t  bore  about  him,  was  a  bright  pair  of  square  silver 
•hoe-buckles,  and  all  his  baggage  was  contained  in  a 
pair  of  saddle-bags,  which  he  carried  under  his  arm. 
Ihs  whole  appearance  was  something  out  of  the  com- 
uon  run ;  and  my  wife,  who  is  a  very  shrewd  body, 
M  once  set  him  down  for  some  eminent  country  school- 
in  asier. 

As  the  Independent  Columbian  Hotel  is  a  very  small 
house,  I  was  a  little  puzzled  at  first  where  to  put  him ; 
«ut  my  wife,  who  seemed  taken  with  his  looks,  would 
Vol.  II.— 1. 


needs  put  him  in  her  best  chamber,  which  it  genteelly 
set  off  with  the  profiles  of  the  whole  family,  done  in 
black,  by  those  two  great  painters,  Jarvis  and  Wood  1 
and  commands  a  very  pleasant  view  of  the  new  grounds 
on  the  Collect,  together  with  the  rear  of  the  Poor- 
House  and  Bridewell,  and  a  full  front  of  the  Hospital ; 
so  that  it  is  the  cheerfulest  room  in  the  whole  house. 

During  the  whole  time  that  he  sUyed  with  us,  we 
found  him  a  very  worthy,  good  sort  of  an  old  gentle- 
man, though  a  little  queer  in  his  ways.  He  would 
keep  in  his  room  for  days  together,  and  if  any  of  the 
children  cried,  or  made  a  noise  about  his  door,  he 
would  bounce  out  in  a  great  passion,  with  his  hands 
fujl  of  papers,  and  say  something  about  "deranging 
his  ideas;"  which  made  my  wife  believe  sometimes 
that  he  was  not  altogether  compos.  Indeed,  there  was 
more  than  one  reason  to  make  her  think  so,  for  his 
room  was  always  covered  with  scraps  of  paper  and 
old  mouldy  books,  laying  about  at  sixes  and  sevens, 
which  he  would  never  let  any  body  touch ;  for  he  said 
he  had  laid  them  all  away  in  their  proper  places,  so 
that  he  might  know  where  to  find  them ;  though  fot 
that  liiatter,  he  was  half  hit  time  wonving  about  the 


^34 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


Lf«*i>F 


bouse  in  search  of  some  book  or  writing  which  he  had 
caretuUy  put  out  of  the  way.  I  shall  never  forget 
what  a  pother  he  once  made,  because  my  wife  cleaned 
out  bis  room  when  his  back  was  turned,  and  put  every 
thing  to  rights  ;  for  he  swore  he  would  never  be  able 
lo  get  his  papers  in  ordet  again  in  a  twelvemonth 
Ut:on  this  my  wife  ventured  to  ask  him  what  he  did 
with  so  many  books  and  papers  ?  and  he  told  her  that 
hs  was  "seeking  for  immortality;"  which  made  her 
thl:3k,  more  than  ever,  that  the  poor  old  gentleman's 
bead  was  a  little  cracked. 

He  was  a  very  inquisitive  body,  and  when  not  in  his 
room  was  continually  poking  about  town,  hearing  all 
the  news,  and  prying  into  every  thing  that  was  going 
on  :  this  was  particularly  the  case  about  election  time, 
when  he  did  nothing  but  bustle  about  from  poll  to  poll, 
attending  all  ward  meetings  and  committee  rooms ; 
though  I  could  never  find  that  he  took  part  with  either 
side  of  the  question.  On  the  contrary,  he  would  come 
home  and  rail  at  both  parties  with  great  wrath — and 
plainly  proved  one  day,  to  the  satisfaction  of  my  wife 
and  three  old  ladles  who  were  drinking  tea  with  her, 
that  the  two  parties  were  like  two  rogues,  each  tugging 
at  a  skirt  of  the  nation ;  and  that  in  the  end  they 
would  tear  the  very  coat  off  its  back,  and  expose  its 
nakedness.  Indeed,  he  was  an  oracle  among  the 
neighbours,  who  would  collect  around  him  to  hear 
him  talk  of  an  afterncon,  as  he  smoked  his  pipe  on 
the  bench  before  the  door;  and  I  really  believe  he 
would  have  brought  over  the  whole  neighbourhood  to 
Us  own  s'de  of  the  question,  if  they  could  ever  have 
found  out  what  it  was. 

He  was  very  much  given  to  argue,  or,  as  he  called 
it,  philosofihiu,  about  the  most  trilling  matter;  and  to 
do  talm  justice,  I  never  knew  any  body  that  was  a 
match  for  him,  except  it  was  a  grave-looking  old  gen- 
tleman who  called  now  and  then  to  see  him,  and  often 
posed  him  in  an  argument.  But  this  is  nothing  sur- 
prising, as  I  have  since  found  out  this  stranger  is  the 
rlty  librarian  ;  and,  of  course,  must  be  a  man  of  great 
learning :  and  I  have  my  doubts,  if  he  had  not  some 
hand  in  the  following  history. 

As  our  lodger  had  been  a  long  time  with  us,  and  we 
had  never  received  any  pay,  my  wife  began  to  be 
somewhat  uneasy,  and  curious  to  find  out  who  and 
what  he  was.  She  accordingly  made  bold  to  put  the 
question  to  his  friend,  the  librarian,  who  replied  in  his 
dry  way  that  he  was  one  of  the  literati,  which  she  sup- 
posed to  mean  some  new  party  in  politics.  I  scorn  to 
push  a  lodger  for  his  pay;  so  I  let  day  after  day  pass 
on  without  dunning  the  old  gentleman  for  a  farthing  : 
but  my  wife,  who  always  takes  these  matters  on  her- 
self, and  is,  as  I  said,  a  shrewd  kind  of  a  woman,  at 
last  got  out  of  patience,  and  hinted,  that  she  thought 
It  high  time  "  some  people  should  have  a  sight  of  some 
people's  money."  To  which  the  old  gentleman  re- 
plied, in  a  mighty  touchy  manner,  that  she  need  not 
make  herself  uneasy,  for  that  he  h.ad  a  treasure  there, 
fpointing  to  his  saddle-bags,)  worth  her  whole  house 
put  together.  This  was  the  only  answer  we  could 
ever  get  from  him  ;  and  as  my  wife,  by  some  of  those 
odd  ways  in  which  women  find  out  every  thing,  learnt 
that  he  wis  of  very  great  connexions,  being  related  to 
the  Knickerbockers  of  Scaghtikoke,  and  cousln-german 
10  the  Congreiiinan  of  that  name,  she  did  not  like  to 


treat  him  uncivilly.  What  is  more,  she  even  ottered 
merely  by  way  of  making  things  easy,  to  let  him  liv« 
scot-free,  if  he  would  teach  the  children  their  Icucrs 
and  to  try  her  best  and  get  her  neighbours  to  send 
their  children  also ;  but  the  old  gentleman  tooic  it  in 
such  dudgeon,  and  seemed  so  affronted  at  bein^  taiieo 
for  a  schoolmaster,  that.she  never  dared  speak  m  thf 
subject  again. 

About  two  months  ago,  he  went  out  of  a  hh  i  nine, 
with  a  bundle  in  his  hand— and  has  never  been  heard 
of  since.  All  kinds  of  inquiries  were  made  aftt  r  him, 
but  in  vain.  I  wrote  to  his  relations  at  Scaghtilvnke, 
but  they  sent  for  answer,  that  he  had  not  been  there 
since  the  year  before  last,  when  he  had  a  great  dispute 
with  the  Congressman  about  politics,  and  left  the  plact 
in  a  huff,  and  they  had  neither  heard  nor  seen  any- 
thing of  him  from  that  time  to  this.  I  must  own  I  felt 
very  much  worried  about  the  poor  old  gentlLinun,  foi 
I  thought  something  bad  must  have  happened  to  him, 
that  he  should  be  missing  so  long,  and  never  return  to 
pay  his  bill.  I  therefore  advertised  him  in  the  news- 
papers, and  though  my  melancholy  advertisement 
was  published  by  several  humane  printers,  yet  I  have 
never  been  able  to  learn  any  thing  satisfactory  about 
him. 

My  wife  now  said  it  was  high  time  to  take  care  of 
ourselves,  and  see  if  he  had  left  any  thing  behind  in 
his  room,  that  would  pay  us  for  his  board  and  lodging, 
We  found  nothing,  however,  but  some  old  books  and 
musty  writings,  and  his  saddle-bags,  which,  beinj 
opened  in  the  presence  of  the  librarian,  contai  -.cii  onl; 
a  few  articles  of  worn-out  clothes,  and  a  large  bi.'cdii 
of  blotted  paper.  On  looking  over  this,  the  l:r  .-arias 
told  us,  he  had  no  doubt  it  was  the  treasure  which  the 
old  gentleman  had  spoke  about ;  as  It  proved  to  be  i 
most  excellent  and  faithfvil  History  of  New-York, 
which  he  advised  us  by  all  means  to  publish  :  assuring 
us  that  it  would  be  so  eagerly  bought  up  by  a  discern- 
ing public,  that  he  had  no  doubt  it  would  be  enough  to 
pay  our  arrears  ten  times  over.  Upon  this  we  got  a 
very  learned  schoolmaster,  who  teaches  our  children, 
to  prepare  it  for  the  press,  which  he  accordingly  has 
done ;  and  has,  moreover,  added  to  it  a  number  ot 
valuable  notes  of  his  own. 

I'his,  therefore,  is  a  true  statement  of  my  reasons 
for  having  this  work  printed,  without  waiting  for  the 
consent  of  the  author :  and  I  here  declare,  that  if  he 
ever  leturns,  (though  I  much  fear  some  unhappy  acci- 
dent has  befallen  him,)  I  stand  ready  to  account  with 
him  like  a  true  and  honest  man.  Which  is  all  at 
present. 

From  the  public's  humble  Serv'U 

Sktu  Handasidi. 
Independent  Columbian  Hotel,  ) 
New -York.  \ 


The  foregoing  account  of  the  author  was  prefixed  to 
the  first  edition  of  this  work.  Shortly  after  its  publi- 
cation a  letter  was  received  from  him,  by  Mr.  Hands- 
side,  dated  at  a  small  Dutch  village  on  the  banks  of 
the  Hudson,  whither  he  had  travelled  for  the  purpose 
of  inspecting  certain  ancient  records.  As  this  wai 
one  of  those  few  and  happy  villages,  lato  which  news 


A  HISTORY   OF  NEW-YORK. 


43!^ 


ptpera  never  find  their  way,  It  ii  not  a  matter  of  sur> 
priae,  that  Mr.  Knickerbocker  should  never  have  teen 
the  numerous  advertisements  that  were  made  concern- 
jag  him ;  and  that  he  should  learn  of  the  publication 
o(  his  history  by  mere  accident. 

He  expressed  much  concern  at  its  premature  ap- 
pparance,  as  thereby  he  was  prevented  from  making 
le  7eral  important  corrections  and  alterations ;  as  well 
^•1  from  profiting  by  many  curious  hints  which  he  had 
rollected  during  his  travels  along  the  shores  of  the 
lappaan  Sea,  and  bis  sojourn  at  Haverstraw  and 
bopus. 

Finding  that  there  was  no  longer  any  immediate 
necessity  for  his  return  to  New-York,  he  extended  his 
journey  up  to  the  residence  of  his  relations  at  Scagh- 
tii(olte.  On  his  way  thither,  he  stopped  for  some  days 
It  Altiany,  for  which  city  he  is  known  to  have  enier- 
uined  a  great  partiality.  He  found  it,  however,  con- 
siderably altered,  and  was  much  concerned  at  the  in- 
tovis  and  improvements  which  the  Yankees  were  mak- 
ing, and  the  consequent  decline  of  the  good  old  Dutch 
manners.  Indeed,  he  was  informed  that  these  in- 
tniders  were  making  sad  innovations  in  all  parts  of 
tlie  State ;  where  they  had  given  great  trouble  and 
vexation  to  the  regular  Dutch  settlers,  by  the  introduc- 
tion of  turnpike  gates  and  country  school-houses.  It 
is  said  also,  that  Mr.  Knickerbocker  shook  his  head 
sorrowfully  at  noticing  the  gradual  decay  of  the  great 
Vender  Heyden  palace ;  but  was  highly  indignant  at 
finding  that  the  ancient  Dutch  church,  which  stood  in 
tte  middle  of  the  street,  had  been  pulled  down,  since 
his  last  visit. 

The  fame  of  Mr.  Knickerbocker's  history  having 
reached  even  to  Albany,  he  received  much  flattering 
i'.'siition  from  its  worthy  burghers,  some  of  whom, 
however,  pointed  out  two  or  three  very  great  errors  he 
had  fallen  into,  particularly  that  of  suspending  a  lump 
ol  sugar  over  the  Albany  tea-tables,  which,  they  as- 
sured him,  had  been  discontinued  for  some  years  past. 
Several  families,  moreover,  were  somewhat  piqued 
that  their  ancestors  had  not  been  mentioned  in  his 
work,  and  showed  great  jealousy  of  their  neighbours 
nho  had  been  thus  distinguished ;  while  the  latter,  it 
must  be  confessed,  plumed  themselves  vastly  thete- 
apon  ;  considering  these  recordings  in  the  light  of  let- 
ters-patent of  nobility,  establishing  their  claims  to  an- 
cestry— which,  in  this  republican  country,  is  a  matter 
of  no  little  solicitude  and  vain-glory. 

It  is  also  said,  that  he  enjoyed  high  favour  and 
lountenance  from  the  governor,  who  once  asked  him 
to  dinner,  and  was  seen  two  or  three  times  to  shake 
hands  with  him,  when  they  met  in  the  street ;  which 
ceitainly  was  going  great  lengths,  considering  that 
ibey  differed  in  politics.  Indeed,  certain  of  the  gov- 
ernor's confidential  friends,  to  whom  he  could  venture 
to  speak  his  mind  freely  on  such  matters,  have  as- 
iired  us,  tha>  he  privately  entertained  a  considerable 
good-will  for  our  author — nay,  he  even  once  went  so 
'jit  as  to  declare,  and  that  openly,  too,  and  at  his  own 
vadle,  just  alter  dinner,  that  "  Knickerbocker  was  a 
very  well-meaning  sort  of  an  old  gentleman,  and  no 
fool."  From  all  which,  many  have  been  led  to  sup- 
pose, that  had  our  author  been  of  different  politics, 
and  wiitten  for  the  newspapers,  instead  of  wasting  his 
talents  on  histories,  he  might  hAve  risen  to  some  post 


of  honour  and  profit;  peradventure,  to  be  a  notar 
public,  or  even  a  Justice  in  the  Ten  Pound  Court. 

Beside  the  honours  and  civilities  already  mentic  n'jr. . 
he  was  much  caressed  by  the  literati  of  Albany:  pAr 
ticularly  by  Mr.  John  Cook,  who  entertained  hia  «er> 
hospitably  at  his  circulating  library  and  lead'ng-^oom, 
where  they  used  to  drink  Spa  water,  ar.d  lalk  aoon 
the  ancients.  He  found  Mr.  Cook  a  mr.n  aiter  cis  cwi 
heart^^f  great  literary  research,  and  r.  curious  col 
lector  of  books.  At  parting,  the  latter,  in  testimon) 
of  friendship,  made  him  a  present  of  the  two  oldes< 
works  in  his  collection ;  wLich  weie  the  earliest  edi- 
tion of  the  Hiedelburgh  Catechism,  ani  Auiiun  Vandei 
Donck's  famous  account  of  the  New-Nedurlands  ;  by 
the  last  of  which,  Mr.  Knickerboclrrr  profited  greatly 
in  this  his  second  edition. 

Having  passed  some  time  very  agreeably  at  Albany 
our  author  proceeded  to  Scaghtikolr^  ;  where,  it  is  bui 
justice  to  say,  he  was  received  with  open  arms,  and 
treated  with  wonderful  loving-kin'i-.iess.  He  was  much 
looked  up  to  by  the  family,  bein){  tlie  first  historian  of 
the  name ;  and  was  considered  almost  as  great  a  man 
as  his  cousin  the  Congressman — with  whom,  by-the- 
bye,  he  became  perfectly  reconciled,  and  contracted  a 
strong  friendship. 

In  spite,  however,  of  the  kindness  of  his  relations, 
and  their  great  attention  to  his  comforts,  the  old  gen. 
tleman  soon  became  restless  and  discontented.  Hit 
history  being  published,  he  had  no  longer  any  busi- 
ness to  occupy  his  thoughts,  or  any  scheme  to  ezdtc 
his  hopes  and  anticipations.  This,  to  a  lusy  m'nd 
like  his,  was  a  truly  deplorable  situation  ;  and,  had  h< 
not  been  a  man  of  inflexible  morals  and  regular  habits, 
there  would  have  been  great  danger  of  his  taking  to 
politics,  or  drinking — both  which  pernicious  vices  we 
daily  see  men  driven  to,  by  mere  spleen  and  idleness 

It  is  true,  he  sometimes  employed  himself  in  pre- 
paring a  second  edition  of  his  history,  wherein  he  en ' 
deavoured  to  correct  and  improve  many  passages  witt 
which  he  was  dissatisfied,  and  to  rectify  some  mistakes 
that  had  crept  into  it ;  for  he  was  particularly  anxious 
that  his  work  should  be  noted  for  its  authenticity, 
which,  indeed,  is  the  very  life  and  soul  of  history. — 
But  the  glow  of  composition  had  departed — he  had  tc 
leave  many  places  untouched,  which  he  would  fain 
have  altered ;  and  even  where  he  did  make  alterations, 
he  seemed  alwayi  in  doubt  whether  they  were  for  the 
better  or  the  worse. 

After  a  residence  of  some  time  at  Scaghtikoke,  he 
be^an  to  feel  %  strong  desire  to  return  to  NTew-York, 
which  he  ever  regarded  with  the  warmest  affection  i 
not  merely  because  it  was  his  native  city,  but  because 
be  really  considered  it  the  very  best  city  ic  the  whole 
world.  On  his  return,  he  entered  into  the  full  esjoy- 
ment  of  the  advantages  of  a  literary  reputatlca.  He 
was  continually  importuned  to  write  advertisements, 
petitions,  hand-bills,  and  productions  of  similar  im- 
port ;  and,  although  he  never  meddled  with  the  public 
papers,  yet  had  he  the  credit  of  writing  innumerable 
essays,  and  smart  things,  that  appeared  on  all  suojecta 
and  all  sides  of  the  question;  in  ail  which  he  was 
dearly  de(ected  "  by  his  style." 

He  contracted,  moreover,  a  considerable  debt  at  th* 
post-office,  in  consequence  of  the  numerous  letters  ha 
received  from  authors  and  printers  soliciting  tala    nk- 


486 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


(crlption  iiuid  he  wh  applied  to  by  every  cbariuble 
itociety  for  yewly  donations,  which  he  guve  very 
cheerfully,  considering  these  applications  as  so  m^ny 
compliments.  He  was  once  invited  to  a  great  cor- 
poration dinner ;  and  was  even  twice  summoned  to 
attend  as  a  juryman  at  the  court  of  quarter  sessions. 
Indeed,  so  renowned  did  he  become,  that  he  could  no 
longer  pry  about,  as  formerly,  in  all  holes  and  corners 
of  the  city,  according  to  the  bent  of  his  humour,  un> 
•oticed  and  uninterrupted ;  but  several  times  when  he 
haa  been  sauntering  the  streeu,  on  his  usual  rambles 
of  observation,  equipped  with  his  cane  and  cocked 
hat,  the  little  boys  at  play  have  been  known  to  cry, 
"  there  goes  Diedrich  ! " — at  which  the  old  gentleman 
seemed  not  a  little  pleased,  looking  upon  these  saluta- 
tions In  the  light  of  the  praises  of  posterity. 

In  a  word,  if  we  take  into  consideration  all  these 
various  honours  and  distinctions,  together  with  an 
exuberant  euloglum,  passed  on  him  in  the  Port  Folio 
—(with  which,  we  are  told,  the  old  gentleman  was 
so  much  overpowered,  that  he  was  sick  for  two  or 
three  da/s>— it  must  be  confessed,  that  few  authors 
have  ever  lived  to  receive  such  illustrious  rewards, 
or  have  so  completely  enjoyed  in  advance  their  own 
Immortality. 

After  his  return  from  Scaghtikoke,  Mr.  Knicker- 
bocker took  up  his  residence  at  a  little  rural  retreat, 
which  the  Stnyvesants  had  granted  him  on  the  family 
domain,  in  gratitude  for  his  honourable  mention  of 
their  ancestor.  It  was  pleasantly  situated  on  the  bor- 
ders of  one  of  the  salt  marshes  beyond  Corlear's  Hook  : 
■ubject,  indeed,  to  be  occasionally  overflowed)  and 
Boch  infested,  in  the  summer-time,  with  musquitoes  ; 
but  otherwise  very  agreeable,  producing  abundant 
crops  of  salt  grass  and  bull-rushes. 

Here,  we  are  sorry  to  say,  the  good  old  gentleman 
fell  dangerously  ill  of  a  fever,  occasioned  by  the 
neighbouring  marshes.  When  he  found  his  end  ap- 
proaching, he  disposed  of  his  worldly  affairs,  leaving 
the  bulk  of  his  fortune  to  the  New-York  Historical 
Society;  his  Hiedelburgh  Catechism,  and  Vander 
Donck's  work,  to  the  city  library ;  and  his  saddle- 
bags'to  Mr.  Handaside.  He  forgave  all  his  enemies, 
— that  if  to  say,  all  who  bore  any  Enmity  towards 
him ;  for  as  to  himself,  he  declared  he  died  in  good- 
will with  all  the  world.  And,  after  dictating  several 
kind  messages  to  his  relations  4U  Scaghtikoke,  as  well 
as  to  certain  of  our  most  substantial  Dutch  citizens, 
he  expired  in  the  arms  of  Us  friend  the  librarian. 

His  remains  were  interred,  according  to  his  oi«i 
request,  in  St.  Mark's  churchyard,  close  by  the  bones 
of  his  favourite  hero,  Peter  Stuyvesant :  and  it  is 
rumoured,  that  the  Historical  Society  have  it  in  mind 
to  erect  a  wooden  monument  to  his  memory  in  the 
3«frUiig-Green. 


TO  TH€  PUBLIC. 


To  rescue  fron^  oblivion  the  memory  of  former 
iaddratt,  and  to  render  a  just  tribute  of  renown  to 
the  many  great  and  wonderful  transactions  of  our 
Dntrh  progenitors  Diedrich  Knickerbocker,  native  of 


the  city  of  New- York,  produces  Ma  histoiical  ei«ay,"« 
Like  the  great  Father  of  History,  whose  word^  T  hav* 
just  quoted,  I  treat  of  times  long  past,  over  which  idc 
twilight  of  uncertainty  had  already  thrown  its  shadows 
and  the  night  of  forgetfulness  was  about  to  descend 
for  ever.  With  great  solicitude  had  I  long  beheld  the 
early  history  of  this  venerable  and  ancient  city  t;radu 
ally  slipping  from  our  grasp,  trembling  on  the  lips  oi 
narrative  old  age,  and  day  by  day  dropping  piecemca: 
into  the  tomb.  In  a  little  while,  thought  I,  and  tho-ie 
reverend  Dutch  burghers,  who  serve  as  the  tottering 
monuments  of  good  old  times,  will  be  gathered  to 
their  fathers ;  their  children,  engrossed  by  the  empty 
pleasures  or  insignificant  transactions  of  the  present 
age,  will  neglect  to  treasure  up  the  recollections  uf  the 
past,  and  posterity  will  search  in  vain  for  memoriali 
of  the  days  of  the  Patriarchs.  The  origin  of  our  city 
will  be'  buried  in  eternal  oblivion,  and  even  the  names 
and  achievements  of  Wouter  Van  Twiller,  William 
Kieft,  and  Peter  Stuyvesant,  be  envelo]>ed  in  doubt 
and  fiction,  like  those  of  Romulus  and  Remus,  ol 
Charlemagne,  King  Arthur,  Rinaldo,  and  Godfrey  ol 
Bologne. 

Determined,  therefore,  to  avert  if  poitsible  this 
threatened  misfortune,  I  industriously  set  myself  tr 
work,  to  gather  together  all  the  fragments  of  our  in- 
fant history  which  still  existed,  and  like  my  revered 
prototype,  Herodotus,  where  no  written  records  couid 
be  found,  I  have  endeavoured  to  continue  the  chaih 
of  history  by  well-authenticated  traditions. 

In  this  arduous  undertaking,  which  has  been  the 
whole  business  of  a  long  and  solitary  life,  it  is  in- 
credible the  number  of  learned  authors  I  have  ccn 
suited ;  and  all  but  to  little  purpose.  Strange  as  it 
may  seem,  though  such  multitudes  of  excellent  works 
have  been  written  about  /his  country,  there  are  none 
extant  which  give  any  full  and  satisfactory  account 
of  the  early  history  of  New-York,  or  of  its  three  first 
Dutch  governors.  I  have,  however,  gained  muct 
valuable  and  curious  matter,  from  an  elaborate  manu- 
script written  in  exceeding  pure  and  classic  Low  Dutch, 
excepting  a  few  errors  in  orthography,  which  was  found 
in  the  archives  of  the  Stuyvesant  family.  Many  le- 
gends, letters,  and  other  documents  have  I  likewise 
gleaned,  in  my  researches  among  the  family  chesu 
and  lumber  garrets  of  our  respectable  Dutch  citizens ; 
and  I  have  gathered  a  host  of  well  •  authenticated 
traditions  from  divers  excellent  old  ladies  of  my  ac- 
quaintance, who  requested  that  their  names  might  not 
be  mentioned.  Nor  must  I  neglect  to  acknowledge 
how  greatly  I  have  been  assisted  by  that  admirable 
and  praiseworthy  institution,  the  Nkw-York  Hisior. 
icAt  Society,  to  which  I  here  publicly  return  xy  sin- 
cere acknowledgments. 

In  the  conduct  of  this  inestimable  work,  I  have 
adopted  no  individual  model ;  but,  on  the  contrary, 
have  simply  contented  myself  with  combining  and 
concentrating  the  excellencies  of  the  most  approved 
ancient  historians.  Like  Zenophon,  I  have  mainuin- 
ed  the  utmost  impartiality,  and  the  strictest  adherence 
to  truth,  throughout  my  history.  I  have  enriched  it 
after  the  manner  of  Sallust,  with  various  characten 
of  ancient  worthies,  drawn  at  full  length  and  faitk 

•  Beloc'*  H«*odatat. 


A  HISTORY  CF' NEW-YORK. 


487 


I'*  hlitoilctl  esaay.-t 
whose  word^  I  have 
P««,  over  which  tot 
r  thrown  its  shadow. 
M  about  to  descend 
»*d  I  long  beheld  the 
d  ancient  ciiy  gradu 
Jbllng  on  the  lips  oi 
dropping  pleceme»; 
bought  I,  and  tho,, 
irve  as  the  tottering 
will  be  gathered  to 
■ossed  by  the  emptv 
tions  of  the  presem 
recollections  of  the 
vain  for  memorials 
he  origin  of  our  city 
and  even  the  namw 
kn  Twiller,  William 
enveloped  in  doubi 
lus  and  Remus,  of 
Ido,  and  Godfrey  of 

n  If  possible  this 
ously  set  myself  tr 
ragments  of  our  in. 
nd  like  my  revered 
ritten  records  could 
continue  the  chaia 
iditions. 

fhich  has  been  the 
litary  life,  it  is  in. 
uthors  I  have  ccn 
ose.     Strange  as  it 
I  of  excellent  works 
try,  there  are  none 
atisfactory  account 
or  of  iu  three  first 
sver,  gained  mucl 
Ml  elaborate  manu- 
classic  Low  Dutch, 
ly,  which  was  found 
family.     Many  le- 
lU  have  I  likewise 
the  family  chests 
Jle  Dutch  citizens ; 
well- authenticated 
d  ladies  of  my  ac- 
r  names  might  not 
ct  to  acknowledge 
by  that  admirable 

KW-YORK  HlSlOR. 

icly  return  aiy  sin- 

We  work,  I  have 
on  the  contrary, 
li  combining  and 
le  most  approved 
I  have  mainuin- 
trictest  adherence 
have  enriched  it, 
ariotu  characten 
length  and  failk 


lolljr  eolanred.  I  have  Muoned  it  with  profound 
political  ipeculetiom  like  Tbucydides,  iweetened  It 
'  with  the  graces  of  sentiment  like  Tacitus,  and  Infused 
into  the  whole  the  dignity,  the  grandeur,  and  magnlfl- 
<;ence  of  LIvy. 

I  am  aware  thut  I  shall  Incur  the  censure  of  numer^ 
ttts  very  'earned  and  jualciout  critics,  for  indulging 
ISO  (reqaently  In  the  bold  excursive  manner  of  my 
iivourite  Herodotus.  And  to  be  candid,  I  have  found 
ft  Inipossible  always  to  resist  the  allurements  of  those 
pleasing  episodes,  which,  like  flowery  banks  and  fra- 
grant bowers,  beset  the  dusty  road  of  the  historian,  and 
entice  him  to  turn  aside,  and  refresh  himself  from  his 
wayfaring.  But  I  trust  it  will  be  found  that  I  have 
always  resumed  my  staff,  and  addressed  myself  to  my 
weary  journey  with  renovated  spirits,  so  that  both 
my  readers  and  myself  have  been  benefited  by  the  re- 
laxation. 

Indeed,  though  It  has  been  my  constant  wish  and 
uniform  endeavour  to  rival  Polybius  himself.  In  ob- 
serving the  requisite  unity  of  History,  yet  the  loose 
and  unconnected  manner  in  w>*  .h  many  of  the  facts 
herein  recorded  have  come  i,  hand,  rendered  such 
an  attempt  extremely  difficult.  This  difficulty  was  like- 
nise  increased,  by  one  of  the  grand  objects  contem- 
plated In  t^y  work,  which  was  to  trace  the  rise  of  sun- 
dry customs  and  Institutions  in  this  best  of  cities,  and 
'.0  compare  them,  when  in  the  germ  of  Infancy,  with 
what  they  are  in  the  present  old  age  of  knowledge 
tnd  improvement. 

But  the  chief  merit  on  which  I  value  myself,  and 
fiund  my  hopes  for  future  regard,  is  that  faithful  ve- 
racity with  which  I  have  compiled  this  invaluable  little 
work  ;  carefully  winnowing  away  the  chaff  of  hypoth- 
esis, and  discarding  the  tares  of  fable,  which  are  too 
apt  to  spring  up  and  choke  the  seeds  of  truth  and 
wholesome  knowledge.— Had  I  been  anxious  to  cap- 
tivate the  superficial  throng,  who  skim  like  swallows 
over  the  surface  of  literature  ;  or  had  I  been  anxious 
to  commend  my  writings  to  the  pampered  palates  of 
literary  epicures,  I  might  have  availed  myself  of  the 
obscurity  that  overshadows  the  Infant  years  of  our  city, 
to  introduce  a  thousand  pleasing  fictions.  But  I  have 
scrupulously  discarded  many  a  pithy  tale  and  marvel- 
lous adventure,  whereby  the  drowsy  ear  of  summer 
indolence  might  be  enthralled  ;  jealousy  maintaining 
that  fidelity,  gravity,  and  dignity,  which  should  ever 
distinguish  the  historian.  "  For  a  writer  of  this  class," 
observes  an  elegant  critic,  "  must  susuin  the  character 
3(  a  wise  man,  writing  (or  the  instruction  of  posterity  ; 
one  who  has  studied  to  inform  himself  well,  who  has 
pondered  his  subject  with  care,  and  addresses  himself 
t :  cur  judgment,  rather  than  to  our  Imagination." 

Thrice  happy,  therefore,  is  this  our  renowned  city, 
k  having  incidents  worthy  of  swelling  the  theme  of 
history  ;  and  doubly  thrice  happy  is  it  in  having  such 
a  historian  as  myself  to  relate  them.  For  after  all, 
gentle  reader  cities  of  themstlvet,  and,  in  fact,  empires 
if  tktmtelves  are  nothing  without  a  historian.  It  Is 
the  patient  narrator  who  records'  their  prosperity  as 
they  rise — who  blazons  forth  the  splendour  of  their 
oooatide  meridian — who  props  their  feeble  memorials 
as  they  totter  to  decay — who  gathers  together  their 
•cattered  fragments  as  they  rot — and  who  pioiuly,  at 
>ength,  collects  their  ashes  into  the  mausoleum  of  bis 


work,  and  rears  a  monumeat  that  will  transmit  theli 
renown  to  all  succeeding  ages. 

What  has  been  the  fate  of  many  fair  cities  of  m> 
tiquity,  whose  nameless  ruins  encumber  the  plaint  ot 
Europe  and  Asia,  and  awaken  the  fruitless  Inquiry  oi 
the  ira Teller?  They  have  sunk  into  dust  and  silence 
— they  have  perished  from  remembrance,  for  want  of 
a  historian  I  Ihe  philanthropist  may  weep  over  theii 
desolation — the  poet  may  wander  among  their  mould- 
ering arches  and  broken  columns,  and  indulge  the 
visionary  Rights  of  his  fancy  —  but  alas  1  alas  1  tbs 
modem  historian,  whose  pen,  like  my  own,  is  doomed 
to  confine  itself  to  dull  matter  of  fact,  seeks  In  vain 
among  their  oblivious  remains  for  some  memorial  that 
may  tell  the  instructive  tale  of  their  glory  and  their  ruin. 

"Wars,  conflagrations,  deluges,"  says  Aristotle, 
"destroy  nations,  and  with  them  all  their  monumenu, 
their  discoveries,  and  their  vanities. — The  torch  ot 
science  has  more  than  once  been  extinguished  and  re- 
kindled— a  few  Individuals,  who  have  escaped  by  acci- 
dent, reunite  the  thread  of  generations." 

The  same  sad  misfortune  which  has  happened  to  so 
many  ancient  cities,  will  happen  again,  and  from  the 
same  sad  cause,  to  nine-tenths  of  those  which  now 
flourish  on  the  face  of  the  globe.  With  most  of  them, 
the  time  for  recording  their  early  history  is  gone  by  i 
their  origin,  their  foundation,  together  with  the  event- 
ful period  of  their  youth,  are  for  ever  buried  in  the 
rubbish  of  years  ;  and  the  same  would  have  been  the 
case  with  this  fair  portion  of  the  earth,  If  I  had  ooi 
snatched  it  from  obscurity  in  the  very  nick  of  time,  at 
the  moment  that  those  matters  herein  recorded  weit 
about  entering  into  the  wide-spread  Insatiable  maw  oi 
oblivion — if  I  had  not  dragged  them  out,  its  it  were,  by 
the  very  locks,  just  as  the  monster's  adamantine  fangs 
were  closing  upon  them  for  ever  I  And  here  have  I, 
as  before  observed,  carefully  collected,  collated,  and 
arranged  them,  scrip  and  scrap,  "punt  en  punt,  gat  en 
gat"  and  commenced  in  this  little  work,  a  history  to 
serve  as  a  foundation,  on  which  other  historians  may 
hereafter  raise  a  noble  superstructure,  swelling  in  pro- 
cess of  time,  until  Knickerboeker't  New-  York  may  be 
equally  voluminous  with  Gibbon's  A'ome,  or  Hume  and 
SmolUt's  England  I 

And  now  Indulge  me  for  a  moment,  while  I  lay 
down  my  pen,  skip  to  soniie  little  eminence  at  the  dis- 
tance of  two  or  three  ^  i^c'red  years  ahead  ;  and,  cast- 
ing back  a  bird's-eye  gla.ir.e  over  the  waste  of  years 
that  is  to  roll  between,  di^xover  myself — little  1 1 — at 
this  moment  the  progenitor,  prototype,  and  precursor 
of  them  all,  posted  at  the  head  of  this  host  of  literary 
worthies,  with  my  book  under  my  arm,  and  New- York 
on  my  back,  pressing  forward,  like  a  gallant  com. 
mander,  to  honour  and  Immortality. 

Such  are  the  vain-glorious  Imaginings  that  will  now 
and  then  enter  into  the  brain  of  the  author— that  ir- 
radiate, as  with  celestial  light,  his  solitary  chamber, 
cheering  his  weary  spirits,  and  animating  him  to  per- 
severe in  bis  labours.  And  I  have  freely  given  utter- 
ance to  these  rhapsodies,  whenever  they  have  occurred  t 
not,  I  trust,  from  an  unusual  spirit  of  egotism,  but 
merely  that  the  reader  may  for  once  have  an  idea, 
how  an  author  thinks  and  feels  while  he  is  writing— 
a  kind  of  knowledge  very  rare  and  curious  aad  mucii 
to  be  desired.  . 


I 


438 


WORKS  OP  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


BOOK   I. 

CONTAININO  DIVERS  INOKNIOUS  THEORIIS  AND 
PHILOSOPHIC  SPECULA  I  IONS,  CONCERNINOTHB 
CREATION  AND  POPULATION  OF  THE  WORLD, 
AS  CONNECTED  WITH  THE  HISTORY  OF  NEW 
VORK. 


CHAPTER  I. 
DESCRIPTION  OP  THE  WORLD. 

According  to  the  best  authorities,  the  world  in 
which  wc  dwell  is  a  huge,  opaque,  reflecting,  inani- 
mate mass,  floating  in  the  vast  ethereal  ocean  of 
infinite  space.  It  has  the  form  of  an  orange,  being 
an  oblate  spheroid,  curiously  flattened  at  opposite 
parts,  for  the  insertion  of  two  imaginary  poles,  which 
are  supposed  to  penetrate  and  unite  at  the  centre ; 
thus  forming  an  axis  on  which  the  mighty  orange 
turns  with  a  regular  diurnal  revolution. 

The  transitions  of  light  and  darkness,  whence  pro 
ceed  the  alternations  of  day  and  night,  .tre  pro<luce(l 
by  this  diurnal  revolution  successively  presenting  the 
different  p.irts  of  the  earth  to  the  rays  of  the  sun. 
The  latter  is,  according  to  the  best,  that  is  to  say,  the 
latest  accounts,  a  luminous  or  fiery  body,  of  a  pro- 
digious magnitude,  from  which  this  world  is  driven 
by  a  centrifugal  or  repelling  power,  and  to  which 
it  is  drawn  by  a  centripe^  or  attractive  force, 
otherwise  called  the  attraction  of  gravitation ;  the 
combination,  or  rather  the  counteraction,  of  these 
two  opposing  impulses  producing  a  circular  and 
annual  revolution.  Hence  result  the  different  sea- 
sons of  the  year,  viz.,  spring,  summer,  autumn,  and 
winter. 

This  I  believe  to  be  the  most  approved  modern 
theory  on  the  subject — though  there  be  many  phi- 
jcsoplier*  who  have  entertained  very  different  o|)in- 
:ons ;  some,  too,  of  them  entitled  to  much  deference 
Irom  their  great  antiquity  and  illustrious  characters. 
Thus  it  was  advanced  by  some  of  the  ancient  sages, 
that  the  earth  was  an  extended  plain,  supported  by 
vast  pillars ;  and  by  others,  that  it  rested  on  the  head 
of  a  snake,  or  the  back  of  a  huge  tortoise — but  as 
they  did  not  provide  a  resting-place  for  either  the 
pillars  or  the  tortoise,  the  whole  theory  fell  to  the 
ground,  for  want  of  proper  foundation. 

The  Brahmins  assert,  that  the  heavens  rest  upon 
the  earth,  and  the  sun  and  moon  swim  therein  like 
lishes  in  the  water,  moving  from  east  to  west  by  day, 
and  gliding  along  the  edge  of  the  horizon  to  their 
original  stations  during  the  night  ;*  while,  according 
to  Uie  pauranicas  of  India,  it  is  a  vast  plain,  encircled 
by  seven  oceans  of  milk,  nectar,  and  other  delicious 
liquids ;  that  it  is  studded  with  seven  mountains,  and 
ornamented  in  the  centre  by  a  mountainous  rock  of 
burnished  gold  ;  and  that  a  great  dragon  occasion- 
ally swallows  up  the  moon,  which  accounts  for  the 
phenomena  of  lunar  eclipses.t 

Beside  these,  and  many  other  equally  sage  opin- 
ions, we  have  the  profound  conjectures  of  Aboi;l- 
Hassan-Alv,  son  of  Al  Khan,  son  of  Aly,  son  of 
Abderrahman,  son  of  Abdallah,  son  of  Masoud-el- 
Had-heli.  who  is  commonly  called  Masoudi,  and 
sumamcd  Cothbeddin,  but  who  takes  the  humble 
title  of  Laheb-ar-rasoul,  which  means  the  companion 
of  the  ambassador  of  God.  He  has  written  a  uni- 
versal history,  entitled  "  Mouroudge-ed-dharab,  or 
the  Golden  Meadows,  and  the  Mines  of  Precious 


*  Faria  y  Soiin.    Mick.  Lui.  note  b.  7 
tSV  W,  JoDM,  Diu.  Aatiq.  Ind.  Zod. 


Stones."*  In  this  valuable  work  he  has  related  tht 
history  of  the  world,  from  the  creation  down  tn  the 
moment  of  writing ;  which  was  under  the  Caiiplmie 
of  Mothi  Uiilah,  in  the  month  Dgioumndi-ei-.-iuuai 
of  the  336th  jjear  of  the  Hegira  or  fjlght  of  i)if 
Prophet.  He  informs  us  that  the  ;arth  is  a  hiii^r 
bir(i,  Mecca  and  Medina  constituting  the  he.id,  iVisii 
and  India  the  right  wing,  the  lanilof  Gog  the  \ei< 
wing,  and  Africa  the  tail.  He  informs  us,  monovcr 
that  an  earth  has  existed  before  the  present,  (wbif  l 
he  considers  as  a  mere  chicken  of  7,000  years)  ihii' 
it  has  undergone  divers  deluges,  and  that,  acconlini^ 
to  the  opinion  of  some  well-informed  Brahmins  ni 
his  acquaintance,  it  will  be  renovated  every  sevtMUy- 
thousandth  hazarouam  ;  each  ^iazarouam  consisuii|^ 
of  1 3,000  years. 

These  are  a  few  of  the  many  contradictory  opininii< 
of  philosophers  concerning  the  earth,  and  we  inul 
that  the  learned  have  had  equal  perplexity  .is  to  rlu 
nature  of  the  sun.  Some  of  the  ancient  phi!oso|)ht  rs 
have  affirmed  that  it  is  a  vast  wheel  of  brilliant  lire  :1 
others,  that  it  is  merely  a  mirror  or  sphere  ol  tr.ms- 
parent  crystal ;  |  and  a  third  class,  at  the  head  ul 
whom  stands  Anaxagor.is,  maintained  that  it  was 
nothing  but  a  huge  ignited  mass  of  iron  or  stcme— 
indeed,  he  declared  the  heavens  to  be  merely  a  vaj'i 
of  stone — and  that  the  stars  were  stones  whiried  up 
ward  from  the  earth,  and  set  on  fire  by  the  velocity 
of  its  revolutions.  J  But  I  give  little  .attention  to  thi- 
doctrines  of  this  philosopher,  the  people  of  Athens 
having  fully  refuted  them,  by  banishing  him  fruni 
their  city ;  a  concise  mode  of  answering  unwelcome 
doctrines,  much  resorted  to  in  former  days.  Anothei 
sect  of  philosophers  do  declare,  that  certain  tirn 
particles  exhale  constantly  from  the  earth,  wKicc 
concentrating  in  a  single  point  of  the  firmament  liy 
day,  constitute  the  sun,  but  being  scattered  and  ram 
biing  about  in  the  dark  at  night,  collect  in  various 
points,  and  form  stars.  These  are  regulariy  burnt 
out  and  extinguished,  not  unlike  to  the  lamps  in  our 
streets,  and  require  a  fresh  supply  of  exhalatipns  lor 
the  next  occasion. | 

It  is  even  recorded,  that  at  certain  remote  and 
obscure  periods,  in  consequence  of  a  great  scarcity 
of  fuel,  the  sun  has  been  completely  burnt  out,  and 
sometimes  not  rekindled  for  a  month  at  a  time  ;  -  a 
most  melancholy  circumstance,  the  very  idea  of 
which  gave  vast  concern  to  Heraclitus,  that  worthy 
weeping  philosopher  of  antiquity.  In  addition  to 
these  various  speculations,  it  was  the  opinion  of 
Herschel,  that  the  sun  is  a  magnificent,  habitable 
abode ;  the  light  it  furnishes  arising  from  certain 
empyreal,  luminous  or  phosphoric  clouds,  swimming 
in  its  transparent  atmosphere. H 

But  we  will  not  enter  farther  at  present  into  the 
nature  of  the  sun,  that  being  an  inquiry  not  imme- 
diately necessary  to  the  development  of  this  history ; 
neither  will  we  embroil  ourselves  in  any  more  of  tne 
endless  disputes  of  philosophers  touching  the  form 
of  this  globe,  but  content  ourselves  with  the  theory 
advanced  in  the  beginning  of  this  chapter,  and  will 
proceed  to  illustrate,  by  experiment,  the  complexity 
of  motion  therein  ascribed  to  this  our  rotator] 
planet. 

Professor  Von  Poddingcoft  (or  Puddinghead,  aa 


*  Mu.  Bibliot,  Roi.  Fr. 

t  Plutarch  de  PlacitU  PhUotoph.  lib.  iii.  cap.  aok 

t  AchiU.  Tat.  Iia(.  cap.  14.  Ap.  PcUy.  t.  iii.  p.  Ii.  Stok.  Bdni 
Phy*.  lib.  i.  p.  56.    Plut-  dt  Plae.  Phi. 

I  Diogenet  Lacrtiui  in  Anaxac.  1.  ii.  MC.  I.  Plat.  Apol.  t.  L  p.  rf. 
Plut.  d«  Plac.  Philo.    Xaneph.  Mem.  I.  iv.  p.  815. 

I  Aristot.  Meteor.  I.  ii.  e.  a.  Idem.  Probl.  tec  15.  Slob.  Id 
Phy*.  L  i.  p.  55.  Brack.  Hist.  Phil.  t.  i.  p.  1134,  Ac. 

5  Philoi.  Trant.  ins%  V-  7*-  Idea,  ilei,  p.  §6$,  Nkh.  Fhiloi 
loan,  i  p.  !«.  I 

/ 


A  HISTORY  OP  NEW-YORK. 


489 


Puddingbead,  as 


f  (lime  may  be  rendered  Into  English,)  waa  lonf^ 
ibrated  in  the  university  of  Leyden,  for  profound 
ivity  of  deportment,  ami  a  talent  of  going  to  sleep 
ithe  initial  of  examinttions,  to  the  infinite  relief  of 
|kliho|'t^ful  students,  who  thereby  workt^d  their  way 
ItTOUKh  college  with  great  ease  and  little  stud*'  In 
lilie course  of  one  of  his  lectures,  the  learned  )..  jfev 
lirr,  seizing  a  bucket  of  water,  swung  it  round  his 
lltiil  at  arm's-length,  The  impulse  with  which  he 
jlliRtv  the  vessel  from  him,  being  a  centrifugal  force, 
[ihi  retention  of  his  arm  operating  as  a  centripetal 
iMwer,  and  the  bucket,  whicn  was  a  substitute  for  the 
liirth,  describing  a  circular  orbit  round  about  the 

Sobular  head  and  ruby  visage  of  Professor  Von  Pod- 
ngcoft,  which  formed  no  bad  representation  of  the 
■iiin.    All  of  these  particulars  were  duly  explained  to 
|i{Kclass  of  gaping  students  around  him.    He  ap- 
Jpriicd  them,  moreover,  that  the  same  princi|)le  of 
Ipvitation,  which  retained  the  water  in  the  bucket, 
■  iKtrains  the  ocean  from  flying  from  the  earth  in  its 
Inpki  revolutions ;  and  he  farther  informed  them, 
I  that  should  the  motion  of  the  eatth  be  suddenly 
I  checked,  it  would  incontinently  fa)>  into  the  sun, 
lihrouKh  the  centripetal  force  of  gravitation  ;  a  most 
Inilnnus  event  to  this  planet,  and  one  which  would 
I  iIjo  obscure,  though  it  most  probably  would  not  ex- 
jlinguish,  the  solar  luminary.    An  unlucky  stripling, 
[one  ol  those  vagrant  geniuses  who  seem  sent  into 
I  ihe  world  merely  to  annoy  worthy  men  of  the  pud- 
dini;hcad  order,  desirous  of  ascertaining  the  correct- 
nesi  of  the  experiment,  suddenly  arrested  the  arm  of 
Ih:  jirofessor,  just  at  the  moment  that  the  bucket 
»u  m  its  zenith,  which  immediately  descended  with 
Ktonishing  precision  upon  the  head  of  the  philoso- 
plx'i.    A  hallow  sound,  and  a  red-hot  hiss,  attended 
ih:  contact ;  but  the  theory  was  in  the  amplest  man- 
I  otr  illustrated,  for  the  unfortunate  bucket  perished 
I  In  the  conflict ;  but  the  blazing  countenance  of  Pro- 
(ssor  Von  Poddingcoft  emerged  from  amidst  the 
,  if,iters,  glowing  fiercer  than  ever  with  unutterable 
Miration,  whereby  the  students  were  marvellously 
j  tditied,  and  departed  considerably  wiser  than  before. 
j    It  is  a  mortifying  circumstance,  which  greatly  per- 
plexes many  a  philosopher,  that  Nature  often  refuses 
to  second  his  efforts ;  so  that  after  having  invented 
one  of  the  most  ingenious  and  natural  theories  im- 
aginable, she  will  have  the  perverseness  to  act  di- 
rectly in  the  teeth  of  it.    This  is  a  manifest  and  un- 
merited  grievance,  since  it  throws  the  censure  of  the 
nilgar  and  unlearned  entirely  upon  the  philosopher; 
whereas  the  fault  is  to  be  ascribed  to  dame  Nature, 
who,  with  the  proverbial  fickleness  of  her  sex,  is  con- 
tinually indulging  in  coquetries  and  caprices;  and 
who  seems  to  take  pleasure  in  violating  all  philo- 
sophic rules,  and  jilting  the  most  learned  and  inde- 
fatigable of  her  adorers.    Thus  it  happened  with  re- 
spect to  the  foregoing  explanation  of  the  motion  of 
our  planet ;  it  appears  that  the  centrifugal  force  has 
long  since  ceased  to  operate,  while  its  antagonist  re- 
trains in  undiminished  potency:  the  world,  there- 
fore, ought,  in  strict  propriety,  to  tumble  into  the 
tun ;  philosophers  were  convinced  that  it  would  do 
Ki,  and. awaited  in  anxious  impatience  the  fulfilment 
of  their  prognostics.    But  the  untoward  planet  j«er- 
tinaciously  continued  her  course,  notwithstanding 
that  she  bad  reason,  philosophy,  and  a  whole  univer- 
sity of  learned  |>rofessors,  opposed  to  her  conduct 
The  philosophy's  took  this  m  very  ill  part,  and  it  is 
though .  iiey  w juld  never  have  pardoned  the  slight 
which  they  conceived  put  upon  them  by  the  world, 
bad  not  a  good-natured  professor  kindly  officiated  at 
a  mediator  between  the.  parties  and  effected  a  recon- 
ciliation. 

Finding  the  woild  would  not  accommodate  itself 
to  the  theory,  he  wisely  accommodatrd  the  theory  to 


the  world :  he  informed  his  brother  phllosopheit 
that  the  circular  motion  of  the  ••arth  round  the  sun 
w.TS  no  sooner  engendered  by  the  conflicting  impulses 
above  dcscrilied,  than  it  became  a  regular  revolution 
independent  of  ti.e  causes  which  gave  it  origin.  His 
learned  brethren  readily  joined  in  the  opinion,  heartily 
glad  of  any  explanation  that  would  decently  extricate 
them  from  their  embarr.issment — and  ever  since  that 
era  the  world  has  been  left  to  take  hei  own  course, 
and  to  revolve  around  the  sun  in  such  orbit  as  slir 
thinks  proper. 


CHAPTER  II. 

COSMOGONY,  OR  CRKATION  OF  THR  WORLD  ;  WITH 
A  MULTITUDE  OF  EXCELLRNT  THEORIES,  BY 
WHICH  THE  CREATION  OF  A  WORLD  IS  SHOWN 
TO  BE  NO  SirCH  DIFFICITI^T  MATTER  AS  COM- 
MON FOLK  WOULD  IMAGINE. 

Having  th.is  briefly  introduced  my  reader  to  the 
world,  and  given  him  some  idea  of  its  form  and  sit- 
uation, he  will  naturally  be  curious  to  know  from 
whence  it  came,  and  how  it  was  created.  And,  in- 
deed, the  clearing  up  of  these  points  is  absolutely 
essential  to  my  history,  inasmuch  as  if  this  world 
had  not  been  formed,  it  is  more  than  probable  that 
this  renowned  island  on  which  is  situated  the  city 
of  New-York^would  never  have  had  an  existence. 
The  regular  course  of  my  history,  therefore,  requires 
that  I  should  proceed  to  notice  the  cosmogony,  or 
formation  of  this  our  globe. 

And  now  I  eive  my  readers  fair  warning,  that  1 
am  about  to  plunge,  for  a  chapter  or  two,  into  a » 
complete  a  labyrinth  as  ever  historian  was  perpleini 
withal ;  therefore,  I  advise  them  to  take  fast  hoi  J 
of  my  skirts,  and  keep  close  at  my  heels,  venturing; 
neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left,  lest  they 
eet  bemired  in  a  slough  of  unintelligrible  learning,  oi 
have  their  brains  knocked  out  by  some  of  those  hard 
Greek  names  which  will  be  flying  about  in  all  direc- 
tions. Hut  should  any  of  them  be  too  indolent  or 
chicken-hearted  to  accompany  me  in  this  perilous 
undertaking,  they  had  better  take  a  short  cut  round, 
and  wait  for  me  at  the  beginning  of  some  smoother 
chapter. 

Of  the  creation  of  the  world,  we  have  a  thousand 
contradictory  accounts ;  and  itiough  a  very  satisfac- 
tory one  is  furnished  us  by  divine  revelation,  yet 
every  philosopher  feels  himself  in  honour  bound  to 
furnish  us  with  a  better.  As  an  impartial  historian, 
I  consider  it  my  duty  to  notice  their  several  theories, 
by  which  mankind  have  been  so  exceedingly  edified 
and  instructed. 

Thus  it  was  the  opinion  of  certain  ancient  sages, 
that  the  earth  and  the  whole  system  of  the  universe 
was  the  deity  himself;*  a  doctrine  most  strenuously 
maintained  by  Zenophanes  and  the  whole  tribe  of 
Eleatics,  as  also  by  Strabo  and  the  sect  of  peripa- 
tetic philosophers.  Pythagoras  likewise  inculcated 
the  famous  numerical  system  of  the  monad,  dyad, 
and  triad,  and  by  means  of  his  sacred  quatem.iry 
elucidated  the  formation  of  the  world,  the  arcana  of 
nature,  and  the  principles  both  of  music  and  morals.t 
Other  sages  adhered  to  the  mathematical  system  of 
squares  and  triangles ;  the  cube,  the  pyramid,  and 
the  sphere,  the  tetrahedron,  the  octaheciron,  the  icos- 
ahedron,  and  the  dodecahedron.^    While  others  ad' 


*  Aristot,  ap.  Cic.  lib.  L  cap.  3. 

t  Atisiot.  Meuph.  lib.  i.  c.  y  Idam.  d*  Codo,  I.  iii.  e.  I.  Koa» 
seau  mem.  tur.  tiuiiqu*  ■actam.  p.  39.  Plubucb  de  PUc  Phikw 
lib.  i.  cap.  3. 

X  Tim.  Lott,  mp,  Plalo,  t.  iii.  ».  (a. 


MO 


WORKS  OF  Washington  irvino. 


'V'..' 


located  the  great  elementary  theory,  which  refers 
the  coMtruction  of  our  Klobc,  and  all  that  It  con- 
tains, to  the  combination  of  four  material  elements — 
air,  earth,  fire,  and  water ;  with  the  assistance  of  a 
fifth,  an  immaterial  and  vivifyinc  principle. 

Nor  must  I  omit  to  mention  tnc  gicat  atomic  sys- 
tem tatiffht  by  old  Moschus,  l)ct'ore  the  sicf^e  ol  Troy; 
revived  by  DemtKrilus,  of  laughing  memory ;  im- 
proved by  Epicurus,  that  king  uf  good  fellows,  and 
iiwdeniiied  by  the  fanciful  Descartes. 

But  I  decline  inquiring,  whethtT  the  atoms,  of 
which  the  earth  is  siiid  to  be  composed,  are  eternal 
or  recent ;  whether  they  are  animate  or  inanimate ; 
whether,  agreeably  to  the  opinion  of  the  atheists, 
they  were  fortuitously  aggregated,  or,  as  the  theists 
mamtain,  were  arranged  bv  a  supreme  intelligence.* 
Whether,  in  fact,  the  earth  be  an  insensate  clod,  or 
whether  it  be  animated  by  a  soul  ;t  which  opinion 
was  strenuously  maintained  by  a  host  of  philosophers, 
at  the  head  of  whom  stanils  the  great  Flato,  that 
temperate  sage,  who  threw  the  cold  water  of  philos- 
ophy on  the  form  of  sexual  intercourse,  and  inculca- 
ted the  doctrine  of  Platonic  love — »n  exquisitely  re- 
fined intercourse,  but  much  better  adapted  to  the 
ideal  inhabitants  of  his  imaginary  island  of  Atlantis 
than  to  the  sturdy  race,  coniposed  of  rebellious  flesh 
and  blood,  which  populates  the  little  matter-of-fact 
island  we  inhabit. 

Beside  these  systems,  we  have,  moreover,  the  po- 
etical theogony  of  old  Hcsiod,  who  generated  the 
whole  universe  in  the  regular  tnode  ot  procreation  ; 
and  the  plausible  opinion  of  others,  (fiat  the  earth 
was  hatched  from  the  great  egg  of  night,  which 
floated  in  chaos,  and  was  cracked  by  the  horns  of 
the  celestial  bull.  To  illustrate  this  last  doctrine, 
Bjmet,  in  his  theonr  of  the  earth,t  has  favoured  us 
with  an  accurate  drawing  and  description,  both  of 
(he  form  and  texture  of  this  mundane  egg ;  which  is 
hund  to  bear  a  marvellous  resemblance  to  that  of  a 
foosc.  Such  of  my  readers  as  take  a  proper  interest 
in  the  origin  of  this  our  planet,  will  be  pleased  to 
leam,  that  the  most  profound  sages  of  antiquity, 
among  the  Egyptians,  Chaldeans,  i'ersians.  Greeks, 
and  Latins,  have  alternately  assisted  at  the  hatch- 
ing of  this  strange  bird,  and  that  their  cacklings 
have  been  caught,  and  continued  in  different  tones 
and  inflections,  from  philosopher  to  philosopher,  unto 
the  present  dajr. 

But  while  briefly  noticing  long-celebrated  systems 
of  ancient  sages,  let  me  not  pass  over  with  neglect 
those  of  other  philosophers ;  which,  though  less  uni- 
versal and  renowned,  have  equal  claims  to  attention, 
and  equal  chance  for  correctness.  Thus  it  is  record- 
ed by  the  Brahmins,  in  the  pages  of  their  inspired 
Shastah,  that  the  angel  Bistnoo,  transforming  him- 
self into  a  great  boar,  plunged  into  the  watery  abyss, 
and  brought  up  the  earth  on  his  tusks.  Then  issued 
from  him  a  mighty  tortoise,  and  a  mighty  snake ; 
and  Bistnoo  placed  the  snake  erect  upon  the  back 
of  the  tortoise,  and  he  placed  the  earth  upon  the 
head  of  the  snake.§ 

The  negro  philosophers  of  Congo  affirm  that  the 
world  was  made  by  the  hands  of  angels,  excepting 
their  own  country,  which  the  Supreme  Being  con- 
structed himself,  that  it  might  be  supremely  excel- 
lent. And  he  took  great  pains  with  the  inhabitants, 
ad  made  them  very  black,  and  beautiful ;  and  when 
he  had  finished  the  first  man,  he  was  well  pleased 
with  him,  and  smoothed  him  over  the  face;  and 

•  Ariitot.  Nat.  Auwalt.  1.  ii.  cap.  6.  Ariitoph.  MeUph.  lib.  i. 
cap.  J.  Cic.  de  Nal.  Oaor.  lib.  i.  cap.  lo.  Juiiin.  Man.  oral,  ad 
l«al.  p.  we, 

t  Moshtim  ia  Cud*,  lib.  i.  cap.  4.  Tim.  de  anim.  mund  ap. 
Plat.  lib.  iii.  Mea.  d«  *Acad.  dct  Ballet  LatU.  t.  xxiU.  p,  19.  at 
tl. 

tBoebi.ch.  s.  IHoIwell.    G<M  Philoiopby. 


hence  hit  nose,  and  the  noae  of  kll  hit  descendants 
became  flat. 

The  Moh.iwk  philotophert  tell  u.s,  that  a  prrirnnni  I 
woman  fell  down  from  heaven,  and  that  a  tDrtoisr 
took  her  upon  iti  back,  because  every  plncr  w;i^  I 
coverp«l  with  water;  and  that  the  wom.in,  sitiir"  ' 
upon  the  tortoise,  paddled  with  her  hands  In  \Uv 
water,  and   raked  up  the  earth,  whence  it  tinalU 
happ<-ned  that  the  earth  became  higher  th.tn  tin; 
water.  • 

But  I  forbear  to  quote  a  number  more  of  these 
ancient  and  outlamlish  philosophers,  wlinse  de plora- 
hie  ignorance,  in  despite  of  fill  their  enidition,  com. 
pelled  them  to  write  in  languages  which  hut  frw  of 
my  readers  can  understand ;  and  1  shall  prDcred 
briefly  to  notice  a  few  more  int*lli|^ibie  and  lashion- 
able  theories  of  their  modem  successors. 

And,  first,  I  shall  mention  the  great  HufTon.  who 
conjectures  that  this  globe  was  originally  a  globe  of 
liquid  fire,  scintillated  from  the  body  of  the  sun,  by 
the  percussion  of  a  comet,  as  a  spark  is  gt'iicratcd 
by  tne  collision  of  flint  and  steel.  That  at  firs'  it 
was  surrounded  by  gross  vapours,  which,  caAm^ 
and  condensing  in  process  of  time,  consiituu-d,  ac- 
cording to  their  densities,  earth,  water,  and  .-lir; 
which  gradually  arranged  themselves,  accordln',-  ;o 
their  respective  gravities,  round  the  burning  or  vitri- 
fied mass  that  formed  their  centre. 

Hutton,  on  the  contrary,  supposes  that  the  wnter< 
at  first  were  universally  paramount ;  and  he  terrifies 
himself  with  the  idea  that  the  earth  must  lie  eventu- 
ally washed  away  by  the  force  of  rain,  nvcrs,  arJ 
mountain  torrents,  until  it  is  confounded  vsiih  the 
ocean,  or,  in  other  words,  .ibsolutely  dissolvis  Into 
itself.— Sublime  iflea!  far  surp-tssmg  that  01  the 
tender-hearted  damsel  of  antiquity,  who  wept  her- 
self into  a  fountain  ;  or  the  good  dame  of  N,irt)onnt 
in  France  who,  for  a  volubility  of  tongiic  unusual  in 
her  sex,  w.is  doomed  lo  peel  five  hundred  tlious.ini! 
and  thirty-nine  ropes  of  onions,  and  actually  run  out 
at  her  eyes  before  half  the  hideous  task  was  accom- 
plished. 

Whiston,  the  same  ingenious  philosopher  who 
rivalled  Ditton  in  his  rese.irchcs  after  the  lonj^tude, 
(for  which  the  mischief-loving  Swift  discharged  on 
their  heads  a  most  savoury  stanza,)  has  disiins^iished 
himself  by  a  very  admirable  theory  respecting  the 
earth.  He  conjectures  that  it  was  origiiially  a ihuotic 
comet,  which  being  selected  for  the  abode  of  man, 
was  removed  from  its  eccentric  orbit,  and  whirled 
round  the  sun  in  its  present  iregular  motion ;  by 
which  change  of  direction,  order  succeeded  to  con- 
fusion in  the  arrangement  of  its  component  pans. 
The  philosopher  adds,  that  the  deluge  w.-is  produced 
by  an  uncourteous  salute  from  the  watery  tail  of 
another  comet ;  doubtless  through  sheer  envy  of  its 
improved  condition:  thus  furnishing  a  melancholy 
proof  that  jealousy  may  prevail,  even  among  the 
heavenly  bodies,  and  discord  interrupt  that  celestial 
harmony  of  the  spheres  so  melodiously  sung  by  the 
poets. 

But  I  pass  over  a  variety  of  excellent  theories, 
among  which  are  those  of  Burnet,  and  Wcodwaril, 
and  .VVhitehurst ;  regretting  extremely  that  my  tim' 
will  not  suffer  me  to  give  them  the  notice  they  de- 
serve— and  shall  conclude  with  that  of  the  renowned 
Dr.  Darwin.  This  learned  Theban,  who  is  as  much 
distinguished  for  rhyme  as  reason,  and  for  good 
natured  credulity  as  serious  research,  and  who  has 
recommended  himself  wonderfully  to  the  good  graces 
of  the  ladies,  b)  letting  them  into  all  the  gallantnes, 
amours,  intrigues,  and  other  topics  of  scandal  of 


*  Johanne*  Mefapol«n«ia,  Jus.  Account  of  If  aqua 
Indiaot.    1644. 


I  or  M  ihaii) 


of  »«  hit  descend^,, 

iell  us.  that  a  prrjjnnni 
n.  ind  thai  a  .or"o  " 
luie  evrry  phcr  wi,' 
the  woman.  „„irn  ' 
'ith  her  han.l,  ;„  „,;; 
rth.  whence  if  Cpaii 
:anie  higher  tlun  tl,e 

lumber  more  of  these 
phers,  whose  .Irpiora. 

their  eriKhiion,  com. 
Rss  which  hiji  frw  of 

t--lli«ible  an.l  i'a.hi„n. 

uccessors. 

the  jfreat  niifTun,  who 

I  onginall/ a  Kl„be  of 

e  bcKly  of  the  sun.  by 

eel.  That  at  rir,.  ;, 
pours,  which,  crolmu 
time,  consiitiitci;,  ac- 
rth.  water,  am]  nif 
mselvcs,  accordm^..  ;o 
I  the  burning  or  vitri- 
itre. 

poses  that  the  w,ii«r< 

)unt ;  and  he  territio 

arth  must  lie  eventu- 

e  of  rain,  nvcrs,  and 

confounded  wjih  the 

olutely  dissolves  into 

■passinfj  that  ot  the 

luiiy.  who  wc|;t  her- 

kI  dame  of  Narlionr.t 

of  tonjfiic  unusual  in 

ve  huiidrfd  thonsanti 

,  and  actually  run  out 

(ous  task  was  accom- 

lus  philosopher  who 
!  after  the  lonjptude, 
Swift  discharjjed  on 
ta.)  has  distini^uished 
heory  respecting  the 
IS  orifrihallyai^/o/'/i: 
r  the  abode  of  man, 
c  orbit,  and  whirled 
regular  motion;  by 
r  succeeded  to  coa- 
ts component  parts. 
ieluge  was  produced 
the  watery  tail  of 
gh  sheer  envy  of  its 
shing  a  melancholy 
il,  even  among  the 
ernipt  that  celestial 
>diously  sung  by  the 

"  excellent  theories, 
et,  and  VVcodward, 
emely  that  iny  tim*' 
the  notice  they  de- 
lat  of  the  renowned 
lan,  who  is  as  much 
ion,  and  for  good 
arch,  and  who  has 
'  to  the  good  gracci 
I  all  the  gallantnes, 
pics  of  scandal  of 

of  IfaquMiarMihxal 


A   HISTORY  OF   NEW-YORIC. 


441 


1^  court  ol  Flora,  hu  fallen  upoti  a  theory  worthy 

Lhis  combustible  imagination.    According  to  hit 

Igpinion,  the  huge  matt  of  chaos  took  a  tuuden  oc- 

Icuiun  to  explode,  like  a  barrel  of  gunpowder,  and  in 

[ill  act  exploded  the  tun — which  in  its  flight,  by  a 

|iimil:ir  convulsion,  expMed  the  earth— which  in 

likr  K^''***'  exploded  the  moon — and  thus  by  a  cnn- 

|cii»i><'°'^  of  explosions,  the  whole  solar  system  was 

laDduced,  and  tet  most  systematically  in  motion  t* 

I   By  the  great  variety  of  theories  here  alluded  to, 

iwry  one  of  which,  if  thoroughly  examined,  will  be 

Ulund  surprisingly  consistent  in  all   its  parts,  my 

Liic^irned  readers  will  perhaps  Iw  led  to  conclude, 

lliit  the  creation  of  a  world  is  not  so  ditlicult  a  task 

II  they  at  first  imagineil.     I  have  shown  at  least  a 

icore  of  ingenious  methods  in  which  a  world  could 

b(  constructed  ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  had  any 

of  the  philosophers  alwve  quoted  the  use  of  a  good 

manageable  comet,  and  the  philosophical  warehouse 

(kaos  at  his  command,  he  would  engage  to  manu- 

fKture  a  planet  as  good,  or,  if  you  would  take  his 

{ word  for  it,  better  than  this  we  inhabit. 

And  here  1  cannot  help  noticing  the  kindness  o( 
Providence,  in  creating  comets  for  the  great  relief  of 
bewildered  philosophers.  By  their  assistance  more 
ludden  ci'olutions  and  transitions  are  effected  in  the 
jy^tim  of  nature,  than  are  wrought  in  a  pantomimic 
exhibition,  bv  the  wonder-working  sword  of  Harle- 
quin. Should  one  of  our  modem  sages,  in  his  thc- 
orttical  flights  among  the  stars,  ever  find  himself 
bsi  il)  the  clouds,  and  in  danger  of  tumbling  into 
the  abyss  of  nonsense  and  absurdity,  he  h.as  but  to 
seize  a  comet  by  the  beard,  mount  astride  of  its  tail, 
ami  away  he  gallops  in  triumph,  like  an  enchanter 
on  his  liippogritT,  or  a  Connecticut  witch  on  her 
bromii-stick,  "  to  sweep  the  cobwebs  out  of  the  sky." 

There  is  an  old  anil  vulgar  saving  about  a  "bcg- 
px  on  horseback,"  which  1  would  not  for  the  world 
Live  applied  to  these  reverend  philosophers ;  but  I 
inust  confess  that  some  of  them,  when  they  are 
mounted  on  one  of  those  fiery  steeds,  are  as  wild  in 
their  curvetings  as  was  I'hxton  of  yore,  when  he  as- 
pired to  manage  the  chariot  of  Phoebus.  One  drives 
his  comet  at  full  speed  against  the  sun.  and  knocks 
the  world  out  of  him  with  the  mighty  concussion  ; 
inother,  more  moderate,  makes  his  comet  a  mere 
beast  of  burden,  carrying  the  sun  a  regular  supply  of 
food  and  fagots ;  a  third,  of  more  combustible  dispo- 
sition, threatens  to  throw  his  comet,  like  a  bomb- 
shell, into  the  world  and  blow  it  up  like  a  powder- 
magazine;  while  a  fourth,  with  no  great  delfcacy  to 
this  planet  and  its  inhabitants,  insinuates  that  some 
day  or  other  his  comet — my  modest  pen  blushes 
while  I  write  it — shall  absolutely  turn  tail  upon  our 
world  and  deluge  it  with  water ! — Surely,  as  I  have 
ilready  observed,  comets  were  intended  by  Provi- 
dence tor  the  benefit  of  philosophers,  to  assist  them 
n  manufacturing  theories. 

And  now,  having  adduced  several  of  the  most 
prominent  theories  that  occur  to  my  recollection.  I 
leave  my  judicious  readers  at  full  liberty  to  choose 
among  them.  They  are  all  serious  specxilations  of 
learned  men— all  differ  essentially  from  each  other— 
and  all  have  the  same  title  to  belief.  It  has  ever 
be;ii  the  task  of  one  race  of  philosophers  to  demolish 
the  works  of  their  predecessors,  and  elevate  more 
splendid  fantasies  in  their  stead,  which  in  their  turn 
are  dc:.-  :li$hed  and  replaced  by  the  air-castles  of  a 
succeeding  generation.  Thus  it  would  seem  that 
knowledge  and  genius,  of  which  we  make  such  great 
parade,  consist  but  in  detecting  the  errors  and  ab- 
surdities of  those  who  have  gone  before,  and  devis- 
ing new  errors  and  absurdities,  to  be  detected  by 

•Danr  Bot  Gardca.  Put.  I.  Cant.  i.  L  toj. 


those  who  are  to  come  after  ut,  Theorict  are  th« 
mighty  toap<bubbles  with  which  tne  grown-up  chiU 
dren  of  tcience  amuse  themielvet — while  the  nunetl 
vulgar  stand  gazing  in  titipid  admiration,  and  dignify 
these  learned  vagnriet  with  the  name  of  witdom  t— 
S«irelv,  Socrates  Was  right  in  hit  opinion,  that  phi* 
losopf)ert  are  but  a  toberer  sort  of  miulmen.  butying 
themselves  in  things  totally  incomprehensible,  oi 
which,  if  they  could  be  comprehended,  would  be 
found  not  worth  the  trouble  of^discovery. 

For  my  own  part,  until  the  learned  have  come  to 
an  agreement  among  themselves,  I  shall  content  my- 
self with  the  account  handed  down  to  us  by  Moses  ; 
in  which  I  do  but  follow  the  example  of  oui  inge- 
nious ncighliours  of  Connecticut ;  who  at  their  first 
settlement  proclaimed  that  the  colony  should  be 
governed  by  the  laws  of  God — until  they  had  time  to 
make  better. 

One  thing,  however,  appears  certain  —  from  the 
unanimous  authority  of  the  before-quoted  philoso* 
phers.  supported  by  the  evidence  of  our  own  senses, 
(which,  though  very  apt  to  deceive  us,  may  be  cau- 
tiously admitted  as  additional  testimony,)  .t  appears, 
I  s<iy,  and  I  make  the  assertion  deliberately,  without 
fear  of  contradiction,  that  this  globe  really  was  crt- 
iiltd,  and  th.tt  it  is  composed  of  land  and  water ,  It 
farther  appears  that  it  is  curiously  divided  and  par- 
celled out  into  continents  and  islands,  among  wiiich 
I  Iroldly  declare  the  renowned  Island  or  New- 
York  will  be  found  by  any  one  who  seekt  for  it  in 
its  prd^cr  pl.ace. 


CHAPTER   III. 


HOW  THAT  KAM()i;S  NAVIGATOR,  NOAH,  WAI 
SHAMF.riJLLY  NICKNAMED;  AND  HOW  HR  CO'it- 
MITTKD  AN  UNPARDONABLE  OVKRSIOHT  IN 
NOT  HAVING  FOUR  SONS.  WITH  THE  GRF.AT 
TROUBLF.  OF  PHILOSOPHERS  CAUSED  THEREBY,  ' 
AND  THE   DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

NoAH.  who  is  the  first  sea-faring  man  we  read  of, 
begat  three  sons,  Shem.  Ham.  and  Japhet.  Authors, 
it  is  true,  are  not  wanting  who  affirm  that  the  pa- 
triarch had  a  number  of  other  children.  Thus  Bero- 
sus  makes  him  father  of  the  gigantic  Titans ;  Meth- 
odius gives  him  a  son  called  Jonithus.  or  jonicus, 
and  olhers  have  mentioneil  a  son  named  Thuiscon, 
from  whom  dr-scended  the  Teutons  or  Teutonic," or, 
in  other  wonls.  the  Dutch  nation. 

I  regret  exceedingly  that  the  nature  of  my  plan 
will  not  permit  me  to  gratify  the  laudable  curiosity 
of  my  readers,  by  investigating  minutely  the  history 
of  the  great  Noah.  Indeed,  such  an  undertaking 
would  be  attended  with  more  trouble  than  many 
people  would  imagine ;  for  the  good  old  patriarch 
seems  to  have  been  a  great  traveller  in  his  day,  and 
to  have  passed  under  a  different  name  in  every  coun- 
try that  he  visited.  The  Chaldeans,  for  instance, 
give  us  his  history,  merely  altering  his  name  into 
Xisuthrus — a  trivial  alteration,  which,  to  a  Historian 
skilled  in  etymologies,  will  appear  wholly  unimpor> 
tant.  It  appears,  likewise,  that  he  had  <xchang<»j 
his  tarpawling  and  quadrant  among  the  Chaldean t 
for  the  gorgeous  insignia  of  royalty,  and  api^ars  ai 
a  monarch  in  their  annals.  The  Egyptians  celebrate 
him  under  the  name  of  Osiris ;  the  Indians,  as  Menu ; 
the  Greek  and  Roman  writers  confound  him  with 
Ogyges,  and  the  Theban  with  Deucalion  and  Saturn. 
But  the  Chinese,  who  deservedly  rank  among  the 
most  extensive  and  authentic  historians,  inasmuch 
as  they  have  known  the  world  much  longer  than  any 
one  else,  declare  that  Noah  was  no  other  than  Fohi 


<42 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTOm    IRVING. 


and  what  gives  this  assertion  some  air  of  credibility 
is,  that  it  is  a  fact,  admitted  by  tiie  most  enlielitened 
literati,  that  Noah  travelled  into  China  at  the  time 
of  the  buildine  of  the  tower  of  Babel,  (probably  to 
improve  himself  in  the  study  of  languafires,)  and  the 
learned  Dr.  Shuckford  gives  us  the  additional  infor- 
mation, that  the  ark  rested  on  a  mountain  on  the 
frontiers  of  China. 

From  this  mass  of  rational  conjectures  and  sage 
b}potheses,  many  satisfactory  deductions  might  be 
drawn ;  but  I  shall  content  myself  with  the  simple 
fact  stated  in  the  Bible,  viz.,  that  Noah  begat  three 
sons,  Shem,  Ham,  and  Japhet.  It  is  astonishing  on 
what  remote  and  obscure  contingencies  the  great 
affairs  of  this  world  depend,  and  how  events  the 
most  distant,  and  to  the  common  observer  uncon- 
nected, are  inevitably  consequent  the  one  to  the 
other.  It  remains  for  the  philosopher  to  discover 
these  mysterious  aHinities,  and  it  is  the  pi  judest  tri- 
umph of  his  skill  to  detect  and  drag  forth  some 
latent  chain  of  causation,  which  at  first  sight  appears 
a  paradox  to  the  inexperienced  observer.  Thus 
many  of  my  readers  will  doubtless  wonder  what  con- 
nexion the  family  of  Noah  can  possibly  have  with 
this  history — ancl  many  will  stare  when  informed 
that  the  whole  history  of  this  quarter  of  the  world 
has  taken  its  character  and  course  from  the  simple 
circumstance  of  the  patriarch's  having  but  three 
sons — but  to  explain  : 

Noah,  we  are  told  by  sundry  very  credible  histo- 
rians, becoming  sole  surviving  heir  and  proprietor  of 
the  earth  in  fee  simple,  after  the  deluge,  like  a  good 
father,  portioned  out  his  estate  among  his  children. 
To  Shem  he  gave  Asia ;  to  Ham,  Africa ;  and  to 
Faphet,  Europe.  Now  it  is  a  thousand  times  to  be 
tamented  that  he  had  but  three  sons,  ibr  had  there 
been  a  fourth,  he  would  doubtless  have  inherited 
America  ;  which,  of  course,  would  have  been  drag- 
;ted  forth  from  its  obscurity  on  the  occ.  sion;  and 
thus  many  a  hard-working  historian  and  philosopher 
would  have  been  spared  a  prodigious  mass  of  weary 
conjecture  respecting  the  first  discovery  and  popula- 
tion of  this  country.  Noah,  however,  having  pro- 
vided for  his  three  sons,  looked  in  all  probability 
upon  our  country  as  mere  wild  unsettled  land,  and 
said  nothing  about  it ;  and  to  this  unpardonable 
taciturnity  of  the  patriarch,  may  we  ascribe  the  mis- 
fortune that  America  did  not  come  into  the  world  as 
early  as  the  other  quarters  of  the  globe. 

It  is  true,  some  writers  have  vindicated  him  from 
this  misconduct  towards  posterity,  and  asserted  that 
he  really  did  discover  America.  Thus  it  was  the 
opinion  of  Mark  Lescarbot,  a  French  writer,  pos- 
sessed of  that  ponderosity  of  thought  and  profound- 
ness of  reflection  so  peculiar  to  his  nation,  that  the 
immediate  descendants  of  Noah  peopled  this  quarter 
of  the  globe,  and  that  the  old  patriarch  himself,  who 
still  retained  a  passion  for  the  sea-faring  life,  super- 
intended the  transmigration.  The  pious  and  en- 
lightened father,  Charlevoix,  a  French  Jesuit,  re- 
markable for  his  aversion  to  the  man-ellous,  common 
to  all  great  travellers,  is  conclusively  of  the  same 
opinion  ;  nay,  he  goes  still  farther,  and  decides  upon 
the  manner  in  which  the  discovery  was  effected, 
which  was  by  sea,  and  under  the  immediate  direction 
of  the  great  Noah.  "  I  have  already  observed,"  ex- 
claims the  good  father,  in  a  tone  of  becoming  indig- 
nation, '  that  it  is  an  arbitrary  supposition  that  the 
grand-children  of  Noah  were  not  able  to  penetrate 
into  the  new  world,  or  that  they  never  thought  of  it. 
in  effect,  I  can  see  no  reason  that  can  justify  such  a 
notion.  Who  can  seriously  believe  that  Noah  and 
his  immediate  descendants  knew  less  than  we  do,  and 
that  the  builder  and  pilot  of  the  greatest  ship  that 
ever  was,  a  ship  which  was  formed  to  traverse  an  un- 


bound^ ocean,  aild  nad  so  .-nany  skoals  and  quick 
sands  to  guard  against,  should  be  ignorant  of,  oil 
should  not  have  communicated  to  hisdpsccndnntsi 
the  art  of  sailing  on  the  ocean?"  Thcretorf,  theil 
did  sail  on  the  ocean  —  therefore,  they  siilwl  toi 
America — therefore,  America  was  discovend  h.J 
Noah!  "H 

Now  all  this  exquisite  chain  of  reasoning,  which  '»] 
so  strikingly  characteristic  of  the  good  fathir,  heinBl 
addressed  to  the  faith,  rather  than  the  understundinif 
is  flatly  opposed  by  Hans  de  Laert,  who  dtchir-s  ij 
a  real  and  most  ndiculcus  paradox,  to  sup|iose  that ' 
Noah  ever  entertained    .he  thought  of  discoverino  I 
America ;  and  as  Hans  is  a  D-.itch  writer,  I  am  in- 
clined  to  believe  he  mus".  have  been  much  better  ac- 
quainted with  the  worthy  crew  of  the  ark  than  his 
competitors,  and  of  course  possessed  of  more  accurate  I 
sources  of  information.     It  is  astonishinij  how  intit 
mate  historians  do  daily  become  with  the  paiiiarchj 
and  other  great  men  of  anticiuity.     As  intiinacy  in- 
proves  with  time,  and  as  the  learned  are  paniciiiirly 
inquisitive  and  familiar  in  their  ac<|uaintance\v;ih  the 
ancients,  I  should  not  \yc  surprised  if  some  luiurc  wri- 
ters  should  gravely  give  us  a  picture  of  men  ami  man- 
ners as  they  existed  before  the  flood,  far  more  coi)ious 
and  accurate  than  the  Bible ;  and  that,  in  the  course 
of  another  century,  the  log-book  of  the  good  Noah 
should  be  as  current  among  historians,  as  the  voyages 
of  Captain  Cook,  or  the  renowned  history  ol  Rohm- 
son  Crusoe. 

I  shall  not  occupy  my  time  by  discussing  the  huge 
mass  of  additional  suppositions,  conjectures,  and 
probabilities,  respecting  the  first  discovery  of  this 
country,  with  which  unhappy  historians  overload 
themselves,  in  their  endeavours  to  satisfy  the  I'oubij 
of  an  incredulous  world.  It  is  painful  to  see  these 
laborious  wights  panting,  and  toiling,  and  sweating 
under  an  enormous  burden,  at  the  very  outset  of  then 
works,  which,  on  being  opened,  turns  out  to  be  noih 
ing  but  a  mighty  bundle  of  straw.  As,  however,  Ly 
unwearied  assiduity,  they  seem  to  have  establish .ii 
the  fact,  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  the  world,  that  this 
country  /tas  been  discovered,  I  shall  avail  myself  of 
their  useful  labours  to  be  extremely  brief  upon  this 
point. 

I  shall  not,  therefore,  stop  to  inquire,  whethet 
America  was  first  discovered  by  a  wandering  vt  ssel 
of  that  celebrated  Phoenician  fleet,  which,  accoiding 
to  Herodotus,  circumnavigated  Africa;  or  by  that 
Carthaginian  expedition,  which  Pliny,  the  naturalist, 
informs  Us,  discovered  the  Canary  Isl.inds;  or  wheiliei 
it  was  settled  by  a  temporary  colony  from  Tyre,  as 
hinted  by  Aristotle  and  Seneca.  I  shall  neither  in- 
quire whether  it  was  first  discovered  by  the  Chinese, 
as  Vossius  with  great  shrewdness  advance^  ;  nor  by 
the  Norwegians  in  1002,  under  Biorn  ;  nor  liy  Beheni. 
the  German  navigator,  as  Mr.  Otto  has  endeavoured 
to  prove  to  the  scavans  of  the  learned  city  of  Phila- 
delphia. 

Nor  shall  1  investigate  the  more  modem  claims  ot 
the  Welsh,  founded  on  the  voyage  of  prince  Madoc 
in  the  eleventh  century,  who  having  never  retuned, 
it  has  since  been  wisely  concluded  that  he  must  havf 
gone  to  America,  and  that  for  a  plain  reason— it  ht 
did  not  go  there,  where  else  could  he  have  gone  ?  •■ 
a  question  which  most  Socratically  shuts  out  al! 
farther  dispute. 

L.iying  aside,  therefore,  all  the  conjectures  abrvt 
mentioned,  with  a  multitude  of  others,  equally  satis- 
factory, I  shall  take  for  granted  the  vulgar  opinion 
that  America  was  discovered  on  the  12th  of  October, 
1492,  by  Christovallo  Colon,  a  Genoese,  who  ha: 
been  clumsily  nicknamed  Columbus,  but  for  what 
reason  I  cannot  discern.  Of  the  voyages  and  ad- 
ventures of  this  Colon.  I  shall  say  nothing,  seemg 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


443 


lan/jhoals  and  quick 

.dtoh.sdt..sc,.nuanu 
";         *  "''f-'lorc,  Ihei 
■fore.  th..y  sail,.,l  to 
was  discovi-rui  by 

o«  reasoning,  which  i, 

he  good  fatlvr.  Leing 

»an  the  understMndina' 

-aert,  who  dccLir-s  it 

radox,  to  suppose  that 

'ought  of  discoverino 

Ir,uch  writer.  I  am  in- 

been  much  better  ac  ' 

^  or  the  ark  than  his  1 

essed  of  more  accurate; 

astonishinjr  h,nv  inti. 

le  with  the  patriarchs 

iity.     As  intimacy  in. 

:arned  are  part itui.irlv 

ac(|uaintance  With  the 
led  ifsometutiircwri- 

tureofmena-iilman- 
lood.  far  more  copious 
nd  that,  in  the  course 
>k  of  the  jjood  N.;nh 
orians,  as  the  vovagcj 
led  history  ol  Roijin. 

y  discussing  the  huge 
)ns,   conjectures,  and 
irst  discovery  of  this 
historians   overload   ' 
to  satisfy  the  i.'uuhis 

I  painful  to  see  these 
[toiling,  and  sweatiiii. 
he  very  outset  of  then 

turns  out  to  be  noih- 

iw.     As,  however,  liy 

to  have  estah!ish;>d 

II  the  world,  that  this 
ihall  avail  mvself  of 
mely  brief  upon  this 

to  inquire,  whether 
Y  a  wandering  vessel 
^et,  which,  accoiding 

Africa;  or  by  that 
Pliny,  the  nalurahsi, 
ylsl.inds;  or  whether 
olony  from  Tyre,  as 
I  shall  neither  in- 
ered  by  the  Cliincse. 
«s  advance^  ;  nor  by 
iorn  ;  nor  J>y  Behen\ 
tto  has  endeavourei; 
:arned  city  of  Phila- 

rc  modem  claims  ot 
ge  of  prince  Mailoc 
ing  never  retutned, 
a  that  he  must  b  ivt 
plain  reason— if  h( 
Id  he  have  gone  ?■■• 
cally  shuts  out  a) 

:  conjecture?  abeve 
thers,  equally  satis. 
the  vulgar  opinion 
he  I2th  of  October, 
Genoese,  who  has 
bus,  but  for  what 
e  voyages  and  ad- 
lay  notljing,  seeing 


mat  they  are  already  sufficiently  known.  Nor  shall 
I  undertake  to  prove  that  this  country  should  have 
lieen  called  Colonia,  after  his  name,  that  being  no- 
toriously self-evident. 

Having  thus  happily  got  my  readers  on  this  side 
gf  the  Atlantic,  I  picture  them  to  myself,  all  impa- 
tience to  enter  upon  the  enjoyment  of  the  land  of 
proiiii.^5,  and  in  full  expectation  that  I  will  imme- 
lalely  deliver  it  into  their  possession.  But  if  I  do, 
,T;iy  !  ever  forfeit  the  reputation  of  a  regular-bred 
iii«t&r'an  !  No — no^most  curious  and  thrice  learned 
itiders,  (for  thrice  learned  ye  are,  if  ye  have  read 
i!l  that  has  gone  before,  and  nine  times  learned  shall 
^  be,  if  ye  read  that  which  comes  after,)  we  have 
yet  a  world  of  work  before  us.  Think  you  the  first 
discoverers  of  this  fair  quarter  of  the  globe  had  noth- 
ing to  do  but  go  on  shore  and  find  a  country  ready 
laid  out  and  cultivated  like  a  garden,  wherein  they 
might  revel  at  their  ease  ?  No  such  thing— they  had 
forests  to  cut  down,  underwood  to  grub  up,  marshes 
to  drain,  and  savages  to  exterminate. 

In  like  manner,  I  have  sundry  doubts  to  clear 
away,  questions  to  resolve,  and  paradoxes  to  explain, 
before  I  i)ermit  you  to  range  at  random ;  but  these 
difficulties  once  overcome,  we  shall  be  enabled  to 
jog  on  right  merrily  through  the  rest  of  our  history. 
Thus  my  work  shall,  in  a  manner,  echo  the  nature 
of  the  subject,  in  the  same  manner  as  the  sound  of 
poetry  has  been  found  by  certain  shrewd  critics  to 
echo  the  sense — this  being  an  improvement  in  his- 
tory, which  I  cl;um  the  merit  of  having  invented. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

taOVINO  THE  GREAT  DIFFICULTY  PHILOSO- 
rHKRS  HAVE  HAD  IN  PEOPLING  AMERICA- 
AMD  HOW  THE  ABORIGINES  CAME  TO  BE  BE- 
GOTTEN BY  ACCIDENT — TO  THE  GREAT  RE- 
LIEF AND  SATISFACTION  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 

The  next  inquiry  at  which  we  arrive  in  the  regu- 
lar course  of  our  histor>',  is  to  ascertain,  if  possible, 
how  this  coimtry  was  originally  peopled — a  point 
fmitful  of  incredible  embarrassment ;  for  unless  we 
prove  that  the  aborigines  did  absolutely  come  from 
somewhere,  it  will  be  immediately  asserted  in  this 
age  of  scepticism  that  they  did  not  come  at  all ;  and 
If  they  did  not  come  at  all,  then  was  this  country 
never  populated — a  conclusion  perfectly  a^eeable 
to  the  rules  of  logic,  but  wholly  irreconcilable  to 
every  feeling  of  humanity,  inasmuch  as  it  must  syllo- 
gistically  prove  fatal  to  the  innumerable  aborigines 
of  this  populous  region. 

To  avert  so  dire  a  sophism,  and  to  rescue  from 
logical  annihilation  so  many  millions  of  fellow-creat- 
ures, how  many  wings  of  geese  have  been  plundered  1 
what  oceans  of  inkliavebeen  benevolently  drained  ! 
ind  how  many  capacious  hea^s  of  learned  historians 
have  been  addled,  and  for  ever  confounded  !  I  pause 
with  reverential  awe,  when  I  contemplate  the  pon- 
4rrous  tomes,  in  different  languages,  with  which  they 
6»ve  endeavoured  to  solve  this  question,  so  important 
to  the  happiness  of  society,  but  so  involved  in  clouds 
c(  impenetrable  obscurity.  Historian  after  historian 
tus  engaged  in  the  endless  circle  of  hypothetical  argu- 
trent,  and  after  leading  us  a  weary  chase  through 
oruvos,  quartos,  and  folios,  has  let  us  out  at  the  end 
of  his  work  just  as  wise  as  we  were  at  the  beginning. 
It  was  doubtless  some  philosophical  wild-goose  chase 
of  the  kind  that  made  the  old  poet  Macrobius  rail  in 
luch  a  passion  at  curiosity,  which  he  anathematizes 
most,  heartily,  as  "an  irksome,  agonizing  care,  a 
«upeistitious  industry  alwut  unprofitable  tnings,  an 


itching  humour  to  see  what  is  not  to  be  seen,  and  to 
be  doing  what  signifies  nothing  when  it  is  done." 
But  to  proceed : 

Of  the  claims  of  the  children  of  Noah  to  the  origi- 
nal population  of  this  country,  I  shall  say  nothing,  as 
they  nave  already  been  touched  upon  in  my  last 
chapter.  The  claimants  next  in  celebrity,  are  the 
descendants  of  Abrciham.  Thus  Christoval  Colon 
(vulgariy  called  Columbus)  when  he  first  discovered 
the  gold  mines  of  Hispaniola,  immediately  con- 
cluded, with  a  shrewdness  that  would  have  doi?e 
honour  to  a  philosopher,  that  he  had  found  the 
ancient  Ophir,  from  whence  Solomon  procured  the 
gold  for  embellishing  the  temple  at  Jerusalem  ;  nay. 
Colon  even  imagined  that  he  saw  the  remains  of 
furnaces  of  veritable  Hebraic  construction,  employed 
in  refining  the  precious  ore. 

So  golden  a  conjecture,  tinctured  with  such  fasci- 
nating extravagance,  was  too  tempting  not  to  be  im- 
mediately snapped  at  by  the  gudgeons  of  learning 
and  accordingly,  there  were  divers  profound  writers, 
ready  to  swear  to  its  correctness,  and  to  bring  in 
their  usual  load  of  authorities,  and  wise  surmises, 
wherewithal  to  prop  it  up.  Vetablus  and  Robertiis 
Stephens  declared  nothing  could  be  more  clear— 
Arius  Montanus,  without  the  least  hesitation,  asserts 
that  Mexico  was  the  true  Ophir,  and  the  Jews  the 
early  settlers  of  the  country.  While  Possevin,  Becan, 
and  several  other  sagacious  writers,  lug  in  a  sup- 
posed  prophecy  of  the  fourth  book  of  Esdras,  which 
being  inserted  in  the  mighty  hypothesis,  like  the  key- 
stone of  an  arch,  gives  it,  in  their  opinion,  perpetual 
darability. 

Scarce,  however,  have  they  completed  their  goodly 
superstructure,  than  in  trudges  a  phalanx  of  opposite 
authors,  with  Hans  de  Laert,  the  great  Dutchman,  at 
their  head,  and  at  one  blow  tumbles  the  whole  fabric 
about  their  years.  Hans,  in  fact,  contradicts  outright 
all  the  Israelitish  claims  to  the  first  settlement  of  this 
country,  attributing  all  those  equivocal  symptoms, 
and  traces  of  Christianity  and  Judaism,  which  have 
been  said  to  be  found  in  divers  provinces  of  the  new 
world,  to  the  Devil,  who  has  always  affected  to 
counterfeit  the  worship  of  the  true  deity.  "  A  re- 
mark," says  the  knowing  old  Padre  d'Acosta,  "  made 
by  all  good  authors  who  have  s])oken  of  the  religion 
of  nations  newly  discovered,  and  founded  besides  on 
the  authority  of^the  fathers  of  the  church." 

Some  writers  again,  among  whom  it  is  with  great 
regret  I  am  compelled  to  mention  Lopez  de  Goinara, 
and  Juan  de  Leri,  insinuate  that  the  Canaanites, 
being  driven  from  the  land  of  promise  by  the  Jews, 
were  seized  with  such  a  panic  that  they  tied  without 
looking  behind  them,  until,  stopping  to  take  breath, 
they  found  themselves  safe  in  America.  As  they 
brought  neither  their  national  language,  manners,  nor 
features  with  them,  it  is  supposed  they  left  them  be- 
hind in  the  hurry  of  their  flight — I  cannot  give  my 
faith  to  this  opinion. 

I  pass  over  the  supposition  of  the  learned  Grotius, 
who  being  both  an  ambassador  and  a  Dutchman  to 
boot,  is  entitled  to  gre.at  respect ;  that  Noi  th  America 
was  peopled  by  a  strolli'  '  company  of  Horwegiani, 
and  that  Peru  was  fouiuicd  by  a  colony  horn  China 
— Manco  or  Mango  Capac,  the  first  Incas,  being 
himself  a  Chinese.  Nor  shall  I  more  than  barely 
mention,  that  father  Kircher  ascribes  the  settlement 
of  America  to  the  Egyptians,  Rudbeck  to  the  Scan- 
dinavians, Charron  to  tlie  Gauls,  Juffredus  Petri  to  a 
skating  party  from  Friesland,  Milius  to  the  Celtae, 
Marinocus  the  Sicilian  to  the  Romans,  Le  Compte 
to  the  Phoenicians,  Postel  to  the  Moors,  Martyn 
d'Angleria  to  the  Abyssinians,  together  with  the 
sage  surmise  of  De  Laert,  that  England,  Ireland,  and 
the  Orcades  may  contend  for  that  honour. 


444 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


m^^' 


WV-;M 


1^*"-' 


Nor  will  I  bestow  any  more  attention  or  credit  to 
the  idea  that  America  is  the  fairy  region  of  Zipangri, 
described  by  that  dreaming  traveller,  Marco  Polo, 
:he  Venetian ;  or  that  it  comprises  the  visionary 
island  of  Atlantis,  described  by  Plato.  Neither  will 
I  stop  to  investigate  the  heathenish  assertion  of 
Paracelsus,  that  each  hemisphere  of  the  globe  was 
originally  furnished  with  an  Adam  and  Eve— or  the 
iTiOre  flattering  opinion  of  Dr.  Romayne,  supported 
by  many  nameless  authorities,  that  Adam  was  of  the 
Indian  race— or  the  startling  conjecture  of  Buffon, 
llelvetius,  and  Darwin,  so  highly  honourable  to  man- 
kind, that  the  whole  human  species  is  accidentally 
descended  from  a  remarkable  family  of  monkeys ! 

This  last  conjecture,  I  must  own,  came  upon  me 
very  suddenly  and  very  ungraciously.  I  have  often 
beheld  the  clown  in  a  pantomime,  while  gazing  in 
stupid  wonder  at  the  extravagant  gambols  of  a  har- 
lequin, all  at  once  electrified  by  a  sudden  stroke  of 
the  wooden  sword  across  his  shoulders.  Little  did  I 
think  at  such  times,  that  it  would  ever  fall  to  my  lot 
to  be  treated  with  equal  discourtesy ;  and  that  while 
I  was  quietly  Beholding  these  grave  philosophers, 
emulating  the  eccentric  transformations  of  the  hero 
of  pantomime,  they  would  on  a  sudden  turn  upon  me 
and  my  readers,  and  with  one  hypothetical  nourish 
Metamorphose  us  into  beasts!  I  determined  from 
that  moment  not  to  bum  my  fingers  with  any  more 
of  their  theories,  but  content  myself  with  detailing 
the  different  methods  by  which  they  transported  the 
descendants  of  these  ancient  and  respectable  mon- 
kera  to  this  great  field  of  theoretical  warfare. 

This  was  done  either  by  migrations  by  land  or 
transmigrations  by  water.  Thus,  Padre  Joseph 
D'Acosta  enumerates  three  passages  by  land — first 
by  the  north  of  Europe,  secondly  by  the  north  of 
Asia,  and  thirdly  by  regions  southward  of  the  straits 
fff  Magi'.llan.  The  learned  Grotius  marches  his  Nor- 
wegians by  a  plea*ant  route  across  frozen  rivers  and 
trms  of  the  sea,  through  Iceland,  Greenland,  Estoti- 
I&nd,  and  Naremberga :  and  various  writers,  among 
whom  are  Angleria,  De  Homn,  and  ButTon,  anxious 
for  the  accommodation  of  these  travellers,  have  fas- 
tened the  two  continents  together  by  a  strong  chain 
of  deductions — by  which  means  they  could  pass  over 
dry-shod.  But  should  even  this  fail,  Pinkerton,  that 
industrious  old  gentleman  who  compiles  books  and 
manufactures  geographies,  has  constructed  a  natural 
bridge  of  ice,  from  continent  to  continent,  at  the  dis- 
tance of  four  or  five  miles  from  Behring's  straits — 
for  which  he  is  entitled  to  the  grateful  thanks  of  all 
the  wandering  aborigines  who  ever  did  or  ever  will 
pass  over  it. 

It  is  an  evil  much  to  be  lamented,  that  none  of  the 
worthy  writers  above  quoted  could  ever  commence 
his  work,  without  immediately  declaring  hostilities 
against  every  writer  who  had  treated  of  the  same 
subject.  In  this  particular,  authors  may  be  compared 
to  a  certain  sagacious  bird,  which,  in  building  its 
nest,  is  sure  to  pull  to  pieces  the  nests  of  all  the  birds 
m  the  neighbourhood.  This  unhappy  propensity 
tends  grievously  to  impede  the  progress  of  sound 
knowledge.  Theories  are  at  best  but  brittle  produc- 
dons.  and  when  once  committed  to  the  stream, 
they  should  take  care  that,  like  the  notable  pots 
which  were  fellow-voyagers,  they  do  not  crack  each 
other. 

My  chief  surprise  is,  that  among  the  many  writers 
I  have  noticed,  no  one  Vas  attempted  to  prove  that 
this  country  was  peopled  from  the  moon^-or  that 
the  first  inhabitants  floated  hither  on  islands  of  ice, 
as  white  bear»<cruise  about  the  northern  oceans — or 
that  they  were  conveyed  hither  by  balloons,  as  mod- 
em aeronauts  pass  from  Dover  to  Calais— or  by 
witchcraft,  as  Simon  Magus  posted  among  the  stars 


—or  after  the  manner  of  the  renowned  ScytHag 
Abaris,  who,  like  the  New-England  witches  on  full. 
blooded  broomsticks,  made  most  unheard-of  journeyi 
on  the  back  of  a  golden  arrow,  given  him  by  the 
Hyperborean  Apollo. 

But  there  is  still  one  mode  left,by  which  this  coun- 
try could  have  been  peopled,  which  1  have  r'^served 
for  the  last,  because  I  consider  it  worth  all  the  rest; 
it  is — fiy  accident  I  Speaking  of  the  islands  of  Solo 
mon,  New-Guinea,  and  New-Holland,  the  profound 
father  Charlevoix  observes,  "  in  fine,  all  these  coun 
tries  are  peopled,  and  it  is  possible  some  have  been 
so  by  accident.  Now  if  it  could  have  happened  h, 
that  manner,  why  might  it  not  have  been  at  tli«  mmt 
time,  and  by  the  same  means,  with  the  other  part  of 
the  globe?"  This  ingenious  mode  of  deducing 
certain  conclusions  from  possible  premises,  is  an  im- 
provement in  syllogistic  skill,  and  proves  tlie  good 
lather  superior  even  to  Archimedes,  for  he  can  turn 
the  world  without  any  thing  to  rest  his  lever  upon. 
It  is  Only  surpassed  by  the  dexterity  with  which  ttif; 
sturdy  old  Jesuit,  in  another  place,  cuts  the  gordian 
knot. — "  Nothing,"  says  he, "  is  more  easy.  The  in 
habitants  of  both  hemispheres  are  certainly  the  de. 
scendants  of  the  same  father.  The  common  father 
of  mankind  received  an  express  order  from  Heaven 
to  people  the  world,  and  accordingly  it  has  betn  peo- 
pled. To  bring  this  about,  it  was  necessary  to  over- 
come  all  difficulties  in  the  way,  and  they  hnve  iht 
been  overcome  I"    Pious  logician!    How  does  hi 

Cut  all  the  herd  of  laborious  theorists  to  the  blush, 
y  explaining,  in  five  words,  what  it  has  cost  then 
volumes  to  prove  they  knew  nothing  about. 

From  all  the  authorities  here  quoted,  and  a  variety 
of  others  which  I  have  consulted,  but  which  an 
omitted  through  fear  of  fatiguing  the  unlearned 
reader — I  can  only  draw  the  following  conclusions, 
which  luckily,  however,  are  sufficient  for  my  pui  post 
— First,  that  this  part  of  the  world  has  actually  ban 
peopled,  (Q.  E.  D.)  to  support  which  we  have  living 
proofs  in  the  numerous  tribes  of  Indians  that  inhabit 
It.  Secondly,  that  it  has  been  peopled  in  five  hun- 
dred different  ways,  as  proved  by  a  cloud  of  authors, 
who,  from  the  positiveiwiss  of  their  asfertions,  seem 
to  have  been  eye-witnesses  to  the  fact.  Thirdly,  that 
the  people  of  this  country  had  a  variety  of  fathers, 
which,  as  it  may  not  be  thought  much  to  tneir  credit 
by  the  common  run  of  readers,  the  less  we  say  on 
the  subject  the  better.  The  question,  therefore,  ! 
tmst,  is  for  ever  at  rest. 


.^         CHAPTER  V. 

IN  WHICH  THE  AUTHOR  PUTS  A  MIGHTY  QUES 
TION  TO  THE  ROUT  BY  THE  ASSISTANCE  C'F 
THE  MAN  IN  THE  MOCN— WHICH  N.OT  ONLY 
DELIVERS  THOUSANDS  OR  PEOPLE  FROM  GREAT 
EMBARRASSMENT,  BUT  LIKEWISE  CONCLUDt:? 
THIS  INTRODUCTORY   BOOK. 

The  writer  of  a  history  may,  in  some  respects,  be 
likened  unto  an  adventurous  knight,  who  having 
undertaken  a  perilous  enterprise,  by  way  of  establish- 
ing Ills  fame,  feels  bound  in  honour  and  chivalry,  tc 
turn  back  for  no  difficulty  nor  hardship,  and  never  to 
shrink  or  quail,  whatever  enemy  he  may  encounter 
Under  this  impression,  I  resolutely  draw  my  pen, 
and  fall  to,  with  might  and  main,  at  those  doughtv 
Questions  and  subUe  paradoxes,  which,  like  fiery 
aragons  and  bloody  giants,  beset  the  entrance  to  my 
history,  and  would  fain  repulse  me  from  the  ver\ 
threshold.  And  at  this  moment  a  gigantic  question 
has  started  up,  which  I  must  dmos  take' by  th( 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


445 


petrd  and  utterly  subdue,  before  I  can  advance  an- 
other step  in  my  historic  undertaking ;  but  I  trust 
this  will  be  the  last  adversary  I  shall  have  to  contend 
with,  and  that  in  the  next  book  I  shall  be  enabled  to 
conduct  my  readers  in  triumph  into  the  body  of  my 
work. 

The  question  which  has  thus  suddenly  arisen,  is, 
that  right  had  the  first  discoverers  of  America  tc 
lind  and  take  possession  of  a  country,  without  first 

S lining  the  consent  of  its  inhabitants,  or  yielding 
cm  an  adequate  compensation  for  their  territory? 
.4  question  which  has  withstood  many  fierce  as- 
nults,  and  has  given  much  distress  of  mind  to  multi- 
tudes of  kind-hearted  folk.  And,  indeed,  until  it  be 
totally  vanquished,  and  put  to  rest,  the  worthy  peo- 
ple of  America  can  by  no  means  enjoy  the  soil  they 
inhabit,  with  clear  right  and  title,  and  quiet,  unsul- 
lied consciences. 

The  first  source  of  right,  by  which  property  is  ac- 
quired in  a  country,  is  DISCOVERY.  For  as  all  man- 
kind have  an  equal  right  to  any  thing  w..{ch  has 
never  before  been  appropriated,  so  any  nation  that 
discovers  an  uninhabited  country,  and  takes  posses- 
sion thereof,  is  considered  as  enjoying  full  property, 
and  absolute,  unquestionable  empire  therein.* 

This  proposition  being  admitted,  it  follows  clearly 
that  the  Europeans  who  first  visited  America  were 
the  real  discoverers  of  the  same ;  nothing  being  nec- 
essary to  the  establishment  of  this  fact,  but  simply 
to  prove  that  it  was  totally  uninhabited  by  man. 
This  would,  at  first,  appear  to  be  a  point  of  some 
difficulty,  for  it  is  well  known  that  this  quarter  of  the 
world  abounded  with  certain  animals  that  walked 
erect  on  two  feet,  had  something  of  the  human 
countenance,  uttered  certain  unintelligible  sounds 
very  much  like  language ;  in  short,  had  a  marvellous 
resemblance  to  human  beings.  But  the  zealous  and 
enlightened  fathers,  who  accompanied  the  discover- 
ers, for  the  purpose  of  promotmg  thS  kingdom  of 
heaven,  by  establishing  fat  monasteries  and  bishoprics 
en  earth,  soon  cleared  up  this  point,  greatly  to  the 
satisfaction  of  his  holiness  the  Pope,  and  of  all  Chris- 
tian voyagers  and  discoverers. 

They  plainly  proved,  and  as  there  were  no  Indian 
writers  arose  on  the  other  side,  the  fact  was  con- 
sidered as  fully  admitted  and  established,  that  the 
two-legged  race  of  animals  before  mentioned  were 
mere  cannibals,  detestable  monsters,  and  many  of 
them  grants — which  last  description  of  vagrants  have, 
since  the  time  of  Gog,  Magog,  and  Goliath,  been 
considered  as  outlaws,  and  have  received  no  quarter 
in  either  history,  chivaiiy,  or  song.  Indeed,  even  the 
philoi^ophic  Bacon  declared  the  Americans  to  be 
people  proscribed  by  the  laws  of  nature,  inasmuch  as 
they  had  a  barbarous  custom  of  sacrificing  men,  and 
feeding  upon  man's  flesh. 

Nor  are  these  all  the  proofs  of  their  utter  barbar- 
ism: amonf  many  other  writers  of  discernment, 
Ulloa  tells  us,  "  their  imbecility  is  so  visible,  that  one 
can  hardly  form  an  idea  of  them  different  from  what 
one  has  of  the  brutes.  Nothing  disturbs  the  tran- 
quillity of  their  souls,  equally  insensible  to  disasters 
and  to  prosperity.  Though  half  naked,  they  are  as 
contented  as  a  monarch  ''n  his  most  splendid  array. 
Fear  makes  no  impression  on  them,  and  respect  as 
little."  All  this  is  furthermo.<«  supported  by  the  au- 
thority of  M.  Bouguer :  "  It  is  not  easy,"  says  he, 
"to  describe  the  degree  of  their  indifference  for 
wealth  and  all  its  advantages.  One  does  not  well 
know  what  motives  to  propose  to  them,  when  one 
would  persuade  them  to  any  service,  h  is  vain  to 
offer  them  money;  they  answer  that  they  ve  not 
hungry."    And  Vanegas  confirms  the  whole  assur- 


ing us  that  "  ambition  they  have  none,  and  are  mon 
desirous  of  being  thought  strong  than  valiant.  The 
objects  of  ambition  with  us — honour,  fame,  repula- 
tion,  riches,  posts,  and  distinctions — are  unknowp 
among  them.  So  that  this  powerful  spring  of  action 
the  cause  of  so  much  seeming'  good  and  real  evil  in 
the  world,  has  no  power  over  them.  In  a  word,  thfse 
unhappy  mortals  may  be  compared  to  children,  in 
whom  the  development  of  reason  is  not  completed." 

Now  all  these  peculiarities,  although  in  the  unen- 
lightened states  of  Greece  they  would  have  entitled 
their  possessors  to  immortal  honour,  as  having  re- 
duced to  practice  those  rigid  and  abstemious  maxims, 
the  mere  talking  about  which  acouired  certain  old 
Greeks  the  reputation  of  sages  and  philosophers ; — 
yet,  were  they  clearly  proved  in  the  present  instance 
to  betoken  a  most  abject  and  brutiiied  nature,  totally 
beneath  the  human  isharacter.  But  the  benevolent 
fathers,  who  had  undertaken  to  turn  these  unhappy 
savages  into  dumb  beasts,  by  dint  of  argument,  ad- 
vanced still  stronger  proofs ;  for  as  certain  divines  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  and  among  the  rest,  Lullus, 
afTirm — the  Americans  go  naked,  and  have  no  beards  ! 
— "  They  have  nothing,  says  Lullus,  "  of  the  reason- 
able animal,  except  the  tnask." — And  even  that  mask 
was  allowed  to  avail  them  but  little,  for  it  was  soon 
found  that  they  were  of  a  hideous  copper  complexion 
— and  being  of  a  copper  complexion,  it  was  all  the 
same  as  if  they  were  negroes — and  negroes  are 
black,  "  and  black."  said  the  pious  fathers,  devouJy^ 
crossing  themselves,  "  is  the  colour  of  the  Devil ! 
Therefore,  so  far  from  being  able  to  own  property, 
they  had  no  right  even  to  personal  freedom — for 
liberty  is  too  radiant  a  deity  to  inhabit  such  gloomy 
temples.  All  which  circumstance  plainly  convinced 
the  righteous  followers  of  Cortes  and  Piiarro,  thai 
these  miscreants  had  no  title  to  the  soil  that  they  in- 
fested— that  they  were  a  perverse,  illiterate,  dumb, 
beardless,  black-seed — mere  wild  beasts  of  the  forests, 
and,  lik«  them,  should  either  be  subdued  or  extermi- 
nated. 

From  the  foregoing  arguments,  therefore,  and  a 
variety  of  othsrs  equally  conclusive,  which  I  forbear 
to  enumerate,  it  is  clearly  evident  that  this  fair 
quarter  of  the  globe,  when  first  visited  by  Europeans, 
was  a  howling  wilderness,  inhabited  by  nothing  but 
wild  beasts ;  and  that  the  transatlantic  visitors  ac- 
quired an  incontrovertible  property  therein,  by  the 
rt^A/  of  discovery. 

This  right  being  fully  established,  we  now  come 
to  the  next,  which  is  the  right  acquired  by  cultivatidn, 
"  The  cultivation  of  th'e  soil,"  we  are  told, "  is  an  ob- 
ligation imposed  by  nature  on  mankind.  The  whole 
world  is  appointed  for  the  nourishment  of  its  in- 
habitants :  but  it  would  be  incapable  of  doing  it,  was 
it  uncultivated.  Every  nation  is  then  obliged  by  the 
law  of  nature  to  cultivate  the  ground  that  has  fallen 
to  its  share.  Those  people,  like  the  ancient  Germans 
and  modem  Tartars,  who,  having  fertile  countries, 
disdain  to  cultivate  the  earth,  and  choose  to  live  by 
rapine,  are  wanting  to  themselves,  and  deserae  to  bt 
exterminated  as  savage  and  pernicious  beasts.* 

Now  it  is  notorious,  that  the  savages  knew  nothing 
of  agriculture,  when  first  discovered  by  the  Euro* 
peans,  but  lived  a  most  vagabond,  disorderly,  un- 
righteous life, — rambling  from  place  to  place,  and 
prodigally  rioting  upon  the  spontaneous  liuoiries  of 
nature,  without  tasking  her  generosity  to  )'ield  them 
any  thing  more ;  whereas  it  has  been  most  unquestion- 
ably shown,  that  Heaven  intended  the  earth  should  be 
ploughed  and  sown,  and  manured,  and  laid  out  into 
cities,  and  towns,  and  farms,  and  country-seats,  and 
pleasure  grounds,  and  public  gardens,  all  which  the 


•  OtotlH  PufbadMf  V  V.  c  4.   Vattd,  k,  i. «.  rt,  «lSi 


Vaiul,  b.  i.  ck.  If. 


•46 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Indians  knew  nothing  about — tlieretore,  tliey  did  not 
•m  prove  the  talents  Providence  had  bestowed  on 
them — therefore,  they  were  careless  stewards — there- 
fore, thev  had  no  right  to  the  soil — therefore,  they 
desfrvpcf  to  be  exterminated. 

It  is  true,  the  savages  might  plead  that  they  drew 
all  the  benefits  from  the  land  which  their  simple 
wants  required — they  found  plenty  of  game  to  hunt, 
which,  together  with  the  roots  and  uncultivated  fruits 
of  the  earth,  furnished  a  sufficient  variety  /or  their 
frugal  repasts  ; — and  th."\t  as  Heaven  merely  designed 
the  earth  to  form  the  abode,  and  satisfy  the  wants  of 
man  ;  so  long  as  those  purposes  were  answered,  the 
will  of  Heaven  was  accomplished. — But  this  only 
proves  how  undeserving  they  were  of  the  blessings 
around  them — they  were  so  much  the  more  savages, 
for  not  having  more  wants ;  for  Igiowledge  is  in  some 
degree  an  increase  of  desires,  and  it  is  this  superiority, 
both  in  the  number  and  magnitude  of  his  desires,  that 
distinguishes  the  man  from  the  beast.  Therefore,  the 
Indians,  in  not  having  more  wants,  were  very  unrea- 
sonable animals  ;  and  it  was  but  just  that  they  should 
make  way  for  the  Europeans,  who  had  a  tnousand 
wants  to  their  one,  and,  therefore,  would  turn  the 
earth  to  more  account,  and  by  cultivating  it,  more 
truly  fulfil  the  will  of  Heaven.  Besides — Grotius 
and  Lauterbach,  and  PufTendorff,  and  Titus,  and 
many  wise  men  beside,  who  have  considered  the 
matter  properly,  have  determined  that  the  property 
of  a  country  cannot  be  acquired  by  hunting,  cutting 
wood,  or  drawing  water  in  it — nothing  but  precise 
demarcation  of  limits,  and  the  intention  of  cultivation, 
can  establish  the  possession.  Now,  as  the  savages 
(probably  from  never  having  read  the  authors  al>ove 
quoted)  had  never  compliecTwith  any  of  these  neces- 
sary forms,  it  plainly  followed  that  they  had  no  right 
to  the  soil,  but  that  it  was  completely  at  the  disposal 
ot  the  first  comers,  who  had  more  knowledge,  mure 
WKnts,  and  more  elegant,  that  is  to  say,  artihcial  de- 
lires  than  themselves. 

In  entering  upon  a  newly-discovered,  uncultivated 
country,  therefore,  the  new  comers  were  but  taking 
possession  of  what,  according  to  the  aforesaid  doc- 
trine, was  their  own  property — therefore,  in  opposing 
them,  the  savages  were  mvading  their  just  rights,  in- 
fringing the  immutable  laws  of  Nature,  and  coun- 
teracting the  will  of  Heaven — therefore,  they  were 
guilty  of  impiety,  burglary,  and  trespass  on  the  case, 
— therefore,  they  were  hardened  offenders  against 
God  and  man — therefore,  they  ought  to  be  extermi- 
nated. 

But  a  more  irresistible  right  than  either  that  I 
have  mentioned,  and  one  which  will  be  the  most 
readily  admitted  by  my  reader,  provide<l  he  be  blessed 
with  bowels  of  charity  and  philanthropy,  is  the  right 
acquired  by  civilization.  All  the  world  knows  the 
lamentable  state  in  which  these  poor  savages  were 
found — not  only  deficient  in  the  comforts  of  life,  but 
what  is  still  worse,  most  piteously  and  unfortunate- 
ly blind  to  the  miseries  of  their  situation.  But  no 
sooner  did  the  benevolent  inhabitants  of  Europe  be- 
hold their  sad  condition,  than  they  immediately  went 
to  work  to  meliorate  and  improve  it.  They  intro- 
duced among  them  rum,  gin,  brandy,  and  the  other 
comforts  of  life — and  it  is  astonishing  to  read  how 
■con  the  pooi  savages  learned  to  estimate  these  bless- 
bigs — they  likewise  made  known  to  them  a  thousand 
remedies,  by  which  the  most  inveterate  diseases  are 
alleviated  and  healed;  and  that  they  might  compre- 
hend the  benefits  and  enjoy  the  comforts  of  these 
medicines,  they  previously  introduced  among  them 
the  diseases  which  they  were  calculated  to  cure.  By 
these,  and  a  variety  of  other  methods  was  the  condi- 
tion of  these  poor  savages  wonderfully  improved ; 
the>  acquired  a  thousand  wants,  of  which  they  had 


before  been  ignorant ;  and  as  he  has  most  soutces  d 
happiness  who  has  most  wants  lo  be  gratified,  thei 
were  doubtlessly  rendered  a  much  happier  race  of 
beings. 

But  the  most  important  branch  of  civilization,  and 
which  has  most  strenuously  been  extolled  hy  th( 
zealous  and  pious  fathers  of  the  Romish  Church,  is 
the  introduction  of  the  Christian  faith.  It  was  tiu'j 
a  sight  that  might  well  inspire  horror,  to  behold  thesf 
savages  stumbling  among  the  dark  mountains  oi  p,, 
ganism,  and  guilty  of  the  most  horrible  ignorance  o: 
religion.  It  is  true,  they  neither  stole  nor  defi auikd 
they  were  sober,  frugal,  continent,  and  faithful  ic 
their  word ;  but  though  they  acted  right  habiiii;il|y 
it  was  all  in  vain,  unless  they  acted  so  from  preci  p't 
The  new  comers,  therefore,  used  every  method  to  iii 
duce  them  to  embrace  and  practise  the  true  religior 
— except  indeed  that  of  setting  them  the  exampli-. 

But  notwithstanding  all  these  complicated  laboun 
for  their  good,  such  was  the  unparalleled  obstinacy  of 
these  stubborn  wretches,  that  they  ungratefully  re- 
fused to  acknowledge  the  strangers  as  their  benefac- 
tors, and  persisted  in  disbelieving  the  doctrines  they 
endeavoured  to  inculcate ;  most  insolently  allet^ing. 
that  from  their  conduct,  the  advocates  of  Christianity 
did  not  seem  to  believe  in  it  themselves.  Was  not 
this  too  much  for  human  patience? — would  not  one 
suppose  that  the  benign  visitants  from  Europe,  pro- 
voked at  their  incredulity,  and  discouraged  by  thtir 
stiff-necked  obstinacy,  would  for  ever  have  abandon- 
ed their  shores,  and  consigned  them  to  their  original 
ignorance  and  misery  ? — But  no — so  zealous  w  ere 
tney  to  effect  the  temporal  comfort  and  eternal  sal- 
vation of  these  pagan  itTfidels,  that  they  even  pro- 
ceeded from  the  milder  means  of  persuasion,  to  rhc 
more  painful  and  troublesome  one  of  persecution,  lei 
loose  among  them  whole  troops  of  fiery  monks  in6 
furious  bloodhounds— purified  them  by  fire  and  sword, 
by  stake  and  fagot ;  in  consequence  of  which  inde- 
fatigable measures,  the  cause  of  Christian  love  and 
charity  was  so  rapidly  advanced,  that  in  a  very  tew 
years  not  one-fifth  of  the  number  of  unbelievers  ex- 
isted in  South  America  that  were  found  there  at  the 
time  of  its  discovery. 

What  stronger  right  need  the  European  settlers 
advance  to  the  country  than  this  ?  Have  not  whole 
nations  of  uninformed  savages  been  made  acquainted 
with  a  thousand  imperious  wants  and  indispensable 
comforts,  of  which  they  were  before  wholly  igno- 
rant?—  Have  they  not  been  literally  hunted  and 
smoked  out  of  the  dens  and  lurking-places  of  igno- 
rance and  infidelity,  and  absolutely  scourged  into 
the  right  path  ? — Have  not  the  temporal  things,  the 
vain  baubles  and  filth\  re  of  this  world,  which 
were  too  apt  to  engage  their  worldly  and  seltish 
thoughts,  been  benevolently  taken  from  them  ?  and 
have  they  not,  instead  thereof,  been  taught  to  set 
their  affections  on  things  above? — And  finally,  to 
use  the  words  of  a  reverend  Spanish  father,  in  a  let 
terto  his  superior  in  Spain — "Can  any  one  have  the 
presumption  to  say,  that  these  savage  pagans  have 
yielded  any  thing  more  than  an  inconsiderable  rec- 
ompense to  their  benefactors,  in  surrendering  to 
them  a  little  pitiful  tract  of  this  dfrty  sublunar) 
planet,  in  exchange  for  a  glorious  inheritance  in  tlu 
kingdom  of  heaven  ! " 

Here,  then,  are  three  complete  and  undeniable 
sources  of  right  established,  any  one  of  which  was 
more  than  ample  to  establish  a  property  in  tlie 
newly-discovered  regions  of  America.  Now,  so  it 
has  happened  in  certain  parts  of  this  delightful 
quarter  of  t^e  globe,  that  the  right  of  discovery  h.is 
been  so  strenuously  asserted — the  influence  of  culii 
vation  so  industriously  extended,  and  the  progres; 
j  of  salvation  and  civilization  so  zealously  prosecuiec 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


447 


las  most  sources  ot 
'w  u  e^*'fi«l,  the, 
:n  happier  race  q\ 

of  civilization,  and 
:n  extolled  by  ,f,j 
Romish  Church,  ij 
faith.     It  was  tiu'» 
ror,  to  behold  thes' 
k  mountains  oi  [,,, 
rrible  ignoratu^  o: 
oienordefiaudiij 
nt,  and  faithlul  ic 
d  right  habit  11,1  !|y 
d  so  from  precin't 
ivery  method  to  n, 
le  the  true  religior 
jm  the  exampli', 
omphcated  laboup 
Jleled  obstinncv  of 
ey  ungratefully  re- 
s  as  their  benefac- 
the  doctrines  they 
insolently  allcsfing, 
ates  of  Christianity 
nselves.    Was  noi 
i  ? — would  not  one 
from  Europe,  pro- 
icouraged  by  their 
ver  have  abandon- 
m  to  their  original 
—so  zealous  were 
rt  and  eternal  sal- 
at  they  even  pro- 
persuasion,  to  rhc 
of  persecution.  H 
»f  fiery  monks  and 
»  by  tire  and  sword, 
ice  of  which  inde- 
Christian  love  and 
that  in  a  very  lew 
of  unbelievers  ex- 
found  there  at  the 

European  settlers 
'  Have  not  whole 
1  made  acquainted 
and  indispensahle 
fore  wholly  igno- 
rally  hunted  and 
ig-places  of  igno- 
ely  scourged  into 
nporal  things,  the 
this  world,  which 
orldly  and  selfish 

from  them .'  and 
en  taught  to  set 
—And  finally,  to 
ih  father,  in  a  let- 
any  one  have  the 
■age  pagans  have 
considerable  rec- 

surrendfring  to 
i  dirty  sublunar) 
[iheritance  in  the 

and  undeniable 
le  of  which  was 

property  in  the 
ca.  Now,  so  it 
■  this  delightful 
of  discovery  has 
ifluence  of  culii- 
nd  the  progress 
>usly  prosecuiet: 


(bat.  what  with  their  attendant  wars,  persecutions, 
oppressions,  dista:  s,  and  other  partial  evils  that 
often  hang  on  the  skirts  of  great  benefits — the  sav- 
age aborigines  have,  somehow  or  another,  been  ut- 
terly annihilated — and  this  all  at  once  brings  me  to 
a  fourth  right,  which  is  worth  all  the  others  put  to- 
gether.— For  the  original  cl.aimants  to  the  soil  being 
all  dead  and  buried,  and  no  one  remaining  to  inherit 
or  dispute  the  soil,  the  Spaniards,  as  the  next  imme- 
diate occupants,  entered  upon  the  possession  as 
cleaily  as  the  hangman  succeeds  to  the  clothes  of 
the  malefictor — and  as  they  have  Blackstone,*  and 
all  the  learned  expounders  of  the  law  on  their  side, 
they  may  set  all  actions  of  ejectment  at  defiance — 
and  this  last  right  may  be  entitled  the  right  by 
EXTERMINATION,  or,  in  Other  words,  the  JRIGHT  BY 
GUNPOWDER. 

But  lest  any  scruples  of  conscience  should  remain 
on  this  head,  and  to  settle  the  question  of  right  for 
ever,  his  holiness  Pope  Alexander  VI.  issued  a  bull, 
by  which  he  generously  granted  the  newly-discov- 
ered quarter  of  the  globe  to  the  Spaniards  and  Por- 
tuguese ;  who,  thus  naving  law  and  gospel  on  their 
side,  and  being  inflamed  with  great  spiritual  zeal, 
showed  the  pagan  savages  neither  favour  nor  affec- 
tion, but  prosecuted  the  work  of  discovery,  coloniza- 
tion, civilization,  and  extermination,  with  ten  times 
more  fury  than  ever. 

Thus  were  the  European  worthies  who  first  dis- 
covered America,  clearly  entitled  to  the  soil;  and 
not  only  entitled  to  the  soil,  but  likewise  to  the  eter- 
nal thanks  of  these  infidel  savages,  for  having  come 
so  far,  endured  so  many  |X!rils  by  sea  and  land,  and 
taken  such  unwearied  pains,  for  no  other  purpose 
l)ut  to  improve  their  forlorn,  uncivilized,  and  nea- 
iiienish  condition — for  having  made  them  acquainted 
with  the  comforts  of  life ;  for  having  introduced 
among  them  the  light  of  religion  ;  and,  finally,  for 
Naving  hurried  them  out  of  the  world,  to  enjoy  its 
rf  ward ! 

but  as  argument  is  never  so  well  understood  by 
lis  selfish  mortals  as  when  it  comes  home  to  our- 
selves, and  as  I  am  particularly  anxious  that  this 
question  should  be  put  to  rest  for  ever,  1  will  suppose 
a  parallel  case,  by  way  of  arousing  the  candid  atten- 
tion of  tny  readers. 

Let  us  supjwse,  then,  that  the  inhabitants  of  the 
moon,  by  astonishing  advancement  in  science,  and 
by  profound  insight  into  that  lunar  philosophy,  the 
mere  flickerings  of  which  have  of  late  years  dazzled 
the  feeble  optics,  and  addled  the  shallow  brains  of 
the  good  people  of  our  globe — let  us  suppose,  I  say, 
that  the  mhabitants  of  the  moon,  by  these  means, 
had  arrived  at  such  a  command  of  their  energies, 
such  an  enviable  state  of  fier/ectibilify,  as  to  control 
the  elements,  and  navigate  tn'b  boundless  regions  of 
space.  Let  us  suppose  a  roving  crew  of  these  soar- 
ing philosophers,  in  the  course  of  an  aerial  voyage 
of  discovery  among  the  stars,  should  chance  to  alight 
upon  this  outlandish  planet. 

And  here  I  beg  my  readers  will  not  have  the  un- 
c'aaritubleness  tu  smile,  as  is  too  frequently  the  fault 
af  vol-itile  readers,  when  perusing  the  grave  specu- 
^tlons  of  philosophers.  I  am  far  from  indulging  in 
\ny  sportive  vein  at  j)resent ;  nor  is  the  supposition 
1  nave  been  making  so  wild  as  many  may  deem  it. 
It  has  long  been  a  very  serious  and  anxious  question 
with  me,  ai>d  many  a  time  and  oft,  in  the  course  of 
my  overwhelming  cares  and  contrivances  for  -the 
welfare  and  protection  of  this  my  native  planet,  have 
1  lain  awake  whole  nights  debating  in  my  mind, 
wiiether  it  were  most  probable  we  should  hrst  dis- 
cover and  civilize  the  mcon,  or    :;e  moon  discover 


•  ■■  Cob  t.  ii.  c  I 


and  civiliee  our  globe.  Neither  woi:]d  the  prodigy 
of  sailing  in  the  air  and  cruising  among  the  stars  be 
a  whit  more  astonishing  and  incomprehensible  to  us, 
than  was  the  European  mystery  of  navigating  float- 
ing castles,  through  the  world  of  waters,  to  the  sim- 
ple savages.  We  have  already  discovered  the  art  of 
coasting  along  the  aerial  shores  of  our  planet,  b]f 
means  of  balloons,  as  the  savages  had  of  venturing 
along  their  sea-coasts  in  canoes ;  and  the  disparity 
between  the  former,  and  the  aerial  vehicles  of  the 
philosophers  fiom  the  n.oon,  might  not  be  greatet 
than  that  between  the  oark  canoes  of  the  savages 
and  the  mighty  ships  of  their  discoverers.  I  might 
here  pursue  an  endless  chain  of  similar  speculations ; 
but  as  they  would  be  unimportant  to  my  subject,  1 
abandon  them  to  my  reader,  particularly  if  he  be  a 
philosopher,  as  matters  well  worthy  of  his  attentive 
consideration. 

To  return  then  to  my  suppositio-i — let  us  suppose 
that  the  aerial  visitants  I  have  mertioned,  possessed 
of  vastly  superior  knowledge  tq  ourselves ;  that  is  to 
say,  possessed  of  superior  knowledge  in  the  art  of 
extermination — riding  on  hippogriffs — defended  with 
impenetrable  armour — armed  with  concentrated  sun- 
beams, and  provided  with  vast  engines,  to  hurl  enor- 
mous moon-stones :  in  short,  let  us  suppose  them,  if 
our  v.anity  will  permit  the  supposition,  as  superior  to 
us  in  knowledge,  and  consequently  in  power,  as  the 
Europeans  were  to  the  Indians,  when  they  first  dis- 
covered them.  All  this  is  very  possible ;  it  is  only 
our  self-sufficiency  that  makes  us  think  otherwise ; 
and  I  warrant  the  poor  savages,  before  they  had  any 
knowledge  of  the  white  men,  armed  in  all  the  terrors 
of  glittering  steel  and  tremendous  gunpowder,  were 
as  perfectly  convinced  that  they  themselves  were  the 
wisest,  the  most  virtuous,  powerful,  and  perfect  of 
created  beings,  as  are  at  this  present  moment  the 
lordly  inhabitants  of  Old  England,  the  volatile  popu- 
lace of  France,  or  even  the  self-satisfied  citizens  of 
this  most  enlightened  republic. 

Let  us  suppose,  moreover,  that  the  aerial  voyagers, 
finding  this  planet  to  be  nothing  but  a  howling  wil- 
derness, inhabited  by  us,  poor  savages  and  wild 
beasts,  shall  take  formal  possession  of  it  in  the  name 
of  his  most  gracious  and  philosophic  excellency,  the 
man  in  the  moon.  Finding,  however,  that  their 
numbers  are  incompetent  to  hold  it  in  complete  sub- 
jection, on  account  of  the  ferocious  barbarity  of  its 
inhabitants,  they  shall  take  our  worthy  President, 
the  King  of  England,  the  Emperor  of  Hayti,  the 
mighty  Bonaparte,  and  the  great  King  of  Bantam, 
and  returning  to  their  native  planet,  shall  carry  them 
to  court,  as  were  the  Indian  chiefs  led  about  as  spec- 
tacles in  the  courts  of  Europe. 

Then  making  such  obeisance  as  the  etiquette  of 
the  court  requires,  they  shall  address  the  puissant 
man  in  the  moon,  in,  as  near  as  I  can  conjecture, 
the  following  terms : 

"  Most  serene  and  mighty  Potentate,  whose  do- 
minions extend  as  far  as  eye  can  reach,  who  rideth 
on  the  Great  Bear,  useth  the  sun  as  a  looking-glass, 
and  maintaineth  unrivalled  control  over  tides,  mad- 
men, and  sea-crabs :  We,  thy  liege  subjects,  have 
just  returned  from  a  voyage  of  discovery,  in  the 
course  of  which  we  have  landed  and  taken  posses- 
sion of  that  obscure  little  dirty  planet  which  thou  be- 
holdest  rolling  at  a  distance.  The  five  imcouth 
monsters  which  we  have  brought  into  this  august 
presence  were  once  very  important  chiefs  among 
their  fellow-savages,  who  are  a  race  of  beings  totally 
destitute  of  the  common  attributes  of  humanity ;  and 
differing  in  every  thing  from  the  inhabitants  of  the 
moon,  inasmuch  as  they  carry  their  heads  upon  theit 
shoulders,  instead  of  under  tHiir  arms — have  two 
eyes  instead  of  one— ate  ntterly  destitute  of  tailst  and 


•48 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


m 


I 


1-  .;7irl 


of  a  varietv  of  unseemly  complexions,  particularly 
of  a  horrible  whiteness — instead  of  pea-green. 

"  We  have,  moreover,  found  these  miserable  sav- 
ages sunk  into  a  state  of  the  utmost  ignorance  and 
depravity  ever;  man  shamelessly  living  with  his  own 
wife,  and  rearing  his  own  children,  mstead  of  in- 
dulging in  that  community  of  wives  enjoined  by  the 
law  of  nature,  as  expounded  by  the  philosophers  of 
Ihe  moon.  In  a  word,  they  have  scarcely  a  gleam  of 
l7ue  philosophy  among  them,  but  are,  m  fact,  utter 
bcretics,  ignoramuses,  and  barbarians.  Taking  com- 
passion, therefore,  on  the  sad  condition  of  these  sub- 
lunary wretches,  we  have  endeavoured,  whilfe  we 
remamed  on  their  planet,  to  introduce  among  them 
the  light  of  reason — and  the  comforts  of  the  moon. 
We  have  tt;ated  them  to  mouthfuls  of  moonshine, 
and  draughts  of  nitrous  oxyde,  which  they  swallowed 
with  incredible  voracity,  particularly  the  females; 
and  we  have  likewise  endeavoured  to  instil  into  them 
the  precepts  of  lunar  philosophy.  We  have  insisted 
upon  their  renouncing  the  contemptible  shackles  of 
religion  and  common  sense,  and  adoring  the  pro- 
found, omnipotent,  and  all-perfect  energy,  and  the 
ecstatic,  immutable,  immoveable  perfection.  But 
such  was  the  unparalleled  obstinacy  of  these  wretch- 
ed savages,  that  they  persisted  in  cleaving  to  their 
wives,  and  adhering  to  their  religion,  and  absolutely 
set  at  nought  the  sublime  doctrines  of  the  moon — 
nay,  among  other  abominable  heresies,  they  even 
went  so  far  as  blasphemously  to  declare,  that  this 
ineffable  planet  was  made  of  nothing  more  nor  less 
than  green  cheese  ! " 

At  these  words,  the  great  man  in  the  moon  (being 
a  very  profound  philosopher)  shall  fall  into  a  terrible 
passion,  and  possessing  equal  authority  over  things 
that  do  not  belong  to  nim,  as  did  whilome  his  holi- 
anss  the  Pope,  shall  forthwith  issue  ft  formidable 
biill,  specifying.  "  That,  whereas  a  certain  crew  of 
Lunatics  have  lately  discovered,  and  taken  posses- 
sion of,  a  newly  discovered  planet  called  t/u  earth — 
uid  that  whereas  it  is  inhabited  by  none  but  a  race 
of  two-legged  animals,  that  cariy  their  heads  on 
their  shoulders  instead  of  under  their  arms ;  cannot 
talk  the  lunatic  language ;  have  two  eyes  instead  of 
one  ;  are  destitute  of  tails,  and  of  -  horrible  white- 
ness, instead  of  pea-green — there*"  .ifl^  Cod  for  a  va- 
riety of  other  excellent  reasons,  they  are  considered 
incapable  of  possessing  any  property  in  the  planet 
they  infest,  and  the  right  and  title  to  it  are  confirmed 
to  Its  original  discoverers. — And  furthermore,  the 
colonists  who  are  now  about  to  depart  to  the  afore- 
said planet  are  authorized  and  commanded  to  use 
every  means  to  convert  these  infidel  savages  from 
the  darkness  of  Christianity,  and  make  them  thor- 
ough and  absolute  Lunatics." 

In  consequence  of  this  benevolent  bull,  our  philo- 
sophic benefactors  go  to  work  with  hearty  leal. 
They  seije  upon  our  fertile  territories,  scourge  us 
from  out  f^htful  possessions,  relieve  us  from  our 
wives,  and  when  we  are  unreasonable  enough  to 
comphiin,  they  will  turn  upon  us  and  say  :  Miserable 
barbarians !  ungrateful  wretches !  have  we  not  come 
thousands  of  miles  to  improve  your  worthless  planet  ? 
have  we  not  fed  you  with  moonshine  ?  have  we  not 
intoxicated  you  with  nitrous  oxyde?  does  not  our 
noon  give  you  light  every  night,  and  have  you  the 
baseness  to  murmur,  when  we  claim  a  pitiful  return 
for  all  these  benefits  ?  But  finding  that  we  not  only 
persist  in  absolute  contempt  of  their  reasoning  and 
disbelief  in  their  philosophy,  but  even  go  so  far  as 
daringly  to  defend  our  property,  their  patience  shall 
be  exhausted,  and  they  shall  resort  to  their  superior 

Kwers  of  argument^  hunt  us  with  hippogriffs,  trans- 
UB  with  concentrated  sun-beams,  demolish  our 
cities  with  moon-stones  ;  until  having,  by  main  force, 


converted  us  to  the  true  faith,  thoy  shall  ^acioush 
permit  us  to  exist  in  the  torrid  deserts  of  Araiija,  oi 
the  frozen  regions  of  Lapland,  there  to  enjoy  the 
blessings  of  civilization  and  the  charms  ct  lunai 
philosophy,  in  much  the  same  manner  as  the  re^ 
formed  and  enlightened  savages  of  this  count  r\  are 
kindly  suffered  to  inh.ibit  the  inhospitable  forests  of 
the  north,  or  the  impenetrable  wilderness  of  South 
America. 

Thus,  I  hope,  I  have  clearly  proved,  and  strilinjilv 
illustrated,  the  right  of  the  early  colonists  to  tlu^  ncfv 
session  of  this  country;  and  thus  is  this  gii;,'.ntic 
question  completely  vanquished ;  so  having  mantully 
surmounted  all  obstacles,  and  subdued  all  oppositioti, 
what  remains  but  that  I  should  forthwith  conduct  my 
readers  into  the  city  which  we  have  been  so  lont;  in 
a  manner  besieging?  But  hold — before  I  proceed 
another  step,  I  must  pause  to  take  breath,  :m<l  re- 
cover from  the  excessive  fatigue  I  have  undcri^one, 
in  preparing  to  begin  this  most  accurate  of  histiries, 
And  m  this  I  do  but  imitate  the  example  of  a  re- 
nowned Dutch  tumbler  of  antiquity,  who  took  a 
start  of  three  miles  for  the  purpose  of  jumping  over 
a  hill,  but  havine  run  himself  out  of  breath  t)v  the 
time  he  reached  the  foot,  sat  himself  quietly  down 
for  a  few  moments  to  blow,  and  then  walked  over 
it  at  his  leisure. 


BOOK  II. 


TREATING  OF   THE    FIRST   SETTLEMENT   OF  TBI 
PROVINCE  OF  NIEUW  NEDERLANDTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IN  WHICH  ARE  CONTAINED  DIVERS  REASONS  WHY 
A  MAN  SHOULD  NOT  WRITE  IN  A  HURRY. 
ALSO,  OF  MASTER  HENDRICK  HUDSON,  HI!! 
DISCOVERY  OF  A  STRANGE  COUNTRY— AND 
HOW  HE  WAS  MAGNIFICENTLY  REWARDED  BY 
THE  UAGNIFICENCE  OF  THEIR  HIGH  MIGHTI- 
NESSES. 

My  great-grandfather,  by  the  mother's  side,  Her- 
manus  Van  Clattercop,  when  employed  to  build  the 
large  stone  church  at  Rotterdam,  which  stands  al)out 
three  hundred  yards  to  your  left  after  you  turn  otT 
from  the  Boomkeys,  and  which  is  so  conveniently 
constructed,  that  all  the  zealous  Christians  of  Rotter- 
dam prefer  sleeping  through  a  sermon  there  to  anv 
other  church  in  the  city — my  great-grandfather,  I 
say,  when  employed  to  build  tnat  famous  church, 
did,  in  the  first  place,  send  to  Delft  for  a  box  of  long 
pipes;  then,  having  purchased  a  new  spitting-box 
and  a  hundred  weight  of  the  best  Virginia,  he  sat 
himself  down,  and  did  nothing  for  the  space  of  three 
months  but  smoke  most  laboriously.  Then  did  he 
spend  full  three  months  more  in  trudging  on  foot, 
and  voyaging  in  trekschuit,  from  Rotterd-.Ti  to 
Amsterdam — to  Delft — to  Haerlem — to  Lcjd-jn— to 
the  Hague,  knocking  his  headend  breaking  his  pipe 
against  every  church  in  his  road.  Then  did  he  ad- 
vance gradually  nearer  and  nearer  to  Rotterdam, 
until  he  came  in  full  sight  of  the  identical  spot  where- 
on the  church  was  to  be  built.  Then  did  he  spend 
three  months  longer  in  walking  round  it  and  round 
it,  contemplating  it,  first  from  one  point  of  view,  and 
then  from  another — now  would  he  be  paddled  by  it 
on  the  canal — now  would  he  peep  at  it  through  a 
telescope,  from  the  other  side  of  the  Meuse,  and  noN« 
would  tie  take  a  bird's-eye  glance  at  it,  from  the  toi 


A  HISTORY  6F  NBW-YORR 


Ut 


th«y  shall  jraciousft 
leserts  of  Aral.ia  o" 
.  mere  to  enjoy  the 
he  charms  of  luna 
manner  as  the  re- 
of  this  countrv  ar« 
hospitable  forests  of 
wilderness  of  Somh 


(t  one  of  those  gigantic  windmills  which  protect  the 
gates  of  the  city.  The  good  folks  of  the  place  were 
on  the  tiptoe  of  expectation  and  im|)atience — not- 
withstanding  all  the  turmoil  of  my  great-grandfather, 
not  a  symptom  of  the  church  was  yet  to  be  seen; 
they  even  began  to  fear  it  would  never  be  brought 
into  the  world,  but  that  its  great  projector  would  lie 
JovNii  and  die  in  labour  of  the  mightv  plan  he  had 
conceived.  At  length,  having  occupied  twelve  good 
Q^nths  in  pufTmg  and  paddling,  and  talking  and 
vnlking — having  travelled  over  all  Holland,  and  even 
taken  a  peep  into  France  and  Germanjj — having 
smoked  nve  hundred  and  ninety-nine  pipes,  and 
thiee  hundred  weight  of  the  best  Virginia  tobacco— 
my  great-grandfather  gathered  together  all  that 
knowing  and  industrious  class  of  ckizens  who  prefer 
attending  to  any  body's  business  sooner  than  their 
own,  and  having  pulled  off  his  coat  and  five  pair  of 
trceches,  he  advanced  sturdily  up,  and  laid  the 
corner-stone  of  the  church,  in  the  presence  of  tiie 
whole  multitude— just  at  the  commencement  of  the 
thirteenth  month. 

In  a  similar  manner,  and  with  the  example  of  my 
worthy  ancestor  full  before  my  eyes,  have  I  proceeded 
in  writing  this  most  authentic  history.  The  honest 
Roiterdamers  no  doubt  thought  my  great-grandfather 
w:is  doing  nothing  at  all  to  the  purpose,  while  he 
was  making  such  a  world  of  prefatory  bustle,  about 
the  building  of  his  church — and  many  of  the  inge- 
nious inhabitants  of  this  fair  city  will  unquestionably 
suppose  that  all  the  preliminary  chapters,  with  the 
discovery,  population,  and  final  settlement  of  Amer- 
ica, were  totally  irrelevant  and  superfluous — and  that 
the  main  business,  the  history  of  New- York,  is  not  a 
jot  more  advanced  than  if  I  had  never  tiken  up  my 
,ien.  Never  werfe  wise  people  more  mistaken  in 
tiwir  conjectures ;  in  consequence  of  going  to  work 
liowly  and  deliberately,  the  church  came  out  of 
ny  grandfather's  hands  one  of  the  most  sumptuous, 
jooclly,  and  glorious  edifices  in  the  known  world — 
excepting  that,  like  our  magnificent  capitol,  at  VVash- 
iti);ion,  it  was  begun  on  so  grand  a  scale  that  the 
good  folks  could  not  afford  to  finish  more  than  the 
wing  of  it.  So,  likewise,  I  trust,  if  ever  I  am  able 
to  finish  this  work  on  the  plan  I  have  commenced, 
(of  which,  in  simple  truth,  I  sometimes  have  my 
doubts,)  it  will  be  found  that  I  have  pursued  the 
latest  rules  of  my  art,  as  exemplified  in  the  writings 
of  all  the  great  American  historians,  and  wrought  a 
very  large  history  out  of  a  small  subject — which 
no'v-a-<lays  is  considered  one  of  the  great  triumphs 
of  historic  skill.  To  proceed,  then,  with  the  thread 
of  my  story. 

In  the  ever-memorable  year  of  our  Lord,  1609,  on 
a  Saturday  morning,  the  five-and-twentieth  day  of 
March,  old  style,  did  that  "  worthy  and  irrecoverable 
discoverer,  (as  he  has  justly  been  called,)  Master 
Henry  Hudson,"  set  sail  from  Holland  in  a  stout  ves- 
sel called  the  Half  Moon,  being  employed  by  the 
Dutch  East  India  Company,  to  seek  a  north-west 
passage  to  China. 

Henry  (or,  as  the  Dutch  historians  call  him,  Hen- 
drick)  Hudson,  was  a  sea-faring  man  of  renown, 
t>ho  had  learned  to  smoke  tobacco  under  Sir  Walter 
il^ei^h,  and  is  said  to  have  been  the  first  to  intro- 
duce It  into  Holland,  which  gained  him  much  popu- 
larity in  that  country,  and  jcaused  him  to  find  great 
tavour  in  the  eyes  of  their  High  Mightinesses,  the 
Lords  States  General,  and  also  of  the  honourable 
West  India  Company.  He  was  a  short,  square, 
brawny  old  gentleman,  with  a  double  chm,  a  mastiff 
mouth,  and  a  broad  copper  nose,  which  was  sup- 
posed in  those  days  to  nave  acquired  its  fiery  hue 
(rom  the  constant  neighbourhood  of  hii  tobiacco- 
pife. 

Vol.  n.-a. 


He  wore  a  true  Andrea  Femira,  tucked  in  a 
leathern  belt,  and  a  commodore's  cocked  hat  on  onr 
side  of  his  head.  He  was  remarkable  for  alwayi 
jerking  up  his  breeches  when  he  gave  o:it  his  orders  ; 
and  his  voice  sounded  not  unlike  the  brattling  of  a 
tin  trumpet— owing  to  the  number  of  hard  north* 
westers  which  he  had  swallowed  in  the  course  ol 
his  sea-faring. 

Such  was  Hendrick  Hudson,  of  whom  we  have 
heard  so  much,  and  know  so  little :  and  I  have  been 
thus  particular  in  his  description,  for  the  benefit  of 
modern  painters  and  statuaries,  that  they  may  rep- 
resent him  as  he  was ;  and  not,  according  to  their 
common  custom  with  modem  heroes,  make  him 
look'  like  Caasar,  or  Marcus  Aurelius,  or  the  Apollo 
of  Belvidere. 

As  chief  mate  and  favourite  companion,  the  com- 
modore chose  master  Robert  Juet,  of  Limehouse,  in 
England.  By  some  his  name  has  been  spelled  Chewil, 
and  ascribed  o  the  circumstance  of  his  having  been 
the  first  man  that  ever  chewed  tobacco ;  but  this  I 
believe  to  be  a  mere  flippancy ;  more  especially  as 
certain  of  his  progeny  are  living  at  this  day,  who 
write  their  name  Juet.  He  was  an  old  comrade  and 
early  schoolmate  of  the  great  Hudson,  with  whom 
he  had  often  played  truant  and  sailed  chip  boats 
in  a  neighbouring  pond,  when  they  were  little  boys 
— from  whence  it  is  said  the  commodore  first 
derived  his  bias  towards  a  sea-faring  life.  Certain 
it  is,  that  the  old  people  about  Limehouse  declared 
Robert  Juet  to  be  an  unlucky  urchin,  prone  to 
mischief,  that  would  one  day  or  other  come  to  the 
gallows. 

He  grew  up  as  boys  of  that  kind  often  grow  up,  a 
rambling,  heedless  varlet,  tossed  about  in  aii  quarten 
of  the  world — meeting  with  more  perils  and  wonders 
than  did  Sinbad  the  Sailor,  without  growing  a  whit 
more  wise,  prudent,  or  ill-natured.  Under  every 
misfortune,  he  comforted  himself  with  a  quid  of  to- 
bacco, and  the  truly  philosoohic  maxim,  that  "it 
will  be  all  the  same  thing  a  liundred  years  hence." 
He  was  skilled  in  the  art  of  carving  anchors  and  true- 
lovers'  knots  on  the  bulk-heads  and  quarter-railings, 
and  was  considered  a  great  wit  on  board  ship,  in 
consequence  of  his  playing  pranks  on  ever)'  body 
around,  and  now  ancl  then  even  making  a  wry  face 
at  old  Hendrick,  when  his  back  was  turned. 

To  this  universal  genius  are  we  indebted  for  many 
particulars  concerning  this  voyage ;  of  which  he 
wrote  a  history,  at  the  request  ol  the  commodore, 
who  had  an  unconquerable  aversion  to  writing  him- 
self, from  having  received  so  manv  floggings  about  it 
when  at  school.  To  supply  the  deficiencies  of  mas- 
ter Juet's  journal,  which  is  written  with  true  log- 
book brevity,  1  have  availed  myself  of  divers  family 
traditions,  handed  down  from  my  great-great-grand- 
father, who  accompanied  the  expedition  in  the  capac- 
ity of  cabin-boy. 

From  all  that  I  can  learn,  few  incidents  worthy 
of  remark  happened  in  the  voyage ;  and  it  morti- 
fies me  exceedingly  that  I  have  to  admit  so  noted 
an  expedition  into  my  work,  without  making  any 
more  of  it. 

Suffice  it  to  say,  the  voyage  was  prospeious  and 
tranquil — the  crew,  being  a  patient  people,  much 
given  to  slumber  and  vacuity,  and  but  little  troubled 
with  the  disease  of  thinking — a  malady  of  the  mind, 
which  is  the  sure  breeder  of  discontent  Hudson  had 
laid  in  abundance  of  ein  and  sour-crout,  and  everp 
man  was  allowed  to  sleep  quietly  at  his  post  unless 
the  wind  blew.  True  it  is,  some  slight  dissatisfaction 
was  shown  on  two  or  three  occasions,  at  certain  un- 
reasonable conduct  of  Commodore  Hudson.  Thus, 
for  instance,  he  forbore  to  shorten  sail  when  the  wind 
was  light,  and  the  wfeathet  serene,  which  was  con- 


450 


WORItS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


m^^ 


'*■■■  ir"; 


11) 


aidered,  among  the  most  expenenced  Dutch  seamen, 
as  certciin  wmllifr-brfi-tUrs,  or  pro{;nosiics,  that  the 
weather  would  chan|,'e  for  the  worse.  He  acted, 
moreover,  in  direct  contradiction  to  that  ancient  and 
sage  rule  of  the  Dutch  navigators,  who  always  tooic 
in  sa*l  at  night — put  the  helm  a-port,  and  turned  in 
—by  which  precaution  they  had  a  good  night's  rest 
— were  sure  of  knowing  where  they  were  the  next 
inoming,  and  stood  but  httle  chanc«f  of  running  down 
a  continent  in  the  dark.  He  likewise  prohibited  the 
ttamen  from  wearing  more  than  five  jackets  and  six 
pair  of  breeches,  under  pretence  of  rendering  them 
more  alert ;  and  no  man  was  permitted  to  go  aloft, 
tuid  hand  in  sails  with  a  pipe  m  his  mouth,  as  is  the 
invariable  Dutch  custom  at  the  present  day.  All 
these  grif.vances,  thpugh  they  might  ruffle  for  a  no- 
ment  the  constitutional  tranquillity  of  the  hor.est 
Dutch  tars,  made  but  transient  impression  ;  they  eat 
hugely,  drank  profusely,  and  slept  immeasurably,  and 
being  under  the  especial  guidance  of  Providence,  the 
ship  was  safely  conducted  to  the  coast  of  America ; 
where,  after  sundry  unimportant  touchings  and  stand- 
ing otT  and  on,  she  at  length,  on  the  fourth  day  of 
September,  entered  that  majestic  bay.  which  at  this 
day  expands  its  ample  bosom  before  the  city  of  New- 
York,  and  which  had  never  before  been  visited  by 
any  European.* 

It  has  been  traditionary  in  our  family,  that  when 
the  great  navigator  was  first  blessed  with  a  view  of 
this  enchanting  island,  he  was  observed,  for  the  first 
and  only  time  m  his  life,  to  exhibit  strong  symptoms 
of  astonishment  and  admiration.  He  is  said  to  have 
turned  to  Master  Juet,  and  uttered  these  remarkable 
words,  while  he  pointed  towards  this  paradise  of  the 
new  world — "  See  !  there !  " — and  thereupon,  as  was 
always  his  way  when  he  was  uncommonly  pleased, 
he  did  puff  out  such  clouds  of  dense  tobacco-smoke, 
that  in  one  minute  the  vessel  was  out  of  sight  of 
laad,  and  master  Juet  was  fain  to  wait  until  the 
winds  dispersed  this  impenetrable  fog. 

It  was  in<leed — as  my  great-great-grandfather  used 
to  say — though  in  truth  I  never  heard  him,  for  he 
diei,  as  might  be  expected,  before  I  was  bom — "  it 
wa  J  indeed  a  spot  on  which  the  eye  might  have 
revelled  for  ever,  in  ever-new  and  never-ending 
beauties."  The  island  of  Mannah.-xta  spre.id  wide 
before  them,  like  some  sweet  vision  of  fancy,  or  some 
fair  creation  of  industrious  magic.  Its  hills  of  smil- 
ing green  swelled  gently  one  alwve  another,  crowned 
with  lofty  trees  of  luxuriant  growth  ;  some  pointing 
their  tapering  foliage  towards  the  clouds,  which  were 
gloriously  tran«^'arent ;  and  others  loaded   with  a 

*  True  it  is — and  I  am  not  ipiorant  of  the  fact,  that  in  a  cer- 
tain apocryphal  book  of  voyaKCS.  compiled  by  one  Hakluyl,  ii 
to  be  found  a  letter  written  to  Kranci*  the  First,  by  one  Gio- 
vanne.  or  John  Veraizani.  on  which  tome  writer!  are  inclined 
to  found  a  beiief  that  thi>  deliKhtful  bay  had  been  visited  nearly 
>  century  previous  to  the  voyage  of  the  enterprising  Hudson, 
New  this  (albeit  it  hai  met  with  the  countenance  of  certain 
very  judicious  and  learned  men)  I  hold  in  utter  disbelief,  and 
that  for  various  good  and  substantial  reasons :  FirtI,  Because 
M  strict  examination  it  will  be  found,  that  the  description  civen 
>y  this  Verauani  applies  about  a*  well  to  the  bay  of  New-York 
as  it  does  to  my  nixht-cap.  Stcondly,  Beciuse  that  this  John 
Veimiiam,  for  whom  I  already  begin  to  feel  a  most  bitter  en- 
mity, u  a  native  of  Florence  ;  and  every  body  knows  the  crafty 
wilts  of  these  losel  Florrntines,  by  which  they  filched  away  the 
laurels  from  the  brows  of  the  immortal  Colon,  (vulgarly  called 
Co.ooibutj)  and  bestowed  them  on  their  officious  townsman, 
Amatigo  Vespucci:  and  I  make  do  doubt  they  are  equally 
rtady  to  rob  the  illustrious  Hudson  of  the  credit  of  discovering 
thia  Detutiful  island,  adorned  bv  the  city  of  New  -  York,  and 
placing  it  betide  their  usurpea  discovery  of  South  America. 
And,  thirdly,  I  award  my  decision  in  favour  of  the  pretensions 
tf  Hendrick  Hudson,  inasmuch  as  his  eapedition  sailed  from 
Holland,  being  truly  and  absolutely  a  Dutch  enterprise  —  and 
though  all  the  proofs  of  the  world  were  introduced  on  the  other 
tide,  I  would  set  Ihem  at  nought,  as  undeserving  my  attention. 
If  these  three  reasons  be  not  sufficient  to  satisfy  every  burgher 
of  this  ancient  city— all  I  can  say  is,  they  are  degenerate  descend- 
aalt  from  their  venerable  Dutch  ancestors,  and  totally  unworthy 
the  trouble  of  convincing.  Thus,  therefore,  the  title  of  Hendrick 
Hodton  to  hit  renowneaditcovcry  it  fuUy  vindicated. 


verdant  burthen  of  clamberini;  vines,  bowing  theii 
branches  to  the  earth,  that  was  covered  with  flow 
ers.  On  the  gentle  declivities  of  the  hills  were  scat- 
tered, in  gay  profusion,  the  dog-wood,  the  suiniich 
and  the  wild  brier,  whose  scarlet  berries  ami  \>l,it( 
blossoms  glowed  brightly  among  the  deep  ^;ricn  of 
the  surrounding  folLige  ;  and  here  and  there  i  curl- 
ing column  of  smoke  rising  from  the  little  glens  :!,at 
opened  along  the  shore,  seemed  to  proiiii<,i  the 
weary  voyagers  a  welcome  at  the  h.inds  of  ihdr 
fellow-creatures.  As  they  stood  gazing  wuh  en- 
tranced  "ittention  on  the  scene  before  them,  w  red 
man,  crowned  with  feathers,  issued  from  ono  of 
these  glens,  and  after  contemplating  in  silent  won- 
der  the  gallant  ship,  as  she  sat  like  a  st.itely  swin 
swimming  on  a  silver  lake,  sounded  the  war-wh  )ii|), 
and  bounded  into  the  woods  like  a  wild  deer,  to  the 
utter  astonishment  of  the  phlegmatic  Dutchmen,  who 
had  never  heard  such  a  noise,  or  witnessed  such  a 
caper,  in  their  whole  lives- 

Ofthe  transactions  of  our  adventurers  wim  the 
sav.iges,  and  how  the  latter  smoked  copper  pipis, 
and  ate  dried  currants;  how  they  brou};ht  •;i(.it 
store  of  tobacco  and  oysters ;  how  they  shot  one  cjI 
the  ship's  crew,  and  how  he  was  buried,  1  shall  s  ly 
nothing ;  being  that  I  consider  them  unimportant  to 
my  history.  After  tarrying  a  few  days  in  the  bay,  in 
order  to  refresh  themselves  after  their  sea-faring,  out 
voyagers  weighed  anchor,  to  explore  a  mighty  rivi  r 
which  emptied  into  the  bay.  This  river,  it  is  said, 
was  known  among  the  savages  by  the  name  of  the 
ShatetHuck ;  though  we  are  assured,  in  an  exccli-jni 
httle  history  published  in  1674,  by  John  Josselyn, 
Gent.,  that  it  was  called  the  Mohfi^an,*  and  niasiei 
Richard  Bloome,  who  wrote  soma  time  afterwards, 
asserts  the  same — so  that  I  very  much  incline  in 
favour  of  the  opinion  of  these  two  honest  gentlemen. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  up  this  river  did  the  adventurous 
Hendrick  proceed,  little  doubting  but  it  would  tim 
out  to  be  the  much-looked-for  passage  to  China ! 

The  journal  goes  on  to  make  mention  of  divers 
interviews  between  the  crew  and  the  natives,  in  the 
voyage  up  the  river ;  but  as  they  would  be  imperti- 
nent to  my  history,  I  shall  pass  over  them  in  silence, 
except  the  followmg  dry  joke,  played  off  by  the  (id 
commodore  and  his  school-fellow,  Robert  Juet,  which 
does  such  vast  credit  to  their  experimental  philoso- 
phy, that  I  cannot  refrain  from  inserting  it.  "Our 
master  and  his  mate  determined  to  try  some  of  the 
chiefe  men  of  the  countrey,  whether  they  had  any 
treachcrie  in  them.  So  they  tooke  them  downe  into 
the  cabin  and  gave  them  so  much  wine  and  acjun 
vita?,  that  they  were  all  merrie ;  and  one  of  them 
had  his  wife  with  him,  which  sate  so  modestly,  as 
any  of  our  counlrey  women  would  do  in  a  strange 
place.  In  the  end  one  of  them  was  drunke,  which 
had  been  aboarde  of  our  ship  all  the  time  that  we 
had  been  there,  and  that  was  strange  to  them,  for 
they  could  not  tell  how  to  take  it."t 
.  Having  satisfied  himself  by  this  ingenious  experi- 
ment, that  the  natives  were  an  honest,  social  race  of 
jolly  roysters,  who  had  no  objection  to  a  drinking 
bout,  and  were  very  merry  in  their  cups,  the  old 
commodore  chuckled  hugely  to  himself,  and  thrust- 
ing a  double  quid  of  tobacco  in  his  cheek,  directed 
master  Juet  to  have  it  carefully  recorded,  for  the 
satisfaction  of  all  the  natural  philosophers  of  th( 
university  of  Leyden — which  done,  he  proceeded  on 
his  voyage,  with  great  self-complacency.  After  sail- 
ing, however,  above  a  hundred  miles  up  the  river, 
he  found  the  watery  world  around  him  began  to 
grow  more  shallow  and  confined,  the  current  moie 


*  This  river  ii  Ukewiie  laid  down  in  Ogilvy't  aap  at  Maahatcai 
-Noordt— Montaigne  and  MauritiHt  litrtr. 
t  Juet't  Joum.  Purch.  Ptt. 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW'YORK. 


451 


nd.  and  perfectly  fresh— phenomena  not  uncom- 
.  I  in  the  ascent  of  rivers,  but  which  puzzled  the 
Egnest  Dutchmen  prodigiously.  A  consultation  was 
liherelore  called,  and  having  deliberated  full  six 
l/lours.  they  were  brought  to  a  determination,  by  the 
lllilp's  running  aground — whereupon  they  unanimous- 
Ik  cmciudad,  that  there  was  but  little  chance  of  getting 
I;,  China  in  this  direction.  A  boat,  however,  was 
|iid,patched  to  explore  higher  up  the  river,  which,  on 
Ijtjlktiirn,  confirmed  the  opinion — upon  this  the  ship 
\fit  warped  off  and  put  about,  with  great  difficulty, 
■(ring.  liKe  most  of  her  sex,  exceedingly  hard  to  gov- 
jirn;  and  the  adventurous  Hudson,  according  to  the 
iKCOunt  of  my  great-great-grandfather,  returned 
[down  the  river — with  a  prodigious  flea  in  his  ear  1 

Being  satisfied  that  there  was  little  likelihood  of 
|(tttinK  to  China,  unless,  like  the  blind  man,  he  re- 
liurned  from  whence  he  sat  out,  and  took  a  fresh 
|iiart,  he  forthwith  recrossed  the  sea  to  Holland, 
[where  he  was  received  with  great  welcome  by  the 
[honourable  East  India  Company,  who  were  very 
I  much  rejoiced  to  see  him  come  back  safe — with  their 
lihip;  and  at  a  larg^and  respt-ctable  meeting  of  the 
I  iirst  merchants  and  burgomasters  of  Amsterdam,  it 

was  unanimously  determined,  that  as  a  munificent 
I  reward  for  the  eminent  services  he  had  performed, 
I  ind  the  important  discovery  he  had  made,  the  great 

hver  Mohegan  should  be  called  after  his  name ! — 

ind  it  continues  to  be  called  Hudson  river  unto  this 

my  day. 


r't  nap  u  MuhMUi 


CHAPTER  II. 

ONTAININO  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  A  MIGHTY  ARK, 
WHICH  FLOATED,  UNDER  THE  PROTECTION  OF 
ST.  NICHOLAS.  FROM  HOLLAND  TO  GIBBET  ISL- 
AND—THE DESCENT  OF  THE  STRANGE  ANIMALS 
THEREFROM— A  GREAT  VICTORY,  AND  A  DE- 
SCRIPTION OF  THE  ANCIENT  VILLAGE  OF  COM- 
MON I  HAW. 

The  delectable  accounts  given  by  the  great  Hud- 
!on,  and  master  Juet,  of  the  country  they  had  dis- 
covered, excited  not  a  little  talk  and  speculation 
iniong  the  good  people  of  Holland.  Letters-patent 
were  granted  by  government  to  an  association  of 
merchants,  called  the  West  India  Company,  for  the 
exclusive  trade  on  Hudson  river,  on  which  they 
erected  a  trading  house  called  Foit  Aurania,  or 
Oraii(je,  from  whence  did  spring  the  great  city  of 
Albany.  But  I  forbear  to  dwell  on  the  various 
commercial  and  colonizing  enterprises  which  took 
tilace ;  among  which  was  that  of  Mynheer  Adrian 
block,  who  discovered  and  gave  a  name  to  Block 
Island,  since  famous  for  its  cheese — and  shall  barely 
confine  myself  to  that  which  gave  birth  to  this  re- 
nowned city. 

It  was  some  three  or  four  years  after  the  return  of 
the  immort<il  Hendrick,  that  a  crew  of  honest,  Low 
D'jtch  colonists  set  sail  from  the  city  of  Amsterdam 
for  the  shores  of  America.  It  is  an  irreparable  loss 
Ij  history,  and  a  great  proof  of  the  darkness  of  the 
t^;,  and  the  lamentable  neglect  of  the  noble  art  of 
book-making,  since  so  industriously  cultivated  by 
Knowing  sea-captains,  and  learned  supercargoes,  that 
in  expedition  so  interesting  and  important  in  its  re- 
sults, should  be  passed  over  in  utter  silence.  To  my 
ereat-great-grandfather  am  I  again  indebted  for  the 
few  facts  I  am  enabled  to  give  concerning  it — he 
having  once  more  embarked  for  this  country,  with 
a  full  determination,  as  he  said,  of  ending  his  days 
here— and  of  begetting  a  race  of  Knickerbockers, 
'hat  should  rise  to  be  great  men  in  the  land. 


The  ship  in  which  these  illustrious  adventurer 
set  sail  was  called  the  Gt?tt/e  Vrouw,  or  good  woman, 
in  compliment  to  the  wife  of  the'^Prcsidcnt  of  the 
West  India  Company,  who  was  allowed  by  everj  ' 
body  (except  her  husband)  to  be  a  sweet-tempered 
lady — when  not  in  liquor.  It  was  in  truth  a  moef 
gallant  vessel,  of  the  most  approved  Dutch  construc- 
tion, and  made  by  the  ablest  ship-carpenters  of  Am- 
sterdam, who,  it  is  well  known,  always  model  theii 
ships  after  the  fair  forms  of  their  countrywomen 
Accordingly,  it  had  one  hundred  feet  in  the  beam, 
one  hundred  feet  in  ne  keel,  and  one  hundred  feel 
from  the  bottom  ot  the  stem-post  to  the  tafferel. 
Like  the  beauteous  model,  who  was  declared  to  be 
the  greatest  belle  in  Amsterdam,  it  was  full  in  the 
bows,  with  a  pair  of  enormous  cat-heads,  a  copper 
bottom,  and,  withal,  a  most  prodigious  poop ! 

The  architect,  who  was  somevvhat  of  a  reli^oua 
man,  far  from  decorating  the  ship  with  pagan  idols, 
such  as  Jupiter,  Neptune,  or  Hercules  (wnich  hea- 
thenish abominations,  I  have  no  doubt,  occasion  the 
misfortunes  and  shipwreck  of  many  a  noble  vessel,) 
he,  I  say,  on  the  contrary,  did  laudably  erect  for  a 
head,  a  goodly  image  of  St.  Nicholas,  equipped  with 
a  low,  broad-brimmed  hat,  a  huge  pair  of  Flemish 
trunk-hose,  and  a  pipe  that  reached  to  the  end  of  the 
bowsprit.  Thus  gallantly  furnished,  the  staunch  ship 
floated  sideways,  like  a  majestic  goose,  out  of  the 
harbour  of  the  great  city  of  Amsterdam,  and  all  the 
bells,  that  were  not  otherwise  engaged,  rang  a  triple 
bobmajor  on  the  joyful  occasion. 

My  great-great-grandfather  remarks,  that  the  voy- 
age was  uncommonly  prosperous,  for,  being  under 
the  especial  care  of  the  ever-revered  St.  Nicholas, 
the  Goede  Vrouw  seemed  to  be  enaowed  with  qual« 
ities  unknown  to  common  vessels.  Thus  she  made 
as  much  lee-way  as  head-way,  could  get  alon^  very 
neariy  as  fast  with  the  wind  a-head,  as  when  it  was 
a-poop — and  was  particularly  great  in  a  calm ;  in 
consequence  of  which  singular  advantages,  she  made 
out  to  accomplish  her  voyage  in  a  very  few  months, 
and  came  to  anchor  at  the  mouth  of  the  Hudson,  a 
little  to  the  east  of  Gibbet  Island. 

Here  lilting  up  their  eyes,  they  beheld,  on  what  is 
at  present  called  the  Jersey  shore,  a  small  Indian 
village,  pleasantly  embowered  in  a  grove  of  spread- 
ing elms,  and  the  natives  all  collected  on  the  beach, 
gazing  in  stupid  admiration  at  the  Goede  Vrouw.  A 
boat  was  immediately  despatched  to  enter  into  a 
treaty  with  them,  and  approaching  the  shore,  hailed 
them  through  a  trumpet  in  the  most  friendly  tenns ; 
but  so  horribly  confounded  were  these  poor  savages 
at  the  tremendous  and  uncouth  sound  of  the  Low 
Dutch  language,  that  they  one  and  all  took  to  their 
heels,  and  scampered  over  the  Bergen  hills ;  nor  did 
they  stop  until  tney  had  buried  themselves,  head  and 
ears,  in  the  marshes  on  the  other  side,  where  they  all 
miserably  perished  to  a  man — and  their  bones  being 
collected  and  decently  covered  by  the  Tammany 
Society  of  that  day,  formed  that  singular  mound 
called  Rattlesnake  Hill,  which  rises  out  of  the 
centre  of  the  salt  marshes,  a  little  to  the  east  of  thn 
Newark  Causeway. 

Animated  by  this  unlooked-for  victory,  our  valiant 
heroes  sprang  ashore  in  triumph,  took  possessioe 
of  the  soil  as  conquerors  in  the  name  of  their  High 
Mightinesses  the  Lords  States  General ;  and  march- 
ing fearlessly  forward,  carried  the  village  of  COMMU- 
NlPAW  by  storm,  notwithstanding  that  it  was  vigor- 
ously defended  by  some  half-a-score  of  old  squawt 
and  pappooses.  On  looking  about  them,  they  were 
so  transported  with  the  excellenci'^s  of  the  place, 
that  they  had  very  little  doubt  the  b'cised  St. 
Nicholas  had  guided  them  thither,  as  the  very  spot 
whereon  to  settle  their  colony.    The  softness  of  the 


<62 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


m^f*^ 


1  ■i'-    "  « ' 


5,',- : 


soil  was  wonderfully  adapted  to  the  driving  ofpiles  ; 
the  swamps  and  marshes  around  them  afforded 
ample  opportunities  for  the  constructinf;  of  dikes 
and  dams ;  the  shallowness  of  the  shore  was  pecul- 
iarly favourable  to  the  building  of  clocks— in  a  word, 
this  spot  abounded  with  all  the  requisites  for  the 
foundation  of  a  great  Dutch  city.  On  making  a 
bithful  report,  therefore,  to  the  crew  of  the  Gocde 
Vrouw,  they  one  and  all  determined  that  this  was 
'.he  destined  end  of  their  voy.-ige.  Accordingly  they 
descended  from  the  Goeile  Vrouw.  men,  women, 
ind  children,  in  goodly  groups,  as  did  the  animals 
if  yore  from  the  ark,  anil  forineil  thcmsdves  into  a 
Ihnving  settlement,  which  they  called  by  the  Indian 
n.'une  Communipaw. 

As  all  the  world  is  doubtless  perfectly  acquainted 
with  Communipaw.  it  may  seem  som".vhat  supcr- 
iiuous  to  treat  of  it  in  the  prt^scnt  work ;  hut  my 
readers  will  please  to  recollect,  that  notwithstanding 
it  is  my  chief  desire  to  satisfy  the  present  age,  yet  I 
write  likewise  for  posterity,  and  have  to  consult  the 
understanding  and  curiosity  of  some  half  a  score  of 
centuries  yet  to  come ;  by  which  time,  perhaps,  were 
It  not  for  this  invaluable  history,  the  great  Communi- 
pa-»,  like  Babylon,  Carth.ige,  Nineveh,  and  other 
tr'iat  cities,  might  be  perfLCtly  extinct — sunk  and 
forgotten  in  its  own  mutl — its  inhabitants  turned  into 
oysters,*  and  even  its  situation  a  fertile  subject  of 
learned  controversy  and  hard-headed  investigation 
among  indefatigable  historians.  Let  me  then  piously 
rescue  from  oblivion  the  humble  relics  of  a  place 
which  was  the  egg  fronj  whence  was  hatchea  the 
mighty  city  of  New- York ! 

Communipaw  is  at  present  but  a  small  village 
pleasantly  situated,  among  rural  scenery,  on  th<it 
beauteous  part  of  the  Jersey  shore  which  was  known 
m  ancient  legends  by  the  name  of  Pavonia,t  and 
;omm.inds  a  grand  prospect  of  the  superb  bay  of 
Wew-York.  It  is  within  but  half  an  hour's  sail  of 
the  latter  place,  provided  you  have  a  fair  wind,  and 
•nay  be  distinctly  seen  from  the  city.  Nay,  it  is  a 
well-known  fact,  which  I  can  testify  from  my  own 
experience,  that  on  a  clear  still  summer  evening,  you 
.may  hear,  from  .the  Battery  of  New- York,  the  ob- 
streperous peals  of  broad-mouthed  laughter  of  the 
Dutch  negroes  at  Communipaw,  who,  like  most 
other  negroes,  are  famous  for  their  risible  powers. 
This  is  peculiarly  the  case  on  Sunday  evenings,  when, 
it  is  remarked  by  an  ingenious  and  observant  philos- 
opher, who  has  made  gre.it  discoveries  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  this  city,  that  they  always  laugh  loudest 
— which  he  attributes  to  the  circumstance  of  their 
h.iving  their  holiday  clothes  on. 

These  negroes,  in  fact,  like  the  monks  in  the  dark 
ages,  engross  all  the  knowledge  of  the  place,  and  be- 
ing infinitely  more  adventurous  and  more  knowing 
than  their  masters,  carry  on  all  the  foreign  trade ; 
making  frequent  voyages  to  town  in  canoes  loaded 
with  oysters,  buttermilk,  and  cabbages.  They  are 
great  astrologers,  predicting  the  diiTerent  changes  of 
weather  almost  as  accurately  as  an  almanac — they 
are  moreover  exquisite  performers  on  three-stringed 
fiddles :  in  whistling,  they  almost  boast  the  far-famed 
powers  of  Orpheus's  lyre,  for  not  a  horse  or  an  ox 
u»  the  place,  when  at  the  plough  or  before  the  wagon, 
will  budge  a  foot  until  he  hears  the  well-known 
whistle  of  his  black  driver  and  companion. — And 
from  their  amazing  skill  at  casting  up  accounts  upon 
iheir  fingers,  they  are  regarded  with  as  much  venera- 
tion as  were  the  disciples  of  I'ythagoras  of  yore, 
when  initiated  into  the  sacred  quaternary  of  num- 
bers. 

*  Men  by  iaactioD  de(eDerate  into  oysten. — Kaimtt. 
i  Pavonii,  in  the  ancient  map*,  i>  given  to  a  tract  of  country 
•■taulini  from  about  Hoboken  to  Amboy. 


As  to  the  hontst  burghers  of  Communipaw  jik. 
wise  men  and  sound  philosophers,  they  never  luo3 
beyond  their  pip«s,  nor  trouble  their  heads  about  ,in3 
affairs  out  of  their  immediate  neighbourhood ;  so  thail 
they  live  in  profound  and  enviable  ignorance  ni  all 
the  troubles,  anxieties,  and  revolutions  of  ihisdisJ 
tracted  phnet.     I  am  even  told  that  many   iiuonrf 
them  do  verily  believe  that  Holland,  of  wincli  iheil 
have  heard  so  mi'ch  from  tradition,  is  situatt  il  imneJI 
where  on  Long  Island — that  Sftiking-iln'il  M\*th\ 
Narrmvs  arc  the  two  ends  of  the  world— ih.u  thcl 
country  is  still  under  the  dominion  of  their  lii,rh| 
Mightinesses,  and  th.it  thecity  of  New-York  still  jrofjj 
by  the  n.ame  of  Nieuw  Amsterd.im,    They  nifit  cveryl 
Saturd.ay  afternoon  at  the  only  tavern  in  the  pl.ice,! 
which  bears  as  a  sign,  a  square-headed  likcmss  oil 
the  Prince  of  Orange,  where  they  smoke  a  silent 
pipe,  byway  of  promoting  social  conviviality,  and 
invarialily  drink  a  mug  of  cider  to  the  success  of 
Admiral   Van    Tromp.   who  they  im.i^jiin'  is  sni] 
sweeping  the  British  channel,  with  a  broom  .it  his| 
m.ist-head. 

Communip-iw,  in  short,  is  one  of  the  numerous  I 
little  vill.ages  in  the  vicinity  of  this  most  b(\iuiiiul  of 
cities,  which  are  so  many  strong-holds  iind  listnesses.  1 
whither  the  primitive  manners  of  our  Duicii  lore^ 
fathers  have  retreated,  and  where  they  are  ( lurislieij 
with  devout  and  scrupulous  strictness.  The  dnss  oi 
the  original  settlers  is  handed  down  inviolate,  Irum 
father  to  son — the  identical  bro.id-brimiiieil  ii.u, 
broad-skirted  coat,  and  broad-bottomed  hrechts 
continue  from  generation  to  generation  ;  and  several 
gigantic  knee-buckles  of  massy  silver  are  still  m 
wear,  that  made  gallant  display  in  the  days  of  the 
patriarchs  of  Communipaw.  Tfie  language  likewise 
continues  unadultenitea  by  barbarous  iniiovatiuns; 
and  so  critically  correct  is  the  village  schoolmaster 
in  his  dialect,  that  his  reading  of  a  Low  Dutch  psaliu 
h.is  much  the  same  effect  on  the  nerves  as  the  tilini; 
of  a  handsaw. 


CHAPTER   111. 

IK  WHICH  IS  SET  rORTH  THE  TRITE  AKT  OF 
MAKING  A  BARGAIN — TOGETHER  WITH  THE 
MIRACULOUS  ESCAPE  OK  A  GREAT  METKDPOLl? 
IN  A  FOG — AND  THE  UIOGRAPHY  OF  CKKIAI.N 
HEROES  OF  COMMUNIPAW. 

Having,  in  the  trifling  digression  which  concluded 
the  last  chapter,  discharged  the  filial  duty  wh  ch  the 
city  of  New-York  owed  to  Communipaw,  as  being 
the  mother  settlement ;  and  having  given  a  faitlilui 
picture  of  it  as  it  stands  at  present,  1  return  with  a 
soothing  sentiment  of  self-approbation,  to  dwell  u|H)n 
its  early  history.  The  crew  of  the  Goede  Vrouw 
being  soon  reinforced  by  fresh  importations  Irom 
Holland,  the  settlement  went  jollily  on,  increasing  in 
magnitude  and  prosperity.  The  neighbouring  Indians 
in  a  short  time  became  accustomed  to  the  uncou.h 
sound  of  the  Dutch  language,  and  an  intercourse 
gradually  took  place  between  them  and  the  new 
comers.  The  Indians  were  much  given  to  \of\^  talks. 
and  the  Dutch  to  long  silence — in  this  p,irticul,ir 
therefore,  they  accommodated  each  other  completely. 
The  chiefs  would  make  long  speeches  about  the  big 
bull,  the  wabash,  and  the  great  spirit,  to  which  tht 
others  would  listen  very  attentively,  smoke  thiii 
pipes,  and  grunt  yah  myn-her — whereat  the  poot 
savages  were  wondrously  delighted.  They  instrujteil 
the  new  settlers  in  the  best  art  of  curing  and  sniLH- 
ing  tobacco,  while  the  Utter,  in  return  r.^de  them 


A  HISTORY  OF   NEW-YORK, 


468 


of  Communipaw  Ijk 
hm.  th<>y  never  looj] 
their  heads  about  anJ 

'>Rhbourhoo(|;sotha3 
able  ignorance  of  niil 
volutions  onhi,,)  J 
d  that  many  an.onJ 
ollanii,  of  which  iheil 
.'pn  is  situai.rl  ,  J 

the  worl(i--that  thcl 
imion  of  tlKir  Hi,,hl 

im.  Thcyricitvcrel 
tavern  in  the  place  | 
■e-headed  likeness  oi 
they  smolve  a  silent 
cial  conviviahiy.  and 
er  to  the  success  of 
hey  imagine  is  still 
A^itn  a  broorn  at  hij  | 

ne  of  the  numerous 
his  most  bcumiiulof  i 
■holds  and  fastiu'sses 
of  our  lAiicii  lore^  j 
re  they  are  i.iifrisli,.,| 
:tness.  The  dusb  m 
down  inviolate,  frum 
broad-lirimineil  hai 
!-bottomed  hnechcs 
eralion ;  and  several 
y  sdver  are  still  u, 
y  in  the  days  of  the 
he  language  likewise 
barous  innovations; 
village  schoolniasiei 
a  Low  Dutch  psalm 
e  nerves  as  the  tiling 


HE  TRUE  AKT  OF 
ETHER  WITH  THE 
JKEAT  METKDCOLiy 
APHY  OF   LKKIAIN 

ion  which  concluded 
filial  duty  which  tlie 
munipaw,  as  being 
ving  given  a  faithful 
ient,  I  return  with  a 
>ation,  to  dwell  uijon 

the  Goede  Vrouw 
I  importations  from 
lily  on,  increasing  in 
cighbouring  Indians 
med  to  the  uncou.h 
and  an  intercoursj 
:hem  and  the  new 
I  given  10  lon>;  talks. 
-in  this  particul.ir 
ch  other  completeiv, 
iches  about  the  bi^- 

spirit,  to  which  tht 
tively,  smoke  tluir 
-whereat  the  poot 
d.  They  instructed 
f  curing  and  sniok- 
return  r.ade  them 


|««ik  with  tnie  Hollands— and  then  learned  them 

l^artul  making  bargains. 

A  brisk  trade  ior  furs  was  soon  opened  :  the  Dutch 
ItRulers  were  scrupulously  honest  in  their  dealings, 
I|A«1  purchased  by  weight,  establishing  it  as  an  inva- 
I  liable  table  of  avoirdupois,  that  the  hand  of  a  Dutch- 
I  icm  weighed  one  pound,  and  his  foot  two  pounds.  It 
ji  tiu) ,  the  simple  Indians  were  often  puzzled  by  the 
Lcit  lispro|)ortion  lietween  bulk  and  weight,  for  let 
I  i.icm  place  a  bundle  of  furs,  never  so  large,  in  one 
j  citle<  and  a  Dutchman  put  his  hand  or  foot  in  the 
I  dher,  the  bundle  was  sure  to  kick  the  beam — never 
I  mi  a  package  of  furs  known  to  weigh  more  than  two 
Iflpunils  in  the  market  of  Communipaw ! 

Tliis  is  a  singular  fact — but  I  have  it  direct  from 

ny  great-great-grandfather,  who  had  risen  to  con- 

lider.ilile  im|)ortance  in  the  colony,  being  promoted 

10  the  olHce  of  weighmaster,  on  account  of  the  un> 

I  common  heaviness  of  his  foot. 

The  Dutch  posses(iions  in  this  part  of  the  globe 
I  btfjan  now  to  assume  a  very  thriving  appearance, 
[  and  were  comprehended  under  the  general  title  of 
Nieuw  Nederlandts,  on  account,  as  the  sage  Vander 
Donck  observes,  of  their  great  resemblance  to  the 
Dutch  Netherlands — which  indeed  was  truly  re- 
markable, excepting  that  the  former  were  rugged  and 
mountainous,  and  tne  latter  leVel  and  marshy.  About 
this  time  the  tranquillity  of  the  Dutch  colonists  was 
doomed  to  suffer  a  temporary  interruption.  In  1614, 
Captain  Sir  Samuel  Argal,  sailing  under  a  commission 
from  Dale,  governor  of  Virginia,  visited  the  Dutch 
Kttleiiienla  on  Hudson  Riv^r,  and  demandetf  their 
lubinission  to  the  English  crown  and  Virginian  do- 
minion.— To  this  arrogant  demand,  as  they  were  in 
no  condition  to  resist  it,  they  submitted  for  the  time 
klir  discreet  and  reasonable  men. 

It  does  not  appear  that  the  valiant  Argal  molested 
',he  settlement  of  Communipaw ;  on  the  contrary,  I 
«n  told  that  when  his  vessel  first  hove  in  sight,  the 
rorthy  burghers  were  seized  with  such  a  panic,  that 
itey  fell  to  smoking  their  pipes  with  astonishing  ve- 
l.em  :nce ;  insomuch  that  they  quickly  raised  a  cloud, 
which,  combining  with  the  surrounding  woods  and 
marshes,  completely  enveloped  and  concealed  their 
beloved  village,  and  overhung  the  fair  regions  of  Pa- 
»onia ; — so  that  the  terrible  Captain  Argiil  passed  on, 
totally  unsus})icious  that  a  sturdy  little  Dutch  settle- 
ment lay  snugly  couched  in  the  mud,  under  cover  of 
all  this  pestilent  vapour.  In  commemoration  of  this 
fortunate  escape,  the  worthy  inhabitants  have  con- 
tinued to  smoke,  almost  without  intermission,  unto 
this  very  day ;  which  is  said  to  be  the  cause  of  the 
remarkable  fog  that  often  hangs  over  Communipaw 
of  a  clear  afternoon. 

Upon  the  departure  of  the  enemy,  our  magnani- 
mous ancestors  took  full  six  months  to  recover  their 
wind,  having  been  exceedingly  discomposed  by  the 
consternation  and  hurry  of  aflairs.  They  then  called 
I  council  of  safety  to  smoke  over  the  state  of  the 
province.  After  six  months  more  of  mature  deliber- 
ation, during  which  nearly  five  hundred  words  were 
5))okeii,  and  almost  as  much  tobacco  was  smoked  as 
*uiild  have  served  a  certain  modem  general  through 
t  whole  winter's  campaign  of  hard  drinking,  it  was 
deti:nnined  to  fit  out  an  armament  of  canoes,  and 
'sspatch  them  on  a  voyage  of  discovery  ;  to  search 
rf,  peradventure,  some  more  sure  and  formidable 
pc&\tion  might  not  be  found,  where  the  colony  would 
be  less  subject  to  vexatious  visitations. 

This  perilous  enterprise  was  intrusted  to  the  su- 
perintendence of  Mynheers  Oloffe  Van  Kortlandt, 
Abraham  Hardenbroeck,  Jacobus  Van  Zandt,  and 
Winant  Ten  Broeck — fojr  indubitably  great  men, 
out  of  whose  history,  although  I  have  made  diligent 
inquiry  I  can  learn  but  little,  previous  to  their  leav- 


ing Holland.  Nor  need  this  occasion  1  luch  aaiprtse ; 
for  adventurers,  like  prophets,  though  thev  maka 
great  noise  abroad,  have  seldom  much  celebrity  in 
their  own  countries ;  but  this  much  is  certain,  that 
the  overflowings  and  cflscourings  of  a  country  are 
invariably  comi>osed  ol  the  richest  parts  of  the  soil. 
And  here  I  cannot  help  remarking  how  :onvenienl 
it  would  be  to  many  of  our  gre.it  men  and  great  fam* 
dies  of  doubtful  origin,  could  they  have  the  privilege 
of  the  heroes  of  yore,  who,  whenever  their  ongin  was 
involved  in  obscurity,  mo<lestly  announced  them- 
selves descended  from  a  god — and  who  never  visited 
a  foreign  country  but  what  they  told  some  cock-and- 
bull  stories  about  their  being  kings  and  princes  at 
home.  This  venal  trespass  on  the  truth,  though  it 
has  occasionally  been  played  off  by  some  pseudo 
maruuis,  baronet,  and  other  illustrious  foreigner,  in 
our  (and  of  good-natured  credulity,  has  been  com- 
pletely discountenanced  in  this  sceptical  matter-of- 
fact  age — and  I  even  question  whether  any  tendv 
virgin,  who  was  accidentally  and  unaccountably  en- 
riched with  a  bantling,  would  save  her  character  ai 
parlour  firesides  and  evening  tea-parties  by  ascribing 
the  phenomenon  to  a  swan,  a  shower  of  gold,  or  a 
river-god. 

Thus  being  denied  the  benefit  of  mythology  and 
classic  fable,  I  should  have  been  completely  at  a  loss 
as  to  the  early  biography  of  my  heroes,  had  not  a 
gleam  of  light  been  thrown  upon  their  origin  from 
their  names. 

By  this  simple  means,  have  I  been  enabled  to 
gather  some  particulars  concerning  th?  adventurers 
in  question.  Van  Kortlandt,  for  instance,  was  one  of 
those  peripatetic  philosophers  who  tax  ProvidcncQ 
for  a  livelihood,  and,  like  Diogenes,  enjoy  a  free  and 
unencumbered  estate  in  sunsliine.  He  was  usually 
arrayed  in  garments  yuitable  to  his  fortune,  being 
curiously  fringed  and  tangled  by  the  hand  of  time ; 
and  was  helmetcd  with  an  old  fragment  of  a  hat, 
which  had  acquired  the  shape  of  a  sugar-loaf;  and 
so  far  did  he  carry  his  contempt  for  the  adventitious 
distinction  of  dress,  that  it  is  said  the  remnant  of  a 
shirt,  which  covered  his  back,  and  dangled  like  a 
pocket-handkerchief  out  of  a  hole  in  his  breeches, 
was  never  washed  e.xcept  by  the  bountiful  showers 
of  heaven.  In  this  garb  was  he  usually  to  be  seen, 
sunning  himself  at  noon-day,  with  a  herd  of  philoso- 
phers of  the  same  sect,  on  the  side  of  the  great  canal 
of  Amsterdam.  Like  your  nobility  of  Europe,  he 
took  his  name  of  KortUvuit  (or  lackland)  from  his 
landed  estate,  which  lay  somewhere  in  terra  incog- 
nita. 

Of  the  next  of  our  worthies,  might  I  have  had  the 
benefit  of  mythological  assistance,  the  want  of  which 
I  have  just  lamented,  I  should  have  made  honourable 
mention,  as  boasting  equally  illustrious  pe<ligree  with 
the  proudest  hero  of  antiquity.  His  name  of  Van 
Zandt,  which  being  freely  translated,  signifies, /rtf^i 
the  dirt,  meaning,  beyond  a  doubt,  that,  like  Triptole- 
mus,  Themis,  the  Cyclops  and  the  Titans,  he  sprang 
from  dame  Terra,  or  the  earth  1  This  supposition  is 
strongly  corroborated  by  his  size,  for  it  is  well  known 
that  all  the  progeny  of  mother  parth  were  of  a  gigan^ 
tic  stature ;  and  Van  Zandt,  we  are  to'd,  vwis  a  taS, 
raw-boned  man,  above  six  feet  high — with  an  astoii- 
ishing  hard  head.  Nor  is  this  origin  of  the  illus- 
trious  Van  Zandt  a  whit  more  improbable  or  repug- 
nant to  belief  than  what  is  related  and  univer^ly 
admitted  of  certain  of  our  greatest,  or  rather  richest 
men  ;  who,  we  are  told  with  the  utmost  gravity,  did 
originally  spring  from  a  dunghill ! 

Of  the  thirtf  hero,  but  a  faint  description  has 
reached  to  this  time,  which  mentions  that  he  was  a 
sturdy,  obstinate,  burly,  bustling  little  man :  and  trom 
being  usually  equipped  with  an  eld  pair  of  buckskins 


404 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


ri:N?i':; 


hi  ": 


AT 


ii  *'■&■,  ■ 


was  familiarly  dubbed  Harden  Broeck,  or  Toi^A 
Bntchi^s. 

Ten  Broeclc  completed  this  junto  of  adventurers. 
It  ii  a  singular,  but  ludicrous  fact,  which,  were  I  not 
scrupulous  in  recording  the  whole  truth,  I  should 
•Imost  be  tempted  to  pass  over  in  silence,  as  incom- 
patible with  tne  gravity  and  dignity  of  history,  that 
this  worthy  gentleman  should  lil<ewise  have  been 
alclcnamed  from  the  most  whimsical  part  of  his  dress, 
^n  fact,  the  small-clothes  seems  to  have  been  a  very 
important  ^.irment  in  the  eves  of  our  venerated  an> 
cestors,  owmg  in  all  probability  to  its  really  being 
the  largest  article  of  raiment  among  them.  The 
name  ol  Ten  Uroeck,  or  Tin  Broeck,  is  indifferently 
translated  into  Ten  Urecches  and  Tin  Breeches — 
the  High  Dutch  commentators  incline  to  the  former 
opinion ;  and  ascribe  it  to  his  being  the  first  who  in- 
troduced into  the  settlement  the  ancient  Dutch  fash- 
ion of  wearing  ten  pair  of  breeches.  But  the  most 
elegant  and  ingenious  writers  on  the  subject  declare 
in  favour  of  Tin,  or  rather  Thin  Breeches ;  from 
whence  they  infer,  that  he  was  a  poor,  but  meri^ 
rogue,  whose  g,-illigaskins  were  none  of  the  soundest, 
and  who  was  the  identical  author  of  that  truly  philo- 
sophical stanza : 

"  Tli«ii  why  ihould  w*  quarrel  for  richM, 
Or  »nv  luch  gliilerini  loyt  } 
A  light  heart  and  thin  fair  t/trtKhn, 
Will  go  ihrounh  iht  world,  my  brav*  boyt ' " 

Such  was  the  g.illant  jimto  chosen  to  conduct  this 
voyage  into  unknown  realms ;  and  the  whole  was 
put  under  the  superintending  care  and  direction  of 
Oloife  Van  Kortlandt,  who  w.-is  held  in  great  rever- 
ence among  the  sages  of  Communipaw,  for  the 
variety  and  darkness  of  his  knowledge.  Havii]g,  as 
I  before  observed,  passed  a  great  part  of  his  life  in 
the  open  air,  among  the  peripatetic  philosophers  of 
Amsterdam,  he  had  Income  amazingly  well  .icquaint- 
ed  with  the  aspect  of  the  heavens,  and  could  as  ac- 
curately determine  when  a  storm  was  brewing,  or  a 
squall  rising,  as  a  dutiful  husband  can  foresee,  from 
the  brow  of  his  spouse,  when  a  tempest  is  gathering 
about  his  ears.     He  was  moreover  a  great  seer  of 

§  hosts  and  goblins,  and  a  firm  believer  in  omens ; 
ul  what  especially  recommended  him  to  public  con- 
fidence was  his  marvellous  talent  at  dreaming,  for 
there  never  was  any  thing  of  consequence  happened 
at  Communipaw  but  what  he  declared  he  had  pre- 
viously  dreamt  it ;  being  one  of  those  infallible  proph- 
ets who  always  predict  events  after  they  have  come 
to  pass. 

This  supernatural  gift  was  as  highly  valued  among 
the  burghers  of  Pavonia,  as  it  was  among  the  en- 
lightened nations  of  antiquity.  The  wise  Ulysses 
was  more  indebted  to  his  sleeping  than  his  waking 
moments  for  all  his  subtle  achievements,  and  seldom 
undertook  any  great  exploit  without  first  soundly 
sleeping  upon  it ;  and  the  same  may  be  truly  said  of 
the  good  Van  Kortlandt,  who  was  thence  aptly  de- 
nominated, Oloffe  the  Dreamer. 

This  cautious  commander,  having  chosen  the 
crews  that  should  accompany  him  in  the  proposed 
expedition,  exhorted  them  to  repair  to  their  homes, 
take  a  good  ni^'ht's  rest,  settle  all  family  affairs,  and 
mike  tlieir  wills,  before  departing  on  this  voyage 
into  unknown  realms.  And  indeed  this  last  was  a 
precaution  always  taken  by  our  forefathers,  even  in 
after  times,  when  they  became  more  adventurous, 
and  voyaged  to  Haverstraw,  or  Kaatskill,  or  Groodt 
Eaopus,  or  any  other  f '  country  that  lay  beyond  the 
greit  waters  of  the  Tappaan  Zm. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HOW  THE  HEROES  Of  COMMUNIPAW  Vovaoi. 
TO  HELI^OATB,  AND  HOW  THBV  WtRi  dJ 
CEIVBD  THERE.  ' 

And  now  the  rosy  blush  of  mom  Iwgan  to  mai 
tie  in  the  east,  and  soon  the  rising  sun,  rmufw 
from   amidst  golden  and   purple  clouds,  shtd't, 
blithesome  rays  on  the  tin  weathercocks  ot  Uq 
munipaw.     It  was  that  delicious  se.-ison  of  ihc  y,. 
when  nature,  breaking  from  the  chilling  il,r.((i|„i 
of  old  winter,  like  a  blooming  damsel  liom  the  ty 
anny  of  a  sordid  old  father,  threw  hcrsell,  l)lii>,|  ,„ 
with  ten  thousand  charms,  into  the  arniH  of  \.>uilii 
spring.    Every  tufted  copse  and  blooming  kiuvc  r 
sounded  with  the  notes  of  hymenial  lo\c.      n,, 
very  insects,  as  they  sipped  the  dew  that  K'liiinei 
the  tender  grass  of  the  meadows,  iointil  m  tl,,-  joyj 
ous  epithalamium— the  virgin  bu(l  tiiniiily  mu  fi.n 
its  blushes,  "  the  voice  of  thf  turtle  was  lir.int  iri 
the  land,"  and  the  heart  of  man  dissolved  .iw.iv  iT 
tenderness.     Oh !   sweet  Theocritus !    had    1  ihmj 
oaten  reed,  wherewith  thou  erst  didst   charm  ihi 
gay  Sicilian  plains.— Or  oh  I  gentle  Bion!  tliy  pisJ 
toral  pipe,  wherein  the  happy  swains  of  liie  l.rsliiaii 
isle  so  much  delighted,  then  might  I  attempt  to  snurj 
in  soft  Bucolic  or  negligent  IdyTlium,  the  rural  1).  auJ 
ties  of  the  scene— but    having  nothing,  sivr  thiil 
jaded  goose-quill,  wherewith  to  wing  my  ili-i,t,  || 
must  fain  resign  all  poetic  disportirigs  of  the  iancy,| 
and  pursue  my  narrative  in  humbie  prose ;  comiorii 
ing  myself  with  the  hope,  that  though  it  may  notl 
steal  so  sweetly  upon  the  imagination  of  rnv  ria'ttr,! 
yet  may  it  commend  itself,  with  virgin  inutlLsty.  ta| 
nis  belter  judgment,  clothed  in  the  chaste  ami  slm-l 
pie  garb  of^  truth. 

No  sooner  did  the  first  rays  of  cheerful  I'lutiul 
dart  into  the  windows  of  Communipaw,  than  iht| 
little  settlement  was  all   in  motion.     Forth  issu^l 
from  his  castle  the  sage  Van  Kortlandt,  and  svum^  \ 
a  conch-shcll,  blew  a  far- resounding  blast,  that  soon 
summoned  all  his  lusty  followers.    Then  dlil  thn 
trudge  resolutely  down  to  the  water-sule,  escurti-ij 
by  a  muhitude  of  relatives  and  friends,  who  all  wtni 
down,  as  the  common  phrase  expresses  it,  "tuscc 
them  off."    And  this  shows  the  antiquity  of  those 
long    family  processions,  often    seen    in  our  city, 
composed  of  all  ages,  sizes,  and  sexes,  laden  with  | 
bundles,  and   bandboxes,  escorting  some  Ixvy  oi 
country  cousins  about  to  deprt  for  home  in  a  niai- 
ket-boat. 

The  good  Oloffe  bestowed  his  forces  in  a  s({iia(i. 
ron  of  three  canoes,  and  hoisted  his  Hag  on  hoanl  a 
httle  round  Dutch  boat,  shaped  not  unlike  a  (ub, 
which  had  formerly  been  the  jolly-boat  of  the  Goriie 
Vrouw.  And  now  all  being  embarked,  they  bade 
farewell  to  the  gazing  throng  upon  the  beach,  who 
continued  shouting  alter  them,  even  when  out  of 
hearing,  wishing  them  a  hap|)y  voyage,  advising 
them  to  take  good  care  of  themselves,  and  nui  tj 
get  drowned — with  an  abundance  other  of  those 
sage  and  invaluable  cautions,  generally  given  by 
landsmen  to  such  as  go  down  to  the  sea  in  shipv 
and  adventure  upon  the  deep  waters.  In  the  intar,- 
while,  the  voyagers  cheerily  urged  their  cours« 
across  the  crystal  bosom  of  the  bay,  and  soon  kk 
behind  them  the  green  shores  of  ancient  I'avon  i. 

And  first  they  touched  at  two  small  islands  wan-h 
lie  nearly  opposite  Communi|)c.w,  and  which  are  said 
to  have  been  brought  into  existence  about  the  time 
of  the  great  irruption  of  the  Hudson,  when  it  brolie 
through  the  Highlands,  and  made  its  wa)'  to  the 
ocean.*    For  in  this  tremendous  uproar  of  the  wa- 


*  It  U  a  matter  long  tiac*  MUblUhad  br  certain  uf  our  pliilct» 
•k««.  that  U  to  lay,  having  been  oftan  advaaMd.  and  never  u> 


A   HISTORY   or   NEW-YORK. 


46S 


1^,  we  are  told  that  many  huge  fniifinenta  of  rock 

IukI  l.ind  were  rent  from  the  mouiit.iint  and  swept 

l^wn   by  this  runaway  river  for  sixty  or  seventy 

I  ■lies:   where  some  of   them  ran  nground  on  the 

[ihail^  just  opposite  Cornmiinip.kw,  and  fumicd  the 

L*nti>ai  islands  in  question,  while  others  drifti'd  out 

10  !tra  and  were  never  heard  of  rnorr.     A  sullicient 

\w><  ot  the  fact  is,  that  the  rock  which  forms  the 

\\tifi  of  these  islands  is  exactly  siniilir  to  that  of 

the  MiKhlands,  and,  moreover,  one  ol  our  philoso- 

jhtrs,  who  has  diligently  compared  (he   ayrecm'jnt 

)f  their  respective  surfaces,  h.ks  even  gone  so  lar  as 

I  ID  ss^ure  me,  in  confidence,  that  Gibbet  Island  v^i» 

jonginallv  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  wart  on  An- 

Ithony's  Nose.* 

Lciving  these  wonderful  little  isles,  they  f>ext 
[eoastid  by  Governor's  Island,  since  tprrihle  fro«i 
ill  frowning  fortress  and  grinning  haitci  .  They 
would  t>y  no  means,  however,  land  upon  ti\is  islan(l. 
lince  tliey  doubted  much  it  might  nc  the  atiud^  '>> 
demons  and  spirits  which  in  those  days  did  );reaily 
iboiHul  throughout  this  sav.ige  and  pagan  country, 
lust  at  this  time  a  shoal  of  jolly  |)orpoir,es  came 
I  rolling  and  tumbling  by,  turning  up  tncir  slerk  sides 
to  the  sun,  and  spoutmg  up  the  briny  element  in 
tparl^ling  showers.  No  sooner  did  the  sage  Oloffe 
m.irk  this,  than  he  was  greatly  rejoicetl.  "This," 
txcl.iiined  he,  "if  I  mistake  not,  augurs  well— the 
porpoise  is  a  fat,  well-conditioned  fish  -a  burgomav 
ttr  among  fishes— his  looks  betoken  e.ise,  plimty, 
ind  prosperity — I  greatly  admire  this  round,  fat  fish, 
and  iloubt  not  but  this  is  a  happy  omen  of  the  suc- 
cess of  our  undertaking."  So  saying,  he  directed 
his  squadron  to  steer  in  the  tr.ick  of  these  alderman 
fiihes. 

Turning,  therefore,  directly  to  the  left,  they  swept 
ap  the  strait  vulgarly  calle<l  the  East  River.  And 
b«re  the  rapid  tide  which  courses  through  this  strait, 
leizini'  on  the  gallant  tub  in  which  Commodore  Van 
Kortlandt  had  embarked,  hurried  it  forward  with  a 
velocity  unparalleled  in  a  Dutch  Itoat,  navigated  by 
Dutchmen ;  insomuch  that  the  good  commodore, 
who  had  all  his  life  long  been  accustomed  only  to 
the  drowsy  navigation  of  canals,  w.is  more  than 
ever  convinced  that  they  were  in  the  hands  of  some 
supernatural  power,  and  that  the  jolly  porpoises 
were  towing  them  to  some  fair  haven  that  was  to 
lultill  all  their  wishes  and  expectations. 

Ihus  borne  away  by  the  resistless  current,  they 
(louliled  that  boisterous  point  of  land  since  called 
Cnrl<  ar's  Hook,t  and  leaving  to  the  right  the  rich 
wiiKling  cove  of  the  Wallabout,  they  drilled  into  a 
ii.i(»niticent  expanse  of  water,  surrounded  by  pleas- 
ant snores,  whose  verdure  was  exceedingly  refreshing 
to  the  eye.  While  the  voyagers  were  looliing  around 
them,  on  what  they  conceived  to  be  a  serene  and 
sunny  lake,  they  beheld  at  a  distance  a  crew  of  paint- 
ed savages,  busily  employed  in  tishing,  who  seemed 
more  like  the  genii  of  this  romantic  region — their 
skiultr  canoe  Rghtly  balanced  like  a  feather  on  the 
undulating  surface  of  the  bay. 

At  sight  of  these,  the  hearts  of  the  heroes  of  Com- 
niunipaw  were  not  a  little  troubled.  But  as  good 
Ibrtune  would  have  it,  at  the  bow  of  the  commodore's 
!)oat  was  stationed  a  very  valiant  man,  named  Hen- 

badicied,  it  has  ktowd  to  be  pretty  nigh  equ.^  to  a  »ltled  fact, 
that  the  Hudson  wxs  originally  a  lake^  (lammed  up  by  the  mount- 
lint  of  the  Ilighlandt.  In  proceu  of  time,  however,  becoming 
t<r)  Dighty  anil  obitreperou!!,  and  the  mountains  waxing  pursv, 
dioptical,  and  weak  in  the  back,  by  rea&on  of  their  eatreine  old 
i|c.  it  suddenly  rose  upon  them,  and  after  a  violent  struggle 
nected  its  escape.  This  is  said  to  have  come  to  p;us  in  very  re- 
note  time  j  probably  before  that,  rivers  had  lost  the  art  of  running 
up  hill.  1  he  foregoing  is  a  theory  in  which  I  do  not  pretend  to  be 
uilled,  notwithstanding  that  1  do  fully  give  it  uy  belief. 

*  A  promontory  in  the  HighlaniU. 

1  Properly  spelt  AMtt,  «.  t.,  a  point  of  bud.) 

16 


drick  Kip,  (which  being  interpreted,  means  thicitn. 
a  name  given  him  in  to.«>.-n  of  hit  cuuiage.)  No 
sooner  did  he  behold  these  varlel  heathens  than  he 
trembled  with  excessive  valour,  and  although  a  good. 
half  mile  distant,  he  seixed  a  muKiuctoon  that  lay  a 
hand,  and  turning  away  his  head.  Ared  it  most  intncp 
idly  in  the  tier  of  the  blessed  sun.  The  blundering 
weapon  recoiled  and  gave  the  valiant  Kip  an  igno- 
minious kick,  that  laid  him  prostrate  with  uphfted 
heels  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  Uut  fuch  was  th« 
effect  of  this  tremendous  lire,  that  the  wild  men  ot 
the  woods,  struck  with  consternation,  t}cized  hastily 
upon  their  p.iddlcs,  and  shot  away  into  one  of  the 
deep  inlets  of  the  Long  Island  shore. 

This  M.:nal  victory  gave  new  sprits  to  the  hardy 
voyagers,  and  in  honour  of  the  achievement  they 
*r»ve  the  nam*  of  the  v.dinnt  Kip  to  the  siirrminding 
bay,  *nd  it  has  continued  to  be  r.illed  KiP'S  lUv 
from  tlidt  time  to  the  present.  The  heart  of  the  gooil 
Van  Korilandl  -who,  having  no  land  of  his  own,  was 
1  gre.it  .tdmirer  of  Other  people's — expanded  at  the 
sumptuous  prospect  of  rich,  unsettled  couiiiiy  around 
him,  and  falling  into  a  delicious  reverie,  he  straight- 
w.ty  began  to  riot  in  the  i>ossession  of  v.iit  meadows 
of  salt  marsh  and  interminable  patches  of  c.ihtinges, 
From  this  delectable  vi<iion  he  was  all  at  once  ,iw.ik- 
ened  by  the  sudden  turning  of  the  tide,  which  would 
soon  have  hurried  him  from  this  land  of  promise,  had 
not  the  discreet  navigator  given  signal  to  steer  for 
shore:  where  they  accordingly  landed  hard  by  the 
rocky  heights  of  liellevue— that  happy  retreat,  where 
our  jolly  aldermen  eat  for  the  ^oou  of  the  city,  and 
fatten  tne  turtle  that  are  s.icrihced  on  civic  si  dcm- 
nities. 

Here,  seated  on  the  greensward,  by  the  side  of  a 
small  stream  that  r.nn  sparkling  among  the  grass,  they 
refreshed  themselves  after  the  toils  of  the  seas,  h) 
feasting  lustily  on  the  ample  stores  which  tliey  had 

firovided  for  this  perilous  voy.igc.  Thus  having  well 
brtified  their  deliberative  powers,  they  fell  into  an 
earnest  consultation,  wh.it  w.is  farther  to  be  ilone. 
This  was  the  first  council  dinner  ever  eaten  at  llelUr 
vue  by  Christian  burghers,  and  here,  as  tradition  re- 
lates, did  originjite  the  great  family  feud  between  the 
Hardenbroccks  and  the  Tenbroecks,  which  after- 
wards had  a  singular  influence  on  the  building  of  the 
city.  The  sturdy  Hardenbroeck,  whose  eyes  had 
been  wondrously  delighted  with  the  salt  marshes 
that  spread  their  reeking  bosoms  along  the  coast,  at 
the  bottom  of  Kip's  Bay,  counselled  by  all  means  to 
return  thither,  and  found  the  intended  city.  This 
was  strenuously  opfiosed  by  the  unbending  Ten 
Broeck,  and  many  testy  arguments  passeil  between 
them.  The  particulars  of  the  controversy  have  not 
reached  us,  which  is  ever  to  be  l.imented  ;  this  much 
is  certain,  that  the  .sage  Oloffe  put  an  end  to  the  dis- 
pute, by  determining  to  explore  still  farther  in  the 
route  which  the  mysterious  porpoises  hatl  so  clearly 
pointed  out — whereupon  the  sturdy  Tough  Breeches 
•ibandoned  the  expedition,  took  possession  of  a  neigh- 
bouring hill,  and  in  a  fit  of  great  wrath  peopled  all 
that  tract  of  country,  which  has  continued  to  he  in 
habited  by  the  Hartienbroecks  unto  this  very  day. 

By  this  time  the  jolly  Phoebus,  like  some  wanlon 
urchin  sporting  on  the  side  of  a  green  hill,  began  to 
roll  ilown  the  declivity  of  the  heavens  ;  anil  now,  the 
tide  having  once  more  turned  in  their  favour,  *.he 
resolute  Pavonians  again  committed  tiiemselves 
to  its  discretion,  and  coasting  along  the  western 
shores,  were  borne  towards  the  straits  of  Blackwell's 
Island. 

And  here  the  capricious  wanderings  of  the  current 
occasioned  not  a  little  marvel  and  perplexity  to  these 
illustrious  mnriners.     Now  would  they  be  caught  by 
I  the  wanton  eddies,  and,  swseping  round  a  juuda 


4S6 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


mm 


point  would  wind  deep  into  some  romantic  little 
cove,  that  indented  the  fair  island  of  Manna-hata ; 
now  were  they  hurried  narrowly  by  the  very  basis 
of  impending  rocks,  mantled  with  the  flaunting  grape- 
vine, and  crowned  with  groves  that  threw  a  broad 
»ha(ic  on  the  waves  beneath ,  and  anon  they  were 
Dome  away  into  the  mid-channel,  and  wafted  along 
with  a  rapidity  that  very  much  discomposed  the  sage 
Van  Kortiaiidt,  who,  as  he  saw  the  land  swiftly 
receding  on  either  side,  began  exceedingly  to  doubt 
that  terra  firma  was  giving  them  the  slip. 

Wherever  the  voyagers  turned  their  eyes,  a  new 
creation  seemed  to  bloom  around.  No  signs  of 
human  thrift  appeared  to  check  the  delicious  wildness 
of  nature,  who  here  revelled  in  all  her  luxuriant  va- 
riety. Those  hills,  now  bristled,  like  the  fretful  por- 
cupine, with  rows  of  poplars,  (vain  upstart  plants  ! 
minions  of  wealth  ancl  fashion  !)  were  then  adorned 
with  the  vigorous  natives  of  the  soil ;  the  lordly  oak, 
the  generous  chestnut,  the  graceful  elm — while  here 
and  there  the  tulip-tree  reared  his  majestic  head,  the 
giant  of  the  forest. — Where  now  are  seen  the  gay 
retreats  of  luxury — vilhis  half  buried  in  twilight 
bowers,  whence  the  amorous  tlute  oft  breathes  the 
sighings  of  some  city  swain — there  the  fish-hawk 
built  his  solitary  nest,  011  some  .ry  trees  that  over- 
looked his  watery  domain.  The  timid  deer  fed  un- 
disturbed along  those  shores  now  hallowed  by  the 
lover's  moonlight  walk,  and  printed  by  the  slender 
foot  of  beauty ;  and  a  savage  solitude  extended  over 
those  happy  regions  where  now  are  reared  the 
stately  towers  of  the  Jones's,  the  Schermerhomes, 
and  the  Rhinelanders. 

Thus  gliding  in  silent  wonder  through  these  new 
and  unknown  scenes,  the  gallant  squadron  of  Pa- 
vonia  swept  by  the  fool  of  a  promontory  that  strutted 
forth  boldly  into  the  waves,  and  seemed  to  frown 
'jpon  them  as  they  brawled  against  'tj  base.  This 
S  the  bluff  well  known  to  modern  mariners  by  the 
name  of  Grade's  point,  from  the  fair  castle  which, 
like  an  elephant,  it  carries  upon  its  back.  And  here 
broke  upon  their  view  a  wild  and  varied  prospect, 
where  land  and  water  were  beauteously  intermin- 
gled, as  though  they  had  combined  to  heighten  and 
set  ofT  each  other's  charms.  To  their  right  lay  the 
sedgy  point  of  Blackwell's  Island,  drest  in  the  fresh 
garniture  of  living  green — beyond  it  stretched  the 
pleasant  coast  of  Sundswick,  and  the  small  harbour 
well  known  by  the  name  of  Hallet's  Cove — a  place 
infamous  in  fatter  d.iys,  by  reason  of  its  being  the 
haunt  of  pirates  who  infest  these  seas,  robbing  or- 
chards and  watermelon  patches,  and  insulting  gen- 
tlemen navigators  when  voyaging  in  their  pleasure- 
boats.  To  the  left  a  deep  bay,  or  rather  creek, 
gracefully  receded  between  shores  fringed  with  for- 
ests, and  forming  a  kind  of  vista,  through  which 
were  beheld  the  sylvan  regions  of  Haerlem,  Morris- 
ania,  and  East  Chester.  Here  the  eye  reposed  with 
delight  on  a  richly-wooded  countiy,  diversified  by 
tufted  knolls,  shadowy  intervals,  ami  waving  lines  of 
upland  swelling  above  each  other ;  while  over  the 
whole  the  purple  mists  of  spring  diiTused  a  hue  of 
soit  voluptuousness. 

Just  before  them  the  grand  course  of  the  stream, 
making  a  sudden  bend,  wound  among  embowered 
promontories  and  shores  of  emerald  verdure,  that 
•leemed  to  melt  into  'he  wave.  A  character  of  gen- 
tleness and  mild  fertility  prevailed  around.  The  sun 
h.ii  just  descended,  and  the  thin  haze  of  twilight, 
like  a  transparent  veil  draw.i  over  the  bosom  of  vir- 
gin beauty,  heigiitened  the  charms  which  it  half 
concealed. 

Ah  !  witching  scenes  of  foul  delusion  !  Ah  !  hap- 
less voyagers,  gazing  with  simple  wonder  on  these 
Circean  shores!    Such,  alas!   are  tley,  poor  easy 


souls,  who  listen  to  the  seductions  of  a  wicked  wotk 
— treacherous  pre  its  smiles!    fatal   its  caresses 
He  who  yields  to  its  enticements  launches  upon  al 
whelming  tide  and  trusts  his  feeble  bark  among  thtl 
dimpling  eddi<  s  of  a  whirlpool !    And  thus  it  l.iredl 
with  the  worthies  of  Pavonia,  who  little  mistrust iiio I 
the  guileful  scene  before  them,  drifted  quietlv  on  I 
until  they  were  aroused  by  an  unconimon  tos^inRl 
and  agitation  of  their  vessels.    For  now  the  laiel 
dimpling  current  began  to  brawl  around  tluin,  and! 
the  waves  to  boil  and  foam  with  horrific  fur, .  .Awak- 
ened as  if  from  a  dream,  the  astonished  Ololil-  bawled 
aloud  to  put  about,  but  his  words  were  lost  amid  I 
the  roaring  of  the  waters.     And  now  ensued  a  scene 
of  direful  consternation — at  one  time  they  were  borne 
with  dreadful  velocity  among  tumultuous  breakers' 
at  ancther  hurried  down  Ixjisterous  rapids.    Nowi  i 
they  were  nearly  dashed  upon  the  Hen  and  Cliick. 
ens ;  (infamous  rocks  ! — more  vomcious  than  Scvl!< 
and  her  whelps ;)  and  anon  they  seemed  sinkiiij^  into 
yawning  gulfs,  that  threatened  to  entomb  them  be- 
neath  the  waves.     All   the  elements  combined  to 
produce  a  hideous  confusion.    The  waters  ra;,'ei!- 
the  winds  howled — and  as  they  were  hurried  alon", 
several  of  the  astonished  mariners  beheld  the  ruc^s 
and  trees  of  the  neighbouring  shores  driving  thro  i)'h 
the  air ! 

At  length  the  mighty  tub  of  Commodore  Van 
Koniandt  was  drawn  into  the  vortex  of  that  tremen- 
dous whirlpool  called  the  Pot,  where  it  was  whirled 
about  in  giddy  mazes,  until  the  senses  of  the  good 
commander  and  his  crew  were  overpowered  by  tin 
horror  of  the  scene  and  the  strangeness  of  the  revo- 
lution. 

How  the  gallant  squadron  of  Pavonia  \^as  snatched 
from  the  jaws  of  this  modern  Charybdis,  h;is  never 
been  truly  made  known,  for  so  many  sur.ivei'  to  fW 
the  tale,  and,  what  is  still  more  wonderful,  loki  i;  In 
so  many  different  ways,  that  there  has  ever  prov.uled 
a  great  variety  of  opinions  on  the  subject. 

As  to  the  commodore  and  his  crew,  when  they 
came  to  their  sen.ses  they  found  themselves  stranded 
on  the  Long  Island  shore.  The  worthy  conmiodure, 
indeed,  used  to  relate  many  and  wonderful  stones  of 
his  adventures  in  this  time  of  peril ;  how  that  he  s.iw 
spectres  tlying  in  the  air,  and  heard  the  yelliiii;  of 
hobgoblins,  and  put  his  hand  into  the  Pot  when  they 
were  whirled  around  and  found  the  water  scalding 
hot,  and  beheld  several  uncouth-looking  being's  seat- 
ed on  rocks  and  skimming  it  with  huge  ladles— but 
particularly  he  declared,  with  great  exultaiion,  that 
he  saw  th«  losel  porpoises,  which  had  betrayed  them 
into  this  peril,  some  broiling  on  the  Gridiron  and 
others  hissing  in  the  Frying-p.an  ! 

These,  however,  were  considered  by  many  as  menr 
phantasies  of  the  commodore's  imagination,  while 
lie  lay  in  a  trance  ;  especially  as  he  was  i<nown  to  be 
given  to  dreaming ;  and  the  truth  of  them  has  never 
been  clearly  ascertained.  It  is  certain,  however, 
that  to  the  accounts  of  Oloffe  and  his  followers  may 
be  traced  the  various  traditions  handed  down  ot  this 
marvellous  strait — .as  how  the  devil  has  been  seer 
there,  sitting  astride  of  the  Hog's  Back  and  playinj 
on  the  fiddle — how  he  broils  fish  tiiore  beror;  » 
storm  ;  and  many  other  stories,  in  which  we  must 
be  cautious  of  putting  too  much  faith.  In  ( onse- 
quence  of  all  these  terrific  circumstances,  the  I'avo- 
nian  commander  gave  this  p,ass  the  name  of  Hf/i'f- 
eat,  or  ;is  it  has  been  interpreted,//.  V-,;/-*!/^;*  which 
It  continues  to  bear  at  the  present  day. 

*  Th  is  i>  a  narrow  tirait  in  the  Sound,  at  the  diitance  of  si  x  mila 
abovr  New- York.  I',  is  dangerous  to  shipping,  unless  unler  iht 
care  of  blcilful  pilots,  by  reason  of  numerous  roclcs.  shell es,  tmd 
whir!|x,ols.  These  have  received  sundry  appellations,  suet  as  thi 
Gridiron,  FryinK-T>an,  Hog's  Back,  Pot,  &c.,  luid  are  vir)  viultDt 
and  turbulent  at  certain  timet  of  the  tile.    Certain  wis*  la  u,  win 


A   HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


45^ 


ions  of  a  wicked  woiU 
!    fatal    Its  caresses  I 
lents  launches  upon  al 
feeble  bark  amonjr  ll\ 

W!    And  thus  it  ted 

who  httle  mistrust  i,|„  I 
m.  dnfted  quietly  on  I 
m  uncommon  to'sMnol 
s.    For  now  the  hu\ 
uvl  around  then,  and 
n  horrific  fun .  Awak 
tonished  Oloffe  bawled  i 
tvords  were  !„st  amjj 
Id  now  ensucHl  a  scene 
e  time  they  wore  borne 
tumultuous  breakers' 
Uerous  rapids.    Now'  i 

the  Hen  and  Chick. 

voracious  than  ScylN 
;y  seenied  sinking  into 
I  to  entomb  them  be- 
lements  comljincd  tp 

The  waters  r:i;;e(l-. 

were  hurried  a'lun" 
ners  beheld  the  rucfs 
horesdrivinjrthroijrh 

of  Commodore  Van 
rartex  of  that  trcnien-  I 

where  it  was  whirled 
e  senses  of  the  good 
e  overpowered  bv  tin 
angeness  of  the  revo- 

Pavonia  was  snatched 
Charybdis,  h;is  never 

many  sur.ivj-i'  to  |.;|| 
e  wonderful,  loK)  i;  in 
ire  has  ever  prevailed 
he  subject.  | 

his  crew,  when  they 
I  themselves  stranded 
e  worthy  coninioilore, 
1  wonderful  sturus  of 
;ril ;  how  that  he  saw 

heard  the  yelling  of 
ito  the  Pot  when  they 
d  the  water  scalding 
i-looking  beings  seat- 
dth  huge  ladles— but 
jreat  exultation,  that 
h  had  betrayed  them 
on  the  Gridiron  and 
i! 

red  by  many  as  merr 
s  imagination,  while 

he  was  known  to  be 
th  of  them  has  never 
is  certain,  however, 
nd  his  followers  may 
handed  down  ol  this 
devil  has  been  seer 
f's  Back  and  pluyinj 

fish  tiiure  befor;  ; 
>,  in  which  we  must 
ch  faith.  In  r  onse- 
mstances,  t.he  I'avo- 

the  name  of  Hf/ie- 
\H..l-^ate :*  which 
It  day. 

It  the  distance  of  six  mila 
ipping,  unless  under  th< 
erous  rocks,  shell  e»,  and 
appelLiiions,  sues  a>  iht 
tc.  HQii  are  vtrj  viultnl 
Certain  wu«  n  to,  win 


CHAPTER  V. 

BOW  THE  HEROES  OF  COMMUNIPAW  RETURNED 
SOMEWHAT  WISER  THAN  THEY  WENT— AND 
HOW  THE  SAGE  OLOFFE  DREAMED  A  DREAM— 
AND  THE  DREAM  THAT  HE  DREAMED. 

The  darkness  of  night  had  closed  upon  lihis  dis- 
astrous day,  and  a  dolelul  night  was  it  to  the  ship- 
wrecked Pavonians,  whose  ears  were  incessantly 
jssailed  with  the  raging  of  the  elements,  and  the 
howling  of  the  hobgoblins  that  infested  this  perfidi- 
ous strait.  But  when  the  morning  dawned,  the  hor- 
rors of  the  preceding  evening  nad  passed  away ; 
rapids,  breakers,  and  whirlpools  had  disappeared ; 
the  stream  again  ran  smooth  and  dimpling,  arid  hav- 
ing changed  its  tide,  rolled  gently  back,  towards  the 
quarter  where  lay  their  much-regretted  home. 

The  woe-begone  heroes  of  Communipaw  eyed  each 
other  with  rueful  countenances ;  their  S(]uadron  had 
been  totally  dispersed  by  the  late  disaster.  Some 
were  cast  upon  the  western  shore,  where,  headed  by 
one  RulefT  Hopper,  they  took  possession  of  all  the 
country  laying  about  the  six-mile  stone ;  which  is 
held  by  the  Hoppers  at  this  present  writing. 

The  Waldrons  were  driven  by  stress  of  weather 
to  a  distant  coast,  where,  having  with  them  a  jug  of 
genuine  Hollands,  they  were  enabled  to  conciliate 
the  savages,  setting  up  a  kind  of  tavern ;  from 
whence,  it  is  said,  did  spring  the  fair  town  of  Haer- 
lem,  in  which  their  descend:uits  have  ever  since  con- 
tinued to  be  reputable  publicans.  As  to  the  Suy- 
dams,  they  were  thrown  upon  the  Long  Island  coast, 
and  may  still  be  found  in  those  parts.  But  the  most 
singular  luck  attended  the  great  Ten  Broeck,  who, 
falling  overboard,  was  miraculously  preserved  from 
linking  by  the  multitude  of  his  nether  garments. 
Thus  buoyed  up,  he  floated  on  the  waves,  like  a 
;nerman,  or  like  the  cork  float  of  an  angler,  until  he 
landed  safely  on  a  rock,  where  he  was  found  the 
next  morning,  busily  drying  his  many  breeches  in 
the  sunshine. 

1  forbear  to  treat  of  the  long  consultation  of  our 
adventurers— how  they  determined  that  it  would  not 
do  to  found  a  city  in  this  diabolical  neighbourhood — 
and  how  at  length,  with  fear  and  trembling,  they 
ventured  once  more  upon  the  briny  element,  and 
steered  their  course  back  for  Communipaw.  Suffice 
it,  in  simple  brevity,  to  say,  th.-it  after  toiling  back 
through  tile  scenes  of  their  yesterday's  voyage,  they 
at  length  opened  the  southern  point  of  Manna-hata, 
and  gained  a  distant  view  of  their  beloved  Commu- 
nipaw. 

And  here  they  were  opposed  by  an  obstinate  eddy, 
that  resisted  all  the  efforts  of  the  exhausted  mari- 
ners. Weary  and  dispirited,  they  could  no  longer 
make  head  against  the  power  of  the  tiile,  or  rather, 
as  some  will  have  it,  of  old  Neptune,  who,  anxious 
to  guide  them  to  a  spot  whereon  should  be  founded 
his  stronghold  in  this  western  world,  sent  half  a 
score  of  potent  billows,  that  rolled  the  tub  of  Com- 
modore Van  Kortlandt  high  and  dry  on  the  shores 
ot  Manna-hata. 

Having  thus  in  a  manner  been  guided  by  super- 
aat'jjal  power  to  this  delightful  island,  their  Mrst  care 
was  to  light  a  fire  at  the  foot  of  a  large  tree,  that 
Aood  upon  the  point  at  present  called  the  Battery. 


iBstruGt  these  mndern  days  have  softened  the  above  characteristic 
name  into //aiW-ra/f,  which  means  nothing.  I  leave  them  to  give 
their  own  etymolof^.  The  name  as  aiven  by  our  author  is  sup- 
ported by  the  m.-ip  in  Vander  IJonck's  tiisiory.  published  in  |65(>— 
oy  Ofilvie's  history  of  America,  1671— as  also  ny  a  journal  still  ei- 
lant,  written  iu  the  i6th  century,  and  to  be  found  in  Hazard's  Stale 
Papers.  And  an  old  MS.,  written  in  French,  iiieaking  of  various 
alterations  n  name*  about  this  city,  nhserves,  "  Ue  Jtiiit-gat  truu 
d'Kufei.  iU  out  fail  Htll-gaU.     Porte  d'Eofei," 


Then  gathering  together  ;rreat  store  ot  oysters  whlcft 
abounded  on  the  shore,  .ind  emptying  the  contents 
of  their  wallets,  they  prepared  and  made  a  sumptu- 
ous council  repast.  The  worthy  Van  Kortlandt  was 
observed  to  be  particularly  zealous  m  his  devotions  to 
the  trencher ;  for  having  the  cares  of  the  expedition 
especially  committed  to  his  care,  he  deemed  it  in  - 
cumbent  on  him  to  eat  profoundly  for  the  pablk 
good.  In  proportion  as  he  filled  himself  to  the  very 
brim  with  the  'iainty  viands  before  him,  did  the  heart 
of  this  excellent  burgher  rise  up  towards  his  throaty 
until  he  seemed  crammed  an  1  almost  choked  with 
good  eating  and  good  nature.  And  at  such  times  it 
is,  when  a  man's  heart  is  in  his  throat,  that  he  may 
more  truly  be  said  to  speak  from  it,  and  his  speeches 
abound  with  kindness  and  good-fellowship.  Thus 
the  worthy  Oloffe  having  swallowed  the  last  possible 
morsel,  and  washed  it  down  with  a  fervent  potation, 
felt  his  heart  yearning,  and  his  whole  frame  in  a 
manner  dilating  with  unbounded  benevolence.  Every 
thing  around  him  seemed  excellent  and  delightful ; 
and.  laying  his  hands  on  each  side  of  his  capacious 
periphery,  and  rolling  his  half-closed  eyes  around  on 
the  beautiful  diversity  of  land  and  water  before  him, 
he  exclaimed,  in  a  fat  half-smothered  voice,  *'  wh.it 
a  charming  prospect !  "  The  words  died  away  in  his 
threat — he  seemed  to  ponder  on  the  fair  scene  for  a 
moment — his  eye-lids  heavily  closed  over  their  orbs 
— his  head  drooped  upon  his  bosom — he  slowly  sunk 
upon  the  green  turf,  and  a  deep  sleep  stole  gradu- 
ally upon  him. 

And  the  sage  Oloffe  dreamed  a  dream — and  !o,  the 
good  St.  Nicholas  came  riding  over  the  tops  of  the 
trees,  in  that  self-same  wagon  wherein  he  brings  his 
yearly  presents  to  children,  and  he  came  and  de- 
scended hard  by  where  the  heroes  of  Communipaw 
had  made  their  late  repast.  And  the  shrewd  Var. 
Kortlandt  knew  him  by  his  broad  hat,  his  long  pipe, 
and  the  resemblance  which  he  bore  to  the  figure  on 
the  bow  of  th%  Goede  Vrouw.  And  he  lit  his  pipe 
by  the  fire,  and  sat  himself  down  and  smoketl ;  and 
as  he  smoked,  the  smoke  from  his  pipe  ascend»?d  into 
the  air,  and  spread  like  a  cloud  overhead.  And 
Olofie  bethought  him,  and  he  hastened  and  climbed 
up  to  the  top  of  one  of  the  tallest  trees,  and  saw  that 
the  smoke  spread  over  a  great  extent  of  country — 
and  as  he  considered  it  more  attentively,  he  fancied 
that  the  great  volume  of  smoke  assumed  a  variety  of 
marvellous  forms,  where  in  dim  obscurity  he  saw 
shadowed  out  tialaces  and  domes  and  lofty  spires,  all 
of  which  lasted  but  a  moment,  and  then  faded  away, 
until  the  whole  rolled  off.  and  nothing  but  the  green 
woods  were  left.  And  when  St.  Nicholas  had  smoked 
his  pipe,  he  twisted  it  in  his  hat-hand,  and  laying  his 
finger  beside  his  nose,  gave  the  astonished  Van 
Kortlandt  a  very  significant  wink,  then  mounting  his 
wagon,  he  returned  over  the  tree-tops  and  disap- 
peared. 

And  Van  Kortlandt  awoke  from  his  sleep  greatly 
instructed,  and  he  aroused  his  companions,  and  re- 
lated to  them  his  dream,  and  interpreted  it,  that  it 
was  the  will  of  St.  Nicholas  that  they  should  settle 
down  and  build  the  city  h"re.  And  that  the  smoke 
of  the  pipe  was  a  type  how  vast  should  be  the  extent 
of  the  city;  inasmuch  as  the  volumes  of  its  smoke 
should  spread  over  a  wide  extent  of  country.  AnH 
they  all,  with  one  voice,  assented  to  this  interpreta- 
tion, excepting  Mynheer  Ten  Broeck,  who  dech.red 
the  meaning  to  be  that  it  should  be  a  city  wherein  a 
little  fire  should  occasion  a  greitt  smoke,  or  in  othei 
words,  a  very  vapouring  little  city — both  which  in- 
terpretations have  strangely  con-.e  to  pass  ! 

The  great  object  of  their  perilous  expedition,  there- 
fore, being  thus  happily  accomplished,  the  voyagers 
returned  merrily  \o  Communipaw,  where  they  wtre 


458 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


'*«-■'  ■   J;■■' 


ait   '  •  -, 


m"i 


-  *•-'.- 


received  with  great  rejoicings.  And  here  calling  a 
general  meeting  of  all  the  wise  men  and  the  digni- 
taries of  Pavonia,  they  related  the  whole  histoiy  of 
their  voyage,  and  of  the  dream  of  OlofTe  Van  Kort- 
landt.  And  the  people  lifted  up  their  voices  and 
blessed  the  good  St.  Nicholas,  and  from  that  time 
forth  the  sage  Van  Kortlandt  was  held  more  in 
honour  than  ever,  foi  his  great  talent  at  dreaming, 
and  was  pronounced  \  most  useful  citizen  and  a  right 
jood  man — wlien  he  was  asleep. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


CONTAINING  AN  ATTEMPT  AT  ETYMOLOGY— AND 
or  THE  FOUNDING  OF  THE  GREAT  CITY  OF 
NEW  AMSTERDAM. 

The  original  name  of  the  island  wherein  the  squad- 
ron of  Communipaw  was  thus  propiliousiy  thrown, 
is  a  matter  of  some  dispute,  and  has  already  under- 
gone considerable  vitiation — a  melancholy  proof  of 
the  instability  of  all  sublunary  things,  and  the  vanity 
of  all  our  hopes  of  lasting  fame  !  for  who  can  expect 
his  name  will  live  to  posterity,  when  even  the  names 
of  mighty  islands  are  tlius  soon  lost  in  contradiction 
and  uncertainty  ? 

The  name  most  current  at  the  present  day,  and 
which  is  likewise  countenanced  by  the  great  histo- 
rian Vander  Donck,  is  Manhaitan  ;  which  is  said 
to  have  originated  in  a  custom  among  the  scjuaws,  in 
the  early  settlement,  of  wearinjr  men's  hats,  as  is 
still  done  among  many  tribes.  "  Hertre,"  as  we  are 
told  by  an  old  governor  who  was  somewhat  of  a  wag, 
and  flourished  almost  a  century  since,  and  h.id  paid 
a  visit  to  the  wits  of  Philadelphia,  "hence  arose  the 
ippellation  of  man-hat-on,  first  given  to  the  Indians, 
uid  afterwards  to  the  island  " — a  stupid  joke  ! — but 
well  enough  for  a  governor.  • 

Among  the  more  venerable  sources  of  information 
on  this  subject,  is  that  valuable  history  of  the  Amer- 
ican possessions,  written  by  Master  Richard  Hlome 
in  1687,  wherein  it  is  called  Manhadaes  and  Mana- 
banent ;  nor  must  I  forget  the  excellent  little  book, 
full  of  precious  matter,  of  that  authentic  historian, 
John  Josselyn,  Gent.,  who  expressly  calls  it  Mana- 
daes. 

Another  etymology  still  more  ancient,  and  sanc- 
tioned by  the  countenance  of  our  ever-to-be-lament- 
ed Dutch  ancestors,  is  that  found  in  certain  letters 
still  extant  ;*  which  passed  between  the  early  gov- 
ernors and  their  neighbouring  powers,  wherein  it  is 
called  indifferently  Monhattoes  —  Munhatos,  and 
Manhattoes,  which  are  evidently  unimportant  varia- 
tions of  the  same  name ;  for  our  wise  forefathers  set 
little  store  by  those  niceties  either  in  orthography  or 
orthoepy,  which  form  the  sole  study  and  ambition  of 
many  learned  men  and  women  of  this  hvjiercritical 
age.  This  last  name  is  s;iid  to  be  derived  from  the 
great  Indian  spirit  Manetho,  who  was  sujiposed  to 
make  this  island  his  favourite  abovie,  on  account  of 
its  uncommon  delij^hts.  t'or  the  Indian  traditions 
aifirni  that  the  bay  was  once  a  translucid  lake,  tilled 
with  silver  and  golden  fish,  in  the  midst  of  which  lay 
this  beautiful  island,  covered  with  every  variety  of 
frui's  and  flowers  ;  but  that  the  sudden  irruption  of 
the  Hudson  laid  waste  these  bhssful  scenes,  and 
Manetho  took  his  flight  beyond  the  great  waters  of 
Ontario 

These,  however  are  fabulous  legends  to  which 
very  cautious  credence  must  be  given ;  and  although 
I  am  willing  to  admit  the  last  quoted  orthography 


•  Vide  HMard'i  Col.  SUM  Fapvt. 


of  the  name,  as  very  suitable  for  ,rose,  yet  Is  then  I 
another  one  founde<l  on  still  more  ancient  and  indis 
putable  authority,  which  I  particularly  delight  in 
seeing  that  it  is  at  once  poetical,  melodious,  and  sig 
nificant — and  this  is  recorded  in  the  befare-rneni;on.  I 
ed  voyage  of  the  great  Hudson,  wi  Uen  hv  Mastei 
Juet;  who  clearly  and  correctly  calls  it  Manna- 
HATA — that  is  to  say,  the  island  of  Mannr.,  01  in  1 
other  words — "  a  land  flowing  with  milk  and  hone,  1 ' 

It  having  been  solemnly  resolved  that  the  scat  ;;' 
empire  sho-ild  be  transferred  from  the  green  shoic 
of  Pavonia  to  this  delectable  island,  a  vast  niuUitudr 
embarked,  and  migrated  across  the  mouth  of  thf 
Hudson,  unrler  the  guidance  of  Oloffe  the  Dn  liner, 
who  was  appointed  protector  or  patron  to  the  new 
settlement. 

And  here  let  me  bear  testimony  to  ihe  matciilesa 
honesty  and  magnanimity  of  our  worthy  forefathers, 
who  purchased  the  soil  of  ihe  native  Indians  before 
erecting  a  single  roof — a  circumstance  singular  ami 
almost  incredible  in  the  annals  of  discovery  and  col- 
onization. 

The  first  settlement  was  made  on  the  south-west 
point  of  the  island,  on  the  very  spot  where  the  good 
St.  Nicholas  had  appeared  in  the  dream.  Here  iHkv 
built  a  mighty  and  impregnable  fort  and  '-railing 
house,  called  Fort  Amsterdam,  which  stood  on 
that  eminence  at  present  occupied  by  the  custom- 
house, with  the  open  space  now  called  the  Bowlmg 
Green  in  front. 

Around  this  potent  fortress  was  soon  seen  a  nu- 
merous progeny  of  little  Dutch  houses,  with  tiled 
roofs,  all  which  seemed  most  lovingly  to  nestle  under 
its  walls,  like  a  brood  of  h.alf-fledgcd  chickens  she!. 
tered  under  the  wings  of  the  mother  hen.  Th: 
whole  was  surrounded  by  an  inclosure  ot  strcnj 
palisadoes,  to  guard  .against  any  sudden  irruption  ci 
the  savages,  who  wandered  in  hordes  about  tht 
swamps  and  forests  that  extended  over  the;  c  tracts 
of  country  at  present  called  Broadw.ay,  Wall-street, 
William-street,  and  Pearl-street. 

No  sooner  was  the  colony  once  pl.inted,  than  it 
took  root  and  throve  amazingly ;  for  it  would  seen? 
that  this  thrice-favoured  island  is  hke  c  muiiiticent 
dunghill,  where  every  foreign  weed  finds  kindly 
nourishment,  and  soon  shoots  up  and  expa.uis  tc 
greatness. 

And  now  the  infant  settlement  having  advanced 
in  age  and  stature,  it  was  thought  high  time  it  should 
receive  an  honest  Christian  name,  and  it  was  ac- 
cordingly called  New-Amsterdam,  it  is  trite,  there 
were  some  advocates  for  the  original  Indian  name. 
and  many  of  the  best  writers  ot  the  province  did 
long  continue  to  call  it  by  the  title  of  "  Manhattoes ; " 
but  this  was  discountenanced  by  the  authoi  iiies,  as 
being  heathenish  and  savage.  Besides,  it  was  v:on- 
sidered  an  excellent  and  praiseworthy  me.isure  to 
name  it  after  a  great  city  of  the  old  world  ;  as  h) 
that  means  it  was  induced  to  emulate  the  greatness 
and  renown  of  its  namesake — in  the  manner  that 
little  snivelling  urchins  are  called  after  great  states- 
men, saints,  and  worthies  and  renowned  generals  of 
yore,  upon  which  they  all  industriously  copy  tneii 
examples,  and  come  to  be  very  mighty  men  ;n  theii 
day  and  generation. 

The  thriving  state  of  the  settlement,  and  the  rapid 
incre.ise  of  hou.ses,  tjrndually  awakened  the  good 
Olotfe  from  a  deep  lethargy,  into  which  he  hail  fader 
j  after  the  building  of  the  fort.  He  now  began  to  think 
it  was  time  some  plan  should  be  devised  on  whici; 
!  the  increasing  town  should  be  built.  Summoning, 
therefore,  his  counsellors  and  coadjutors  together, 
they  took  pipe  in  mouth,  and  forthwith  sunk  into  a 
very  sound  deliberation  on  the  subject. 

At  the  very  outset  of  '.he  business  an  anexpected 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


459 


for  ,rose,  yet  I5  then 
lore  ancient  and  mdis 
artici  ar  y  dd.^t  ia  1 
11,  melodious,  ai^d  si? 
n  the  before-rntnt;on. 
»"•  Wi  tten  hv  Mastei  1 
:tly  calls  it  Manna- 
and  of  Mannr.,  01  in 
vilh  milk  and  hone-,  !■ 
)lved  that  the  scat  •-■ 
rom  the  green  shous 
land,  avast  niuliitudr  j 
)ss  the  mouth  (.f  thf 
f  Oloffe  the  Dr<  anier, 
)r  patron  to  the  new 


de  on  the  southwest 
'  spot  where  the  good 
he  dream.  Here  th-v 
ible  fort  and  trading 
DAM,  which  stooil  en 
upied  by  the  custom. 
w  called  the  Buwlmg 

was  soon  seen  a  nu- 
ch  houses,  with  tiled 
ivingly  to  nestle  under 
iedged  chickciu  she;. 
e  mother  hen.  Tht 
inclosure  ot  strcT.,( 
ly  sudden  irru;);ioii  ci 
in  hordes  about  the 
Ided  over  tho;.c  tracts 
Iroadway,  Wall-street, 

!t. 

once  planted,  than  it 
ly ;  for  it  would  sceni 
1  is  like  c  muniticeni 
1  weed  finds  kindly 
5  up  and  expands  ti; 

ent  having  advanced 
;ht  high  time  it  shuuid 
ame,  and  it  was  ac. 
DAM.  It  is  tri!f.  there 
jriginal  Indiar.  name. 

ol  the  province  did 
;le  of  "Manhattocs;" 
by  the  authoi  ities,  as 

Besides,  it  was  >:un- 
seworthy  measure  to 
he  old  world  ;  as  h) 
rnulate  the  greatness 
-in  the  manner  that 
;d  after  great  statts- 
enowned  generals  of 
usfriously  copy  their 
mighty  men  ;n  then 

ement,  and  the  rapid 
awakfned  the  good 
3  which  he  had  failcr 
e  now  began  to  think 
:>e  devised  on  whiti; 
built.  Summoning, 
coadjutors  together, 
rthwith  sunk  into  a 
iubject. 
iness  an  Hne.ipected 


difference  of  opinion  arose,  and  I  mention  it  with 
much  sorrowing,  as  being  the  first  altercation  on 
record  in  the  councils  of  New-Amsterdam.  It  was 
a  breaking  forth  of  the  grudge  and  heartburning  that 
had  existed  between  those  two  eminent  burghers, 
Mynheers  Tenbroeck  and  Hardenbroeck,  ever  since 
their  unhappy  altercation  on  the  coast  of  Bellevue. 
The  great  Hardenbroeck  had  waxed  ver)  wealthy 
ind  powerful,  from  his  domains,  which  embraced 
^e  ivhole  chain  of  Apulean  mountains  that  stretched 
ilong  the  gulf  of  Kip's  Bay,  and  from  part  of  which 
his  descendants  have  been  expelled  in  latter  ages  by 
the  powerful  clans  of  the  Jones's  and  the  Schermer- 
hornes. 

An  ingenious  plan  for  the  city  was  offered  by  Myn- 
heer Tenbroeck,  who  proposed  that  it  should  be  cut 
up  and  intersected  by  ganals,  after  the  manner  of  the 
most  admired  cities  in  Holland.  To  this  Mynheer 
Hardenbroeck  w.is  diametrically  opposed,  suggesting 
in  place  thereof,  that  they  should  run  out  docks  and 
wharves,  by  means  of  piles  driven  into  the  bottom 
of  the  river,  on  which  the  town  should  be  built.  By 
these  means,  said  he  triumphantly,  shall  we  rescue  a 
considerable  space  of  territory  from  these  immense 
rivers,  and  build  a  city  that  shall  rival  Amsterdam, 
Venice,  or  any  amphibious  city  in  Europe.  To  this 
proposition.  Ten  Broeck  (or  Ten  Breeches)  replied, 
with  a  look  of  as  much,  scorn  as  he  could  possibly 
assutne.  He  cast  the  utmost  censure  upon  the  plan 
of  ids  antagonist,  as  being  preposterous,  and  against 
the  vrery  order  of  things,  as  he  would  leave  to  every 
true  Hollander.  "For  what,"  said  he,  "is  a  town 
without  canals  ? — it  is  a  body  without  veins  and 
arteries  and  must  perish  for  want  of  a  free  circula- 
tion of  ihs  vital  tiuid." — Tough  Breeches,  on  the 
contrary,  retorted  with  a  sarcasm  upon  his  antago- 
nist, who  was  somewhat  of  an  arid,  dry-boned  habit ; 
Le  remarked,  that  as  to  the  circulation  of  the  blood 
jeing  necessary  to  existence.  Mynheer  Ten  Breeches 
was  a  living  contradiction  to  his  own  assertion ;  for 
every  body  knew  there  h.ad  not  a  drop  of  blood  cir- 
cul.ited  through  his  wind-dried  carcass  for  good  ten 
years,  and  yet  there  was  not  a  greater  busy-body  in 
the  whole  colony.  Personalities  have  seldom  much 
effect  in  making  converts  in  argument— nor  have  I 
ever  seen  a  man  convinced  of  error  by  being  con- 
victed of  defonnity.  At  least  such  was  not  the  case 
at  present.  Ten  Breeches  was  very  acrimonious  in 
reply,  and  Tough  Breeches,  who  was  a  sturdy  little 
m.in,  and  never  gave  up  the  last  word,  rejoined  with 
increasing  spirit — Ten  Breeches  had  the  advantage 
of  the  greatest  volubility,  but  Tough  Breeches  had 
(hat  invaluable  co.it  of  mail  in  argument  called  ob- 
stinacy—  Ten  Breeches  had,  therefore,  the  most 
iiutile,  but  Tough  Breeches  the  best  bottom— so 
that  though  Ten  Breeches  made  a  dreadful  clatter- 
ing about  his  ears,  and  battered  and  belaboured  him 
with  hard  words  and  sound  arguments,  yet  Tough 
lireeches  hung  on  most  resolutely  to  the  last.  They 
parted,  therefore,  as  is  usual  in  all  arguments  where 
'joth  parties  are  in  the  right,  witho.it  coming  to  any 
conclusion— but  they  hated  each  other  most  heartily 
tor  ever  alter,  and  a  similar  breach  with  that  between 
tht;  houses  of  Capulet  and  Montague  did  ensue 
between  the  families  of  Ten  Breeches  and  Tough 
Breeches. 

I  would  not  fatigue  my  reader  with  these  dull  mat- 
liirs  of  fic;,  but  that  my  duty,  as  a  faithful  historian, 
requires  that  I  should  be  particular— and,  in  truth, 
IS  I  am  now  treating  of  the  critical  period,  when 
our  city,  like  a  young  twig,  first  received  the  twists 
and  turns  that  have  since  contributed  to  give  it  the 
resent  picturesque  irregularity  for  which  it  is  cele- 
rated,  I  cannot  be  too  minute  in  detailing  their  first 
causes. 


After  the  unhappy  altercation  I  have  iust  mention- 
ed,  I  do  not  find  that  any  thing  farther  was  said  on 
the  subject  worthy  of  being  recorded.  The  council, 
consisting  of  the  largest  and  oldest  heads  in  the  com- 
munity, met  regularly  once  a  week,  to  ponder  on  this 
momentous  subject.  But  either  they  were  deterred 
by  the  war  of  words  they  had  witnessed,  or  they 
were  naturally  averse  to  the  exercise  of  tha  tongiit; 
and  the  consequent  exercise  of  the  brainsJ-certain 
it  is,  the  most  protbund  silence  was  maintained — the 
question  as  usual  lay  on  the  table— the  members 
quietly  smoked  their  pipes,  making  but  few  laws, 
without  ever  enforcing  any,  and  in  the  meantime 
the  affairs  of  the  settlement  went  on — as  it  pleased 
God. 

As  most  of  the  council  were  but  li'tle  skilled  in 
the  mystery  of  combining  pot-hooks  and  hangers, 
they  determined  most  judiciously  not  to  puzzle  either 
themselves  or  posterity  with  voluminous  records. 
The  secretary,  however,  kept  the  minutes  of  the 
council  with  tolerable  precision,  in  a  large  vellum 
folio,  fastened  with  massy  brass  clasps ;  the  journal 
of  each  meeting  consisted  but  of  two  lines,  stating  in 
Dutch,  that  "  the  council  sat  this  day,  and  smoked 
twelve  pipes,  on  the  affairs  of  the  colony." — By 
which  it  appears  that  the  first  settlers  did  not  regu- 
late their  time  by  hours,  but  pipes,  in  the  same  man 
ner  as  they  measure  distances  in  Holland  at  this  very 
time  ;  an  admirably  exact  measurement,  as  a  pipe  in 
the  mouth  of  a  true-born  Dutchman  is  never  liable 
to  those  accidents  and  irregularities  that  are  con- 
tinually putting  our  clocks  out  of  order.  It  is  said, 
moreover,  that  a  regular  smoker  was  appointed  .is 
council  clock,  whose  duty  was  to  sit  at  the  ci'.x)w 
of  the  president  and  smoke  incessantly  ;  every  pu!f 
marked  a  division  of  time  as  exactly  as  a  second- 
hand, and  the  knocking  out  of  the  ashes  of  his  pipe' 
was  etjuivalent  to  striking  the  hour. 

In  this  manner  did  the  profound  council  of  New- 
Amsterdam  smoke,  antl  doze,  and  ponder,  from 
week  to  week,  month  to  month,  and  year  to  year,  in 
what  manner  they  should  construct  their  infant  set- 
tlement— meanwhile,  the  town  took  care  of  itself, 
and  like  a  sturdy  brat  which  is  suffered  to  run  about 
wild,  unshackled  by  clouts  and  bandages,  and  other 
abominations  by  which  your  notable  nurses  and  sage 
old  women  cripple  and  disfigure  the  children  of  men, 
increased  so  rapidly  in  strength  and  magnitude,  that 
before  the  honest  burgomasters  had  determined 
upon  a  plan,  it  was  too  late  to  put  it  in  execution — 
whereupon  they  wisely  abandoned  the  subject  al- 
together. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


c: 


HOW  THE  CITY  OF  NEW- AMSTERDAM  WAXED 
GREAT,  UNDER  THE  PROTECTION  OF  OLOFFE 
THE   DREAUER. 

Thkke  is  something  exceedingi)  delusive  in  thus 
looking  back,  through  the  long  vista  of  departed 
years,  and  catching  a  glimpse  of  tht  fairy  realms  of 
antiquity  that  lie  beyond.  Like  soiTiC  goodly  lant'- 
scape  melting  into  distance,  they  receive  a  thousnn 
charms  from  their  very  obscurity,  and  the  fancy  uc- 
lights  to  fill  up  their  outlines  with  graces  and  excel- 
lencies of  its  own  creation.  Thus  beam  on  my  imag- 
ination those  happier  days  of  our  city,  when  as  yet 
New-Amsterdam  was  a  mere  pastoral  town,  shroud- 
ed in  groves  of  sycamore  and  willows,  and  surrounded 
by  trackless  forests  and  wide-spreading  waters,  that 
seemed  to  shut  out  all  the  cares  and  vanities  of  a 
wicked  world. 

In  those  days  did  this  embryo  city  present  the 
rare  and  noble  spectacle  sf  a  community  governed 


«60 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


'-';■'■*'■• 


m 


?■*•. 


H'i; 


1  u,  •  J.  v(  t~aii, 
"  }  .  '  '.*■■■!■" 


wi'  hou*.  laws  ;  and  thus  being  left  to  its  own  course, 
anc  the  fostering  care  of  Providence,  increased  as 
rap.diy  as  though  it  had  been  burthened  with  a  dozen 
pannierr>-full  of  those  sage  laws  that  are  usually  heap- 
ed on  the  backs  of  young  cities — in  order  to  make 
them  grow.  And  in  this  particular  I  greatly  admire 
the  wisdom  and  sound  knowledge  of  human  nature, 
displawd  by  the  sa^e  Oloffe  the  Dreamer,  and  his 
fcll'jw-lcgislators.  tor  my  part,  I  have  not  so  bad 
HI  opinion  of  mankind  as  many  of  my  brother  philos- 
sp;i("rs.  I  do  not  think  poor  human  nature  so  sorry 
a  piece  of  workmanship  as  they  would  make  it  out  to 
be ;  and  as  far  as  I  have  observed,  1  am  fully  satisfied 
that  man,  if  left  to  himself,  would  about  as  readily  go 
right  as  wrong.  It  is  only  this  eternally  sounding  in 
his  ears  that  it  is  his  duty  to  go  right,  that  makes  him 
go  the  very  reverse.  The  noble  independence  of  his 
nature  revolts  at  this  intolerable  tyranny  of  law,  and 
the  perpetual  interference  of  officious  morality,  which 
is  ever  besetting  his  path  with  finger-posts  and  di- 
rections to  "  keep  to  the  right,  as  the  law  directs ;  " 
and  like  a  spirited  urchin,  he  turns  directly  contrary, 
and  giiilops  through  mud  and  mire,  over  hedges  and 
ditches,  merely  to  show  that  he  is  a  lad  of  spirit,  and 
out  of  his  leading-strings.  And  these  opinions  are 
amply  s'jbstantiated  by  what  I  have  above  said  of 
our  wor'.hy  ancestors ;  who  never  being  be-preached 
and  be-;ectured,  and  guided  and  governed  by  statutes 
and  laws  and  by-laws,  as  are  their  more  enlightened 
descendants,  did  one  and  all  demean  themselves 
honestly  <ind  peaceably,  out  of  pure  ignorance,  or  in 
other  words,  because  they  knew  no  better. 

Nor  must  I  omit  to  record  one  of  the  earliest 
measures  of  this  infant  settlement,  inasmuch  as  it 
shows  the  piety  of  our  forefathers,  and  that  like 
good  Christians,  they  were  always  ready  to  serve 
God,  after  they  had  first  served  themselves.  Thus, 
liaving  quietly  settled  themselves  down,  and  provided 
for  their  own  comfort,  they  bethought  themselves  of 
testifying  their  gratitude  to  the  great  and  good  St. 
Nicholas,  for  his  protecting  care  in  guiding  them  to 
this  delectable  abode.  To  this  end  they  built  a  fair 
and  g(X)dly  chapel  within  the  fort,  which  they  con- 
secrated to  his  name ;  whereujran  he  immediately 
took  the  town  of  New-Amsterdam  under  his  pecul- 
iar patronage,  and  he  has  ever  since  been,  and  I 
devoutly  hope  will  ever  be,  the  tutelar  saint  of  this 
excellent  city. 

I  am  moreover  told  that  there  is  a  little  legendary 
book,  somewhere  extant,  written  in  Low  Dutch, 
wliich  says  that  the  image  of  this  renowned  saint, 
which  whilome  graced  the  bowsprit  of  the  Goede 
Vrouw,  was  elevated  in  front  of  this  chapel,  in  the 
very  centre  of  what,  in  modem  days,  is  called  the 
Bowling-Green.  And  the  legend  lurther  treats  of 
divers  miracles  wrought  by  the  mighty  pipe  which 
the  saint  held  in  his  mouth  ;  a  whiff  of  which  was  a 
sovereign  cure  for  an  indigestion — an  invaluable 
relic  in  this  colony  of  brave  trenchermen.  As,  how- 
ever, in  spite  of  the  most  diligent  search,  I  cannot 
lay  my  hands  upon  this  little  book,  1  must  confess 
th.1t  I  entertain  considerable  doubt  on  the  subject. 

Thus  benignly  fostered  by  the  good  St.  Nicholas, 
Ih;  burghers  of  New-Amsterdam  beheld  their  settle- 
nv-'nt  increase  in  magnitude  and  population,  and 
ftj»n  become  th:  metropolis  of  divers  settlements, 
md  an  extensive  territory.  Already  hail  the  disas- 
:'CfS  pride  of  colonies  and  dependencies,  those  banes 
0."  a  soand-hearted  empire,  entered  into  their  imag- 
inations; and  Fort  Aurania  on  the  Hudson,  Fort 
Nassau  on  the  Delaware,  and  Fort  Goede  Hoep  on 
the  Connecticut  river,  seemed  to  be  the  darling  off- 
spring of  the  venerable  council.*   Thus  prosperously, 

*  The  province  about  thiA  time,  extended  on  the  north  to  Fort 
Aunnia  or  Otaoge  (now  the  city  of  Albany,)  lituated  about  i6o 


to  all  appearance,  did  the  province  of  New-Nether. 
lands  advance  in  power ;  and  the  early  history  of  itj 
metropolis  presents  a  fair  page,  unsullied  by  crime 
or  calamity. 

Hordes  of  painted  savages  still  lurked  about  the 
tangled  forests  and  rich  bottoms  of  the  unsettleii 
part  of  the  island — the  hunter  pitched  his  rude  howef 
of  skins  and  bark  beside  the  rills  that  ran  thrc  jg|> 
the  cool  and  shady  glens;  while  here  and  tliert 
might  be  seen  on  some  sunny  knoll,  a  group  of  in 
dian  wigwams,  whoj",  smoke  rose  above  the  neigh- 
bouring trees,  and  floated  in  the  transparent  at- 
mosphere. By  degrees,  a  mutual  good-will  had 
grown  up  between  these  wandering  beings  an'l  the 
burghers  of  New- Amsterd.am.  Our  benevolent  lore- 
fathers endeavoL red  as  much  as  possible  to  meliorate 
their  situation,  by  giving  them  gin,  rum,  and  glass 
beads,  in  exchange  for  their  peUries ;  for  it  seems  the 
kind-hearted  Dutchmen  had  conceived  a  great  friend. 
ship  for  their  savage  neighbours,  on  account  of  their 
being  pleasant  men  to  trade  with,  and  little  skilled  in 
the  art  of  making  a  bargain. 

Now  and  then  a  crew  of  these  half-human  sons  of 
the  forest  would  make  their  appearance  in  the  streets 
of  New- Amsterdam,  fantastically  painted  and  ihc- 
orated  with  beads  and  Haunting  feathers,  sauntering 
about  with  an  air  of  listless  indilference — sonieiimes 
in  the  market-place,  instructing  the  little  Dutch 
boys  in  the  use  of  the  bow  and  arrow — at  Dther 
times,  inflamed  with  liquor,  swaggering  am!  whoop- 
ing and  yelling  about  the  town  like  so  many  lie  mis, 
to  the  great  dismay  of  all  the  good  wives,  who 
would  hurry  their  children  into  the  house,  fasten  the 
doors,  and  throw  water  upon  the  enemy  from  !hn 
garret-windows.  It  is  worthy  of  mention  here,  thv 
our  forefathers  were  very  particular  in  holding  up  thesi 
wild  men  as  excellent  domestic  ex.amples— ai.d  fo:' 
reasons  that  may  be  gathered  from  the  history  ol 
master  Ogilby,  who  tells  us,  that  "  for  the  least  of- 
fence  the  bridegroom  soundly  beats  his  wife  and 
turns  her  out  of  doors,  and  marries  another,  inso- 
much that  some  of  them  have  ever\'  year  a  lu-w 
wife."  Whether  this  awful  example  had  any  influ- 
ence or  not,  history  does  not  mention  :  but  it  is  cer- 
tain that  our  grandmothers  were  miracles  of  fidelity 
and  obedience. 

True  it  is,  that  the  good  understanding  between 
our  ancestors  and  their  savage  neighbours  w.is 
liable  to  occasional  interruptions  ;  and  I  have  heard 
my  grandmother,  who  was  a  very  wise  old  woin.m, 
and  well  versed  in  the  history  of  these  parts,  tell  a 
long  story,  of  a  winter's  evening,  about  a  battle  be- 
tween the  New-Amsterdamers  and  the  Indians, 
which  w.as  known  by  the  name  of  the  Peach  War, 
and  which  took  place  near  a  peach  orchard,  in  a 
dark  glen,  which  for  a  long  while  went  by  the  name 
of  the  Murderer's  Valley. 

The  legend  of  this  sylvan  war  was  long  current 
among  the  nurses,  old  wives,  and  other  ancient 
chroniclers  of  the  place;  but  time  and  improvepiert 
have  almost  ot)liieraled  both  the  tradition  and  th* 
scene  of  battle  ;  for  what  was  once  the  blood-stained 
valley  is  now  in  the  centre  of  this  popu!oL,s  city,  an;! 
known  by  the  name  of  Dey-street. 

The  accumulating  wealth  and  consequence  o( 
New- Amsterdam  and  its  dependencies  at  length 
awakened  the  tender  soHcitude  of  the  mother  coun- 


miles  up  the  Hudson  river.  Indeed,  the  province  cLiimed  quitt  \a 
the  river  St.  I.awrence  ;  hut  this  claim  was  not  much  insisted  on  at 
the  time,  a.*^  the  country  Iwyond  Fort  Aurania  was  a  perfect  wilder- 
ness. On  (he  suuth.  the  province  reached  lu  Fort  Nassau,  in  the 
South  river,  since  called  the  nelaw.->re  ;  and  on  the  east,  it  extend- 
ed to  the  Varshe  (or  fresh)  river  now  the  Connecticut.  Uu  thii 
last  frontier  wa.s  likewise  erectea  a  fcrt  or  trading  house,  much 
about  the  spot  where  at  present  is  sitLated  the  pleasant  town  o| 
Hartford.  This  was  called  Fort  Goede  Hoep,  (or  Good  Hope)  uig 
was  intended  as  well  for  the  piirpoMS  ot  trade,  as  of  defence. 


vlnce  of  Nevr-Nether. 
the  early  histor)- of  itj 
ge,  unsullied  by  crime 

still  lurked  about  the 
oms  of  the  unsettle 
pitched  his  rude  t)ow«f 
rills  that  ran  thrc  jtrV 
irhile  here  and  then- 
knoll,  a  group  of  In 
rose  above  the  neigh- 

the  transparent  at- 
nutual  good-will  had 
iering  beings  an-l  the 

Our  benevolent  fore. 
s  possible  to  meliorate 
1  gin,  mm,  and  o^i^^s 
tries ;  for  it  seems  the 
nceived  a  great  friend. 
rs,  on  account  of  their 
th,  and  little  skilled  in 

se  half-human  sons  of 
pearance  in  the  streets 
ally  painted  and  (he. 
g  feathers,  sauntering 
Jitference— sonietiiiii's 
ing  the  little  Dutch 
and  arrow— at  other 
raggering  and  whoop- 
like so  many  lieous, 
he  good  wives,  who 
>  the  house,  fasten  the 
the  enemy  from  »h« 
of  mention  here,  tha- 
liar  in  holding  up  tlifiw 
ic  examples -and  fov 
I  from  the  history  o! 
lat  "  for  the  least  of. 
/  beats  his  wife  and 
Harries  another,  inso- 
ve  ever\'  year  a  luw 
tample  had  anv  mliu- 
uention  ;  but  it  is  c-r- 
re  miracles  of  ti'ieiity 

iderstanding  between 
age  neighbours  was 
IS ;  and  I  have  heard 
ery  wise  old  woman, 

of  these  parts,  tell  a 
ig,  about  a  battle  he- 
rs  and  the  Indians, 
;  of  the  /'i-acA  n;,r, 

peacK  orchard,  in  a 
ile  went  by  the  name 

/ar  was  long  current 
,  and  other  ancient 
me  and  improve:';ert 
;he  tradition  and  the 
ice  the  blood-stained 
lis  populoL-S  city,  an:! 
■ef. 

md  consequence  of 
endencies  at  length 
of  the  mother  coun- 


r  province  cLiimed  quitt  to 
.IS  not  much  insisted  od  it 
irania  wan  a  perfect  wilder- 
ed  10  Fort  N.'usau,  on  the 
and  on  the  east,  it  extend- 
;he  Connecticut.  On  thii 
1  or  tnidinK  house,  much 
ited  the  pleasant  town  ol 
hloep,  (i>i  Good  Hope)  uio 
trade,  as  o(  defence. 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


461 


oy ;  who,  finding  it  a  thriving  and  opulent  colony, 
and  thait  it  promised  to  yield  great  profit,  and  no 
trouble,  all  at  once  became  wonderfully  anxious 
about  its  safety,  and  began  to  load  it  with  tokens  of 
regard,  in  the  same  manner  that  your  knowing  peo- 
ple are  sure  to  overwhelm  rich  relations  with  their 
ajfection  and  loving-kindness. 

The  usual  marks  of  protection  shown  by  mother 
countries  to  wealthy  colonies  were  forthwith  mani- 
(JMted— the  first  care  always  being  to  send  rulers  to 
the  new  settlement,  with  orders  to  squeeze  as  much 
rrvenue  from  it  as  it  will  yield.  Accordingly,  in  the 
year  of  our  Lord  1629,  Mynheer  Wouter  Van 
TwiLLER  was  appointed  governor  of  the  province 
of  Nieuw-Nederiandts,  under  the  commission  and 
control  of  their  High  Mightinesses,  the  Lords  States 
General  of  the  United  Netherlands,  and  the  privi- 
leged West  India  Company. 

This  renowned  old  gentleman  arrived  at  New- 
Amsterdam  in  the  merry  month  of  June,  the  sweet- 
est month  in  all  the  year ;  when  Dan  Apollo  seems 
to  dance  up  the  transparent  firmament — when  the 
robin,  the  thrush,  and  a  thousand  other  wanton 
songsters  make  the  woods  to  resound  with  amorous 
ditties,  and  the  luxurious  little  boblincon  revels 
among  the  clover  blossoms  of  the  meadows — all 
which  happy  coincidence  persuaded  the  old  dames 
of  New-Amsterdam,  wiio  were  skilled  in  the  art  of 
foretelling  events,  that  this  was  to  be  a  happy  and 
prosperous  administration. 

But  as  it  would  be  derogatory  to  the  consequence 
of  the  first  Dutch  governor  of  the  great  province  of 
Nieuw-Nederlandts,  to  be  thus  scurvily  introduced 
It  the  end  of  the  chapter,  1  will  put  an  end  to  this 
lecond  book  of  my  history,  that  I  may  usher  him  in 
with  more  dignity  in  the  beginning  of  my  next. 


BO(fK  III. 

(M  WHICH   IS  RECORDED  THE  GOLDEN  REIGN  OF 
WOUTER  VAN  TWILLER. 


CHAPTER  L 

OF  THE  RENOWNED  WALTER  VAN  TWILLER — HIS 
UNPARALLELED  VIRTUES — AND  LIKEWISE  HIS 
UNUTTERABLE  WISDOM  IN  THE  LAW-CASE  OK 
WANDLE  SCHOONHOVEN  AND  BARENT  BLEECK- 
ER— AND  THE  GREAT  ADMIRATION  OF  THE 
PUBLIC  THEREAT. 

Grievous  and  very  much  to  be  commiserated  is 
the  task  of  the  feeling  historian  who  writes  the  his- 
tory of  his  native  land.  If  it  fall  to  his  lot  to  be  the 
sad  recorder  of  calamity  or  crime,  the  mournful  page 
is  watered  with  his  tears — nor  can  he  recall  the  most 
prosperous  and  blissful  era,  without  a  melancholy 
sigh  at  the  retlection  that  it  has  passed  away  for 
evej  !  I  know  not  whether  it  be  owing  to  an  im- 
moderate love  for  the  simplicity  of  former  times,  or 
'0  that  certain  tenderness  of  heart  incident  to  all 
«  tti.nental  historians;  but  I  candidly  confess  that  I 
annot  look  back  on  the  happier  days  of  our  city, 
which  I  now  descril)e,  without  a  sad  clejection  of  the 
spirits.  With  a  faitei.ng  hand  do  I  withdraw  the 
cm  tain  of  oblivion  that  veils  the  modest  merit  of 
our  venerable  ancestors,  and  as  their  tigures  rise  to 
my  mental  vision,  humble  myself  before  the  mighty 
shades. 


Such  are  my  feelings  when  I  revisit  ihe  fainilj 
mansion  of  the  Knickerbockers,  and  spend  a  loneh 
hour  in  the  chamber  where  hang  the  portraits  of  my 
forefathers,  shrouded  in  dust,  like  the  forms  they 
represent.  With  pious  reverence  do  I  gaze  on  the 
countenances  of  those  renowned  burghers,  who  have 
preceded  me  in  the  steady  march  of  existence — 
whose  sober  and  temper  ite  blood  now  meardcrs 
through  my  veins,  flowing  slower  and  slower  ia  its 
feeble  conduits,  until  its  current  shall  scon  be  stop- 
ped for  ever ! 

These,  say  I  to  myself,  are  but  frail  meraorials  of 
the  mighty  men  who  flourished  in  the  days  of  the 
patriarchs ;  but  who,  alas,  have  long  since  moulder- 
ed in  that  tomb  towards  which  my  steps  are  insen- 
sibly and  irresistibly  hastening !  As  I  pace  the 
darkened  chamber,  and  lose  myself  in  melancholy 
musings,  the  shadowy  images  around  me  almost 
seem  to  steal  once  more  into  existence — their  coun- 
tenances to  assume  the  animation  of  life — their  eyes 
to  pursue  me  in  every  movement !  Carried  away  by 
the  delusions  of  fancy,  I  almost  imagine  myself  sur- 
rounded by  the  shades  of  the  departed,  and  holding 
sweet  converse  with  the  worthies  of  antiquity  !  Ah. 
hapless  Diedrich !  bom  in  a  degenerate  age,  aban- 
doned to  the  buffetings  of  fortune — a  stranger  and 
a  weary  pilgrim  in  thy  native  land — blest  with  no 
weeping  wife,  nor  family  of  helpless  children ;  but 
doomed  to  wander  neglected  through  those  crowded 
streets,  and  elbowed  by  foreign  upstarts  from  those 
fair  abodes  where  once  thine  ancestors  held  sover- 
eign empire  ! 

Let  me  not,  however,  lose  the  historian  in  the  man, 
nor  suffer  the  dating  recollections  of  age  to  overcome 
me,  while  dwelling  with  fond  garrulity  on  the  virtu- 
ous days  of  the  patriarchs — on  those  sweet  days  of 
simplicity  and  ease,  which  never  more  will  dawn  ou 
the  lovely  island  of  Manna-hata  ! 

The  renowned  Wouter  (or  Walter)  Van  Twillci 
was  descended  from  a  long  line  of  Dutch  burgo. 
masters,  who  had  successively  dozed  away  thei; 
lives,  and  grown  fat  upon  the  bench  of  magistracy' 
in  Rotterdam ;  and  who  had  comported  themselves 
with  such  singular  wisdom  and  propriety,  that  they 
were  never  either  heard  or  talked  of— which,  next  to 
being  universally  applauded,  should  be  the  object  of 
ambition  of  all  sage  magistrates  and  rulers. 

The  surname  oi  Twiller  is  said  to  be  a  corruption 
of  the  original  Twijfler,  which  in  English  me.ans 
doubter  ;  a  name  admirably  descriptive  of  his  delib- 
erative habits.  For,  though  he  was  a  man  shut  up 
within  himself  like  an  oyster,  and  of  such  a  profound- 
ly reflective  turn,  that  he  scarcely  ever  spoke  except 
in  monosyllables,  yet  did  he  never  make  up  his  mind 
on  any  doubtful  point.  This  was  clearly  accounted 
for  by  his  adherents,  who  affirmed  that  he  always 
conceived  every  object  on  so  comprehensive  a  scale 
that  he  had  not  room  in  his  head  to  turn  it  over  and 
examine  both  sides  of  it,  so  that  he  always  remained 
in  doubt,  merely  in  consequence  of  the  astonishing 
magnitude  of  his  ideas  ! 

There  are  two  opposite  ways  by  which  some  men 
get  into  notice — one  by  talking  a  vast  deal  and  think- 
ing a  little,  and  the  other  by  nolding  their  tongues, 
and  not  thinking  at  all.  By  the  first,  many  a  vapour- 
ing, superficial  pretender  acquires  the  reputation  of  a 
man  of  quick  parts — by  the  other,  many  a  vacant 
dunderpate,  like  the  owl,  the  stupidest  of  birds, 
comes  to  be  complimented  by  a  discerning  world 
with  all  the  attributes  of  wisdom.  This,  by  the  way, 
is  a  mere  casual  remark,  which  1  would  not  for  the 
universe  have  it  thought  1  apply  to  Governor  Van 
Twiller.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  a  very  wise 
Dutchman,  for  he  never  said  a  foolish  thing — and  of 
such  invincible  gravity,  that  he  was  never  known  to 


462 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


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Pi 


I  I.-  -■•■■ 

'IN." 

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t*»tll 


laueh,  or  even  to  ^mile,  through  the  course  of  a  long 
ana  prosperous  life.  Certain,  however,' it  is,  there 
i)ever  was  a  matter  proposed,  however  simple,  and 
on  which  your  common  narrow-minded  mortals 
would  rashly  determine  at  the  first  glance,  but  what 
the  renowned  Wouter  put  on  a  mighty,  mysterious, 
vacant  kind  of  look,  shook  his  capacious  head,  and, 
having  smoked  for  five  minutes  with  redoubled  ear- 
nestness, sagely  observed,  that  "  he  had  his  doubts 
about  the  matter  " — which  in  process  of  time  gained 
him  the  character  of  a  man  slow  in  belief,  and  not 
easily  imposed  on. 

The  person  of  this  illustrious  old  gentleman  was 
as  regularly  formed,  and  nobly  proportioned,  as 
though  it  had  been  moulded  by  the  hands  of  some 
cunning  Dutch  statuary,  as  a  model  of  majesty  and 
lordly  grandeur.  He  was  exactly  five  feet  six  inches 
in  height,  and  six  feet  five  inches  in  circumference. 
His  head  was  a  perfect  sphere,  and  of  such  stupen- 
dous dimensions,  that  dame  Nature,  with  all  her  sex's 
ingenuity,  would  have  been  puzzled  to  construct  a 
neck  capable  of  supporting  it ;  wherefore  she  wisely 
declined  the  attemj)!,  and  settled  it  lirinly  on  the  top 
of  his  back-bone,  just  between  the  shoulders.  His 
body  was  of  an  oblong  form,  particularly  capacious 
at  bottom  ;  which  was  wisely  ordered  by  Providence, 
seeing  that  he  was  a  man  of  sedentary  haliits,  and 
very  averse  to  the  idle  labour  of  walking.  His  legs, 
though  exceeding  short,  were  sturdy  in  proportion 
to  tlie  weiglit  they  had  to  sustain ;  so  that  when 
erect  he  had  not  a  little  the  apjiearance  of  a  robust- 
ious beer-barrel,  standing  on  skids.  His  face,  that 
intallible  index  of  the  mind,  presented  a  vast  expanse, 
perfectly  unfiirrowed  or  deibrmed  by  any  of  those 
lints  and  angles  which  disfigure  the  human  counte- 
nance with  what  is  termed  expression.  Two  small 
gray  eyes  twinkled  feebly  in  the  midst,  like  two  stars 
ol  lesser  magnitude  in  the  h.'izy  firmament ;  and  his 
full-fed  cheeks,  which  seemed  to  have  taken  loll  of 
every  thing  that  went  into  his  mouth,  were  curiously 
mottled  and  streaked  with  dusky  red,  like  a  Spilzen- 
berg  apple. 

His  habits  were  as  regular  as  his  persoti.  He 
daily  took  his  four  stated  meals,  appropriating  ex- 
actly an  hour  to  each  ;  !ie  smoked  and  doubtei'  eight 
hours,  and  he  slept  the  remaining  twelve  of  tht  Ibur- 
anil-tweiity.  Such  was  the  renowned  Wouter  V'an 
Twiller — a  true  philosopher,  for  his  niind  was  either 
elevated  above,  or  tranquilly  settled  below,  the  cares 
and  perplexities  of  this  world.  He  ha<l  lived  in  it 
for  years,  without  feeling  the  least  curiositr  to  know 
whether  the  sun  revolved  rounil  it,  or  it  round  the 
sun  ;  and  he  had  watched,  for  at  least  half  a  century, 
the  smoke  curling  from  his  pipe  to  the  ceiling,  with- 
out once  troubling  his  head  wiih  any  of  those  aumer- 
.)US  theories,  by  which  a  philosopher  would  have 
perplexed  his  brain,  in  accounting  for  its  rising  above 
the  surrounding  atmosphere. 

In  his  council  he  presided  with  great  state  and 
solerrni.y.  He  sat  in  a  huge  chaiv  of  solid  oak,  hewn 
in  the  celebrated  forest  of  the  Hague,  fabricated  by 
an  experienced  timmerm.an  of  Amsterdam,  and 
(juiiously  carved  about  the  arms  and  feet,  into  exact 
Initiations  of  gigantic  e.agie's  claws.  Instead  of  a 
s.:eptie,  he  swayed  a  long  Turkish  pipe,  wrought 
with  jasmin  and  amber,  which  had  been  presented 
to  a  Stadlholder  of  Holland,  at  the  conclusion  of  a 
treaty  with  one  of  the  petty  Harbary  powers.  In  thiii 
stately  chair  would  he  sit,  and  this  magnificent  pipe 
wruld  he  smoke,  shaking. his  right  knee  with  a  con- 
stant motion,  and  fixing  his  eye  for  hours  together 
upon  a  little  print  of  Amsterdam,  which  hung  in  a 
black  frame  against  the  opposite  wall  of  the  council 
chamber.  Nay,  it  has  even  been  said,  that  when 
iny  deliberaMor  of  extraordinary  length  and  intricacy 


was  on  the  carpet,  the  renowned  Wouter  would 
absolutely  shut  his  eyes  for  full  two  hours  at  a  ijmei 
that  he  might  not  be  disturbed  by  external  objects-^ 
and  at  such  times  the  internal  commotion  of  his 
mind  was  evinced  by  certain  regular  guttural  sounds 
which  his  admirers  declared  were  merely  the  rois< 
of  conflict,  made  by  his  contending  dou'its  an^ 
opinions. 

It  is  with  infinite  difficulty  I  have  been  er.  ibUd  to 
collect  these  biographical  anecdotes  of  the  gaat  man 
under  consideration.  The  facts  respecting  him  wfr? 
so  scattered  and  vague,  and  divers  of  them  so  quns- 
tionable  in  point  of  authenticity,  that  I  have  hv\  to 
give  up  the  search  after  many,  and  decline  ilu  ad- 
mission of  still  more,  which  would  have  tendcl  to 
heighten  the  colouring  of  his  portrait. 

I  have  been  the  more  anxious  to  delineate  fully 
the  person  and  habits  of  the  renowned  Van  Twiiler, 
from  the  consideration  that  he  was  not  only  the  first, 
but  also  the  best  governor  that  ever  presided  over 
this.ancient  and  respectable  province  ;  .and  so  tran- 
quil and  benevolent  w.as  his  reign,  that  I  do  not  find 
throughout  the  whole  of  it,  a  single  instance  of  any 
offender  being  brought  to  punishment — a  most  indu- 
bitable sign  of  a  merciful  governor,  and  a  case  un- 
paralleled, excepting  in  the  reign  of  the  illustrious 
King  Log,  from  whom,  it  is  hinted,  the  renowned 
Van  Twiller  was  a  lineal  descendant. 

The  very  outset  of  the  career  of  this  excellent 
magistrate  was  distinguished  by  an  example  ot  i  ;,'al 
acumen,  that  gave  flattering  presage  of  a  wise  nui 
equitable  administration.  The  morning  alter  he  l,ad 
been  solemnly  installed  in  oftice,  and  at  the  incniM  nt 
that  he  was  making  his  breakfast,  from  a  prodigious 
earthen  dish,  filled  with  milk  and  Indian  puddir.s.;,he 
was  suddenly  interrupted  by  the  appearance  ot  one 
Wandle  Schoonhoven,  a  very  important  old  burgi.er 
of  New-Amsterdam,  who  complained  bitterly  of  ons 
Barent  Bleecker,  inasmuch  .as  he  fraudulently  reiused 
to  come  to  a^ettlement  of  accounts,  seeing  th.ii  th  re 
w.as  a  heavy  balance  in  favdur  of  the  said  Wan.i.lf. 
Governor  Van  Twiller,  as  I  have  already  obscned, 
was  a  man  of  few  words  ;  he  was  likewise  a  iiuirtal 
enemy  to  multiplying  writings — or  being  disturbed 
at  his  breakfast.  Having  listened  attentively  to  the 
statement  of  Wandle  Schoonhoven,  giving  an  occa- 
sional grunt,  as  he  shovelled  a  spoonful  of  Indian 
pudding  into  his  mouth— either  as  a  sign  that  he  rel- 
ished the  dish,  or  comprehended  the  story — he  called 
unto  him  his:  constable,  and  pulling  out  of  his  breeches 
pocket  a  huge  j.ack-knile,  despatched  it  after  the  de- 
fendant as  a  summons,  accompanied  by  his  tobacco- 
box  as  a/warrant. 

This  summary  process  was  as  effectu.al  in  those 
simple  days  as  was  the  seal-ring  of  the  great  Haroun 
Alraschid  among  the  true  believers.  The  two  par- 
ties being  confronted  ^Dcfore  him,  each  produced  a 
book  of  accounts  written  in  a  language  and  character 
that  would  have  puzzled  any  but  a  High  Dutch  com- 
mentator, or  a  learned  decipherer  of  Egyptian  uh(  - 
lisks,  to  understand.  The  sage  Wouter  took  ilirm 
one  after  the  other,  and  having  poised  them  in  his 
hands,  and  attentively  .;iunted  over  the  number  oi 
leaves,  fell  straightway  into  a  very  great  douht,  r.r.i' 
smoked  for  half  an  hour  without  saying  a  word  ;  at 
length,  laying  his  finger  besifle  his  nose,  and  shut'.l.  £ 
his  eyes  for  a  moment,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has 
just  caught  a  subtle  idea  by  the  -ail,  he  slowly  tooit 
his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  p'.  it!,  '.Tth  a  column  of 
tobacco-smoke,  and  with  marvciious  gravity  and  so 
lemnity  pronounced — that  having  careiully  counted 
over  the  leaves  and  weighed  the  books,  >  was  found, 
that  one  was  Just  as  thick  and  as  heavy  .as  the  other 
— therefore  it  was  the  final  opinion  of  "the  court  that 
the  accounts  were  equally  balanced— therefore  Wan- 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


'  4G3 


»ed  W  outer  wonW 
wo  hours  at  ,i  ijme^ 
y  external  objects- 
commotion  of  his 
liar  guttural  sounds 
re  merely  the  coise 
nding  dou'tts  and 


die  should  give  Barent  a  receipt,  ai^d  Barent  should 
p\c  Wandle  a  receipt — and  the  constable  should  pay 
the  costs. 

[his  decision  t>eing  straightway  made  known,  dif- 
lu.icd  general  joy  throughout  New-Amsterdam,  lor 
the  people  immediately  perceived,  that  they  had  a 
very  wise  and  equitable  magistrate  to  rule  over  them. 
But  Its  happiest  effect  was,  that  not  another  law-suit 
took  place  throughout  the  whole  of  his  administra- 
(ion — .ind  the  office  of  constable  fell  into  such 
decay,  that  there  wa3  not  one  of  those  losel  scouts 
known  in  the  province  for  many  years.  I  am  the 
more  particular  in  dwelling  on  this  transaction, 
not  only  because  1  deem  it  one  of  the  most  sage 
anil  righteous  judgments  on  record,  and  well 
wortliy  the  attention  of  modem  magistrates,  but 
because  it  was  a  miraculous  event  in  the  history 
of  the  renowned  VVouter — being  the  only  time  he 
was  ever  known  to  come  to  a  decision  in  the  whole 
course  of  his  life. 


CHAPTER  II. 

CON'TAINING  SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  GRAND 
COUNCIL  OF  NEW-AMSTERr)AM,  AS  ALSO  DIVERS 
KSPECIAL  GOOD  PHILOSOPHICAL  REASONS  WHY 
AN  ALDERMAN  SHOULD  BE  FAT — WITH  OTHER 
PARTICULARS  TOUCHING  THE  STATE  OF  THE 
PROVINCE, 

In  tre.ating  of  the  early  governors  of  the  province, 
I  ir.ust  caution  my  readers  against  confounding  them, 
in  point  of  digrtity  and  power,  with  those  worthy 
0  ntlemen,  who  are  whimsically  denominated  gov- 
tinors  in  this  enlightened  republic — a  set  of  unhappy 
v'Ctims  of  popularity,  who  are  in  fact  the  most  dc- 
pmdent,  henpecked  beings  in  the  community :  doom- 
c*l  to  bear  the  secret  goadings  and  corrections  of  their 
own  p.''.rtjr,  and  the  sneers  and  revilings  of  the  whole 
world  beside; — set  up,  like  geese  at  Christmas  holy- 
days,  to  be  pelted  and  shot  at  by  every  whipster  and 
vagabond  in  the  land.  On  the  contrary,  the  Dutch 
governors  enjoyed  that  uncontrolled  authority  vested 
In  all  commanders  of  distant  colonies  or  territories. 
They  were  in  a  manner  absolute  despots  in  their 
little  domains,  lording  it,  if  so  {lisposed,  over  both 
law  and  gospel,  and  accountable  to  none  but  the 
mother  country  ;  which  it  is  well  known  is  astonish- 
in>,'ly  deaf  to  all  complaints  against  its  governors, 
provided  they  discharge  the  main  duty  of  their  sta- 
tion— squeezing  out  a  good  revenue.  This  hint  wil! 
he  of  importance,  to  prevent  my  readers  from  being 
seized  with  doubt  and  incredulity,  whenever,  in  the 
Ciiurse  of  this  authentic  history,  they  encounter  the 
uncommon  circumstance  of  a  governor  acting  with 
iiulependence,  and  in  opposition  to  the  opinions 
of  'he  multitude. 

To  assist  the  doubtful  Wouter  in  the  arduous  busi- 
ness of  legislation,  a  board  of  magistrates  was  ap- 
pointed, which  presided  immediately  over  the  police. 
Iliis  potent  body  consisted  of  a  schout  or  bailiff,  with 
wwcrs  between  those  of  the  present  mayor  and 
<!  s.-iff — five  burgermeesters,  who  were  equivalent  to 
j'  ,'ermen,  and  five  schepens,  who  officiated  as  scrubs, 
!'idevils,  or  bottle-holders  to  the  burgermeesters,  in 
l.i  same  manner  as  do  assistant  aldermen  to  their 
principals  at  the  present  day  ;  it  being  their  duty  to 
h  '  the  pipes  of  the  lordly  burgermeesters — hunt  the 
'ii.irkets  for  delicacies  for  corporation  dinners,  and  to 
discharge  such  other  little  offices  of  kindness  as  were 
occasionally  required.  It  was,  moreover,  tacitly  un- 
derstood, thougn  not  specifically  enjoined,  that  they 
should  consider  themselves  as  bu*ts  for  the  blunt  wits 


of  the  burgermeesters,  and  shculd  laugh  most  hearti< 
ly  at  all  their  jokes ;  but  this  last  was  a  duty  as  rarely 
called  in  action  in  those  days  as  it  is  at  present,  and 
was  shortly  remitted,  in  consequence  of  the  trajncal 
de.ith  of  a  fat  little  schepen— -who  actually  died  of 
suffocation,  in  an  unsuccessful  effort  to  force  a  laugb 
at  one  of  the  burgermeester  Van  Zandt's  best  jokes. 
In  return  for  these  humble  services,  they  were  per- 
mitted to  say^i?.f  and  no  at  the  council  board,  and  to 
have  that  enviable  privilege,  the  run  of  the  public 
kitchen — being  graciously  permitted  to  eat,  and  drink, 
and  smoke,  at  all  tl-sse  snug  junketings  and  public 
gormandizings,  for  which  the  ancient  magistrates 
were  equally  famous  with  their  modern  successors. 
The  post  of  schepen,  therefore,  like  that  of  assistant 
alderman,  was  eagerly  coveted  by  all  your  burghers 
of  a  certain  description,  who  have  a  huge  relish  for 
good  feeding,  and  an  humble  atnbition  to  be  great 
men  in  a  small  way — who  thirst  after  a  little  brief 
authority,  that  shall  render  them  the  terror  of  the 
alms-house  and  the  bridewell  —  that  shall  enable 
them  to  lord  it  over  obsequious  poverty,  vagrant 
vice,  outcast  prostitution,  and  hunger-driven  dishon- 
esty—that shall  give  to  their  beck  a  hound-like  pack 
of  catch- poles  and  bum-bailiffs  — tenfold  greater 
rogues  than  the  culprits  they  hunt  down  ! — My  read- 
ers will  excuse  this  sudden  warmth,  which  I  confess 
is  unbecoming  of  a  grave  historian — but  I  h.ave  a 
mortal  antipathy  to  catch  poles,  bum-bailiffs,  and 
little  great  men. 

The  ancient  magistrates  of  this  city  corresponded 
with  those  of  the  present  time  no  less  in  form,  mag- 
nitude, and  intellect,  than  in  prerogative  and  privi- 
lege. The  burgomasters,  like  our  aldermen,  were 
generally  chosen  by  weight — and  not  only  the  weight 
of  the  body,  but  likewise  the  weight  of  the;  head.  It 
is  a  maxim  practically  of)served  in  all  honest,  plain- 
thinking,  regular  cities,  that  an  alderman  should  be 
fat — and  the  wisdom  of  this  can  be  proved  to  a  cer- 
tainty. That  the  body  is  in  some  measure  an  iir.a^je 
of  the  mind,  or  rather  that  the  mind  is  moukled  to 
the  body,  like  melted  lead  to  the  clay  in  which  it  is 
cast,  has  been  insisted  on  by  many  philosophers,  who 
have  made  human  nature  their  peculiar  study — for 
as  a  learned  gentleman  of  our  own  city  observes, 
"  there  is  a  constant  relation  between  the  moral 
character  of  all  intelligent  creatures,  and  their  physi- 
cal constitution— between  their  habits  and  the  struct- 
ure of  their  bodies."  Thus  we  see,  that  a  lean, 
sp.are,  diminutive  body,  is  generally  accompanied  by 
a  petulant,  restless,  meddling  mind — either  the  mind 
we.ars  down  the  body,  by  its  continual  motion ;  or 
else  the  body,  not  affording  the  mind  sufficient 
house-room,  keeps  it  continually  in  a  state  of  fretful- 
ness,  tossing  and  worrying  about  from  the  uneasiness 
of  its  situation.  Whereas  your  round,  sleek,  fat.  un- 
wieldy periphery  is  ever  attended  by  a  mind  like  it- 
self, tranquil,  torpid,  and  at  ease ;  and  we  may  al- 
ways observe,  that  your  well-fed,  robustious  burghers 
are  in  general  very  tenacious  of  their  ease  and  com- 
fort ;  being  great  enemies  to  noise,  discord,  and  dis- 
turbance— and  surely  none  are  more  likely  to  study 
the  public  tranquillity  than  those  who  are  so  caieful 
of  their  own.  Who  ever  hears  of , fat  men  heading  a 
riot,  or  herding  together  in  turbulent  mobs? — no- 
no — it  is  your  lean,  hungry  men,  who  are  continually 
worrying  society,  and  setting  the  whole  community 
by  the  ears. 

The  divine  Plato,  whose  doctrines  are  not  suffi- 
ciently attended  to  by  philosophers  of  the  present 
age,  allows  to  every  man  three  souls — one  immortal 
and  rational,  seated  in  the  brain,  that  it  may  over- 
look and  regulate  the  body — a  second  consisting  of 
the  surly  and  irascible  passions,  which,  like  belliger- 
ent powers,  lie  encamped  around  the  heart — a  mini 


464 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


itk 


mortal  and  sensual,  destitute  of  reason,  ffross  and 
brutal  in  its  propensities,  and  enchained  in  the  belly, 
;hat  it  may' not  disturb  the  divine  soul,  by  its  raven- 
ous howhngs.  Now,  according  to  this  excellent 
thcor)-,  what  can  be  more  clear,  than  that  your  fat 
alderman  is  most  likely  to  have  the  most  regular  and 
well-conditioned  mind.  His  head  is  like  a  huge, 
>pherical  chamber,  containing  a  prodigious  mass  of 
soft  brains,  whereon  the  rational  soul  lies  softly  and 
•nugly  couched,  as  on  a  feather  bed ;  and  the  eyes, 
whijh  are  the  windows  of  the  bed-chamber,  are  usu- 
ally half  closed,  that  its  slumberings  may  not  be  dis- 
turbed by  external  objects.  A  mind  thus  comfortably 
lodged,  and  protected  from  disturbance,  is  manifestly 
most  likely  to  perform  its  functions  with  regularity 
and  ease.  By  dint  of  good  feeding,  moreover,  the 
mortal  and  malignant  soul,  which  is  contined  in  the 
belly,  and  which,  by  its  raging  and  roaring,  puts  the 
irritable  soul  in  the  neighbournood  of  the  heart  in  an 
intolerable  passion,  and  thus  renders  men  crusty  and 
quarrelsome  when  hungry,  is  completely  pacified, 
silenced,  and  put  to  rest — whereupon  a  host  of  hon- 
est good-fellow  qualities  and  kind-hearted  affections, 
which  had  lain  perdue,  slyly  peeping  out  of  the  loop- 
holes of  the  heart,  finding  this  Cerberus  asleep,  do 
pluck  up  their  spirits,  turn  out  one  and  all  in  their 
nolyday  suits,  and  gambol  up  and  down  the  dia- 
phragrn— disposing  their  possessor  to  laughter,  good- 
humour,  and  a  thousand  friendly  offices  towards  his 
ftllow-mortals. 

As  a  board  of  magistrates,  formed  on  this  model, 
liink  but  very  little,  they  are  the  less  likely  to  differ 
»nd  wrangle  about  favourite  opinions — and  as  they 
generally  transact  business  upon  a  hearty  dinner, 
tney  are  naturally  disposed  to  be  lenient  and  indul- 
gent in  the  administration  of  their  duties.  Charle- 
magne was  conscious  of  this,  and,  therefore  (a  piti- 
ful measure,  for  which  I  can  never  forgive  him),  or- 
dered in  his  cartularies,  that  no  judge  should  hold  a 
court  of  justice,  except  in  the  morning,  on  an  empty 
stomach — a  rule,  which,  I  warrant,  bore  hard  upon 
all  the  poor  culprits  in  his  kingdom.  The  more  en- 
lightened and  humane  generation  of  the  present  day 
have  taken  an  opposite  course,  and  have  so  man- 
aged, that  the  ainermen  are  the  t>est-fed  men  in  the 
community ;  feasting  lustily  on  the  fat  things  of  the 
land,  and  gorging  so  heartily  oysters  and  turtles, 
that  in  process  of  time  they  acquire  the  activity  of 
the  one,  and  the  form,  the  waddle,  and  the  green  fat 
ol  the  other.  The  consequence  is,  as  I  have  just 
said,  these  luxurious  feastings  do  produce  such  a 
dulcet  equanimity-and  repose  of  the  soul,  rational 
and  irrational,  that  their  transactions  are  proverbial 
for  unvarying  monotony — and  the  profound  laws 
which  they  enact  in  their  dozing  moments,  amid 
the  labours  of  digestion,  are  quietly  suffered  to  re- 
main as  dead-letters,  and  never  enforced,  when 
awake.  In  a  word,  your  fair,  round-bellied  burgo- 
master, like  a  full-fed  mastiff,  dozes  quietly  at  the 
house-door,  always  at  home,  and  always  at  hand  to 
watch  over  its  safety — but  as  to  electing  a  lean,  med- 
diir.g  candidate  to  the  office,  as  has  now  and  then 
besn  clone,  I  would  as  lief  put  a  grayhound  to  watch 
the  house,  or  a  race-horse  to  drag  an  ox-wagon. 

The  burgomasters  then,  as  I  have  already  men- 
tioned, were  wisely  chosen  by  weight,  and  the 
schepens,  or  assistant  aldermen,  were  a|)pointed 
to  attend  upon  them,  ind  help  them  eat ;  but  the 
fatter,  in  the  course  of  time,  when  they  had  l)een  fed 
and  fattened  into  sufficient  bulk  of  body  and  drow- 
siness of  brain,  became  very  eligible  candidates  for 
the  burgomasters'  chairs,  having  fairly  eaten  them- 
selves into  office,  as  a  mouse  eats  his  way  into  a 
comfortable  lodgement  in  a  goodly,  blue-nosed, 
tkimmed-milk,  New-England  cheese. 


Nothing  could  equal  the  profound  deliDer.tioni 
that  took  place  between  the  renowned  VVoutcr  and 
these  his  worthy  compeers,  unless  it  be  the  s,ig»  dj. 
vans  of  some  of  our  modem  corporations,  The> 
would  sit  for  hours  smoking  and  dozing  over  puhijc 
affairs,  without  speaking  a  word  to  interrupt  tha 
perfect  stillness  so  necessary  to  deep  rclfcctior 
Under  the  sober  sway  of  Wouter  Van  Twiller,  ,it> 
these  his  worthy  coadjutors,  the  infant  scttifiveni 
waxed  vigorous  apace,  gradually  emergi  ig  from  tht 
swamps  and  forests,  and  exhibiting  that  mingled  ap- 
pe.irance  of  town  and  country,  customary  in  new 
cities,  and  which  at  this  d.iy  may  be  witnessed  jr, 
the  city  of  Washington — that  immense  metropolis 
which  makes  so  glorious  an  appearance  on  pajx  r. 

It  was  a  pleasing  sight,  in  those  times,  to  iitliold 
the  honest  burgher,  like  a  patriarch  of  yore,  stiteil 
on  the  bench  at  the  door  of  his  whitewashed  house, 
under  the  shade  of  some  gigantic  sycamore  or  over- 
hanging willow.  Here  would  he  smoke  his  pipe  of 
a  sultry  afternoon,  enjoying  the  soft  southern  lueize, 
and  listening  with  silent  gratulation  to  the  elm  kiiiij 
of  his  hens,  the  cackling  of  his  geese,  and  ilu  so- 
norous  grunting  of  his  swine  ;  that  combination  of 
farm-yard  melody,  which  may  truly  be  said  to  hive 
a  silver  sound,  inasmuch  as  it  conveys  a  certain  as 
surance  of  profitable  marketing. 

The  modem  spectator,  who  wanders  through  the 
streets  of  this  populous  city,  can  scarcely  lorm  an 
idea  of  the  different  appearance  they  presented  in 
the  primitive  days  of  the  IJoubter.  The  busy  hum 
of  multitudes,  the  shouts  of  revelry,  the  rumbling 
equipages  of  fashion,  the  rattling  of  accursed  carts, 
and  all  the  spirit-grieving  sounds  of  brawling  corrs- 
merce,  were  unknown  in  the  settlement  ol  New- 
Amsterdam.  The  grass  grew  quietly  ip  the  hijrh- 
ways  —  the  bleating  sheep  and  frolicsome  cnlve« 
sported  about  the  verdant  ridge  where  now  tiie 
Broadway  loungers  take  their  morning  stroll— the 
cunning  fox  or  ravenous  wolf  skulked  in  the  womls, 
where  now  are  to  be  seen  the  dens  of  Gomez  and 
his  righteous  fraternity  of  money-brokers  —  and 
flocks  of  vociferous  geese  cackled  alwut  the  fields, 
where  now  the  great  Tammany  wigwam  and  the 
p.atriotic  tavern  of  Martling  echo  with  the  wrang- 
lings  of  the  mob. 

In  these  good  times  did  a  tme  and  enviable  etjual 
ity  of  rank  and  property  prevail,  equally  removed 
from  the  arrogance  of  wealth,  and  the  servility  and 
heart-burnings  of  repining  poverty — and  what  in  m\ 
mind  is  still  more  conducive  to  tranquillity  and  h.ir 
mony  among  friends,  a  happy  equality  of  intellcci 
was  likewise  to  be  seen.  The  minds  of  the  j;ood 
burghers  of  New-Amsterdam  seemed  all  to  have 
been  cast  in  one  mould,  and  to  be  those  honest, 
blunt  minds,  which,  like  certain  manufactures,  are 
made  by  the  gross,  and  considered  as  exceedinj.jly 
good  for  common  use. 

Thus  it  happens  that  your  tme  dull  minds  are  |t;en- 
erally  preferred  for  public  employ,  and  esf)eLia!ly 
promoted  to  city  honours;  yout  keen  intellects,  like 
razors,  being  considered  too  sharp  for  common  sitv- 
ice.  I  know  that  it  is  common  to  rail  at  the  un- 
equal distribution  of  riches,  as  the  great  source  c( 
jealousies,  broils,  and  heart-breakings ;  whereas  foi 
my  part,  I  verily  believe  it  is  the  sad  inequality  of  in- 
tellect that  prevails,  that  embroils  communities  more 
than  any  thing  else ;  and  I  have  remarked  that  yout 
knowing  people,  who  are  so  much  wiser  than  any 
body  else,  are  eternally  keeping  society  in  a  femient. 
Happily  for  New-Amsterdam,  nothing  of  the  kind 
was  known  within  its  walls — the  very  words  of  learn- 
ing, education,  taste,  and  talents  weie  unheard  of— 
a  bright  genius  was  an  animal  unknown,  and  a  blue- 
stocking lady  would  have  been  regarded  with  at 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


4G& 


much  wonder  as  a  homed  frog  or  a  fiery  dragon. 
(io  man,  in  fact,  seemed  to  know  more  than  his 
neighbour,  nor  any  man  to  I<now  more  than  an  hon- 
est man  ought  to  know,  who  has  nobody's  business 
to  mind  but  his  own ;  the  parson  and  the  council 
clerk  were  the  only  men  that  could  read  in  the  com- 
munity, and  the  sage  Van  Twiller  always  signed  his 
name  with  a  cross. 

Thrice  happy  and  ever  to  be  envied  little  burgh  ! 
eiistiiig  in  all  the  security  of  harmless  insi^ificance 
•unnoticed  and  unenvied  by  the  world,  without  am- 
ction,  without  vain-glory,  without  riches,  without 
learning,  and  all  their  train  of  carking  cares — and  as 
of  yore,  in  the  better  days  of  man,  the  deities  were 
wiiiit  to  visit  him  on  earth  and  bless  his  rural  habi- 
tations, so  we  are  told,  in  the  sylvan  days  of  New- 
Amsterdam,  the  good  St.  Nicholas  would  often  make 
his  appearance  in  his  beloved  city,  of  a  holyday  after- 
noon, riding  joHily  among  the  tree-tops,  or  over  the 
ruols  of  the  houses,  now  and  then  drawing  forth 
niaijnificent  presents  from  his  breeches  pockets,  and 
drn|)ping  them  down  the  chimneys  of  his  favourites. 
Whereas  in  these  degenerate  days  of  iron  and  brass, 
he  never  shows  us  the  light  of  his  countenance,  nor 
ever  visits  us,  save  one  night  in  the  year ;  when  he 
rattles  down  the  chimneys  of  the  descendants  of  the 
patriarchs,  confining  his  presents  merely  to  the  chil- 
dron,  in  token  of  the  degeneracy  of  the  parents. 

Such  are  the  comfortable  and  thriving  effects  of  a 
fat  government.  The  province  of  the  New-Nether- 
lands, destitute  of  wealth,  possessed  a  sweet  tran- 
quillity that  wealth  could  never  purchase.  There 
were  neither  public  commotions,  nor  private  quar- 
rels ;  neither  parties,  nor  sects,  nor  schisms  ;  neither 
persecutions,  nor  trials,  nor  punishments  ;  nor  were 
there  counsellors,  attorneys,  catch-poles,  or  hangmen. 
Every  man  attended  to  what  little  business  he  was 
I'jcky  enough  to  have,  or  neglected  it  if  he  pleased, 
wi'uiout  asking  the  opinion  ofhis  neighbour.  In  those 
l.iys,  nobody  meddled  with  concerns  above  his  com- 
prehension, nor  thrust  his  nose  into  other  people's 
affairs;  nor  neglected  to  correct  his  own  conduct, 
and  reform  his  own  character,  in  his  zeal  to  pull  to 
pieces  the  characters  of  others — but  in  a  word,  every 
res|)ectable  citizen  eat  when  he  was  not  hungry, 
drank  when  he  was  not  thirsty,  and  went  regularly 
to  bed  when  the  sun  set,  and  the  fowls  went  to  roost, 
whether  he  were  sleepy  or  not ;  all  which  tended  so 
remarkably  to  the  population  of  the  settlement,  that 
1  nm  told  every  dutiful  wife  throughout  New-Am- 
sterdam made  a  point  of  enriching  her  husband  with 
at  least  one  child  a  year,  and  very  often  a  brace — 
this  superabundance  of  ^ood  things  clearly  constitut- 
ing ihe  true  luxury  of  lite,  according  to  the  favounte 
Uuich  maxim,  that "  more  than  enough  constitutes  a 
feast."  Every  thing,  therefore,  went  on  exactly  as 
it  should  do ;  and  in  the  usual  words  employed  by 
historians  to  express  the  welfare  of  a  country,  "  the 
proioundest  tranqutUity  ax\A  repose  reigned  through- 
out the  province. ' 


CHAPTER  III. 

low  THE  TOWN  OF  NEW-AMSTERDAM  AROSE 
OUT  OF  MUD,  AND  CAME  TO  BE  MARVELLOUS- 
LY POLISHED  AND  POLITE— TOGETHER  WITH 
A  HCTURE  OF  THE  MANNERS  OF  OUR  GREAT- 
QRSAT-GRANDFATHERS. 

MANIFOLD  are  the  tastes  and  dispositions  of  the 
enlightened  literati,  who  turn  over  the  pages  of  his- 
tory.   Some  there  be,  whose  hearts  are  brimful  of 
he  yest  of  courage,  and  whose  bosoms  do  work,  and 
Vol.  1L-«. 


swell,  and  foam,  with  untried  valour,  like  a  ban  el  of 
new  cider,  or  a  train-band  captain,  fresh  from  under 
the  hands  of  his  tailor.  This  doughty  class  of  readers 
can  be  satisfied  with  nothing  but  bloody  battles  and 
horrible  encounters ;  they  must  be  continually  storm- 
ing forts,  sacking  cities,  springing  mines,  marching 
up  to  the  nju/.zles  of  cannon,  charging  bayonet 
through  every  page,  and  revelling  in  gunpowder  and 
carnage.  Others,  who  are  of  a  less  martial,  but  equally 
ardent  imagination,  and  who,  withal,  are  a  little 
given  to  the  marvellous,  will  dwell  with  wondrous 
satisfaction  on  descriptions  of  prodigies,  unheatd-of 
events,  hairbreadth  escapes,  hardy  adventures,  and 
all  those  astonishing  narrations  that  just  amble  along 
the  boundary  line  of  possibility.  A  third  class,  who, 
not  to  speak  slightly  of  them,  are  of  a  lighter  turn, 
and  skim  over  the  records  of  past  times,  as  they  do 
over  the  edifying  pages  of  a  novel,  merely  for  relaxa- 
tion and  innocent  amusement,  do  singularly  delight 
in  treasons,  executions,  Sabine  rapes,  Tarquin  out 
rages,  conflagrations,  murders,  and  all  the  other  cat- 
alogfue  of  hideous  crimes,  that,  like  cayenne  in  cook- 
ery, do  give  a  pungency  and  flavour  to  the  dull  detail 
of  history — while  a  fourth  class,  of  more  philosophic 
habits,  do  diligently  pore  over  the  musty  chronicles 
of  time,  to  investigate  the  operations  of  the  human 
kind,  and  watch  the  gradual  changes  in  men  and 
manners,  effected  by  the  progress  of  knowledge,  the 
vicissitudes  of  events,  or  the  influence  of  situation. 

If  the  three  first  classes  find  hut  little  wherewithal 
to  solace  themselves  in  the  tranquil  reign  of  Wouter. 
Van  Twiller,  I  entreat  them  to  exert  their  patience 
for  a  while,  and  hear  with  the  tedious  pictuit  of  hap- 
piness, prosperity,  and  peace,  which  my  duty  as  a 
faithful  historian  of)liges  me  to  draw ;  and  I  promise 
them  that  as  soon  as  I  can  possibly  light  upon  any 
thing  horrible,  uncommon,  or  impossible,  it  shall  go 
hard,  but  I  will  make  it  afford  them  entertainment. 
This  being  promised,  1  turn  with  great  complacency 
to  the  fourth  class  of  my  readers,  who  are  men.  or, 
if  possible,  women,  after  my  own  heart  ;  grave,  phi- 
losophical, and  investigating ;  fond  of  analyzing  char- 
acters, of  taking  a  start  from  first  causes,  and  so 
hunting  a  nation  down,  through  all  the  mazes  of  in- 
novation and  improvement.  Such  will  naturally  be 
anxious  to  witness  the  first  development  of  the  newly- 
hatched  colony,  and  the  primitive  manners  and  cus- 
toms prevalent  among  its  inhabitants,  during  the 
halcyon  reign  of  Van  Twiller,  or  the  Doubter. 

I  will  not  grieve  their  patience,  however,  by  de- 
scribing minutely  the  increase  and  improvement  of 
New-Amsterdam.  Their  own  imaginations  will 
doubtless  present  to  them  tiie  good  burghers,  like  so 
many  pains-taking  and  persevering  beavers,  slowly 
and  surely  pursuing  their  labours — they  will  behold 
the  prosperous  transformation  from  the  rude  log-hut 
to  the  stately  Dutch  mansion,  with  brick  front,  glazed 
windows,  and  tiled  roof — from  the  tangled  thiclcet  to 
the  luxuriant  cabbage  garden  ;  and  from  the  skulking 
Indian  to  the  ponderous  burgomaster.  In  a  word, 
they  will  picture  to  themselves  the  steady,  silent,  and 
undeviating  march  to  prosperity,  incident  to  a  city 
destitute  of  pride  or  ambition,  cherished  by  a  fat 
government,  and  whose  citizens  do  nothing  in  a 
hurr)'. 

The  sage  council,  as  has  been  mentioned  in  a  pre- 
ceding chapter,  not  being  able. to  determine  upon  any 
Clan  for  tne  building  of  their  city — the  cows,  in  a 
ludable  fit  of  patriotism,  took  it  under  their  pecul- 
iar charge,  and  as  they  went  to  and  from  pasture, 
established  paths  through  the  bushes,  on  each  side 
of  which  the  good  folks  built  their  houses  ;  which  is 
one  cause  of  the  rambling  and  picturesque  turns  and 
labyrinths,  which  distinguish  certain  streets  of  New- 
York  at  this  very  day. 


466 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON    IRVINO. 


I 


M<1 


■»■ 


i'w*!•*.•.^v^ 
.-.!7';'   •.  <«j 

■■  !  'I'  •  J  .  »■•' 


Thfc  houses  of  the  higher  class  were  generally  con- 
structed of  wood,  exceptiiijj  ihu  gable  end,  which  was 
of  small  black  and  yellow  Dutch  bricks,  and  always 
faced  on  the  street,  as  our  ancestors,  like  their  de- 
scendants, were  very  much  given  to  outward  show, 
and  were  noted  for  putting  the  best  leg  foremost. 
The  house  was  always  furnished  with  abundance  of 
Jargc.  doors  and  small  windosvs  on  every  tloor ;  the 
date  of  its  erection  was  curiously  designated  by  ironi 
lignres  on  the  front ;  and  on  the  top  of  the  roof  was 
W'rched  a  tierce  little  weathercock,  to  let  the  family 
Into  the  important  secret  which  way  the  wind  blew. 
These,  like  the  weathercocks  on  the  tops  of  our 
steeples,  pointed  so  many  different  ways,  that  every 
man  could  have  a  wind  to  his  mind ; — the  most 
staunch  and  loyal  citizens,  however,  always  went 
accordinjj  to  the  weathercock  on  the  top  of  the 
governor  s  house,  which  was  certainly  the  most  cor- 
rect, as  he  had  a  trusty  servant  employed  every  morn- 
ing to  climb  up  and  set  it  to  the  right  quarter. 

In  those  good  days  of  simplicity  and  sunshine,  a 
passion  for  cleanliness  was  the  leading  principle  in 
domestic  economy,  and  the  universal  test  of  an  able 
housewife — a  char.icter  which  formed  the  utmost 
ambition  of  our  unenlightened  grandmothers.  The 
front  door  was  never  opened  except  on  marri.iges, 
funerals,  new-years'  d.iys,  the  festival  of  St.  Nicholas, 
or  some  such  great  occasion.  It  was  ornamented 
with  a  gorgeous  brass  knocker,  curiously  wrought, 
sometimes  in  the  device  of  a  dog,  and  sometimes  of 
a  lion's  head,  and  was  daily  burnished  with  such  re- 
ligious ze.ll,  that  it  was  ofttimes  worn  out  by  th: 
very  precautions  taken  for  its  preservation.  The 
whole  house  was  constantly  in  a  state  of  inundation, 
under  the  discipline  of  mops  and  brooms  and  scrub- 
bing-brushes ;  and  the  good  housewives  of  those  days 
were  a  kind  of  amphibious  animal,  delighting  exceed- 
irjgly  to  be  d.ibbling  in  water — insomuch  that  a  his- 
torian of  the  day  gravely  tells  us,  that  many  of  his 
townswomen  grew  to  have  webbed  tingers  like  unto 
a  duck  ;  and  some  of  them,  he  had  little  doubt,  could 
the  matter  be  examined  into,  would  be  found  to  have 
the  tails  of  mermaids — but  this  1  look  upon  to  be  a 
mere  sport  of  fancy,  or  what  is  worse,  a  wilful  mis- 
representation. 

The  grand  parlour  was  the  sanctum  sanctorum, 
where  the  passion  for  cleaning  was  indulged  without 
control.  In  this  sacred  apartment  no  one  was  per- 
mitted to  enter,  excepting  the  mistress  and  her  con- 
fidential maid,  who  visited  it  once  a  week,  for  the 
purpose  of  giving  it  a  thorough  cleaning,  and  putting 
things  to  rights — always  taking  the  precaution  of 
leaving  their  shoes  at  the  door,  and  entering  devoutly 
in  their  stocking-feet.  After  scrubbing  the  floor, 
sprinkling  it  with  fine  white  sand,  which  was  cu- 
riously stroked  into  angles,  and  curves,  and  rhom- 
boids, with  a  broom — after  washing  the  windows, 
rubbing  and  polishing  the  furniture,  and  putting  a 
new  bunch  of  evergreens  in  the  fire-place — the 
window-shutters  were  again  closed  to  keep  out  the 
flies,  and  the  room  carefully  locked  up  until  the  revo- 
lution of  time  brought  round  the  weekly  cleaning 
day. 

As  to  the  family,  they  always  entered  in  at  the 
jate,  and  most  generally  lived  in  the  kitchen.  To 
have  seen  a  numerous  household  assembled  around 
the  file,  one  would  have  imagined  that  he  was  trans- 
jwrted  back  to  those  happy  days  of  primeval  ^m- 
plicity,  which  tloat  before  our  imaginations  like  golden 
visions.  The  tire-places  were  of  a  truly  patriarchal 
magnitude,  where  the  whole  family,  old  and  young, 
master  and  ser\ant,  bl.ick  and  white,  nay,  even  the 
very  cat  and  dog,  enjoyed  a  community  of  privilege, 
and  had  each  a  right  to  a  comer.  Here  the  old 
burgher  would  sit  in  perfect  silence,  puffing  his  p>pe. 


looking  in  the  fire  with  talf-shut  eyes,  and  thinkjnj 
of  nothing  for  hours  together;  the  goede  vrouvon 
the  opposite  side  would  employ  herself  diligciniv  in 
spinning  yarn,  or  knitting  stockings.  The  yotiiij;  inik^ 
would  crowd  around  the  hearth,  listening  with  hitati, 
less  attention  to  some  old  crone  of  a  negro,  wlio  w^j 
the  oracle  of  the  family,  and  who,  perched  likj  ,, 
raven  in  a  comer  of  the  chimney,  would  cro.ik  fort! 
for  a  long  winter  afternoon  a  string  of  incri-diljli 
stories  about  New-England  witches— grisly  Klmsts 
horses  without  heads — and  hairbreadth  escapes  and 
bloody  encounters  among  the  Indians. 

In  those  happy  days  a  well-regulated  family  always 
rose  with  the  dawn,  dined  at  eleven,  and  went  to  hi-d 
at  sun-down.  Oinnes  was  invariably  a  private  im  ai, 
and  the  fat  old  burghers  showed  incontestible  symp- 
toms of  disapprobation  and  uneasiness  at  Wuv^  sur. 
prised  by  a  visit  from  a  neighbour  on  such  occasions. 
But  though  our  worthy  ancestors  were  thus  sin;;,!. 
larly  averse  to  fjiving  dinners,  yet  they  kejjt  up  die 
social  bands  of  intimacy  by  occtsional  banquitnijrs, 
called  tea-parties. 

These  fashionable  parties  were  generally  contincd 
to  the  higher  classes,  or  noblesse,  tnat  is  to  say,  such 
as  kept  their  own  cows,  and  drove  their  own  wajjons. 
The  company  commonly  assembled  at  three  o'chick, 
and  went  away  about  six,  unless  it  was  in  wintir. 
time,  when  the  fashionable  hours  were  a  little  e  irliir 
that  the  ladies  might  get  home  before  dark.  I'lic  ica 
table  w.as  crowned  with  a  huge  earthen  disii,  wel! 
stored  with  slices  of  fat  pork,  fried  brown,  cut  iiji  mtc 
morsels,  and  swimming  in  gravy.  The  company  tit-- 
ing  seated  around  the  geni.aT  board,  and  each  furni  ,li. 
ed  with  a  fork,  evinced  their  de  i"rity  in  lanching 
at  the  fattest  pieces  in  this  mighty  nish — in  much  tli- 
same  manner  as  sailors  harpoon  p.u  poises  at  sea,  at 
our  Indi.ans  spear  salmon  in  ttie  lakes.  Sonu  timw 
the  table  was  graced  with  immense  apple  pics,  or 
s.aucers  full  of  preserved  peaches  and  |)ears ;  but  ii 
was  always  sure  to  boast  an  enomious  dish  ol  IvdN 
of  sweetened  dough,  fried  in  hog's  fat,  and  called 
doughnuts,  or  olykoeks — a  delicious  kind  ol  cake,  ,tt 
present  scarce  known  in  this  city,  excepting  in  genu- 
ine Dutch  families. 

The  tea  was  sei-ved  out  of  a  majestic  delfi  tea-pot, 
ornamented  with  paintings  of  fat  little  Dutch  sht  ]i. 
herds  and  sheph-i.lesses  tending  pigs — with  boat^ 
sailing  in  the  air,  and  houses  built  in  the  clouds,  and 
sundry  oiher  ingenious  Dutch  fantasies.  The  bcmx 
distinguished  themselves  by  their  adroitness  m  re- 
plenisning  this  pot  from  a  huge  copper  te.i-kcttic, 
which  would  have  made  the  pigmy  macaronics  ol 
these  degenerate  days  sweat  merely  lo  look  at  it. 
To  sweeten  the  leverage,  a  lump  of  sugar  was  laid 
beside  each  cup— and  the  company  altemately  nib- 
bled and  sipped  with  great  decorum,  until  an  im- 
provement was  introduced  by  a  shrewd  and  economic 
old  lady,  which  was  to  suspend  a  large  lump  directly 
over  the  tea-table,  by  a  string  from  the  ceiliiij;,  su 
that  it  could  be  swung  from  mouth  to  mouth— .in 
ingenious  expedient  which  is  still  kept  up  by  somt 
families  in  Albany ;  but  which  prevails  without  ( >- 
ception  in  Communipaw,  Bergen,  Flatbush,  and  al' 
our  uncontaminated  Dutch  villages. 

At  these  primitive  tea-parties  the  utmost  propriety 
and  dignity  of  deportment  prevailed.  No  flirting 
norcoqueting — no  gambling  of  old  ladies,  nor  hoyden 
chattering  and  romping  of  young  ones — no  self-satis- 
fied struttings  of  wealthy  gentlemen,  wi.th  their  brains 
in  their  pockets — nor  amusing  conceits,  and  monkey 
divertisements,  of  smart  young  gentlemen  with  no 
brains  at  all.  On  the  contrary,  the  young  ladies 
seated  themselves  demurely  in  their  nish-bottomed 
chairs,  and  knit  their  own  woollen  stockings;  noi 
ever  opened  their  lips,  excepting  to  say,  yaw  Mynher 


A  HISTORY  OF   NEW-YORK. 


4«7 


I  or  yak  yah  Vrauw,  to  any  question  that  was  asked 
iheni ;  behaving,  in  all  things,  like  decent,  well-oilu- 
cated  damsels.  As  to  the  gentlemen,  each  of  thetn 
iranciuilly  smoked  his  pipe,  and  seemed  lost  in  con- 
leirpl.ition  of  the  blue  and  white  tiles  with  which 
thf  iirc-placts  were  decorated  ;  wherein  sundr/  pas- 
lagts  of  scripture  were  piously  portrayed— Tobit 
intl  his  dog  figured  to  great  advantage;  Haman 
iwiing  conspicuously  on  his  gibbet ;  and  Jonah  an- 
'XArt(\  most  manfully  bouncing  out  of  the  whale, 
!ike  Harlequin  through  a  barrel  of  fire. 

The  parties  broke  up  without  noise  and  without 
confusion.  They  were  carried  home  by  their  own 
carri.iges,  that  is  to  say,  by  the  vehicles  Nature  hacl 
provided  them,  excepting  such  of  the  wealthy  as 
could  afford  to  keep  a  wagon.  The  gentlemen  gal- 
lantly attended  their  fair  ones  to  their  respective 
al)(iilt:s,  and  took  leave  of  them  with  a  hearty  smack 
at  the  door :  which,  as  it  was  an  established  piece 
of  (tiquette,  done  in  perfect  simplicity  and  honesty 
of  livart.  occasioned  no  scandal  at  that  time,  nor 
should  it  at  the  present — if  our  great-grandfathers 
approved  of  the  custom,  it  would  argue  a  great  want 
of  reverence  in  their  descendants  to  say  a  word 
against  it. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


f^ 


C0NT>iNINO  FURTHER  PARTICULARS  OF  THE 
GOLDEN  AGE,  AND  WHAT  CONS'l  IIUTED  A  FI.NE 
LADY  AND  GENTLEMAN  IN  THE  DAYS  UF  WAL- 
TER THE  DOUBTER. 

In  this  dulcet  period  of  my  history,  when  the 
beauteous  island  of  Manna-hata  presented  a  scene, 
Ihe  very  counterpart  of  those  glowing  pictures  drawn 
ef  the  golden  reign  of  Saturn,  there  was,  as  I  have 
(>rt"ore  observed,  a  happy  ignorance,  an  honest  sim- 
plirity,  prevalent  among  its  inhabitants,  which,  were 

even  able  to  depict,  would  be  but  little  understood 
'))  the  degenerate  age  for  which  I  am  doomed  to 
write.  Even  the  female  sex,  those  arch  innovators 
upon  the  tranquillity,  the  honesty,  and  gray-beard 
custoiiis  of  society,  seemed  for  a  while  to  conduct 
thrmselves  with  irfcredible  sobriety  and  comeliness. 

Thtir  hair,  untortured  by  the  abominations  of  art, 
was  scrupulously  pomatumed  back  from  their  fore- 
heads with  a  candle,  and  covered  with  a  little  cap  of 
quilted  calico,  which  fitted  exactly  to  their  heads. 
Thfir  petticoats  of  linsey-woolsey  were  striped  with 
a  variety  of  gorgeous  dyes  -though  I  must  confess 
these  gallant  garments  were  rather  short,  scarce 
reaching  below  the  knee ;  but  then  they  made  up  in 
the  numbtr,  which  generally  equalled  that  of  the 
gentlemen's  small-clothes;  ami  what  is  still  more 
praiseworthy,  they  were  all  of  their  own  manufac- 
ture— of  which  circumstance,  as  may  well  be  sup- 
posed, they  were  not  a  little  vain. 

These  were  the  honest  days,  in  which  every  wom- 
an staid  at  home,  read  the  Bible,  and  wore  pockets 
—ay,  and  that  too  of  a  goodly  size,  fashioned  with 
ptchwork  into  many  curious  devices,  and  ostenta- 
tiously worn  on  the  outside.  These,  in  fact,  were 
convenient  receptacles,  where  all  good  housewives 
arefully  st  jwed  away  such  things  as  they  wished  to 
lave  at  hand  ;  by  which  means  they  often  came  to 
«  incredibly  crammed — .and  I  remember  there  was 
a  story  current  when  I  was  a  boy,  that  the  lady  of 
Wouter  Van  Twiller  once  had  occasion  to  empty  her 
right  pocket  in  search  of  a  wooden  ladle,  ancl  the 
Jtensii  was  discovered  lying  among  some  rubbish  in 
one  comer — but  we  must  not  give  too  much  faith  to 
all  these  stories;  the  anecdotes  of  those  remote 
periods  being  very  subject  to  exaggeration. 


Vets,  they  likewise  won 

en«led  from  their  girdlct! 

'he  more  opulent  and 

en  "fiver  chnins,  in-' 

lousev    ,n  and  mdua* 

ly  mil   a  in  vin    cation 

i.iti    It  don*" 

giving  the  ; 

ere  general 


L$«  was 
kings  a 
<)(  blu«» 
haps  to 


Besides  these  mot.i!  I' 
scissors  and  pincushion 
bv  red  ribands,  or,  at 
snowy  classes,  by  l-)rit*B, 
dubitable  tokens  of  thriti 
trious  spinsters.  I  cannot 
of  the  snortness  of  the  pett 
introduced  for  the  purpose  > 
chance  to  be  seen,  which 
worsted,  with  magnificent  i*(l  elocEs — or  | 
display  a  well-turned  ankle,  and  a  netit,  thoujjb  serv* 
iceabic,  foot,  set  off  by  a  high-heeled  leatlitrn  shoe 
with  a  large  and  splendid  silver  buckle.  Thui  w 
find  that  the  gentle  sex  in  all  ages  have  shown  the 
same  disposition  to  infringe  a  little  upon  the  laws  of 
decorum,  in  order  to  betray  a  lurking  beauty,  oi 
gratify  an  innocent  love  of  finery. 

From  the  sketch  here  given,  it  will  be  seen  that 
our  good  grandmothers  differed  considerably  in  their 
ideas  of  a  fine  figure  from  their  scantily-dressed  de- 
scendants of  the  present  day.  A  fine  lady,  in  those 
times,  waddled  under  more  clothes,  even  on  a  fair 
summer's  d.ay,  than  would  have  clad  the  whole  bevy 
of  a  modem  ball-room.  Nor  were  they  the  less  ad- 
mired by  the  gentlemen  in  consequence  f  ereof.  On 
the  contrary,  the  greatness  of  a  lover's  p.ission  seem- 
ed to  increase  in  proportion  to  the  magnitude  of  its 
object — and  a  voluminous  damsel,  arrayed  in  a  dozen 
of  pet*  »ats,  was  declared  by  a  Low  Dutch  sonnet- 
teer  dl  he  province  to  be  radiant  as  a  sunfiower, 
.and  luxuriant  as  a  full-blown  cabbage.  Certain  it  is, 
that  in  th>)se  days,  the  heart  of  a  lover  could  not  con- 
tain more  than  one  lady  at  a  time ;  whereas  the  heart 
of  a  modern  gallant  has  often  room  enough  to  ac- 
commodate h.alf-a-dozen.  The  reason  of  which  I 
conclude  to  be,  that  either  the  hearts  of  the  gentle- 
men have  grown  larger,  or  the  persons  of  the  ladies 
smaller — this,  however,  is  a  question  for  physiologist* 
to  determine. 

But  there  was  a  secret  charm  in  these  petticoats, 
which  no  doubt  entered  into  the  consideration  of  the 
prudent  gallants.  The  wardrobe  of  a  lady  was  in 
those  days  her  only  fortune;  and  she  who  had  a 
good  stock  of  petticoats  and  stockings  was  as  ab- 
solutely an  heiress  as  is  a  Kamtschalka  damsel  with 
a  store  of  bear-skins,  or  a  Lapland  belle  with  a 
plenty  of  reindeer.  The  ladies,  therefore,  were  very 
artixious  to  display  these  powerful  attractions  to  the 
greatest  advantage  ;  and  the  best  rooms  in  the  house, 
instead  of  being  T'.orned  with  caricatures  of  damt 
N.ature,  in  water-colours  and  needle-wurk,  were  al- 
ways hung  round  with  abundance  of  home-spun 
garments,  the  manufacture  and  the  property  of  the 
females — a  piece  of  laudable  ostentation  that  still 
prevails  .among  the  heiresses  of  our  Dutch  villages. 

The  gentlemen,  in  fact,  who  figured  in  the  circles 
of  the  gay  world  in  these  ancient  times,  correspond- 
ed, in  most  particulars,  with  the  beauteous  damsel.' 
whose  smiles  they  were  ambitious  to  desen'e.  Tme 
it  is,  their  merits  would  make  but  a  vet7  inconsider- 
able impression  ujwn  the  heart  oi  a  modern  fair , 
they  neither  drove  their  curricles  net  sported  iheii 
tandems,  for  as  yet  those  gaudy  vehicles  were  no: 
even  dreamt  of — neither  did  they  distinguish  tbem 
selves  by  their  brilliancy  at  the  table  and  their  conse- 
quent rencontre  with  watchmen,  for  our  forefathers 
were  of  too  pacific  a  disposition  to  m-ed  those  gitar- 
dians  of  the  night,  every  soul  throughout  the  town 
being  sound  asleep  before  nine  o'clock.  Neither  did 
they  establish  their  cl.aims  to  gentility  at  the  expenst 
of  their  tailors — for  as  yet  those  offenders  against 
the  pockets  of  society  and  the  tranquillity  of  all  as- 
piring young  gentlemen  were  unknown  in  New- 
Amsterdam  ;  every  good  housewife  made  the  clothes 
of  her  husband  ana  family,  and  even  the  goede  vrouvt 


468 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   INVINO. 


''■ill 


it:  : 


1  i 

-  it 

'  1- 

f  * 

'  ■  i 


^^^•4 


■:yi 

■  «'!'i|iu'.i|ii 


af  Van  Twiller  himielf  thought  it  no  disparagement 
:o  cut  out  her  husband's  linsey-woolsey  |ralligasl(ins. 

Not  but  what  there  were  some  two  or  tnree  youutf- 
ilera  who  manifested  the  first  dawnings  of  what  is 
c*lled  fire  and  spirit — who  held  all  lal)our  in  con- 
tempt ;  skulked  about  docks  and  market-places ; 
loitered  in  the  sunshine ;  s(|uan(lcrcd  what  little 
money  they  could  procure  at  husllc-cap  and  chuck- 
brthing;  swore,  boxed,  foiieht  co<:k»,  and  raced 
their  neighbours'  horses — in  sliort,  who  promised  to 
be  the  wonder,  the  talk,  and  abomination  of  the  town, 
had  not  their  stylish  career  been  unfortunately  cut 
short  by  an  affair  of  honour  with  a  whirfping-post. 

Far  other,  however,  was  the  truly  fasmonable  gen- 
tleman of  those  days — his  dress,  which  servecf  for 
both  morning  and  evening,  street  and  drawing- 
room,  was  a  linsey-woolsey  coat,  made,  perhaps,  by 
the  fair  hands  of  the  mistress  of  his  atifcctions,  and 

gallantly  beilecked  with  abundance  of  large. brass 
Uttons — half  a  score  of  breeches  heightened  the 
proportions  of  his  figure — his  shoes  were  dccorattnl 
by  enormous  copper  buckles — a  low-crowned,  broad- 
brimmed  hat  overshadowed  his  burly  visage,  and  his 
hair  dangled  down  his  back  in  a  prodigious  queue 
of  eel-skin. 

Thus  equipped,  he  would  manfully  sally  forth  with 
pipe  in  mouth,  to  besiege  some  fair  damsel's  obdu- 
rate heart — not  such  a  pipe,  good  reader,  as  that 
which  Acis  did  sweetly  tune  in  praise  of  his  Galatea, 
but  one  of  true  delft  manufacture,  and  furnished  with 
a  charge  of  Irajirnnt  tobacco.  With  this  would  he 
resolutely  set  liimself  down  before  the  fortress,  and 
rarely  failed,  in  the  process  of  time,  to  smoke  the  fair 
enemy  into  a  surrender,  ui)oii  honourable  terms. 

Such  was  the  happy  reign  of  Wouter  Van  Twiller, 
celebrated  in  many  a  long-forgotten  song  as  the  real 
jfoltien  age,  the  rest  being  nothing  but  counterfeit 
eopper-w.ished  coin.  In  tiiat  delightful  period  a 
(weet  and  holy  calm  reigned  over  the  whole  prov- 
ince. The  burgomaster  smoked  his  pipe  in  peace — 
the  substantial  solace  of  his  domestic  cares,  after  her 
daily  toils  were  done,  sal  soberly  at  the  door,  with 
her  arms  crossed  over  Iter  apron  of  snowv  white, 
without  being  insulted  by  ribald  street-vv.ilkers,  or 
vagabond  boys — those  unlucky  urchins,  who  do  so 
infest  our  streets,  displaying  under  the  roses  of  youth 
the  thorns  and  briars  of  iniquity.  Then  it  was  that 
the  lover  with  ten  breeches,  and  the  damsel  with 
petticoats  of  half  a  score,  indulged  in  all  the  innocent 
endearments  of  virtuous  love,  without  fear  and  with- 
out reproach ;  for  what  had  that  virtue  to  fear  which 
was  defended  by  a  shield  of  good  iin.sey-woolseys, 
equal  at  least  to  the  seven  bull-hides  of  the  invinci- 
ble Ajax  ? 

Ah!  blissful,  and  never-to-be-forgotten  age!  when 
every  thing  was  better  than  it  has  ever  been  since, 
or  ever  will  be  again — when  Buttermilk  Channel  was 
quite  dry  at  low  water — when  the  shad  in  the  Hud- 
son were  all  salmon,  and  when  the  moon  shone  with 
a  pure  and  resplendent  whiteness,  instead  of  that 
melancholy  yellow  light  which  is  the  consequence  of 
her  sickening  at  the  abominations  she  every  night 
witaeises  in  this  degenerate  city  ! 

Happy  would  it  have  been  for  New-Amsterdam, 
could  it  always  have  existed  in  this  state  of  blissful 
ignorance  and  lowly  simplicity — but,  alas  !  the  days 
of  childhood  are  too  sweet  to  last !  Cities,  like  men, 
grow  out  of  them  in  time,  and  are  doomed  alike  to 
grow  into  the  bustle,  the  cares,  and  miseries  of  the 
world.  Let  no  man  congratulate  himself  when  he 
beholds  the  child  of  his  bosom  or  the  city  of  his  birth 
increasing  in  magnitude  and  importance — let  the 
history  ot  his  own  life  teach  him  the  dangers  of  the 
one,  and  this  excellent  little  history  of  Manna-hata 
convince  him  of  the  calamities  of  the  other. 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN  WHICH  THE  RRAUER  18  BEOUILID  INTr)  a  uk 
LBCTABI.E  WALK  WHICH  ENDS  VERV  blrrtR 
ENTLV  FKOM  WHAT  IT  COMMENCtO. 

In  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thouiand  ^^h  hm 
dred  and  four,  on  a  fine  i.ftemoon,  in  the  Kicwin» 
month  of  Septeml)cr,  I  took  my  customary  walk 
u|K)n  the  Battery,  which  is  at  once  the  priilc  anc 
bulwark  of  this  ancient  and  impregnable  ciiv  ol 
New- York  The  ground  on  which  I  trod  w.is  h.ii 
lowed  by  recollections  of  the  past,  an^  as  I  slowi, 
wandered  through  the  long  alley  of  poplars,  wlmf, 
like  so  many  birch-brooms  standing  on  end,  (lilfusci 
a  melancholy  and  lugubrious  shade,  my  imaginiijon 
drew  a  contrast  between  the  surrounding  sfcncrv 
and  what  it  was  in  the  cl.issic  days  of  our  forefitlurs 
Where  the  government-house  by  name,  but  the  ciis 
tom-house  by  occupation,  proudly  reared  its  hncli 
walls  and  wooden  pillars,  there  whilome  stond  th.- 
low  but  substantial,  red-tiled  mansion  of  the  re 
nowned  Wouter  Van  Twiller.  Around  it  the  nii^;(itv 
bulwarks  of  Fort  Amsterdam  frowned  ihfiance  tj 
every  absent  foe ;  but,  like  many  a  whiskereil  w,ir 
nor  and  gallant  militia  captain,  confined  their  m.it 
tial  <leeds  to  frowns  alone.  The  mud  breastwnik 
had  long  been  levelled  with  the  earth,  ami  their  sitv 
converted  into  the  green  lawns  and  leafy  alleys  vf  th» 
Battery;  where  the  gay  apprentice  sported  his  Siind.M 
coat,  and  the  laborious  mechanic,  relieved  frorri  ml 
dirt  and  drudgery  of  the  week,  poured  his  weekly  tiiii 
of  love  into  the  half  averted  ear  of  the  sentiim  iu,ii 
chambermaid.  The  capacious  bay  still  presi  iit"l 
the  same  expansive  sheet  of  water,  studi'rd  wit*- 
islands,  sprinkled  with  fishing-boats,  and  lioundcl 
with  shores  of  picturesiiue  beauty.  But  the  dark  forests 
which  once  clothed  tliese  shores  had  been  violated 
by  the  savage  hand  of  cultivation  ;  and  their  tant;h  ;i 
mazes,  and  impenetrable  thickets,  had  degener.ued 
into  teeming  orchards  and  waving  fields  of  grain. 
Even  Governor's  Island,  once  a  smiling  garden,  :\\)- 
pertaining  to  the  sovereigns  of  the  province,  was 
now  covered  with  fortifications,  inclosing  a  tremen- 
dous blockhouse — so  that  this  once  peaceful  island 
resemble»l  a  fierce  little  warrior  in  a  big  cocked  hat, 
breathing  gunpowder  and  defiance  to  the  world  ! 

For  some  time  did  I  indulge  in  this  pensive  train 
of  thought ;  contrasting,  in  sober  sadness,  the  pres- 
ent day  with  the  hallowed  years  behind  the  mount- 
ains ;  lamenting  the  melancholy  progress  of  im- 
provement, and  praising  the  zeal  with  which  our 
worthy  burghers  endeavour  to  preserve  the  wn  c  ks 
of  venerable  customs,  prejudices,  and  errors,  tnim 
the  overwhelming  tide  of  motlem  innovation— wlien 
by  degrees  my  ideas  took  a  ditTerenl  turn,  and  I 
insensibly  awakened  to  an  enjoyment  of  the  beauties 
around  me. 

It  was  one  of  those  rich  autumnal  days,  whirli 
Heaven  particularly  bestows  upon  the  beauteous 
island  of  Manna-hata  and  its  vicinity — not  a  tloatiiii; 
cloud  obscured  the  azure  firmament — the  sun.  rollir.y 
in  glorious  splendour  through  his  ethereal  course 
seemed  to  expand  his  honest  Dutch  countpn-nic' 
into  an  unusual  expression  of  benevolence,  as  h- 
smiled  his  evening  salutation  upon  a  city  which  I.e 
delights  to  visit  with  his  most  bounteous  beams  -t'le 
very  winds  seerned  to  hold  in  their  breaths  in  mutt 
attention,  lest  they  should  ruffle  the  tranquillity  of  tlie 
hour — and  the  waveless  bosom  of  the  bay  presented 
a  polished  mirror,  in  which  Nature  beheld  herscil 
and  smiled.  The  st.indard  of  our  city,  reserved,  like 
a  choice  handkerchief,  for  days  of  gala,  hung  motion 
less  on  the  flag-stati.  which  forms  the  handle  to  a 
eigantic  churn ,  and  even  the  tremulous  leaves  oi 


A   HISTORY  OF   NEW-YORK. 


4nj) 


I  ine  p<ipl&r  *nd  the  unpen  ceased  to  vibrate  to  the 
brtah  of  heaven,  Every  thing  teeme<l  to  acquiesce 
D  ihi"  profound  repnte  of  nature.  The  fnrtnldattle 
(ightren-poundera  slept  im  the  embrasures  o*"  the 
I  «ooiler.  batteries,  seemingly  gathering  fre<th  strength 
10  li>,'ht  the  battles  of  thcr  country  on  the  next 
tourtli  of  July — the  solitary  <<lrum  on  Governor's  Isl- 
ind  Ibfgot  to  call  the  gamwon  to  their  shmith — the 
(vtninfif  gun  had  not  yet  bounded  its  signal  for  ail 
the  regalar,  well-meaning  poultry  throughout  the 
(ountry  to  go  to  roost ;  and  the  fleet  of  canoes,  at 
anchor  between  Gibbet  Island  and  Communipnw, 
il  luibercd  on  their  rakes,  \t\A  suffered  the  innocent 
oyiiers  to  lie  for  a  while  unmolested  in  the  soft  mud 
of  their  native  bank  ! — My  own  feelings  sympathized 
with  the  contagious  tranquillily,  and  1  should  infal- 
lihly  have  <loicd  upon  one  ot  those  fragments  of 
ynches,  which  our  bf'-rvolent  nia^jslratrs  have 
nroviilfd  for  thfe  In-netit  i)f  convalescent  loimgers, 
liKJ  not  the  extraor<£\n  iry  inconvenience  of  the 
colli  h  set  all  re|K)se  at  <lr(iance. 

Ill  tiie  midst  of  this  slumber  of  the  soul,  my  atten- 
iinn  W.1S  attracted  to  a  black  speck,  peering  above 
the  western  horizon,  just  in  the  rear  of  Hergen 
sictple — gradually  it  augments,  and  overh,ings  the 
would-be  citi(;s  of  Jersey,  llarsimus,  and  Moboken, 
which,  like  three  jockics,  are  starting  on  the  course 
of  existence,  and  Jostling  each  other  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  race.  Now  it  skirts  the  long  shore 
of  ancient  Pavonia,  spreading  its  wide  sh.idows  from 
the  high  settlements  at  Weehawk  (|uitc  to  the  laza- 
telto  and  ouarantine,  erected  by  the  sag.icity  of  our 
police  for  the  embarrassment  ol  ccunmerce — now  it 
climbs  the  serene  vault  of  heaven,  cloud  rolling  over 
cloud,  shrouding  the  orb  of  day,  darkt-ning  the  vast 
iipanse,  and  bearing  thunder  and  hail  and  tempest, 
m  !ts  bosom.  The  earth  seems  agitated  at  the  con- 
;;:«ion  of  the  heavens — the  late  waveless  mirror  is 
ished  into  furious  waves,  that  roll  in  hollow  mur- 
murs to  the  shore — the  oyster-boats  that  erst  sported 
in  the  placid  vicinity  of  Giblwt  Island,  now  hurry 
ilfrighted  to  the  Lind — the  poplar  writhes  and  twists 
ind  whistles  in  the  bl-ist — torrents  of  drenching 
rain  and  sounding  hail  deluge  the  Battery-walks — 
the  gates  are  thronged  by  apprentices,  sprvant-maids, 
111(1  little  Frenchmen,  with  pocket-handkerchiefs 
over  their  h.its,  scampering  from  the  storm — the 
late  beauteous  prospect  presents  one  scene  of  an- 
archy and  wild  uproar,  as  though  old  Chaos  hail 
resumed  his  reign,  and  was  hurling  back  into  one 
va!>t  turmoil  the  conflicting  elements  of  nature. 

Whether  I  fled  from  the  fury  of  the  storm,  or  re- 
mained boldly  at  my  post,  as  our  gallant  train-band 
cajnains  who  march  their  soldiers  through  the  rain 
without  flinching,  are  points  which  I  leave  to  the 
conjecture  of  the  reader.  It  is  possible  he  may  be 
a  little  jjerplexed  also  to  know  the  reason  why  I  in- 
troduced this  tremendous  tempest  to  disturb  the 
serenity  of  my  work.  On  this  latter  point  I  will 
gratuitously  instruct  his  ignorance.  The  panorama 
view  of  the  Battery  was  given  merely  to  gratify  the 
reader  with  a  correct  description  of  that  celebrated 
place,  and  the  parts  adjacent — secondly,  the  storm 
■fas  played  off  partly  to  give  a  little  bustle  and  life 
to  this  tranquil  part  of  my  work,  and  to  keep  my 
drowsy  readers  from  falling  asleep — and  partly  to 
tetve  as  an  overture  to  the  tempestuous  times  th.at 
are  about  to  assail  the  pacific  province  of  Nieuw- 
Nederlandts — and  that  overhang  the  slumberous  ad- 
ministratiin  of  the  renowned  Wouter  Van  Twiller. 
It  is  thus  the  experienced  playwright  puts  all  the 
tiddles,  the  French  horns,  the  kettledrums,  and  trump- 
ets of  his  orchestra  in  requisition,  to  usher  in  one 
of  those  horrible  and  brimstone  uproars  called  melo- 
dramaa-  -and  it  is  thus  he  discharges  his  thunder, 


his  llghtninff,  his  roam,  and  saltpetre,  preparatory  to 
the  rising  of  a  ghost,  or  the  murdering  of  a  hero.— 
We  will  now  proceed  with  our  history. 

Whatever  may  be  advanced  by  philosophers  to 
the  contrary,  I  am  of  opinion,  that,  as  to  natiof>i, 
the  old  maxim,  that  "  honesty  is  the  best  policy,"  ii 
a  sheer  and  ruinous  mistake,  ft  might  have  answer- 
ed well  enough  in  the  honest  tiiics  when  it  */w 
made,  hut  in  these  (cgenerate  days,  if  a  nation  pre- 
tends to  rely  merely  upon  the  justice  of  Its  de.iliiigs, 
it  will  fare  something  like  an  honest  man  among 
thieves,  who,  unless  he  have  something  more  than 
his  honesty  to  depend  upon,  stands  but  a  poor  chance 
of  profiting  by  his  company.  Such  at  least  was  the 
case  with  the  guileless  government  of  the  New 
Netherlands  ;  which,  like  a  worthy  unsuspicious  old 
burgher,  quietly  settled  itself  down  into  the  city  of 
New-Amsterdam,  as  into  a  snug  elbow-chair — and 
fell  into  a  comfortable  nap — while,  in  the  meantime, 
its  cunning  neigh l>ours  stepped  in  and  picked  its 
pockets.  Thus  may  we  ascribe  the  commencement 
of  all  the  woes  of  this  gre,it  province,  and  its  mag- 
nificent metropolis,  to  the  tr.mquil  security,  or,  to 
speak  more  accurately,  to  the  unfortunate  honesty, 
of  its  government.  But  as  I  dislike  to  bej^in  an  im- 
()ortant  part  of  my  history  towards  the  end  of  a 
chapter ;  and  as  my  readers,  like  myself,  must  doubt- 
less be  exceedingly  fatigued  with  the  long  walk  we 
have  t.aken,  and  the  tempest  we  have  sustained — 1 
hold  it  meet  we  shut  up  the  book,  smoke  a  pipe,  and 
having  thus  refreshed  our  spirits,  take  a  fair  start  in 
the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER   Vf. 

FAITHFULLY  DESCRIHINO  THE  INC.ENIOCS  FEO- 
PI.E  OP  CONNECTICUT  AND  THERKABOT/Tfr— 
.SHOWING,  MOREOVER,  THE  TRUE  MEANING  OF 
LIBERTY  OF  CONSCIENCE,  AND  A  CURIOUS  DE- 
VICE AMONG  I'HESE  SrURDV  BARHARIANS,  TO 
KEEP  UP  A  HAR.MONY  OF  INTKRCOURSK.  AND 
PROMOTE   POPULATION. 

That  my  readers  may  the  more  fully  comprehend 
the  extent  of  the  calamity,  at  this  very  moment  im- 
pending over  the  honest,  unsuspecting  province  of 
I'lieuw  Ncderlandts,  and  its  dubious  governor,  it  is 
necessary  that  I  should  give  some  account  of  a  horde 
of  strange  barbarians,  bordering  ujwn  the  eastern 
frontier. 

Now  so  it  came  to  pass,  that  many  years  previous 
to  the  time  of  which  we  are  treating,  the  sage  cabi- 
net of  England  h.id  adopted  a  certain  national  creed, 
a  kind  of  public  walk  of  faith,  or  rather  a  reiigiouj 
turnpike,  in  which  every  loy.al  subject  w,as  directed 
to  travel  to  Zion — taking  care  to  pay  the  toll-gath- 
erers by  the  way. 

Albeit,  a  certain  shrewd  race  of  men,  being  ver\ 
much  given  to  indulge  their  own  opinions,  on  ai 
manner  of  subjects,  (a  proixmsity  exceedingly  offen 
sive  to  your  free  governments  of  Europe,)  did  mos' 
presumptuously  dare  to  think  for  themselves  in  mat 
ters  of  religion,  exercising  what  they  cQr,sid.;red  a 
natural  and  unextinguishable  right — the  liberty  of 
conscience. 

As,  however,  the>  possessed  that  ingenious  habit 
of  mind  which  always  thinks  aloud  ;  which  ridci 
cock-a-hoop  on  the  tongue,  and  is  for  ever  galloping 
into  other  })eople's  ears,  t  naturally  followed  that 
their  liberty  of  conscience  fikewise  implied  liberty  of 
speech,  which  being  freely  indul^^ed,  soon  put  tiit 
country'  in  a  hubbub,  and  aroused  the  pious  indigna 
tion  of  the  vigilant  fathers  of  the  chMrch. 


470 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


''3^ 


The  usual  methods  were  adopted  to  reclaim  them,  ] 
that  in  those  days  were  considered  so  efficacious  in 
bringing  back  stray  sheep  to  th<'  fold ;  that  is  to  say, 
they  wore  coaxed,  they  were  admonished,  they  were 
menaced,  they  were  bulTeted — line  upon  line,  precept 
upon  precept,  lash  upon  lash,  here  a  little  and  there 
a  great  deal,  were  exhausted  without  mercy,  and 
without  success ;  until  at  length  the  worthy  pastors 
of  the  church,  wearied  out  by  their  unparalleled 
irtubbornness,  were  driven,  in  the  excess  of  their  ten- 
der mercy,  to  adopt  the  scripture  text,  and  literally 
"heaped  live  embers  on  their  heads." 

Nothing,  however,  could  subdue  that  invincible 
spirit  of  independence  which  has  ever  distinguished 
this  singular  race  of  people,  so  that  rather  than  sub- 
mit to  such  horrible  tyranny,  they  one  and  all  em- 
barked for  the  wilderness  of  America,  where  they 
might  enjoy,  unmolested,  the  inestimable  luxury  of 
talking.  No  sooner  did  they  land  on  this  loquacious 
soil,  than,  as  if  they  had  caught  the  disease  from  the 
climate,  they  all  lifted  up  their  voices  at  once,  and 
for  the  space  of  one  whole  year  did  keep  up  such  a 
•oyful  clamour,  that  we  are  told  they  frightened 
every  bird  and  beast  out  of  the  neighbourhood,  and 
so  completely  dumbfounded  certain  lish,  which 
abound  on  their  coast,  that  they  have  been  called 
dumb-fish  ever  since. 

From  this  simple  circumstance,  unimportant  as  it 
may  seem,  did  first  originate  that  renowned  privilege 
so  loudly  boasted  of  throughout  this  country — which 
is  so  eloquently  exercised  in  newspapers,  pamphlets, 
ward  meetings,  pot-house  committees,  and  congres- 
sional deliberations — which  established  the  right  of 
talking  without  ideas  and  without  information — of 
misrepresenting  public  affairs — of  decrying  public 
measures — of  aspersing  great  chanicters,  and  de- 
stroying little  ones  ;  in  short,  that  grand  palladium 
of  our  country,  the  liberty  of  speech. 

The  simple  aborigines  of  the  land  for  a  while  con- 
templated these  strange  folk  in  utter  astonishment, 
but  discovering  that  they  wielded  harmless  though 
noisy  weapons,  arj  were  a  lively,  ingenious,  good- 
humoured  race  of  men,  they  became  very  friendly 
and  sociable,  and  gave  them  the  name  of  Yanokies, 
which  in  the  Mais-Tchusaeg  (or  Massachusett)  lan- 
guage signifies  silent  men — a  waggish  appellation, 
since  shortened  into  the  familiar  epithet  of  YANKEES, 
which  they  retain  unto  the  present  day. 

True  it  is,  and  my  fidelity  as  a  hisiorian  will  not 
allow  me  to  pass  it  over  in  silence,  that  the  zeal  of 
these  good  people,  to  maintain  their  rights  and  privi- 
leges unimpaired,  did  for  a  while  betray  them  into 
errors,  which  it  is  easier  to  pardon  than  defend. 
Having  served  a  regular  apprenticeship  in  the  school 
of  persecution,  it  behoved  them  to  show  that  they 
had  become  proficients  in  the  art.  They  accordingly 
employed  their  leisure  hours  in  banishing,  scourging, 
or  hanging  divers  heretical  Papists,  Quakers,  and 
Anabaptists,  for  daring  to  abuse  the  liberty  of  con- 
science:  which  they  now  clearly  provetl  to  Imply 
nothing  more  than  that  every  man  should  think  as 
he  pleased  in  matters  of  religion — prtrvided  he 
thought  r/j^/«/ ;  for  otherwise  it  would  be  giving  a 
latitude  to  damnable  heresies.  Now  as  they  (the 
majority)  were  perfectly  convinced,  that  they  alone 
thought  right,  it  consequently  followed,  that  who- 
oYer  thought  different  from  them  thought  wrong — 
and  whoever  thought  wrong,  and  obstinately  per- 
sisted in  not  being  convinced  and  converted,  was  a 
flagrant  violator  C  the  inestimable  liberty  of  con- 
»<:ience,  and  a  corrupt  and  infectious  member  of  the 
body  politic,  and  deserved  to  be  lopped  off  and  cast 
i«>to  triu  ,fire. 

Now  I'll  warrant  there  are  hosts  of  my  readers, 
ready  at  once  to  lift  up  their  hands  and  eyes,  with 


that  virtuous  indignation  with  which  we  always  con- 
template the  faults  and  errors  of  our  neighbours,  .md  ■ 
to  exclaim  at  these  well-ineanmg,  but  mistaken  peo 
pie,  for  inflicting  on  others  the  injuries  they  had  sui- 
fered  themselves — for  indulging  the  prepostt  roiiL 
idea  of  convincing  the  mind  by  tormenting  the  Ih-Ji 
and  est<ablishing  the  doctrine  of  charity  and  fork-ir 
ance  by  intolerant  persecution.  But,  in  simple  tnith 
what  are  we  doing  at  this  very  day,  and  in  this  ve-v 
enlightened  nation,  but  acting  upon  the  verv  san  r 
principle,  in  our  political  controversies?  Have  v\c 
not,  within  but  a  few  years,  released  ourselvts  iVoin 
the  shackles  of  a  government  which  cruelly  cii  ni(;.l 
us  the  privilege  of  governing  ourselves,  an(rusin.r  !„ 
full  latitude  that  invaluable  member,  the  tonjjuK  ? 
and  are  we  not  st  this  very  moment  strivini;'  our 
best  to  tyrannize  over  the  opinions,  tie  up  the 
tongues,  or  ruin  the  fortunes  of  one  another  ?  What 
are  our  great  political  societies,  but  mere  political  In- 
quisitions—  our  pot-house  committees,  but  liitle 
tribunals  of  denunciation — our  newspapers,  but  mere 
whipping-posts  and  pillories,  where  unfortunate  indi 
viduals  are  pelted  with  rotten  eggs — and  our  council 
of  appointment,  but  a  grand  auto  da  fe,  where 
culprits  are  annually  sacrificed  for  their  pohticaj 
heresies  ? 

Where,  then,  is  the  difference  in  principle  between 
our  measures  and  those  you  are  so  ready  to  condemn 
among  the  people  1  am  treating  of?  There  is  none; 
the  difference  is  merely  circumstantial.  Thus  we  de- 
nounce, instead  of  banishing — we  libel,  instead  of 
scourging — we  turn  out  of  office,  instead  of  hangini; 
— and  where  they  burnt  an  offender  in  propria  "prr. 
sona,  we  either  tar  and  feather  or  burn  him  in  ejfi^  \ 
— this  political  persecution  being,  somehow  or  othV  , 
the  grand  palladium  of  our  hherties,  and  an  incoa- 
trovertible  proof  that  this  is  a  free  country  ! 

But  notwithstanding  the  fervent  zeal  with  which 
this  holy  war  was  prosecuted  against  the  wliole  r.ice 
of  unbelievers,  we  do  not  find  that  the  population  of 
this  new  colony  was  in  any  wise  hindered  thereby  ; 
on  the  contrai7,  they  multiplied  to  a  degree  which 
would  be  incredible  to  any  man  unacciuamted  with 
the  marvellous  fecundity  of  this  growing  couniiy. 

This  amazing  increase  may,  indeed,  be  partly  as- 
cribed to  a  singular  custom  prevalent  .-iniong  them, 
commonly  known  by  the  name  of  bundling — a  super- 
stitious rite  observed  by  the  young  people  of  both 
sexes,  with  which  they  usually  terminated  their 
festivities ;  and  which  was  kept  up  with  religious 
strictness  by  the  more  bigoted  and  vulgar  part  ot  the 
community.  This  ceremony  was  likewise,  in  those 
primitive  times,  considci"ed  as  an  indispensahle  pre- 
liminary to  matrimony^  their  courtshijis  commencing 
where  ourS  usually  finish — by  which  mean;,  tliey  ac- 
quired that  intimate  acquaintance  with  each  other's 
good  qualities  before  marriage,  which  has  been  pro- 
nounced by  philosophers  the  sure  basis  of  a  happy 
union.  Thus  early  did  this  cunning  and  ingenious 
people  display  a  shrewdness  at  making  a  bargain, 
which  has  ever  since  distinguished  thein — and  a 
strict  adherence  to  the  good  old  vulg.-vr  naxi  n  aha  ;i 
"  buying  a  pig  in  a  poke." 

To  this  sagacious  custom,  therefore,  do  1  chi,  .'!y 
attribute  the  un|)aralleled  increase  of  the  Yanckie  o! 
Yankee  tribe ;  for  it  is  a  certain  fact,  well  authenti- 
cated by  court  records  and  parish  registers,  that 
wherever  the  practice  of  bundling  prevailed,  there 
was  an  amazing  number  of  sturdy  brats  annuallv 
bom  unto  the  State,  without  the  license  of  the  law 
or  the  benefit  of  clergy.  Neither  did  the  irregularity 
of  their  birth  operate  in  the  least  to  their  disparage 
ment.  On  the  contrary,  they  grew  up  a  long-sided 
raw-boned,  hardy  race  of  whoreson  whalers,  wood- 
cutters, fishermen,  and  pedlers,  and  strapping  com 


which  we  always  con. 
four  neighbours,  ami 
ig.but  mistaken  peo. 
injuries  they  had  suf. 
\g   the   preposttrous 

tormenting  the  Wdt 
r  charity  and  forhcar 

But,  in  simple  inith 
day,  and  in  this  ve-v' 

upon  the  very  sa"  ' 
roversies  ?  Have  wc 
eased  ourselvts  iVom 
which  cruellv  (imicl 
jrseives,  and  usiivr  j,, 
ember,  the  tmv,nic} 
moment  striiin^-'  our 
pinions,  tie  up  the 
one  another  ?  What 
but  mere  political  in- 
mmittees,  but  liftl- 
lewspapers,  but  mere 
>ere  unfortunate  indi 
?gs— and  our  coutirii 

aufo  d<x  Je,   where 
d   for   their  political 

in  principle  between 
so  ready  to  condemn 
of?    There  is  none 
tantial.   Thus  we  dt- 
■we  libel,  instead  of 
f,  instead  of  hanginj. 
ider  in  propria  />,;■• 
nr  burn  him  in  ,-fi>\ 
J,  somehow  or  otii'e  , 
irties,  and  an  incon- 
'ee  country  I 
ent  zeal  with  whicli 
rainst  the  whole  race 
lat  the  population  of 
e  hindered  thereby; 
I  to  a  dej^ree  which 
I  unacquainted  with 
growinff  couniiy, 
ndeed,  be  partly  as- 
valent  anionjj  them, 
f  bundlinc; — s  super- 
lung  peo()le  of  both 
'y  terminated    their 
t  up  with  religious 
id  vulgar  part  ot  the 
s  likewise,  in  those 
n  indispensable  pre- 
rtships  commencing 
lich  means  tliey  ac- 
;e  with  each  other's 
ifhich  has  been  pro- 
re  basis  of  a  happy 
nine  and  ingenious 
making  a  bargain, 
ished   them— and  a 
'ulg.'xr  naxi  n  af)0  ;i 

:refcrc,  do  I  chi:  3) 
e  of  the  Yanckie  o? 
fact,  well  authenti- 
rish  registers,  that 
ng  prevailed,  there 
rdy  brats  annually 
license  of  the  law 
did  the  irregularity 
to  their  disparage- 
:w  up  a  long-sided 
on  whalers,  wood 
nd  strapping  com 


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A  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


471 


fed  wenches;  who  by  their  united  efforts  tended 
marvellously  towards  populating  those  notable  tracts 
of  country  called  Nantucket,  Piscataway,  and  Cape 

Cud. 


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CHAPTER  VII. 
sjow  rnasE  singular  barbarians  turned  out 

TO  BE  NOTORIOUS  SQUATTERS  —  HOW  THEY 
hUILT  AIR  CASTLES,  AND  ATTEMPTED  TO  INI- 
TIATE THE  NEDERLANDERS  IN  THE  MYSTERY 
OF  BUNDLING. 

In  the  last  chapter  I  have  given  a  faithful  and  un- 
prejudiced account  of  the  orifjin  of  that  singular  raec 
of  people,  inhabiting  the  countr\'  eastward  of  the 
Nieuw  Nederlandts ;  but  I  have  yet  to  mention  cer- 
tain peculiar  habits  which  rendered  them  exceedingly 
obnoxious  to  our  ever-honoured  Dutch  ancestors. 

The  most  prominent  of  these  was  a  certain  ram- 
bling propensity,  with  which,  lil<e  the  sons  of  Ish- 
m.iel,  they  seem  to  have  been  gfifted  by  Heaven,  and 
which  continually  goads  them  on,  to  shift  their  resi- 
dence from  place  to  place,  so  th.at  a  Yankee  farmer 
is  in  a  constant  state  of  migration  ;  tarrying  occa- 
sionally here  and  there  ;  clearing  lands  for  other  peo- 
ple to  enjoy,  building  houses  for  others  to  inhabit, 
and  in  a  manner  may  be  considered  the  wandering 
Arab  of  America. 

His  first  thought,  on  coming  to  the  years  of  man- 
houd,  is  to  settle  himself  in  the  world — which  means 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  to  begin  his  rambles. 
To  this  end  he  takes  unto  himself  for  a  wife  some 
r'.xo  n  country  heiress,  passing  rich  in  red  ribands, 
'  iss  beads,  and  mock  tortoise-shell  combs,  with  a 
*!iite  gown  and  morocco  shoes  for  Sunday,  and 
•i..'eply  skilled  in  the  mystery  of  making  apple  sweet- 
meats, long  sauce,  and  pumpkin  pie. 

Having  thus  provided  himself,  like  a  pedler,  with 
a  heavy  knapsack,  wherewith  to  regale  his  shoulders 
through  the  journey  of  life,  he  literally  sets  out  on 
the  i)eregrination.  His  whole  family,  liousehold  fur- 
niture, and  farming  ut*^nsils,  are  hoisted  into  a  cov- 
ered cart ;  his  own  and  his  wife's  wardrobe  packed 
u|)  in  a  firkin — which  done,  he  shoulders  his  axe, 
t.ikes  staff  in  hand,  whistles  "  Yankee  Doodle,"  antl 
trudges  otT  to  the  woods,  as  confident  of  the  protec- 
tion of  Providence,  and  relying  ..  cheerfully  upon  his 
own  resources,  as  did  ever  a  patriarch  of  yore,  when 
he  journeyed  into  a  strange  country  of  the  Gentiles. 
Having  buried  himself  in  the  wilderness,  he  l)uilds 
himself  a  log  hut,  clears  away  a  com-tield  and  pota- 
to-patch, and  Providence  smiling  upon  his  labours, 
is  soon  surrounded  by  a  snug  farm  and  some  half  a 
score  of  flaxen-headed  urchins,  who,  by  their  size, 
seem  to  have  sprung  all  at  once  out  of  the  earth,  like 
1  crop  of^oad-stools. 

But  it  -.i  not  the  nature  of  this  most  indefatigable 
d  spe.:iilators  to  rest  contented  with  any  state  of 
I'lbliinary  enjoyment  —  imprminnent  is  his  darling 
passion,  and  having  thus  improved  his  lands,  the 
lext  caie  is  to  provide  a  mansion  worthy  the  resi- 
drnce  of  a  landholder.  A  huge  palace  of  pine  boards 
'r.mediately  springs  up  in  the  midst  of  the  wilder- 
ies.«^  lirge  enough  for  a  parish  church,  and  furnished 
r.'itli  windows  of  all  dimensions,  but  so  rickety  and 
Simsy  withal,  that  every  blast  gives  it  a  fit  of  the  ague. 

By  the  time  the  outside  of  this  mighty  air  castle  is 
rompleted,  either  the  funds  or  the  zeal  of  our  adven- 
turer are  exhausted,  so  that  he  barely  manages  to 
nait  finish  one  room  within,  where  the  whole  family 
hurrow  together — v/hile  the  rest  of  the  house  is  de- 
voted to  the  curing  of  pumpkins,  or  storing  of  car- 
rots and  potatoes,  and  is  decorated  with  fanciful  fes- 


toons of  dried  apples  and  peaches.  The  sutside 
remaining  unpainted,  grows  venerably  black  with 
time ;  the  family  wardrobe  is  laid  under  contribution 
for  old  hats,  petticoats,  and  breeches,  to  stuff  into  tlit 
broken  windows,  while  the  four  winds  of  heavv'n 
keep  up  a  whistling  and  howling  about  this  acrini 
palace,  and  play  as  m.any  unruly  gambols,  as  they 
did  of  yore  in  the  cave  of  old  /Eolus. 

The  humble  log  hut,  which  whilome  nestled  th» 
itnproving  family  snugly  within  its  narrow  but  com 
fortable  walls,  stands  hard  by  in  ignominious  con- 
trast, degraded  mto  a  cow-house  or  pig-sty  ;  and  the 
who'e  scene  reminds  one  forcibly  of  a  fable,  which 
I  am  surprised  has  never  been  recorded,  of  an  aspir- 
ing snail,  who  abandoned  his  humble  habitation, 
which  he  had  long  filled  with  great  respectability  to 
crawl  into  the  empty  shell  of  a  lobster — where  he 
would  no  doubt  have  resided  with  gjeat  style  and 
splendour,  the  envy  and  hate  of  all  the  pains-taking 
snails  in  his  neighbourhood,  had  he  not  accidentally 
perished  with  cold,  in  one  comer  of  his  stupendous 
mansion. 

Being  thus  completely  settled,  and,  to  use  his  own 
words,  "  to  rights,"  one  would  imagine  that  he  would 
begin  to  enjoy  the  comforts  of  his  situation,  to  read 
newspapers,  talk  politics,  neglect  his  own  business, 
and  attend  to  the  affairs  of  the  nation,  like  a  useful 
and  patriotic  citizen  ;  but  now  it  is  that  his  wayward 
disposition  begins  again  to  operate.  He  soon  grows 
tired  of  a  spot  where  there  is  no  longer  any  room 
for  improvement — sells  his  farm,  air  castle,  petticoat 
windows  and  all.  reloads  his  cart,  shoulders  his  axe, 
puts  himself  at  the  head  of  his  family,  and  wanders 
away  in  search  of  new  lands — again  to  fell  trees — 
•again  to  clear  corn-fields — again  to  build  a  shin^c 
palace,  and  again  to  sell  off  and  wander. 

Such  were  the  people  of  Connecticut,  who  bor- 
dered upon  the  eastern  frontier  of  Nieuw  Neder- 
landts ;  and  my  readers  may  easily  imagine  what  ob- 
noxious neighf)ours  this  light-hearted  but  restlesa 
tribe  must  have  been  to  our  tranquil  progenitors. 
If  they  cannot,  I  would  ask  them,  if  they  have  ever 
known  one  of  our  regidar,  well-organized  Dutch 
families,  whom  it  hath  pleased  Heaven  to  afflict  with 
the  neighbourhood  of  a  French  boarding-house  ?  The 
honest  old  burgher  cannot  take  his  afternoon's  pipe 
on  the  bench  before  his  door,  but  he  is  'persecuted 
with  the  scraping  of  fiddles,  the  chattering  of  women, 
and  the  squalling  of  children — he  cannot  sleep  at 
night  for  the  horrible  melodies  of  some  amateur,  who 
chooses  to  serenade  the  moon,  and  oisplay  nls  ter- 
rible proficiency  in  execution,  on  the  clarionet,  the 
hautboy,  or  some  other  sof\-toned  instrument— nor 
can  he  leave  the  street  door  open,  but  his  house  is 
defiled  by  the  unsavoury  visits  of  a  troop  of  pug  dogs, 
who  even  soiTietimes  carry  their  loathsome  ravages 
into  the  sanctum  sanctorum,  the  parlour ! 

If  my  readers  have  ever  witnessed  the  sufferings 
of  such  a  family,  so  situated,  they  may  fonn  sonr  e 
idea  how  our  worthy  ancestors  were  distressed  by 
their  mercurial  neighbours  of  Connecticut. 

Gangs  of  these  marauders,  we  are  told,  penetrated 
into  the  New-Netherland  settlcmen.s,  and  threw 
whole  villages  into  consternation  by  their  unparallelefl 
volubility,  artd  their  intolerable  inquisitiveneas — two 
evil  habits  hitherto  unknown  in  those  parts,  or  only 
known  to  be  abhorred  ;  for  our  ancestors  were  noted 
as  being  men  of  truly  Spartan  taciturnity,  and  who 
neither  knew  nor  cared  aught  about  any  body's  con- 
cerns but  their  own.  Many  enormities  were  com- 
mitted on  the  highways,  where  several  unoffending 
burghers  were  Jrought  to  a  stand,  and  tortured  witE 
questions  and  guesses,  which  outrages  occasioned  as 
much  vexation  and  heartburning  as  does  the  modem 
right  of  search  on  the  high  seas. 


?'i!fe:S 


#72 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVINO. 


L--^'-"' ■' 


„.;...i,. 


Vik:.. 


m'-t 


Great  jealousy  did  they  likewise  stir  up,  by  their 
ntermeclclling  and  successes  among  the  divine  sex  ; 
for  being  a  race  of  brisk,  liitely,  pleasant-tongued 
varlets,  they  soon  seduced  the  light  affections  of  the 
simple  damsels  from  their  ponderous  Dutch  gallants. 
Among  other  hideous  customs,  they  attempted  to  in- 
troduce among  them  that  of  hundlinir,  which  the 
Dutch  lasses  of  the  Nederlandts,  with  that  eager  pas- 
sion for  novelty  and  foreign  fashions  natural  to  their 
sex,  seemed  very  well  inclined  to  follow,  but  that 
their  mothers,  being  more  experienced  in  the  world 
•nd  better  acquainted  with  men  and  things,  strenu- 
ously discountenanced  all  such  outlandish  innova- 
tions. 

But  what  chiefly  operated  to  embroil  our  ances- 
tors with  these  strange  folk,  was  an  unwarrantable 
liberty  which  they  occasionn.lly  took  of  entering  in 
hordes  into  the  territories  of  ifie  New-Netherlands, 
and  settling  themselves  down,  without  leave  or  li- 
cense, to  improve  the  land,  in  the  manner  I  have  be- 
fore noticed.  This  unceremonious  mode  of  taking 
possession  of  new  land  was  technically  termed  squat- 
ting, and  hence  is  derived  the  appellation  of  squat- 
ters; a  name  odious  in  the  ears  of  all  great  landholders, 
and  which  is  given  to  those  enteq)rising  worthies 
who  seize  upon  land  first,  and  take  their  chance  to 
make  good  their  title  to  it  afterwards. 

All  these  grievances,  and  many  others  which  were 
constantly  accumulating,  tended  to  form  that  dark 
and  portentous  cloud,  which,  as  I  observed  in  a  for- 
mer chapter,  was  slowly  gathering  over  the  tranquil 
province  of  New-Netherlands.  The  pacific  cabinet 
of  Van  Twiller,  however,  as  will  be  perceived  in  the 
sequel,  bore  them  all  with  a  magnanimity  that  re- 
dounds to  their  immortal  credit — becoming  by  pas- 
sive endurance  inured  to  this  increasing  mass  of 
wrongs ;  like  that  mighty  man  of  old,  who  by  dint  of 
larrying  about  a  calf  from  the  time  it  was  bom,  con- 
*injed  to  carry  it  without  difficulty  when  it  had 
grown  to  be  an  ox. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


HOW  THE  FORT  GOED  HOOP  WAS  FEARFULLY 
BELEAGUERED — HOW  THE  RENOWNED  WOUT/ilR 
FELL  INTO  A  PROFOUND  DOUBT,  AND  HOW 
HE  FINALLY  EVAPORATED. 

By  this  time  my  readers  must  fully  perceive  what 
an  arduous  task  I  have  undertaken — collecting  and 
collating,  with  painful  minuteness,  the  chronicles  of 
past  times,  whose  events  almost  defy  the  powers  of 
research — exploring  a  little  kind  of  Herculaneum  of 
history,  which  had  lain  nearly  for  ages  buried  under 
the  rubbish  of  years,  and  almost  totally  forgotten — 
raking  up  the  limbs  and  fragments  of  disjointed  facts, 
and  endeavouring  to  put  them  scrupulously  together, 
so  as  to  restore  them  to  their  original  form  and  con- 
nexion— now  lugging  forth  the  character  of  an  al- 
most forgotten  hero,  like  a  mutilated  statue — now 
deciphering  a  half-defaced  inscription,  and  now 
lighting  upon  a  mouldering  manuscript,  which,  after 
painful  study,  scarce  repays  the  trouble  of  perusal. 

In  such  case,  how  mucti  has  the  reader  to  depend 
ipon  the  honour  and  probity  of  his  author,  lest,  like 
t  curning  antiquarian,  he  either  impose  upon  him 
■ome  spurious  fabrication  of  his  own,  for  a  precious 
relic  from  antiquity — or  else  dress  up  the  dismem- 
bered fragment  with  such  false  trappings,  that  it  is 
scarcely  possible  to  distinguish  the  truth  from  the 
fiction  with  which  it  is  enveloped  !  This  is  a  griev- 
ance which  I  have  more  than  once  had  to  lament, 
in  the  course  of  my  wearisome  researches  among  the 


works  of  my  fellow-historians,  who  have  strangeli 
disguised  and  distorted  the  facts  respecting  thisccun 
tiy ;  and  particularly  respecting  the  great  pre  mc? 
of  New-Netherlands ;  as  will  be  perceived  jy  aii» 
who  will  take  the  trouble  to  compare  their  romantic 
effusions,  tricked  out  in  the  meretricious  gauds  oi 
fable,  with  this  authentic  history. 

I  have  had  more  vexations  of  this  kind  to  encoun- 
ter, in  those  parts  of  my  history  which  treat  of  thV. 
transactions  on  the  eastern  border,  than  in  any  oth- 
er, in  consequence  of  the  troops  of  historians  who 
have  infested  those  quarters,  and  have  shown  tlie 
honest  people  of  Nieuw-Nederlandts  no  mercy  in 
their  works.  Among  the  rest,  Mr.  Benjamin  Iruni- 
bull  arrogantly  declares,  that "  the  Dutch  were  alw;ivs 
mere  intruders."  New  to  this  I  shall  make  no  other 
reply  than  to  proceeJ  in  the  steady  narration  of  my 
history,  which  will  contain  not  only  proofs  that  the 
Dutch  had  clear  title  and  possession  in  the  fair  val- 
leys of  the  Connecticut,  and  that  they  were  wrong- 
fully dispossessed  thereof — but  likewise,  that  they 
have  been  scandalously  maltreated  ever  since  by  the 
misrepresentations  of  the  crafty  historians  of  New- 
England.  And  in  this  I  shall  be  guided  by  a  spirit 
of  truth  and  impartiality,  and  a  regard  to  immortal 
fame — for  I  would  not  wittingly  dishonour  my  work 
by  a  single  falsehood,  misrepresentation,  or  preju- 
dice, though  it  should  gain  our  forefathers  the  whole 
country  of  New-Kngland. 

It  was  at  an  enrly  period  of  the  province,  and  pre- 
vious to  the  arriv.al  of  the  renowned  Wouter,  th;it 
the  cabinet  of  Nieuw-Nederlandts  purchased  the 
lands  about  the  Connecticut,  and  established,  for 
their  superintendence  and  protection,  a  fonifitd  post 
on  the  banks  of  the  river,  which  was  called  Fort 
Goed  Hoop,  antl  was  situated  hard  by  the  presen* 
fair  city  of  Hartford.  The  command  of  this  impor- 
tant post,  together  with  the  rank,  title,  .ind  appoint- 
ment of  commissary,  were  given  in  charge  to  the 
gallant  Jacobus  Van  Curlet,  or,  as  some  historians 
will  have  it.  Van  Curlis — a  most  doughty  sfiidier, 
of  that  stomachful  class  of  which  we  have  such 
numbers  on  parade  days — who  are  famons  lor 
eating  all  they  kill.  He  was  of  a  very  soldierlike  aiv 
pearance,  and  would  have  been  an  exceeding  tall 
man  had  his  legs  been  in  proportion  to  his  body  • 
but  the  latter  being  long,  and  the  former  uncom- 
monly short,  it  gave  him  the  uncouth  appearance  oi 
a  tall  man's  body  mounted  upon  a  little  mans  1(l;s 
He  made  up  for  this  turnspit  construction  of  body 
by  throwing  his  legs  to  such  an  extent  when  he 
marched,  that  you  would  have  sworn  he  had  on  the 
identical  seven-le.ague  boots  of  the  far-famed  Jack 
the  giant-killer;  and  so  astonishingly  high  did  l.e 
tread,  on  any  great  military  occasion,  that  his  sol- 
diers were  ofttimes  alarmed,  lest  he  should  trampU 
himself  underfoot. 

But  notwithstanding  the  erection  of  this  fort,  and 
the  appointment  of  this  ugly  little  man  of  war  as  a 
commander,  the  intrepid  Yankees  continued  those 
daring  interlopings,  which  I  h.ave  hinted  at  in  my  last 
chapter  ;  and  taking  advantage  of  the  charactci 
which  the  cabinet  of  Wouter  Van  Twiller  soon  ac- 
quired, for  profound  and  phlegmatic  trarquillity-xiid 
audaciously  invade  the  territories  of  the  Nieuw- 
Nederlandts,  and  squat  themselves  down  within  the 
very  jurisdiction  of  Fort  Goed  Hoop. 

On  beholding  this  outrage,  the  long-bodied  Vi.^ 
Curlet  proceeded  as  became  a  prompt  and  vajant 
officer.  He  immediately  protested  against  these  un- 
warrantable encroachments,  in  Low  Dutch,  by  u">y 
of  inspiring  more  terror,  and  forthwith  despatched  a 
copy  of  the  protest  to  the  governor  at  New-Amster- 
dam, together  with  a  long  and  bitter  accotmt  of  the 
aggressions  of  the  enemy.    This  done,  he  ordered 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


478 


iwm  one  and  all,  to  be  of  good  cheer — shut  the  gate  I 
of  tt.e  fort,  smoked  three  pipes,  went  to  bed,  and 
twaited  the  result  with  a  resolute  and  intrepid  tran- 
miility  that  greatly  animated  his  adherents,  and  no 
Joubt  struck  sore  dismay  and  affright  into  the  hearts 
I  of  the  enemy. 

Now  it  came  to  pass,  that  about  this  time  the  re- 
(owned  Wouter  Van  Twiller,  full  of  years  and  hon- 
ours, and  council  dinners,  had  reached  that  period 
cflifi;  and  faculty  which,  according  to  the  grreat  Gul- 
liver, fntitles  a  man  to  admission  into  tlie  ancient 
iirdtr  of  Struldbruggs.  He  employed  his  time  in 
poking  his  Turkish  pipe,  amid  an  assembly  of  sages 
equally  enlightened  and  nearly  as  venerable  as  him- 
itlf,  and  wno,  for  their  silence,  their  gravity,  their 
wsclom,  and  their  cautious  averseiiess  to  coming  to 
my  conclusion  in  busim-ss,  are  only  to  lie  equalled 
by  certain  profound  corporations  which  1  have  known 
II  my  time.  Upon  readirij^  the  protest  of  the  gallant 
)aconus  Van  Curlet,  therefore,  his  excellency  fell 
straightway  into  one  of  the  deepest  doubts  that  ever 
he  was  known  to  encounter ;  his  capacious  head 
jn-  ilually  drooped  on  his  chest,  he  closed  his  eyes, 
t  inchned  his  ear  to  one  side,  as  if  listening  with 
great  attention  to  the  discussion  that  was  going  on 
in  his  belly ;  which  all  who  knew  him  declared  to 
be  the  huge  coirt-house  or  council  chamber  of  his 
thoutfhts ;  forming  to  his  head  what  the  House  of 
Representatives  do  to  the  Senate.  An  inarticulate 
soiiml,  very  much  resembling  a  snore,  occasionally 
esca|)ed  him — but  the  nature  of  this  internal  cogita- 
tion was  never  known,  as  he  never  opened  his  lips 
on  the  subject  to  man,  woman,  or  child.  In  the 
mtintime,  the  protest  of  Van  Curlet  laid  quietly  on 
(he  table,  where  it  served  to  light  the  pipes  of  the 
venerable  sages  assembled  in  council ;  and  in  the 
poat  smoke  which  they  raised,  the  gallant  Jacobus, 
his  protest,  and  his  mighty  Fort  Goed  Hoop,  were 
»oo!i  as  completely  beclouded  and  forgotten  as  is  a 
question  of  emergency  swallowed  ap  in  the  speeches 
iud  resolution  of  a  modem  session  of  Congri;ss. 

There  are  certain  emergencit  ?  when  your  pro- 
found legislators  and  sage  deliberative  councils  are 
irightilv  in  the  way  of  a  nation  ;  and  when  an  ounce 
of  hairbrained  decision  is  worth  a  pound  of  sage 
doubt  and  cautious  discussion.  Such,  at  least,  was 
the  case  at  present ;  for  while  the  renowned  Wouter 
Van  Twiller  was  daily  battling  with  his  doubts,  and 
his  resolution  growing  weaker  and  weaker  in  the 
contest,  the  enemy  pushed  farther  and  farther  into 
his  territories,  ana  assumed  a  most  formidable  a|i- 
pearance  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Fort  Goed  Hoop. 
Here  they  founded  the  mighty  town  of  Piquaj^,  or, 
as  it  has  since  been  called,  Weathersficld,  a  place 
which,  if  we  may  credit  the  assertion  of  that  worthy 
historian,  John  Josselyn,  Gent.,  "  hath  been  infamous 
by  re;ison  of  the  witches  therein," — And  so  daring 
did  these  inen  of  Piquag  become,  that  they  extended 
those  plantations  of  onions,  for  which  their  town  is 
illustrious  under  the  very  noses  of  the  garrison  of 
Fort  Goed  Hoop — insomuch  th.it  the  honest  Dutch- 
men could  not  look  toward  that  quarter  without 
tears  in  their  eyes. 

This  crying  injustice  was  regarded  with  proper 
indignation  by  the  gallant  Jacobus  Van  Curlet.  He 
ibsolutely  trembled  with  the  amazing  violence  of  his 
:holer,  and  the  exacerbations  of  his  valour ;  which 
:i«med  to  be  the  more  turbulent  in  their  workings, 
tijm  the  length  of  the  body  in  which  they  were  agi- 
tated. He  forthwith  proceed(^d  to  strengthen  his 
redoubts,  heighten  his  breastworks,  deepen  his  fosse, 
and  fortify  his  position  with  a  double  row  of  abattis ; 
alter  which  valiant  precautions,  he  despatched  a 
tresh  courier  with  tremendous  accounts  of  his  peril- 
nus  situation 


The  tjurier  chosen  to  )ear  these  alarming  des 
patches  was  a  fat,  oily  little  man,  as  being  least  liable, 
to  be  worn  out,  or  to  lose  leather  on  the  journey ;  and 
to  insure  his  speed,  he  was  mounted  on  the  fleetest 
wagon-horse  in  the  garrison,  remarkable  Ib^  his 
length  of  limb,  largeness  of  bone,  and  hardness  ot  trot ; 
and  so  tall,  that  the  little  messenger  was  obliged  to 
climb  on  his  back  be  means  <»f  his  tail  and  crupptr. 
Such  extraordinary  speed  did  he  make,  that  he  ar- 
rived at  Fort  Amsterdam  in  little  less  than  a  month, 
though  the  distance  was  full  two  hundred  pipes,  oi 
about  a  hundred  and  twenty  miles. 

The  extraordinary  appearance  of  this  portentous 
stranger  would  have  thrown  the  whole  town  of  New- 
Amsterdam  into  a  quandary,  had  the  good  people 
troubled  themselves  about  any  thing  more  than  their 
domestic  affairs.  With  an  appearance  of  great  hurry 
and  business,  and  smoking  a  short  travelling  pipe,  he 
proceeded  on  a  long  swing  trot  through  the  muddy 
lanes  of  the  metropolis,  demolishing  whole  batches 
of  dirt  pies,  which  the  little  Dutch  children  were 
making  in  the  road  ;  and  for  which  kind  of  pastry 
the  children  of  this  city  have  ever  been  famous.  On 
arriving  at  the  governor's  house,  he  climbed  down 
from  his  steed  in  great  trepidation  ;  roused  the  gray- 
headed  door-keeper,  old  Skaats,  who,  like  his  lineal 
descendant  and  faithful  representative,  the  venerable 
crier  of  our  court,  was  nodding  at  his  post — rattled 
at  the  door  of  the  council  chamber,  and  startled  the 
members  as  they  were  dozing  over  a  plan  for  es- 
tablishing a  public  market. 

At  that  very  moment  a  gentle  grunt,  or  rather  a 
deep-drawn  snore,  was  heard  from  the  chair  of  the 
governor;  a  whiff  of  smoke  was  at  the  same  ins'ant 
observed  to  escape  from  his  lips,  and  a  light  cloud  to 
ascend  from  the  bowl  of  his  pipe.  The  cour.::'.  oi 
course  supposed  him  engaged  in  deep  sleep  lOt  ihe 
good  of  the  community,  and,  according  to  custom  io 
all  such  cases  established,  every  man  bawled  out  si- 
lence, in  order  to  maintain  tranquillity ;  when,  of  a 
sudden,  the  door  flew  open,  and  the  little  courier  strad- 
dled into  the  apartment,  cased  to  the  middle  in  a  pair 
of  Hessian  boots,  which  he  had  got  into  for  the  sake 
of  expedition.  In  his  right  hand  he  held  forth  the 
ominous  despatches,  and  with  his  left  he  grasped 
firmly  the  waistband  of  his  galligaskins,  which  had 
imfortunately  given  way,  in  the  exertion  of  descend- 
ing from  his  horse.  He  stumped  resolutely  up  to  the 
governor,  and  with  more  hurry  than  perspicuity,  de- 
livered his  message.  But  fortunately  his  ill  tidings 
came  too  late  to  ruffle  the  tranquillity  of  this  most 
tranquil  of  nders.  His  venerable  excellency  had 
just  breathed  and  smoked  his  last — his  lungs  and 
his  pipe  having  been  exhausted  together,  and  his 
peaceful  soul  having  escaped  in  the  last  whiff  that 
curled  from  his  tobacco-pipe.  In  a  word,  the  re- 
nowned Walter  the  Doubter,  who  had  so  often 
slumbered  with  his  contemporaries,  now  slept  with 
his  fathers,  aud  Wllhelmus  Kieft  governed  in  his 
stead. 

BOOK  IV. 

CONTAINING  THE  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  RKION  0» 
WILLIAM   THE  TESTY. 


i 


CHAPTER    I. 

SHOWING  THE  NATURE  OF  HISTORY  IN  GENERAL; 
CONTAINING  FURTHERMORE  THE  UNIVERSAL 
ACQUIREMENTS  OF  WILLIAM  THE  TESTY,  ANr 
HOW  A  MAN  MAY  LEARN  SO  MUCH  AS  TO 
RENDER   HIMSELF  0<30U   FOR  NOTHING. 

When  the  lofty  Thucydide?  is  about  to  enter  upon 
his  description  of  '.he  olague  that  desolated  Athens 


474 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVINU. 


i'  1''-.  ■-,' 


"•.. 


J  I....! 

Air*'"  •■ 

mi:. 


X 


one  of  his  modem  commentators  assures  the  reader, 
that  the  history  is  now  going  to  be  exceeding  soicinn, 
serious,  and  pathetic ;  and  hints,  with  that  air  of 
chuckling  gratulation  with  which  a  good  dame  draws 
forth  a  choice  morsel  from  a  cupboard  to  regale  a 
favourite,  that  this  plague  will  give  his  history  a  most 
ajfreeable  variety. 

In  like  manner  did  my  heart  leap  within  me,  when 
I  came  to  the  dolorous  dilemma  of  Fort  Good  Hope, 
which  I  at  once  perceived  to  \yc  the  forerunner  of  a 
leries  of  great  events  and  entertaining  disasters. 
Such  are  the  true  subjects  for  the  historic  pen.  For 
what  is  histor)',  in  fact,  but  a  kind  of  Newgate  calen- 
dar, a  register  of  the  crimes  and  miseries  that  man 
has  inflicted  on  his  fellow-man  ?  It  is  a  huge  libel  on 
human  nature,  to  which  we  industriously  add  page 
after  page,  volume  after  volume,  as  if  we  were  build- 
ing up  a  monument  to  the  honour,  rather  than  the 
infamy  of  our  species.  If  we  turn  over  the  pages  of 
these  chronicles  that  man  has  written  of  himself, 
what  are  the  characters  dignified  by  the  appellation 
of  great,  and  held  up  to  the  admiration  of  posterity  ? 
Tyrants,  robbers,  conquerors,  renowned  only  for  the 
magnitude  of  their  misdeeds,  and  the  stupendous 
wrongs  and  miseries  they  have  inflicted  on  mankind 
— ^warriors,  who  have  hired  themselves  to  the  trade 
of  blood,  not  from  motives  of  virtuous  patriotism,  or 
to  protect  the  injured  and  defenceless,  but  merely  to 
eain  the  vaunted  glory  of  being  adroit  and  success- 
ful in  massacring  their  fellow-beings  !  What  are  the 
great  events  that  constitute  a  glorious  era  ? — The  fall 
of  empires — the  desolation  of  happy  countries — 
s.)lendid  cities  smoking  in  their  ruins — the  proudest 
works  of  art  tumbled  in  the  dust — the  shrieks  and 
groans  of  whole  nations  ascending  unto  heaven  1 

It  is  thus  that  historians  may  be  said  to  thrive  on 
the  miseries  of  mankind,  like  birds  of  prey  that 
hover  over  the  field  of  battle,  to  fatten  on  the  mighty 
dead.  It  was  observed  by  a  great  projector  of  in- 
land lock-navigation,  that  rivers,  lakes,  and  oceans 
•were  only  formed  to  feed  canals.  In  like  manner  I 
am  tempted  to  believe  that  plots,  conspiracies,  wars, 
victories,  and  massacres  are  ordained  by  Providence 
only  as  food  for  the  historian. 

It  is  a  source  of  g^reat  delight  to  the  philosopher 
in  studying  the  wonderful  economy  of  nature,  to 
trace  the  mutual  dependencies  of  things,  how  they 
are  created  reciprocally  for  each  other,  and  how  the 
most  noxious  and  apparently  unnecessary  animal  has 
its  uses.  Thus  those  swarms  of  flies,  which  are  so 
often  execrated  as  useless  vermin,  are  created  for  the 
sustenance  of  spiders — and  spiders,  on  the  other 
hand,  are  evidently  made  to  devour  flies.  So  those 
heroes  who  have  been  such  scourges  to  the  world 
were  bounteously  provided  as  themes  for  the  poet 
and  the  historian,  while  the  poet  and  the  historian 
were  destined  to  record  the  achievements  of  heroes  ! 

These,  and  many  similar  reflections,  naturally  arose 
in  my  mind,  as  I  took  up  my  pen  to  commence  the 
reign  of  William  Kieft :  for  now  the  stream  of  our 
history,  which  hitherto  has  rolled  in  a  tranquil  cur- 
rent; is  about  to  dep.art  for  ever  from  its  peaceful 
haunts,  and  brawl  through  many  a  turbulent  and 
nigged  scen*^.  Like  some  sleek  ox,  which,  having  fed 
and  fattened  in  a  rich  clover-field,  lies  sunk  in  luxu- 
rious repose,  and  will  be.ar  repeated  taunts  and 
!)lows,  before  it  heaves  its  unwieldy  limbs  and  clum- 
»ily  arouses  from  its  slumbers ;  so  the  province  of 
the  Nieuw-Nederlandts,  having  long  thrived  and 
grown  corpulent,  under  the  proiperous  reign  of  the 
Doubter,  was  reluctantly  awakened  to  a  melancholy 
conviction,  that,  by  patient  sufferance,  its  grievances 
had  become  so  numerous  and  aggravating,  that  it 
was  preferable  to  repel  than  endure  them.  The 
read;r  v/ill  new  witnces  the  manner  in  which  a 


peaceful  community  advances  towards  a  sta' ;  of  vrar 
which  it  is  too  apt  to  appro.ach,  as  a  horsj  (lo^>s  a 
dnim,  with  much   prancing  and  parade,  hut  with 
little  progress — and  too  often  with  the  wrone  en', 
foremost. 

Wii,HELMUS  KlF.FT,  who,  in  1634,  ascenried  the 
r^uhernatortal  chair  fto  borrow  a  favourite,  thoiip! 
clumsy  appellation  of  moder.i  phrascolojjists,)  w'-j 
in  form,  feature,  and  charac'er,  the  very  reverse  c T 
Wouter  Van  Twiller,  his  tenowivd  prfilcccsior. 
He  was  of  very  respectable  descent,  his  father  ritlnJ 
Inspector  of  Windmills  in  the  ancient  town  ol 
Saardam ;  and  our  hero,  we  are  told,  mulu  vt;^  cu- 
rious  investigations  into  the  nature  and  opcruions 
of  those  machines  when  a  boy,  which  is  one  nason 
why  he  afterwards  came  to  be  so  ingenious  a  gov- 
ernor. His  n.ime,  according  to  the, most  ingenious 
etymologists,  w.is  a  corruption  of  Kyrer,  thar  is  to 
say,  wrangler  or  scolder,  and  expressed  the  hereditary 
disposition  of  his  family ;  which  for  nearly  two  cen- 
turies had  kept  the  windy  town  of  Snarclani  in  hot 
water,  and  produced  more  tartars  and  brimstones 
than  any  ten  families  in  the  place — and  so  truly  did 
Wilhelmus  Kieft  inherit  this  family  endowment,' that 
he  had  scarcely  been  a  year  in  the  dischar^'e  ol  his 
government,  before  he  was  univers.ally  known  hy  the 
appellation  of  William  the  Testy. 

He  was  a  brisk,  waspish,  little  old  gentleman,  who 
had  dried  and  withered  aw.ay,  partly  through  the 
natural  process  of  years,  and  partly  from  boins; 
parched  and  burnt  up  by  his  fiery  soul ;  which 
blazed  like  a  vehement  rushlight  in  his  hosom,  con- 
stantly inciting  him  to  most  v.ijorous  broils,  altero 
tions,  and  misadventures.  I  have  heard  it  observed 
by  a  profound  and  philosophical  judge  of  human  nat- 
ure, that  if  a  woman  waxes  fat  as  she  grows  ol<l,  tlie 
tenure  of  her  life  is  very  precarious,  but  if  haply  -■he 
withers,  she  lives  for  ever — such  likewise  was  th; 
case  with  William  the  Testy,  who  grew  tougher  in 
proportion  as  he  dried.  He  was  some  such  a  little 
Dutchman  as  we  may  now  and  then  see  stumjvniJ 
briskly  about  the  streets  of  our  citV;  in  a  bmad- 
skirted  coat,  with  huge  buttons,  an  old-fashioned 
cocked-hat  stuck  on  the  back  of  his  he.ad,  and  a  cane 
as  high  as  his  chin.  His  visage  was  broad,  and  his 
features  sharp,  his  nose  turned  up  with  the  most  pet- 
ulant curl;  his  cheeks  were  scorched  into  a  duiky 
red — doubtless  in  consequence  of  the  neighbourhcji 'l 
of  two  fierce  little  gray  eyes,  through  which  his  torrid 
soul  beamed  with  tropical  fervour.  The  corners  el' 
his  mouth  were  curiously  motlelled  into  a  kind  ot 
fretwork,  not  a  little  resembling  the  wrinkled  pri> 
boscis  of  an  irritable  pug  dog — in  a  word,  he  was 
one  of  the  most  positive,  restless,  ugly  little  men  that 
ever  put  himself  in  a  passion  about  nothing. 

Such  were  the  personal  endowments  of  William 
the  Testy ;  but  it  was  the  sterling  riches  of  his  mind 
that  raised  him  to  dignity  and  power.  In  his  youth 
he  h.ad  passed  with  great  credit  through  a  celebrated 
academy  at  the  Hague,  noted  for  producing  finished 
scholars  with  a  despatch  unequalled,  except  by  cer- 
tain of  our  American  colleges.  Here  he  skirmished 
very  stnartly  on  the  frontiers  of  several  of  th''  sci- 
ences, and  made  so  gallant  an  inroad  in  the  Jeac  l.m- 
guages,  as  to  bring  off  captive  a  host  of  Greek  r  juns 
and  Latin  verbs,  together  with  divers  pithy  saws  ana 
apophthegms,  all  which  he  constantly  paratled  in 
conversation  and  writing,  with  as  much  vain-glory  -is 
would  a  triumphant  general  of  yore  display  the  spoils 
of  the  countries  he  had  ravaged.  He  had,  moreover, 
puzzled  himself  considerably  with  logic,  in  whtcti  he 
had  advanced  so  far  as  to  attain  a  very  familiar  ac- 
quaintance, by  name  at  least,  with  the  whole  family 
of  syllogisms  and  dilemmas ;  but  what  he  chieily 
valued  himself  on,  was  his  knowledge  of  metaphysics 


A   HISTORY  OF   NEW- YORK. 


475 


^  which,  having  once  upon  a  time  venturpd  too 
icepW,  he  came  we"-nigh  being  smothered  in  a 
llougn  of  unintelligit  t  learning — a  fearful  ptril,  from 
llie  ttfects  of  which  he  never  perfectly  rcroven-d. 
This,  1  must  confess,  was  in  some  measure  a  mis- 
fcrtime ;  for  he  never  engaged  in  argument,  of  which 
^  was  exceeding  fond,  but  what,  between  logical 
Reductions  and  metaphysical  jargon,  he  soon  in- 
(olved  himself  and  his  subject  in  a  fog  of  contradic- 
Ijors  and  perplexities,  and  then  would  get  into  a 
jiighty  passion  with  his  adversary  for  not  being  con- 
lincecl  p-atis. 
It  is  in  knowledge  as  in  swimming :  he  who  osten- 
n^ioiisly  sport?  and  flounders  on  the  surface,  makes 
mire  noise  an.l  spKishing,  and  attracts  more  atien- 
tioi,  than  the  industrious  pearl-diver,  who  plunges 
In  search  of  treasures  to  the  bottom.  The  "  universal 
acquirements  "  of  William  Kieft  were  the  sii'iject  of 
pe.it  marvel  and  admiration  among  his  coun,.  ymen 
-he  figured  about  at  the  Hague  with  as  much  vain- 
ffjory  as  does  a  profound  Honze  at  Pekin,  who  has 
mastered  half  the  letters  of  the  Chinese  alph.ibet ; 
and,  in  a  word,  was  unanimously  pronounced  an 
univfrsal  genius  / — I  have  known  many  universal 
nniiises  in  my  time,  though,  to  spaak  my  mind  freely, 
I  never  knew  one,  who,  for  the  ordinary'  purposes  of 
life,  was  worth  his  weight  in  straw — but,  for  the  pur- 
poses of  government,  a  little  sound  jutlgment,  and 
plain  common  sense,  is  worth  all  the  sparkling  genius 
that  ever  wrote  poetry,  or  invented  theories. 

Strange  as  it  may  sound,  therefore,  the  universal 
uquirements  of  the  illustrious  Wilhelmus  were  very 
much  in  his  way ;  and  had  he  been  a  less  learned 
man,  it  is  possible  he  would  have  been  a  much 
greater  governor.  He  was  exceedingly  fond  of  tr)'- 
ing  philosophical  and  political  experiments ;  and 
having  stiiifed  his  head  full  of  scraps  and  remnants 
of  ancient  republics,  and  oligarchies,  and  aristocra- 
cies, and  monarchies,  and  the  Laws  of  Solon,  and 
Lyrurgus,  and  Charondas,  and  the  imaginary  com- 
monwealth of  Plato,  and  the  Pandects  of  Justinian, 
and  a  thousand  other  fragments  of  venerable  antiq- 
uity, he  was  for  ever  bent  upon  introducing  some 
one  or  other  of  them  into  use  ;  so  th.at  between  one 
contradictory  measure  and  another,  he  entangled  the 
pvernment  of  the  little  province  of  Nieuw-Neder- 
landts  in  more  knots,  during  his  administration,  than 
h,ilf-a-dozen  successors  could  h.ave  untiok.1. 

No  sooner  had  this  bustling  little  man  bwn  blown 
by  a  whiff  of  fortune  into  the  seat  of  government, 
than  he  called  together  his  council,  and  delivered  a 
very  animated  speech  on  the  affairs  of  the  province. 
As  every  body  knows  what  a  glorious  opportunity  a 
governor,  a  president,  or  even  an  emperor,  has,  of 
drut)l)ing  his  enemies  in  his  speeches,  messages,  and 
bulletins,  where  he  has  the  talk  all  on  his  own  side, 
they  may  Ije  sure  the  high-mettled  William  Kieft  did 
not  suffer  so  favourable  an  occasion  to  escape  him, 
of  evincing  that  gallantry  of  tongue,  common  to  all 
able  legislators.  Before  he  commenced,  it  is  re- 
corded that  he  took  out  his  pocket-handkerchief,  and 
gave  I  very  sonorous  blast  of  the  nose,  according  to 
the  usual  custom  of  great  orators.  This,  in  general, 
1  Delieve,  is  in«;jndcd  as  a  signal  trumpet,  to  call  the 
p.ttec'.ion  of  the  auditors,  but  with  William  the  Testy 
.1  boasted  a  more  classic  cause,  for  he  had  read  of 
>e  singular  expedient  of  that  famous  demagogue, 
Caijs  Gracchus,  who,  when  he  harangued  the  Ro- 
man populace,  modulated  his  tones  by  an  oratorical 
flcte  or  pitchpipe. 

This  preparatory  S)  mphony  being  performed,  he 
commenced  by  expressing  an  humble  sense  of  his 
own  want  of  talents — his  utter  unworthiness  of  the 
honour  conferred  upon  him,  and  his  humiliating  inca- 
pacity to  discharge  the  important  duties  of  his  new 


station— in  short,  he  expressed  so  contemptible  an 
opinion  of  himself,  that  many  simi)le  country  mem- 
bers present,  ignorant  that  these  were  mere  words 
of  course,  always  used  on  such  occasions,  were  very 
uneasy,  and  even  felt  wroth  that  he  should  accept 
an  office,  for  which  he  was  consciously  so  inadeqirate. 

He  then  proceeded  in  a  manner  highly  classic  and 
profoundly  erudite,  though  nothing  at  all  to  the  pur- 
pose, being  nothing  more  than  a  pompous  account 
of  all  the  governments  of  ancient  Greece,  and  thie 
wars  of  Rome  and  Carthage,  together  with  the  rise 
and  fall  of  sunilry  outlandish  empires,  about  which 
the  assembly  knew  no  more  than  their  great-grand- 
children yet  unborn.  Thus  h.aving,  after  the  manner 
of  your  learned  orators,  convinced  the  audience  tha* 
he  was  a  m.an  of  many  words  and  great  erudition, 
he  at  length  came  to  the  less  important  part  of  his 
speech,  the  situation  of  the  province — and  here  he 
soon  worked  himself  into  a  fearful  rage  .against  the 
Yankees,  whom  he  compared  to  the  Gauls  who  deso- 
lated Rome,  and  the  Goths  and  Vand.als  who  over- 
ran the  fairest  plains  of  Europe — nor  did  he  forget 
to  mention,  in  terms  of  adequate  opprobrium,  the 
insolence  with  which  they  had  encroached  upon  the 
territories  of  New-Netherlands,  and  the  unparalleled 
audacity  with  which  they  had  commenced  the  town 
of  New-Plymouth,  and  planted  the  onion-patches  of 
Weathersfield,  under  the  very  walls  of  Fort  Goed 
Hoop. 

Having  thus  artfully  wrought  op  his  tale  ol  teiror 
to  rs  i,limax,  he  assumed  a  self-satisfied  look,  and  de- 
clared, with  a  tiod  of  knowing  import,  that  he  had 
taken  measures  to  put  a  final  stop  to  these  encroach- 
ments— that  he  had  been  obliged  to  have  recourse 
to  a  dreadful  engine  of  warfare,  lately  invented,  aw 
ful  in  its  effects,  but  authorized  by  direful  necessity. 
In  a  word,  he  was  resolved  to  conquer  the  Yankees 
— by  proclamation  ! 

For  this  purpose  he  had  prepared  a  tremendou] 
instrument  of  the  kind,  ordering,  commanding,  and 
enjoining  the  intruders  aforesaid,  forthwith  to  re- 
move, depart,  and  withdriw  from  the  districts,  re- 
gions, and  territories  aforesaid,  under  pain  of  suffer- 
ing all  the  penalties,  forfeitures,  and  punishments  in 
such  case  made  and  provided.  This  proclamation, 
he  assured  them,  would  at  once  exterminate  the 
enemy  from  the  face  of  the  country,  and  he  pledged 
his  valour  as  a  govemr •< .  ♦hat  within  two  months  af- 
ter it  was  published,  rot  o-:\^  stone  should  remain  on 
another  in  .any  of  the  towns  which  they  had  built. 

The  council  remained  for  some  time  silent  after 
he  had  finished ;  whether  struck  dumb  with  admira- 
tion at  the  brilliancy  of  his  project,  or  put  to  sleep 
by  the  length  of  his  harangue,  the  history  of  the 
times  does  not '  mention.  Suffice  it  to  say,  they  at 
length  gave  a  universal  grunt  of  acquiescence — the 
proclamation  was  immediately  despatched  with  due 
ceremony,  having  the  great  seal  of  the  province, 
which  was  alKjut  the  size  of  a  buckwheat  pancake, 
attached  to  it  by  a  broad  red  riband.  Governor 
Kieft  having  ,  thus  vented  his  indignation,  felt 
greatly  relieved — adjourned  the  council — put  on  his 
cocked  hat  and  corduroy  small-clothes,  and  mount- 
ing a  tall,  raw-boned  charger,  trotted  out  to  his 
country-seat,  which  was  situated  in  a  sweet,  se- 
questered swamp,  now  called  Dutch-street,  but  more 
commonly  known  by  the  name  of  Dog's  Misery. 

Here,  like  the  good  Numa,  he  reposed  from  the 
toils  of  legislation,  taking  lessons  in  government, 
not  from  tne  nymph  Egeria,  but  from  the  honoured 
wife  of  his  Ixiom;  who  w.as  one  of  that  peculiar 
kind  of  females,  sent  upon  earth  a  little  after  the 
flood,  as  a  punishment  for  the  sins  of  mankind,  and 
commonly  known  by  the  appellation  of  kfunoing 
women.    In  fact,  my  duty  as  a  histutian  obliges  lac 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


m  make  known  a  circumstance  which  was  a  greai 
secrrt  at  the  time,  and  consequently  was  not  a  sub- 
ject of  scandal  at  more  than  half  the  tea-tahles  in 
Ucv,  Amsterdam,  but  which,  like  many  other  great 
secrets,  has  leaked  out  in  the  lapse  of  years— and 
this  was  that  the  great  Wllhelmus  the  Testy, 
thojgh  one  of  the  most  potent  little  men  that  ever 
breathed,  yet  submitted  at  home  to  a  species  of 

Government,  neither  laid  down  in  Aristotle  nor 
'lito ;  in  short,  it  partook  of  the  nature  of  a  pure, 
unmixed  tyranny,  and  is  familiarly  denominated 
peiiicoiit  gaiiernment. — An  absolute  sway,  which, 
though  exceedingly  common  in  these  moclern  days, 
was  very  rare  among  the  ancients,  if  we  may  judge 
from  the  rout  made  about  the  domestic  economy  of 
honest  Socrates ;  which  is  the  only  ancient  case  on 
record. 

The  great  Kieft,  however,  warded  off  all  the 
sneers  and  sarcasms  of  his  particular  friends,  who 
are  ever  ready  to  joke  with  a  man  on  sore  points 
of  the  kind,  by  alleging  that  it  was  a  government 
of  his  own  election,  to  which  he  submitted  through 
choice ;  adding  at  the  same  time  a  profound  maxim 
which  he  had  foilnd  in  an  ancient  author  that  "  he 
who  would  aspire  to  govern,  should  first  learn  to 
obiy." 


CHAPTER  II. 

IN  WHICH  ARE  RECORDED  THE  SAGE  PROJECTS 
OF  A  RULER  OF  UNIVERSAL  GENIUS  — THE 
ART  OF  FIGHTING  BY  PROCLAMATION— AND 
HOW  THAT  THE  VALIANT  JACOBUS  VAN  CUR- 
LET  CAME  TO  BE  FuULLY  DISHONOURED  AT 
FORT  GOED  HOOP. 

Never  was  a  more  comprehensive,  a  more  expe- 
ditious, or,  what  is  still  better,  a  more  economical 
pleasure  devised,  than  this  of  defeating  the  Yankees 
Oj  proclamation — an  expedient,  likewise,  so  humane, 
so  gentle  and  pacific,  there  were  ten  chances  to  one 
in  favour  of  its  succeeding, — but  then  there  was  one 
chance  to  ten  that  it  would  not  succeed — as  the  ill- 
natured  fates  would  have  it,  that  single  chance  car- 
ried the  day.  The  proclamation  was  perfect  in  all 
its  parts,  well  constructed,  well  written,  well  sealed, 
and  well  publishetl — all  that  was  wanting  to  insure 
Its  eJTect  was  that  the  Yankees  should  stand  in  awe 
of  it;  but,  provoKmg  to  relate,  they  treated  it  with 
the  most  absolute  contempt,  applied  it  to  an  un- 
seemly purpose,  and  thus  did  the  tirst  warlike  proc- 
lamation come  to  a  shameful  end — a  fate  which  I 
am  credibly  informed  has  befallen  but  too  many  of 
its  successors. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  Wilhelmus  Kieft  could 
be  persuaded,  by  the  united  efforts  of  all  his  coun- 
selors, that  his  war  measures  had  failed  in  produc- 
ing any  effect.  On  the  contrary,  he  flew  in  a  passion 
whenr/er  any  one  dared  to  question  its  efficacy; 
and  swore  that,  though  it  was  slow  in  operating,  yet 
when  once  it  began  to  work,  it  would  soon  purge 
the  land  of  these  rapacious  intruders.  Time,  how- 
ever that  test  of  all  experiments,  both  in  philosophy 
and  politics,  at  length  convinced  the  great  Kielt 
that  nis  proclamation  was  abortive ;  and  that  not- 
withstanding he  had  waited  nearly  four  years  in  a 
state  of  constant  irritation,  yet  he  was  still  farther 
off  than  ever  from  the  object  of  his  wishes.  His 
implacable  adversaries  in  the  east  became  more  and 
more  troublesome  in  their  encroachments,  and 
founded  the  thriving  colony  of  Hartford  close  u{.x)n 
the  skirts  of  l^'ort  Goed  Fioop.  They,  monover, 
commenced  the  fair  settlement  of  New -Haven 
(otherwise  called  the  Red  Hills)  within  the  domains 


of  their  High  Mightinesses — while  .he  onion-patcheil 
of  Piquag  were  a  continual  eyesore  to  the  garrisonl 
of  Van  Curlet.  Upon  beholcling,  therefore,  the  inj 
efficacy  of  his  measure,  the  sage  Kiolt,  like  many  al 
worthy  practitioner  of  physic,  laid  the  btaine  not  tol 
the  medicine,  but  to  the  quantity  administered,  and! 
resolutely  resolved  to  double  the  dose.  I 

In  the  year  1638,  therefore,  that  being  the  fcurthl 
year  of  his  reign,  he  fulminated  acainst  the;n  a  sec 
ond  p-oclaniation,  of  heavier  metal  than  the  former; 
written  in  ihunderir.^  long  sentences,  not  one  word  I 
of  which  was  under  live  syllables.    This,  in  f;i(  t,  w;is| 
a  kind  of  non-intercourse  bill,  forbidding  .\nil  |)to- 
hibiling  all  commerce  and  connexion  betwcrn  ,iny 
and  every  of  the  said  Yankee  intruders,  and  the  said 
fortified  post  of  Fort  Goed  Hoop,  and  ordenni;,  com- 
manilini^,  and  Tidvising  all  his  trusty,  loyal,  ml  well- 
beloved  subjects  to  furnish  them  with  no  ,sii|i|)li'  s  ot 
gin,  gingerbread,  or  sour-crout ;  to  buy  none  nf  iheir 
pacing  horses,  measly  pork,  apple-brandy.  \  inlcee 
ruin,  cider-water,  apple  sweetmeats,  Weriihiisfield 
onions,  tin-ware,  or  wooden  bowls,  but  to  staive  and 
extenninate  them  from  the  face  of  the  land. 

Another  pause  of  a  twelvemonth  ensued,  (hiring 
which  this  proclamation  receded  the  same  atun'ion 
and  experienced  the  same  fate  as  the  first,  in  tnuli, 
it  was  rendered  of  no  avail  by  the  heroic  sp.rii  of  the 
Nederlanders  themselves.  ^Io  sooner  were  tlnv  pro- 
hibited the  use  of  Yankee  merchandise,  than  it  imme- 
diately became  indispensable  to  their  vei7  existence. 
The  men  who  all  their  lives  had  been  content  to 
drink  gin  and  ride  Esopus  switch-tails,  now  swore 
that  it  was  sheer  tyranny  to  deprive  them  of  apple- 
brandy and  Narr.aghanset  pacers;  and  as  to  the 
women,  they  declared  there  was  no  comfort  in  life 
without  Weathersfield  onions,  tin  kettles,  and  wocdcr. 
bowls.  So  they  all  set  to  work,  with  might  and  ma'n 
to  carry  on  a  smuggling  trade  over  the  borders ;  and 
the  province  was  as  full  as  ever  of  Yankee  wares,— 
with  this  difference,  that  those  who  used  them  hid 
to  pay  double  price,  for  the  trouble  and  risk  incurred 
in  breaking  the  laws. 

A  signal  benefit  arose  from  these  measures  of  Wil- 
liam  the  Testy.  The  efforts  to  evade  them  had  a 
mar\'ellous  effect  in  sharpening  the  intellects  of  ths 
people.  They  were  no  longer  to  be  governed  without 
taws,  as  in  the  time  of  OlotTe  the  Dreamer  1  nor 
would  the  jack-knife  and  tobacco-box  of  Walter  the 
Doubter  have  any  more  served  as  a  judicial  proctss. 
The  old  Nederlandt  maxim,  that  "  honesty  is  the  best 
policy,"  was  scouted  as  the  bane  of  all  ingenious  en- 
terprise. To  use  a  modem  phrase,  "  a  great  impulse 
had  been  given  to  the  public  mind  ;"  and  from  the 
time  of  this  first  experience  in  smuggling,  we  may 
perceive  a  vast  increase  in  the  number,  intricacy,  and 
severity  of  laws  and  statutes — a  sure  proof  of  the  in- 
creasing keenness  of  public  intellect, 

A  twelvemonth  having  elapsed  since  the  issuing 
of  the  proclamation,  the  gallant  Jacobus  Van  Curlet 
despatched  his  annual  messenger,  with  hi°.  customar)' 
budget  of  complaints  and  entreaties.  Whether  the 
regular  interval  of  a  year,  intervening  between  the 
arrival  of  Van  Curlet's  couriers,  was  occasioned  by 
the  systematic  regularity  of  his  movements,  or  by  he 
immense  distance  at  which  he  was  stationed  front  the 
seat  of  government,  is  a  matter  of  uncertainty.  Sume 
have  ascribed  it  to  the  slowness  of  his  messengers, 
who,  as  I  have  before  noticed,  were  chosen  from  the 
shortest  and  fattest  of  his  garrison,  as  least  likely  to 
be  worn  out  on  the  road  ;  and  who,  being  pursy, 
short-winded  little  men,  generally  travelled  fifteen 
miles  a  day,  and  then  laid  by  a  whole  week  to  rest. 
All  these,  however,  are  matters  of  conjecture  and  I 
rather  think  it  may  be  ascribed  to  the  immemorial 
.-naxim  of  this  worthy  country — and  which  lus  ever 


A   HISTORY  OF   NEW-YORK. 


471 


Ldiienced  all  Its  public  transactions — not  to  do  things 
1(1,1  hurry. 

I  The  gallant  Jacobus  Van  Curlet,  in  his  despatches, 
litspecltully  represented  that  several  years  had  now 
Itlipsed  since  nis  first  application  to  his  late  excei- 
llflicy.  Wouter  Van  1  wilier  ;  during  which  interval 
■hiJ  garrison  had  been  reduced  nearly  one-eighth,  by 
lllie  death  ot  two  of  his  most  valiant  and  corpulent 
[ers,  who  had  accidentally  over-eaten  themselves 
Ign  some  fat  salmon,  caught  in  the  Varsche  river. 
Ihc  further  stated,  that  the  enemy  persisted  in  their 
llnroails,  taking  no  notice  of  the  fort  or  its  inh.nbitants : 
Ibut  squatting  themselves  down,  and  forming  scttle- 
Lfnts  all  around  it ;  so  that,  in  a  little  while,  he 
l(houl<l  find  himself  inclosed  and  blockat'ed  by  the 
Itneiny,  and  totally  at  their  mercy. 

But  among  the  most  atrocious  of  his  grievances,  I 

Ijnd  ilie  following  still  on  record,  which  may  serve 

1 10  shew  the  bloody-minded  outrages  of  these  savage 

intniilers.     "  In  the  meantime,  they  of  Hartford  have 

I  not  onely  usurped  and  taken  in  the  lands  of  Connecti- 

cott,  ilthough  unrighteously  and  against  the  lawes 

of  niilions,  but  have  hindered  our  nation  in  sowing 

iheire  own  purchased  broken  up  lands,  but  have  also 

so'ved  them  with  come  in  the  night,  which  the  Neth- 

trlanilers  had  broken  up  and  intended  to  sowe  :  and 

iiave  beaten  the  servants  of  the  high  and  mighty  the 

tioni>red  companie,  which  were  labouring  upon  theire 

master's  lanus,  from  theire  lands,  with  sticks  and 

I  plow  staves  in  hostile  manner  laming,  and  amone 

I  the  rest,  struck  Ever  IJuckings*  a  hole  in  his  head, 

*ith  a  stick,  so  that  the  blood  ran  downe  very  strongly 

downe  upon  his  body." 

But  what  is  still  more  atrocious — 

"Those  of  Hartford  sold  a  hogg,  that  belonged  to 
the  honored  companie,  under  pretence  that  it  had 
eaten  of  theire  g^ounde  grass,  when  they  had  not 
iny  foot  of  inheritance.  They  proiTered  the  hogg 
fcr  5.f.  if  the  commissioners  would  have  given  55.  for 
damage ;  which  the  commissioners  denied,  because 
noe  man's  own  hogg  (as  men  used  to  say)  can  tres- 
pass upon  his  owne  master's  grounde."t 

The  receipt  of  this  melancholy  intelligence  in- 
censed the  whole  community — there  was  something 
in  it  that  spoke  to  the  dull  comprehension,  and  touch- 
ed the  obtuse  feelings,  even  of  the  puissant  vulgar, 
who  generally  require  a  kick  in  the  rear  to  aw.aken 
their  slumbering  dignity.  I  have  known  my  pnv 
found  fellow-ciUzens  be.ir,  without  murmur,  a  thou- 
sand essential  infringements  of  their  rights,  merely 
because  they  were  not  immediately  obvious  to  their 
senses— but  the  moment  the  unlucky  Pearce  %vas 
shot  upon  our  coasts,  the  whole  body  politic  w.is  in 
a  ferment — so  the  enlightened  Nederlanders,  though 
they  had  treated  the  encroachments  of  their  eastern 
neighbours  with  but  little  regard,  and  loft  their  quili- 
valianl  governor  to  bear  the  whole  brunt  of  war 
with  his  single  pen — yet  now  every  individual  felt 
his  head  broken  in  the  broken  head  of  Duckings — 
and  the  unhappy  fate  of  their  fellow-citizen  the  hog 
being  impressed,  carried  and  sold  into  capti\Hty, 
awakened  a  grunt  of  sympathy  from  every  bosom. 

Ti:i  governor  and  council,  eoaded  by  the  clamours 
af  the  nv'titude,  now  set  tn«*mselves  earnestly  to 
deJberate  upon  what  was  to  be  done. — Proclama- 
tions had  at  length  fallen  into  temporary  disrepute  : 
acme  were  for  sending  the  Yankees  a  tribute,  as  we 
make  peace-offering  to  the  petty  Barbary  powers,  or 
as  the  Indians  sacrifice  to  the  devil ;  others  were  for 
buying  them  out,  but  this  was  opposed,  as  it  would 
be  acknowledging  their  title  to  the  land  they  had 

*  Thii  name  it  no  doubt  miwpslt.  In  some  old  Dutch  MSS.  of 
Iho  time,  He  iad  the  name  of  F.vert  Duyckingh,  who  is  iinqu«stioD- 
■Uy  the  unfortunate  h«ro  above  alludoi  to. 

t  Hu.  Col.  Sute  Papers. 


seized.  A  variety  of  mcisures  were,  as  usual  in 
such  cases,  produced,  discussed,  \m\  abandoned , 
and  the  council  had  at  last  to  adopt  the  means, 
which  being  the  mo.st  common  ann  obvious,  had 
been  know  ngly  overlooked — for  your  amazing  acuta ' 
politicians  are  for  ever  looking  through  telescopci. 
which  only  enable  them  to  see  such  objects  as  are 
far  off,  and  unattainable,  but  which  .ncapacitate 
them  to  see  such  things  as  are  in  the:r  reach,  and 
obvious  to  all  simple  folks,  who  are  content  to  lock 
with  the  naked  eyes  Heaven  has  given  them.  The 
profound  council,  as  I  have  said,  in  the  pursuit  after 
Jack-o'-lanterns,  accidentally  stumbled  on  the  very 
measure  they  were  in  need  of :  which  was  to  raise 
a  body  of  troops,  and  despatch  them  to  the  relief  and 
ret-nforcement  of  the  garrison.  This  measure  was 
carried  into  such  pompt  operation,  that  in  less  than 
twelve  months,  the  whole  expedition,  consisting  of 
a  sergeant  and  twelve  men,  was  ready  to  march ; 
and  was  reviewed  for  that  purpose,  in  the  public 
square,  now  known  by  the  name  of  the  Rowling- 
Green.  Just  at  this  juncture,  the  whole  community 
was  thrown  into  ::onsternation,  by  the  sudden  arrival 
of  the  gallant  Jacobus  Van  Curlet,  who  came  strag- 
gling into  town  at  the  head  of  his  crew  of  tatterde- 
malions, and  bringing  the  melancholy  tidings  of  his 
own  defeat,  and  the  capture  of  the  redoubtable  post 
of  Fort  Goed  Hoop  by  the  ferocious  Yankees. 

The  fate  of  this  important  fortress  is  an  impressive 
warning  to  all  military  commanders.  It  was  neither 
carried  by  storm  nor  famine  ;  no  practicable  breach 
was  effected  by  cannon  or  mines ;  no  magazines 
were  blown  up  by  red-hot  shot,  nor  were  the  bar- 
racks demolished,  or  the  garrison  destroyed,  by  the 
bursting  of  bombshells.  In  fact,  the  place  wai 
taken  by  a  stratagem  no  less  singular  than  effectual ; 
and  one  that  can  never  fail  of  success,  whenever  an 
opportunity  occurs  of  putting  it  in  practice.  Happy 
am  I  to  add,  for  the  credit  of  our  illustrious  ances- 
tors, that  it  was  a  stratagem,  which  though  it  im- 
peached the  vigilance,  yet  left  the  bravery  of  the  in- 
trepid Van  Curlet  and  his  garrison  perfectly  free 
from  reproach. 

It  appears  that  the  crafty  Yankees,  h.aving  heard 
of  the  regular  habits  of  the  garrison,  watched  a  fa- 
vourable opportunity,  and  silently  introduced  the.Ti- 
selves  into  the  fort,  about  the  middle  of  a  sultry  day ; 
when  its  vigilant  defenders,  having  gorged  themselves 
with  a  hearty  dinner,  and  smoked  out  their  pipes, 
were  one  and  all  snoring  most  obstreperously  at  their 
posts,  little  dreaming  of  so  disastrous  an  occurrence. 
The  enemy  most  inhumanly  seized  Jacobus  Van 
Curlet  and  his  sturdy  myrmicions  by  the  nape  of  the 
neck,  gallanted  them  to  the  gate  of  the  fort,  and  dis- 
missed them  severally,  with  a  kick  on  the  crupper, 
as  Charles  the  Twelfth  dismissed  the  heavy-bottom- 
ed Russians,  after  the  battle  of  Narva — only  takine 
care  to  give  two  kicks  to  Van  Curlet,  as  a  signal 
mark  of  distinction. 

A  strong  ganison  was  immediately  established  in 
the  fort,  consisting  of  twenty  long  sided,  hard-fisted 
Yankees,  with  We.ithersfield  onions  stack  in  their 
hats  by  way  of  cockades  and  feathers — long  rusty 
fowling-pieces  for  muskets — hasty-pudding,  dumb- 
fish,  pork  and  molasses,  for  stores ;  and  a  huge 
pumplcin  was  hoisted  on  the  end  of  a  pole,  as  a 
standard— iberty  caps  not  having  yet  come  irto 
fashion. 

4-  . 


478 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


re; 


Ki 


'(i;!\- 


CHAPTER  III. 

CON  I  AIMING  THE  TEA RrUL  WRATH  OF  WILLIAM 
THE  TESTV,  AND  THE  GREAT  DOLOUR  OK  THE 
NEW-AMSTERDAMMERS,  UECAUSE  OF  THE  AF- 
FAIR OF  FORI"  OOKU  HOOP — AND,  MOREOVER, 
HOW  WILLIAM  THE  TESTY  DM)  STRONGLY 
r  IKTIFY  THE  CITY  —  TOGETHER  WITH  THE 
EXPLOITS  OF    STOFFEL   BRINKKRHOFF. 

Language  cannot  express  the  prodigious  fur> 
nto  which  the  testy  Wilhcimus  Kipft  was  thrown  by 
this  provoking  intelligence.  F'or  three  good  hours 
thi:  rage  of  the  little  man  was  too  grt-at  for  words, 
or  rather  the  words  were  too  great  for  hjm  ;  and  he 
was  nearly  choked  by  some  dozen  huge,  misshapen, 
nine-cornered  Dutch  oaths,  that  crowded  all  at  once 
into  his  eidlet.  Having  blazed  off  the  first  broai" 
side,  he  l<ept  up  a  constant  firing  for  three  w'  ^n. 
days — anathematizing  the  Yankt;es,  man,  svo  lan, 
and  child,  body  and  soui,  for  a  sot  of  dieven,  schob- 
bejaken,  deugenieten,  twist-v.ockcren,  loo?en-schalk- 
en,  bLies-kalcen,  kakken-beddeii,  and  a  thousand 
other  names,  of  which,  unfortunately  for  posterity, 
history  does  not  make  mention.  Finally,  ne  swore 
that  he  would  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  such  a 
squatting,  bundling,  guessing,  questioning,  swap- 
ping, pumpkin-eating,  moLosses-dauhing,  shingle- 
splitting,  cider- watering,  liorse-jockeymg,  notion- 
peddling  crew — that  they  might  stay  at  Fort  (joed 
Hoop  and  rot,  before  he  would  dirty  his  h.inds  by 
attempting  to  drive  them  away ;  in  proof  of  which, 
he  ordered  the  new-raised  troops  to  be  marched 
forthwith  into  winter  quarters,  although  it  w.-is  not 
as  yet  quite  mid-summer.  Governor  Kieft  faithfully 
kept  his  word,  and  his  adversaries  as  faithfully  kept 
their  post ;  and  thus  the  glorious  river  Connecticut, 
and  all  the  gay  valleys  through  which  it  rolls,  to- 
y.2ll.er  with  the  salmon,  shad,  and  other  fish  within 
i*s  waters,  fell  into  the  hanils  of  the  victorious 
Yankees,  by  whom  they  are  held  at  this  very  day. 

Great  despondency  seized  upon  the  city  of  New- 
Amsterdam,  in  consecjuence  of  these  melancholy 
events.  The  name  of  Yankee  became  as  terrible 
among  our  good  ancestors  as  w.as  that  of  Gaul 
among  the  ancient  Romans ;  and  all  the  sage  old 
women  of  the  province  used  it  as  a  bugbear,  where- 
with to  frighten  their  unruly  children  into  obedience. 

The  eyes  of  all  the  province  were  now  turned  upon 
their  governor,  to  know  what  he  would  do  for  the 
protection  of  the  common  we.al,  in  these  days  of 
darkness  and  peril.  Great  apprehensions  prevailed 
among  the  reflecting  part  of  the  commimity,  especial- 
ly the  old  women,  that  these  terrible  warriors  of  Con- 
necticut, not  content  with  the  conquest  of  Fort  Goed 
Hoop,  would  incontinently  march  on  to  New-Amster- 
dam and  take  it  by  storm — and  as  these  old  ladies, 
through  means  of  the  governor's  spouse,  who,  as 
has  been  already  hinted,  w.as  "  the  better  horse," 
had  obtained  considerable  influence  in  public  affairs, 
keeping  the  province  under  a  kind  of  petticoat  gov- 
ernment, it  was  determined  that  measures  should  be 
taken  for  the  effective  fortification  of  the  city. 

Now  it  happened,  that  at  this  time  there  sojourned 
in  New-Amsterdam  one  Anthony  Van  Corlear,*  a 
jcUy  fat  Dutch  trumpeter,  of  a  pleasant  burly  visage, 
isjnous  for  his  long  wind  a'  i  his  huge  whiskers,  and 
who,  as  the  story  goes,  could  twang  so  potently  up-, 
."v?  his  instrument,  as  to  produce  an  effect  upon  all 
within  hearing,  as  though  ten  thousand  bag-pipes 


•  David  Pietrei  Dt  Vriit,  in  hii  "  Reyw  n»er  Nieiiw-Nederiant 
jnder  het  year  1640,"  make*  mentiun  of  one  Corlear,  a  trutrpeter 
in  Fort  Amsterdam,  who  gave  name  to  Corlear's  Hcoli,  ar.d  who 
was  doubilru  this  same  champion  described  by  Mr.  Knickerbutlier. 
-KniTOK. 


were  singing  right  lustily  i'  the  nose.    Him  rtM  tM 

illustrious  kieft  pick  out  as  the  m.an  of  all  the  worll 
ino.st  fitted  to  be  the  champion  of  Ncw-Amstrnl:in 
and  to  garrison  its  fort ;  m.iking  little  (loul)t  Imt  il. 
his  instrument  would  be  as  effectu.al  and  offcnsm-  in 
war  as  was  that  of  the  Paladin  Astulpho,  or  thd 
more  chssic  horn  of  Alecto.     It  would  have  doiiJ 
one's  heart  good  to  have"  seen  the  governor  s.i.inpinJ 
his   fingers   and    fidgeting   with  delight,   wliil-  hii 
sturdy  trumpeter  strutted  up  and  down  the  r  imp.irta 
fearlessly  twanging  his  trumpet  in  the  face  ,,1  ih<j 
whole  world,  like  a  thrice-valorous  editor  d.inn  "li 
insulting  all  the  principalities  and  poweis— uii  i]\a| 
other  side  of  the  Atlantic. 

Nor  was  he  content  with  thus  strongly  (nirison-l 
ing  the  fort,  but  he  likewise  .-idded  excredini^'v   0  its! 
strength,  by  furnishing  it  with  a  formidalilr  iu'urvl 
'  quaker  guns — rearing  a  stupendous  ll.ii'.-'.'.iiT  \'r\ 
the  centre,  svhich  overtopped  the  whole  ciiy    .md, 
moreover,  by  building  a  great  windmill  on  ow  oi  ihei 
bastions.*    This  last,  to  be  sure,  w.as  somevvh.u  i,i  A 
novelty  in  the  art  of  fortification,  but,  .as  I  !n\(  ,il.| 
ready  observed,  William  Kieft  was  notorious  tnr  m- 
nov.ations  and  experiments  ;  and  traditions  do  aiiirm,  1 
that  he  was  mucn  given  to  mechanical  inventions- 
constnicting  patent   smoke-jack.s— carts   that  went 
before  the  horses,  and  especially  erecting  wimlniilis, 
for  which  machines  he  had  acquired  a  singul.ir  |)rf- 
dilection  in  his  native  town  of  Saardam.  1 

All  these  scientific  vagaries  of  the  little  gnvirnor ! 
were  cried  up  with  ecstasy  by  his  adhertnis,  .is 
proofs  of  his  universal  genius — but  there  wcri'  not 
wanting  ill-natured  grumnlers.  who  railed  at  him  as 
employing  his  mind  in  frivolous  pursuits,  and  df. 
voting  that  time  to  smoke-jacks  and  windmills  which 
should  have  been  occupied  in  the  more  inip'irtant 
concerns  of  the  province.  Nay,  they  even  went  so 
far  as  to  hint,  once  or  twice,  that  his  head  was 
turned  by  his  experiments,  and  that  he  re.il'y 
thought  to  manage  his  government  as  he  did  his 
mills — by  mere  wind  ! — such  are  the  illiberaliiy  and 
slander  to  which  enlightened  rulers  are  ever  subject. 

Notwithstanding  all  the  measures,  therefore,  of 
William  the  Testy,  to  pl.ace  the  city  in  a  posture  of 
defence,  the  inhabitants  continued  in  great  alarm 
and  despondency.  But  fortune,  who  seems  alw.np 
careful,  m  the  very  nick  of  time,  to  throw  a  bone  for 
hope  to  gnaw  uix)n,  that  the  star\'eling  elf  mav  k 
kept  alive,  did  about  this  time  crown  the  arms  ot' the 
province  with  success  in  another  quarter,  ami  thus 
cheered  the  drooping  hearts  of  the  forlorn  Nt'der- 
landers ;  otherwise,  there  is  no  knowing  to  what 
lengths  they  might  have  gone  in  the  excess  of  their 
sorrowing — "  for  grief,"  says  the  profound  historian 
of  the  seven  champions  of  Christendom,  "  is  com- 
panion with  despair,  and  despair  a  procurer  of  in- 
fiimous  death ! " 

Among  the  numerous  inroads  cf  the  mosstroopers 
of  Connecticut,  which  for  some  time  past  h.ad  orca- 
sioned  such  great  tribulation,  I  should  paiticularly 
have  mentioned  a  settlement  made  on  the  iis'em 
part  of  Long  Island,  at  a  place  which,  from  the  pe. 
culiar  excellence  of  its  shell-fish,  was  ca'.led  (Vy.itei 
Bay.  This  was  attacking  the  province  in  the  nro^ 
sensible  part,  and  occasioned  great  agitation  at  New. 
Amsterdam. 

It  is  an  incontrovertible  fact,  well  known  to  skillu! 
physiologisU,  that  the  high  road  to  the  .ifTections  is 
through  the  throat ;  and  this  may  be  accounted  fo/ 
on  the  same  principles  which  I  have  already  quoted 
in  my  strictures  on  fat  aldermen.  Nor  is  the  fact 
unknown  to  the  world  at  large ;  and  hence  do  we 

*  De  Vries  mentiou  that  thi<  windmill  tlo«d  on  th^.'  south-eait 
bastion  ■  and  it  is  likewise  to  be  seen ,  together  with  the  tJ.>g-tuuI,  ii 
Justus  D.iaker'i  View  of  New-Amsterdua. 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


479 


=  no«e.    Him  dM  t  J 

^nianofalhhewodJ 
of  New-Amst,  nl;.™ 
K  little  (loul)t  |„.t  tl,^ 
•ctualan(l„|f,„s,v,.irt 
'I'n  Astolplio.  or  thd 
It  woul.l  have  donj 

\  ''-'I'Sht,  \vl,ii'.'  1,3 
"I  down  thr  riniparti 
■^  'n  the  lac-  Jf  iQ 
orous  editor  (limnsjll 
and  powets~un  th«| 

us  stronR:Iy  ,ra|.ri,„„. 

ledexcredinKiv'„i,3| 
•1  formidali|ci,,,,|,.„| 
•pendous  lla,;...,,]  if, 
llie  whole  ciiy    .wid, 
'iiulmill  on  onv  u!  I'lel 
'.  was  somewhat ,,(, 
>n.  but.  as  I  liav,  al-i 
vas  notorious  |.,r  i„. 
1  traditions  (In  aiiiriii 
hanical  in\entions-' 
ks— carts    that  v.vp.i  I 
y  erecting  windmills  I 
uircd  a  singular  pre^ ' 
aardam. 

f  the  little  governor 
y  his   adhert'ntR,  as 
-^ut  there  wen' not 
vtio  railed  at  him  m 
IS  nurstiits,  and  d/-. 
and  windmills  which 
the  more  iniportant 
,  they  even  went  so 
that  his  head  was 
and   that    he    re.d'y 
iment  as  he  did  his 
e  the  illiberaliiy  and 
ers  are  ever  subject, 
isures.  therefore,  of 
city  in  a  posture  of 
ued  in  great  alarm 
,  who  seems  always 
to  throw  a  hone  for 
arveling  elf  niav  k 
own  thenriiisot'the 
sr  quarter,  atui  thus 
the  lorlom  Neder- 
>  knowing  to  what 
the  excess  of  their 
'  profound  historian 
stendom,  "is  com- 
r  a  procurer  of  in- 

:f  the  mosstroopers 
ime  past  had  orca- 
should  p,iilicularly 
ide  on  the  eis'ern 
'hich,  from  the  pe. 
was  ca'.ler!  Oy.itei 
jvince  in  the  vrori 
t  agitation  at  N'evv. 


IjoKrve  that  the  surest  way  to  gain  the  hearts  of  the 
l^illion,  is  to  feed  them  well — and  that  a  man  is 
(jtver  so  disposed  to  Hatter,  to  please  and  serve  an- 
Lhei,  as  when  he  is  feeding  at  his  expense  ;  which 
lyone  reason  why  your  rich  men,  who  give  frefpicnt 
Ijinners,  have  such  abundance  of  sincere  and  faithful 
liritnds.  It  is  on  this  principle  that  our  knowing 
Ijeiders  of  parties  secure  the  affections  of  their  par- 
Ilia'";,  by  rewarding  them  bountifully  with  loaves 
Jinil  tishcs ;  and  entrap  the  suffrages  of  the  grensy 
|i\o!',  'ly  treating  them  with  bull  feasts  and  roasted 
Igtcn.  I  have  known  many  a  man.  in  this  same  city, 
Ijcquire  considerable  importance  in  society,  and 
hjiirp  .1  large  share  of  the  good-will  of  his  enlightcn- 
Ifd  fellow-citizens,  when  the  only  thing  that  could  be 
Liid  in  his  eulogium  was,  that  "  he  gave  a  good  din- 
[jtr,  and  kept  excellent  wine." 

Sipce,  then,  the  heart  and  the  stomach  are  so 
I  nearly  allied,  it  follows  conclusively  that  what  affects 
ihf  one.  must  sympathetically  affect  the  other.  Now, 
It  is  an  ecjually  incontrovertible  fact,  that  of  all  offer- 
ings to  the  stomach,  there  is  none  more  grateful  than 
the  t(  staceous  marine  animal,  known  commonly  by 
the  vulgar  name  ot  Oyster,  And  in  such  great  rev- 
erence h.is  it  ever  been  held,  by  itiy  gormandizmg 
lello'.v-citizens,  that  temples  have  been  dedicated  to 
It,  time  out  of  mind,  in  every  street,  lane,  and  alley 
throughout  this  well-fed  I'ity.  It  is  not  to  be  ex- 
pected, therefore,  that  the  seizing  of  Oyster  Bay.  a 
place  aboundir)g  with  their  favourite  delicacy,  would 
be  :olerated  by  the  inhabitants  of  New-Amsterdam. 
An  .ittack  upon  their  honour  they  might  have  par- 
Joni-'d  ;  even  the  massacre  of  a  few  citizens  might 
have  been  passed  over  in  silence ;  but  an  outrage 
lh.1t  affected  the  larders  of  the  great  city  of  New- 
Ainfitcrdam,  and  threatened  the  stoinachs  of  its  cor- 
I  p'.ileni  burgoir.asters,  was  too  serious  to  pass  unre- 
rcr^eil.  —  The  whole  council  was  unaniinoiis  in 
:f;iion,  that  the  intruders  should  me  immediately 
Jriven  by  force  of  arms  from  Oyster  Bay  and  its 
vicinity,  and  a  detachment  w.is  accordingly  des- 
pati  hcd  for  the  purpose,  under  the  coniinand  of  one 
Stoifel  Brinkerhnff,  or  Hrinkerhoofd,  («>.  Sloffel,  the 
head-breaker,)  so  called  because  he  was  a  man  of 
mighty  deeds,  famous  throughout  the  whole  extent 
of  Nitiuw-Nederlandts  for  his  skill  at  quarter-staff; 
jnl  for  size,  he  would  have  been  a  match  for  Col- 
nr.md,  the  Danish  champion,  slain  by  Guy  of  VVar- 
ivick. 

Stoffel  Brinkerhoff  was  a  man  of  few  words,  but 
prompt  actions — one  of  your  straight-going  otlicers, 
wi'o  march  directly  forward,  and  do. their  orders 
without  making  any  parade.  He  used  no  extraordi- 
nary speed  in  his  movements,  but  trudged  steadily  on, 
throu;,fh  Nineveh  and  Babylon,  and  Jericho  and  Fat- 
:ho.i(,  and  the  mighty  town  of  Quag,  and  various 
other  renowned  cities  of  yore,  which,  by  some  unac- 
cour table  witchcraft  of  the  Yankees,  have  been 
strangely  transplanted  to  Long  Island,  until  he  ar- 
rived in  the  neighbourhood  of  Oyster  Bay. 

Hce  was  he  encountered  by  a  tumultuous  host  of 
Tliant  warriors,  headed  by  Preserved  Fish,  and  Hab- 
iikuk  Nutter,  and  Return  Strong,  and  Zerubbabel 
;isk,and  Jonathan  Doolittle. and  Determined  Cock! 
■^at  ihe  sound  of  whose  names  the  cour.ageous 
stoffel  verily  believed  that  the  whole  parliament  of 
lYaissGod-Barebones  had  been  let  loose  to  discomfit 
riim.  Finding,  however,  that  this  formidable  body 
was  composed  merely  of  the  "  select  men  "  of  the 
tettlament,  armed  with  no  other  weapon  but  their 
tongues,  and  that  they  had  issued  forth  with  no  other 
intent  than  to  meet  him  on  the  field  of  argument — 
he  succeeded  in  putting  thetn  to  the  rout  with  little 
dilRculty,  and  completely  broke  up  their  settlement. 
vVithout  waiting  to  write  an  account  of  his  victory 


on  the  spot,  and  thus  etting  the  enemy  slip  tliroogh 
his  fingers,  while  he  was  securing  his  own  laurels, ;» 
a  more  experienced  general  would  have  done,  the 
brave  Stoffel  thought  of  nothing  but  completing  his 
enterprise,  and  utterly  driving  tne  Yankees  from  the 
island.  This  hardy  enterprise  he  performed  in  much 
the  same  manner  rs  he  had  been  accustomed  to  drive 
his  oxen  ;  for  as  the  Yankees  tied  before  him,  h« 
pulled  up  his  breeches  and  trudged  steadily  aftei 
them,  and  would  inf.il'i  ''/  have  driven  them  into  the 
sea,  had  they  not  begge.u  for  quarter,  and  agreed  to 
pay  tribute. 

Tho  news  of  this  achievement  was  a  seasonable 
restoHitive  to  the  spirits  of  the  citizens  of  New-Am- 
sterilam.  To  gratify  them  still  more,  the  governor 
resolved  to  astorish  them  with  one  of  those  gorgeous 
spectacles,  known  in  the  days  of  classic  anticjuity,  a 
full  account  of  which  h.id  been  flogged  into  his  mem- 
ory, when  a  school-boy  at  the  Hague.  A  grand  tri- 
umph, therefore,  was  decreed  to  Stoffel  Brinkerhoff, 
who  made  his  triimphant  entrance  into  town  riding 
on  a  Naraganset  pacer  ;  five  pumpkins,  which,  like 
Roman  eagles,  had  served  the  enemy  for  standards, 
were  carried  before  him— -fiftv  cart-loads  of  oysters, 
five  hundred  bushels  of  Wcatherstield  onions,  a  hun- 
dred quintals  of  codfish,  two  hogsheads  of  molasses, 
and  various  other  treasures,  were  exhibited  as  the 
spoils  and  tribute  ol  the  Yankees ,  while  three  no- 
torious counterfeiters  of  Manhattan  notes*  were  ltd 
captive,  to  grace  the  hero's  triumph.  The  proces- 
sion was  enlivened  by  martial  music  from  the  trump- 
et of  Anthony  Van  Corlear,  the  champion,  accom- 
panied by  a  select  band  of  boys  and  negroes  per- 
forming on  the  national  instruinents  of  rattle-bones 
and  clam-shells.  The  citizens  devoured  the  spoils 
in  sheer  gladness  of  heart — every  man  did  honour  to 
the  conqueror,  by  getting  devoutly  drunk  on  New- 
Kngland  rum— and  the  learned  Willielmus  Kicft, 
calling  to  mind,  in  a  momentary  fit  of  enthusiasm 
and  generosity,  that  it  w.is  customary  among  the  an- 
cients to  honour  their  victorious  generals  with  public 
statues,  passed  a  gracious  decree,  by  which  every 
tavern-keeper  was  permitted  to  paint  the  head  of  the 


intrepid  Stoffel  on  his  sign  ! 


per 

his 


lO' 


CHAPTER  IV. 


PHILOSOPHICAL  REFLECTIONS  ON  THE  FOLLY  OF 
BEING  HAPPY  IN  TIMES  OF  PROSPERITY — SUN- 
DRY TROUBLES  ON  THE  SOUTHERN  FRONTIERS 
—HOW  WILLIAM  THE  TESTY  HAD  WELL  NIGH 
RUINED  THE  PROVINCE  THROUOH  A  CABALIS- 
TIC WORD — AS  ALSO  THE  SECRET  EXPEDITION 
OF  JAN  JANSEN  ALPENDAM,  AND  HIS  ASTON- 
ISHING REWARD. 

If  we  could  but  get  a  peep  at  the  tally  ol  dame 
Fortune,  where,  like  a  notable  landlady,  she  regu- 
l.irly  chalks  up  the  debtor  and  creditor  accounts  of 
mankind,  we  should  tind  that,  upon  the  whole,  good 
and  evil  are  pretty  near  balanced  in  this  world  ;  and 
that  though  we  may  for  a  long  while  revel  in  the  verj' 
lap  of  prosi)eriT.  the  time  will  at  length  coine  when 
wp  must  ruefully  pay  off  th?  reckoning.  Forttmei 
in  fact,  is  a  pestilent  shrew,  and  withal  a  most  inex- 
orable crediior;  for  though  she  may  indulge  her  fa- 
vourites in  long  credits,  and  overwhelm  them  with 


*  This  is  one  of  tliose  trivial  uiachronismi,  that  now  and  th«l 
occur  in  the  course  of  this  otherwise  .-luthentic  history.  How  could 
Manhattan  notes  be  countericitcU^  when  as  yet  Bauks  were  urn- 
known  in  this  country  ?— and  our  simple  proKcniturs  had  not  even 
dreamt  of  those  ineihauMible  mints  of  fa/ttt  §f»Umi. — ^Paurt, 
Dry. 


«»o 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVINO. 


\  .■  ,•  ■. 

r^  .*  •  *  * 


Kl- 


1   « 


Uw 


t  ■■■* 

1 


i'!  ►-<* 


Her  lavouri,  yet  sooner  or  later  she  brings  up  her 
arrears  with  the  rigour  of  an  expericnccrl  |)ul)hcan, 
and  washes  out  her  scores  with  tlieir  irars.  "  Since," 
says  ijooci  old  Boetius,  "  no  man  can  retain  her  at  his 
pleasure,  and  since  her  ili^ht  is  so  deeply  lamented, 
what  are  her  favours  but  sure  prognostications  of 
approaching  trouble  and  calamity  ? ' 

Tlie\;e  is  nothing  that  more  moves  my  contempt 
at  th;  stupidity  and  want  of  reflection  ot'^my  fcllow- 
in?n,  than  to  behold  them  rejoicing,  and  indulging 
In  security  and  self-contidence,  in  times  uf  pros|)(Tity. 
lo  a  wise  man,  who  is  blessed  with  the  light  of  rea- 
uon,  those  are  the  very  moments  of  anxiety  and  ap- 
prehension ;  well  knowing  that  according  to  liic  sys- 
tem of  things,  happiness  is  at  best  but  transient — 
and  that  the  higher  he  is  elevated  by  the  capricious 
breath  of  fortune,  the  lower  must  be  his  proportion- 
ate depression.  Whereas,  he  who  is  overwhelmtd 
by  calamity,  has  the  less  chance  of  encountering 
fresh  disasters,  as  a  man  at  the  bottom  of  a  ladder 
runs  very  little  risk  of  breaking  his  neck  by  tumbling 
to  the  top. 

This  is  the  very  essence  of  true  wisdom,  which 
consists  in  knowing  when  we  ought  to  he  miserable  ; 
and  w.is  discovered  much  about  the  same  time  with 
that  invaluable  secret,  that  "  every  thing  is  vanity 
and  vexation  of  spirit ;"  in  consequence  of  which 
maxim,  your  wise  men  have  ever  been  the  unhap- 
piest  of  the  human  race  ;  esteeming  it  as  an  infalli- 
ule  mark  of  genius  to  be  distressed  without  reason  — 
since  any  man  may  be  miserable  in  time  of  misfor- 
tune, but  it  is  the  philosopher  alone  who  can  dis- 
cover cause  for  grief  in  the  very  hour  of  prosperity. 

According  to  the  principle  1  have  just  advanced, 
we  find  that  the  colony  of  New-Netherlands,  which, 
tinder  the  reign  of  the  renowned  Van  Twiller,  had 
flourished  in  such  alarming  and  fatal  serenity,  is 
cow  paying  for  its  former  welfare,  and  discharging 
the  enormous  debt  of  comfort  which  it  contracteii. 
Foes  harass  it  from  different  quarters ;  the  city  of 
New-Amsterdam,  while  yet  in  its  infancy,  is  kept  in 
constant  alann  ;  and  its  v.iliant  commander,  William 
the  Testy,  answers  the  vulgar,  but  expressive  idea, 
of  "  a  man  in  a  peck  of  troubles." 

While  busily  engaged  repelling  his  bitter  enemies 
the  Yankees  on  one  side,  we  find  him  suddenly  mo- 
lested in  another  quarter,  and  by  other  assailants. 
A  vagrant  colon;-  of  Swedes,  under  the  conduct  of 
Peter  Minnewits,  and  professing  allegiancB,,to  th.it 
redoubtable  virago,  Christina,  queen  of  Swetlen,  had 
settled  themselves  and  erected  a  fort  on  South  (or 
Delaware)  River — within  the  boundaries  claimed  by 
the  government  of  the  New-Netherlands.  History 
is  mite  as  to  the  particulars  of  their  first  landing, 
and  their  real  pretensions  to  the  soil ;  and  this  is  the 
more  to  be  lamented,  as  this  same  colony  of  Swedes 
will  hereafter  be  found  most  materi;dly  to  affect  not 
only  the  interests  of  the  Nederlanders,  but  of  the 
world  at  large ! 

In  whatever  manner,  therefore,  this  vagabond  col- 
ony of  Swedes  first  took  |X)Ssession  of  the  country, 
it  is  certain  that  in  1638  they  established  a  fort,  and 
Minnewits,  according  to  the  off-hand  usage  of  his 
contemporaries,  declared  himself  governor  of  all  the 
adjacent  country,  under  the  name  of  the  province  of 
New  Sweden.  No  sooner  did  this  reach  the  ears 
of  the  choleric  Wilhelmus,  than,  like  a  true-spirited 
chieftain,  he  immediately  broke  into  a  violent  rage, 
snd  calling  together  his  council,  belaboured  the 
Swedes  most  lustily  in  the  longest  speech  that  had 
ever  been  heard  in  the  colony,  since  the  memorable 
dispute  of  Ten  Breeches  and  Tough  Breeches.  Hav- 
ing thus  given  vent  to  the  first  ebullitions  of  his  in- 
dignation, he  had  resort  to  his  favourite  measure  of 
oroclamation.  and  despatched  one,  piping  hot,  in  the 


first  year  of  his  reign,  infonning  Peter  Minnr  . -n 
that  the  whole  territory,  bordering  on  the   ;„  .(.I 
river,  had,  time  out  of  mind,  been  in  pussi  sm  ,  rj| 
the  Dutch  colonists,  having  been  "beset  wiili  iwis 
and  sealed  with  their  blowl." 

The  latter  sanguinary  sentence  would  convrv  ii;i 
iilea  (if  (lirelul  w.ir  and  bloodshed,  were  we  nit  te- 
lieved  by  the  information  that  it  merely  re!  U'  ,1  (,,  j  1 
fray,  in  which  some  h.alf-a-doien  Dutchmen  h.i'l  brrn 
killed  bv  the  Indians,  in  their  benevolent  atttinpts  ti) 
establisli  a  colony  and  promote  civilization.  \\\  ih,, 
it  will  be  seen,  that  William  Kief^,  th(ni;,'h  .'virv 
small  man,  delighted  in  big  expressions,  an'!  w.Jj 
mud  ;iven  to  a  nraiseworthv  figure  of  riietoric,  ;;en 
erally  cultivated  by  your  little  great  men,  caiJKriu-. 
perbole— a  figure  which  h.is  been  found  of  mtiniti; 
service  among  many  of  his  cl.ass,  and  whicli  has 
helped  to  swell  the  grandeur  of  many  a  nii>,'hiy,  si  11. 
important,  but  windy  chief  magistrate.  Nur  (  m  1 
refr.iin  in  this  place  from  observint^  how  naul,  tin 
belovetl  country  is  indebted  to  this  same  lijjuic  ,jt 
hvperltole,  for  supporting  certain  of  her  j,r(,it(it 
characters — statesmen,  orators,  civili.ms,  and  divims; 
who,  by  (lint  of  big  words,  inflated  periods,  .uul  windy 
doctrines,  are  kept  atloat  on  the  surface  of  sucietv, 
,is  ignorant  swimmers  are  buoyed  up  by  blown  bliic- 
(lers. 

The  proclamation  against  Minnewits  cone  Killed 
by  ordering  the  self-dubbed  governor,  and  his  i;;xng 
of  Swedish  adventurers,  immediately  to  l<^ave'  the 
country,  under  penalty  of  the  high  rlisplctsure  ami 
inevitable  vengeance  of  the  puissant  govemnu'iit  of 
the  Ni.iuw-Ne(lerlandts.  This  "  strong  measure," 
however,  does  not  seem  to  hiive  had  a  whit  nioic 
effect  than  its  predecessors  which  had  been  thumli  r- 
ed  against  the  Yankees — the  Swedes  reioli.tily  lulJ 
on  to  the  territory  they  had  taken  possession  of— 
whereupon  matters  for  the  present  reniainni  in 
statu  quo. 

That  Wilhelmus  Kieft  should  put  up  with  thii  in 
solent  obstinacy  in  the  Swedes,  would  appear  iiuom- 
patible  with  his  valorous  temperament ;  but  we  t;nil 
that  about  this  time  the  little  man  h.^d  his  hands  lull, 
and,  what  with  one  annoyance  and  another,  was 
kept  continually  on  the  bounce. 

There  is  a  certain  description  of  active  legislators, 
who,  by  shrewd  management,  contrive  always  to 
have  a  hundred  jrons  on  the  anvil,  everv  uiie  oi 
which  must  be  immediately  attended  to ;  who  conse- 
(juently  are  ever  full  of  temporary  shifts  and  cxiie- 
ilients,  patching  up  the  public  wellare,  and  colihling 
the  nation.il  affairs,  so  as  to  make  nine  holes  whert' 
they  mend  one — stopping  chinks  and  flaws  with 
whatever  comes  first  to  nand,  like  the  Yankees  I 
have  mentioned,  stuffing  old  clothes  in  broken  win- 
dows. Of  this  class  of  statesmen  WJis  William  the 
Testy — and  had  he  only  l)cen  blessed  with  powers 
c(|ual  to  his  zeal,  or  his  zeal  been  disciplined  by  i 
little  discretion,  there  is  very  little  doubt  that  he 
would  have  made  the  greatest  governor  of  his  siie 
on  record — the  renowned  governor  of  the  island  of 
Barataria  alone  excepted. 

The  great  defect  of  Wilhelmus  Kieft's  policy  w«, 
that  though  no  man  could  be  more  ready  to  stand 
forth  in  an  hour  of  emergency,  yet  he  was  so  ii.t'.nt 
upon  guarding  the  national  pocket,  that  he  sufler:d 
the  enemy  to  bre.ik  its  head — in  other  wo'ds.  wlnt 
ever  precaution  for  public  safety  he  adopted,  he  wis 
so  intent  upon  rendering  it  che.ip,  thai  he  iiivari..bly 
rendered  it  ineffectual.  All  this  was  a  remote  ton- 
sequence  of  his  profound  education  at  the  Hague— 
where,  having  .acquired  a  smattering  of  knowledge, 
he  was  ever  after  a  great  conner  of  indexes,  C(;iitin- 
I  ually  dipping  into  books,  without  ever  studying  to 
the  bottom  of  any  subject :  so  that  he  had  the  scirni 


A   HISTORY   OF   NRW-YORK. 


4-s\ 


H  all  kindt  of  authors  fermenting  in  hii  pericranium. 
In  Kime  of  thrw:  titlrpage  rcHearches,  lie  unluckily 
Ifiinibled  over  .1  grand  |)')litical  cahali^lic  vitrtt, 
whiih,  with  hix  customary  facility,  he  itnmcdiatfly 
inc"r|>(iratr<l  into  his  great  scheme  of  j,'overnmi-nt, 
to  till"  iTeiricvahle  injury  and  dclusinn  of  the  hDnt-st 
pnivinCR  of  Nicuw-Nedcrlandts,  and  the  eternal  mis- 
kailmg  of  all  cx|)iTimfntal  rulers. 

Ifi  vain  have  I  |x)rcd  over  the  theurgia  of  the 
Ch:iUleans,  the  cal)ala  of  the  lews,  the  necromancy 
of  V.'.i-  Arabians,  the  magir  of  the  I'ersi.ms,  the  hocun- 
"cciiiof  the  Knglish,  the  witchcraft  of  the  Yatikeis, 
irihe  iwwwowing  of  the  Indians,  to  discover  where 
the  little  man  first  laid  eyes  on  this  terrible  word. 
Niiilier  the  Sephir  jetzirah,  that  f.imoiis  cabalistic 
vnliiine,  ascribed  to  tne  patriarch  Abrah.im  ;  nor  the 
pa^i'sofZohar,  containing;  the  mysteries  of  the  cabala, 
recorded  by  the  learned  rabbi  Simon  Sochaides,  yield 
niiy  light  to  my  iiuiuiries — nor  .'iin  1  in  the  least  bene- 
litril  by  my  painful  resr.-irrhes  in  the  Shem-ham- 
pliorah  of  Benjamin,  the  w.inderin}j  Jew,  though  it 
eii.ililed  Davidus  Kim  to  make  a  ten  days'  journey 
ill  twenty-four  hours.  Neither  ran  I  perceive  the 
jli^htest  atlinity  in  the  Tetrat^ratninatdn,  or  sacred 
nAine  of  four  letters,  the  profnuiidest  word  of  the  Mc- 
hrrw  cabala ;  a  mystery  siibliitK',  ineffable,  and  in- 
coiiiiniinicable — iind  the  letters  of  which,  jod-He- 
\':i'i-lle,  having  been  stolen  by  the  nag.'ms,  cotisti- 
iu':'il  their  great  name,  Jao  or  Jove.  In  short,  in 
all  my  cabalistic,  theurgic,  necromantic,  magical, 
anil  astrological  researches,  from  the  Tetr.ictys  of 
l'\ihagur;is  to  the  recondite  works  of  Hreslaw  and 
Nloiher  Hunch,  I  have  not  discovereil  the  le.ist  vcs- 
titje  of  an  origin  of  this  word,  nor  have  I  discovered 
»nv  word  of  suffnient  potency  to  counteract  it. 

Not  to  keep  my  reader  in  any  suspense,  the  word 
wtiK.h  had  so  wonderl'ully  arreste<l  the  attention  of 
William  the  Testy,  and  which  in  German  characters 
,\a(l  a  particularly  black  and  ominous  aspect,  on 
.y-it'g  fairly  translated  into  the  Knglish,  is  tio  other 
Ih.iii  ECONOMV— a  talismanic  term,  which,  by  con- 
st.int  Use  and  frecjuent  mention,  h.as  ceased  to  be  for- 
midable in  our  eyes,  but  which  has  as  terrible  potency 
IS  any  in  the  arcana  of  necromancy. 

When  pronounced  in  a  national  assembly,  it  has 
an  immediate  effect  in  closing  the  hearts,  beclouding 
the  intellects,  drawing  the  purse-strings  and  button- 
in;^'  the  breeches-pockets  of  all  philosophic  tegisl.Uors. 
Not  are  its  effects  on  the  eyes  less  wonderful.  It 
produces  a  contr.iction  of  the  retina,  an  obscurity  of 
the  crystalline  lens,  a  viscidity  of  the  vitreous,  and  an 
inspissation  of  the  acjueous  humours,  an  iniluration 
of  the  tunica  sclerotica  and  a  convexity  of  the  cor- 
nea ;  insomuch  that  the  organ  of  vision  loses  its 
strength  and  perspicuity,  and  the  unfortunate  patient 
becomes  myopes,  or,  in  plain  English,  ]iurblind  ;  per- 
ceiving onfy  the  amount  of  immediate  expetise,  with- 
out being  able  to  look  farther,  and  regard  it  in  con- 
nexion with  the  u'li  Mile  object  to  be  effected — "So 
that,"  to  quote  the  words  of  the  eloquent  Burke, 
"  a  briar  at  his  nose  is  of  greater  magnitude  than  an 
.jak  at  live  hundred  yards*  dist.mce."  Such  are  its 
instant.ineous  oper.itions,  and  the  results  are  still 
more  astonishing.  By  its  m.agic  influence,  seventy- 
fours  shrink  into  frigates — frigates  into  sloops,  and 
sloops  into  gun-boats. 

This  all-potent  word,  which  served  as  his  touch- 
itone  in  politics,  at  once  explains  the  whole  systen^i 
of  proclam.ations,  protests,  empty  threats,  windinills. 
trumpeters,  and  pap;r  war,  carried  on  by  VVilhclmus 
the  Testy — and  we  may  trace  its  operations  in  an 
irtnament  which  he  titted  out  in  1642.  in  a  moment 
of  great  wrath,  consisting  of  two  sloops  and  thirty 
men,  under  the  command  of  Mynheer  Jan  Jansen 
Alpendam,  as  admiral  of  the  fleet,  and  ccwnmander- 
Vol.il— 4. 


in-chief  of  the  forces.  This  forniidable  expedition, 
which  can  only  be  p.iralleled  by  some  of  the  d.iring 
cruises  of  our  iiitani  navy  about  the  bay  anil  up  the 
.Sound,  w.is  intended  to  drive  the  Marylanjlers  from 
thi'  Schuylkill,  of  which  they  had  recently  taken  po»- 
sessiort — imd  which  was  cl.timed  as  part  of  the  prov- 
ince of  Ncw-Nederlaiidts  —for  it  appears  that  at  thia 
time  our  inf.int  colony  was  in  that  enviable  state,  sg 
much  I  oveted  by  ambitious  nations,  that  is  to  say, 
the  government  had  n  ■  asl  extent  of  territory,  part 
of  which  it  enjoyed,  and  ihe  greater  part  of  wl^ich  it 
had  continu.illy  to  quarrel  .dniut. 

Admiral  Jan  Jansei  Alpendam  was  a  man  of  grc.a* 
mettle  and  [jrowess,  and  no  way  ilismayed  at  the/ 
character  of  the  enemy,  who  were  represented  .n  a 
gigantic,  gunpowder  race  of  men,  who  liveil  on  hoe- 
cakes  and  b.acon,dr.ink  mint-juleps  and  apple-toddy, 
and  were  exceedingly  expert  at  boxing,  biting,  goug- 
ing, tar  and  feathering,  and  a  variety  of  other  athletic 
accomplishments,  which  they  h;i(f  borrowed  from 
their  cousinsgerman  and  prototypes,  the  Virginians, 
to  whom  they  h.ive  ever  borne  considerable  resem- 
blance. Notwithstanding  all  these  alarming  repre- 
sentations, the  admiral  entered  the  Schuylkill  most 
undauntedly  with  his  lleet,  and  arrived  without  dis- 
aster or  opposition  at  the  place  of  destination. 

Here  he  .ittacked  the  enemy  in  a  vigorous  speech 
in  Low  Dutch,  which  the  wary  Kieft  had  previously 
put  in  his  pocket ;  wherein  he  courteously  com- 
menced by  calling  them  a  pack  of  lazy,  (outing, 
dram-drinking,  cock-fighting,  hors<'-''acing,  slave« 
driving,  tavern-haunting.  Sabbath-break.:  g,  ;n-Utfo- 
breeding  upstarts — and  concluded  by  ordering  them 
to  evacuate  the  country  immediately— to  which  tie  J 
most  laconically  replie(l  in  plain  English,  "  they'd  f=« 
him  d tl  first." 

Now  this  w.as  a  reply  for  which  neither  Jan  Jansen 
Alpendam  nor  Wilhelmus  Kieft  had  made  any  cal- 
culation—and finding  himself  totally  unprepared  to 
answer  so  terrible  a  rebuff  with  suitable  hostility,  he 
concluded  that  his  wisest  course  was  to  return  home 
and  report  progress.  He  accordingly  sailed  back  to 
New-Amsterdam,  wher'i  he  was  received  with  great 
honours,  and  considered  as  a  pattern  for  all  com- 
manders ;  having  achieved  a  most  h.uardous  enter- 
prise, at  a  trifling  expense  of  treasure,  and  without 
losing  a  single  man  to  the  State! — He  was  unari- 
mously  called  the  deliverer  of  his  country,  (an  ap- 
pellation liberally  bestowed  on  all  great  men  ;)  his 
two  sloojjs,  having  done  their  duty,  were  l.iid  up  (or 
dry-ilocki;d)  in  a  cove  now  called  the  Alb.my  basin, 
where  they  quietly  rotted  in  the  mud  ;  and  to  im- 
mortalize his  name,  they  erected,  by  subscription,  a 
magnificent  shingle  monument  on  the  top  of  Flatten- 
barrack  hill,  which  lasted  three  whole  years ;  when 
it  fell  to  pieces  and  was  burnt  for  firewood. 


CHAPTER  V. 

HOW  WII.I.TAM  THE  TESTY  ENRICHED  THE  PROT- 
IN(  ',  Uy  A  MULTITUDE  OF  LAWS,  AND  CAMK 
TO  BE  THE  PATKON  OF  LAWYERS  AND  BUM- 
BMI  IFFS— AND  HOW  THE  PEOPLE  BECAME  EX- 
CEEDINGLY ENLIGHTENED  AND  UNHAPPY  UN- 
DER   HIS   INSTRUCTIONS. 

.\mosg  the  many  wrecks  and  fragments  of  ex- 
alted wisdom  which  have  floated  down  the  stream 
ot  time,  from  venerable  antiquity,  and  h.ave  been 
;  carefully  picked  up  by  those  humble,  but  industrious 
I  wiglits,  who  ply  along  the  shores  of  literature,  we 
■  find  the  following  sage  ordinance  of  Charondas,  the 
;  Locrian  legislator.    Anxious  to  preserve  the  ancient 


483 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


*  1 », 


^'i-vr-l: 


i;V"'»  .■ 


■;'•■  ■.;■.,  *• 


r>^ 


laws  of  the  state  from  the  additions  and  improve- 
ments of  profound  "  country  members,"  or  officious 
candidates  for  popularity,  he  ordained  that  whoever 
proposed  a  new  law,  should  do  it  with  a  halter  about 
his  neck ;  so  that  in  case  his  proposition  was  re- 
jected, they  just  hung  him  up — and  there  the  matter 
ended. 

This  salutary  institution  had  such  an  effect,  that 
for  mo'.e  than  two  hundred  years  there  was  only  one 
ttifling  alteration  in  the  criminal  code — anci  the 
whole  race  of  lawyers  starved  to  death  for  want  of 
.tnployment.  The  consequence  of  this  was,  that  the 
l.ccrians,  being  unprotected  by  an  overwhelming 
load  of  excellent  laws,  and  undefended  by  a  stand- 
ing army  of  pettifoggers  and  sheriff's  officers,  lived 
very  lovmgly  together,  and  were  such  a  happy  peo- 
ple, that  they  scarce  make  any  figure  throughout  the 
whole  Grecian  history — for  it  is  well  known  that 
none  but  your  unlucky,  quarrelsome,  rantipole  na- 
tions make  any  noise  in  the  world. 

Well  would  it  have  been  for  William  the  Test/, 
had  he  haply,  in  the  course  of  his  "  ui\iversal  ac- 
quirements," stumbled  upon  this  precaution  of  the 
good  Charondas.  On  the  contrary,  he  conceived 
that  the  true  policy  of  a  lej^islator  was  to  multiply 
laws,  and  thus  secure  the  property,  the  persons,  and 
the  morals  of  the  people,  by  surrounding  them  in  a 
manner  with  men-traps  and  spring-guns,  and  beset- 
ting even  the  sweet  sequestered  walks  of  private  life 
with  quickset  hedges,  so  that  a  man  could  scarcely 
turn,  without  the  risk  of  encountering  some  of  these 
pestiferous  protectors.  Thus  was  he  continually 
coining  petty  laws  for  every  petty  offence  that  oc- 
curred, until  in  time  they  became  too  numerous  to 
be  remembered,  and  remained  like  those  of  certain 
modem  legislators,  mere  dead-letters — revived  occa- 
•ionally  for  the  purpose  of  individual  oppression,  or 
to  entrap  ignorant  offenders. 

Petty  courts  consequently  began  to  appear,  where 
the  law  was  administered  with  nearly  as  much  wis- 
iom  and  impartiality  as  in  those  august  tribunals, 
the  alderman's  and  justice's  courts  of  the  present 
day.  The  plaintiff  was  generally  favoured,  as  being 
a  customer  and  bringing  business  to  the  shop  ;  the 
offences  of  the  rich  were  discreetly  winked  at — for 
fear  of  hurting  the  feelings  of  their  friends; — but  it 
could  never  be  laid  to  the  charge  of  the  vigilant 
burgomasi  ^rs,  that  they  suffered  vice  to  skulk  un- 
punished, under  the  disgraceful  rags  of  poverty. 

About  this  time  may  we  date  the  first  introduction 
of  capital  punishments  —  a  goodly  gallows  being 
erected  on  the  water-side,  about  where  Whitehall 
stairs  are  at  present,  a  little  to  the  east  of  the  Bat- 
tery. Hard  by  also  was  erected  another  gibbet  of  a 
very  strange,  uncouth,  and  unmatchable  description, 
but  on  which  the  ingenious  William  Kieft  valued 
himself  not  a  little,  being  a  punishment  entirely  of 
his  own  invention. 

It  was  for  loftiness  of  altitude  not  a  whit  inferior 
to  that  of  Haman,  so  renowned  in  Bible  history ; 
but  the  marvel  of  the  contrivance  was,  that  the  cul- 
prit, instead  of  being  suspended  by  the  neck,  accord- 
ing to  venerable  custom,  was  hoisted  by  the  waist- 
band, and  was  kept  for  an  hour  together  dangling 
and  sprawling  between  heaven  and  earth — to  the  in- 
finite entertamment  and  doubtless  great  edification 
t}f  the  multitude  of  respectable  citizens,  who  usually 
4l?2nd  upon  exhibitions  of  the  kind. 

It  is  incredible  how  the  little  governor  chuckled 
at  beholding  caitiff  vagrants  and  sturdy  beggars 
thus  swinging  by  the  crupper,  and  cutting  antic 
gambols  in  the  air.  He  had  a  thousand  pleasantries 
and  mirthful  conceits  to  utter  upon  these  occasions. 
He  called  them  his  dandle-lions — his  wild-fowl — his 
bigh-flyers-    his  spread-eagles — his  goshawks — his 


scarecrows,  and  finall]  his  galbms-birds,  which  in| 
gen'ous  appellation,  though  originally  confined  tl 
worthies  who  nad  taken  the  air  in  this  strange  manl 
ner,  has  since  grown  to  be  a  cant  name  given  to  aU 
candidates  for  legal  elevation.  This  punishnienti 
moreover,  if  we  may  credit  the  assertions  of  i  trt.iu 
grave  etymologists,  gave  the  first  hint  for  t  kirj  ofl 
harnessing,  or  slra|)ping,  by  which  oui  ior;.iathc:ri 
braced  up  their  multifarious  breeches,  and  which  1 
of  late  years  been  revived,  and  continues  to  be  wor^ 
at  the  present  d.iy. 

Such  were  the  admirable  improvements  of  WiiJ 
liam  Kieft  in  criminal  law — nor  was  his  civil  ccdJ 
less  a  matter  of  wonderment;  and  much  dois  \ 
grieve  me  that  the  limits  of  m.j  work  will  not  siifTen 
me  to  etpatiate  on  both,  with  the  prolixity  t',i  y  dcj 
serve.  Let  it  suffice  then  to  say,  that  in  a  Ijitlg 
while  the  blessings  of  ir  numerable  laws  l)ecani(>  no- 
toriously apparent.  It  was  soon  found  ncci>s.irv  to 
have  a  certain  class  of  men  to  expound  ami  ciiniDundl 
them — divers  pettifoggers  accordingly  made  theirT 
appearance,  under  whose  protecting  care  I'lc  com-| 
munity  was  soon  set  together  by  the  ears. 

I  would  not  here  be  thought  to  insinuate  any  thingi 
derogatory  to  the  profession  of  the  law,  or  to  iis  dig-f 
nitied  members.  Well  am  I  aware,  that  we  have  inl 
this  ancient  city  innumerable  worthy  gentleinti\ vvliol 
have  embraced  that  honourable  order,  not  for  the! 
sordid  love  of  tilthy  lucre,  nor  the  selfish  craviii.;sof| 
renown,  but  through  no  other  motives  bm  a  h  rvent I 
zeal  for  the  correct  administration  of  justice,  and  a| 
generous  and  disinterested  devotion  to  the  intcrastsl 
of  their  fellow-citizens ! — Soo.ier  would  1  throw  this! 
trusty  pen  into  the  flames,  and  cork  up  my  inK-botJ 
tie  for  ever,  than  infringe  even  for  a  nail's  hreadtbl 
ujxjn  the  dignity  of  this  truly  benevolent  cl.iss  ol  [ 
citizens — on  the  contrar)',  I  allude  solely  to  thai) 
crew  of  caitiff  scouts,  who,  in  these  latter  (l„yf  of  [ 
evil,  have  become  so  numerous — who  infi.>t  the! 
skirts  of  the  profession,  as  did  the  recreant  Con  ish 
knights  the  honourable  order  of  chivalry  — who, 
under  its  auspices,  commit  their  depredations  on  so- 1 
ciety — who  thrive  by  quibbles,  quirks,  and  chicanery, 
and,  (ike  vermin,  swarm  most  where  there  is  most  I 
corruption. 

Nothing  so  soon  awakens  the  malevolent  pa^.sions, 
as  the  facfjity  of  gratification.  The  courts  of  law  | 
would  never  be  so  constantly  crowded  with  piiiy, 
vexatious,  and  disgraceful  suits,  were  it  not  fur  the  I 
herds  of  pettifogging  lawyers  that  infest  them. 
These  tamper  with  the  passions  of  the  lower  and 
more  ignorant  classes  ;  who,  as  if  poverty  were  not 
a  sufticient  misery  in  itself,  are  always  ready  to 
heighten  it  by  the  bitterness  of  litigation.  They  are  i 
in  Taw  what  quacks  .are  in  medicine — excitiiiij  ths 
malady  tor  the  puri)Ose  of  profiting  by  the  cure,  and 
retarding  the  cure  for  the  purpose  of  augmenting 
the  fees.  Where  one  destroys  the  constitution,  the 
other  impoverishes  the  purse ,  and  it  may  lik^'wise 
be  observed,  that  a  [xatient,  who  has  once  bi-en  un- 
der the  hands  of  a  quack,  is  t\er  after  dahiilingin 
drugs,  and  poisoning  himself  with  inlalli.ile  lepie- 
dies;  and  an  ignorant  man,  v.ho  has  once  iiieildled 
with  the  law  under  the  auspices  of  one  of  these  euv 
pirics,  is  for  ever  after  embroiling  hiir^self  witli  hi; 
neighbours,  and  impoverishing  himself  witii  sue  cess- 
tul  law-suits. — My  readers  will  excuse  this  digres- 
sion, into  which  1  have  been  unwarily  betraud  ,  hut 
I  could  not  avoid  giving  a  cool,  unprejudiced  ic.  ount 
of  an  abomination  too  prevalent  in  this  excellent 
city,  and  with  the  effects  of  which  I  am  unlnckily 
acquainted  to  my  cost ;  having  been  nearly  niined 
by  a  law-suit,  which  w.as  unjustly  decided  against 
me—  and  my  ruin  having  been  completed  by  another 
which  was  decided  in  my  favour. 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


483 


It  has  been  remarked  by  the  observant  writer  of 
the  Stuyvesant  manuscript,  that  under  the  adminis- 
tration of  Wilhelmus  Kieft  the  disposition  of  the  in- 
habitants of  New-Amsterdam  experienced  an  essen- 
tial cliange,  so  that  they  became  very  meddlesome 
ind  factious  The  constant  exacerbations  of  temper 
into  which  the  little  governor  was  thrown  by  the 
ni.iraudings  on  his  frontiers,  and  his  unfortunate  pro- 
pensity to  experiment  and  innovation,  occasioned  him 
\z  keep  his  council  in  a  continual  worry — and  the 
:ouricil  being,  to  the  people  at  larjje,  what  yest  or 
eaven  is  to  a  batch,  they  threw  the  wnole  community 
into  a  ferment — and  the  people  at  large  being  to  the 
city  what  the  mind  is  to  the  body,  the  unhappy  com- 
notions  they  underwent  operated  most  disastrously 
upon  New-Amsterdam — insomuch,  that  in  certain 
of  their  paroxysms  of  consternation  and  perplexity 
thev  begat  several  of  the  most  crooked,  distorted, 
and  alwminable  streets,  lanes,  and  alleys,  with  which 
this  metro()olis  is  disfigured. 

Bat  the  worst  of  the  matter  was,  that  just  about 
this  time  the  mob,  since  called  the  sovereign  people, 
like  Balaam's  ass,  began  to  grow  more  enligntened 
than  its  rider,  and  exhibited  a  strange  desire  of  gov- 
erning itself.  This  was  another  effect  of  the  "  uni- 
versal acquirements"  of  William  the  Testy.  In 
some  of  his  pestilent  researches  among  the  rubbish  of 
antiquity,  he  was  struck  with  admiration  at  the  in- 
stitution of  public  tables  among  the  Lacediemonians, 
where  they  discussed  topics  of  a  general  and  interest- 
ing; nature — at  the  schools  of  the  philosophers,  where 
they  engaged  in  profound  disputes  upon  politics  and 
'  !i,(h-als — where  gray-beards  were  taught  the  rudi- 
.Tiints  of  wisdom,  and  youths  learned  to  become  lit- 
\k  men  before  they  were  boys.  "  There  is  nothing," 
jaid  the  ingenious  Kieft,  shutting  up  the  book,  "  there 
J  nothing  more  essential  to  the  well-management  of 
1  country,  than  education  among  the  people :  the 
3isis  of  a  good  government  should  be  laid  in  the 
puijlic  mind." — Now  this  was  true  enougn,  but  it 
was  ever  the  way%vard  fate  of  William  the  Testy, 
that  when  he  thought  right,  he  was  sure  to  go  to 
wurk  wrong.  In  the  present  instance,  he  could 
scarcely  eat  or  sleep  until  he  had  set  on  foot  brawl- 
!!;({  debating  societies  among  the  simple  citizens  of 
New-Amsterdam.  This  was  the  one  thing  wanting 
to  complete  his  confusion.  The  honest  Dutch  burgh- 
ers, though  in  truth  but  little  given  to  argument  or 
wonly  alit-rcation,  yet  wy  dint  of  meeting  often  to- 
gether, fuddling  themselves  with  strong  drink,  be- 
cluuding  their  brains  with  tobacco-smoke,  and  listen- 
ing to  tlie  harangues  of  some  half-a-dozen  oracles, 
soun  became  exceedingly  wise,  and — as  is  always  the 
case  where  the  mob  is  politically  enlightcnecl — ex- 
ceedingly discontented.  They  found  out,  with  won- 
derful ((uickncss  of  discernment,  the  fearful  error  in 
which  they  had  indulged,  in  fancying  themselves  the 
happiest  people  in  creation — and  were  fortunately 
convmced,  that,  all  circumstances  to  the  contran- 
notwithstanding,  they  weie  a  very  unhappy,  deluded, 
lad  consequently  ruined  jieople. 

In  a  short  time,  the  quidnuncs  of  New-Amsterdam 
fcrnicd  themselves  into  s-ige  juntos  of  political  croak- 
::s,  who  daily  met  together  to  groan  over  political 
itTairs,  and  make  themselves  miserable ;  thronging 
to  these  unhap[)y  assemblages,  with  the  same  eager- 
ness that  /e.ilots  havi  in  all  ages  abandoned  the 
milder  and  oiore  jjeaceful  paths  of  religion,  to  crowd 
to  the  howlir.g  convocations  of  fanaticism.  We  are 
naturally  prone  Id  discontent,  and  avaricious  after 
imaginary  causes  of  lamentation  —  like  lublierly 
moilks,  w<;  belabour  our  own  shoulders,  and  seem  to 
take  a  vast  satisfaction  in  th**  music  of  our  own 
groans.  Nor  is  this  said  for  the  sake  of  paradox ; 
.ailv  experience  shows  the  truth  of  these  observa- 


tions. It  is  almost  impossible  to  elevate  the  spiriti 
of  a  man  groaning  under  ideal  calamities ;  but  noth- 
ing is  more  ciisy  than  to  render  him  wretched,  though 
on  the  pinnacle  of  felicity ;  as  it  is  a  Herculean  task 
to  hoist  a  man  to  the  top  of  a  steeple,  though  the 
merest  child  can  topple  him  off  thence. 

In  the  sage  assemblages  I  have  noticed,  the  readei 
will  at  once  perceive  the  faint  germs  of  those  sapiftnt 
convocations  called  popular  meetings,  prevalent  »t 
our  day.  Thither  resorted  all  those  idlers  and 
"squires  of  low  degree,"  who,  like  rags,  hang  loose 
upon  the  back  of  society,  and  are  ready  to  be  blown 
away  by  everj'  wind  of  doctrine.  Cobblers  aban- 
doned their  stalls,  and  hastened  thither  to  give  les- 
sons on  political  economy — blacksmiths  left  their 
handicraft  and  suffered  their  own  fires  to  go  out 
while  they  blew  the  bellows  and  stirred  up  the  fire 
of  faction ;  and  even  tailors,  though  but  the  shreds 
and  patches,  the  ninth  parts  of  humanity,  neglected 
their  own  measures  to  attend  to  the  measures  of 
governmeiit. — Nothing  was  wanting  but  half-a-dozen 
newspapers  and  patriotic  editors,  to  have  completed 
this  public  illumination,  and  to  have  thrown  the 
whole  province  in  an  uproar ! 

I  should  not  forget  to  mention,  that  these  popular 
meetings  were  held  at  a  noted  tavern  ;  lor  houses  of 
that  description  have  always  been  found  the  most 
fostering  nurseries  of  politics  ;  abounding  with  those 
genial  streams  which  give  strength  and  sustenance 
to  faction.  We  are  told  th.il  the  ancient  Germans 
had  an  admirable  mode  of  treating  any  question  of 
importance ;  they  first  deliberated  upon  it  when 
drunk,  and  afterwards  reconsidered  it  when  sober. 
The  shrewder  mobs  of  America,  who  dislike  having 
two  minds  upon  a  subject,  both  determine  and  set 
upon  it  drunk  ;  by  which  means  a  world  of  cold  and 
tedious  sjieculation  is  dispensed  with — and  as  it  is  uni- 
versally allowed,  that  when  a  man  is  drunk  he  sees 
double,  it  follows  most  conclusively  that  he  see* 
twice  as  well  as  his  sober  neighbours. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

OF  THE  GKEAT  PIPE  PLOT — AND  OF  THE  DOLOR- 
OUS PERPLEXITIES  INTO  WHICH  WILLIAM  THK 
TESTY  WAS  THROWN,  BY  REASON  OF  HIS  HAV- 
ING ENLIOHTENED  THE  MULTITUDE. 

Wilhelmus  Kieft,  as  has  already  been  made 
manifest,  was  a  great  legislator  upon  a  small  scale. 
He  was  of  an  active,  or  rather  a  busy  mind  ;  that  is 
to  say,  his  was  one  of  those  small,  but  brisk  minds, 
which  make  up  by  bustle  and  constant  motion  fcr 
the  want  of  great  scope  and  power.  He  nad,  when  " 
quite  a  youngling,  been  impressed  with  the  advice  of 
Solomon,  "  go  to  the  ant,  thou  sluggard ;  consider  her 
ways  and  be  wise ;"  in  conformity  to  which,  he  had 
ever  been  of  a  restless,  ant-like  turn,  worrying  hither 
and  thither,  busying  himself  about  little  matters, 
with  an  air  of  g^reat  importance  and  anxiety — layiiig 
up  wisdom  by  the  morsel,  and  often  toiling  and  puff- 
ing at  a  grain  of  mustard-seed,  under  the  full  coa- 
viction  that  he  was  moving  a  mountain. 

Thus  we  are  told,  that  once  upon  a  time,  in  one 
of  his  tits  of  mental  bustle,  which  he  termed  deliber- 
ation, he  framed  an  unlucky  law,  to  prohibit  the  uni- 
versal practice  of  smoking.  This  he  proved,  by 
mathematical  demonstration,  to  be,  not  meiely  a 
heavy  tax  on  the  public  pocket,  but  an  incredible 
consumer  of  time,  a  great  cncourager  of  idleness, 
and,  of  course,  a  deadly  bane  to  the  prosperity  and 
morals  of  the  people.  Ill-fated  Kieft  I  had  he  lived 
in  this  enlightened  and  libel-loving  age.  and  at- 


«84 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


'■:,>i'l»'l. 


[1^:';- 


ti , . 


it  •>■■ 


tempted  to  subvert  the  inestimable  liberty  of  the 
press,  he  could  not  have  struck  more  closely  on  the 
sensibilities  of  the  million. 

The  popiilace  were  in  as  violent  a  turmoil  as  the 
constitutional  gravity  of  their  deportment  would  per- 
mit— a  rnob  of  factious  citizens  had  even  the  hardi- 
hood to  assemble  before  the  governor's  house,  where, 
setting  themselves  resolutely  down,  like  a  besieging 
army  before  a  fortress,  they  one  and  all  fell  to  smok- 
Jng  with  a  determined  perseverance,  that  seemed  as 
»,hough  it  were  their  intention  to  smokfe  him  into 
>inns.  The  testy  William  issued  out  of  his  man- 
sion like  a  wrathful  spider,  and  demanded  to  know 
the  cause  of  this  seditious  assemblage,  and  this  law- 
less fumigation  ;  to  which  these  sturdy  rioters  made 
no  other  reply,  than  to  loll  back  phlegmatically  in 
their  seats,  and  puff  away  with  redoubled  fury ; 
whereby  they  raised  such  a  murky  cloud,  that  the 
governor  was  fain  to  take  refuge  in  the  interior  of 
his  castle. 

The  governor  immediately  perceived  the  object 
of  this  unusual  tumult,  and  that  it  would  be  impos- 
sible to  suppress  a  practice,  which,  by  long  indul- 
gence, had  become  a  second  nature.  And  here  1 
would  observe,  partly  to  explain  why  I  have  so  often 
made  mention  of  this  practice  in  my  history,  that  it 
was  inseparably  connected  with  all  the  affairs,  both 
public  and  private,  of  our  revered  ancestors.  The 
pipe,  in  fact,  was  never  from  the  mouth  of  the  true- 
born  Nederiander.  It  was  his  companion  in  soli- 
tude, the  relaxation  of  his  gayer  hours,  his  counsel- 
lor, his  consoler,  his  joy,  his  pride ;  in  a  word,  he 
seemed  to  think  and  breathe  through  his  pipe. 

When  William  the  Testy  bethought  himself  of  all 
these  matters,  which  he  certainly  did,  although  a  lit- 
tle too  late,  he  came  to  a  compromise  with  the  besieg- 
ing multitude.  The  result  was,  that  though  he  con- 
tinued to  permit  the  custom  of  smoking,  yet  did  he 
Abolish  the  fair  long  pipes  which  were  used  in  the 
days  of  Wouter  Van  Twiller,  denoting  ease,  tran- 
auUIity,  and  sobriety  of  deportment ;  and,  in  place 
thereof,  did  introduce  little,  captious,  short  pipes, 
two  inches  in  length ;  which,  he  observed,  could  be 
stuck  in  one  comer  of  the  mouth,  or  twisted  in  the 
hat-band,  and  would  not  be  in  the  way  of  business. 
By  this  the  multitude  seemed  somewhat  appeased, 
and  dispersed  to  their  habitations.  Thus  ended  this 
alarming  insurrection,  which  was  long  known  by  the 
name  of  the  pi'pi  plot,  and  which,  it  has  been  some- 
what quaintly  observed,  did  end,  like  most  other 
plots,  seditions,  and  conspiracies,  in  mere  smoke. 

But  mark,  oh  reader !  the  deplorable  consequences 
that  did  afterwards  result.  The  smoke  of  these  vil- 
lainous little  pipes,  continually  ascending  in  a  cloud 
about  the  nose,  penetrated  into,  and  liefogged  the 
cerebellum,  dried  up  all  the  kindly  moisture  of  the 
brain,  and  rendered  tbf;  people  that  used  them  as 
vapourish  and  tesiy  as  their  renowned  little  governor 
—nay,  what  is  more,  from  a  goodly,  burly  race  of 
foJk,  they  became,  like  our  worthy  Dutch  farmers, 
who  smoke  short  pipes,  a  lantern-jawed,  s(noke- 
dried,  leathern-hided  rice  of  men. 

Nor  was  this  all,  for  from  hence  may  we  dite  the 
fise  of  parties  in  this  province.  Certain  cf  the  more 
wealthy  and  important  burghers  adhering  to  the  an- 
cient iashioUj  formed  a  kind  of  aristocracy,  which 
went  by  the  appellation  of  the  Lont:  Pipes — while 
the  lower  orders,  submitting  to  the  innovation,  which 
they  found  to  be  more  convenient  in  their  handicraft 
employments,  and  to  leave  them  more  liberty  of  ac- 
tion, were  branded  with  the  plebeian  name  of  Shttrt 
Pipes.  A  third  party  likewise  sprang  up,  difl?;ring 
from  both  the  other,  headed  by  the  descendants  of 
the  famous  Robert  Chewit,  the  dbmpanion  of  'he 
great  Hudson.    These  entirely  discarded  the   ee  A 


pipes,  and  took  to  chewing  tobacco,  and  hence  thfs 
were  called  Quids,  It  is  worthy  of  notice,  that  thijl 
last  appellation  has  since  ^ome  to  be  invariably  ap.| 
plied  to  those  mongrel  or  third  parties,  that  wiLl 
sometimes  spring  up  between  two  great  rontendingl 
parties,  as  a  mule  is  produced  between  a  horse  and! 
an  ass.  | 

And  here  I  would  remark  the  great  benefit  of  thesnl 
party  distinctions,  by  which  the  people  at  large  are! 
saved  the  vast  trouble  of  thinking.    Hesiod  divides  I 
mankind    into  three   classes:  those  who  think  fori 
thet^selves,  those  who  let  others  think  for  them,  and 
those  who  will  neither  do  one  nor  the  otlter.    The  I 
second  class,  however,  comprises  the  great  mass  of  I 
society ;  and  hence  is  the  origin  of  party,  bv  which  i 
is  meant  a  large  body  of  people,  some  few  of  whom 
think,  and  all  the  rest  talk.    The  former,  who  are 
called  the  leaders,  marshal  out  and  disciphne  the 
latter,  teaching  them  what  they  must  approve— what  I 
they  must  hoot  at — what  they  must  say — whom  they 
must  support — but.  above  all,  whom  they  must  hate 
— for  no  man  can  be  a  right  good  partisan,  unless  he  ! 
be  a  determined  and  thorough-going  hater. 

But  when  the  sovereign  people  t  re  thus  properly 
broken  to  the  harness,  yoked,  curbed,  and  reined,  it 
is  delectable  to  see  with  what  docility  and  harmony 
they  jog  onward,  through  mud  and  mire,  at  the  w  [l 
of  their  drivers,  dragging  the  dirt -carts  of  faction  at 
their  heels.  How  many  a  patriotic  member  of  Cor-  I 
gress  have  I  seen,  who  would  never  have  known  how 
to  make  up  his  mind  on  any  question,  and  might 
have  run  a  great  risk  of  voting  right  by  mere  acci- 
dent, h.ad  he  not  had  others  to  think  for  him,  and  a' 
tile-leader  to  vote  after  ! 

Thus  then  the  enlightened  inhabitants  of  the  Man- 
hattoes,  being  divided  into  parties,  were  enabled  ic: 
organize  dissension,  and  to  oppose  .and  hate  one 
another  more  accurately.  And  now  the  great  busi- 
ness of  politics  went  bravely  on — the  parties  assem- 
bling in  separate  beer-houses,  and  smoking  at  e.icii 
other  with  imi)l.icable  animosity,  to  the  great  support 
of  the  state,  and  emolument  of  the  tavern-keeix.rs. 
Some,  indeed,  who  were  more  zealous  than  the  rest, 
went  farther,  and  began  to  bespatter  one  anoilier 
with  numerous  very  hard  names  and  scandalous  lit- 
tle words,  to  be  found  in  the  Uutch  language ;  cverv 
partisan  believing  religiously  that  he  was  servini;  h.s 
country,  when  he  traduced,  the  character  or  impov- 
erished the  pocket  of  a  politit.-U  adversary.  lUit,  liow- 
ever  they  might  differ  between  themselves,  all  pariiej 
agreed  on  one  point,  to  cavil  at  and  condemn  ever\ 
measure  of  government,  whether  right  or  wnmg  ;  tor 
as  the  governor  w.as  by  his  station  independent  ol 
their  power,  and  was  not  elected  by  their  choice,  and 
as  he  had  not  decided  in  favour  of  either  faction 
neither  of  them  was  interested  in  his  success,  or  in 
the  prosjierity  of  the  country,  while  under  his  ad- 
ministration. 

"Unhappy  William  Kieft!"  exclaims  the  Sdtje 
writer  of  the  Stuyvesant  manuscript — "doDiiHo  j 
contend  with  enemies  too  knowing  to  be  entrapped, 
and  to  reign  over  a  people  too  wise  to  be  governed  I " 
All  his  expeditions  .igainst  his  enemies  were  ballk  i 
and  set  at  nought,  and  all  his  measures  for  the  public 
safety  were  cavilled  at  by  the  people.  U;,l  lie  pro- 
pose levying  an  efficient  body  of  troops  for  internal 
defence — the  mob,  that  is  to  say  those  vagal)ond 
members  of  the  community  who  have  nothin;;  tc 
lose,  immediately  took  the  alarm,  vociferated  that 
their  interests  were  in  danger — that  a  standing  ami) 
was  a  legion  of  moths,  preying  on  the  pcKkets  oi 
society  ;  a  rod  of  iron  in  the  h.ands  of  governnie:it ; 
and  that  a  government  with  a  military  force  at  its 
command  would  inevitably  swell  into  a  despcii'^;:i. 
Did  he,  as  was  but  too  commonly  the  case,  'leia 


A  HISTORY  OF   NEW-YORK. 


485 


•acco,  and  hence  thpvl 
^y  of  notice,  that  thiji 
e  to  be  invariably  an.! 
ird  parties,  that  wilil 
wo  great  rontendinBl 
between  a  horse  and! 

great  benefit  of  theMl 
:  people  at  large  are! 
ing.     Hesiod  divides 
;hose  who  think  fori 
s  think  for  them,  and  I 
nor  the  other.    Tlie 
ES  the  great  mass  of 
n  of  party,  bv  whicii  | 
:.  some  lew  of  whom 
The  former,  who  are  I 
It  and  discipline  the  j 
must  approve— what 
lust  say— whom  they  , 
vhom  they  must  hate  I 
)d  panisan,  unless  he 
foing  hater. 
)le  £  r-2  thus  properly 
urbed,  and  reined,  it 
locility  and  harmonv 
and  mire,  at  the  w-l'l 
irt-carts  of  faction  at 
otic  member  of  Con- 
:ver  have  Itnown  how 
question,  and  might 
:  right  by  mere  acci- 
think  for  him,  and  j' 

labitants  of  the  Man- 
ies,  were  enablea  Ir. 
ipose  and   hate  one 

now  the  great  busi- 
— the  parties  assen- 
nd  smoking  at  eacii 

to  the  great  support 

the  tavern-keei)ers, 
ealous  than  the  res:, 
spatter  one  anotiier 
s  and  scandalous  In- 
tch  hmguage ;  ever; 
It  he  was  si  rvini;  ins 
character  or  impov- 
dversary.  But,  how- 
jemselves.  all  panics 

and  condemn  ever\ 
■  right  or  wrong  ;  tor 
tion  independent  oi 

I  by  their  choice,  and 
Jr  of  either  faction 
in  his  success,  or  m 
while  under  his  ad- 
exclaims  the  sdije 

script — "  dooniei!  j 
ng  to  be  entrapptd, 
ise  to  be  governed  ! " 
icinies  were  ballkl 
asuresfor  the  public 
eople.  D;d  he  pro- 
f  troops  for  internrd 
>ay  those  vagabond 
10  have  noihin;j  ic 
•m,  vociferated  ih.ii 
l\at  a  standing  arnn 
;  on  the  p(jckcis  oi 
nds  of  government ; 
military  force  at  its 

II  into  a  despcii'-  a, 
)nly  the  case,  'kia 


preparatia  1  until  the  moment  of  emergency,  and  then 
hastily  collect  a  handful  of  undisciplined  vagrants — 
the  I  measure  was  hooted  at  as  feeble  and  inadequate, 
as  tr.fling  with  the  public  dignity  and  safety,  and  as 
lavishing  the  public  funds  on  impotent  enterprises. 
I)id  he  resort  to  the  economic  measure  of  proclama- 
tion—he was  laughed  at  by  the  Yankees ;  did  he 
back  it  by  non-intercourse — it  was  evaded  and  coun- 
teracted by  his  own  subjects.  Whichever  way  he 
turned  himself,  he  was  beleaguered  and  distracted 
iiy  petitions  of  "  numerous  and  respectable  meet- 
ings," consisting  of  some  half-a-dozen  brawling  pot- 
house politicians — all  of  which  he  read,  and,  what  is 
vicrse,  all  of  which  he  attended  to.  The  consequence 
was,  that  by  incessantly  changing  his  measures,  he 
ijave  none  of  them  a  fair  trial;  and  by  listening  to 
the  clamours  of  the  mob,  and  endeavouring  to  do 
every  thing,  he,  in  sober  truth,  did  nothing. 

1  would  not  have  it  supposed,  however,  that  he 
took  all  these  memorials  and  interferences  good- 
naturedly,  for  such  an  idea  would  do  injustice  to  his 
valiant  spirit ;  on  the  contrary,  he  never  received  a 
piece  of  advice  in  the  whole  course  of  his  life,  with- 
out first  getting  into  a  passion  with  the  g^ver.  But 
1  have  ever  observed  that  your  passionate  little  men, 
ilk  small  boats  with  large  sails,  are  the  easiest  upset 
or  blown  out  of  their  course  ;  and  this  is  demonstra- 
te! by  Governor  Kieft,  who.  though  in  temperament 
as  ho*  as  an  old  radish,  and  with  a  mind,  the  terri- 
toi  i  of  which  was  subjected  to  perjietual  whirlwinds 
anil  tornadoes,  yet  never  failed  to  be  carried  away  by 
the  last  piece  of  advice  that  was  blown  into  his  ear. 
Lucky  was  it  for  him  that  his  power  was  not  de- 
IHindent  upon  the  greasy  multitude,  and  that  as  yet 
the  populace  did  not  possess  the  important  privilege 
of  nominating  their  chief  magistrate  I  They,  how- 
:ver,  diil  their  t)est  to  help  along  public  affairs  ;  pes- 
cring  their  governor  incessantly,  by  goading  him  on 
vith  harangues  and  petitions,  and  then  thwarting  his 
5;ry  s*  -  >vit;i  reproaches  and  memorials,  like  Sun- 
iay  /.)C!  ■  m-naging  an  unlucky  devil  of  a  hack- 
hi  rsc-  '  I  Vilhelmus  Kieft  may  be  said  to  have 
i«en  kC  '  r^es-  on  a  worry  or  a  hancl-gallop  through- 
out the   .'.-ic  of  his  administration. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

CONTAINING  DIVERS  FEARKUL  ACCOUNTS  OF 
BORDER  WARS,  AND  THE  FLAGRANT  OUTRAGES 
or  THE  MOSSTROOPERS  OF  CONNECTICUT — 
WITH  THE  RISE  OF  THE  GREAT  AMPHVCTIONIC 
COUNCIL  OF  THE  EAST,  AND  THE  DECLINE  OF 
WILLIAM   THE  TESTY. 

It  was  asserted  by  the  wise  men  of  ancient  times, 
who  were  intimately  acquainted  with  these  matters, 
that  at  the  gate  of  Jupiter's  palace  lay  two  huge  tuns, 
the  one  filled  with  blessings,  the  other  with  misfor- 
tunes— and  it  verily  seems  as  if  the  latter  had  been 
completely  overturned  and  left  to  deluge  the  unlucky 
province  of  Nicuw-Nederlandts.  Among  the  many 
mternal  and  external  causes  of  irritation,  the  inces- 
lant  inaiptions  of  the  Yankees  upon  his  frontiers 
f/rre  continually  adding  fuel  to  the  inflammable  tem- 
j>cr  of  William  the  Testy.  Numerous  accounts  of 
ihese  molestations  may  still  be  found  among  the 
records  of  th  i  times ;  for  the  commanders  on  the 
frjnliers  were  esijecially  careful  to  evince  their  vigi- 
lance and  ze&l  by  striving  who  should  send  home 
the  most  frequent  and  voluminous  budgets  of  com- 
plaints— as  your  faithful  servant  is  eternally  running 
with  complaints  to  the  parlour,  of  the  petty  squab- 
bles and  misdemeanours  of  the  kitchen. 


Far  be  it  from  me  to  insinuate,  how  evct  th&t  oui 
worthy  ancestors  indulged  in  groundless  alarms ;  on 
the  contrary,  they  were  daily  suffering  a  repetition 
of  cruel  wrongs,*  not  one  of  which  but  was  a  sufh- 
cient  reason,  accor'^.ng  to  the  maxims  of  national 
dignity  and  honour,  for  throwing  the  whole  universe 
into  hostility  and  confusion. 

Oh,  ye  powers !  into  what  ndignation  did  every 
one  0*"  these  outrages  throw  th.  philosophic  William  \ 
letter  after  letter,  protest  after  protest,  proclamation 
after  proclamation,  bad  Latin,  worse  English,  and 
hideous  Low  Dutch  were  exhausted  in  vain  upon 
the  inexorable  Yankees;  and  the  four-and-twenty 
letters  of  the  alphabet,  which,  excepting  his  cham- 
pion, the  sturdy  trumpeter  Van  Corlear,  composed 
the  only  standing  army  he  had  at  his  command, 
were  never  off  duty  throughout  the  whole  of  his  ad- 
ministration. Nor  was  Antony  the  trumpeter  a 
whit  behind  his  patron  in  fiery  zeal ;  but  like  a  faith- 
ful champion  of  the  public  safety,  on  the  arrival  of 
every  fresh  article  of  news,  he  was  sure  to  sound  his 
trumpet  from  the  ramparts,  with  most  disastrous 
notes,  throwing  the  people  into  violent  alarms,  and 
disturbing  their  rest  at  all  times  and  seasons — which 
caused  him  to  be  held  in  very  great  regard,  the  pub 
lie  pampering  and  rewarding  him,  as  we  do  brawl 
ing  editors  for  similar  services. 

I  am  well  aware  of  the  perils  that  environ  me  in 
this  part  of  my  history.  While  raking  with  curious 
hands,  but  pious  heart,  among  the  mouldering  re- 
mains of  former  days,  anxious  to  draw  therefrom  the 
honey  of  wisdom,  I  may  fare  somewhat  like  that 
valiant  worthy,  Samson,  who,  in  meddling  with  the 
carcass  of  a  dead  lion,  drew  a  swarm  of  bees  abcut 
his  ears.  Thus,  while  narrating  the  many  misdeeds 
of  the  Yanokie  or  Yankee  tribe,  ii  is  ten  chances  to 
one  but  1  offend  the  morbid  sensibilities  of  certain 
of  their  unreasonable  descendants,  who  may  fly  out 
and  raise  such  a  buzzing  about  this  unlucky  head  of 
mine,  that  I  shall  need  the  tough  hide  of  an  Achilles 
or  an  Orlando  Furioso  to  protect  me  from  their 
stings. 

Should  such  be  the  case,  I  should  deeply  and  sin- 
cerely lament — not  my  misfortune  in  giving  offence — 
but  the  wrong-headed  perverseness  of  an  ill-natured 
generation,  in  taking  offence  at  any  thing  I  say. 
That  their  ancestors  did  use  my  ancestors  ill,  is  true, 
and  I  am  very  sorry  for  it.  I  would,  with  all  my 
heart,  the  fact  were  otherwise ;  but  as  I  am  record- 
ing the  sacred  events  of  history,  I'd  not  bate  one 
nail's  breadth  of  the  honest  truth,  though  I  were 
sure  the  whole  edition  of  my  work  should  be  bought 
up  and  burnt  by  the  common  hangman  of  Connec- 
ticut. •  And  in  sooth,  now  that  these  testy  gentlemen 
have  drawn  me  out,  I  will  make  bold  to  go  farthei 
and  observe,  that  this  is  one  of  the  grand  purposes 
for  which  we  impartial  historians  are  sent  into  the 
world — to  redregs  wrongs  and  render  justice  on  the 
heads  of  the  guilty.    So  that,  though  a  powerful  — 


*  From  ainone  a  multitude  of  bitter  grievances  still  on  record,  1 
select  a  few  of  trie  most  atrocious,  and  leave  my  rciders  to  juaj|« 
if  our  aaceston  were  not  justifiable  in  getting  into  a  very  valiaat 
passion  on  the  occasion. 

"  34  June,  1641.  Some  of  Hartford  have  taken  a  hogg  out  of  th* 
vlact  or  common,  and  shut  it  up  out  of  mcer  hate  or  other  preju- 
dice, causing  it  to  starve  for  hunger  in  the  stye  !  " 

^' a6  July.  The  foremencioned  English  did  again  drive  tho 
Companie^s  hoggs  out  of  the  vlact  of  Sicojoke  into  Hartford  ;  con- 
tendmg  daily  with  reproaches,  blows,  beating  the  people  with  all 
disgrace  that  they  could  imagine." 

'  May  30,  1642.  The  English  of  Hartford  have  violently,  citl 
loose  a  horse  of  the  honoured  Companie's,  that  stood  bound  upon 
the  common  or  vlact." 

"  May  9,  1641.  The  Companie's  horses  pastured  ipon  the  Com- 
panie's grouna,  were  driven  away  by  them  of  Csnnecticott  ot 
Hartford,  and  the  herdsmen  lustily  beaten  with  hatchets  and 
sticks." 

"  16.  Again  they  sold  a  young  hogg  belonfpng  to  the  Coapa 
nie,  which  pius  had  paatured  on  the  Companie's  land." 

^  Hiu,  Coi.  Stait  Pa^tri, 


'186 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


f;' 


tiori  may  wrong  its  neighbours  with  temporary  im- 
pu/iiiy,  yet  sooner  or  later  a  historian  springs  up 
who  wreaks  ample  chastisement  on  it  in  return. 

Thus  these  mosstroopers  of  the  east  little  thought, 
1 11  warrant  it,  while  they  were  harassing  the  inolTen- 
»ive  province  of  Nicu\\j-Nederlanilts,  and  driving  its 
unhappy  governor  to  his  wit's  end,  that  a  historian 
should  ever  arise  and  give  them  their  own  with 
Interest  Since,  then,  I  am  i)ut  performing  my  bounden 
duty  aj  a  historiar.,  in  avenging  the  wrongs  of  our 
revered  ancestors,  1  shall  make  no  further  apology ; 
and  indeed,  when  it  is  considered  that  I  have  all 
these  ancient  borderers  of  the  east  in  my  power,  and 
a*  the  mercy  of  my  pen,  I  trust  that  it  will  be  admit- 
ted I  concfuct  myself  with  great  humanity  and 
moderation. 

To  resume,  then,  the  course  of  my  history.  Ap- 
pearances to  the  eastward  began  now  to  assume  a 
more  formidable  aspect  than  ever — for  I  would  have 
you  note  that  hitherto  the  province  had  been  chiefly 
molested  by  its  immediate  nei>:^hbours,  the  people  of 
Connecticut,  particularly  of  Hartford ;  which,  if  we 
may  judge  from  ancient  chronicles,  was  the  strong- 
hold of  these  sturdy  mosstroopers,  from  whence  they 
sallied  forth,  on  their  daring  incursions,  carrying 
terror  and  devastation  into  the  barns,  the  hen- 
roosts, and  pig-styes  of  our  revered  ancestors. 

Albeit,  about  the  year  1643,  the  people  of  the  east 
country,  inhabiting  the  colonies  of  Massachusetts, 
Connecticut,  New-Plymouth,  and  New-Haven,  gath- 
ered together  into  a  mighty  conclave,  and  afte-  buz- 
zing and  debating  for  many  days,  like  a  political  hive 
of  bees  in  swarming  time,  at  length  settled  them- 
selves into  a  formidable  confederation,  under  the 
title  of  the  United  Colonies  of  New-England.  By 
fJSis  uniin,  they  pledged  themselves  to  stand  by  one 
onCwi-cv  in  all  perils  and  assaults,  and  to  co-operate 
it  all  measures,  offensive  and  defensive,  against  the 
jurrounding  savages,  among  which  were  doubtlessly 
included  our  honoured  ancestors  of  the  Manhattoes  ; 
and  to  give  more  strength  and  system  to  this  con- 
federation, a  general  assembly  or  grand  council  was 
to  bt  annually  held,  composed  of  representatives 
from  t  ich  of  the  provinces. 

On  receiving  accounts  of  this  combination,  Wil- 
helmus  Kieft  was  struck  with  consternation,  and,  for 
the  iirst  time  in  his  whole  life,  forgot  to  bounce,  at 
hearing  an  unwelcome  piece  of  intelligence — which 
a  venerable  historian  of  the  time  observes,  was 
especially  noticed  among  the  politicians  of  New- 
Amstertlam.  The  truth  was,  on  turning  ovr  in  his 
mind  all  that  he  had  read  at  the  Hague,  about  leagues 
and  coiiibinations,  he  found  that  this  was  an  ex-^ct 
imitation  of  the  Amphyctionic  council,  by  which  the 
states  of  Greece  were  enabled  to  attain  to  such 
power  and  supremacy,  and  the  very  idea  made  his 
heart  to  quake  for  the  safety  of  his  empire  at  the 
Manhattoes. 

He  strenuously  insisted  that  the  whole  object  of 
this  confederation  was  to  drive  the  Nederlanders  out 
of  their  fair  domains ;  and  always  'lew  into  a  great 
rage  if  any  one  presumed  to  doui  t  the  probability 
q(  his  conjecture.  Nor  was  he  whjUy  unwarranted 
iin  such  a  suspicion ;  for  at  the  very  tirst  annual 
meeting  of  the  grand  council,  held  at  Boston,  (which 
governor  Kieft  denominated  the  Delphos  of  this  truly 
classic  league,)  strong  representations  were  made 
against  the  Nederlanders,  forasmuch  as  that  in  their 
dealings  with  the  Indians,  they  cai-ried  on  a  traffic 
in  "gtms,  powther,  and  shott — a  trade  damnable 
and  injurious  to  the  colonists."*  Not  but  what  cer- 
tain of  the  Connecticut  traders  did  Ukewise  dabble  a 
liUle  in  this  "  damnable  traffic  " — but  then  they  al- 


•  Hai.  Col.  Sum  Papa*. 


ways  sold  the  Indians  such  scurvy  gu.'.s,  that  thrv 
burst  at  the  first  discharge — and  consequently  hun 
no  one  but  these  pagan  savages. 

The  rise  of  this  potent  confederacy  was  a  death- 
blow to  the  glory  of  William  the  Testy,  for  from  that 
day  forward,  it  was  remarked  by  many,  he  nevst 
held  up  his  head,  but  appeared  quite  crestfallen. 
His  subsequent  reign,  therefore,  affords  but  scant* 
food  for  the  historic  pen — we  find  the  gr.nul  cou-.f:ii 
cuatinually  augmenting  in  power,  and  thieatenitiLc  to 
overwhelm  the  provmce  of  Nieuw-NcdtTJauMts  ■ 
while  Wilhelmus  Kieft  kept  constantly  fulniinatirjT 
proclamations  and  protests,  like  a  shrewd  s  m  c.inl 
tain  firing  off  carronades  and  swivels,  in  01  jtr  to" 
break  and  disperse  a  waterspout — but  alas !  thc\ 
had  no  more  effect  than  it  they  had  been  so  in.m\ 
blank  cartridges. 

The  last  document  on  record  of  this  learned, 
philosophic,  but  unfortunate  little  man,  is  a  Ion};  Iin 
ter  to  the  council  of  the  Amphyctions,  whtTcm,  in 
the  bitterness  of  his  heart,  he  rails  at  the  people  of 
New-Haven,  or  Red  Hills,  for  their  uncourieoiis  con- 
tempt of  his  protest,  levelled  at  them  for  squntinig 
within  the  province  of  their  High  Mi,i;htinessts, 
From  this  letter,  which  is  a  model  of  epistol.iry 
writing,  abounding  with  pithy  apnphthegnis  and 
chissic  figures,  my  limits  will  barely  allow  me  to  ex- 
tract the  following  recondite  passjtge  : — "  Certiiinly 
when  we  heare  tne  Inhabitants  of  New-liartfoid 
complayninge  of  us,  we  seem  to  heare  Esops  wolfe 
complayninge  of  the  lamb,  or  the  admonition  of  the 
younge  man,  who  cryed  out  to  his  mother,  chideing 
with  her  neighboures,  '  Oh  Mother  revile  !ier,  list 
she  first  takeup  that  practice  against  you.'  liut  hs 
ing  taught  by  precedent  passages,  we  received  such 
an  answer  to  our  protest  from  the  inhabitants  v' 
New-Haven  as  we  expected  ;  tAe  Eat^le  always  dt 
spiseth  the  Beetle  Fly ;  yet  notwithstanding  we  do 
und.iuntedly  continue  on  our  purpose  of  pursuing  o'.ir 
own  right,  by  just  arms  and  righteous  means,  :ird 
doe  hope  without  scruple  to  execute  the  express 
commands  of  our  superiors."*  To  show  th.it  ih:« 
last  sentence  was  not  a  mere  empty  menace,  he  00:1- 
cluded  his  letter  by  intrepidly  protesting  against  the 
whole  council,  as  a  horde  of  squatten  and  inter- 
lopers, inasmuch  as  they  held  their  meeting  at  New- 
Haven,  or  the  Red-Hills,  which  he  claimed  as  beii'g 
within  the  province  of  the  New-Netherlands, 

Thus  end  the  authenticated  chronicles  ot  the  rei;;n 
of  WiUiam  the  Testy — for  henceforth,  in  the  trou- 
bles, the  perplexities,  and  the  confusion  of  the  times, 
he  seems  to  have  been  totally  overlooked,  and  to 
have  slipped  for  ever  through  tne  fingers  of  scrupu- 
lous history.  Indeed,  for  some  cause  or  other  which 
I  cannot  divine,  there  appears  to  have  been  a  combi- 
nation among  historians  to  sink  his  very  name  into 
oblivion,  in  consequence  of  which  they  have  one  and 
all  lorborne  even  to  speak  of  his  exploits.  This 
shows  how  imi)ortant  it  is  for  great  men  to  cultivate 
the  favour  of  the  learned,  if  tliey  are  ambitious  of 
honour  and  renown.  "  Insult  not  the  der\'ise,"  s.iid 
a  wise  cali|)h  to  his  son,  "  lest  thou  offend  thine  his- 
torian ;"  and  many  a  mighty  man  of  the  olden  time, 
had  he  observed  so  obvious  a  maxim,  might  have 
escaped  divers  cruel  wipes  of  the  pen,  which  have 
been  drawn  across  his  character. 

It  h.as  been  a  matter  of  deep  concern  to  me,  tlul 
such  d.irkness  and  obscurity  should  hang  over  the 
Latter  days  of  the  illustrious  Kieft — for  he  vtas  a 
mighty  and  great  little  m.an,  worthy  of  being  uiterlj 
renowneil,  seeing  that  he  was  the  first  potentate  t!ut 
introduced  into  this  land  the  art  of  fighting  by  proc- 
lamation, and  defending  a  country  by  tiumptters 


•VidaHu.Col.  SutePi 


A  HISTORY  OF   NEW-YORK. 


487 


ind  windmills— an  econpmic  and  humane  mode  ol 
warfare,  since  revived  with  great  applause,  and 
which  promises,  if  it  can  ever  be  carried  into  full 
effect,  to  save  great  trouble  and  treasure,  and  spare 
ntinitely  more  bloodshed  than  either  the  discovery 
of  gunpowder,  or  the  invention  of  torpedoes. 

It  is  true,  that  certain  of  the  early  provincial  poets, 
ol  whom  there  were  great  numbers  in  the  Nieuw- 
Nederlandts,  taking  advantage  of  the  mysterious 
exit  of  William  the  Testy,  have  fabled,  that  like 
Romulus,  he  was  translated  to  the  skies,  and  forms 
a  very  fiery  little  star,  somewhere  on  the  left  claw  of 
the  crab ;  while  others,  equally  fanciful,  declare  that 
he  had  experienced  a  fate  similar  to  that  of  the  good 
King  Arthur ;  who.  we  a-  e  assured  by  ancient  bards, 
was  carried  away  to  the  delicious  abodes  of  fairy 
iincl,  where  he  still  exists,  in  pristine  worth  and 
vigour,  and  will  one  day  or  another  return  to  restore 
the  gallantry,  the  honbur,  and  the  immaculate  pro- 
bity which  prevailed  in  the  glorious  days  of  the 
Round  Table.* 

All  these,  however,  are  but  pleasine  fantasies,  the 
cobweb  visions  of  those  dreaming  vanets,  the  poets, 
to  which  I  would  not  have  my  judicious  reader  at- 
tach any  credibility.    Neither  am  I  disposed  to  yield 

•  Tba  old  Welch  bards  belwTod  ihat  kioi  Arthut  wu  not  dead, 
bal  earned  awaie  by  the  iairiei  into  •oma  pleasant  place,  where  he 
■hold  remaine  for  a  time,  and  then  retume  againe  and  rcigne  in  as 
peat  authority  as  ever. — HoUingthtd. 

1  he  Britons  suppose  that  he  shall  come  yet  and  conauere  all 
BHiai^e,  for  certes,  this  is  the  prophicye  ol  Mcrlyn— He  say'd 
tl>ii  hu  deth  shall  be  doubteous ;  and  said  soth,  for  men  thereof 
ftl  have  double  and  shullen  for  ever  mora  —  lor  man  wyi  not 
■kclhar  that  ha  lyveth  or  is  dada.— Z>«  Li*m  Ckrtt. 


any  credit  to  the  assertion  of  an  ancient  and  rather 
apocryphal  histotian,  who  alleges  that  the  ingenious 
Wilhelmus  was  annihilated  by  the  blowing  down  of 
one  of  his  windmills — nor  to  that  of  a  writer  of  latei 
times,  who  affirms  that  he  fell  a  victim  to  a  philo- 
sophical experiment,  which  he  had  for  many  years 
been  vainly  striving  to  accomplish  ;  having  the  mis- 
fortune to  break  his  neck  from  the  garret-winduw  of 
the  stadt-house,  in  an  ineiTectual  attempt  to  cat  eta 
swallows,  by  sprinkling  fresh  salt  upon  their  tails. 

The  most  probable  account,  and  to  which  I  an 
inclined  to  give  my  implicit  faith,  is  contained  in  a 
very  obscure  tradition,  which  declares,  that  what 
with  the  constant  troubles  on  his  frontiers — the  in- 
cessant schemings  and  projects  going  on  in  his  own 
pericranium — the  memorials,  petitions,  remonstran- 
ces, and  sage  pieces  of  advice  from  divers  respectable 
meetings  of  the  sovereign  people — together  with  the 
refractory  disposition  of  his  council,  who  were  sure 
to  differ  from  him  on  every  point,  and  uniformly  to 
be  in  the  wrong — all  these,  I  say,  did  eternally  oper- 
ate to  keep  his  mind  in  a  kind  of  furnace  heat,  until 
he  at  length  became  as  completely  burnt  out  as  a 
Dutch  family  pipe  which  has  passed  through  three 
generations  of  hard  smokers.  In  this  manner  did 
the  choleric  but  magnanimous  William  the  Testy 
undergo  a  kind  of  animal  combustion,  consuming 
away  like  a  farthing  rush-light — so  that,  when  grim 
Death  finally  snuffed  him  out,  there  was  scarce  let) 
enough  of  him  to  bury  I 

[END  or  VOU  OKB], 


A  History  of  New-York, 

V  -  nOM  TMB  ,  .       • 

BPIGINNING  OF  THE  WORLD  TO  THE   END  OF  THE  DUTCH    DYNASTY 

By  Dibdrich  Knickbrbockir. 


VOLUME  SECOND. 


BOOK    V. 

OONTAININO  THK  FIRST  PART  OP  THE  RIIGN 
OP  PKTKR  STUYVKSANT,  A'.D  HIS  TROUBLES 
WITH  THE  AMPHYCTIONIC  COUNCIL. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ra  WHICH  THE  DEATH  OP  A  GREAT  MAN  IS 
SHOWN  TO  BE  NO  VERY  INCONSOLABLE  MAT- 
TER OP  SORROW-— AND  HOW  PETER  STUYVBS-. 
ANT  ACQUIRED  A  GREAT  NAME  FROM  THE 
(UNCOMMON   STRENGTH   OP   HIS    HEAD. 

To  a  profound  philosopher,  like  myself,  who  am 
apt  to  see  clear  through  a  subject,  where  the  pene- 
tration of  ordinary  people  extends  but  half-way, 
there  is  no  fact  more  simple  and  manifest,  than  that 
the  death  of  a  great  man  is  a  matter  of  very  little 
Importance.  Much  as  we  may  think  of  ourselves, 
17 


and  much  as  we  may  excite  the  empty  plaudits  ot 
the  million,  it  is  certain  that  the  greatest  among  us 
do  actually  fill  but  an  exceeding  small  space  in  the 
world ;  and  it  is  equally  certain,  that  even  that  small 
space  is  quickly  supplied  when  we  leave  it  vacant. 
"Of  what  consequence  is  it,"  said  Pliny,  "that  in- 
dividua's  appear,  or  make  their  exit  ?  the  world  is  a 
theatre  whose  scenes  and  actors  are  continuall" 
changing."  Never  did  philosopher  speak  more  coi- 
rectly ;  and  I  only  wonder  that  so  wise  a  remark 
could  have  existed  so  many  ages,  and  mankind  not 
have  laid  it  more  to  heart.  Sage  follows  on  in  tli« 
footsteps  of  sage ;  one  hero  just  steps  out  of  his  tr" 
umphal  car  to  ma^e  way  for  the  hero  who  comes  af- 
ter him  ;  and  of  the  proudest  monarch  it  is  merely 
said,  that — "  he  slept  with  his  fathers,  and  his  suc- 
cessor reigned  in  his  stead." 

The  world,  to  tell  the  private  truth,  cares  but  little 
for  their  loss,  and  if  left  to  itself  would  soon  forget 
ij  grieve ;  and  though  a  nation  has  often  been  fig- 
uratively drowned  in  tears  on  the  death  of  a  great 
man,  yet  it  Is  ten  chances  to  one  if  an  individual 


488 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


1;:  •  .■' 


*'•■■■-■  '# 


I 


'*.'.•'*.'.'■•- 
If 


I 


1  < 


■lit! 


^?;\.- 


r ,'»"  ,,  ^  ; 


tear  has  been  shed  an  the  occasion,  excepting  from 
the  forlorn  pen  of  some  hungry  author.  It  is  the 
historian,  the  biographer,  and  the  poet,  who  have 
the  whole  burden  oi^  grief  to  sustain ;  who — kind 
souls! — like  undertakers  in  England,  act  the  part 
of  chief  mourners — who  inflate  a  nation  with  sighs 
t  aever  heaved,  and  deluee  it  with  tears  it  never 
dieamt  of  shedding.  Thus,  while  the  patriotic 
author  is  weeping  and  howling,  in  prose,  m  blank 
rcrse,  and  in  rhyme,  and  collecting  the  drops  of 
public  sorrow  into  his  volume,  as  into  a  lachrymal 
vase,  it  is  more  than  probable  his  fellow-citizens 
are  eating  and  drinking,  fiddling  and  dancing,  as 
utterly  ignorant  of  the  Sitter  lamentations  made  in 
their  name,  as  are  those  men  of  straw,  John  Doe 
and  Richard  Roe,  of  the  plaintiffs  for  whom  they 
are  generously  pleased  on  divers  occasions  to  be- 
come sureties. 

The  most  glorious  and  praiseworthy  hero  that 
ever  desolated  nations,  might  have  mouldered  into 
oblivion  among  the  rubbish  of  his  own  monument, 
did  not  some  historian  take  him  into  favour,  and 
benevolently  transmit  his  name  to  posterity — and 
much  as  the  valiant  William  Kieft  worried,  and 
bustled,  and  turmoiled,  while  he  had  the  destinies 
of  a  whole  colony  in  his  hand,  I  question  seriously 
whether  he  will  not  be  obliged  to  this  authentic  his- 
ton  for  all  his  future  celebrity. 

His  exit  occasioned  no  convulsion  in  the  city  of 
New-Amsterdam  or  its  vicinity  :  the  earth  trembled 
not,  neither  did  any  stars  shoot  from  their  spheres — 
the  heavens  were  not  shrouded  in  black,  as  poets 
would  fain  persuade  us  they  have  been  on  the  unfor- 
tunate death  of  a  hero — the  rocks  (hard-hearted  var- 
lets  I)  melted  not  into  tears,  nor  did  the  trees  hang 
their  heads  in  silent  sorrow ;  and  as  to  the  sun,  he 
laid  abed  the  next  night,  just  as  long,  and  showed 
IS  jolly  a  face  when  he  arose,  as  he  ever  did  on  the 
same  day  of  the  month  in  any  year,  either  before  or 
since.  The  good  people  of  New-Amsterdam,  one 
and  all,  declared  that  he  had  been  a  very  busy,  act- 
ive, bustling  little  governor ;  that  he  was  "  the  fa- 
ther of  his  country  " — that  he  was  "  the  noblest 
work  of  God  " — that  "  he  was  a  man,  take  him  for 
all  in  all,  they  ne'er  should  look  upon  his  like  :.gain  " 
-  together  with  sundry  other  civil  and  affectionate 
speeches,  that  are  regularly  said  on  the  death  of  all 
great  men;  after  which  they  smoked  their  pipes, 
thought  no  more  about  him,  and  Peter  Stuyvesant 
succeeded  to  his  station. 

Peter  Stuyvesant  was  the  last,  and,  like  the  re- 
nowned Wouter  Van  Twiller,  he  was  also  the  best 
of  our  ancient  Dutch  governors:  Wouter  having 
suipassed  all  who  preceded  him,  and  Peter,  or  Piet, 
as  he  was  sociably  called  by  the  old  Dutch  burghers, 
who  were  ever  prone  to  familiarize  names,  having 
never  been  equalled  by  any  successor.  He  was,  in 
fact,  the  very  man  fitted  by  Nature  to  retrieve  the 
iesperate  fortunes  of  her  beloved  province,  had  not 
the  fates,  those  most  potent  and  unrelenting  of  all 
ancient  spinsters,  destined  them  to  inextricable  con- 
fusion. 

To  say  merely  that  he  was  a  hero  would  be  doing 
him  great  injustice — he  was  in  truth  a  combination 
of  heroes — for  he  was  of  a  sturdy,  rawbone  make, 
like  Ajax  Telamon,  with  a  pair  of  round  shoulders 
tha.  Hercules  would  have  given  his  hide  for,  (mean- 
ing his  lion's  hide,)  when  he  undertook  to  ease  old 
Atlas  of  his  load.  He  was,  moreover,  as  Plutarch 
describes  Coriolanus,  not  only  terrible  for  the  force 
of  his  arm,  but  likewise  of  his  voice,  which  sounded 
as  though  it  came  out  of  a  barrel ;  and  like  the  self- 
same warrior,  he  possessed  a  sovereign  contempt  for 
the  sovereign  people,  and  an  iron  aspect,  which  was 
enough  of  itself  to  make  the  very  bow*  \n  of  his  ad- 


versaries quake  with  terror  and  dismay.  All  thli 
martial  excellency  of  appearance  was  inexpressitjU 
heightened  by  an  accidental  advantage,  with  which 
I  am  surprised  that  neither  Homer  nor  Virgil  have 
graced  any  of  their  heroes.  This  was  nothing  less 
than  a  wooden  leg,  which  was  the  only  prize  he  h.id 
gained,  in  bravely  lighting  the  battles  of  his  coun- 
trv,  but  of  which  he  was  so  proud,  that  he  wai 
often  heard  to  declare  he  valued  it  more  thai,  all 
his  other  limbs  put  together ;  indeed,  so  highly  did 
he  esteem  it,  that  he  had  it  gallantly  enchased  and 
relieved  with  silver  devices,  which  caused  it  to  be 
related  in  divers  histories  and  lef  ends  that  he  worv 
a  silver  leg.* 

Like  that  choleric  warrior,  Achilles,  he  was  some 
what  subject  to  extempore  bursts  of  passion,  which 
were  ofttimes  rather  unpleasant  to  his  favourites  and 
attendants,  whose  perceptions  he  was  apt  to  quicken, 
after  the  manner  of  his  illustrious  imitator,  Peter 
the  Great,  by  anointing  their  shoulders  with  his 
walking-staff. 

Though  I  cannot  find  that  he  had  read  Plato,  or 
Aristotle,  or  Hobbes,  or  Bacon,  or  Algernon  Sydney, 
or  Tom  Paine,  yet  did  he  sometimes  manifest  a 
shrewdness  and  sagacity  in  his  measures,  that  one 
would  hardly  expect  from  a  man  who  did  not  know 
Greek,  and  had  never  studied  the  ancients.  True  it 
is,  and  I  confess  it  with  sorrow,  that  he  had  an  un- 
reasonable aversion  to  experiments,  and  was  fond  ol 
foveming  his  province  after  the  simplest  manner— 
ut  then  ne  contrived  to  keep  it  in  better  order  thin 
did  the  erudite  Kieft,  though  he  had  all  the  philoso- 
phers ancient  and  modem  to  assist  and  perplex  him, 
I  must  likewise  own  that  he  made  but  very  few  laws. 
but  then  again  he  took  care  that  those  few  were 
rigidly  and  impartially  enforced — and  I  do  not  know 
but  justice  on  the  whole  was  as  well  administered  as 
if  there  had  been  volumes  of  sage  acts  and  statutes 
yearly  made,  and  daily  neglected  and  forgotten. 

He  was,  in  fact,  the  very  reverse  of  his  predeces- 
sors, being  neither  tranquil  and  inert,  like  VV alter  the 
Doubter,  nor  restless  and  fidgeting,  like  William  the 
Testy  ;  but  a  man,  or  rather  a  governor,  of  such  un- 
common activity  and  decision  of  mind  that  he  never 
sought  or  accepted  the  advice  of  others;  depending 
confidently  upon  his  single  head,  as  did  the  heroes  uf 
yore  upon  their  single  arms,  to  work  his  way  through 
all  difnculties  and  dangers.  To  tell  the  simple  truth, 
he  wanted  no  other  requisite  for  a  perfect  statesman, 
than  to  think  always  right,  for  no  one  can  deny  that 
he  always  acted  as  he  thought ;  and  if  he  wanted  in 
correctness,  he  made  up  for  it  in  perseverance—  an 
excellent  quality  I  siace  it  is  surely  more  dignified 
for  a  ruler  to  be  persevering  and  consistent  in  error, 
than  wavering  and  contradictory,  in  endeavouring  to 
do  what  is  right.  This  much  is  certain — and  it  is  a 
maxim  worthy  the  attention  of  all  legislators,  boi^ 
great  and  small,  who  stand  shaking  in  the  wind,  witli- 
out  knowing  which  way  to  steer — a  ruler  who  acts 
according  to  his  own  will  is  sure  of  pleasing  him<iclf, 
while  he  who  seeks  to  satisfy  the  wishes  and  whims 
of  others,  runs  a  great  risk  of  pleasing  nobody.  The 
clock  that  stands  still,  and  points  steadfastly  in  one 
direction,  is  certain  of  being  right  twice  in  the  four- 
and-twenty  hours — while  others  may  keep  going  con 
tinually,  and  continually  be  going  wrong. 

Nor  did  this  magnanimous  virtue  escape  the  dis- 
cernment of  the  good  people  of  Nieuw-Nederlandtj ; 
on  the  contrary,  so  high  an  opinion  had  they  of  the 
independent  mind  and  vigorous  intellect  of  theii 
new  governor,  that  they  universally  called  him  Hard 
koppig  Piet,  or  Peter  the  Headstrong — a  great  com- 
pUment  to  his  understanding  I 


■  See  the  historiei  of  Mutan  Jonelyn  aad  Biom* 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


489 


If  from  all  that  I  have  said  thou  dost  not  gather, 
worthy  reader,  that  Peter  Stuyvesant  was  a  tough, 
sturdy,  valiant,  weather-beaten,  mettlesome,  obsti- 
aate,  leathern-sided,  lion-hearted,  generous-spirited 
oid  governor,  either  I  have  written  to  but  little  pur- 
pose, or  thou  art  very  dull  at  drawing  conclusions. 

This  most  excellent  governor,  whose  character  I 
have  thus  attempted  feebly  to  delineate,  commenced 
bis  administration  on  the  39th  of  May,  1647 ;  a  re- 
markably stormy  day,  distinguished  in  all  the  alma- 
nacs of  the  time  which  have  come  down  to  us,  by 
the  name  of  Windy  Friday,  As  he  was  very  jealous 
of  his  personal  and  official  dignity,  he  was  inaugu- 
rated into  office  with  great  cerepiony  ;  the  goodly 
oaken  chair  of  the  renowned  Wouter  Van  Twiller 
being  carefully  preserved  for  such  occasions,  in  like 
manner  as  the  chair  and  stone  were  reverentially 
preserved  at  Schone,  in  Scotland,  for  the  coronation 
of  the  Caledonian  monarchs. 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention,  that  the  tempestuou'j 
state  of  the  elements,  together  with  its  being  that 
unlucky  day  of  the  week,  termed  "  haneing  day," 
did  not  fail  to  excite  much  grave  speculation  and 
aivers  very  reasonable  apprehensions  among  the  more 
ancient  and  enlightened  inhabitants  ;  and  sever  il  of 
the  sager  sex,  who  were  reputed  to  be  no'  uttle 
skilled  in  the  mysteries  of  astrology  and  lortune- 
telling,  did  declare  outright  that  they  were  omens 
of  a  disastrous  administration — an  event  that  came 
to  be  lamentably  verified,  and  which  proves,  beyond 
dispute,  the  wisdom  of  attending  to  those  preter- 
natural intimations  furnished  by  dreams  and  visions, 
the  flying  of  birds,  falling  of  stones,  and  cackling  of 
geese,  on  which  the  sages  and  rulers  of  ancient  times 
placed  such  reliance — or  to  those  shootings  of  stars, 
xlipsts  of  the  moon,  bowlings  of  dogs,  and  flarings 
of  candles,  carefully  noted  and  interpreted  by  the 
}racular  sybils  of  our  day  ;  who,  in  my  humble  opin- 
ion are  the  legitimate  mheritors  and  preservers  of 
the  ancient  science  of  divination.  This  much  is  cer- 
tain, that  governor  Stuyvesant  succeeded  to  the  chair 
of  state  at  a  turbulent  period  ;  when  foes  thronged 
and  threatened  from  without ;  when  anarchy  and 
stiff-necked  opposition  reigned  rampant  within ; 
when  the  authority  of  their  High  Mightinesses  the 
Lords  States  General,  though  founded  on  the  broad 
Dutch  bottom  of  unofTendin?  imbecility ;  though 
supported  by  economy,  and  defended  by  speeches, 
protests,  and  proclamations,  yet  tottered  to  its  very 
centre ;  and  when  the  great  city  of  New-Amster- 
dam, though  fortified  by  flag-staffs,  trumpeters,  and 
windmills,  seemed  like  some  fair  lady  of  easy 
^rtue,  to  lie  open  to  attack,  and  ready  to  yield  to 
he  first  invader. 


CHAPTER   II. 

iHOWINO  HOW  PBTER  THK  HEADSTRONG  BB- 
STIRRCD  HIMSELF  AMOVG  THE  RATS  AND  COB- 
WEBS, ON  ENTERING  INTO  OFFICE  —  AND  THE 
PERILOUS  MISTAKE  HE  WAS  GUILTY  OF,  IN  HIS 
DB4LINGS  WITH   THE  AMPHYCTIONS. 

The  very  first  movements  of  the  great  Peter,  on 
Slicing  the  reins  of  government,  displayed  the  mag- 
nanimity of  his  mind,  though  they  occasioned  not  a 
Lttie  marvel  and  uneasiness  among  the  people  of  the 
Manhattoes.  Finding  himself  constantly  interrupted 
ny  the  opposition,  and  annoyed  by  the  advice,  of^  his 
privy  council,  the  members  of  which  had  acquired 
the  unreasonable  habit  of  thinking  and  speaking  for 
themselves  during  the  preceding  reign,  he  determined 
at  once  to  put  a  stop  to  such  grievous  abominations. 
Scarcely,  therefore,  nad  he  entered  upon  his  authori- 


ty, than  he  turned  out  of  office  all  those  midd.asome 
spirits  that  composed  the  factious  cabinet  of  WiUian) 
the  Testy ;  in  place  of  whom  he  chose  unto  himself 
counsellors  from  those  fat,  somniferous,  respectable 
families,  that  had  flourished  and  slumbered  under 
the  easy  reign  of  Walter  the  Doubter.  All  these  he 
caused  to  be  furnished  with  abundance  of  fair  lonf 
pipes,  and  to  be  regaled  with  frequent  corporation 
dinners,  admonishing  them  to  smoke  and  eat.  and 
sleep  for  the  good  of  the  nation,  while  he  took  aU 
the  burden  of  government  upon  his  own  shoulder»- 
an  arrangement  to  which  they  gave  hearty  acqui- 
escence. 

Nor  did  he  stop  here,  but  made  a  hideous  rout 
among  the  inventions  and  expedients  of  his  learned 
preds.essor  —  demolishing  his  flagstafTs  and  wind- 
mills, which,  like  mighty  giants,  guarded  the  ram- 
parts of  New-Amsterdam — pitching  to  the  duyvel 
whole  batteries  of  quaker  guns — rooting  up  his  pat- 
ent gallows,  where  caitiff  vagabonds  were  suspended 
by  the  waistband — and,  in  a  word,  turning  topsy 
turvy  the  w^ole  philosophic,  economic,  and  windmill 
system  of  the  immortal  sage  of  Saardam. 

The  honest  folks  of  New-Amsterdam  began  to 
juake  now  for  the  fate  of  their  matchless  champion, 
.\ntony  the  trumpeter,  who  had  acquired  prodigious 
avour  in  the  eyes  of  the  women,  by  means  of  his 
whiskers  and  his  trumpet.  Him  did  Peter  the  Head- 
strong cause  to  be  brought  into  his  presence,  and 
eyeing  him  for  a  moment  from  head  to  foot,  with  a 
countenance  that  would  have  appalled  any  thing  else 
than  a  sounder  of  brass — "  Piythee,  who  and  what 
art  thou  ?  "  said  he. — "  Sire,"  replied  the  other,  in 
no  wise  dismayed, — "  for  my  name,  it  is  Antony  Van 
Corlear  —  for  my  parentage,  I  am  the  son  of  my 
mother  —  for  my  profession,  I  am  champion  and 
garrison  of  this  great  city  of  New-Amsterdam."— 
"  I  doubt  me  much,"  said  Peter  Stuyvesant,  "  thai 
thou  art  some  scurvy  costardmonger  knave— how 
didst  thou  acquire  this  paramount  nonour  and  dig- 
nity ?  " — "  Marry, sir,"  replied  the  other,  "like  many 
a  great  man  before  me,  simply  by  sounding  my  own 
trumpet." — '•  Ay,  is  it  so  ?  "  quoth  the  governor, 
"  why,  then,  let  us  have  a  relish  of  thy  art."  Where- 
upon he  put  his  instrument  to  his  lips,  and  sounded 
a  charge  with  such  a  tremendous  outset,  such  a  de- 
lectable quaver,  and  such  a  triumphant  cadence,  thai 
it  was  enough  to  make  your  heart  leap  out  of  youi 
mouth  only  to  be  within  a  mile  of  it.  Like  as  a  war* 
worn  charger,  while  sporting  in  peaceful  plains,  if  by 
chance  heliear  the  strains  of  martial  music,  pricks 
up  his  ears,  and  snorts  and  paws  and  kindles  at  the 
noise,  so  did  the  heroic  soul  of  the  mighty  Peter  joy 
to  hear  the  clangour  of  the  trumpet ;  for  ol  him  might 
truly  be  said  what  was  recorded  of  the  renowned 
St.  George  of  England,  "  there  was  nothing  in  all  the 
world  that  more  rejoiced  his  heart,  than  to  hear  the 
pleasant  sound  of  war,  and  see  the  soldiers  brandish 
forth  their  steeled  weapons."  Casting  his  eyes  more 
kindly,  therefore,  upon  the  sturdy  Van  Corlear,  and 
finding  him  to  be  a  jolly,  fat  Uttle  man,  shrew{l  in  his 
discourse,  yet  of  great  discretion  and  immeasurable 
wind,  he  straightway  conceived  a  vast  kindness  foi 
him,  and  discharging  him  from  the  troublesome  dutj 
of  garrisoning,  defending,  and  alarming  the  city,  ever 
after  retained  him  about  his  person,  as  his  chief  Cb 
vourite,  confidential  envoy,  and  trusty  'squire.  In- 
stead of  disturbing  the  city  with  disastrous  notes,  h« 
was  instructed  to  play  so  as  to  delight  the  governor 
while  at  his  repasts,  as  did  the  minstrels  of  yore  in 
the  days  of  glorious  chivalry — and  on  all  public  oc- 
casions to  rejoice  the  ears  of  the  people  with  warlike 
melody — thereby  keeping  alive  a  noble  and  martial 
spirit. 

Many  other  alteratxnit  and  refonn»t«ns  ^oth  ioi 


J'ilV 


490 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVnso. 


>♦•:«'■ ' 


the  better  <ind  for  the  worse,  did  the  governor  make, 
of  which  my  time  will  not  scr%'e  me  to  record  the 
particulars ;  sufTice  it  to  say,  he  soon  contrived  to 
make  the  province  feel  that  he  was  its  master,  and 
treated  the  sovereign  people  with  such  tyrannical 
rigour,  that  they  were  all  fain  to  hold  their  tongues, 
stay  at  home,  and  attend  to  their  business ;  insomuch 
that  party  feuds  and  distinctions  were  almost  forgot- 
'an,  and  many  thriving  keepers  of  taverns  and  dram- 
•hops  :»5re  utterly  ruined  lor  want  of  business. 

Indeed,  the  critical  state  of  public  affairs  at  this 
ume  demanded  the  utmost  vigilance  and  promptitude. 
The  formidable  council  of  the  Amphyctions,  which 
had  caused  so  much  tribulation  to  the  unfortunate 
Kieft,  still  continued  augmenting  its  forces,  and 
threatened  to  link  within  its  union  all  the  mighty 
principalities  and  powers  of  the  east.  In  the  very 
year  following  the  inauguration  of  Governor  Stuy- 
vesant,  a  grand  deputation  departed  from  the  city 
of  Providence  (famous  for  its  dusty  streets  and  beau- 
teous women.)  in  behalf  of  the  puissant  plantation 
of  Rhode  Island,  praying  to  be  admitted  into  the 
leunie. 

The  following  mention  is  made  of  this  application, 
in  certain  records  of  that  assemblage  of  worthies, 
which  are  still  extant.* 

"  Mr.  Will  Cottington  and  captain  Partridg  of 
Rhoode-Iland  presented  this  insewing  request  to  the 
commissioners  in  wrighting — 

"  Our  request  and  motion  is  in  behalfe  of  Rhoode- 
Iland,  that  wee  the  Ilanders  of  Rhoode-Iland  may  be 
rescauied  into  combination  with  all  the  united  colo- 
ny^ of  New-England  in  a  iirmeand  perpetuall  league 
of  friendship  and  amity  of  ofence  and  defence,  mu- 
tual] advice  and  succor  upon  all  just  occasions  for 
our  inutuall  safety  and  wellfaire,  &c. 

Will  Cottington, 
Alicxsander  Partridg." 

There  is  certainly  something  in  the  veiy  physi- 
ognomy of  this  document  that  might  well  inspire 
apprehension.  The  name  of  Alexander,  however 
misspelt,  has  been  warlike  in  every  age ;  and  though 
its  fierceness  is  in  some  measure  softened  by  being 
coupled  with  the  gentle  cognomen  of  Partridge,  stilH 
like  the  colour  of  scariet,  it  bears  an  exceeding  great 
resemblance  to  the  sound  of  a  trumpet.  From  the 
style  of  the  letter,  moreover,  and  the  soldier-like  ig- 
norance of  orthography  displayed  by  the  noble  cap- 
tain Alicxsander  Partridg  in  spelling  his  own  name, 
we  may  picture  to  ourselves  this  mighty  man  of 
Rhodes,  strong  in  arm$,  potent  in  the  field,  and  as 
great  a  scholar  as  though  he  had  been  educated 
among  that  learned  people  of  Thrace,  who,  Aristotle 
assures  us,  could  not  count  beyond  the  number  four. 

But,  whatever  might  be  the  threatening  aspect  of 
this  famous  confederation,  Peter  Stuyvesant  was  not 
a  man  to  be  kept  in  a  state  of  incertitude  and  vague 
apprehension  ;  ne  liked  nothing  so  much  as  to  meet 
danger  face  to  face,  and  take  it  by  the  beard.  De- 
termined, therefore,  to  put  an  end  to  all  these  petty 
naraudings  on  the  borders,  he  wrote  two  or  three 
:a',egorical  letters  to  the  grand  council ;  which, 
tlu)ugh  neither  couched  in  bad  Latin,  nor  yet  graced 
oy  rhetorical  tropes  about  wolves  and  lambs,  and 
beetle-flies,  yet  had  more  effect  than  all  the  elaborate 
epistles,  protests,  and  proclamations  of  his  learned 
predecessor  put  together.  In  consequence  of  his  urgent 
propositions,  the  great  confederacy  of  the  east  agreed 
to  enter  into  a  hnal  adjustment  of  grievances  and 
<>ettlement  of  boundaries,  to  the  end  that  a  perpetual 
and  happy  peace  might  take  place  between  the  two 
powers.     For  this  purpose.  Governor  Stuyvesant  de- 


•  Hab  Col.  SOM  Pap«n. 


puted  two  ambassadors  to  negotiate  wun  lo;i  nit 
sioners  from  the  grand  council  of  the  league ;  and  a 
treaty  was  solemnly  concluded  at  Hartford.  On  re- 
ceiving intelligence  of  this  event,  the  whole  comm;i. 
nity  was  in  an  uproar  of  exultation.  The  trumpet 
of  the  sturdy  Van  Corlear  sounded  all  day  with  joy 
ful  clangour  from  the  ramparts  of  Fort  Amsterd.im, 
and  at  night  the  city  was  magnificently  illuminated 
with  two  hundred  and  fifty  tallow  candles;  besiilcj 
a  barrel  of  tar,  which  was  burnt  before  the  governoi  s 
house,  on  the  cheering  aspect  of  public  affairs. 

And  now  my  worthy  reader  is,  doubtless,  like  the 
great  and  good  Peter,  congratulating  himself  with  the 
idea,  that  his  feelings  will  no  longer  be  moiesuil  by 
afflicting  details  of  stolen  horses,  broken  heads,  ini- 
pounded  hogs,  and  all  the  other  catalogue  of  hcirt- 
rending  cruelties  that  disgraced  these  border  w.ns 
But  if  he  should  indulge  in  such  expectations,  it  is  a 
proof  that  he  is  but  little  versed  in  the  paradoxical 
ways  of  cabinets  ;  to  convince  him  of  which,  J  sohcit 
his  serious  attention  to  my  next  chapter,  when m  I 
will  show  that  Peter  Stuyvesant  has  already  com- 
mitted a  great  error  in  politics ;  and  by  effecting  a 
peace,  has  materially  hazarded  the  tranquillity  ol  the 
province. 


CHAPTER    III. 


CONTAINING  DIVERS  SPECULATIONS  ON  WAR  AND 
NEGOTIATIONS — SHOWING  THAT  A  TREATY  Of 
PEACE   IS  A  GREAT   NATIONAL   EVIL. 

It  was  the  opinion  of  that  poetical  philosophei 
Lucretius,  that  war  was  the  original  state  of  man. 
whom  he  described  as  being  primitively  a  savage 
beast  of  prey,  engaged  in  a  constant  state  of  hostilicj 
with  his  own  species ;  and  that  this  ferocious  spirh 
was  tamed  and  meliorated  by  society.  The  same 
opinion  has  been  advocated  by  Hobbes  ;♦  nor  have 
there  been  wanting  many  other  philosophers,  to  ail- 
mit  and  defend  it. 

For  my  part,  though  prodigiously  fond  of  these 
valuable  speculations,  so  complimentary  to  human 
nature,  yet,  in  this  instance,  I  am  inclined  to  take  the 
proposition  by  halves,  believing,  with  Horace, t  that 
though  war  may  have  been  originally  the  favourite 
amusement  and  industrious  employment  of  our  pro- 
genitors, yet,  like  many  other  excellent  habits,  so  tar 
from  being  meliorated,  it  has  been  cultivated  and  con- 
firmed by  refinement  and  civilization,  and  increases 
in  exact  proportion  as  we  approach  towards  that 
state  of  perfection  which  is  the  m  pl%is  ultra  of 
modem  philosoohy. 

The  first  conflict  between  man  and  man  was  the 
mere  exertion  of  physical  force,  unaided  by  auxiliary 
weapons — his  arm  was  his  buckler,  his  fist  was  his 
mace,  and  a  broken  head  the  catastrophe  of  his 
encounters.  The  battle  of  unassisted  strength  was 
succeeded  by  the  more  rugged  one  of  stones  and 
clubs,  and  war  assumed  a  sanguinary  aspect.  As 
man  advanced  in  refinement,  as  his  faculties  ex- 
panded, and  his  sensibilities  became  more  exquisite, 
he  grew  rapidly  more  ingenious  and  experienced  in 
the  art  of  murdering  his  fellow-beings.  He  invented, 
a  thousand  devices  to  defend  and  to  assault  -tht 
helmet,  the  cuirass,  and  the  buckler,  the  sword.  th« 
dart,  and  the  javelin,  prepared  him  to  elude  the 
wound,  as  well  as  to  lancn  the  blow.    Still  urging 


*  Hobbct'  LenjLihan.    Put  i.  chap.  13. 

t  Q«um  prurepMruDt  primu  aaiiaaUa  tetm, 
Mutnum  K  tunx  pcciu,  gUsdua  iiqa*  cabiBa  pnftai, 
Uagoibui  at  pufnu,  deia  fustiba*.  atqn*  ila  pom 
Pacul»Bt  umu,  qua  poit  iabncaTumi  oaof. 

Har.  Tatf.  .   .  a.  k 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


491 


cabOte  proplM, 
liupnm 

UIOI. 

Hur.  fml.  .   .  «■  k 


jii.  in  the  brilliant  and  philanthropic  career  of  inven- 
tion, he  enlarges  and  Heightens  his  powers  of  de- 
fence and  injury — the  Aries,  the  Scorpio,  the  Balista, 
and  the  Catapulta,  give  a  horror  and  sublimity  to 
war,  and  magnify  its  glory  by  increasing  its  desola- 
tion. Still  insatiable,  tnough  anned  with  machinery 
that  seemed  to  reach  the  limits  of  destructive  inven- 
ti3n,  and  to  yield  a  power  of  injury  commensurate 
tven  with  the  desires  of  revenge — still  deeper  re- 
»:arches  must  be  made  in  the  diabolical  arcana. 
With  furious  zeal  he  dives  into  the  bowels  of  the 
earth  ;  he  toils  midst  poisonous  minerals  and  deadly 
jalts— the  sublime  discovery  of  gunpowder  blazes 
upon  the  world — and  tinally,  the  dreadful  art  of  fight- 
ing by  proclamation  seems  to  endow  the  demon  of 
war  with  ubiquity  and  omnipotence  I 

This,  indeed,  is  grand  ! — this,  indeed,  marks  the 
powers  of  mind,  and  bespeaks  that  divine  endow- 
ment of  reason  which  distinguishes  us  from  the  ani- 
mals, our  inferiors.  The  unenlightened  brutes  con- 
ttnt  themselves  with  the  native  force  which  Provi- 
dence has  assigned  them.  The  angry  bull  butts  with 
his  horns,  as  did  his  progenitors  before  him — the 
lion,  the  leopard,  and  the  tiger  seek  only  with  their 
talons  and  their  fangs  to  gratify  their  sangruinary 
furyr;  and  even  the  subtle  serpent  darts  the  same 
venom  and  uses  the  same  wiles  as  did  his  sire  before 
the  flood.  Man  alone,  blessed  with  the  inventive 
mind,  goes  on  from  discovery  to  discovery — enlarges 
and  multiplies  his  powers  of  destruction  ;  arrogates 
the  tremendous  weapons  of  Deity  itself,  and  tasks 
creation  to  assist  him  in  murdering  his  brother 
worm ! 

In  proportion  as  the  art  of  war  has  increased  in 
improvement,  has  the  art  of  preserving  peace  ad- 
vanced in  equal  ratio  ;  and,  as  we  have  discovered, 
n  this  a^e  of  wonders  and  inventions,  that  a  procla- 
mation IS  the  most  formidable  engine  in  war,  so 
lave  we  discovered  the  no  less  ingenious  mode  of 
Tiaintaining  peace  by  perpetual  negotiations. 

A  treaty,  or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  a  negotiation, 
therefore,  according  to  the  acceptation  of  experienced 
statesmen,  learneuin  these  matters,  is  no  longer  an 
.ittenipt  to  accommodate  differences,  to  ascertain 
rights,  and  to  establish  an  equitable  exchange  of 
kind  offices:  but  a  contest  of  skill  between  two 
powers,  which  shall  overreach  and  take  in  the  other. 
It  is  a  cunning  endeavour  to  obtain,  by  peaceable 
manoeuvre  and  the  chicanery  of  cabinets,  those  ad- 
vantages which  a  nation  would  otherwise  have 
wrested  by  force  of  arms :  in  the  same  manner  that  a 
conscientious  highwayman  reforms  and  becomes  an 
excellent  and  praiseworthy  citizen,  contenting  him- 
self with  cheating  his  neighbour  out  of  that  property 
he  would  formerly  have  seized  with  open  violence. 

In  fact,  the  only  time  when  two  nations  can  be 
said  to  be  in  a  state  of  perfect  amity,  is  when  a  ne- 
gotiation is  open  and  a  treaty  pending.  Then,  as 
there  are  no  stipulations  entered  into,  no  bonds  to 
restrain  the  will,  no  specific  limits  to  awaken  the 
captious  jealousy  of  right  implanted  in  our  nature,  as 
each  party  has  some  advantage  to  hope  and  expect 
''rom  the  other,  then  it  is  that  the  two  nations  are  so 
racious  and  friendly  to  each  other ;  their  ministers 
professing  the  highest  mutual  regard,  exchanging 
3illetsdoux,  making  fine  speeches,  and  indulging  in 
Ul  those  diplomatic  flirtations,  coquetries,  and  fond- 
lings, that  do  so  marvellously  tickle  the  good-humour 
}( the  respective  nations.  Thus  it  may  paradoxically 
oe  said,  that  there  is  never  so  good  an  understand- 
ing! between  'wo  nations  as  when  there  is  a  little 
misundo^tanding — and  that  so  long  as  there  are  no 
terms,  they  are  on  the  best  terms  in  the  world  t 

1  do  not  by  anv  means  pretend  to  claim  the  merit 
if  having  made  the  above  political  discovery.    It  has. 


in  fact,  long  been  secretly  acted  upon  by  certsdn  en 
lightened  cabinets,  and  is,  together  with  divers  othei 
notable  theories,  privately  copied  out  of  the  common- 
place book  of  an  illustrious  gentleman,  who  has  been 
meml)er  of  Congress  and  enjoyed  the  unlimited  con- 
fidence of  heads  of  departments.  To  this  principle 
may  be  ascribed  the  wonderful  ingenuity  that  has 
been  shown  of  late  years  in  protracting  and  intei' 
rupting  negotiations.  Hence  the  cunning  measura 
of  appointing  as  ambassador  some  political  pettifog' 
ger  skilled  in  delays,  sophisms,  and  misapprehen- 
sions, and  dexterous  in  the  art  of  batTling  argument 
— or  some  blundering  statesman,  whose  errors  and 
misconstructions  may  be  a  plea  for  refusing  to  ratify 
his  engagements.  And  hence,  too,  that  most  nota- 
ble expedient,  so  popular  with  our  government,  of 
sending  out  a  brace  of  ambassadors ;  who,  having 
each  an  individual  will  to  consult,  char.icter  to  estab- 
lish, and  interest  to  promote,  you  may  as  well  look 
for  unanimity  and  concord  between  two  lovers  with 
one  mistress,  two  dogs  with  one  bone,  or  two  naked 
rogues  with  one  pair  of  breeches.  This  disagree- 
ment, therefore,  is  continually  breeding  delays  and 
impediments,  in  consequence  of  which  the  negotia- 
tion goes  on  swimmingly — insomuch  as  there  is  no 
prospect  of  its  ever  coming  to  a  close.  Nothing  is 
lost  by  these  delays  and  obstacles  but  time,  and  in  a 
negotiation,  according  to  the  theory  I  have  exposed, 
all  time  lost  is  in  reality  so  much  time  gainer:} — with 
what  delightful  paracioxes  does  modem  political 
economy  abound ' 

Now  all  that  I  have  here  advanced  is  so  notori 
ously  true,  that  I  almost  blush  to  take  up  the  time 
of  my  readers  with  treating  of  matters  which  must 
many  a  time  have  stared  them  in  the  face.  But  the 
proposition  to  which  I  would  most  earnestly  call 
their  attention,  is  this — that  though  a  negotiation  be 
the  most  harmonizing  of  all  national  tr.insa.  tions, 
yet  a  treaty  of  peace  is  a  great  political  evil,  and  one 
of  the  most  fruitful  sources  of  war. 

I  have  rarely  seen  an  instance  of  any  special  con- 
tract between  individuals,  that  did  not  produce  jeal- 
ousies, bickerings,  and  often  downright  ruptures  be- 
tween them  ;  nor  did  I  ever  know  of  a  treaty  be- 
tween two  nations,  that  did  not  occasion  continual 
misunderstandings.  How  many  worthy  country 
neighbours  have  I  known,  who,  after  living  in  peace 
and  good-fellowship  for  years,  have  been  thrown  into 
a  state  of  distrust,  cavilling,  and  animosity,  by  some 
ill-starred  agreement  about  fences,  runs  of  water, 
and  stray  cattle.  And  how  many  well-meaning  na- 
tions, who  would  otherwise  have  remained  in  the 
most  amicable  disposition  towards  each  other,  have 
been  brought  to  sword's  points  about  the  infringe- 
ment or  misconstruction  of  some  treaty,  which  in  an 
evil  hour  they  had  concluded  by  way  of  making  their 
amity  more  sure  I 

Treaties,  at  best,  are  but  complied  with  so  long  as 
interest  requires  their  fulfilment ;  consequently,  they 
are  virtually  binding  on  the  weaker  party  only,  or, 
in  plain  truth,  they  are  not  binding  at  all.  No  na- 
tion will  wantonly  go  to  war  with  another,  if  it  h<U 
nothing  to  gain  thereby,  and,  therefore,  needs  no 
treaty  to  restrain  it  from  violence ,  and  if  it  have  any 
thing  to  gain,  I  much  question,  iion.  v.  hat  I  have 
witnessed  of  the  righteous  conduct  of  nations, 
whether  any  treaty  could  be  made  so  strong  that  it 
could  not  thrust  the  sword  through — nay,  I  would 
hold,  ten  to  one,  the  treaty  itself  would  he  the  very 
source  to  which  reset  would  be  had,  to  find  a  pre- 
text for  hostilities. 

Thus,  therefore  1  conclude — that  though  it  is  the 

best  of  all  policies  ior  a  nation  to  keep  up  a  constant 

negotiation  with  its  neighbours,  yet  it  is  the  summit 

i  of  folly  for  it  ever  to  hit  beguiletl  into  a  treaty ;  for 


Wl/ 


492 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


then  comes  on  the  non-fulfilment  and  infraction, 
then  remonstrance,  then  altercation,  then  retalia- 
tion, then  recrimination,  and  finally  open  war.  In 
a  word,  negotiation  is  like  courtship,  a  time  of  sweet 
words,  galunt  speeches,  soft  looks,  and  endearing 
au«sses ;  but  the  marriage  ceremony  is  the  signal 
for  hostilities. 


',•  ' 


m 

4i-'.'-.j:  ; 


CHAPTER  IV. 


«OW  PtTUt  STUYVESANT  WAS  ORIATLY  BELIED 
BY  HIS  ADVERSARIES,  THE  MOSSTROOPERS— 
AKD  HIS  CONDUCT  THEREUPON. 

If  my  pains-taking  reader  be  not  somewhat  per- 
plexed, in  the  course  of  the  ratiocination  of  my  last 
chapter,  he  will  doubtless  at  one  glance  perceive 
that  the  great  Peter,  in  concluding  a  treaty  with  his 
system  neighbours,  was  guilty  of  a  lamentable  error 
and  heterodoxy  in  politics.  To  this  unlucky  agree- 
ment may  justly  be  ascribed  a  world  of  little  in- 
fringements, altercations,  negotiations,  and  bicker- 
ings, which  afterwards  took  place  between  the  irre- 
proachable Stuyvesant,  and  the  evil-disposed  council 
of  Amphyctions.  All  these  did  not  a  little  disturb 
the  constitutional  serenity  of  the  good  burghers  of 
Manna-hata ;  but  in  sooth  they  were  so  very  pitiful 
in  their  nature  and  effects,  that  a  grave  historian, 
who  grudges  the  time  spent  in  any  thing  less  than 
recording  the  fall  of  empires,  and  the  revolution  of 
worlds,  would  think  them  unworthy  to  be  inscribed 
on  his  sacred  page. 

The  reader  is,  therefore,  to  take  it  for  granted, 
ihough  I  scorn  to  waste  in  the  detail  that  time 
which  my  furrowed  brow  and  trembling  hand  in- 
ibrm  me  is  invaluable,  that  all  the  while  the  great 
l^er  was  occupied  in  those  tremendous  and  bloody 
contests  tbat  I  shall  shortly  rehearse,  there  was  a 
UDOtinued  series  of  little,  dirty,  snivelling  skirmishes, 
scouring*,  broils,  and  maraudings,  made  on  the  east-r 
em  frontiers,  by  the  mosstroopers  of  Connecticut. 
But,  like  that  mirror  of  chivalry,  the  sage  and  val- 
ourous  Don  Quixote,  I  leave  these  petty  contests  for 
some  future  Sancho  Panza  of  a  historian,  while  1 
reserve  my  prowess  and  my  pen  for  achievements 
of  higher  dignity. 

Now  did  the  great  Peter  conclude,  that  his  la- 
bours had  come  to  a  close  in  the  east,  and  that  he 
had  nothing  to  do  but  apply  himself  to  the  internal 
prosperity  of  his  beloved  Manhattoes.  Though  a 
man  of  great  modesty,  he  could  not  help  boasting 
that  he  had  at  length  shut  the  temple  of  Janus,  and 
that,  were  all  rulers  like  a  certain  person  who 
should  be  nameless,  it  would  never  be  opened 
again.  But  the  exultation  of  the  worthy  governor 
was  put  to  a  speedy  check ;  for  scarce  was  the  treaty 
concluded,  and  hardly  was  the  ink  dried  on  the  pa- 
per, before  the  crafty  and  discourteous  council  of  the 
league  sought  a  new  pretence  for  re-illuming  the 
flames  of  discord. 

It  seems  to  be  the  nature  of  confederacies,  repub- 
Vcs,  and  such  like  powers,  that  want  the  true  mas- 
culine character,  to  indulge  exceedingly  in  certain 
(eminine  panics  and  suspicions.  Like  some  good 
uidy  of  delicate  and  sickly  virtue,  who  is  in  constant 
dr^d  of  having  her  vestal  purity  contaminated  or 
seduced  and  who  if  a  man  do  but  take  her  by  the 
hand,  or  look  her  in  the  face,  is  ready  to  cry  out, 
rape !  and  ruin  ! — so  these  squeamish  governments 
are  perpetually  on  the  alarm  for  the  virtue  of  the 
country ;  every  manly  measure  is  a  violation  of  the 
constitution — every  monarchy  or  other  masculine 
government  around  them  is  laying  snares  for  their 
•adoction  ;  aod  they  are  for  ever  detecting  infernal 


plots,  by  which  they  were  to  he  betrayed,  dhhob 
oured,  and  "brought  upon  the  town." 

If  any  proof  were  wanting  of  the  'ruth  of  thesi 
opinions,  I  would  instance  tne  conduct  ol  a  certain 
republic  of  our  day ;  who,  good  dame,  has  alreadi 
withstood  so  many  plots  and  conspiracies  against  hei 
virtue,  and  has  so  often  come  near  being  made  "  no 
better  than  she  should  be."  1  would  notice  her  con- 
stant jealousies  of  poor  old  England,  who,  by  ha 
own  account,  has  been  incessantly  trying  to  s<ip  h;i 
honour ;  though,  from  my  soul.  I  never  could  heljpvr 
the  honest  old  gentleman  meant  her  any  rudeness, 
Whereas,  on  the  contrary,  I  think  I  have  several 
times  caught  her  saufczin^  hands  and  indulging  in 
certain  amorous  oglings  with  that  sad  fellow  Buona- 
parte— who  all  the  world  knows  to  be  a  ercai  de- 
spoiler  of  national  virtue,  to  have  ruined  allthe  em- 
pires in  his  neighbourhood,  and  to  have  debauched 
every  republic  that  came  in  his  way — but  so  it  is, 
these  rakes  seem  always  to  gain  singular  favour  with 
the  ladies. 

But  I  crave  pardon  of  my  reader  for  thus  wander- 
ing, and  will  endeavour  in  some  measure  to  apply 
the  foregoing  remarks;  for  in  the  year  i6ji,  we  are 
told,  the  great  confederacy  of  the  east  accused  the 
immaculate  Peter — the  soul  of  honour  and  heart  of 
steel — that  by  divers  gifts  and  promises  he  had  been 
secretly  endeavouring  to  instigate  the  Narrohigan- 
sett,  (or  Narraganset)  Mohaoue,  and  Pcquot  Indians, 
to  surprise  and  massacre  the  Yankee  settlemenis. 
"  For, '  as  the  council  slanderously  observed,  '  the 
Indians  round  about  for  divers  hundred  miles  cer- 
cute,  seeme  to  have  drunke  deep  of  an  intoxicatin;> 
cupp,  att  or  from  the  Manhatoes  against  the  English, 
whoe  have  sought  their  good,  both  m  bodily  am! 
spirituall  respects." 

History  does  not  make  mention  how  the  gre.it 
council  of  the  Amphyctions  came  by  this  piecioui 
plot ;  whether  it  was  honestly  bought  at  a  fair  mar- 
ket price,  or  discovered  by  sheer  good  fortune— it  is 
certain,  however,  that  they  examined  divers  Indians, 
who  all  swore  to  the  fact  as  sturdily  as  though  they 
had  been  so  many  Christian  troopers;  and  to  he 
more  sure  of  their  veracity,  the  sage  council  previous 
ly  made  every  mother's  son  of  them  devoutly  drunk, 
remembering  an  old  and  trite  proverb,  which  it  is 
not  necessary  for  me  to  repeat. 

Though  descended  from  a  family  which  suffered 
much  injury  from  the  losel  Yankees  of  those  times- 
my  great-grandfather  having  had  a  yoke  of  oxen  and 
his  best  pacer  stolen,  and  having  received  a  pair  of 
black  eyes  and  a  bloody  nose  in  one  of  these  border 
wars ;  and  my  grandfather,  when  a  very  little  boy 
tendine  pigs,  having  been  kidnapped  and  severely 
flogged  by  a  long-sided  Connecticut  schoolmaster- 
yet  T  should  have  passed  over  all  these  wrongs  with 
forgiveness  and  oblivion — I  could  even  have  suffered 
them  to  have  broken  Evert  Ducking's  head,  to  have 
kicked  the  doughty  Jacobus  Van  Curlet  and  his  rag- 
ged regiment  out  of  doors,  carried  every  hog  into 
captivity,  and  depopulated  every  hen-roost  on  the 
face  of  the  earth,  with  perfect  impunity. — But  this 
wanton  attack  upon  one  of  the  most  gallant  and  ir- 
reproachable heroes  of  modem  times  is  too  much 
even  for  me  to  digest,  and  has  overset,  with  a  single 
puff,  the  patience  of  the  historian,  and  the  forbear 
ance  of  the  Dutchman. 

Oh,  reader,  it  was  false  ! — I  swear  to  thee,  it  was 
false  I  if  thou  hast  any  respect  to  my  word— if  the 
undcnating  character  for  veracity,  which  I  have  en- 
deavoured to  maintain  throughout  this  work,  has  it> 
due  weight  with  thee,  thou  wilt  not  give  thy  faith  to 
this  tale  of  slander ;  for  I  pledge  my  honour  and  my 
immortal  fame  to  thee,  that  the  giJiant  Peter  Stuy- 
vesant was  not  only  innocent  of  this  foul  conspiracy 


A   HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


49S 


but  woald  have  suffered  hit  right  arm,  or  even  his 
wooden  Icff,  to  consume  with  slow  and  everlasting 
Barnes,  rather  than  attempt  to  destroy  his  enemies  in 
my  other  way  than  open,  generous  warfare — beshrew 
those  caitiff  scouts,  tnat  conspired  to  sully  his  honest 
mme  by  such  an  imputation  I 

Peter  Stuyvesant,  though  he  perhaps  had  never 
card  of  a  knight-errant,  yet  had  he  as  true  a  heart 
)f  chivalry  as  ever  beat  at  the  round  table  of  King 
Arthur.  There  was  a  spirit  of  native  gallantry,  a 
loble  and  generous  hardihood  diffused  ttirough  his 
rugged  manners,  which  altogether  gave  unquestion- 
ibTe  tokens  of  a  heroic  mind.  He  was,  in  truth,  a 
hero  of  chivalry,  struck  off  by  the  hand  of  Nature 
at  a  tingle  heat,  and  though  she  had  taken  no  far- 
ther care  to  polish  and  refine  her  workmanship,  he 
stood  forth  a  miracle  of  her  skill. 

Rut,  not  to  be  figurative,  (a  fault  in  historic  writ- 
ing which  I  particularly  eschew,)  the  great  Peter 
possessed,  in  an  eminent  degp-ee,  the  seven  renowned 
and  noble«virtues  of  knighthood,  which,  as  he  had 
never  consulted  authors  in  the  disciplining  and  culti- 
vating of  his  mind,  I  verily  believe  must  have  been 
nnplanted  in  the  comer  of  his  heart  by  dame  Nature 
herself— where  they  itourished  among  his  hardy 
Qualities  like  so  many  sweet  wild  flowers,  shooting 
forth  and  thriving  witn  redundant  luxuriance  among 
stubborn  rocks.  Such  was  the  mind  of  Peter  the 
Headstrong,  and  if  my  admiration  for  it  has,  on  this 
occasion,  transported  my  style  beyond  the  sober 
gravity  which  becomes  tne  laborious  scribe  of  his- 
toric events,  I  can  plead  as  an  apology,  that  though 
a  little  gray-headed  Dutchman  arrived  almost  at  tne 
bottom  of  the  down-hill  of  life,  I  still  retain  some 
portion  of  that  celestial  fire  which  sparkles  in  the  eye 
of  youth,  when  contemplating  the  virtues  and  achieve- 
ments of  ancient  worthies.  Blessed,  thrice  and  nine 
dmes  blessed  be  the  good  St.  Nicholas — that  I  have 
scaped  the  influence  of  that  chilling  apathy,  which 
'00  often  freezes  the  sympathies  of  age ;  which,  like 
a  churlish  spirit,  sits  at  the  portals  ot  the  heart,  re- 
poliing  every  genial  sentiment,  and  paralyzing  every 
spontaneous  glow  of  enthusiasm  I 

No  sooner,  then,  did  this  scoundrel  imputation  on 
his  honour  reach  the  ear  of  Peter  Stuyvesant,  than 
he  proceeded  in  a  manner  which  would  have  re- 
dounded to  his  credit,  even  though  he  had  studied 
for  years  in  the  library  of  Don  Quixote  himself.  He 
immediately  despatched  his  valiant  trumpeter  and 
squire,  Antony  Van  Corlear,  with  orders  to  ride 
night  and  day,  as  herald,  to  the  Amphyctionic  coun- 
cil, reproaching  them,  in  terms  of  noble  indignation, 
for  giving  ear  to  the  slanders  of  heathen  infidels, 
against  tlie  character  of  a  Christian,  a  gentleman, 
and  a  soldier — and  declaring,  that  as  to  uie  treach- 
erous and  bloody  plot  alleged  against  him,  whoever 
aiiirmed  it  to  be  true,  lied  in  his  teeth  I — to  prove 
which,  he  defied  the  president  of  the  council  and  all 
his  compeers,  or,  if  they  pleased,  their  puissant 
champion,  captain  Alicxsander  Partridg,  that  mighty 
man  of  Rhodes,  to  meet  him  in  single  combat,  where 
he  would  trust  the  vindication  of  his  innocence  to 
the  prowess  of  his  arm. 

This  challenge  being  delivered  with  due  ceremony, 
Antony  Van  Corlear  sounded  a  trumpet  of  defiance 
before  the  whole  council,  ending  with  a  most  horrific 
ind  nasal  twang,  full  in  the  face  of  Captain  Partridg, 
who  almost  jumped  out  of  his  skin  in  an  ecstasy  of 
istonithment  at  the  noise.  This  done,  he  mounted 
a  tall  Flanders  mare,  which  he  always  rode,  and 
trotted  merrily  towards  the  Manhattoes — passing 
through  Hartford,  and  Piquag,  and  Middletown,  and 
til  the  other  border  towns—  twanging  his  trumpet 
like  a  very  devil,  so  that  the  sweet  valleys  and  banks 
•f  the  Connecticut  retounded  with  the  wariike  melody 


—and  stopping  occasionally  to  eat  pur.ipkm  pies 
dance  at  country  frolics,  and  bundle  with  the  Mau 
teous  lasses  of  those  parts — whom  he  rejo'ced  'e» 
ceedingly  with  his  soul-stirring  inttniment. 

But  the  grand  council,  lieing  composed  of  consid' 
erate  men,  nad  no  idea  of  running  a  tilting  wiU)  such 
a  fiery  hero  as  the  hardy  Peter — on  the  contrary 
they  sent  him  an  answer  couched  in  the  meekest,  tm 
most  mild,  and  provoking  terms,  in  which  they  as 
sured  him  that  his  guilt  was  p'oved  to  their  perfect 
satisfaction,  by  the  testimony  of  divers  sober  ant* 
respectable  Indians,  and  concluding  with  this  trulj 
amiable  paragraph  —"  For  youre  confidant  denialls 
of  the  Barbarous  plott  charged  will  waigh  little  in 
balance  against  such  evidence,  soe  that  we  must  still 
require  and  seeke  due  satisfaction  and  cecurite,  so 
we  rest.  Sir, 

Youres  in  wayes  of  Righteousness,  &c." 

I  am  aware  that  the  above  transaction  has  beet 
differently  recorded  by  certain  historians  of  the  east, 
and  elsewhere ;  who  seem  to  have  inherited  the  bit- 
ter enmity  of  their  ancestors  to  the  brave  Peter— 
and  much  good  may  their  inheritance  do  them. 
These  declare,  that  Peter  Stuy^fesant  requested  tc 
have  the  charges  against  him  inquired  into,  by  com- 
missioners to  be  appointed  for  the  purpose ;  and  yet, 
that  when  such  commissioners  were  appointed,  he 
refused  to  submit  to  their  examination.  In  this  art- 
ful account,  there  is  but  the  semblance  of  truth — he 
did,  indeed,  most  gallantly  offer,  when  that  he  found 
a  deaf  ear  was  turned  to  his  challenge,  to  submit  his 
conduct  to  the  rigorous  inspection  of  a  court  of  hon 
our — but  then  he  expected  to  find  it  an  august  tribu- 
nal, composed  of  courteous  gentlemen,  the  governors 
and  nobility  of  the  confederate  plantations,  and  of  the 
province  of  New-Netherlands,  where  he  might  bf 
tried  by  his  peers,  in  a  manner  worthy  of  his  rank 
and  dignity — whereas,  let  me  perish,  if  th^y  did  no; 
send  to  the  Manhattoes  two  lean-sided  hungry  petti- 
foggers, mounted  on  Narraganset  pacers,  with  saddle 
bags  under  their  bottoms,  and  green  satchels  under 
their  arms,  as  though  they  were  about  to  beat  the 
hoof  from  one  county  court  to  another  in  search  of  a 
law-suit. 

The  chivalric  Peter,  as  might  be  expected,  took  no 
notice  of  these  cunning  varlets ;  who,  with  profes- 
sional industry,  fell  to  prying  and  sifting  about,  ir 
quest  ol  ex  parte  evidence ;  perplexing  divers  simple 
Indians  ancf  old  women,  with  their  cross-questioning, 
until  they  contradicted  and  forswore  themselves 
most  horribly.  Thus  having  fulfilled  their  errand  tc 
their  own  satisfaction,  they  returned  to  the  grand 
council  with  their  satchels  and  saddle-bags  stuffed 
full  of  villainous  rumours,  apocryphal  stories,  and  out 
raeeous  calumnies, — for  all  which  the  great  Peter 
did  not  care  a  tobacco-stopper ;  but,  I  warrant  me, 
had  they  attempted  to  play  off  the  same  tnck  upon 
William  the  Testy,  be  would  have  treated  them  both 
to  an  aerial  eambol  on  his  patent  gallows. 

The  grand  council  of  the  east  held  a  very  solemn 
meeting,  on  the  return  of  their  envoys ;  and  after 
they  had  pondered  a  long  time  on  the  situation  3f 
affairs,  were  upon  the  point  of  adjourning  without 
being  able  to  agree  upon  any  thing.  At  this  criticaJ 
moment,  one  of  those  meddlesome,  indefatigable 
spirits,  who  endeavour  to  establish  a  character  foi 
patriotism  by  blowing  the  bellows  of  party,  until  the 
whole  furnace  of  politics  is  red-hot  with  sparks  and 
cinders — and  who  have  just  cunning  enough  to  know 
that  there  is  no  time  so  favourable  for  getting  on  the 
people's  backs  as  when  they  are  in  a  state  of  turmoil 
and  attending  to  every  body's  business  but  their  own 
— this  aspiring  imp  of  faction,  who  was  called  a  great 
politician,  because  he  had  secured  a  seat  in  counci' 
Dy  calumniating  all  his  opponents — he,  I  say,  con- 


'      1 


y 


«94 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


111.    ■*,' 


Mlved  thii  h  fit  opportunity  to  strike  a  blow  that 
itiould  secure  his  pupuiarity  among  his  conMitia-nts 
who  lived  on  the  borders  of  Nieuw-Nederlandt,  and 
were  the  greatest  poarhcrs  in  Chrisiendom,  except- 
ing the  Scotch  border  nobles.  Like  a  second  Peter 
the  Hermit,  therefore,  he  stood  forth  and  preached 
ap  a  crusade  against  Peter  Stuyvesant,  and  his  de- 
voted city. 

He  made  a  speech  which  lasted  ^ix  hours,  accord- 
Ag  to  the  ancii-nt  custom  in  these  parts,  in  which  he 
epresented  the  Dutch  as  .t  rare  of  impious  heretics, 
vno  neither  believed  in  witchci*^  ni)r  the  sovereign 
nrtues  of  horse-shoes — who  left  their  country  for 
the  lucre  of  gain,  not  like  themselves,  for  the  enjoy- 
ment o{  libtrty  of  coHScietue-  ^\\o,  in  short,  were  a 
race  of  mere  cannibals  and  anthro|X)phagi,  in.ismuch 
as  they  never  eat  cod-fish  on  Saturday,  devoured 
swine's  llesh  without  molasses,  and  held  pumpkins 
In  utter  contemot. 

This  speech  nad  the  desired  efTect,  for  the  coun- 
cil, being  awakened  by  the  ser|^eant-at-arms,  rubbed 
their  eyes,  and  declared  that  it  w.-i5  just  and  politic 
to  declare  instant  war  against  these  unchristian  anti- 
punipkinites.  But  it  was  necessary  that  the  people 
at  large  should  first  be  prepared  for  this  measure ; 
and  for  this  purpose  the  arguments  of  the  orator 
were  preached  from  the  pulpit  for  several  Sundays 
subsequent,  and  eanestly  recommended  to  the  con- 
sideration of  every  gooa  Christian,  who  professed 
as  well  as  practiced  tne  doctrines  of  meekness,  char- 
ity, and  the  forgiveness  of  injuries.  This  is  the  first 
time  we  hear  ofthe  "drum  ecclesiastic  "  beating  up 
for  political  recruits  in  our  country ;  and  it  proved 
3f  such  signal  ellicacy,  that  it  has  since  been  called 
into  frequent  service  throughout  our  Union.  A  cun- 
lin^  politician  is  often  found  skulking  under  the 
:lencal  robe,  with  an  outside  all  religion,  and  an  in- 
lide  all  political  rancour.  Things  spiritual  and  things 
temporal  are  strangely  jumbled  together,  like  poi- 
sons and  antidotes  on  an  apotl.scary's  shelf;  and 
instead  of  a  devout  sermon,  the  simple  church-going 
folk  have  often  a  political  pamphi**.  thrust  down  their 
throats,  labelled  with  a  pious  text  from  Scripture. 


CHAPTER  V, 

HUW  THE  NEW-AMSTEKDAMMRRS  BKCAMK  GREAT 
IN  ARMS,  AND  OP  THE  DIREFUL  CATASTRUPHB 
or  A  MIGHTY  ARMY— TOGETHER  WITH  PETER 
STUYVESANT'S  MEASURES  TO  rORTITY  THE 
CITY  —  AND  HOW  HE  WAS  THE  ORIGINAL 
FOUNDER  or  THE  BATTERY. 

But,  notwithstanding  that  the  grand  council,  as  I 
tuve  already  shown,  were  amazingly  discreet  in  their 
proceedinp  respecting  the  New-Netherlands,  and 
conductecT  the  whole  with  almost  as  much  silence 
and  mystery  as  does  the  sage  British  cabinet  one 
of  its  ill-starred  secret  expeditions — yet  did  the  ever- 
watchful  Peter  receive  as  full  and  accurate  informa- 
tion of  every  movement  as  does  the  court  of  France 
]f  all  the  notable  enterprises  I  have  mentioned.  He 
tccordingly  sat  himself  to  work,  to  render  the  machi- 
■albns  of  his  bitter  adversaries  abortive. 

1  know  that  many  will  censure  the  precipitation 
of  this  stout-hearted  old  governor,  in  that  he  hurried 
into  the  expenses  of  fortification,  without  ascertain- 
ing whether  they  were  necessary,  by  prudently  wait- 
ing until  the  enemy  was  at  the  door.  But  they  should 
recollect  that  I'eter  Stuyvesant  had  not  the  benefit 
of  an  insight  into  the  modem  arcana  of  politics,  and 
was  strangely  bigoted  to  certain  obsolete  maxims  of 
the  old  school ;  among  which  he  firm  ly  believed,  that 


to  render  a  country  respected  abroad,  it  was  ufcei 
sary  to  m.ike  it  formidable  at  home — and  thai  a  na 
tion  should  place  its  reliance  for  peace  and  seoiiriti 
more  upon  its  own  strength,  than  on  the  juntic  oi 
good-will  of  its  neighbours.  He  prortedcd,  (hfrf> 
lore,  with  all  diligence,  to  put  the  provt.ce  and  \w 
tropolis  in  a  strong  posture  of  defence. 

Among  the  few  remnants  of  ingenious  inv»,nti  i 
which  remained  from  the  days  of  William  the  Test) 
were  those  impregnable  bulwarks  of  public  salri) 
militia  laws  ;  by  which  the  inhabitants  were  ohhgri 
to  turn  out  twice  a  year,  with  such  milit.iry  equip- 
ments— as  it  pleased  God ;  and  were  put  umicr  ihn 
command  of  very  valiant  tailors,  and  man-miilin(T!>, 
who  though  on  ordinary  occasions  the  meekest,  pip! 
pin-hearted  little  men  in  the  world,  were  very  (levilit 
at  par.-tdes  and  courts-martial,  when  they  had  cocked 
hats  on  their  heads,  and  swords  by  their  sides.  Un- 
der the  instructions  of  these  periodical  warriors,  the 
gallant  train-bands  made  marvellous  proficiency  in 
-U)e  mystery  of  gunpowder.  They  were. taught  lo 
face  to  the  right,  to  wheel  to  the  left,  to  snap  off 
empty  fire-locks  without  winking,  to  turn  a  curnei 
witnout  any  great  uproar  or  irregularity,  antl  to 
march  througn  sun  and  rain  from  one  end  of  the 
town  to  the  other  without  flincning — until  in  the  emi 
they  became  so  valorous,  that  they  fired  off  bl.ink 
cartridges,  without  so  much  as  turning  away  their 
heads — could  hear  the  largest  field-piece  discharneil, 
without  stopping  their  ears,  or  falling  into  much  om 
fusion — and  would  even  go  througn  all  the  latigiies 
and  perils  of  a  summer  day's  parade,  without  having 
their  ranks  much  thinned  by  desertion  I 

True  it  is,  the  genius  of"^  this  truiy  p.icifir  people 
was  so  little  given  to  war,  that  during  the  intervals 
which  occurred  between  field  days,  they  generally 
contrived  to  forget  all  the  militaty  tuition  they  had 
received ;  so  that  when  they  reappeared  on  p.iia(ie, 
they  scarcely  knew  the  butt-end  of  the  musket  from 
the  muzzle,  and  invariably  mistook  the  right  shoulder 
for  the  left — a  mistake  which,  however,  was  soon 
obviated  by  chalking  their  left  arms.  But  whatever 
might  be  tneir  blunders  and  awkwardness,  the  saiji. 
cious  Kieft  declared  them  to  be  of  but  little  impor- 
tance— since,  as  he  judiciously  observed,  one  cam- 

ign  would  be  of  more  instruction  to  them  than  a 
undred  parades ;  for  though  two-thirds  of  them 
might  be  food   for  powder,  yet  such  of  the  other 
thii-d  as  did  not  run  away  would  become  most  expe- 
rienced veterans. 

The  great  Stuyvesant  had  no  particular  veneration 
for  the  ingenious  experiments  and  institutions  ol  his 
shrewd  predecessor,  and  among  other  things  held 
the  militia  system  in  very  considerable  contempt 
which  he  was  often  heard  to  call  in  joke — for  lie 
was  sometimes  fond  of  a  joke — governor  Kielt  s 
broken  reed.  As,  however,  the  present  emer- 
gency was  pressing,  he  was  obliged  to  avail 
himself  of  such  means  of  defence  as  were  next  at 
hand,  and  accordingly  appointed  a  general  inspec- 
tion and  parade  of  tlie  train-bands.  But  oh  !  Mars 
and  Bellona,  and  all  ye  other  powers  of  war,  both 
great  and  small,  what  a  turning  out  was  here  !— 
Here  came  men  without  officers,  and  officers  wiihoui 
men — long  fowling-pieces,  and  short  blur.derbussej 
— muskets  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  some  without  b.ay- 
onets,  others  without  locks,  others  without  stocks. 
and  many  without  either  lock,  stock,  or  barrel - 
cartridge-boxes,  shot-belts,  powder-horns,  swords, 
hatchets,  snicker-snees,  crow-bars,  and  broomsticks, 
all  mingled  higgledy  piggledy — like  one  of  our  con- 
tinental armies  at  the  breaking  out  of  the  revolu- 
tion. 

This  sudden  transformation  of  a  pacific  comma 
nity  into  a  band  of  warriors,  is  doubtless  what  ii 


A   HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK.. 


•lOfl 


meant,  In  modem  dajt,  by  "putting  tt  nation  in 
irmour,"  and  "  fixing  it  in  an  attitude'  "  In  whicli 
armour  and  attitude  it  makes  as  in.iitial  a  ti^fure, 
and  aa  likely  to  acouit  itself  with  as  much  proweiis 
as  the  renowned  Sancho  Pan/a,  when  suddenly 
eirJipped  to  defend  his  island  of  Uarataria. 

Tnc  tturdy  Peter  eyed  this  ragged  regiment  with 
lome  such  rueful  aspect  aa  a  nun  would  eye  the 
Jevil ,  but  knowing,  like  a  wise  man,  that  all  he  had 
t»  do  was  to  make  the  best  out  of  a  bad  barirain,  he 
ilctermincd  te  give  his  heroes  a  srasoning.  Having, 
therefore,  drilisd  them  through  the  manual  exercise 
')ver  and  over  again,  he  ordered  the  t'ifes  to  Htrii<e  up 
a  (juick  march,  and  trudged  his  sturdy  troops  l>.ick> 
wards  and  forwards  about  the  streets  of  New-Am- 
jtcrdam,  and  the  fields  adjacent,  until  their  short 
l(-l,'s  ached,  and  their  fat  sides  sweated  again.  But 
thiH  was  not  all;  the  martial  spirit  of  the  o'd  gov- 
ernor caught  fire  from  the  sprightly  music  of  the  life, 
and  he  resolved  to  tr^  the  mettle  of  his  troops,  ancl 
five  them  a  taste  of  the  hardships  of  iron  war.  To 
Uiis  end  he  encamped  them,  as  tne  shades  of  evening 
fell,  upon  a  hill  formerly  c.illed  Hunker's  Hill,  at 
some  distance  from  the  town,  with  a  full  intention 
ot  initiating  them  into  the  discipline  of  camps,  and 
of  renewing,  the  next  day,  the  toils  and  perils  of  the 
field.  But  so  it  came  to  pass,  that  in  the  night  there 
fell  a  great  and  heavy  rain,  which  descended  in  tor- 
rents upon  the  camp,  and  the  mighty  ht'xv/  strangely 
melted  away  before  it ;  so  that  when  Gai^r  Phnehus 
came  to  shed  his  morning  beams  upon  *he  place, 
laving  Peter  Stuyvesant  and  his  trumpeier,  Van 
Ccrlear,  scarce  one  was  to  be  found  of  all  the  multi- 
tud:  that  had  encamped  there  the  night  before 

This  awful  dissolution  of  his  army  would  have  ap- 
;>alled  a  commander  of  less  nerve  than  Peter  Stuy- 
teoMt ;  but  he  considered  it  as  a  matter  of  but 
I'^all  importance,  though  he  thenceforward  regard- 
,  I  the  militia  9'stem  with  ten  times  greater  cun- 
ir.mpt  than  ever,  and  took  care  to  proviile  himseh' 
with  a  good  garrison  of  chosen  men,  whom  he  kept 
in  pay,  of  whom  he  boasted  that  thev  at  least  pos- 
Kssed  the  quality,  indispensable  in  soldiers,  of  being 
water-proof^ 

The  next  care  of  the  vigilant  Stuyvesant  was  to 
strengthen  and  fortify  New-Amsterdam.  For  this 
purpose,  he  caused  to  be  built  a  strong  picket  fence, 
that  reached  across  the  island,  from  river  to  river, 
bting  intended  to  protect  the  city  not  merely  from 
the  sudden  invasions  of  foreign  enemies,  but  lilcewise 
frum  the  incursions  of  the  neighliouring  savages.* 

Some  traditions,  it  is  true,  have  ascriT>ed  the  build- 
ing of  this  wall  to  a  later  period,  but  thcj  are  wholly 
incorrect ;  for  a  memorandum  in  the  Stuyvesant 
manuscript,  dated  towards  the  middle  of  the  gov- 
ernor's reign,  mentions  this  wall  particularly,  as  a 
very  strong  and  curious  piece  of  workmanship,  and 
the  admiration  of  all  the  savages  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. An  1  it  mentions,  moreover,  the  alarming  cir- 
cumstance of  a  drove  of  stray  cows  breaking  through 
the  grand  wall  of  a  dark  night ;  by  which  the  whole 
commut.ity  of  New-Amsterdam  was  thrown  into  a 
;vT  hie  oaTiic. 

.11  ailition  to  this  great  wall,  he  cast  up  several 
X.tworks  to  Fort  Amsterdam,  to  protect  the  ->er'- 
icard,  at  the  point  of  the  island.  The;  i  cim&isted 
if  hmudable  mud  batteries,  solidly  taceu.  after  the 


Ms  ao  antique  view  ot  New-Amjirrdam,  ulten  tome  yean 
iftet  the  above  peri  id,  i*  a  rcpreunuiion  of  thi*  wall,  which 
ttratched  alooa  the  course  of  Wall-ttreel,  so  called  in  com- 
acmuralion  of  thi>  ineat  bulwark.  Uiie  |iate,  called  the  L.and- 
Poort,  opened  upon  Broadway,  hard  by  wTiere  at  prexent  iund> 
•he  Tnnitf  Church  :  and  another,  called  (he  Water  -  Pfwrt, 
tlood  about  where  the  Tontine  Coffee  -  House  is  at  present— 
naawf  upon  Smits  Vleye,  or  a*  it  is  commonly  called,  Smith 
riy,  then  a  aanhy  valley,  with  a  creak  ot  alat  aatcadinn  up  what 
•t  call  Maidm-laaa. 


manner  of  the  Dutch  ovens,  coi  imon  in  those  days, 
with  clam-shells. 

These  frowning  bulwarks,  in  process  ol  time,  c4m« 
ti)  be  picasantlv  overrun  by  a  vrnlanl  carpet  of  graas 
and  clover,  ami  their  high  embankments  overshadow- 
ed by  wide-spreading  sycamores,  among  whose  foliagv 
the  little  birds  s|x>rted  about,  rejoicing  the  ear  wilt 
their  mflodimis  notes.  The  old  burghrrs  would  re- 
pair of  an  afternoon  to  smoke  their  pi|)es  under  the 
shade  of  their  branches,  contemplating  the  golden 
sun  as  he  gradually  sunk  into  the  west,  an  rmblem 
of  that  tran(|uil  end  towards  which  themselves  were 
hastening— while  the  young  men  anti  the  damsels  o( 
the  town  would  take  many  a  moonlight  stroll  among 
these  favourite  haunts,  watching  the  silver  beams  of 
chaste  Cynthia  tremble  along  the  calm  bosom  ot  the 
bay,  or  light  up  the  white  sail  of  some  gliding  bark, 
and  interchanging  the  honest  vows  of  constant  affec- 
tion. Such  was  the  onifin  of  that  renowned  walk. 
The  Datteky,  which,  though  ostensibly  devoted  tc 
the  purpose  of  war,  has  ever  Iwen  consecrated  to  the 
sweet  delights  of  peace.  The  favourite  walk  of  de- 
clining age — the  healthful  resort  of  the  feeble  invalid 
— the  Sunday  refreshment  of  the  dusty  tradesman  - 
the  scene  of  many  a  boyish  c-ambol — the  rende»voui 
of  many  a  tender  a'sigaatmn — the  co"(ort  of  the 
citizer,--th»  omap.ent  of  N.'  Yr,l.,and  the  pride 
ol  the  lovely  islanr    f  Man  uhat:-. 


CHAPIi-R   VI.. 

HOW  Tim  pro"?.,!  jr  Til'.:  <:ast  cnirwrnv  wbbi 

SUDDBN!.y     iKffUQTV!    W/TK     *     ..WAHOLIC  »t. 
EVIL-    *.ND    JHKIV  JuniCIOUS  U^fklCiV:,   rOI 

THE  i.:iry,<r\Kioii  TMS»i:oif. 

H.iviNG  th\i'3  provided  Uit  tK;  '.einfKiritry  vxi.r'.fj 
of  Nev/  Ani'.tcrd»m  -xn*  ^  Mrdcd  ii(  spiust  nry  no- 
den  surpris-  ihc  galls  :n  TturHiok  i>  be,i,.;  ^Lvh 
of  snuff,  ar.d,  »naj)p!..i{  Uis  i.nrtir.,  tr'  y'.v  great 
council  01  AmphycUons,  aid  ineit  ijhimpion,  the 
doughty  AliCAsanoer  P.tnrnlg,  at  detiance.  It  is 
iirpossible  to  say,  notwitiisiaiidiri^,  ''.hai  ringht  have 
been  the  issue  of  this  aif.ur  had  no)  the  council  ^>eei. 
all  at  once  involved  i.i  sad  pcrpl'.  sviy,  and  is  much 
dissension  sown  -^aiong  t,;  menilj^rs,  ,'iS  c.l  yore  w.-vj 
stirrr-d  up  in  vnc  cawf.  of  iht  brawling  warmiTr  oi 
Greece. 

The  council  of  tho  kague,  as  f  havu  s>iowii  in  my 
last  chapter,  had  aiready  anii<vinc'-d  it.'i  ho.stiU  de*  :r 
minations,  and  already  was  th:;  Aiiijlily  coli»ry  cl 
New-Haven,  and  the  puissant  torvi  ol  ''iqa.i);,  oth- 
erwise called  VN'i:athiTsheld-.-(amous  tsc  its  onions 
and  its  vvitth-.s — aid  thr  i'reat  tradi  ip  hju;e  oj 
Hartf'jrd,  and  all  the  otfu-.r  retlol  tade  border 
towns,  in  .i  prodigious  turmoil,  turliishiii),  up  their 
rusty  to\>'.iii.„-]  ,»-Cfj,  and  stioiJii'i-j  aloud  lor  war  ;  by 
which  they  uniw.ip.ii  mI  <;as^  conquests,  and  gor),'eous 
spoils,  tnini  till'  iiule  fai  'Jutch  villages.  But  this 
J.>;o.i3  b.iwhng  was  soon  silenced  by  the  conduct 
r.'t  thf  colony  of  Massachusetts.  .Struck  with  the 
pallani  siiiru  of  the  brave  old  Peter,  and  convinced 
by  the  cUivalric  franknt-ss  and  heroic  warmth  of  his 
vindication,  they  refused  to  liclieve  him  guilty  of  the 
infamous  plot  most  wrongfully  laid  at  his  door.  With 
a  generosity  for  which  1  would  yield  them  immortal 
honour,  they  declared  that  no  determination  of  the 
grand  council  of  the  league  should  bind  the  general 
court  ot  Massachusetts  to  join  in  an  offensive  wai 
which  should  appear  to  such  general  court  to  be 
unjust.* 


I*  - 


•  Hai.  CoL  Sim*  Pa*an. 


<yt) 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


!«■»■■"■.   . 


l.«..- 


'•     [ 


i-^''\ 


it     -  ' 

■■'•U-.  ;. 

•V,..-.- 

■  N*  .■■  ■.; 


^.-v,:,v 


I 


rnis  rctusal  immedialelv  involved  the  colony  of 
Massachusetts  and  the  other  combined  colonies  in 
very  serious  difficulties  and  disputes,  and  would  no 
doubt  have  produced  a  dissolution  of  the  confederacy, 
but  that  the  council  of  Amphyctions,  finding  that 
ihey  could  not  stand  alone,  if  mutilated  by  the  loss 
jf  so  important  a  member  as  Massachusetts,  were 
Sun  to  abandon  for  the  present  their  hostile  machi- 
nations against  the  Manhattoes.  Such  is  the  niarvel- 
'«u»  energj'  and  the  puissance  of  those  confederacies, 
i,omposed  of  a  number  of  stuidy,  self-willed,  discord- 
ant p;trts,  loosely  banded  together  by  a  puny  general 
government.  As  it  was,  however,  the  warlike  towns 
of  Connecticut  had  no  cause  to  deplore  this  disap- 
pointment ol  tl-;ir  martial  ardour ;  for  by  my  faith — 
though  the  combined  powers  of  the  league  might 
have  b<;en  too  potent,  in  the  end,  for  the  robustious 
warriors  of  the  Manhattoes  —  yet  in  the  interim 
would  the  lion-hearted  Peter  and  his  myrmidons 
have  choked  the  stomachful  heroes  of  Piquag  with 
their  own  onions,  and  have  given  the  other  little 
border  towns  such  a  scouring,  that  I  warrant  tftey 
would  have  had  no  stomach  to  squat  on  the  land,  or 
invade  the  hen-roost  of  a  New-Nederlander,  for  a 
century  to  come. 

Indeed,  there  was  more  than  one  cause  to  divert 
the  attention  of  the  good  people  of  the  east,  from 
their  hostile  purposes ;  for  just  about  this  time  were 
they  horribly  beleaguered  and  harassed  by  the  in- 
roads of  the  prince  of  darkness,  divers  of  whose 
liege  subjects  they  detected,  lurking  within  their 
camp,  all  of  whom  they  incontinently  roasted  as  so 
many  spies  and  dangerous  enemies.  Not  to  speak 
in  parables,  we  are  informed,  that  at  this  juncture 
".he  New-England  provinces  were  exceedingly  troub- 
nid  by  multitudes  of  losel  witches,  who  wrought 
r.uange  devices  to  beguile  and  distress  the  multi- 
!ude ;  and  notwithstanding  numerous  judicious  and 
L'loody  laws  had  been  enacted  against  all  "  solemn 
.onversing  or  compacting  with  the  divil,  by  way  of 
conjuracon  or  the  like,"*  yet  did  the  dark  crime  of 
witchcraft  continue  to  increase  to  an  alarming  de- 
gree, that  would  almost  transcend  belief,  were  not 
the  fact  too  well  authenticated  to  be  even  doubted 
for  an  instant. 

What  is  particularly  worthy  of  admiration  is,  that 
this  terrible  art,  which  so  long  has  baffled  the  pain- 
ful researches  and  abstruse  studies  of  philosophers, 
astrologers,  alchymists,  theurgists,  and  other  sages, 
was  chiefly  confined  to  the  most  ignorant,  decrepit, 
and  ugly  old  women  in  the  community,  who  had 
scarce^-  more  brains  than  the  broomsticks  they  rode 
upon. 

When  once  an  alarm  is  sounded,  the  public,  who 
love  dearly  to  be  in  a  panic,  are  not  long  in  want 
of  proofs  to  support  it — raise  but  the  cry  of  yellow 
fever,  and  immediately  every  headache,  and  indi- 
gestion, and  overflowing  of  the  bile,  is  pronounced 
the  terrible  epidemic.  In  like  manner,  in  the  present 
rnance,  whoever  was  troubled  with  colic  or  lum- 
'..'ago,  was  sure  to  be  bewitched  ;  and  woe  to  any 
Uilucky  old  woman  that  lived  in  his  neighbourhood, 
iuch  a  hjwiing  abomination  could  not  be  suffered  to 
'«main  long  unnoticed,  and  it  accordingly  soon  at- 
tacted  the  tiery  indignation  of  the  sober  and  reflect- 
ive part  of  the  community — more  especially  of  those, 
who,  whilome,  had  evinced  so  much  active  benevo- 
lence in  the  conversion  of  Quakers  and  Anabaptists. 
The  grand  council  of  the  Amphyctions  publicly  set 
their  faces  against  so  deadly  and  dangerous  a  sin  ; 
uid  a  severe  scrutiny  took  place  after  those  nefarious 
witches,  who  were  easily  detected  by  devil's  pinches, 
black  cats,  broomsticks,  and  the  circumstance  of 


*  Nm.PlvBOBth  ItMord. 


their  only  being  able  to  weep  three  tears,  ana  thoa* 
out  of  the  left  eye. 

It  is  incredible  the  number  of  ofTences  that  wetc 
detected,  "  for  every  one  of  which,"  says  the  pro. 
found  and  reverend  Cotton  Mather,  in  that  excellent 
work,  the  History  of  New-England — "  we  Lave  such 
a  sufficient  evidence,  that  no  reasonable  man  in  this 
whole  country  ever  did  question  them ;  anj  it  wit' 
be  unreasonable  to  do  it  in  any  other."* 

Indeed,  that  authentic  and  judicious  historian 
John  Josselyn,  Gent.,  furnishes  us  with  unquestion 
able  facts  on  this  subject.  "  There  are  none,"  ob 
serves  he,  "  that  beg  in  this  country,  but  there  b« 
witches  too  many — bottle-bellied  witches  and  others. 
that  produce  many  strange  apparitions,  if  you  will 
believe  report,  of  a  shallop  at  sea  manned  with  wom- 
en—and of  a  ship,  and  great  red  horse  standing 
by  the  mainmast ;  the  ship  being  in  small  cove  to 
the  eastward,  vanished  of  a  sudden,"  etc. 

The  number  of  delinquents,  however,  and  their 
magical  devices,  were  not  more  remarkable  than 
their  diabolical  obstinacy.  Though  exhorted  in  the 
most  solemn,  persuasive,  and  affectionate  manner,  to 
confess  themselves  guilty,  and  be  burnt  for  the  i^ood 
of  religion,  and  the  entertainment  of  the  public ;  yet 
did  they  most  pertinaciously  persist  in  asserting  theii 
innocence.  Such  incredible  obstinacy  was  in  itselt 
deserving  of  immediate  punishment,  and  was  sutli- 
cient  proof,  if  proof  were  necessary,  that  they  were 
in  leagiie  with  the  devil,  who  is  perverseness  itself. 
But  their  judges  were  just  and  merciful,  and  were 
determined  to  punish  none  that  were  not  convicted 
on  the  best  of  testimony ;  not  that  they  needed  any 
evidence  to  satisfy  their  own  minds,  for,  like  true  and 
experienced  judges,  their  minds  were  perfectly  mad; 
up,  and  they  were  thoroughly  satisfied  of  the  guil< 
of  the  prisoners,  before  they  proceeded  to  try  them, 
but  still  something  was  necessary  to  convince  the 
community  at  large — to  quiet  those  prying  quidnuncs 
who  should  come  after  them — in  short,  the  world 
must  be  satisfied.  Oh,  the  world — the  world  !— all 
the  world  knows  the  world  of  trouble  the  world  in 
eternally  occasioning! — The  worthy  judges,  there- 
fore, were  driven  to  the  necessity  of  sifting,  detect- 
ing, and  making  evident  as  noon-day,  matters  which 
were  at  the  commencement  all  clearly  understood 
and  firmly  decided  upon  in  their  own  pericraniums— 
so  that  it  may  truly  be  said  that  the  witches  were 
burnt  to  gratify  the  populace  of  the  day — but  were 
tried  for  the  satisfaction  of  the  whole  worid  that 
should  come  after  them. 

Finding,  therefore,  that  neither  exhortation,  sound 
reason,  nor  friendly  entreaty  had  any  avail  on  these 
hardened  offenders,  they  resoned  to  the  more  urgent 
arguments  of  the  torture,  and  having  thus  abso 
lutely  wrung  the  truth  from  their  stubborn  lips, 
they  condemned  them  to  undergo  the  roasting  due 
unto  the  heinous  crimes  they  had  confessed.  Some 
even  canied  their  perverseness  so  far  as  to  expire 
under  the  torture,  protesting  their  iniAOcence  to  the 
last ;  but  these  ^ere  looked  uix>n  as  thoroughly  and 
absolutely  possessed  by  the  devil,  and  the  pious  by- 
standers only  lamented  that  they  had  not  lived  a  lit 
tie  loneer,  to  have  perished  in  the  flames. 

In  the  city  of  Ephcsus,  we  are  told  that  thr 
plague  was  expelled  by  stoning  a  ragged  old  beggai 
to  death,  whom  Appoionius  pointed  out  as  being 
the  evil  spirit  that  caused  it,  and  who  actually 
showed  himself  to  be  a  demon,  by  changing  into  a 
shagged  dog.  In  like  manner,  and  by  measures 
equaUy  sagacious,  a  salutary  check  was  pven  to  th'i 
growing  evil.  The  witches  were  all  burnt,  banished, 
or  panic-struck,  and  in  a  little  while  there  wai  not 

•  Malhw'i  Hill,  iitw-tag.,  b.  6.  ck,  *. 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW -YORK. 


407 


ree  tears,  ana  thios< 


an  ugly  old  woman  to  be  found  throughout  New- 
England — which  is  doubtless  one  reason  why  all  the 
young  women  there  are  so  handsome.  Those  hon- 
est folk  who  had  suffered  from  their  incantations 
gradually  recovered,  excepting  such  as  had  been 
afflicted  with  twitches  and  aches,  which,  however, 
assumed  the  less  alarming  aspect  of  rheumatism, 
sciatics,  and  lumbaeos — and  the  good  people  of 
New-England,  abandoning  the  studv  of  the  occult 
tciences,  turned  their  attention  to  the  more  profit- 
tble  hocus-pocus  of  trade,  and  soon  became  expert 
a  the  legerdemain  art  of  turning  a  penny.  Still, 
lowever,  a  tinge  of  the  old  leaven  is  discernible, 
even  unto  this  day,  in  their  characters — witches  oc- 
casionally start  up  among  them  in  different  dis- 
guises, as  physicians,  civilians,  and  divines.  The 
people  at  large  show  a  keenness,  a  cleverness,  and 
a  profundity  of  wisdom  that  savours  strongly  of 
witchcraft — and  it  has  been  remarked,  that  when- 
ever any  stones  fall  from  the  moon,  the  greatet  part 
of  them  are  sure  to  tumble  into  New-England  , 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WHICH  RKCORDS  THE  RISE  AND  RENOWN  OF  A 
VALIANT  COMMANDER.  SHOWING  THAT  A 
MAN,  LIKE  A  BLADDER,  MAY  BK  PUFFED  UP 
TO  GREATNESS  AND  IMPORTANCE  BY  MERE 
WIND. 

When  treating  of  these  tempestuous  times,  the 
unknown  writer  of  the  Stuyvesant  manuscript 
breaks  out  into  a  vehement  apostrophe,  in  praise 
of  \he  good  St.  Nicholas ;  to  whose  protecting  care 
he  entirely  ascribes  the  strange  dissens'^'^s  that 
broke  out  in  the  council  of  the  Amphyctions,  and 
the  direful  witchcraft  that  prevailed  in  the  east  coun- 
try— whereby  the  hostile  machinations  against  tlie 
iS'ederlanders  were  for  a  time  frustrated,  and  his  fa- 
vourite city  of  New-Amsterdam  preserved  from  im- 
minent peril  and  deadly  warfare.  Darkness  and 
lowering  superstition  hung  over  the  fair  valleys  of 
the  east ;  the  pleasant  banks  of  the  Connecticut  no 
longer  echoed  with  the  sounds  of  rustic  gayety; 
direful  phantoms  and  portentous  apparitions  were 
seen  in  th«!  air — gliding  spectrunis  naunted  every 
wild  brook  and  dreary  glen — strange  voices,  made 
by  viewless  forms,  were  neard  in  desert  solitudes — 
and  the  border  towns  were  so  occupied  in  detecting 
and  punishing  the  knowing  old  women  who  had  pro- 
duced these  alarming  ap[)earances,  that  for  a  while 
the  province  of  Nieuw-Nederlandt  and  its  inhabit- 
ants were  totally  forgotten. 

The  great  Peter,  therefore,  finding  that  nothing 
was  to  be  immed'atelv  apprehended  from  his  eastern 
neighbours,  turned  nimsclf  about,  with  a  praise- 
worthy vigilance  that  ever  distinguished  him,  to  put 
a  stop  to  3ie  insults  of  the  Swedes.  These  freeboot- 
ers, my  attentive  reader  will  recollect,  had  begun  to 
be  very  troublesome  towards  the  latter  part  of  the 
reign  of  William  the  Testy,  having  set  the  procla- 
mations of  that  doughty  little  governor  at  nought, 
and  put  the  intrepid  Jan  Jansen  A)  jendam  to  a  per- 
fect nonplus  I    ' 

Peter  Stuyvesant,  however,  as  has  already  been 
il\own,  was  a  governor  of  different  habits  and  turn 
of  mind — without  more  ado,  he  innri-diately  issued 
I  rders  for  raising  a  corps  of  troops  to  be  stationed 
n  the  southern  frontier,  under  the  command  of  brig- 
alier-general  Jacobus  Van  Poffenburgh.  This  illus- 
iriuus  warrior  had  risen  to  great  importance  during 
the  reign  of  Wilhelmus  KieR.  and  if^  histories  speak 
inie,  was  MBond  in  comm&^id  to  the  hapless  Van 
Vol.  11.— «. 


Curlet,  when  he  and  his  ragged  regiment  were  inhu 
manly  kicked  out  of  Fort  Good  Hope  by  the  Van 
kees.  In  consequence  of  having  been  in  su^h  t 
"  memorable  affair,"  and  of  having  received  more 
wounds  on  a  certain  honourable  part  that  shall  bt 
nameless  than  any  of  his  comrades,  he  was  evet  aftei 
considered  as  a  hero,  who  had  "seen  some  service.' 
Certain  it  is,  he  enjoyed  the  unlimited  confidence  and 
friendship  of  William  the  Testy ;  who  would  sit  fc 
hours,  and  listen  with  wonder  to  his  gunpowder  nar 
ratives  of  surprising  victories — he  had  never  gained 
and  dreadful  battles — from  which  he  had  run  away 

It  was  tropically  observed  by  honest  old  Socrates, 
that  heaven  tiad  infused  into  some  men  at  their  birth 
a  portion  of  intellectual  gold ;  into  others  of  intel- 
lectual silver;  while  others  were  bounteously  fur- 
nished oat  with  abundance  of  brass  and  iron — no<w 
of  this  last  class  was  undoubtedly  the  great  Genera) 
Van  Poffenburgh ;  and  from  the  display  he  continu- 
ally made  thereof,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  dame 
Nature,  who  will  sometimes  be  partial,  had  blessed 
him  with  enough  of  those  valuable  materials  to  have 
fitted  up  a  dozen  ordinary  braziers.  But  what  is 
most  to  be  admired  is,  that  he  contrived  to  pass  off 
all  his  brass  and  copper  upon  Wilhelmus  Kieft,  who 
was  no  great  judge  of  base  coin,  as  pure  and  genu- 
ine gold.  The  consequence  was,  that  upon  the  res- 
ignation of  Jacobus  Van  Curlet,  who,  after  the  loss 
of  Fort  Good  Hope,  retired,  like  a  veteran  general, 
to  live  under  the  shade  of  his  laurels,  the  mighty 
"  copper  captain  "  was  promoted  to  his  stat'on.  This 
he  filled  with  great  importance,  always  styling  him 
self  "  commander-in-chief  of  the  armies  of  New 
Netherlands ;"  though,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  armiejii. 
or  rather  army,  consisted  of  a  handful  of  hen-steal- 
ing, bottle-bruising  ragamuffins. 

Such  was  the  character  of  the  warrior  appointoij 
by  Peter  Stuyvesant  to  defend  his  southern  frontier 
nor  may  it  be  uninteresting  to  my  reader  to  have  a 
glimpse  of  his  person.  He  was  not  very  tall,  hut 
notwithstanding,  a  huge,  full-bodied  man.  whose  bulk 
did  not  so  much  arise  from  his  being  fat,  as  wind)  ; 
being  so  completely  inflated  with  his  own  impor- 
tance, that  he  resembled  one  of  those  bags  of  wind 
which  iColus,  in  an  incredible  fit  of  generosity,  gave 
to  that  wandering  warrior  Ulysses. 

His  dress  comported  with  his  character,  for  he  had 
almost  as  much  brass  and  copjier  without  as  nature 
had  stored  away  within — his  coat  was  crossed  and 
slashed,  and  carbonadoed  with  stripes  of  copper 
lace,  and  swathed  round  the  body  with  a  crimson 
sash,  of  the  site  and  texture  of  a  fishing-net,  doubt- 
less to  keep  his  valiant  heart  from  burstmg  through 
his  ribs.  His  head  and  whiskers  were  profusely 
powdered,  from  the  midst  of  which  his  full-blooded 
face  glowed  like  a  fiery  furnace ;  and  his  magnani- 
mous soul  seemed  reaay  to  bounce  out  at  a  pair  of 
large,  glassy,  blinking  eyes,  which  projected  like  those 
of  a  lobster. 

I  swear  to  thee,  worthy  reader,  if  report  belie  not 
this  warrior,  I  would  give  all  the  money  in  my  pocket 
to  have  seen  him  accoutred  cap-a-rie,  in  martial  ar 
ray — booted  to  the  middle — sashed  to  the  chin — coi 
lared  to  the  ears — whiskered  to  the  teeth — crowncc 
with  an  overshadowing  cocked  hat,  and  girded  wit) 
a  leathern  belt  ten  inches  broad,  from  which  trailec. 
a  falchion,  of  a  length  that  I  dare  not  mention.  Thu.' 
equipped,  he  strutted  about,  as  bitter-looking  a  miui 
of^  war  as  the  far-famed  More  of  More  Hall,  wher 
he  sallied  forth,  armed  at  all  points  to  slay  th' 
Dragon  of  Wantley.* 

*  "  Had  you  but  M«n  hia  in  hu  draw 
How  fierce  he  look'd  and  how  big : 
You  would  have  thought  him  fat  to  M 
Soma  Egyptian  Po  tcupig. 


r\0 


^' 


498 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


,'*?►'."'  * 


■  rl'-'f'' 


•i!'' 


,:Ji#ii! 


Notwithstanding  all  tiiese  great  endowments  and 
tiiuiscendent  qualities  of  this  renrwncd  general,  I 
must  confess  he  was  not  exactly  the  kind  of  man  that 
the  gallant  Peter  would  have  chosen  to  command 
his  troops — but  the  truth  is,  that  in  those  days  the 
province  did  not  abound,  as  at  present,  in  great  mil- 
itary characters  ■  who,  like  so  many  Cincinn.ituses, 
people  evf;ry  little  village — marshalling  out  cabbages 
Ins'ead  of  soldiers,  and  signalizing  themselves  in  the 
CO' n -field,  instead  of  the  field  of  battle  ; — who  have 
Mil  rendered  the  toils  of  war  for  the  more  useful  but 
inglorious  arts  of  peace ;  and  so  blended  the  laurel 
with  the  olive,  that  you  may  have  a  general  for  a 
landlord,  a  colonel  for  a  stage-driver,  and  your  horse 
shod  by  a  valiant  "captain  of  volunteers.'  The  re- 
doubtable General  Van  Potfcnburgh,  therefore,  was 
appointed  to  the  command  of  the  new-levied  troops, 
chiefly  because  there  were  no  competitors  for  the 
station,  and  partly  because  it  would  have  bet-n  a 
breach  of  military  etiquette  to  have  appointed  a 
younger  officer  over  his  head — an  injustice  which 
the  great  Peter  would  have  rather  died  than  have 
committed. 

No  sooner  did  this  thrice-valiant  copper  captain 
receive  marching  orders,  than  he  conducted  his  army 
undauntedly  to  the  southern  frontier ;  through  wild 
lands  and  savage  deserts ;  over  insurmountable  moun- 
tains, across  impassable  floods,  and  through  impene- 
trable forests ;  subduing  avast  trict  of  uninhabited 
country,  and  encountering  more  perils,  according  to 
his  own  account,  than  did  ever  the  great  Xenophon 
in  his  far-famed  retreat  with  his  ten  thousand  Gre- 
cians. All  this  accomplished,  he  established  on  the 
South  (or  Delaware)  river,  a  redoubtable  redoubt, 
named  Forf  Casimir,  in  honour  of  a  favourite  pair 
Ot  brimstone-coloured  trunk  breeches  of  the  gov- 
ernor. As  this  fort  will  be  found  to  give  rise  to  very 
unportant  and  interesting  events,  it  may  be  worth 
while  to  notice  that  it  was  afterwards  called  Nieuw- 
Amstel,  and  was  the  original  germ  of  the  present 
flourishing  town  of  New-Castle,  an  appellation 
erroneously  substituted  for  No  Castle,  there  neither 
being,  nor  ever  having  been,  a  castle,  or  any  thing 
of  the  kind,  upon  the  premises. 

The  Swedes  did  not  suffer  tamely  this  menacing 
trovement  of  the  Nederlanders ;  on  the  contrary, 
Jan  Prinlz,  at  that  time  governor  of  New-Sweden, 
issued  a  protest  against  what  he  termed  an  encroach- 
ment upon  his  jurisdiction.  But  Van  Poffenburgh 
had  become  too  well  versed  in  the  nature  of  procui- 
mations  and  protests,  while  he  served  under  William 
the  Testy,  to  be  in  any  wise  daunted  by  such  paper 
warfare.  His  fortress  being  finished,  it  would  have 
done  any  man's  heart  good  to  behold  into  what  a 
magnitude  he  immediately  swelled.  He  would  stride 
in  and  out  a  dozen  times  a  day,  surveying  it  in  front 
and  in  rear ;  on  this  side  and  on  that.  Then  would 
he  dress  himself  in  full  regimentals,  ami  strut  back- 
wards and  forwards,  for  hours  together,  on  the  top 
of  his  little  rampjirt — like  a  vain->;lorious  cock-pigeon 
vapouring  on  the  top  of  his  coop.  In  a  word,  un- 
less my  readers  have  noticed,  with  curious  eye,  the 
petty  commander  of  one  of  our  little,  snivelling  mili- 
tary posts,  swelling  with  all  the  vanity  of  new  regi- 
Jiei  als,  and  the  pomposity  derived  from  command- 
ing a  handfull  of  tatterdemalions,  I  despair  of  giving 
hem  any  adequate  idea  of  the  prodigious  dignity  of 
^neral  Van  Poffenburgh. 

It  is  recorded,  in  the  delectable  romance  of  Pierce 
Forest,  that  a  young  knight  being  dubbed  by  king 

"  H*  frighted  (II,  caU,  dogs,  and  all, 
Eacu  cuw,  bach  hone,  and  each  ho|( ; 
For  fear  they  did  Aec,  for  they  took  hia  to  be 
SJoae  itraaft  eutlandiih  bedgo-hog." 

Hallad  o/Drmt.  if  Want. 


Alexander,  did  incontinently  gallop  into  an  adjoiruiP 
forest,  and  belaboured  the  trees  with  such  might  and 
main,  that  the  whole  court  was  convinced  that  \\t 
was  the  most  potent  and  courageous  gentleman  on 
the  face  of  the  earth.  In  like  manner  the  great  Van 
Poffenburgh  would  ease  off  that  valorous  splern, 
which  like  wind  is  so  apt  to  grow  unruly  in  w't 
stomachs  of  new-made  soldiers,  impelling  thein  tc 
box-lobby  brawls  and  broken-headed  quarrels.  Fc 
at  such  times,  when  he  found  his  martial  spirit  wax- 
ing hot  within  him,  he  woulc  prudently  sally  lonl 
into  the  fields,  and  lugging  out  his  trusty  sa! in 
would  lay  about  him  most  lustily,  decapitating  cah 
bages  by  platoons;  hewing  down  whole  phalanxi, 
of  sunflowers,  which  he  termed  gigantic  Swedes , 
and  if,  peradventure,  he  espied  a  colony  cf  hontst, 
big-bellied  pumpkins  quietly  basking  Iheinselves  in 
the  sun,  "  Ah,  caitiflF  Yankees,"  would  he  roar,  "  havt 
I  caught  ye  at  last  ?  " — so  saying,  with  one  swcip 
of  his  sword,  he  would  cleave  the  unhappy  vegctahlis 
from  their  chins  to  their  waistbands;  by  which 
warlike  havoc  his  choler  being  in  some  sort  ail.iMt! 
he  would  return  to  his  garrison  with  a  full  convit  lion 
that  he  was  a  very  miracle  of  military  prowess. 

The  next  ambition  of  General  Van  Poffenhiirjjh 
was  to  be  thought  a  strict  disciplinarian.  Well 
knowing  that  discipline  is  the  soul  of  all  militatv  en- 
terprise, he  enforced  it  with  the  most  rigorous  pre 
cision  ;  obliging  every  man  to  turn  out  his  toes  and 
hold  up  his  head  on  parade,  and  prescribing  the 
breadth  of  their  ruffles  to  all  such  as  had  any  shirts 
to  their  backs. 

•  Having  one  day,  in  the  course  of  his  aevoiit  re 
searches  in  the  Bible,  (for  the  pious  Eneas  hirnsti' 
could  not  exceed  him  in  outward  religion,)  encoun 
tered  the  history  of  Absalom  and  his  melancholy  end 
the  general,  in  an  evil  hour,  issued  orders  for  crop 
ping  the  h.air  of  both  officers  and  men  throuf^houi 
the  garrison.  Now  it  came  to  pass,  that  amon^  liii 
officers  was  one  Kililermeester,  a  sturdy  veteran, 
who  had  cherished,  through  the  course  of  a  long  life, 
a  rugged  mop  of  hair,  not  a  little  resembling  the 
shag  of  a  Newfoundland  dog,  terminating  with  an 
immoderate  queue  like  the  handle  of  a  fryin;j-pan  ; 
and  queued  so  tightly  to  'ds  head,  that  his  eyes  and 
mouth  generally  stood  ajar,  and  his  eyebrows  were 
drawn  up  to  the  top  of  his  forehead.  It  may  natural- 
ly be  supposed  that  the  possessor  of  so  goodly  an  ap 
pendage  would  resist  with  abhorrence  an  order  con- 
demning it  to  the  shears.  On  hearing  the  general 
orders,  ne  discharged  a  tempest  of  veteran,  soldier- 
like oaths,  and  dunder  and  blixums— swore  he  would 
break  any  man's  head  who  attempted  to  meddle  with 
his  tail--queued  it  stiffer  than  ever,  and  whisked 
it  about  the  garrison  as  fiercely  as  the  tail  of  a 
crocodile. 

The  eel-skin  queue  of  old  Kildermeester  became 
instantly  an  affair  of  the  utmost  importance.  The 
commander-in-chief  was  too  enlightened  an  officer 
not  to  perceive  that  the  discipline  of  the  garrison,  the 
subordination  and  good  order  of  the  armies  of  the 
Nieuw-Nederlandls,  the  consequent  safety  of  the 
whole  province,  and  ultimately  the  dignity  and  pros- 
perity of  their  High  Mightinesses,  the  Lonis  States 
General,  but  above  all,  tne  dignity  of  the  great  Gen- 
eral Van  Poffienburgh,  all  imperiously  demanded  the 
docking  of  that  stul)bom  queue.  He  therefore  de- 
termined that  old  Kildermeester  should  be  publicly 
shorn  of  his  glories  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  gar- 
rison—the old  man  as  resolutely  stood  on  the  de 
fensive — whereupon  the  general,  as  became  a  great 
man,  was  highly  exasperated,  and  the  offender  was 
arrested  and  tried  by  a  court-martial  for  mutiny  de- 
sertion, and  all  the  other  list  of  oflicnces  noticed  ir 
the  articles  of  war.  ending  w  th  i  "  videlicet,  in  wea» 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


499 


mg  an  eel-skin  queue,  three  feet  long,  contrary  to 
orders." —Then  came  on  arraigfnments,  and  tnals, 
and  pleadings;  and  the  whole  cour  ry  was  in  a  fer- 
ment about  this  unfortunate  queue  As  it  is  well 
known  that  the  commander  of  a  distant  frontier 
post  has  the  power  of  acting  pretty  much  after  his 
own  will,  there  is  little  doubt  that  the  veteran  would 
have' been  hanged  or  shot  at  least,  had  he  not  luckily 
fallen  ill  of  a  fever,  through  mere  chagrin  and  morti- 
fication—  and  most  flagitiously  deserted  from  all 
earthly  command,  with  his  beloved  locks  unviolated. 
H^s  obstinacy  remained  unshaken  to  the  very  last 
niomenl,  when  he  directed  that  he  should  be  carried 
to  his  gi  ive  with  his  eel-skin  queue  sticking  out  of  a 
hole  in  his  coffin. 

This  magnanimous  affair  obtained  the  general 
great  credit  as  an  excellent  disciplinarian,  but  it  is 
hinted  that  he  was  ever  after  subject  to  bad  dreams 
and  fearful  visitations  in  the  night — when  the  g^'i^zl] 
spectrum  of  old  Kildermeester  would  stand  sentinel 
by  his  bed-side,  erect  as  a  pump,  his  encrmous  queue 
strutting  out  like  the  handle. 


BOOK  VI. 

CONl  AINING  THE  SECOND  PART  OF  THE  REIGN  OF 
PE1ER  THE  HEADSTRONG,  AND  HIS  GALLANT 
ACHIEVEMENTS  ON  THE  DELAWARE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

[ti  WHICH  IS  EXHIBITED  A  WARLIKE  PORTRAIT 
or  THE  GREAT  PETER  —  AND  HOW  GENERAL 
VAN  POFFENBURGH  DISTINGUISHED  HIMSELF 
AT   FORT  CAS! MIR. 

Hitherto,  most  venerable  and  courteous  reader, 
have  I  shown  thee  the  administration  of  the  valorous 
Stuyvesant,  under  the  mild  moonshine  of  peace,  or 
rather  the  grim  tranquillity  of  awful  expectation  ;  but 
now  the  war-drum  rumbles  from  afar,  the  brazen 
trumpet  brays  its  thrilling  note,  and  the  rude  clash  of 
hostile  arms  speaks  fearful  prophecies  of  coming 
troubles.  The  gallant  warrior  starts  from  soft  repose, 
from  golden  visions,  and  voluptuous  ease ;  where,  in 
the  dulcet,  "piping  time  of  peace,"  he  sought  sweet 
solace  after  all  his  toils.  No  more  in  beauty's  syren 
lap  reclined,  he  weaves  fair  garlands  for  bis  laidy's 
brows ;  no  more  entwines  with  flowers  his  shining 
sword,  nor  through  the  Hve-long  lazy  summer's  day 
chants  forth  his  lovesick  soul  in  madrigals.  To  man- 
hood roused,  he  spurns  the  amorous  flute  ;  doffs  from 
his  brawny  back  the  robe  of  peace,  and  clothes  his 
pampered  limbs  in  panoply  of  steel.  O'er  his  dark 
brow,  where  late  the  myrtle  waved,  where  wanton 
roses  breathed  enervate  love,  he  rears  the  beaming 
casque  and  nodding  plume  ;  grasps  the  bright  shield 
uid  shakes  the  ponderous  lance  ;  or  mounts  with 
czger  pride  his  hery  steed,  and  bums  for  deeds  of 
{lorious  chivalry ! 

But  soft,  worthy  reader!  I  would  not  have  vou 
'magine,  that  any  preux  chevalier,  thus  hideously  lic- 
ArX.  with  iron,  existed  in  the  city  of  New-A:nster- 
oam.  This  is  but  a  lofty  and  gigantic  mode  in  which 
heroic  writers  always  talk  of  war,  thereby  to  give  it 
a  noble  and  imposing  aspect ;  equipping  our  warriors 
with  bucklers,  nelmf ,  and  lances,  and  such  like  out- 
landish and  obsolete  weapons,  the  like  of  which  per- 
chance they  had  never  seen  or  heard  of;  in  the  same 
nanner  that  -k  cunning  ttatuary  arrays  a  modern 


general  or  an  admiral  in  the  accoutrements  ot  a 
Caesar  or  an  Alexander.  The  simple  truth,  then,  ot 
all  this  oratorical  flourish  is  this — that  the  valiant 
Peter  Stuyvesant  all  of  a  sudden  found  it  necessary 
to  scour  his  trusty  blade,  which  too  long  had  rusted 
in  its  scabbard,  and  prepare  himself  to  undergo  thoM 
hardy  toils  of  war  in  which  his  .mighty  soul  so  muck 
delighted. 

Methinks  I  at  this  moment  t^hold  him  in  my  in^* 
agination — or  rather,  I  behold  his  goodly  portrait, 
which  still  hangs  up  n  the  family  mansion  of  the 
Stuyvesants — arrayed  in  all  the  terrors  of  a  true 
Dutch  general.  His  regimental  coat  of  German 
blue,  gorgeously  decorated  with  a  goodly  show  of 
large  brass  buttons  reaching  from  his  waistband  to 
his  chin.  The  voluminous  skirts  tu.  .ned  up  at  the 
corners,  and  separating  gallantly  behind,  so  as  to  dis- 
pi.iy  the  seat  of  a  sumptuous  pair  of  brimstone- 
co  oured  trunk  breeches — a  graceful  style  still  preva- 
V.it  among  the  warriors  of  our  day,  and  which  is  in 
conformity  to  the  custom  of  ancient  heroes,  who 
scorned  to  defend  themselves  in  the  rear. — His  face 
rendered  exceedingly  terrible  and  warlike  by  a  pair 
of  black  mustachios ;  his  hair  strutting  out  on  each 
side  in  stiffly  pomatumed  ear-locks,  and  descending 
in  a  rat-tail  queue  below  his  waist ;  a  shining  stock 
of  black  leather  supporting  his  chin,  and  a  little  but 
fierce  cocked  hat  stuck  with  a  gallant  and  ^ery  air 
over  his  left  eye.  Such  'was  the  chivalric  port  of 
Peter  the  Headstrong ;  and  when  he  made  a  sudden 
halt,  planted  himself  firmly  on  his  solid  supporter, 
with  his  wooden  leg  inlaid  with  silver,  a  little  in  ad- 
vance, in  order  to  strengthen  his  position,  his  right 
hand  grasping  a  gold-headed  cane,  his  left  resting 
upon  the  pummel  of  his  sword ;  his  head  dressinc 
spiritedly  to  the  right,  with  a  most  appalling  and 
hard-favoured  frown  upon  his  brow — he  presented 
altogether  one  of  the  most  commanding,  bitter-look 
ing,  and  soldier-like  figures  that  ever  strutted  upon 
canvas.  Proceed  we  now  to  inquire  the  cause  of 
this  warlike  preparation. 

The  encroaching  disposition  of  the  Swedes,  on  the 
South,  or  Delaware  river,  has  been  duly  recorded  in 
the  chronicles  of  the  reign  of  William  the  Testy. 
These  encroachments  having  been  endured  with 
that  heroic  magnanimity  which  is  the  comer-stone 
of  true  courage,  had  been  repeatedly  and  wickedly 
aggravated. 

The  Swedes,  who  were  of  that  class  of  cunning 
pretenders  to  Christianity,  who  read  the  Bible  upside- 
down,  whenever  it  interferes  with  their  interests,  in- 
verted the  golden  maxim,  and  when  their  neighbour 
suffered  them  to  smite  him  on  the  one  cheek,  they 
generally  smote  him  on  the  other  also,  whether  tum- 
ed  to  them  or  not.  Their  repeated  aggressions  had 
been  among  the  numerous  sources  of  vexation  that 
conspired  to  keep  the  irritable  sensibilities  of  Wil- 
helmus  Kiefl  in  a  constant  fever,  and  it  was  only 
owing  to  the  unfortunate  circumstance,  that  he  had 
always  a  hundred  things  to  dc  .t  once,  that  he  did 
not  take  such  unrelenting  vengeance  as  their  of- 
fences merited.  But  they  had  now  a  chieftain  of  s 
different  character  to  deal  with ;  and  they  were  soor 
guilty  of  a  piece  ot  treachery,  that  threw  his  honc» 
blood  into  a  ferment,  and  precluded  all  furthei 
sufferance. 

Printz,  the  governor  of  the  province  of  New 
Sweden,  being  either  deceased  or  removed,  for  of 
this  fact  some  uricertainty  exists,  was  succeeded  1^ 
Tan  Risingh,  a  gigantic  Swede,  and  who,  had  he  not 
been  rather  knock-kneed  and  splay-footed,  might 
have  served  for  the  model  of  a  Samson  or  a  Iikr- 
cules.  He  was  no  less  rapacious  than  mighty,  and 
withal  as  crafty  as  he  was  rapacious  ;  so  that,  in  tkct 
there  is  very  little  doubt,  had  he  lived  some  four  o 


soo 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


V-*-' 


T» 


f||i;  5;v.]r 


■'r 


■:'i*:^'! 


# 

jj;;,i 


five  oenturiei  before,  he  would  have  been  one  of 
those  wicked  giants,  who  took  such  a  cruel  pleasure 
in  pocketing  distressed  damsels,  when  gadding  about 
the  world,  and  locking  them  up  in  enchanted  cas- 
tles, without  a  toilet,  a  change  of  linen,  or  any  other 
convenience — in  consequence  of  which  enormities, 
they  fell  under  the  hieh  displeasure  of  chivalry,  and 
all  true,  loval,  and  gulant  Imights  were  instructed  to 
attack  and  slay  outright  any  miscreant  they  mieht 
happen  to  find,  above  six  feet  high ;  which  is  doubt- 
less one  reason  that  the  race  of  large  men  is  ne?rly 
extinct,  and  the  generations  of  latter  ages  so  exceed- 
ing small 

No  sooner  did  Governor  Risineh  enter  upon  his 
ofiSce,  than  he  iir«mediately  cast  his  eyes  upon  the 
important  post  of  Fort  Casimir,  and  formed  the 
rienteous  resolution  of  taking  it  into  his  possession. 
The  only  thing  that  remained  to  consider,  was  the 
mode  of  carryine  his  resolution  into  effect ;  and  here 
I  must  do  him  the  justice  to  say,  that  he  exhibited  a 
humanity  rarely  to  be  met  with  among  leaders,  and 
which  I  have  never  seen  equalled  in  modem  times, 
excepting  among  the  English,  in  their  glorious  affair 
at  Copenhagen.  Willing  to  spare  the  efiiision  of 
blood,  and  the  miseries  of  open  warfare,  he  benevo- 
lentlv  shunned  every  thing  like  avowed  hostility  or 
regular  siege,  and  resorted  to  the  less  glorious,  but 
more  mercinil  expedient  of  treachery. 

Under  pretence,  therefore,  of  paymg  a  neighbourly 
visit  to  General  Van  Poffenburgn,  at  his  new  post  of 
Fort  Casimir,  he  made  requisite  preparation,  sailed 
in  great  state  up  the  Delaware,  displayed  his  flag 
'.vith  the  most  ceremonious  punctilio,  and  honoured 
the  fortress  with  a  royal  salute,  previous  to  dropping 
anchor.  The  unusual  noise  awakened  a  veteran 
Dutch  sentinel,  who  was  napping  faithfully  at  his 
post,  and  who,  having  suffered  his  match  to  go  out, 
rontrived  to  return  the  compliment,  by  discharging 
fiis  rusty  musket  with  the  spark  of  a  pipe,  which  he 
iK>rrowed  from  one  of  his  comrades.  Tne  salute  in- 
deed would  have  been  answered  by  the  guns  of  the 
fert,  had  they  not  unfortunately  been  out  of  order, 
and  the  magazine  deficient  in  ammunition — accidents 
to  which  forts  have  in  all  ages  been  liable,  and  which 
were  the  more  excusable  in  the  present  instance,  as 
Fort  Casimir  had  only  been  erected  about  two  years, 
and  General  Van  Poffenburgh,  its  mighty  commander, 
had  been  fully  occupied  witn  matters  of  much  greater 
importance. 

Kisingh,  highly  satisfied  with  this  courteous  reply 
to  his  salute,  treated  the  fort  to  a  second,  for  he  well 
knew  its  commander  was  marvellously  delighted  with 
these  little  ceremonials,  which  he  considered  as  so 
many  acts  of  homage  paid  unto  his  greatness.  He 
then  landed  in  great  state,  attended  by  a  suite  of 
thirty  men — a  prodigious  and  vain-glorious  retinue, 
for  a  petty  governor  of  a  petty  settlement,  in  those 
days  of  pnmitive  simplicity  ;  and  to  the  full  as  great 
an  army  as  generally  swells  the  pomp  and  marches 
In  tl-ie  rear  of  our  frontier  commanders,  at  the  pres- 
ent day. 

The  number,  in  fact,  might  have  awakened  suspi- 
.ion,  had  not  the  mind  of  the  great  Van  Poffenburgh 
iecn  so  completely  engrossed  with  an  all-pervading 
dea  of  himself,  that  he  had  not  room  to  admit  a 
thought  besides.  In  fact,  he  considered  the  con- 
course of  Risingh's  followers  as  a  compliment  to 
himself — so  apt  are  great  men  to  stand  between 
themselves  and  the  sun,  and  completely  eclipse  the 
truth  by  their  own  shadow. 

It  may  readilv  be  imagined  how  much  (^neral 
Van  Ponenbufgn  was  flattered  by  a  visit  from  so 
augtist  a  personage;  his  only  embarrassment  was, 
how  he  should  receive  him  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
ippear  to  the  gteatest  advantage,  and  make  the  most 


advantageous  impression.    The  main  guard  was  u 
dered  immediately  to  turn  out,  and  the  arms  and  regi 
mentals  (of  which  the  garrison  possessed  full  half-a 
dozen  suits)  were  equally  distributed  among  the  sul 
diers.     On&  tall   lank   fellow  appeared  in  a  coal 
intended  for  a  small  man,  the  skirts  of  which  reach 
ed  a  little  below  his  waist,  the  buttons  were  betweei. 
his  shoulders,  and  the  sleeves  half-way  to  his  wrists 
so  that  his  hands  looked  like  a  couple  of  huge  spac'o 
— and  the  coat,  not  being  large  enough  to  meet  ir 
front,  was  linked  together  by  loops,  made  of  a  puii 
of  red  worsted  garters.    Another  had  an  old  cockei 
hat  stuck  on  the  back  of  his  head,  and  decoratt  ( 
with  a  bunch  of  cocks'  tails — a  third  had  a  pair  ol 
rusty  gaiters  hanging  about  his  heels — while  a  fourth 
who  was  short  and  duck-legged,  was  equipped  in  i< 
huge  pair  of  the  general's  cast-off  breeches,  which  hi 
held  up  with  one  hand,  while  he  grasped  his  firelrh  k 
with  the  other.    The  rest  were  accoutred  in  similai 
style,  excepting  three  graceless  ragamuffins,  who  h;ut 
no  shirts,  and  but  a  pair  and  a  half  of  breeches  h>: 
twetn'  them,  wherefore  they  were  sent  to  the  black 
hole  to  keep  them  out  of  view.    There  is  nothing  ir, 
which  the  talents  of  a  prudent  commander  are  niort 
completely  testified,   tnan  in  thus  settine  matters 
off  to  the  greatest  advantage ;  and  it  is  for  this  reason 
that  our  frontier  "osts  at  the  present  day  (that  ol 
Niagara  for  exani,.ie)  display  their  best  suit  of  regi- 
mentals on  the  back  of  the  sentinel  who  stands  in 
sight  of  travellers. 

His  men  being  thus  gallantly  arrayed — those  who 
lacked  muskets  shouldering  spades  and  pickaxes, 
and  every  man  being  ordered  to  tuck  in  his  shirt  tail 
and  pull  up  his  brogues — General  Van  Poffenbur^l 
first  took  a  sturdy  draught  of  foaming  a!e,  which,  hk( 
the  magnanimous  More  of  Morehall,*  was  his  inva 
riable  practice  on  all  great  oc^  ions — which  dont 
he  put  himself  at  their  head,  ordered  the  pine  planks 
which  served  as  a  draw-bridge,  to  be  laia  down,  anci 
issued  forth  from  his  castle  like  a  mighty  giant  jusi 
refreshed  with  wine.  But  when  the  two  heroes  met, 
then  began  a  scene  of  warlike  parade  and  chivalrii 
courtesy  that  beggars  all  description — Risingh,  who 
as  I  before  hinted,  was  a  shrewd,  cunning  politician 
and  had  grown  gray  much  before  his  time,  in  conse 
quence  of  his  craftiness,  saw  at  one  glance  the  ruiinj^ 
passion  of  the  great  Van  Poffenburgh,  and  humoiirt( 
him  in  all  his  valorous  fantasies. 

Their  detachments  were  accordingly  drawn  up  in 
front  of  each  other ;  they  carried  arms  and  they  pre- 
sented arms  ;  they  gave  the  standing  salute  anJ  th( 
passing  salute— they  rolled  their  drums  and  flour- 
ished their  fifes,  and  they  waved  their  colours — ihey 
faced  to  the  left,  and  tney  faced  to  the  right,  and 
they  faced  to  the  right  about  —  they  wheeled  for- 
ward, and  they  wheeled  backward,  and  they  whei-led 
into  echellon  —  they  marched  and  they  counier- 
marched,  by  grand  divisions,  by  single  divisions,  and 
by  sub-divisions — by  platoons,  by  sections,  and  by 
files — in  quick  time,  in  slow  time,  and  in  no  time  at 
all :  for,  having  gone  through  all  the  evolutions  of 
two  great  armies,  inchiding  the  eighteen  manoeuvres 
of  Dundas,  having  exhausted  all  that  they  could  rec- 
ollect or  imagine  of  military  tactics,  including  sundry 
strange  and  irregular  evolutions,  the  like  of  whicd 
was  never  seen  before  nor  since,  excepting  among 
certain  of  our  newly-raised  militia,  the  two  great 
commanders  and  their  respective  troops  came  at 
length  to  a  dead  halt,  completely  exhausted  by  the 
toils  of  war.  Never  did  two  valiant  train-band  cap 
tains,  or  two  buskined  theatric  heroes,  in  tiie  re 


■  ai  ioon  ■(  ha  lOM, 


To  make  hioi  ttrong  aad  aighty. 
Ha  diaak  by  Uia  ula,  (U  poU  of  ala 
And  a  quart  of  aqtt»-*ita." 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


50i 


ooimed  tragedies  of  Pizarro,  Tom  Thumb,  or  any 
other  heroical  and  fighting  tragedy,  marshal  their 
eallows-lool(ing,  duck  legged,  heavy-heeled  myrmi- 
dons with  more  glory  and  self-admiration. 

These  military  compliments  being  finished.  Gen- 
eral Van  Potfenburgh  escorted  his  illustrious  visitor, 
with  great  ceremony,  into  the  fort ,  attended  him 
throughcut  the  fortifications ;  showed  him  the  '>om- 
works,  :i  nwn-works,  half-moons,  and  various  other 
outworlis  or  rather  the  places  where  they  ought  to 
!>e  erected  and  where  they  might  be  erected  if  he 
pleased ;  plainly  demonstrating  that  it  was  a  place 
of  great  capability,"  and  though  at  present  but  a 
little  redoubt,  yet  that  it  evidently  was  a  formidable 
fortress,  in  embryo.  This  survey  over,  he  next  had 
the  whole  garrison  put  under  arms,  exercised  and 
reviewed,  and  concluded  by  ordering  the  three  Bride- 
well birds  to  be  hauled  out  of  the  black  hole,  brought 
up  to  the  halberts  and  soundly  flogged  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  his  visitor,  and  to  convince  him  that  he  was 
i  great  disciplinarian. 

The  cunnmg  Risingh,  while  he  pretended  to  be 
struck  dumb  outright,  with  the  puissance  of  the 
great  Van  Poffenburgh,  took  silent  note  of  the  incom- 
petency of  his  garrison,  of  which  he  gave  a  hint  to 
his  trusty  followers,  who  tipped  each  othe.  the  wink, 
and  laughed  most  obstreperously — in  their  sleeves. 

The  inspection,  review,  and  flogging  being  con- 
cluded, the  party  adjourned  to  the  table ;  for  among 
!iis  other  great  qualities,  the  general  was  remarkably 
addicted  to  huge  entertainments,  or  rather  carousals, 
and  in  one  afternoon's  campaign  would  leave  more 
dead  men  on  the  field  than  he  ever  did  in  the  whole 
course  of  his  military  career.  Many  bulletins  of  these 
bloodless  victories  do  still  remain  on  record  ;  and 
the  whole  province  was  once  thrown  in  a  maze  by 
the  return  of  one  of  his  campaigns ;  wherein  it  was 
itated  that  though,  like  Captain  Bobadil,  he  had  only 
twenty  men  to  back  him,  yet  in  the  short  space  of 
lix  months  he  had  conquered  and  utterly  annihilated 
sixty  oxen,  ninety  hogs,  one  hundred  sheep,  ten  thou- 
sand cabbages,  one  thousand  bushels  of  potatoes, 
one  hundred  and  fifty  kilderkins  of  small-beer,  two 
thousand  seven  hundred  and  thirty-five  pipes,  sev- 
enty-eight pounds  of  sugar-plums,  and  forty  bars  of 
iron,  besides  sundry  small  meats,  game,  poultry,  and 
garden  stuff: — An  achievement  unparalleled  since 
the  days  of  Pantagruel  and  his  all-devouring  army, 
and  which  showed  that  it  was  only  necessary  to  let 
beUipotent  Van  Poffenburgh  and  his  garrison  loose 
in  an  enemy's  country,  and  in  a  little  while  they 
would  breed  a  famine  and  starve  all  the  inhabitants. 

No  sooner,  therefore,  had  the  general  received  the 
tirst  intimation  of  the  visit  of  Governor  Risingh,  than 
he  ordered  a  great  dinner  to  be  prepared  ;  and  pri- 
vately sent  out  a  detachment  of  his  most  experienced 
veterans  to  rob  all  the  hen-roosts  in  the  neighbour- 
hood and  'ay  the  pig-sties  under  contribution  ;  a 
service  to  which  they  had  been  long  inured,  and 
which  they  dischareed  with  such  incredible  zeal  and 
promptitude  that  the  garrison  table  groaned  under 
'he  weight  of  their  spous. 

I  wish,  with  all  my  heart,  my  readers  could  see 
he  valiant  Van  Poffenburgh,  as  he  presided  at  the 
tead  of  the  banquet ;  it  was  a  sight  worth  beholding : 
-there  he  sat,  in  his  greatest  glory,  surrounded  by 
lis  soldiers,  like  that  famous  wine-bibber,  Alexan- 
ier,  whose  thirsty  virtues  he  did  most  ably  imitate — 
telling  astounding  stories  of  his  hair-breadth  advent- 
ures and  heroic  exploits,  at  which,  though  all  his 
auditors  knew  them  to  be  most  incontinent  and  out- 
rageous gasconadoes,  yet  did  they  cast  up  their  eyes 
in  admiration  and  utter  many  interjections  of  aston- 
ishment. Nor  could  the  general  pronounce  any  thing 
that  bore  the  remotest  semblance  to  a  joke,  but  the 


stout  Risingh  would  strike  his  I  rawny  fist  upon  the 
table  till  every  glass  rattled  again,  throwing  nimsell 
back  in  the  chair  and  uttering  gigantic  rieals  of 
laughter,  swearing  most  horribly  it  was  the  best  joke 
he  ever  heard  in  his  life. — Thus  all  was  rout  and 
revelry  and  hideous  carousal  within  Fort  Casimir, 
and  so  lustily  did  Van  Poffenburgh  ply  the  bottle, 
that  in  less  than  four  short  hours  he  made  himself 
and  his  whole  garrison,  who  all  sedulously  emulates 
the  deeds  of  their  chieftain,  dead  drunk,  and  singing 
songs,  quaffing  bumpers,  and  drinking  patriotic 
toasts,  none  of  which  but  was  as  long  as  a  We  sh 
pedigree  or  a  plea  in  chancery. 

No  sooner  did  things  come  to  this  pass,  than  the 
crafty  Risiny;h  and-  his  Swedes,  who  had  cunningly 
kept  themselves  sober,  rose  on  their  entertainers,  tied 
them  neck  and  heels,  and  took  formal  possession  of 
the  fort,  and  all  its  dependencies,  in  the  name  of 
Queen  Christina  of  Sweden :  administering  at  the 
same  time  an  oath  of  allegiance  to  all  the  Dutch  sol- 
diers who  could  be  made  sober  enough  to  swallow  it 
Risingh  then  put  the  fortification  in  order,  appointed 
his  discreet  and  vigilant  friend,  Suen  Scutz,  a  tall, 
wind-dried,  water-drinking  Swede,  to  the  command, 
and  departed,  bearing  with  him  this  truly  amiable 
garrison,  and  their  puissant  commander ;  who,  when 
brought  to  himself^  by  a  sound  drubbing,  bore  no 
little  resemblance  to  a  "  deboshed  fish."  or  bloated 
sea-monster,  caught  upon  dry  land. 

The  transportation  of  the  garrison  was  done  to 
prevent  the  transmission  of  intelligence  to  New- Am- 
sterdam ;  for,  much  as  the  cunning  Risingh  exulted 
in  his  stratagem,  he  dreaded  the  vengeance  of  the 
sturdy  Peter  Stuyvesant ;  whose  name  spread  as 
much  terror  in  the  neighbourhood  as  dia  whilom 
that  of  the  unconquerable  Scanderberg  among  his 
scurvy  enemies,  the  Turks. 


CHAPTER  II. 

SHOWING  HOW  PROFOUND  SECRETS  ARE  OPTKN 
BROUGHT  TO  LIGHT;  WITH  THE  PROCEEDINGS 
OF  PETER  THE  HEADSTRONG,  WHEN  HE  HEARD 
OF  THE  MISFORTUNES  OF  GENERAL  VAN  POF- 
FENBURGH. 

Whoever  first  described  common  fame,  or  rumour, 
as  belonging  to  the  sager  sex,  was  a  very  owl  for 
shrewdness.  She  has,  in  truth,  certain  feminine 
qualities  to  an  astonishing  degree  ;  particularly  that 
benevolent  anxiety  to  take  care  of  the  affairs  of 
others,  which  keeps  her  continually  hunting  after 
secrets,  and  gadding  about  proclaiming  them.  What- 
ever is  done  ojjenly  and  in  the  face  of  the  world, 
she  takes  but  transient  notice  of;  but  whenever 
a  transaction  is  done  in  a  comer,  and  attempted 
to  be  shrouded  in  mystery,  then  her  goddess-ship 
is  at  her  wit's  end  to  find  it  out.  ar.d  takes  a  most 
mischievous  and  lady-like  pleasure  in  publishmg  it  to 
the  world. 

It  is  this  truly  feminine  propensity  that  induces 
her  continually  to  be  prying  into  ''^binets  of  princes, 
listening  at  the  key-holes  of  senate  chambers,  and 
peering  through  chinks  and  crannies,  when  our  wor- 
thy Congress  are  sitting  with  closed  doors,  deliber* 
ating  between  a  dozen  excellent  modes  of  ruining 
the  nation.  It  is  this  which  makes  her  so  obnoxiouf 
to  all  wary  statesmen  and  intriguing  commanders — 
such  a  stumbling-block  to  private  negoti.itions  and 
secret  expeditions;  which  she  often  betrays,  by 
means  and  instruments  which  never  would  have  been 
thought  of  by  any  but  a  female  head. 

Thus  it  was  in  the  case  of  the  affair  of  Fort  Casi- 


602 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


mir.  No  doubt  the  cunning  Risingh  imagined,  that 
by  securing  the  garrison  he  should  for  a  long  time 
prevent  the  history  of  its  fate  from  reaching  the 
ears  of  the  gallant  Stuyvesant ;  but  his  exploit 
was  blown  to  the  world  when  he  least  expected 
it,  and  by  one  of  the  last  beings  he  would  ever  have 
suspected  of  enlisting  as  trumpeter  to  the  wide- 
mouthed  deity. 

This  was  one  Dirk  Fchuiler,  (or  Skulker,)  a  ;ind 
of  hanger-on  to  the  garrison  ;  who  seemed  to  belong 
to  nobody,  and  in  a  manner  to  be  self-outlawed.  He 
n'as  one  of  those  vagabond  cosmopolites,  who  shark 
about  the  world  as  if  they  had  no  right  or  business 
in  it,  and  who  infest  the  skirts  of  society  like  poach- 
ers and  interlopers.  Every  garrison  and  country 
village  has  one  or  more  scape-goats  of  this  kind, 
whose  life  is  a  kind  of  enigma,  whose  existence  is 
without  motive,  who  comes  from  the  Lord  knows 
where,  who  lives  the  Lord  knows  how,  and  seems  to 
be  made  for  no  other  earthly  purpose  but  to  keep  up 
the  ancient  and  honourable  order  of  idleness.  This 
vagrant  philosopher  was  supposed  to  have  some  In- 
dian blood  in  his  veins,  which  was  manifested  by  a 
certain  Indian  complexion  and  cast  of  countenance  ; 
but  more  especially  by  his  propensities  and  habits. 
He  was  a  tall,  lank  fellow,  swift  of  foot  and  long- 
winded.  He  was  generally  eouipped  in  a  half  Indian 
dress,  with  belt,  leggpng^,  and  moccasons.  His  hair 
hung  in  straight  gallows  locks  about  his  ears,  and 
addeid  not  a  little  to  his  sharking  demeanour.  It  is 
an  old  remark,  that  persons  of  Indian  mixture  are 
half  civilized,  half  savage,  and  half  devil,  a  third  half 
being  expressly  provided  for  their  particular  conveni- 
ence. It  is  for  similar  reasons,  and  probably  with 
equal  truth,  that  the  back-wood-men  of  Kentucky 
are  styled  half  man,  half  horse,  and  half  alligator, 
by  the  settlers  on  the  Mississippi,  and  held  accord- 
\T^,y  in  great  respect  and  abhorrence. 

The  above  character  may  have  presented  itself  to 
the  garrison  as  applicable  to  Dirk  Schuiler,  whom 
they  familiarly  dubbed  Gallows  Dirk.  Certain  it  is, 
he  acknowledged  allegiance  to  no  one — was  an  utter 
enemy  to  work,  holuing  it  in  no  manner  of  estima- 
tion— but  louneed  about  the  fort,  depending  upon 
change  for  a  subsistence,  getting  drunk  whenever  he 
could  get  liquor,  and  stealing  whatever  he  could  lay 
his  hands  on.  Every  day  or  two  he  was  sure  to  get 
a  sound  rib-roasting  for  some  of  his  misdemeanours, 
which,  however,  as  it  broke  no  bones,  he  made  very 
light  of,  and  scrupled  not  to  repeat  the  offence,  when- 
ever another  opportunity  presented.  Sometimes,  in 
consequence  of  some  flagrant  villainy,  he  would  ab- 
scond from  the  c^rrison,  and  be  absent  for  a  month 
at  a  time ;  skulking  about  the  woods  and  swamps, 
with  a  long  fowling-piece  on  his  shoulder,  laying  in 
»mbush  for  game — or  squatting  himself  down  on  the 
edge  of  a  pond  catching  fish  for  hours  together,  and 
bearing  no  little  resemi  lance  to  that  notable  bird 
yclejjed  the  mudpoke.  When  he  thought  his  crimes 
had  been  forgotten  or  forgiven,  he  would  sneak  back 
to  the  fort  with  a  bundle  of  skins,  or  a  bunch  of 
poultry,  which  perchance  he  had  stolen,  and  would 
exchange  them  for  liquor,  with  which,  having  well 
soaked  his  carcass,  he  would  lay  in  the  sun  and 
enjoy  all  the  luxurious  indolence  of  that  swinish 
philosopher,  Diogenes.  He  was  the  terror  of  all  the 
'4rm-yards  in  the  country,  into  which  he  made  fear- 
ul  inroads ;  and  sometimes  he  would  n^ake  his  sud- 
den appearance  at  the  garrison  at  day-break,  with 
the  whole  neighborhood  at  his  heels,  like  a  scoundrel 
thief  of  a  fox,  detected  in  his  maraudings  and  hunted 
to  his  hole.  Such  was  this  Dirk  Schuiler ;  and  from 
the  total  indifference  he  showed  to  the  world  or  its 
ooncems,  and  from  his  truly  Indian  stoicism  and 
taciturnity,  no  one  would  ever  have  dreamt  that  he 


would  have  been  the  publisher  of  the  treacherv  n 
Risingh. 

When  the  carous.il  was  going  on,  which  pnn  d  sc 
fat.ll  to  the  brave  Van  Pofienburgh  and  his  w.itcbiu 
garrison.  Dirk  skulked  about  from  room  to  rodn, 
being  a  kind  of  privileged  vacant,  or  useless  houiui 
whom  nobody  noticed.  But  though  a  fellow  oi  u-w 
words,  yet,  like  your  taciturn  people,  his  eyes  an.i 
ears  were  always  open,  and  in  the  course  of  \\: 
prowlings  he  overheard  the  whole  plot  of  the  Swciic 
Dirk  immediately  settled  in  his  own  mind  hov/  lu 
should  turn  the  matter  to  his  own  advantai^e.  i  ic 
played  the  perfect  jack-of-both-sides — that  is  to  say 
he  made  a  prize  of  every  thing  that  came  in  h]< 
reach,  robbed  both  parties,  stuck  the  copper-bduij 
cocked-hat  of  the  puissant  Van  Poffenburgh  on  l.t 
head,  whipped  a  huge  pair  of  Kisingh's  jack-boof^ 
under  his  arms,  and  took  to  his  heels,  just  belore  ihr 
catastrophe  and  confusion  at  the  garrison. 

Finding  himself  completely  dislodged  from  his 
haunt  in  this  quarter,  he  directed  his  night  toward? 
his  native  place,  New-Amsterdam,  from  whenct-  he 
had  formerly  been  obliged  to  abscond  precipitately, 
in  consequence  of  misfortune  in  business — that  is  to 
say.  having  been  detected  in  the  act  of  sheep-stealing. 
After  wandering  many  days  in  the  woods,  toiling 
through  swamps,  fording  brooks,  swimming  various 
rivers,  and  encountering  a  world  of  hardships,  that 
would  have  killed  any  other  being  but  an  Indian,  a 
back-wood-man,  or  the  devil,  he  at  length  arrived. 
half  famished,  and  lank  as  a  starved  weasel,  at  Com- 
munipaw,  where  he  stole  a  canoe,  and  paddled  over 
to  New- Amsterdam.  Immediately  on  landing,  he  re- 
paired to  Governor  Stuyvesant,  and  in  more  wcrc's 
than  he  had  ever  spoken  before  in  the  whole  couiv 
of  his  life,  gave  an  account  of  the  disastrous  ilfair. 

On  receiving  these  direful  tidings,  the  valiait 
Peter  started  from  his  seat — dashed  the  pipe  he  was 
smoking  against  the  back  of  the  chimney— thnisi 
a  prodigious  quid  of  tobacco  into  his  left  check— 
pulled  up  his  galligaskins,  and  strode  up  and  down 
the  room,  humming,  as  was  customary  with  him 
when  in  a  passion,  a  hideous  north-west  ditty,  lint 
as  I  have  before  shown,  lie  was  not  a  man  to  vent  liis 
spleen  in  idle  vapouring.  His  first  measure  after  the 
paroxysm  of  wrath  had  subsided,  was  to  stump  up- 
stairs to  a  huge  wooden  chest,  which  served  as  his 
armory,  from  whence  he  drew  forth  that  identical 
suit  of^  regimentals  described  in  the  preceding  ch.ip- 
ter.  In  these  portentous  habiliments  he  arrayed 
himself,  like  Achilles,  in  the  armour  of  Vulcan,  main 
taining  all  the  while  a  most  appalling  silence,  knitting 
his  brows,  and  drawing  his  breath  through  his  clench- 
ed teeth.  Being  hastily  equipped,  he  strode  down  into 
the  padour,  jerked  down  his  trusty  sword  from  over 
the  fire-place,  where  it  was  usually  suspended  ;  hut 
before  he  girded  it  on  his  thigh,  he  drew  it  from  its 
scabbard,  and  as  his  eye  coursed  along  the  rusty 
blade,  a  grim  smile  stole  over  his  iron  visage — it  was 
the  tirst  smile  that  had  visited  his  countenance  fur 
five  long  weeks;  but  every  one  who  beheld  it. 
prophesied  that  there  would  soon  be  warm  work-  in 
the  province ! 

Tnus  armed  at  all  points,  with  grizzly  war  dc 
pictured  in  each  feature,  his  very  coclced  hat  assuiii 
ing  an  air  of  uncommon  defiance,  he  instantly  put 
himself  upon  the  alert,  and  despatched  Antony  Van 
Corlear  hither  and  thither,  this  way  and  that  way 
through  all  the  muddy  streets  and  crooked  lanes  of 
the  city,  summoning  by  sound  of  trumpet  his  trusty 
peers  to  assemble  in  instant  council.  This  done,  by 
way  of  expediting  matters,  according  to  the  custom 
of  people  in  a  hurry,  he  kept  in  continual  bustle, 
shifting  from  chair  to  chair,  popping  his  head  out  ol 
every  window,  and  stumping  up  and  down  stairs  with 


A    HISTORY   OF  NEW -YORK, 


)f  the  treachcrv  ii 


nif  wooden  leg  in  such  brisk  and  incessant  motion, 
th^it.  as  we  are  informed  by  an  authentic  historian 
af  the  times,  the  continual  clatter  bore  no  small  re* 
semblance  to  the  music  of  a  cooper  hooping  a  flour- 
barrel. 

A  summons  so  peremptory,  and  from  a  man  of  the 
governor's  mettle,  was  not  to  be  trifled  with ;  the 
tagfs  forthwith  repaired  to  the  council  chamber, 
leated  themselves  with  the  utmost  tranquillity,  and 
jghting  their  long  pipes,  gazed  with  unruffled  com- 
posure on  his  excellency  and  his  regimentals ;  being, 
i3  ill  counsellors  should  be,  not  easily  flustered,  or 
;al<en  by  surprise.  The  governor,  looking  around 
for  a  moment  with  a  lofty  and  soldier-like  air,  and 
resting  one  hand  on  the  pummel  of  his  sword,  and 
fiini,nng  the  other  forth  in  a  free  and  spirited  manner, 
adilressed  them  in  a  short,  but  soul-stirring  harangue. 

I  am  extremely  sorry  that  I  have  not  the  advan- 
tages of  Livy,  Thucydides,  Plutarch,  and  others  of  my 
predecessors,  who  are  furnished,  as  I  am  told,  witn 
the  speeches  of  all  their  great  emperors,  generals, 
and  orators,  taken  down  in  short-hai.d,  by  the  most 
accurate  stenographers  of  the  time ;  whersby  they 
were  enabled  wonderfully  to  enrich  their  histories, 
and  delight  their  readers  witn  sublime  strains  of  elo- 
quence. Not  having  such  important  auxiliaries,  I 
cannot  possibly  pronounce  what  was  the  tenor  of 
Governor  Stuyvesant's  speech.  I  am  bold,  however, 
to  say,  from  the  tenor  of  his  character,  that  he  did 
not  wrap  his  rugged  subject  in  silks  and  erniines,  and 
other  sickly  trickeries  of  phrase ;  but  spoke  forth, 
like  a  man  of  nerve  and  vigour,  who  scorned  to  shrink, 
in  words,  from  those  dangers  which  he  stood  ready 
to  encounter  in  very  deed.  This  much  is  certain, 
.hat  he  concluded  by  announcing  his  determination 
jf  leading  on  his  troops  in  person,  and  routing  these 
costard  monger  Swedes  from  their  usurped  quarters 
tt  Fort  Casimir.  To  this  hardy  resolution  such  of 
his  council  as  were  awake  gave  their  usual  signal  of 
csncurrence,  and  as  to  the  rest  who  had  fallen 
asleep  about  the  middle  of  the  harangue,  (their 
"usual  custom  in  the  afternoon,") — they  made  not 
the  least  objection. 

And  now  was  seen  in  the  fair  city  of  New-Am- 
sterdam, a  prodigious  bustle  and  preparation  for  iron 
war.  Recruiting  parties  marched  hither  and  thither, 
calling  lustily  upon  all  the  scrubs,  the  runagates,  and 
tatterdemalions  of  the  Manhattoes  and  its  vicinity, 
who  had  any  ambition  of  sixpence  a  day.  and  im- 
mortal fame  into  the  bargain,  to  enlist  in  the  cause  of 
glory.  For  I  would  have  you  note  that  your  war- 
like heroes  who  trudge  in  the  rear  of  conquerors,  are 
generally  of  that  illustrious  class  of  gentlemen,  who 
are  equal  candidates  for  the  army  or  the  Bridewell — 
the  halberts  or  the  whipping-post — for  whom  dame 
Fortune  has  cast  an  even  die,  whether  they  shall 
make  their  exit  by  the  sword  or  the  halter — and 
whose  deaths  shall,  at  all  events,  be  a  lofty  example 
to  their  countrymen. 

But  notwithstanding  all  this  martial  rout  and  invi- 
Ution,  the  ranks  of  honour  were  but  scantily  sup- 
riied  ;  so  averse  were  the  peaceful  burghers  of  New- 
Amsterdam  from  enlisting  m  foreign  broils,  or  stirring 
Kyond  that  home  which  rounded  all  their  earthly 
ideas.  Upon  beholding  this,  the  great  Peter,  whose 
aoble  heart  was  all  on  fire  with  war  and  sweet  re- 
renge,  determined  to  wait  no  longer  for  the  tardy  as- 
astance  of  these  oily  citizens,  but  to  muster  up  his 
merry  men  of  the  Hudson;  who,  brought  up  among 
woods  and  wilub  and  savage  beasts,  like  our  yeomen 
of  Kentucky,  delighted  in  nothing  so  much  as  desper- 
ate adventures  and  perilous  expeditions  through  the 
wilderness.  Thus  resolving,  ne  ordered  his  trusty 
iquire,  Antony  Van  Corlear,  to  have  his  state  galley 
prepared  and  duly  "nctualled ;  which  being  perform- 


ed, he  attended  public  service  at  the  great  church  ol 
St.  Nicholas,  like  a  true  and  pious  governor,  and  then 
leaving  peremptory  orders  with  his  council  to  have 
the  chivalry  of  the  Manhattoes  marshalled  out  and 
appointed  against  his  return,  departed  upon  his  re- 
cruiting voyage,  up  the  waters  of^  the  Hudson. 


CHAPTER    III. 


CONTAINING  PETER  STUYVESANT'S  VOY  HOE  Vt 
THE  HUDSON  AND  THE  WONDERS  AND  DE- 
LIGHTS or  THAT   RENOATNED    RIVER. 

Now  did  the  soft  breezes  of  the  south  steal  sweetly 
over  the  beauteous  face  o'  nature,  tempering  th< 
panting  heats  of  summer  into  genial  and  prolific 
warmth — when  that  miracle  of  hardihood  and  chiv- 
alric  virtue,  the  dauntless  Peter  Stuyvesant,  spreao 
his  canvas  to  the  wind,  and  departed  from  the  fait 
island  of  Manna-hata.  The  galley  in  which  he  em- 
barked was  sumptuously  adorned  with  pendants  and 
streamers  of  gorgeous  dyes,  which  fluttered  gayly  in 
the  wind,  or  drooped  their  ends  in  the  bosom  of  the 
stream.  The  bow  and  poop  of  this  majestic  vessel 
were  gallantly  bedight,  after  the  rarest  Dutch  fashion, 
with  figures  of  little  pursy  Cupids  with  periwigs  on 
their  heads,  and  bearing  in  their  hands  garlands  of 
flowers,  the  like  of  which  are  not  to  be  found  in  any 
book  of  botany ;  being  the  matchless  flowers  which 
flourished  in  the  golden  age,  and  exist  no  longer, 
unless  it  be  in  the  imaginations  of  ingenious  carvers 
of  wood  and  discolourers  of  canvas. 

Thus  rarely  decorated,  in  style  befitting  the  state 
of  the  puissant  potentate  of  the  Manhattoes,  did  the 
galley  of  Peter  Stuyvesant  launch  forth  upon  th« 
bosom  of  the  lordly  Hudson  ;  which,  as  it  rolled  it.* 
broad  waves  to  the  ocean,  seemed  to  pause  for  * 
while,  and  swell  with  pride,  as  if  conscious-^f  the 
illustrious  burthen  it  sustained. 

But  trust  me,  gentlefolk,  far  other  v/as  the  scene 
presented  to  the  conte-^plation  of  the  crew,  from 
that  which  may  be  witnessed  at  this  degenerate  day. 
Wildness  and  savage  majesty  reigned  on  the  borders 
of  this  mighty  river — the  hand  of  cultivation  had  not 
as  yet  laid  down  the  dark  forests,  and  tamed  the 
features  of  the  landscape — nor  had  the  frequent  sail 
of  commerce  yet  broken  in  upon  the  profound  and 
awful  solitude  of  ages.  Here  and  there  might  be 
seen  a  rude  wigwam  perched  among  the  cliffs  of  the 
mountains,  with  its  curling  column  of  smoke  mount- 
ing in  the  transparent  atmosphere — but  so  loftily  sit- 
uated, that  the  whoopings  of  the  savage  children, 
gambolling  on  the  margin  of  the  dizzy  heights,  fell 
almost  as  faintly  on  the  ear,  as  do  the  notes  of  the 
lark,  when  lost  in  the  ar.ire  vault  of  heaven.  Now 
and  then,  from  the  beetling  brow  of  some  rocky 
precipice,  the  wild  deer  would  look  timidly  down 
upon  the  splendid  pageant  as  it  passed  below  ;-and 
then,  tossing  his  branching  antlers  in  the  air,  woulc 
bound  away  into  the  thickets  of  the  forest. 

Through  such  scenes  did  the  stately  vessel  of  Feter 
Stuyvesant  pass.  Now  did  they  skirt  the  bases  of 
the  rocky  heights  of  Jersey,  which  spring  up  lik» 
everlasting  walls,  reaching  from  the  waves  unto  tht 
heavens ;  and  were  fashioned,  if  traditions  may  b« 
believed,  in  times  long  past,  by  the  mighty  spin! 
Manetho,  to  protect  his  favourite  abodes  from  the 
unhallowed  eyes  of  mortals.  Now  did  they  career  it 
gayly  across  the  vast  expanse  of  Tappan  Bay,  whose 
wide  extended  shores  present  a  vast  variety  of  jdelec- 
table  scenery — here  the  bold  promontory,  crowned 
with  embowering  trees,  advancing  into  the  bay- 
there  the  long  woodland  slope  sweeping  up  from  th' 


.S04 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


k1:S 


shore  in  rich  luxuriance,  and  terminating  in  the  up- 
land precipice — while  at  a  distance  a  lon^  waving 
line  of  rocky  heights  threw  their  gigantic  shades 
ncmss  the  water.  Now  would  they  pass  where  some 
modest  little  interval,  opening  among  these  stupen- 
dous scenes,  yet  retreating  as  it  were  for  protection 
into  the  embraces  of  the  neighbouring  mountains, 
displayed  a  rural  paradise,  fraught  with  sweet  and 
pastoral  beauties;  the  velvet- tufted  lawn — the  bushy 
.'.opse — the  tinkling  rivulet,  stealing  through  the  fresh 
and  vivid  verdure — on  whose  banks  was  situated 
some  little  Indian  village,  or,  peradventure,  the  rude 
cabin  of  some  solitary  hunter. 

The  different  periods  of  the  revolving  day  seemed 
each,  with  cunning  mag^c,  to  diffuse  a  different  charm 
over  the  scene.  .Now  would  the  jovial  sun  break 
gloriously  from  the  east,  blazing  from  the  summits 
oi  the  hills,  and  sparkling  the  landscape  with  a  thou- 
sand dewy  gems;  while  along  the  borders  of  the 
river  were  seen  heavy  masses  of  mist,  which,  like 
midnight  caitiffs,  disturbed  at  his  approach,  made  a 
sluggish  retreat,  rolling  in  sullen  reluctance  up  the 
mountains.  At  such  times,  all  was  brightness  and 
life  and  gayety — the  atmosphere  seemed  of  an  in- 
describable pureness  and  transparency — the  birds 
broke  iorth  in  wanton  madrigals,  and  the  freshening 
breezes  wafted  the  vessel  merrily  on  her  course. 
But  when  the  sun  sunk  amid  a  flood  of  glory  in  the 
west,  mantling  the  heavens  and  the  earth  with  a 
thousand  gorgeous  dyes — then  all  was  calm,  and  si- 
lent, and  magnificent.  The  late  swelling  sail  hung 
lifelessly  against  the  mast — the  seamen  with  folded 
arms  leaned  against  the  shrouds,  lost  in  that  invol- 
untary musing  which  the  sober  erandeur  of  nature 
commands  in  the  rudest  of  her  children.  The  vast 
bosom  of  the  Hudson  was  like  an  unruffled  mirror, 
'eflecting  the  golden  splendour  of  the  heavens,  ex- 
cepting that  now  and  then  a  bark  canoe  would  steal 
v:ross  its  surface,  filled  with  painted  savages,  whose 
gay  feathers  glared  brightly,  as  perchance  a  lingering 
ray  of  the  setting  sun  gleamed  upon  them  from  the 
western  mountains. 

But  when  the  hour  of  twilight  spread  its  magic 
mists  around,  then  did  the  face  of  nature  assume  a 
thousand  fugitive  charms,  which,  to  the  worthy 
heart  that  seeks  enjoyment  in  the  glorious  works  of 
its  Maker,  are  inexpressibly  captivating.  The  mel- 
low dubious  light  that  prevailed,  just  served  to  tinge 
with  illusive  colours  the  softened  fe<itures  of  the 
scenery.  The  deceived  but  delighted  eye  sought 
vainly  to  discern,  in  the  broad  masses  of  shade,  the 
separating  line  between  the  land  and  water ;  or  to 
distinguish  the  fading  objects  that  seemed  sinking 
into  chaos.  Now  dia  the  busy  fancy  supply  the  fee- 
bleness of  vision,  producing  with  industrious  craft  a 
fairy  creation  of  her  own.  Under  her  plastic  wand 
the  barren  rocks  frowned  upon  the  watery  waste,  in 
the  semblance  of  lofty  towers  and  high  embattled 
castles — trees  assumed  the  direful  forms  of  mighty 
giants,  and  the  inaccessible  summits  of  the  mountains 
aeemed  peopled  with  a  thousand  shadowy  beings. 

Now  broke  forth  from  the  shores  the  notes  of  an 
innumerable  variety  of  insects,  which  filled  the  air 
with  a  strange  but  not  inharmonious  concert — while 
ever  anc  anon  was  heard  the  melancholy  plaint  of 
the  whip-poor-will,  who,  perched  on  some  lone  tree, 
wearied  the  ear  of  night  with  his  incessant  moanings. 
The  mind,  soothed  into  a  hallowed  melancholy,  lis- 
tened with  pensive  stillness  to  catch  and  distinguish 
each  sound  that  vaguely  echoed  from  the  shore — now 
,and  then  startled  perchance  by  the  whoop  of  some 
straggling  savage,  or  the  dreary  howl  of  a  wolf,  steal- 
ingjorth  upon  his  nightly  prowlings. 

Thus  happily  did  they  pursue  their  course,  until 
they  entered  upon  those  awful  defiles  denominated 


The  Hiohlands.  where  it  would  seem  that  the  tn. 

— .!.  Titans  had  erst  waged  their  impious'w.ir  with 
1,  piling  up  cliffs  on  cliffs,  and  hurling'  vast 
)  of  rock  in  wild  confusion.    But  in  sonth,  vfrv 


r> 


gantic  Titans  had  erst  waged  their  impious'w.ir  with  1 

heaven  -='=--    —   ''-"-   —    -'■"-         '  • 

masses 

different  is  the  history  of  these  cloud-capped  mnunt. 

ains. — These  in   ancient  days,  before  the  Hudson 

poured  his  waters  from  the  lakes,  formed  oni'  v.isi 

Rrison,  within  whose  rocky  bosom  the  omnipotrni 
lanetho  confined  the  rebellious  sniritr,  whn  rrp1ne<i 
at  his  control.  Here,  bound  in  adarrnntine  chains 
or  jammed  in  rifted  nines,  or  crushed  by  ponrlcrouj 
rocks,  they  groaned  (or  many  an  age.  At  lenjjih  the 
conquering  Huc'son,  in  his  irresistible  career  towM-ds 
the  ocean,  burst  open  their  prison-house,  rolhni;  his 
tide  triumphantly  through  its  stupendous  ruins. 

Still,  however,  do  many  of  them  lurk  ahoin  il,oir 
old  abodes;  and  these  it  is,  according  to  veiu-i.ihle 
legends,  that  cause  the  echoes  which  resound  thrnuijh 
out  these  awf'il  solitudes;  which  are  nothing'  hut 
their  angry  clamours,  when  any  noise  disturhs  th* 
profoundness  of  their  repose.  For  when  the  flf-ments 
are  agitated  by  tempest,  when  the  winds  arc  up  and 
the  thunder  rolls,  then  horrible  is  the  yelling  and 
howling  of  these  troubled  spirits,  making  the  mount- 
ains to  rebellow  with  their  hideous  uproar ;  lor  at 
such  times,  it  is  said,  they  think  the  great  Manetho 
is  returning  once  more  to  plunge  them  in  gloomy 
caverns,  and  renew  their  intolerable  captivity. 

But  all  these  fair  and  glorious  scenes  were  lest 
upon  the  gallant  Stuyvesant ;  nought  occupied  liis 
mind  but  thoughts  of  iron  war,  and  proud  anti(-i|a- 
tions  of  hardy  deeds  of  arms.  Neither  did  his  hon<  st 
crew  trouble  their  vacant  heads  with  <.ny  lomantic 
speculations  of  the  kind.  The  pilot  at  the  helm 
quietly  smoked  his  pipe,  thinking  of  nothing  eithei 
past,  present,  or  to  come — those  of  his  comrades  who 
were  not  industriously  snoring  under  the  hatci.ts  wei  • 
listening  with  open  mouths  to  Antony  Van  Corlear 
who,  seated  on  the  windlass,  was  relating  to  them 
the  marvellous  history  of  those  myriads  of  tire-tliei 
that  sparkled  like  gems  and  spangles  upon  the  dusky 
robe  of  night.  These,  according  to  tradition,  were 
originally  a  race  of  pestilent  sempitemous  beldames 
who  peopled  these  parts  long  before  the  memory  ot 
man;  being  of  that  abominated  race  emphatically 
called  brimstones;  and  who,  for  their  innumerabit 
sins  against  the  children  of  men,  and  to  furnish  an 
awful  warning  to  the  beauteous  sex,  were  doomed 
to  infest  the  earth  in  the  shape  of  these  threatening 
and  terrible  little  bugs ;  enduring  the  internal  tor- 
ments of  that  fire,  which  they  formerly  carried  in 
their  hearts,  and  breathed  forth  in  their  words  ;  but 
now  are  sentenced  to  bear  about  for  ever — in  their 
tails. 

And  now  am  I  going  to  tell  a  fact,  which  I  doubt 
much  my  readers  will  hesitate  to  believe ;  but  if  they 
do,  they  are  welcome  not  to  believe  a  word  in  this 
whole  history,  for  nothing  which  it  contains  is  more 
true.  It  must  be  known  then  that  the  nose  of  Antony 
the  trumpeter  was  of  a  very  lusty  size,  strutting 
boldly  from  his  countenance  like  a  mountain  of  Gol- 
conda  ;  *^'!ing  sumptuously  bedecked  with  r^Jcs  am' 
other  precious  stones — the  true  regalia  of  a  king  of 
good  tellows,  which  jolly  Bacchus  grants  to  all  who 
bouse  it  heartily  at  the  flagon.  Now  thus  it  happened 
that  bright  and  early  in  the  morning,  the  good  Antony 
having  washed  his  burly  visage,  was  leaning  over  the 
quarter-raihng  of  the  galley  contemplating  it  in  the 
glassy  wave  below — ^just  at  this  moment,  the  illustri- 
ous sun,  breaking  in  all  his  splendour  from  behind 
one  of  the  high  bluffs  of  the  Highlands,  did  dart  one 
of  his  most  potent  beams  full  upon  the  refulgent  nose 
of  the  souncler  of  brass — the  reflection  of  which  shot 
straightway  down,  hissing  hot,  into  the  water,  and 
killed  a  mighty  sturgeiti  that  was  sporting  beside  th« 


A   HISTORY   OF  NEW-YORK. 


605 


I  fttiel  I  This  huge  monster  being  with  infinite  labour 
Ikoisted  on  board,  furnished  a  luxurious  repast  to  all 
I  the  crew,  being  accounted  of  excellent  flavour,  ex- 
jeepting  about  the  wound,  where  it  smacked  a  little 
■  of  Drimstone — and  this,  on  my  veracity,  was  the  first 
I  lime  that  ever  sturgeon  was  eaten  in  these  parts  by 
Christian  people,* 

I  When  this  astonishing  miracle  came  to  be  made 
I  JBiown  to  Peter  Stuyvesant,  and  that  he  tasted  of  the 
gnkiiown  fish,  he,  as  may  well  be  supposed,  marvelled 
exceedingly ;  and  as  a  monument  thereof,  he  gave 
the  name  of  Antony' i  Nose  to  a  stout  promontory  in 
the  neighbourhood — and  it  has  continued  to  be  called 
Antony's  Nose  ever  since  that  time. 

But  hold — Whither  am  I  wandering  ? — By  the 
Lgass,  if  I  attempt  to  accompany  the  good  Peter 
Stuyvesant  on  this  voyage,  I  shall  never  make  an 
end,  for  never  was  there  a  voyage  so  fraught  with 
marvellous  incidents,  nor  a  river  so  abouncmg  with 
transcendent  beauties,  worthy  of  being  severally  re- 
corded. Even  now  1  have  it  on  the  point  of  my  pen 
to  relate,  how  his  crew  were  most  horribly  frightened, 
on  going  on  shore  above  the  Highlands,  by  a  gang  of 
merry,  roistering  devils,  frisking  and  curveting  on  a 
huge  flat  rock,  which  projected  into  the  river — and 
which  is  called  the  DuyvePs  Dans-Kamer  to  this 
I  very  day. — But  no !  Diedrich  Knickerbocker — it  be- 
comes thee  not  to  idle  thus  in  thy  historic  wayfaring. 
Recollect  that  while  dwelling  with  the  fond  ear- 
mlity  of  age  over  these  fairy  scenes,  endeared  to  thee 
by  the  recollections  of  thy  youth,  and  the  charms  of 
a  thousand  legendary  tales  which  beguiled  the  simple 
ear  of  thy  childhood ;  recollect  that  thou  art  trifling 
with  those  fleeting  moments  which  should  be  devo- 
ted to  loftier  themes. — Is  not  Time — relentless  Time ! 
.-shaking,  with  palsied  hand,  his  almost  exhausted 
hour-glass  before  thee  ? — hasten  then  to  pursue  thy 
weary  task,  lest  the  last  sands  he  run,  ere  thou  hast 
Snished  thy  history  of  the  Manhattoes. 

Let  us  then  commit  the  dauntless  Peter,  his  brave 
nlley,  and  his  loyal  crew,  to  the  protection  of  the 
blessed  St.  Nicholas ;  who,  I  have  no  douHt.  will 
prosper  him  in  his  voyage,  while  we  await  his  return 
at  the  great  city  of  New- Amsterdam. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

DESCRIBING  THE  POWERKUL  ARMY  THAT  AS- 
SEMBLED AT  THE  CITY  OF  NEW-AMSTERDAM 
—TOGETHER  WITH  THE  INTERVIEW  BETWEEN 
PETER  THE  HEADSTRONG  AND  GENKKAI. 
VAN  POFFENBURGH,  AND  PETER'S  SENTIMENTS 
TOUCHING   UNFORTUNATE  GREAT    MEN. 

While  thus  the  enterprising  Peter  was  coasting, 
virith  flowing  sail,  up  the  shores  of  the  lordly  Hudson, 
and  arousing  all  the  phlegmatic  httic  Dutch  settle- 
ments upon  its  borders,  a  great  and  puissant  con- 
course of  warriors  was  assembling  at  the  city  of  New- 
Amsterdam.  And  here  that  invaluable  fragment  of 
intiquity,  the  Stuyvesant  manuscript,  is  more  than 
:ommonl)  particular ;  by  which  means  I  am  enabled 
J}  record  the  illustrious  host  that  encamped  itself  in 
the  public  sauare  in  front  of  the  fort,  at  present  de- 
lominated  the  Bowling-Green. 

In  the  centre,  then,  was  pitched  the  tent  of  the 
Ken  of  bV.'Je  of  the  Manhattoes,  who  being  the  in- 
mates of  the  metropolis,  composed  the  life-guards  of 
the  governor.  These  were  commanded  by  the  valiant 

*  The  leaned  Hans  Megapolensii,  treating  of  the  country  about 
Mbaay,  in  a  letter  which  wai  written  >ome  time  after  the  Mitle- 
■cnt  tnereuf,  sayi :  "  There  ii  in  the  river  neat  plenty  of  Sturgeon, 
•kich  we  Chriitiani  do  not  make^ue  of;  out  the  Indian*  eat  them 
iraadilie." 


StofTel  Brinkerhoff,  who  whilom  had  acquired  sucr 
immortal  fame  at  Oyster  Day — they  displayed  as  a 
standard,  a  beaver  rampant  on  a  field  of  orange 
being  the  arms  of  the  province,  and  denoting  the 
persevering  industry  and  the  amphibious  origin  of 
the  Nederlanders.* 

On  their  right  hand  might  be  seen  the  vassals  ol 
that  renowned  Mynheer,  Michael  Paw.t  who  lordec 
it  over  the  fair  regions  of  ancient  Pavonia,  and  the 
lands  away  south,  even  unto  the  Navesink  mount 
ains,|  and  was  moreover  patroon  of  Gibbet  Island. 
His  standard  was  borne  by  his  trusty  squire,  Cor- 
nelius Van  Vorst ;  c(  nsistin?  of  a  huge  oyster  rir- 
cumbent  ufjon  a  sea-green  field  ;  being  the  armoria 
bearings  of  his  favourite  metropoUs,  Communipaw 
He  brought  to  the  camp  a  stout  force  of  warriors, 
heavily  armed,  being  each  clad  in  ten  pair  of  linsey- 
woolsey  breeches,  and  overshadowed  by  broad-brim- 
med beavers,  with  short  pipes  twisted  in  their  hat- 
bands. These  were  the  men  who  vegetated  in  the 
mud  along  the  shores  of  Pavonia  ;  being  of  the  race 
of  genuine  copperheads,  and  were  fabled  to  have 
sprung  from  oysters. 

At  a  little  distance  were  encamped  t'le  tribe  of 
warriors  who  came  from  the  neighbourhood  of  Hell- 
Gate.  These  were  commanded  by  the  Suy  Dams, 
and  the  Van  Dams,  incontinent  hard  swearers,  as 
their  names  betoken — they  were  terrible-looking  ftl- 
lows,  clad  in  broad-skirted  gaberdines,  of  that  curi- 
ous coloured  cloth  called  thunder  and  lightning — 
and  bore  as  a  standard  three  Devil's-daming-needles, 
volant,  in  a  flame-coloured  field. 

Hard  by  was  the  tent  of  the  men  of  battle  from 
the  marshy  borders  of  the  Waale-Boght§  and  the 
country  therealiouts — these  were  of  a  sour  aspect  b) 
reason  that  they  lived  on  crabs,  which  abound  is 
these  parts.  They  were  the  first  institutors  of  thai 
honourable  order  of  knighthood,  called  Fly  market 
shirks,  and,  if  tradition  speak  true,  did  likewise  in- 
troduce the  far  famed  step  in  dancing,  called  "  double 
trouble."     They  were  commanded    by  the  learless 

iacobus  Varra   Vanger,  and  had  moreover  a  jolly 
and  of  Breuckelenll  ferry-men,   who  performed   a 
brave  concerto  on  conch-shells. 

But  I  refrain  from  pursuing  this  minute  descrip- 
tion, which  goes  on  to  describe  the  warriors  of 
IJloemendael,  and  Wee-hawk,  and  Hoboken,  and 
suniiry  other  places,  well  known  in  history  and  song 
— for  now  does  the  sound  of  martial  music  alarm  the 
people  of  New-Amsterdam,  sounding  afar  from  be- 
yond the  walls  of  the  city.  But  this  alarm  was  in  a 
little  while  relieved  ;  fur  lo,  from  the  midst  of  a  vast 
cloud  of  dusi,  they  recognised  the  brimstone-coloured 
breeches,  and  splendid  silvt-r  leg,  ol  Peter  Stuyvesant, 
glaring  in  the  sunbeams  ;  anil  lieheld  him  approach- 
ing at  the  head  of  a  tormidabie  army,  which  ne  had 
mustered  along  the  banks  ol  the  Hudson.  And  heri: 
the  excellent,  but  anonymous  writer  of  the  Stuy-ves- 
ant  manuscript,  breaks  out  into  a  brave  and  glorious 
description  of  the  forces,  as  ihey  defiled  through  the 


*  This  was  likewise  the  great  seal  of  the  New-Netherlardi,  m 
may  still  be  seen  in  ancient  records. 

t  Resides  what  is  relaieil  in  the  Stuyvesant  MS.,  I  have  foiiB^ 
mention  mude  of  this  illuslnoiis  Patroon  in  another  manutcripC. 
which  says  :  "  I  >e  ileer  (or  the  sqiiirey  .Michael  Paw.  a  Dutch  sub. 
ject,  about  loth  Aua.,  ifijo,  by  deed  purchased  Staten  Island 
N.  B.  The  same  Michael  Paw  had  what  the  Dutch  call  a  colonic 
at  Pavonia,  on  the  Jersey  shore,  opposite  New-York,  and  his  over- 
•cer,  in  i6  6,  was  named  Corns.  Van  Vorst — a  person  of  the  saa< 
name  in  1769  owned  Powles  Hook,  and  a  larjce  farm  at  Pavonia, 
and  is  a  lineal  descendant  from  Van  Vorst." 

t  So  called  from  the  Navesink  tribe  of  Indians  tl  at  inhabited 
these  paru— at  present  they  are  erroneouily  denominated  tkf 
Neversinli,  or  Nevenunk  mountaine. 

{Since  corrupted  into  the  W»U»ba»t;  the  bay  where  the  Navy 
Yard  is  situated. 
I  Now  spelt  Brookly*  " 


006 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVINU. 


'Tivit: 


principal  gate  of  the  city,  that  stood  by  the  head  of 
Wall-street. 

First  of  all  came  the  Van  Bummels,  who  inhabit 
the  pleasant  borders  of  the  Bronx — these  weie  short 
(at  men,  wearing  exceeiling  large  trunk  breeches, 
and  are  renowned  for  feats  of  the  trencher — they 
were  the  tirst  inventors  of  suppawn  or  mush-and- 
milk. — Close  in  their  rear  marched  the  Van  VIotens, 
of  Kaathkll,  most  horrible  quaffers  ol  new  cider,  and 
wrant  !)ragjjarts  in  their  liquor. — After  them  came 
Ihe  Van  I'eits,  of  Groodt  Esopus,  dexterous  horse- 
nen,  mounted  upon  goodly  switch-tailed  steeds  of 
I  he  Esopus  breed — these  were  mighty  hunters  of 
minks  and  musk-rats,  whence  came  the  word  Peltry, 
— Then  the  Van  Nests,  of  Kinderhook,  valiant  rob- 
bers of  birds'  nests,  as  their  name  denotes;  to  these, 
if  report  may  be  believed,  are  we  indebted  for  the  in- 
vention of  slap-jacks,  or  buckwheat  cakes. — Then 
the  Van  HiKginbottoms,  of  Wapping's  creek ;  these 
came  armed  with  ferules  and  birchen  rods,  being  a 
race  of  schoolmasters,  who  first  discovered  the  mar- 
vellous sympathy  between  the  seat  of  honour  and 
the  Stat  of  intellect,  and  that  the  shortest  wav  to  get 
knowledge  into  the  head,  was  to  hammer  it  into  the 
bottom  —Then  the  Van  Grolls,  of  Antony's  Nose, 
who  carried  their  liquor  in  fair  round  little  pottles, 
by  reason  they  could  not  bouse  it  out  of  their  can- 
teens, having  such  rare  long  noses. — Then  the  Gar- 
deniers,  of  Hudson  and  thereabouts,  distinguished 
by  many  triumphant  feats,  such  as  robbing  water- 
melon patches,  smoking  rabbits  out  of  their  holes, 
and  the  like  ;  and  by  being  great  hjvers  of  roasted 
pig's  tails  ;  these  were  the  ancestors  of  the  renowned 
congressman  of  that  name,— Then  the  Van  Hoesens, 
of  Sing-Sing,  great  choristers  and  players  upon  the 
Jews-harp ;  these  inarched  two  and  two,  singing  the 
jreat  song  of  St.  Nicholas. — Then  the  Couenhovens, 
of  Sleepy  Hollow  ;  these  gave  birth  to  a  jolly  race  of 
pibli-ans,  who  first  discovered  the  magic  artifice  of 
cr.njuring  a  quart  of  wine  into  a  pint  bottle. — Then 
the  Van  Kortlandts,  who  lived  on  the  wild  banks  of 
the  Croton,  and  were  great  killers  of  wild  ducks,  be- 
ing much  spoken  of  k>r  their  skill  in  shooting  with 
the  long  bow. — Then  the  Van  liunschotens,  of  Nyack 
and  Kakiat,  who  were  the  first  that  did  ever  kick 
with  the  left  foot ;  they  were  gallant  bush-whackers 
and  hunters  of  raccoons  by  moonlight. — Then  the 
Van  Winkles,  of  Haerlem,  potent  suckers  of  eggs, 
and  noted  for  running  of  horses,  and  running  up  of 
scores  at  taverns ;  they  were  the  first  that  ever 
winked  with  both  eyes  at  once. — Lastly  came  the 
Knickerbockers,  of  the  great  town  of  Schaghti- 
coke,  where  the  folk  lay  stones  upon  the  houses  in 
windy  weather,  lest  they  should  be  blown  away. 
These  derive  their  name,  as  some  say,  from  Knickcr, 
to  shake,  and  Biker,  a  goblet,  indicating  thereby 
that  they  were  sturdy  toss-pots  of  yore ;  but,  in 
truth,  it  was  derived  from  Knicker,  to  nod,  and 
Botken,  books ;  plainly  meaning  that  thtv  were  great 
nodders  or  dozers  over  books — from  them  did  de- 
scend the  writer  of  this  history. 

Such  was  the  legion  of  sturdy  bush-beaters  that 
Aoured  in  at  the  grand  gate  of  New-Amsterdam ;  the 
jtuyvesant  manuscript  indeed  speaks  of  many  more, 
nrhose  names  I  omit  to  mention,  seeing  that  it  be- 
joves  me  to  hasten  to  matters  of  greater  moment. 
Nothing  could  surpass  the  Joy  and  martial  pride  of 
the  lion-hearted  Peter,  as  he  reviewed  this  mighty 
host  of  warriors,  and  he  detennined  no  longer  to  de- 
er the  gratification  of  his  much-wished-for  revenge 
apon  tl.e  scoundrel  Swedes  at  Fort  Casimir. 

But  before  I  hasten  to  record  those  unmatchable 
events,  which  will  be  found  in  the  sequel  of  this 
faithful  history,  let  me  pause  to  -.otice  the  fate  of 
Tacobus  Van    Poffenburgh,  the  discomfited  com- 


mander-in-chief of  the  armies  of  the  New-Ntiho 
lands.  Such  is  the  inherent  unchtritablenrs.H  of  hu 
man  nature,  that  scarcely  did  the  news  beiom, 
public  of  his  deplorable  discomfiture  at  Fort  C.isi 
mir,  than  a  thousand  scurvy  rumours  were  set  iri  ,ii 
in  New-Amsterdam,  wherein  it  was  insinnati-d,  thu 
he  had  in  reality  a  treacherous  underHt.indin^;  wiih 
the  Swedish  commamler ;  that  he  had  ion},'  Seen  i; 
the  practice  of  privately  communicating  with  tin 
Swedes ;  together  with  divers  hints  about  "  secrei 
service  money :  "—to  all  which  deadly  charges  I  dc 
not  give  a  jot  more  credit  than  1  think  they  des.ivf 

Certain  it  is,  that  the  general  vindicated  his  char 
acter  by  the  most  vehement  oaths  and  proiistuions 
and  put  every  man  out  of  the  ranks  of  honour  uno 
darea  to  doubt  his  integrity.  Moreover,  on  reiMnunp 
to  New-Amsterdam,  he  paraded  up  and  down  the 
streets  with  a  crew  of  hard  swearers  at  his  heels- 
sturdy  bottle  companions,  whom  he  gorged  .m>i  in- 
tened,  and  who  were  ready  to  bolster  him  thiouijh 
all  the  courts  of  justice — heroes  of  his  own  kidiuy, 
fierce-whiskered,  broad-shouldered,  colbrand-looking 
swaggerers — not  one  of  whom  but  looked  as  thi)iiL;R 
he  could  eat  up  an  ox,  and  pick  his  teeth  with  the 
horns.  These  lifie-guard  men  (Quarrelled  all  this  quir- 
rels,  were  ready  to  fight  all  his  battles,  and  scowled 
at  every  man  that  turned  up  his  nose  at  the  general, 
as  though  they  would  devour  him  alive.  Th  ir  cim- 
versation  was  interspersed  with  oaths  like  niuiute- 
guns,  and  every  bombastic  rodomontado  was  roundeti 
off  by  a  thundering  execration,  like  a  patnotic  tuast 
honoured  with  a  discharge  of  artillery. 

All  these  valorous  vapourings  had  a  consider.il)i( 
effect  in  convincing  certain  profound  sages,  mar.  ' 
whom  began  to  think  the  general  a  hero  of  uiuitte: 
able  loftiness  and  magnanimity  of  soul,  particui.iil] 
as  he  was  continu.illy  protesting  on  the  honour  cf  a 
soldier — a  marvellously  high-sounding  asseveratioii. 
Nay,  one  of  the  members  of  the  council  went  so  L^r 
as  to  propose  they  should  immortalize  him  by  an 
imperishable  statue  of  plaster  of  Paris. 

But  the  vigilant  Peter  the  Headstrong  w.-is  not 
thus  to  be  deceived. — Sending  privately  for  the  ( (Jin 
mander-in-chief  of  all  the  armifs,  and  having;  luard 
all  his  story,  garnished  with  the  customary  j)iou' 
oaths,  protestations,  and  ejaculations  —  '•  Market 
comrade,"  cried  he,  "  though  by  your  own  account 
you  arc  the  most  br.ive,  upright,  and  honouraMt-  man 
in  the  whole  province,  yet  do  you  lie  under  the  mis- 
fortune of  being  damnably  traduced,  anil  immeasur 
ably  despised.  Now.  though  it  is  certainly  hard  to 
punish  a  man  for  his  misfortunes,  and  tlinu^'h  ii  is 
very  possible  you  are  totally  innocent  of  the  crimes 
laicl  to  your  ch.irge,  yet  as  Heaven,  at  present,  doubt- 
less for  some  wise  purpose,  sees  fit  to  withhold  all 
proofs  of  your  innocence,  far  be  it  from  me  to  coun- 
teract its  sovereign  will.  Besides,  I  cannot  consent 
to  venture  my  amiics  with  a  commander  whom  they 
despise,  or  to  trust  the  welfare  of  my  people  to  a 
champion  whom  they  distrust.  Retire,  therefore,  my 
friend,  from  the  irksome  toils  and  cares  of  pubhr 
life,  with  this  comforting  reflection — that  if  guilty, 
you  are  but  enjoying  your  just  reward — and  if  inno- 
cent, you  are  not  the  first  great  and  good  man  whc 
has  most  wrongfully  been  slandered  and  maltrtated 
in  this  wicked  world— doubtless  to  be  better  treated 
in  a  better  world,  where  there  shall  be  neither  error, 
calumny,  nor  persecution.  In  the  meantime  let  me 
never  see  your  face  again,  for  I  have  a  horrible  an- 
tipathy to  the  countenances  of  unfortunate  great 
men  like  yourself," 


A  HISTORY   OF  NEW-VORK 


BOt 


CHAPTER  V. 

|lK  WHICH  THE  AUTHOR  DISCOURSES  VKRV  IN- 
(JKNUOUSLV  or  HIMSEI-r—AKTKR  WHICH  IS  TO 
BK  rOUNI)  MUCH  INIKKKSTINO  HIST«)RV  ABOUT 
PKTER  THI  HEADSTRONO  ANU  HIH   FOLLOWERS. 

AS  mv  readers  and  mysrif  are  about  entering;  on 

ju.iiiiny  oeril'.  \a  ever  a  confederacy  of  meddlesome 

IkniK^"  jrrant  wilfully  ran  their  heads  into,  it  is  meet 

I  that,  like  those  hardy  adventurers,  we  should  join 

I  iiand:>.  bury  all  differences,  and  swear  to  standby 

I  jne  another,  in  weal  or  woe,  to  the  end  of  the  enter- 

prise       My  readers   must  doubtless   perceive  how 

:ompietely  I  have  altered  my  tone  ■ind  deportment, 

tjnce  we  tirst  set  out  together.     I  warrant  they  then 

I  thought  me  a  crabbed,  cynical,  impertinent  little  son 

I  of  a  Dutchman;  for  1  scarcely  ever  gave  them  a 

I  civil  word,  nor  so  much  as  touched  my  beaver,  when 

I I  h;ul  occasion  to  address  them.  But  as  we  jogged 
ilonj;  together,  in  the  high-road  of  my  history,  I 
pdually  began  to  relax,  to  g^row  more  courteous, 
and  occasionally  to  enter  into  familiar  discourse,  un- 
til at  length  I  came  to  conceive  a  most  social,  com- 
pani'inabie,  kind  regard  for  them.  This  is  just  my 
way— I  am  always  a  little  cold  and  reserved  at  first, 
particularly  to  people  whom  I  neither  know  nor  care 
lor,  and  am  only  to  be  completely  won  by  long  inti- 

I  macy. 
Uesides,  why  should  I  have  been  sociable  to  the 

I  crowd  of  how-d'ye-do  acquaintances  that  flocked 
around  me  at  mv  first  appearance  ?  Many  were 
mt^rcly  attracted  by  a  new  face ;  and  having  stared 
me  lull  in  the  title-page,  walked  off  without  saying  a 
wok!  ;  while  others  lingered  yawningly  through  the 
ii.t,-\ce,  and  havmg  gratified  tneir  short-lived  curios- 
ity, soon  dropped  off  one  by  one.  But  more  especi- 
illy  to  try  their  mettle,  1  had  recourse  to  an  expedi- 
•ni  similar  to  one  which  we  are  told  was  used  by 
hat  i)eerless  (lower  of  chiviilrj'.  King  Arthur;  who, 
,!lore  he  admitted  any  knight  to  his  intimacy,  tirst 
ip-jjired  that  he  should  show  himself  superior  to 
rfanijrr  or  hardships,  by  encountering  unheard-of 
nisiiaps,  slaying  some  dozen  giants,  vanquishing 
wii  ki-d  ench.inters,  not  to  say  a  word  of  dwarfs,  hip- 
pof,'nffs,  and  tiery  dragons.  On  a  similar  principle, 
I  cunningly  led  my  readers,  at  the  fiist  sally,  into 
two  or  three  knotty  chapters,  where  they  were  most 
wulully  belaljoureci  and  buffeted  by  a  host  of  pagan 
philosophers  and  infidel  writers.  Though  naturally 
a  vrr)-  grave  man,  yet  could  I  scarce  refrain  from 
smiling  outright  at  seeinj'  the  utter  confusion  and 
dismay  of  my  valiant  cavaliers — some  dropped  down 
dfad  (asleep)  on  the  field ;  others  threw  down  my 
book  in  the  middle  of  the  first  chapter,  took  to  their 
heels,  and  never  ceased  scampering  until  they  had 
fairly  run  it  out  of  sight ;  when  they  stopped  to  take 
breath,  to  tell  their  friends  what  troubles  they  had 
uiiilergone,  and  to  warn  all  others  from  venturing  on 
»  thankless  an  expedition.  Every  page  thinned  my 
r.inks  more  and  more ;  and  of  the  vast  multitude 
that  first  set  out,  but  a  comparatively  few  made  shift 
IJ  survive,  in  exceedingly  l)aitered  condition,  through 
the  five  introductory  chapters. 

What,  then !  would  you  have  had  me  take  such 
lunshine,  faint-hearted  recreants  to  my  bosom  at 
wr  first  acquaintance?  No — no;  I  reserved  my 
irieiidship  for  those  who  deserved  it,  for  those  who 
mdauntedly  bore  me  company,  in  despite  of  difficul- 
ties, dangers,  and  fatigues.  And  now,  as  to  those 
Aho  atlhere  to  me  at  present,  I  take  them  affection- 
ately by  the  hand.  —  Worthy  and  thrice-beloved 
readei^  !  brave  and  we.l-tried  comrades  !  who  have 
faitlilully  followed  my  footsteps  through  all  my  wan- 
If rings — I  ulute  you  from  my  heart — I  pledge  my- 
self to  8t:»nd  by  vou  to  the  last ;  and  to  conduct  you 


(ic  Heaven  speed  this  tnisty  wtapo*-  which  I  now 
hold  between  my  fingeri)  truinii)hantl)  to  the  end  ol 
this  our  stupendous  undertaking, 

But,  hark!  while  we  are  thus  talking,  the  city  o( 
New- Amsterdam  is  in  a  tuisile.  The  host  of  war- 
riors encain|)ed  in  the  Howlini,'-'"ireen  are  striking 
their  tents;  the  hr.azen  trumpet  of  Antony  Van  Cor 
lear  makes  the  welkin  to  resound  with  |)orter.tou» 
clangour — the  drums  he.it — the  st.indanls  of  thf 
Mannattoes,  of  Hell-Gaic,  and  of  Michael  I'aw 
wave  proudly  in  the  air.  And  now  behold  where 
the  mariners  are  busily  employed  hoisting  the  sails  of 
yon  topsail  schooner,  and  those  clump-built  sloops, 
which  are  to  waft  the  army  of  the  Nederlanders  l^ 
gather  immortal  honours  on  ihc  Delaware  ! 

The  entire  population  of  the  city,  man,  woman, 
and  child,  tumetl  cut  to  behold  the  cnivalry  of  New- 
Amsterdam,  as  it  paraded  the  streets  previous  to 
embarkation.  Many  a  handkerchief  was  waved  out 
It  the  windows ;  many  a  fair  nose  was  blown  in 
nelodious  sorrow,  on  the  mournful  occasion.  The 
jrrief  of  the  fair  dames  and  beauteous  dartisels  of 
v^ranada  could  not  have  been  more  vociferous  on 
the  banishment  of  the  gallant  tribe  of  Abcncer- 
rages,  than  was  that  of  the  kind-hearted  fair  ories 
of  New-Amsterdam  on  the  departure  of  their  in- 
trepid warriors.  Every  love-sick  maiden  fondly 
crammed  the  pockets  of  her  hero  with  gingerbread 
and  doughnuts — many  a  copper  ring  was  exrhanged 
and  crooked  sixpence  broken,  in  pledge  cf  eternal 
const.incy — and  there  remain  extant  to  tnis  day  some 
love-verses  written  on  that  occasion,  suHiciently 
crabbed  and  incomprehensible  to  confound  the 
whole  universe. 

Hut  it  was  a  moving  sight  to  see  the  buxom 
lasses,  how  they  hung  about  the  doughty  Anton) 
Van  Corlear — for  he  was  a  jolly,  rosy-faced,  lusly 
b.achelor,  fond  of  his  joke,  and  withal  a  despeiatt 
rogue  among  the  women.  F"ain  would  they  havr 
kept  him  to  comfort  them  while  the  army  was  away; 
for  besides  what  1  have  said  of  him,  it  is  no  more 
th.-in  justice  to  add,  that  he  was  a  kind-hearted  soul, 
noted  for  his  benevolent  attentions  in  comforting 
disconsolate  wives  during  the  absence  of  their  hus-^ 
bands — and  this  made  him  to  be  very  much  regarded 
by  the  honest  burgheis  of  the  city.  But  nothing 
could  keep  the  valiant  Antony  from  following  the 
heels  of  the  old  governor,  whom  he  loved  as  he  did 
his  very  soul — so,  embracing  all  the  young  vrouws, 
and  giving  every  one  of  them  that  had  good  teeth 
and  rosy  lips,  a  dozen  hearty  smacks,  he  departed 
loaded  with  their  kind  wishes. 

Nor  was  the  departure  of  the  gallant  Peter  among 
the  least  causes  of  public  distress.  Though  the  old 
governor  was  by  no  means  indulgent  to  the  follies 
and  waywardness  of  his  subjects,  yet  some  how  or 
other  he  had  become  strangely  popular  among  the 
people.  There  is  something  so  captivating  in  per- 
sonal bravery,  that,  with  the  common  mass  of  man- 
kind, it  takes  the  lead  of  most  other  merits.  The 
simple  folk  of  New-Amsterdam  looked  upon  I'etei 
Stuyvesant  as  a  prodigy  of  valour.  His  wooden  leg, 
that  trophy  of  his  martial  encounter,  was  regarded 
with  reverence  and  admiration.  Every  old  buigher 
had  a  budget  of  miraculous  stories  to  tell  about  the 
exploits  of  Hardkopping  Piet,  wherewith  he  regalet! 
his  children  of  a  long  winter  night ;  and  on  whicb 
he  dwelt  with  as  much  delight  and  exaggeration 
as  do  our  honest  country  yeomen  on  the  nardy  ad- 
ventures of  old  General  Putnam  (or  as  he  is  famil- 
iarly tenned,  OU  Put.)  during  our  glorious  revolu- 
tion. Not  an  individual  but  verily  believed  the  old 
governor  was  a  match  for  Belzebub  himself;  and 
there  was  even  a  sioty  told,  with  great  mystery,  and 
under  the  rose,  of  his  having  «hot  the  devil  with  » 


008 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGT()^^  IRVING. 


V    't 


nhrer  bullet,  one  dark,  stormy  night,  a*  he  was  saiU 
inir  in  a  canoe  through  Hell-Gate.— But  this  1  do 
not  record  aa  being  an  absolute  fact — perish  the 
man  who  would  let  fall  a  drop  to  discolour  the  pure 
stream  of  history  I 

Certain  it  is,  not  an  old  woman  in  New-Amster- 
dam but  considered  Peter  Stuyvesant  as  a  tower  of 
strength,  and  rested  satisfied  that  the  public  welfare 
was  secure  so  long  as  he  was  in  the  city.  It  is  not 
surprising,  then,  that  they  looked  upon  his  departure 
as  a  sore  aflniction.  With  heavy  hearts  they  dragged 
at  the  heels  of  his  troop,  as  tney  marched  down  tc 
the  river  side  to  embark.  The  governor,  from  the 
stem  of  his  schooner,  gave  a  short,  but  truly  patri- 
archal address  to  his  citizens ;  wherein  he  recom- 
mended them  to  comport  like  loyal  and  peacea^lf* 
subjects — to  go  to  church  regularly  on  Sundays,  a.id 
to  mind  their  business  all  tne  week  besides. — That 
the  women  should  be  dutiful  and  affectionate  to  their 
husbands — looking  after  nobody's  concerns  but  their 
own :  eschewing  all  gossipings  and  morning  gad- 
dings — and  caring  short  tongues  and  long  petti- 
coats.— That  the  men  should  abstain  from  mter- 
meddling  in  public  concerns,  intrustine  the  cares  of 

Sovemment  to  the  officers  appointra  to  support 
lem — staying  at  home  like  good  citizens,  making 
mcney  for  themselves,  and  getting  children  for  the 
benefit  of  their  country.  That  the  burgomasters 
should  look  well  to  the  public  interest — not  oppress- 
ing the  poor,  nor  indulging  the  rich — not  tasking 
their  sanity  to  devise  new  laws,  but  faithfully  en- 
forcing those  which  were  already  made — rather 
bending  their  attention  to  prevent  evil  than  to  pun- 
ish it ;  ever  recollecting  that  civil  magistrates  should 
consider  themselves  more  as  guardians  of  public 
Tiorals,  than  rat-catchers  employed  to  entrap  public 
leiinquents.  Finally,  he  exhorted  them,  one  and 
111,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  to  conduct  them- 
telves  as  well  as  they  could ;  assuring  them  that  if 
Lney  faithfully  and  conscientiously  complied  with 
this  golden  rule,  there  was  no  danger  but  that 
they  would  all  conduct  themselves  well  enough. — 
This  done,  he  gave  them  a  paternal  benediction ; 
the  sturdy  Antony  sounded  a  most  loving  farewell 
with  his  trumpet,  the  jolly  crews  put  up  a  shout  of 
triumph,  and  the  invincible  armada  swept  olT  proudly 
down  the  bay. 

The  good  people  of  New-Amsterdam  crowded 
down  to  the  Battery — that  blest  resort,  from  whence 
so  many  a  tender  prayer  has  been  wafted,  so  many  a 
fair  hand  waved,  so  many  a  tearful  look  l>een  cast  by 
love-sick  damsels,  after  the  lessenin){  bark,  bearing 
her  adventurous  swain  to  distant  climes.  Here  the 
populace  w.itched  with  strainin?  eyes  the  gallant 
squadron,  as  it  slowly  floated  down  the  bay,  and 
when  the  intervening  land  at  the  Narrows  shut  it 
from  their  sight,  gradually  dis[)ersed  with  silent 
tongues  and  downcast  countenances. 

A  heavy  gloom  hung  over  the  late  bustling  city. — 
The  honest  burghers  smoked  their  pipes  in  profound 
tboughtfulness,  casting  many  a  wistful  look  to  the 
weathercock,  on  the  church  of  Saint  Nicholas ;  and 
ill  the  old  women,  having  no  longer  the  presence  of 
Peter  Stuyvesant  to  hearten  them,  gathered  their 
children  home,  and  barricadoed  the  doors  and  win- 
i.iws  every  evening  at  sun-down. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  armada  of  the  sturdy  Peter 
proceeded  prosperously  on  its  voyage,  and  after  en- 
countering about  as  many  storms,  and  waterspouts, 
and  whales,  and  other  horrors  and  phenomena,  as 
generally  befall  adventurous  landsmen,  in  perilous 
voyages  of  the  kind ;  and  after  undergoing  a  severe 
scouring  from  that  deplorable  and  unpitiM  malady 
called  sea-sickness,  the  whole  squadron  arrived  safdy 
in  the  Delaware. 


Without  so  much  as  dropping  anchor  4nl  ^Umu 
his  wearied  ships  time  to  breathe  after  labouring  ic 
long  in  the  ocean,  the  intrepid  Peter  pursurd  hit 
course  up  the  Delaware,  and  made  a  sudden  appear. 
ance  before  Fort  Casimir. — Having  sumtnoncvl  th, 
astonished  garrison  by  a  terrific  bl.-ist  from  the  triu)ii> 
et  of  the  long-winded  Van  Corlear,  he  drmandrd 
in  a  tone  of  thunder  an  instant  surrender  ol  (he  .  ,t 
To  this  demand,  S'jen  Scutz,  the  wind-dncd  c.,m 
mandant,  replied  in  a  shrill,  whifHing  voii  i ,  which 
by  reason  of  his  extreme  spareness,  sounded  likr  thf 
wind  whistling  through  a  broken  liellows— ••  th,\t  h» 
had  no  very  strong  reasons  for  refusing,  exccp'  ihn 
the  demand  was  particularly  disagreeable,  .is  he  Ii.kI 
been  ordered  to  maintain  his  post  to  the  List  extrtin 
ity."  He  requested  time,  therefore,  to  Cf  nsult  wiih 
Governor  Kisingh,  and  proposed  a  truce  for  ih.ii 
purpose. 

The  choleric  Peter,  indignant  at  having  his  ri^ht 
ful  fort  so  treacherously  taken  from  him,  and  tlnu 
pertinaciously  withheld,  refused  the  proposed  armis. 
lice,  and  swore  by  the  pi|)e  of  St.  Nicholas,  which 
like  the  sacred  fire  was  never  extinguished,  that  im. 
less  the  fort  were  surrendered  in  ten  inin  iics,  hr 
would  incontinently  storm  the  works,  mak  all  the 
garrison  run  the  gauntlet,  and  split  their  scvftindrd 
of  a  commander  like  a  pickled  shad.  To  <f;,\v  this 
menace  the  greater  effect,  he  drew  forth  his  trusty 
sword,  and  shook  it  at  them  with  such  a  fierce  md 
vigorous  motion,  that  doubtless  if  it  had  not  br<  n  ex 
ceeding  rusty,  it  would  have  lightened  terror  into  thf 
eyes  and  hearts  of  the  enemy.  He  then  ordered  hii 
men  to  bring  a  bro.ulside  to  bear  upon  the  fort,  nm 
sisting  of  two  swivels,  three  muskets,  a  long  ducli 
fowling-piece,  and  two  brace  of  horse-pistols. 

In  the  meantime  the  sturdy  Van  Corlear  mar- 
shalled all  his  forces,  and  commenced  his  warhl« 
operations.  Distending  his  cheeks  like  a  very  Hot<  ,u 
he  kept  up  a  most  horrific  twanging  of  his  tniinpel 
— the  lusty  choristers  of  Sing-Sing  broke  forth  into  a 
hideous  song  of  battle — the  warriors  of  HrciK  kt  Itti 
and  the  Wallabout  blew  a  potent  and  astoumlini; 
blast  on  their  conch-shells,  altogether  forming'  .\^ 
outrageous  a  concerto  as  though  five  thousand  Km  h 
orchestras  were  displaying  tneir  skill  in  a  imxltri 
overture. 

Whether  the  formidable  front  of  war  thus  suddmly 
presented,  smote  the  garrison  with  sore  dismay— or 
whether  the  concluding  terms  of  the  summons,  whn  h 
mentioned  that  he  should  surrender  "at  cliscrttum' 
were  mistaken  by  Suen  Scutz,  who,  though  a  Swede, 
was  a  very  considerate,  easy-tempered  man  -as  a 
compliment  to  his  discretion,  1  will  not  take  upon  mc 
to  say ;  certain  it  is,  he  found  it  impossible  to  resl^t 
so  courteous  a  demand.  Accordingly,  in  the  very 
nick  of  time,  just  .is  the  cabin-boy  haci  gone  alter  .i 
coal  of  lire,  to  discharge  the  swivel,  a  chamade  w.i^ 
beat  on  the  rampart,  by  the  only  drum  in  the  k'"- 
rison,  to  the  no  small  satisfaction  of  both  partus. 
who,  notwithstanding  their  preat  stomach  for  fi>,'ht- 
ing,  had  full  as  good  an  inclination  to  eat  a  quie* 
dinner,  as  to  exchange  black  eyes  and  bloody  noses 

Thus  did  this  impregnable  fortress  once  nior  r(. 
turn  to  the  domination  of  their  High  Mightinesses 
Scutz  and  his  garrison  of  twenty  men  were  allower 
to  march  out  with  the  honours  of  war,  and  the  vic- 
torious Peter,  who  was  as  generous  as  brave,  per- 
mitted them  to  keep  possession  of  all  their  arms  and 
ammunition — the  same  on  inspection  bein^  found 
totally  unlit  for  service,  having  long  rusted  in  the 
magazine  of  the  fortress,  even  neiore  it  was  wrested 
by  the  Swedes  from  the  magnanimous,  but  windy 
Van  PofTenburgh.  But  I  must  not  omit  to  mention, 
that  the  governor  was  so  well  pleased  with  tl.e  serv 
ices  of  his  faithful  squire.  Van  Corlear,  in  the  rediic 


A   HISTORY  OF   NEW-YORK. 


609 


DOT  of  ihU  great  fortreu,  that  he  made  him  on  the 
I  ipo'  lord  of  a  goodly  domain  in  the  vicinity  of  New- 
TniMerdam  —which  goes  by  the  name  Corlcar'i  Hook 
gnto  this  very  day. 

I  he  unexampled  liberality  of  the  valiant  Stuyves- 
int  towards  the  Swedes  occasioned  great  surprise 
in  the  city  of  New-Amsterdam — nay,  cert.iin  of  these 
dctious  individuals,  who  had  l)een  enlightened  by 
ihr  political  meetings  that  prevailed  during  the  days 
tf  William  the  Trsty,  but  who  had  not  dared  to  in- 
i|ni){e  their  meddlesome  habits,  under  the  eye  of  their 
ijresent  ruler,  now  emboldened  by  his  absence,  dared 
evtn  to  give  vent  to  their  censures  in  the  street. 
Miirmurs  were  heard  in  the  very  council  chamber 
of  New-Amsterdam  ;  and  there  is  no  knowing  wheth- 
er they  would  not  have  broken  out  into  downright 
jpcfches  and  invectives,  had  not  Peter  Stuyvesant 
privately  sent  home  his  walking-staff,  to  be  laid  as  a 
mace  on  the  table  of  the  council  chamber,  in  the 
midst  of  his  counsellors ;  who,  like  wise  men,  took 
the  hint,  and  for  ever  after  held  their  peace. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

SHOWING  THI  GREAT  AOVANTAOB  THAT  THE 
AUTHOR  HAS  OVER  HIS  READER  IN  TIME  Or 
BATTLE  — TOGETHER  WITH  DIVIiRS  PORTENT- 
OUS MOVEMENTS,  WHICH  BETOKEN  THAT  SOME- 
THING TERRIBLE  IS  ABOUT  TO   HAPPEN. 

Like  as  a  mighty  alderman,  when  at  a  corporation 
feast  the  first  spoonful  of  turtle  soup  salutes  his  pal- 
ate, feels  his  impatient  appetite  but  tenfold  quick- 
ened, and  redoubles  his  vigorous  atta<:ks  upon  the 
tureen,  while  his  voracious  eyes,  projecting  from  his 
xiu\,  roll  greedily  round,  devouring  every  thing  at 
'.able — so  did  the  mettlesome  Peter  Stuvvesant  feel 
ihat  intolerable  hunger  for  martial  glory,  which 
ra^^ed  within  his  very  bowels,  inflamed  by  the  cap- 
lure  of  Fort  Caaimir,  and  nothing  could  allay  it  but 
the  conouest  of  all  New-Sweden.  No  sooner,  there- 
fore, had  he  secured  his  conquest,  than  he  stumped 
resolutely  on,  flushed  with  success,  to  gather  fresh 
laurels  at  Fort  Christina.* 

I'his  was  the  grand  Swedish  post,  established  on  a 
:>mall  river  (or  as  it  is  improperly  termed,  creek)  of 
the  same  name;  and  here  that  crafty  Governor  Jan 
Kisingh  lay  grimly  drawn  up,  hke  a  gray-bearded 
s|iiiler  in  the  citadel  of  his  web. 

liut  before  we  hurry  into  the  direful  scenes  that 
inu!>t  attend  the  meeting  of  two  such  potent  chief- 
tains, it  is  advisable  that  we  pause  for  a  moment,  and 
hold  a  kind  of  warlike  council.  Battles  should  not 
be  rushed  into  precipitately  by  the  historian  and  his 
readers,  any  more  than  by  the  general  and  his  sol- 
diers. The  great  commanders  of  antiquity  never 
enjjaged  the  enemy,  without  previously  preparing 
the  minds  of  their  followers  by  animating  harangues; 
spiriting  them  up  to  heroic  feelings.  a.ssuring  them 
of  the  protection  of  the  gods,  and  inspiring  them 
<(  ih  a  confidence  in  the  prowess  of  their  leaders.  So 
1 1  historian  should  awaken  the  attention  and  enlist 
he  passions  of  his  readers,  and  having  set  them  all 
)u  tire  with  the  importance  of  his  subject,  he  should 
out  himself  at  their  head,  flourish  his  pen,  and  lead 
■hem  on  to  the  thickest  of  the  tight. 

An  illustrious  example  of  this  rulo  may  be  seen  in 
that  mirror  of  historians,  the  immortal  Thucydides. 
Having  ai  rived  at  the  breaking  out  of  the  Pelopon- 
aesian  war,  one  of  his  commentators  observes,  that 

*  ThU  II  at  picsant  a  loiuwliini  tuwn^  called  ChriitianB,  or 
Christccn,  abmit  ihirty-Mven  mUet  from  Philadelphia,  oo  the  ooit- 
road  to  Balcimore 


"  he  sounds  the  charge  in  ail  the  ditpotilion  and 
spirit  of  Homer.  He  catalogues  the  allies  on  both 
sides.  He  awakens  our  ex|)<-ctations,  and  fast  en 
gages  our  attention.  All  mankind  are  con^^erned  ii 
tne  important  point  now  going  to  f)e  decided.  En- 
deavours are  made  to  (fisclose  futurity.  Hea"er 
itself  is  interested  in  the  dispute.  The  earth  totters 
and  nature  seems  to  labour  with  the  great  event 
This  is  his  solemn  sublime  manner  of  setting  cut 
Thus  he  magnifies  a  war  between  two.  as  Kapio 
styles  them,  petty  states ;  and  thus  artfully  he  sup- 
ports a  little  subject,  by  treating  it  in  a  great  and 
noble  method." 

In  like  manner,  having  conducted  my  readers  into 
the  very  teeth  of  peril— naving  followed  the  advent- 
urous Peter  and  his  band  into  foreign  regions — sur- 
rounded by  foes,  and  stunned  by  the  horrid  din  of 
anns — at  this  important  moment,  while  darkness  and 
doubt  hang  o'er  each  coming  chapter,  I  hold  it  meet 
to  harangue  them,  and  prepare  them  for  the  events 
that  are  to  follow. 

And  here  I  would  premise  one  great  advanLi'^e 
which,  as  the  historian,  I  possess  over  my  reader ; 
and  this  it  is,  that  though  I  cannot  save  tne  life  of 
my  favourite  hero,  nor  absolutely  contradict  the  evmt 
of  a  battle,  (both  which  liberties,  though  often  taken 
by  the  French  writers  of  the  present  reign,  I  hold  to 
be  utterly  unworthy  of  a  scrupulous  historian,)  yet  I 
can  now  and  then  make  him  to  bestow  on  his  enemy 
a  sturdy  back-stroke  sufficient  to  fell  a  giant ;  though, 
in  honest  truth,  he  may  never  have  done  any  thing 
of  the  kind — or  I  can  drive  his  antagonist  clear  round 
and  round  the  field,  as  did  Homer  make  that  fine  fel- 
low Hector  scamper  like  a  poltroon  round  the  walls 
of  Troy  ;  for  which,  if  ever  they  have  encountered 
one  another  in  the  Elvsi.in  fields,  I'll  warrant  th« 
prince  of  poets  has  had  fi  make  the  most  humbit 
apology. 

I  am  aware  that  many  conscientious  readers  wiC 
be  ready  to  cry  out  "  foui  play  !  "  whenever  1  render 
a  little  assistance  to  my  hero — but  I  consider  it  one 
of  those  privileges  exercised  by  historians  of  all  ages, 
and  one  which  has  never  been  disputed.  In  tact, 
a  historian  is,  as  it  were,  bound  in  Honour  to  stand 
by  his  hero— the  fame  of  the  latter  is  intrusted  to  his 
hands,  and  it  is  his  duty  to  do  the  best  by  it  he  can. 
Never  w.is  there  a  general,  an  admiral,  or  any  other 
commander,  who,  in  giving  an  account  of  any  battle 
he  had  fought,  did  not  sorely  belabour  the  enemy ; 
and  I  have  no  doubt  that,  baa  my  heroes  written  the 
history  of  their  own  achievements,  they  would  have 
dealt  much  harder  blows  than  any  that  I  shall  re- 
count. Standing  forth,  therefore,  as  the  euardian 
of  their  fame,  it  behoves  me  to  do  them  tne  same 
justice  they  would  have  done  themselves ;  and  if  I 
happen  to  be  a  little  hard  upon  the  Swedes,  I  give 
free  leave  to  any  of  their  descendants,  who  may  write 
a  history  of  the  State  of  Delaware,  to  take  fair  letal- 
iation,  and  belabour  Peter  Stuyvesant  as  hard  as  they 
please. 

Therefore  stand  by  for  broken  heat.s  and  bloody 
noses  ! — my  pen  hath  long  itched  for  a  battle — siege 
after  siege  nave  1  carried  on  without  blows  or  blooid 
shed  ;  but  now  I  have  at  length  got  a  chance,  and  1 
vow  to  Heaven  and  St.  Nicholas,  that,  let  the  chron 
icles  of  the  time  say  what  they  please,  neither  Sallust 
Livy,  Tacitus,  Polybius,  nor  any  other  historian,  diO 
ever  record  a  fiercer  tight  than  that  in  which  my 
valiant  chieftains  are  now  about  to  engage. 

And  you,  oh  most  excellent  readers,  whon.,  foi 
your  faithful  adherence,  I  could  cherish  in  the  warm- 
est corner  of  my  heart — be  not  uneasy — trust  ihe 
fate  of  our  favourite  Stuyvesant  to  me — tor  by  the 
rood,  come  what  may,  I'll  stick  by  Hard-kopping 
Piet  to  the  last ;    III  make  him  drive  about  thes» 


Ik' -44 


010 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


54 


;|i: 


^^ 


;•  ;t!' 


Si 


loaels  viie.  as  did  the  renowned  Launcelot  of  the 
lake,  a  herd  ot  recreant  Cornish  knights— -and  if  he 
does  fall,  let  me  never  draw  my  pen  to  fight  another 
battle,  in  behalf  of  a  brave  man,  if  I  don't  make  these 
lubberly  Swedes  pay  for  it. 

No  sooner  had  Peter  Stuyvesant  arrived  before 
Fort  Christina  than  he  proceeded  without  delay  to 
intrench  himself,  and  immediately  on  running  his 
first  parallel,  despatched  Antony  Van  Corlear  to 
iummon  the  fortress  to  surrender.  Van  Corlear  was 
received  with  all  due  formality,  hoodwinked  at  the 
portal,  and  conducted  through  a  pestiferous  smell  of 
salt  fish  and  onions,  to  the  citadel,  a  substantial  hut, 
built  of  pine  logs.  His  eyes  were  here  uncovered, 
and  he  found  himself  in  the  august  presence  of 
Governor  Risingh.  This  chieftain,  as  I  nave  before 
noted,  was  a  very  giantly  man;  and  was  clad  in  a 
coarse  blue,  coat,  strapped  round  the  waist  with  a 
leathern  belt,  which  caused  the  enormous  skirts  and 
pockets  to  set  off  with  a  very  warlike  sweep.  His 
ponderous  legs  were  cased  in  a  pair  of  foxy-coloured 
lack-boots,  and  he  was  straddling  in  the  attitude  of 
the  Colossus  of  Rhodes,  before  a  bit  of  broken  look- 
ing-glass, shaving  himself  with  a  villainously  dull 
razor.  This  afflicting  operation  caused  him  to  niake 
r.  series  of  horrible  g^rimaces,  that  heightened  exceed- 
ingly the  grizzly  terrors  of  his  visage.  On  Antony 
Van  Corlear's  being  announced,  the  grim  commander 
paused  for  a  moment,  in  the  midst  of  one  of  his 
most  hard-favoured  contortions,  and  after  eyeing 
him  askance  over  the  shoulder,  with  a  kind  of  snarl- 
ing grin  on  his  countenance,  resumed  his  labours  at 
the  glasii. 

This  iron  harvest  being  reaped,  he  turned  once 
more  to  the  trur  ;ter,  and  demanded  the  purport 
of  his  errand.  tony  Van  Corlear  delivered  in  a 

fsw  words,  beii.^  a  kind  of  short-hand  speaker, 
1  long  message  from  his  excellency,  recounting 
lie  whole  history  of  the  province,  with  a  recapitula- 
tion of  grievances,  and  enumeration  of  claims,  and 
concluding  with  a  peremptory  demand  of  instant 
surrender ;  which  done,  he  turned  aside,  took  his 
nose  between  his  thumb  and  finger,  and  blew  a 
'▼emendous  blast,  not  unlike  the  Hounsh  of  a  trump- 
e*  of  defiance — which  it  had  doubtless  learned  from 
a  long  and  intimate  neighbourhood  with  that  melo- 
dious instn.unent. 

Governor  Risingh  heard  him  through,  trumpet  and 
all,  but  with  infinite  impatience ;  leaning  at  times, 
as  was  his  usual  custom,  on  the  pommel  of  his  sword, 
and  at  times  twirling  a  huge  steel  watch-chain,  or 
snapping  his  fingers.  Van  Corlear  having  finished, 
he   bluntly  replied,   that   Peter  .Stuyvesant  and  his 

summons  might  go  to  the  d 1,  whither  he  hoped 

to  send  him  and  his  crew  of  ragamuffins  l>efore  sup- 
per-time. Then  unsheathing  his  brass-hilted  sword, 
and  throwing  away  the  scahhard — "  F'ore  gad,"  quoti 
ne,  "  hut  I  will  not  sheath-  thee  again,  until  1  make 
a  scabbard  of  the  smoke-dned,  leathern  hide  of  this 
runaj^ate  Dutchman."  Then  having  thing  a  fierce 
defiance  in  the  teeth  of  his  adversary,  by  tlie  lips  of 
his  messenger,  the  latter  was  reconducted  to  the 
portal,  with  all  the  ceremonious  civility  due  to  the 
irumpefer,  's((uirc,  and  ambassador  of^  so  great  a 
lominander.  and  being  again  unblinded.  was  courte- 
ously dismissed  with  a  tweak  of  the  nose,  to  assist 
him  in  recollecting  his  message. 

No  r.ooner  did  the  gallant  Peter  receive  this  inso- 
lent reply,  th.m  he  let  tly  a  trementlous  volley  of  red- 
hot  execrations,  that  would  infallibly  have  battered 
down  the  furtifications,  and  blown  up  the  powder- 
magazine  atiout  the  ears  of  the  fiery  Swe«le,  had  not 
the  ramparts  been  remarkably  strong,  anri  the  maga- 
nne  bomb-proof.  Perceiving  that  the  works  with- 
ttood  this  terrific  blast,  ard  inat  it  was  utterly  impos- 


sible (as  it  really  was  in  those  unphilosophic  dnysj  1^1 
carry  on  a  war  with  words,  he  ordered  his  riiein| 
men  all  to  prepare  for  an  immediate  assault.    Bull 
heie  a  strange  murmur  broke  out  among  his  troops,! 
beginning  with  the  tribe  of  the  Van  Bummels.  those  I 
vanant  trincher-men  of  the  Bronx,  and  spreading 
from  ma'i  to  man,  accompanied  with  certain  muti. 
nous  Iroks  and  discontented  murmurs.     For  onc«l 
in  his  life,  and  only  for  once,  did  the  great  Peteil 
turn  pale,  for  he  verily  thought  his  warriors  were 
going  to  falter  in  this  hour  of  perilous  trial,  ami  thu! 
tarnish  for  ever  the  fame  of  the  province  of  New-  j 
Nederlands. 

But  soon  did  he  discover,  to  his  £[reat  joy,  that  in  I 
this  suspicion  he  deeply  wronged  this  most  uiuLiunt- 
ed  army ;  for  the  cause  of  this  agitation  and  un- 
easiness simply  was,  that  the  hour  of  dinner  was  at 
hand,  and  it  would  have  almost  broken  the  hearts !  > 
these  regular  Dutch  warriors,  to  have  broken  it, 
upon  the  invariable  routine  of  their  habits.  Besides, 
it  .was  an  established  rule  among  our  valiant  ances- 
tors, alwavs  to  fight  upon  a  full  stomach,  and  to 
this  may  be  doubtless  attributed  the  circumstance 
that  they  came  to  be  so  renowned  in  arms. 

And  now  are  the  hearty  men  of  the  Manhattoes, 
and  their  no  less  hearty  comrades,  all  lustily  engaged 
under  the  trees,  buffeting  stoutly  with  the  contents 
of  their  wallets,  and  taking  such  affectionate  em- 
braces of  their  canteens  and  pottles,  as  though  they 
verily  believed  they  were  to  be  the  last.  And  as  1 
foresee  we  shall  have  hot  work  in  a  page  or  two, 
I  advise  my  readers  to  do  the  same,  for  which  pur- 
pose I  will  bring  this  chapter  to  a  close ;  giving  them 
my  word  of  honour  that  no  advantage  shall  be  taken 
of  this  armistice  to  surprise,  or  in  any  wise  mciest 
the  honest  Nederlanders  while  at  their  vigorous 
repast. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


CONTAINING  THE  MOST  HORRIBLE  BATTLE  EVER 
RECORDED  IN  POETRY  Ok  PROSE — WITH  TUg 
ADMIRABLE  EXPLOITS  OP  PETER  THE  HEAD- 
STRONG. 

"  Now  had  the  Dutchmen  snatched  a  huge  re- 
past," and  finding  themselves  wonderfully  encour- 
aged and  animated  thereby,  prepared  to  take  tlie 
field.  Expectation,  says  the  writer  of  the  Stuyvesant 
manuscript — Expectation  now  stood  on  stilts.  The 
world  forgot  to  turn  round,  or  rather  stood  still,  that 
it  might  witness  the  affray  ;  like  a  fat,  round-belhed 
alderman,  watching  the  combat  of  two  chivalric  llit.s 
upon  his  jerkin.  The  eyes  of  all  mankind,  as  usual 
in  such  cases,  were  turned  upon  Fort  Christina 
The  sun,  like  a  little  man  in  a  crowd  at  a  puppet- 
show,  scampered  about  the  heavens,  popping  his 
head  here  and  there,  and  endeavouring  to  get  a  ptep 
between  tfie  unmannerly  clouds  that  obtruded  them- 
selves in  his  way.  The  historians  filled  their  ink 
horns — the  poets  went  without  their  dinners,  eitn..'i 
that  they  might  buy  paper  and  goose-quills,  or  U; 
cause  they  could  not  get  any  thing  to  eat— ani:\i',:i'\ 
scowled  sulkily  out  of^its  grave,  to  see  itself  outdone 
—  while  even  posterity  stood  mute,  gazing  in  gaping 
ecstasy  of  retrospection  on  the  eventful  field. 

The  immortal  deities,  who  whilom  had  stitu  service 
at  the  "  affair  "  of  Troy — now  mounted  their  feather- 
bed clouds,  and  sailed  over  the  plain  or  mii.gled 
among  the  combatants  in  different  disguises,  all  itch- 
ing to  have  a  finger  in  the  pie.  Jupiter  sent  ofl  his 
thunderbolt  to  a  noted  coppersmitn,  lo  have  it  fur- 
bished up  (or  the  direful  occas'on.  Venus  swoif  by 
her  ch-ijtity  she'd  patronize  t'je  Swedes,  and  in  s«.'ai 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW- YORK. 


51i 


stance  of  a  blear-eyed  trull,  paraded  the  battlements 
of  Fort  Christina,  accompanied  by  Diana  as  a  ser- 
geant's widow,  of  cracked  reputation. — The  noted 
bully.  Mars,  stuck  two  horse-pistols  into  his  belt, 
ihouldered  a  r'sty  firelock,  and  gallantly  swaggered 
at  their  elbo-  ^  a  drunken  corporal — while  Apollo 
trudged  in  their  rear  as  a  bandy-legged  fifer,  playing 
most  villainou.sly  out  of  tune. 

On  the  other  side,  the  ox-eyed  Juno,  who  had 
gained  a  pair  of  black  eyes  overnight,  in  one  of 
her  curtain  lectures  with  old  Jupiter,  displayed  her 
haughty  beauties  on  a  baggage-wagon — Minerva,  as 
a  brawny  gin  sutler,  tucked  up  her  skirts,  brandished 
her  fists,  and  swore  most  heroically  in  exceeding  bad 
Dutch,  (having  but  lately  studied  the  language,)  by 
way  of  keeping  up  the  spirits  of  the  soldiers ;  while 
Vulcan  halted  as  a  club-footed  blacksmith,  lately 
promoted  to  be  a  captain  of  militia.  Aii  was  silent 
horror,  or  bustling  preparation  ;  war  reared  his  hor- 
rid front,  gnashed  loud  his  iron  fangs,  and  shook  his 
direful  crest  of  bristling  bayonets. 

And  now  the  mighty  chieftains  marshalled  out 
their  hosts.  Here  stood  stout  Risingh,  iirm  as  a 
thousand  rocks — incrusted  with  stockades  and  en- 
trenched to  the  chin  in  mud  batteries.  His  valiant 
soldiery  lined  the  breastwork  in  grim  array,  each 
having  his  mustachios  fiercely  greased,  and  h's  hair 
pomatumed  back  and  queued  so  stifly  that  he  grin- 
ned above  the  ramparts  like  a  grizzly  death's  head. 

There  came  on  the  intrepid  Peter — his  brows  knit, 
his  teeth  set,  his  fists  clenched,  almost  breathing 
forth  volumes  of  smoke,  so  fierce  was  the  fire  that 
raged  within  his  bosom.  His  faithful  'squire.  Van 
Corlear,  trudged  valiantly  at  his  heels,  with  his 
trumpet  eorgeously  bedecked  with  red  and  yellow 
ribands,  the  remembrances  of  his  fair  mistresses  at 
the  Manhattoes.  Then  came  waddling  on  the  sturdy 
chivalry  of  the  Hudson.  There  were  the  Van  Wycks, 
and  the  Van  Dycks,  and  the  Ten  Eycks — the  Van 
Nesses,  the  Van  Tassels,  the  Van  Grolls,  the  Van 
Hoesens,  the  Van  Giesons,  and  the  Van  Blarcoms 
—the  Van  Warts,  the  Van  Winkles,  the  Van  Dams, 
the  Van  Pelts,  the  Van  Rippers,  and  the  Van  Brunts. 
—There  were  the  Van  Homes,  the  Van  Hooks,  the 
Van  Bunschotens ;  the  Van  Gelders,  the  Van  Ars- 
daies,  and  the  Van  Bummels — the  Vander  Belts, 
the  Vander  Hoofs,  the  Vander  Voorts,  the  Vander 
Lyns,  the  Vander  Pools,  and  the  Vander  Spiegels. 
—There  came  the  Hoffmans,  the  Hooghlands,  the 
Hoppers,  the  Cloppers,  the  Ryckmans,  the  Dyck- 
mans,  the  Hogebooms.  the  Rosebooms,  theOothouts, 
the  Quackenbosses,  the  Roerbacks,  the  Garrebrantzs, 
the  Bensons.  the  Brouwers.  the  Waldrons,  the  On- 
derdonks,  the  Varra  Vangers.  the  Schermerhomes, 
the  Stoutenburghs,  the  Brinkerhoffs,  the  Bontecoiis, 
the  Knickerbockers,  the  Hockstrassers,  the  Ten 
Breecheses,  and  the  Tough  Breechcses,  with  a 
host  more  of  worthies,  whose  names  are  too  crab- 
bed to  be  written,  or  if  they  could  be  written,  it 
would  be  impossible  for  man  to  utter — all  fortified 
•vith  a  mit'hty  dinner,  and  to  use  the  words  of  a 
peat  DutcTi  poet. 

"  Brimful  of  wrath  and  cabbage  I " 

For  an  instant  the  mifjhty  Peter  paused  in  the 
i.idst  of  his  career,  and  irounting  on  a  stump,  ad- 
dressed his  troops  in  eloquent  Low  Dvjtch,  exhort- 
ing them  to  fight  like  duyi<el ,  and  assuring  them 
that  if  they  conquered,  they  should  get  plenty  of 
booty — if  they  fell,  they  should  be  allowed  the  un- 
paralleled satisfaction,  while  dying,  of  reflecting  that 
It  was  in  the  service  of  their  country — and  after  they 
were  dead,  of  seeinjj  their  names  inscribed  in  the 
temple  of  lenown.  and  handed  down,  m  company 
witn  all  the  other  great  men  of  the  year,  for  the  ad- 


miration of  posterity. — Finally,  he  swore  to  them 
on  the  word  of  a  governor,  (and  they  knew  him  toe 
well  to  doubt  it  for  a  moment)  that  if  he  caught  an) 
mother's  son  of  them  looking  pale,  or  playing  cra- 
ven, he'd  curry  his  hide  till  he  made  him  run  out  ol 
,it  like  a  .snake  in  spring-time. — Then  lugging  out  hif 
trusty  sabre,  he  brandished  it  three  times  ever  his 
head,  ordered  Van  Corlear  to  sound  a  tremendoiu 
charge,  and  shouting  the  words,  "  St.  Nicholas  an  i 
the  Manhattoes  ! "  courageously  da<.hed  forwards 
His  warlike  followers,  who  had  employed  the  inter 
val  in  lighting  their  pipes,  instantly  stuck  them  in 
their  mouths,  gave  a  furious  puff,  and  charged  gal- 
lantly, und'r  cover  of  the  smoke. 

The  Sw'.dish  garrison,  ordered  by  the  cunning 
Risingh  not  to  fire  until  hey  could  distinguish  the 
whiles  of  their  assailants  eyes,  stood  in  horrid  si- 
lence on  the  covert-way,  until  the  eager  Dutchmen 
had  ascended  the  glacis.  Then  did  they  pour  into 
them  such  a  tremendous  volley,  that  the  very  hills 
quaked  around,  and  were  terrified  even  unto  an  in- 
continence of  water,  insomuch  that  certain  springs 
burst  forth  from  their  sides,  which  continue  to  run 
unto  the  present  day.  Not  a  Dutchman  but  would 
have  bitten  the  dust,  beneath  that  dreadful  tire,  had 
not  the  protecting  Minerva  kindly  taken  care  that  the' 
Swedes  should,  one  and  all.  observe  their  usual  cus- 
tom of  shutting  their  eyes  and  turning  away  thcit 
heads,  at  the  moment  of  discharge. 

The  Swedes  followed  up  their  fire  by  leaping  th< 
counterscarp,  and  falling  tooth  and  nail  upon  th' 
foe,  with  furious  outcries.  And  now  might  be  seen 
prodigies  of  valour,  of  which  neither  history  nor 
song  nas  ever  recorded  a  parallel.  Here  was  beheld 
the  sturdy  StofTel  BrinkerhofT,  brandishing  his  lusty 
quarter-staff,  like  the  terrible  gpant  Blanderon  his 
oak  tree,  (for  he  scorned  to  carry  any  other  weapon,'* 
and  drumming  a  horrific  tune  upon  the  heads  ai 
whole  squadrons  of  Swedes.  There  were  the  craftj 
Van  Kortlandts,  posted  at  a  distance,  like  the  Lo> 
crian  archers  of  yore,  and  plying  it  most  potently 
with  the  long  bow,  for  which  they  were  so  justly  its 
nowned.  At  another  place  were  collected  on  a  ris- 
ing knoll  the  valiant  men  of  Sing-Sing,  who  assisted 
marvellously  in  the  fight,  by  chanting  forth  the  great 
son?  of  St.  Nicholas ;  but  as  to  the  Gardeniers  of 
Hudson,  they  were  absent  from  the  battle,  having 
been  sent  out  on  a  marauding  party,  to  lay  waste 
the  neighbouring  water-melon  patches.  In  a  diTt'er- 
ent  part  of  the  field  might  be  seen  the  V<iii  Grolls 
of  Antony's  Nose  ;  but  they  were  horribly  perplexed 
in  a  defile  between  two  little  hills,  by  reason  of  the 
length  of  their  noses.  There  were  the  Van  Bun- 
schotens of  Nyack  and  Kakiat,  so  renowned  for 
kicking  with  the  left  foot,  but  their  skill  availed  them 
little  Pt  present,  being  short  of  wind  in  consequence 
of  the  hearty  dinner  they  had  eaten,  and  they  would 
irretrievably  have  been  put  to  rout,  had  they  not 
been  reinforced  by  a  gallant  corps  of  Vol((t;enres, 
composed  of  the  Hoppers,  who  advanced  to  theit 
assistance  nimbly  on  one  foot.  Nor  must  I  omit  to 
mention  the  incomparable  achievements  of  Antony 
Van  Corlear,  who,  for  a  good  quarter  of  an  hour, 
waged  stubborn  fight  with  a  little,  pursy  Swedish 
drummer,  whose  hide  he  drummed  most  maenifi 
cently ;  and  had  he  not  come  into  the  battle  witn  nt 
other  weapon  but  his  trumpet,  would  infallibly  h«rt 
put  him  to  an  untimely  end. 

Bui  now  the  combat  thickened  -on  came  the 
mighty  Jacobus  Varra  Vianger,  and  the  fighting  men 
of  the  Wallahout;  after  them  thundered  the  Van 
Pelts  of  Ksopus,  together  with  the  Van  Rippers  and 
the  Van  Bruntn,  bearing  down  all  before  them — then 
the  Suy  Dams  and  the  Van  Dams,  pressing  forwarc* 
with  many  a  bl  istering  oath,  at  the  tiead  of  the  war 


612 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


-^y-r-:- 


•*■■ 


;■,!..■ -^ 


riora  of  Hell-Gate,  clad  in  their  thunder  and  light- 
nine  gaberdines;  and  lastly,  the  standard-bearers 
ana  body-guards  of  Peter  Stuyvesant,  bearing  the 
great  beaver  of  the  Manhattoes. 

Aiid  now  commenced  the  horrid  din,  the  desper- 
ate struggle,  the  maddening  ferocity,  the  frantic  des- 
peration, the  confusion  and  self-abandonment  of 
war.  Dutchman  and  Swede  commingled,  tugged, 
panted,  and  blowed.  The  heavens  were  darkened 
with  a  tempest  of  missivf:s.  Bane  1  went  the  guns 
--whack  !  struck  the  broad-swords — thump !  went 
ti»e  cudgels — crash  !  went  the  musket  stocks — blows 
-kicks — cuffs — scratches — black  eyes  and  bloody 
noses,  swelling  the  horrors  of  the  scene !  Thick- 
thwack,  cut  and  hack,  helter-skelter,  higgledy-pig- 
gledy, hurly-burly,  head  over  heels,  rough  and  tum- 
ble ! Dunder  and  blixum  !  swore  the  Dutchmen — 

splitter  and  splutter !  cried  the  Swedes. — Storm  the 
works !  shouted  Hardkoppig  Peter — fire  the  mine ! 
roared  stout  Risingh — Tanta-ra-ra-ra !  twanged  the 
trumpet  of  Antony  Van  Corlear — until  all  voice  and 
sound  became  unmtelligible — grunts  of  pain,  yells 
of  fury,  and  shouts  of  triumph  commingling  in  one 
hideous  clamour.  The  earth  shook  as  if  struck  with 
a  paralytic  stroke — trees  shrunk  aghast,  and  with- 
ered at  the  sight — rocks  burrowed  in  the  ground 
ike  rabbits,  and  even  Christina  creek  turned  from  its 
:ourse,  and  ran  up  a  mountain  in  breathless  terror ! 

Long  hung  the  contest  doubtful;  for,  though  a 
heavy  shower  of  rain,  sent  by  the  "  cloud-compel- 
ling Jove,"  in  some  measure  cooled  their  ardour,  as 
doth  a  bucket  of  water  thrown  on  a  group  of  fight- 
ing mastiffs,  yet  did  they  but  pause  for  a  moment,  to 
return  with  tenfold  fury  to  the  charge,  belabouring 
each  other  with  black  and  bloody  bruises.  Just  at 
this  juncture  was  seen  a  vast  and  dense  column  of 
linoke,  slowly  rolling  towards  the  scene  of  battle, 
which  for  a  while  made  even  the  furious  combatants 
'0  stay  their  arms  in  mute  astonishment — but  the 
vind  far  a  moment  disper;ing  the  murky  cloud, 
icm  the  midst  thereof  emerged  the  flaunting  ban- 
ner of  the  immortal  Michael  Paw.  This  noble  chief- 
tain came  fearlessly  on,  leading  a  solid  phalanx  of 
oyster-fed  Pavonians,  who  had  remained  behind, 
partly  as  a  corps  de  reserve,  and  partly  to  digest  the 
enormous  dinner  they  had  eaten.  These  sturdy  yeo- 
men, nothing  daunted,  did  trudge  manfully  forward, 
smoking  their  pipes  with  outrageous  vigour,  so  as  to 
raise  the  awful  cloud  that  has  been  mentioned ;  but 
marchini;  exceedingly  slow,  being  short  of  leg,  and 
of  great  rotundity  in  the  belt. 

And  now  tiie  protecting  deities  of  the  army  of 
New-Amsterdam,  having  unthinkingly  left  the  field 
.and  stept  into  a  neighbouring  tavern  to  rt-l'resh  tliem- 
selves  with  a  pot  of  beer,  a  direful  catastrophe  had 
weil-nigh  chanced  to  befall  the  Nederlanders.  Scarce- 
ly had  the  myrmidons  of  the  puissant  Paw  attained 
the  front  of  battle,  before  the  Swedes,  instructed  by 
the  cunning  Risingh,  levelled  a  shower  of  blows  full 
at  their  tobacco-pipes.  Astounded  at  this  unexpect- 
ed assault,  and  totally  discomfited  at  seeing  their 
pij)es  broken,  the  valiant  Dutchmen  fell  in  vast  con- 
fusion— already  they  begin  to  fly — like  a  frightened 
Jrove  of  unwieldy  ele|)hants  they  throw  their  own 
army  in  an  uproar,  bearing  down  a  whole  leeion  of 
little  Hoppers — the  sacred  banner,  on  which  is 
5la'oned  ine  gigantic  oyster  of  Communipaw,  is 
.rampled  in  the  dirt — the  Swedes  pluck  up  new 
ipints,  and  pressing  on  their  rear,  apply  their  feet  a 
iartt  poste,  with  a  vigour  that  prodigiousw  accelerates 
their  motions — nor  doth  the  renowned  Paw  himself 
fail  to  receive  divers  grievous  and  dishonourable  visi- 
tations of  shoe-leather ! 

But  what,  oh  muse  !  was  the  rage  of  the  gallant 
"etrr,  when  from  afar  he  saw  his  army  yield  ?  With 


a  voice  of  thunder  did  he  roar  after  his  recreant  wai 
riors.  The  men  of  the  Manhattoes  plucked  uti  new 
courage  when  they  heard  their  leader— or  ratlier  they 
dreaded  his  fierce  displeasure,  of  which  they  stood  iq 
more  awe  than  of  all  the  Swedes  in  Christendom-. 
but  the  daring  Peter,  not  waiting  for  theii  aid,  plun^jed 
sword  in  hand,  into  the  thickest  of  tht.  foe.  Tht^n 
did  he  display  some  such  incredible  achievemen'is  us 
have  never  been  known  since  the  miraculous  davs  of 
the  giants.  Wherever  he  went,  the  enemy  ^jhVunk 
before  him — with  fierce  impetuosity  he  pushed  for- 
ward,  driv.ng  the  Swedes,  like  dogs,  into  their  own 
ditch — ^but  as  he  fearlessly  advanced,  the  foe  thruimed 
in  his  rear,  and  hung  upon  his  flank  with  fearlul  peril. 
One  crafty  Swede,  advancing  warily  on  one  side 
drove  his  dastard  sword  full  at  the  hero's  heart ;  but 
the  protecting  power  that  watches  over  the  safety  ol 
all  great  and  good  men,  turned  aside  the  Imstilc 
blade,  and  directed  it  to  a  side  pocket,  where  reposed 
an  enormous  iron  tobacco-box,  endowed,  like  the 
shield  of  Achilles,  with  supernatural  powers— no 
doubt  in  consequence  of  its  being  piously  decor.ited 
with  a  portrait  of  the  ble-ssed  St.  Nicholas.  II  ^ 
was  the  dreadful  blow  repelled,  but  not  without  oc- 
casioning to  the  great  Peter  a  fearful  loss  of  wind. 

Like  as  a  furious  bear,  when  gored  by  curs,  turns 
fiercely  round,  gnashes  his  teeth,  and  springs  upon 
the  foe,  so  did  our  hero  turn  upon  the  treacherous 
Swede.  The  miserable  varlet  sought  in  flight  for 
safety — but  the  active  Peter,  seizing  him  by  an  im- 
measurable queue,  that  dangled  from  his  head— ".Mi, 
whoreson  caterpillar ! "  roared  he,  "  here  is  what 
shall  make  dog's  meat  of  thee  !  "  So  saying,  he  whirl- 
ed his  trusty  sword,  and  made  a  blow  that  would 
have  decapitated  him,  but  that  the  pitying  steel  struck 
short,  and  shaved  the  queue  for  ever  from  his  cro\s  n. 
At  this  very  moment  a  cunning  arquebusier,  perched 
on  the  summit  of  a  neighbourine  mound,  levelled 
his  deadly  instrument,  and  would  nave  sent  the  >;al- 
lant  Stuyvesant  a  wailine  ghost  to  haunt  the  Stygian 
shore,  had  not  the  watcnful  Minerva,  who  haci  jusi 
stopped  to  tie  up  her  ganer,  seen  the  great  peril  ol 
her  favourite  chief,  and  despatched  old  Boreas  will 
his  bellows ;  who,  in  the  very  nick  of  time,  just  as 
the  match  descended  to  the  pan,  gave  such  a  lucky 
blast,  as  blew  all  the  priming  from  the  touch-hole  ' 

Thus  waged  the  horrid  fight — when  tiie  stout  Ri- 
singh, surveying  the  battle  from  the  top  ol  a  litile 
ravelin,  perceived  his  faithful  troops  banged,  beaten. 
and  kicked  by  the  invincible  .Peter.  Language  can- 
not describe  the  choler  with  which  he  was  seized  at 
the  sight— he  onl^r  stopped  for  a  moment  to  disbur- 
thcn  himself  of  hve  thousand  anathemas ;  and  then, 
drawing  his  immeasurable  falchion,  straddled  dtiwn 
to  the  held  of  combat,  with  some  such  thundering 
strides  as  Jupiter  is  said  by  Hcsiod  to  have  taken 
when  he  strode  down  the  spheres,  to  hurl  iiis  lliun- 
derbolts  at  the  Titans. 

No  sooner  did  these  two  rival  heroes  come  face  to 
face,  than  they  each  made  a  prodigious  start,  su(  li  as 
is  made  by  your  most  experienced  stage  champ  jns 
Then  did  they  reganl  each  other  for  a  moment,  with 
bittt.-  .ispect,  like  two  furious  rain-cais,  on  the  ver) 
point  of  a  clapper-clawing,  Then  did  they  throw 
themselves  in  one  attitude,  then  in  another,  striking; 
their  swords  on  the  ground,  first  on  the  right  side 
then  on  the  left — at  last,  at  it  they  went  witli  incred- 
ible ferocity.  Words  cannot  tell  the  prodigies  ol 
strength  and  valour  displayed  in  this  direlui  enc<nir' 
ter-  an  encounter,  compared  to  which  the  iar-laiiieil 
batt'es  of  Ajax  with  Hector,  of  Lncas  with  I  wi  luis, 
Orlando  with  Rodomont,  Guy  of  Warwick  with  Coi 
brand  the  Dane,  or  that  renowned  Welsh  knight,  Sii 
Owen  of  the  Mountains  with  the  giant  Guylon,  wei* 
all  gentle  sports  and  holyday  recreations.    k\  len^i^ 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


513 


Uie  valiant  Peter,  watching  his  opportunity,  aimed  a 
%arful  blow,  with  the  full  intention  of  cleaving  his 
ulversary  to  the  very  chine;  but  Risingh,  nimbly 
raising  his  sword,  warded  it  off  so  narrowly,  that 
{lancing  on  one  side,  it  shaved  away  a  huee  canteen 
that  he  always  carried  swung  on  one  side ;  thence 
pursuing  its  trenchant  course,  it  severed  off  a  deep 
coat -pocket,  stored  with  bread  and  cheese — all  whicn 
dainties  rolling  among  the  armies,  occasioned  a  fear- 
ful scrambling  between  the  Swedes  and  Dutchmen, 
and  made  the  general  battle  to  wax  ten  times  more 
furious  than  eve. 

Enraged  m  see  his  military  stores  thus  wofuUy  laid 
waste,  the  stout  Risineh,  collecting  all  his  forces, 
aimed  a  mighty  blow  fullat  the  hero's  crest.  In  vain 
did  his  fierce  little  cocked  hat  oppose  its  course  ;  the 
biting  steel  clove  through  the  stubborn  ram-beaver, 
and  would  infallibly  have  cracked  his  crown,  but 
that  the  skull  was  of  such  adamantine  hardness,  that 
the  brittle  weapon  shivered  into  pieces,  shedding  a 
thousand  sparks,  like  beams  of  glory,  round  his  grizzly 
visage. 

Stunned  with  the  blow,  the  valiant  Peter  reeled, 
turned  up  his  eyes,  and  beheld  fifty  thousand  suns, 
besides  moons  and  stars,  dancing  about  the  firmament 
—at  length,  missing  his  footing,  by  reason  of  his 
wooden  Teg,  down  he  came,  on  nis  seat  of  honour, 
with  a  crash  that  shook  the  surrounding  hills,  and 
would  infallibly  have  wrecked  his  anatomical  system, 
had  he  not  been  received  into  a  cushion  softer  than 
velvet,  which  Providence,  or  Minerva,  or  St.  Nicho- 
las, or  some  kindly  cow,  had  benevolently  prepared 
for  his  reception. 

The  furious  Risingh,  in  despite  of  that  noble 
maxim,  cherished  by  all  true  knights,  that  "  fair  play 
is  a  jewel,"  hastened  to  lake  advantage  of  the  hero's 
fall  .  but  just  as  he  was  stooping  to  give  the  fatal 
blow,  the  ever-vigilant  Peter  bestowed  him  a  sturdy 
thwick  over  the  sconce  with  his  wooden  leg,  that 
5ei  some  dozen  chimes  of  bells  ringing  triple  bob- 
majors  in  his  cerebellum.  The  bewildered  Swede 
''"hgci'd  with  the  blow,  and  in  the  meantime  the 
w,ir>'  I'eter,  espying  a  pocket-pistol  lying  hard  by, 
(which  had  dropped  from  the  wallet  of  his  faithful 
s(|uire  and  trumpeter.  Van  Corlear,  during  his  furious 
encounter  with  the  drummer,)  discharged  it  full  at 
the  head  of  the  reeling  Risingh. — Let  not  my  reader 
mistake — it  w.as  not  a  murderous  weapon  loaded  with 
powder  and  ball,  hut  a  little  sturdv  stone  pottle, 
cti.irjjed  to  the  muzzle  with  a  double  dram  of  true 
Ihitch  courage,  which  the  knowing  Van  Corlear  al- 
ways carried  about  him  by  way  of  replenishing  his 
valoui.  The  hideous  missive  sung  through  the  air, 
and  true  to  its  course,  as  was  the  mijjhty  fragment  of 
a  rock  discharged  at  Hector  by  bully  Ajax,  encoun- 
tered the  huge  ne.ad  of  the  gigantic  Swede  with  match- 
less violence. 

This  heaven  directed  blow  decided  the  eventful 
battle.  The  fionderous  pericranium  of  General  Jan 
Risingh  sunk  upon  his  breast ;  his  knees  tottered 
under  him  ,  a  deathlike  torpor  seized  upon  his  giant 
frame,  and  he  tumbled  to  the  earth  with  such  tre- 
mendous violence,  that  old  Pluto  started  with  affright, 
est  he  should  have  broken  through  the  roof  of  his 
n'etnal  p.-dace. 

His  fall  wa.s  the  signal  of  defeat  and  victory.— The 
■jwedes  gave  way— the  Dutch  |)ressed  forward ;  the 
foiiner  look  to  their  heels,  the  latter  hotly  pursued— 
smne  entered  with  them,  pell-mell,  Ihrougl/ the  s.illy- 
port- -others  stoimed  the  bastion,  and  others  scram- 
l)led  over  the  curtain.  Thus,  in  a  little  while,  the 
impregnable  fortress  of  P'ort  Christina,  which  like 
another  Troy  had  stood  a  siege  of  lull  ten  hours,  was 
finally  carried  by  assault,  without  the  loss  of  a  single 
man  on  either  side.  VIclory,  in  the  likeness  of  a 
Vol,.  II.— « 


gigantic  ox-fly,  sa*.  perched  u{)on  the  cocked  hat  o< 
the  gallant  StU)'vesant ;  and  it  was  universally  ic 
<:*ared,  by  all  the  writers  whom  he  hired  to  write  the 
history  of  his  expedition,  that  on  this  memorable  day 
he  gained  a  sufficient  quantity  of  glory  to  immor- 
talize a  dozen  of  the  greatest  heroes  in  ChrisCendom  1 


ry. 


CHAPTER  VIII.  '     • 

IN  WHICH  THS  AUTHOR  AND  THB  READRR, 
WHILE  REPOSING  AFTER  THE  BATTLE,  FALL 
INTO  A  VERY  GRAVE  DISCOURSE— AFTER  WHICH 
IS  RECORDED  THE  CONDUCT  OF  PETER  STUV- 
VESANT  AFTER  HIS  VICTORY. 

Thanks  to  St.  Nicholas,  we  have  safely  finished 
this  tremendous  battle ;  let  us  sit  down,  my  worthy 
reader,  and  cool  ourselves,  for  I  am  in  a  prodigious 
sweat  and  agitation. — Truly  this  fighting  of  battles  is 
hot  work !  and  if  your  great  commanders  did  but 
know  what  trouble  they  give  their  historians,  they 
would  not  have  the  conscience  to  achieve  so  many 
horrible  victories.  But  methinks  I  hear  my  reader 
complain,  that  throughout  this  boasted  battfe,  there 
is  not  the  least  slaughter,  nor  a  single  individual 
maimed,  if  we  except  the  unhappy  Swede,  who  was 
shorn  of  his  queue  by  the  trenchant  blade  of  Peter 
Stuyvesant ;  all  which,  he  observes,  is  a  great  outrage 
on  probability,  and  highly  injurious  to  the  interest  of 
the  narration. 

This  is  certainly  an  objection  of  no  little  moment ; 
but  it  arises  entirely  from  the  obscurity  that  envelopes 
the  remold  periods  of  time,  about  which  1  have  un- 
dertaken to  write.  Thus,  though,  doubtless,  from 
the  importance  of  the  object,  and  the  prowess  of  the 
parties  concerned,  there  must  have  been  terriible  cai- 
nage,  and  prodigies  of  valour  displayed,  be6»re  the 
W£ills  of  Christina,  yet,  notwithstanding  that  ;  have 
consulted  every  history,  manuscript,  and  tradition. 
touching  this  memorable,  though  long-forgotten  bat- 
tle, I  cannot  find  mention  made  of  a  single  man  kill- 
ed or  wounded  in  the  whole  affair. 

This  is,  without  doubt,  owing  to  the  extreme  mod- 
esty of  our  forefathers,  who,  like  their  descendants, 
were  nev«T  prone  to  v.aunt  of  tlieir  achievements ; 
but  it  is  a  virtue  that  places  their  historian  in  a  most 
embarrassing  predicament ;  for,  having  promised  my 
readers  a  hideous  and  unparalleled  battle,  and  having 
worked  them  up  into  a  warlike  and  bloodthirsty 
stale  of  mind,  to  put  them  off  without  any  havoc  and 
slaughter,  was  as  hitter  a  disappointment  as  to  sum- 
mon a  muliiuide  of  i.^.)od  people  to  attend  an  execu- 
tion, and  then  i  ruelly  balk  by  a  reprieve. 

Had  the  inexorable  fates  only  allowed  me  some 
half  a  scor<".  of  dead  nu-n,  I  had  been  content ;  for  I 
would  have  made  tlieiii  such  heroes  as  abounded  in 
the  oklen  time,  but  whose  i me  s  now  unfortunately 
extinct — any  one  of  whom,  if  we  may  believe  those 
authentic  writers,  the  poets,  could  drive  great  armies 
like  sheen  before  him,  and  con(|uer  and  desolate 
whole  cities  by  his  single  arm. 

Hut  seeing  that  1  had  not  a  single  lif:  at  my  dis- 
posal, all  that  WHS  left  me  was  to  make  the  most  I 
could  of  my  battle,  by  means  of  kicks,  and  cutfs,  and 
bruises,  and  such  like  ignoble  wounds.  And  here  J 
cannot  but  compare  my  dilemma,  in  some  sort,  to 
that  of  the  divine  Milton,  who,  having  arrayed  with 
sublime  preparation  his  immortal  hosts  against  each 
other,  is  sadly  put  to  it  how  to  manage  them,  anil 
how  he  shall  make  the  end  of  his  battle  answel 
to  the  beginning:  inasmui  li  as,  being  mere  spirits, 
he  cannot  deal  a  mortal  blow,  nor  even  give  ■  flesJi 
^fround  to  any  nf  his  conibatants.    ^or  my  ;>art,  th» 


^t^ 


6U 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVINtr. 


m--:^' 


^  ■ 

III' 


i;. 


i^"  ■ '4 


f 


h^4 

—    ,*  %  • .  •11,. 


gpreatcst  difficulty  I  found,  was,  when  I  had  once  put 
my  warriors  in  a  passion,  and  let  them  loose  into  the 
midst  of  the  enemy,  to  keep  them  from  doing  mis- 
chief. Many  a  time  had  I  to  restrain  the  sturdy 
Peter  from  cleaving  a  gigantic  Swede  to  the  very 
waistband,  or  spitting  half-a-dozen  little  fellows  on 
his  sword,  like  so  many  sparrows ;  and  when  1  had 
set  some  hundreds  of  missives  flying  in  the  air,  I  did 
not  dare  to  suffer  one  of  them  to  reach  the  ground, 
lest  it  should  have  put  an  end  to  some  unlucky 
r>utchman. 

The  reader  cannot  conceive  how  mortifying  it  is 
to  a  writer,  thus  in  a  manner  to  have  his  hands  tied, 
and  how  many  tempting  opportunities  I  had  to  wink 
at,  where  I  might  have  made  as  fine  a  death-blow  as 
any  recorded  in  history  or  song. 

From  my  own  experience,  I  begin  to  doubt  most 
potently  of  the  authenticity  of  many  of  Homer's  sto- 
ries. I  verily  believe,  that  when  he  had  once  lanched 
one  of  his  favourite  heroes  among  a  crowd  of  the 
enemy,  he  cut  down  many  an  honest  fellow,  without 
any  authority  for  so  doing,  excepting  that  he  present- 
ed a  fair  mark — and  that  often  a  poor  devil  was  sent 
to  grim  Pluto's  domains,  merely  because  he  had  a 
name  that  would  give  a  sounding  turn  to  a  period. 
But  I  disclaim  all  such  unprincipled  liberties — let 
me  but  have  truth  and  the  law  on  my  side,  and  no 
man  would  fight  harder  than  myself:  but  since  the 
various  records  I  consulted  did  not  warrant  it,  I  had 
too  much  conscience  to  !:'ll  a  single  soldier.  By  St. 
Nicholas,  but  it  would  have  been  a  pretty  piece  of 
business !  My  enemies,  the  critics,  who  I  foresee 
will  be  ready  enough  to  lay  any  crime  they  can  dis- 
cover at  my  door,  might  have  charged  me  with  mur- 
der ou'  ight — and  I  should  have  esteemeil  myself 
lucky  to  escape  with  no  harsher  verdict  than  man- 
slaughter I 

And  now,  gentle  reader,  that  we  are  tranquilly  sit- 
ing down  here,  smoking  our  pipes,  permit  me  to 
Indulge  in  a  melancholy  reflection,  which  at  this  mo- 
■nent  passes  across  my  mind. — How  vain,  how  fleet- 
ing, how  uncertain  are  all  those  gaudy  bubbles  after 
which  we  are  panting  and  toiling  in  this  world  of 
fair  delusion  !  The  wealth  which  the  miser  has 
amassed  with  so  many  weary  days,  so  many  sleepless 
nights,  a  spendthrift  heir  may  squander  away  in  joy- 
less prodigality.  The  noblest  monuments  which 
pride  has  ever  reared  to  perpetuate  a  name,  the  hand 
of  time  will  shortly  tumble  into  ruins — and  even  the 
brightest  laurels,  gained  by  feats  ol'  arms,  niay  wither 
and  be  for  ever  blighted  by  the  chilling  neglect  of 
mankind. — "  How  many  illustrious  heroes,"  says  the 
good  Boetius,  "  who  were  once  tlie  pnde  and  glorj 
of  the  age,  hath  the  silence  of  historians  buried  in 
eternal  oblivion  !  "  And  this  it  w.as  that  induced  the 
Spartans,  when  they  went  to  battle,  solemnly  to  sac- 
rifice to  the  muses,  supplicating  that  their  achieve- 
ments should  be  worthily  recorded.  Had  not  Homer 
tuned  his  lofty  lyre,  observes  the  elegant  Cicero,  the 
valour  of  Achilles  had  remained  unsung.  And  such, 
too,  after  all  the  toils  and  perils  he  had  braved,  after 
all  the  gallant  actions  he  had  achieved,  such  too  had 
nearly  been  the  fate  of  the  chivalric  Peter  Stuyves- 
ant,  but  that  I  fortunately  stepped  in  and  engraved 
his  name  on  the  indelible  tablet  of  history,  just  as  the 
caitifT  Time  was  silently  brushing  it  away  for  ever. 

The  more  1  reflect,  the  more  am  I  astonished  at 
the  important  character  of  the  historian.  He  is  the 
sovereign  censor,  to  decide  upon  the  renown  or 
infamy  of  his  I'ellow-men — he  is  the  patron  of  kings 
and  conquerors,  on  whom  it  depends  whether  they 
shall  live  in  after  ages,  or  be  forgotten,  as  were  their 
ancestors  before  them.  The  tyrant  may  oppress 
while  the  object  of  his  tyranny  exists,  but  *ht;  histo- 
rian possesses  superior  might,  for  his  power  extends 


even  beyond  the  grave.    The  shades  of  departed  and  I 
long-forgotten   heroes  anxiously  bend  down  tVonil 
above,  while  he  writes,  watching  each  movement  of  I 
his  pen,  whether  it  shall  pass  by  their  names  witi  | 
neglect,  or  inscribe  them  on  the  deathless  pigcs  of  I 
renown.    Even  the  drop  of  ink  that  hangs  trembling 
on  his  pen,  which  he  may  either  dash  upon  the  Hoorl 
or  waste  in  idle  scrawlings — that  very  drop,  which  to 
him  is  not  worth  the  twentieth  part  of  a  farthini,',  may 
be  of  incalculable  value  to  some  departed  worthy— 
may  elevate  half  a  score,  in  one  moment,  to  immor- 
tality, who  would  have  given  worlds,  had  they  pes- 1 
sessed  them,  to  insure  the  glorious  meed. 

Let  not  rr;  readers  imagine,  however,  that  1  am 
indulging  in  vain-glorious  boasting' ,  or  am  anxious 
to  blazon  forth  the  importance  of  m.  tribe.  On  the 
contrary,  I  shrink  when  I  reflect  oV.  the  awlul  re- 
sponsibility we  historians  assume — 1  shudder  to  think 
what  direful  commotions  and  calamities  we  occasion 
in  the  world — I  swear  to  thee,  honest  rea'l(^r,  as  I 
am  a  man,  I  weep  at  the  very  idea !  Why,  let  me 
ask,  are  so  many  illustrious  men  daily  tearing  Uum- 
selves  away  from  the  embraces  of  their  families- 
slighting  the  smiles  of  beauty — despising  the  allure- 
ments of  fortune,  and  exposing  themselves  to  the 
miseries  of  war? — Why  are  kings  desolatin.;  em- 
pires, and  depopulating  whole  countries?  In  short, 
what  induces  all  great  men,  of  all  ages  and  cmip 
tries,  to  commit  so  many  victories  and  misdeeds,  and 
inflict  so  many  miseries  upon  mankind  and  on  them- 
selves, but  the  mere  hope  that  some  historian  will 
kindly  take  thtm  into  notice,  and  admit  them  into  a 
corner  of  his  volume.  For,  in  short,  the  mighty  olv 
ject  of  all  their  toils,  their  hardships,  and  privations, 
is  nothing  but  immortai fame — and  what  is  :mn  or- 
tal  fame  ? — why,  half  a  page  of  dirty  paper !— .Mis  ' 
alas  I  how  humiliating  the  idea — that  the  renown 
of  so  great  a  man  as  Peter  Stuyvesant  should  de- 
pend upon  the  pen  of  so  little  a  man  as  Diedrich 
Knickerl)ocker ! 

And  now,  having  refreshed   ourselves   after  the 
fatigues  and  perils  of  the  field,  it  behoves  us  to  return 
once  more  to  the  scene  of  conflict,  and  inquire  what 
i  were  the  results  of  this  renowned  conquest.    The 
1  fortress  of  Christina  being  the  fair  metropolis,  and  in 
j  a  manner  the  key  to  New-Sweden,  its  capture  was 
!  speedily  followed  by  the  entire  subjugation  of  the 
\  province.     This  was  not  a  little  promoted  hy  the 
!  gallant  and  courteous  deportment  of  the  chivalric 
i  Peter.     Though  a  man  terrible  in  battle,  yet  in  the 
hour  of  victory  was  he  endued  with  a  spirit  gener- 
ous, merciful,  and  humane — he  vaunted  not  over  his 
enetnies,  nor  did  he  make  defeat  more  galling  by  un- 
manly insults  ;  for  like  that  mirror  of  knightly  virtue, 
the  renowned  Paladin  Orlando,  he  was  more  anxious 
to  do  great  actions  than  to  ^.alk  of  them  after  tluy 
were  done.     He  put  no  man  to  death  ;  ordered  n m 
houses  to  be  ouriit  down  ;  permitted  no  rava^^s  lo 
\w  perpetrated  on  the  property  of  tfie  vancjui    •-d, 
and  even  gave  one  of  fiis  bravest  ofF»cers  a  seven   i.;- 
monis«)ment  with  his  walking-staff,  for  having  !>ee;, 
detectefi  in  the  act  of  »K:king  a  hen-roost. 

He  moreover  issued  a  proclamation,  invitin;^  ine 
inhabitants  to  submit  to  the  authority  of  their  llii^K 
Mightinesses  ;  but  declaring,  with  unexampled  clem- 
ency, that  whoever  refused  should  be  lodged,  at  the 
public  expense,  in  a  goodly  castle  proviiled  lor  the 
purpose,  and  have  an  armed  retinue  to  wait  oi\  them 
m  tne  bargain.  In  consequence  of  these  l)eneli.:ent 
terms,  about  thirty  Swedes  stepped  manfully  for- 
ward and  took  the  oath  of  allegiance ;  in  reward  tot 
which,  they  were  graciously  permitted  to  reinaui  on 
the  banks  of  the  Delaware,  where  their  descendants 
reside  at  this  very  day.  But  1  am  told  by  divers  ob- 
servant travellers,  that  they  have  never  been  ahie  to 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


515 


It  over  tbe  chapfallen  looks  of  their  ancestors,  and 
stiU  unaccountably  transmit  from  father  to  son 
manifest  marks  of  the  sound  drubbing  given  them 
by  the  sturdy  Amsterdammers. 

The  whole  country  of  New-Sweoen,  having  thus 
yielded  to  the  arms  of  the  triumjjhant  Peter,  was  re- 
duced to  a  colony,  called  South  River,  and  placed 
under  the  superintendence  of  a  lieutenant-governor ; 
jubject  to  the  control  of  the  supreme  government  at 
New-Amsterdam.  This  great  dignitary  was  called 
Mynheer  William  Beekman,  or  rather  Beckman,  who 
derived  his  surname,  as  did  Ovidius  Naso  of  yore, 
from  the  lordly  dimensions  of  his  nose,  which  pro- 
jected from  the  centre  of  his  countenance  like  the 
beak  of  a  parrot.  He  was  the  great  progenitor  of 
the  tribe  of  the  Beekmans,  one  of  the  most  ancient 
and  honourable  families  of  the  province,  the  mem- 
bers of  which  do  gratefully  commemorate  the  origin 
of  their  dignity,  not  as  your  noble  families  in  En- 
gland would  do,  by  having  a  glowing  proboscis  em- 
blazoned in  their  escutcheon,  but  by  one  and  all 
wearing  a  right  goodly  nose  stuck  in  the  very  middle 
of  their  fac.es. 

Thus  was  this  perilous  enterprise  gloriously  termi- 
nated with  the  loss  of  only  two  men — Wolfert  Van 
Home,  a  tall,  spare  man,  who  was  knocked  over- 
board by  the  boom  of  a  sloop,  in  a  flaw  of  wind ;  and 
fat  Brom  Van  Bummel,  who  was  suddenly  carried 
off  by  an  indigestion ;  both,  however,  were  immor- 
talized as  having  bravely  fallen  in  the  service  of  their 
country.  True  it  is,  Peter  Stuyvesant  had  one  of 
his  limbs  terribly  fractured,  being  shattered  to  pieces 
!n  the  act  of  storming  the  fortress  ;  but  as  it  was  for- 
tunately his  wooden  leg,  the  wound  was  promptly 
ind  effectually  healed. 

And  now  nothing  remains  to  this  branch  of  my 
liistory,  but  to  mention  that  this  immaculate  hero, 
ir.d  his  victorious  army,  returned  joyously  to  the 
Manhattoes,  where  they  made  a  solemn  and  tri- 
jinphant  entry,  bearing  with  them  the  conquered 
Risingh,  and  the  remnant  of  his  battered  crew,  who 
had  refused  allegiance  ;  for  it  appears  that  the  gigan- 
tic Swede  had  only  fallen  into  a  swoon  at  the  end  of 
the  battle,  from  whence  he  was  speedily  restored  by 
1  wholesome  tweak  of  the  nose. 

These  captive  heroes  were  lodged,  according  to 
the  promise  of  the  governor,  at  the  public  expense, 
in  a  fair  and  spacious  castle  ;  being  the  prison  of 
state,  of  which  Stoifel  Brinkerhoft,  the  immortal 
conqueror  of  Oyster  Hay,  was  appointed  governor ; 
atui  which  has  ever  since  remained  in  the  possession 
o!  his  descendants.* 

It  was  a  pleasant  and  goodly  sight  to  witness  the 
)oy  of  the  people  of  New-Amsterdam,  at  beholding 
^heir  warriors  once  more  return  from  this  war  in  the 
wilderness.  The  old  women  thronged  round  Antony 
Van  Corlear,  who  gave  the  whole  history  of  the 
campaign  with  matcnless  accuracy :  saving  that  he 
■>ok  the  credit  of  fighting  the  whole  battle  himself, 
>.id  especially  of  vanquishing  the  stout  Risingh,  which 
lie  considered  himself  as  dearly  entitled  to,  seeing 
!.a   it  was  etfected  by  his  own  stone  pottle. 

The  schoolmasters  throL  ghout  the  town  gave  holy- 
iay  to  their  little  urchins,  who  followed  in  droves 
itter  the  drums,  with  paper  caps  on  their  heads,  and 
itidu  in  their  breeches,  thus  taking  the  first  lesson 
r  tx»e  irt  of  war.  As  to  the  sturdy  rabble,  they 
hronged  at  the  heels  of  Peter  Stuyvesant  wherever 
le  went,  wavmg  their  greasy  hats  in  the  air,  and 
ihoutmg  ■  Hard-koppig  i'iet  for  ever  !  " 

It  w^s,  indeed,  a  day  of  roaring  rout  and  jubilee. 
A  huge  dinner  was  prepared  at  the  Stadt-house  in 

*  Tbu  castle,  though  very  much  allered  and  nioilcTuiied,  ii  itill 
■o  heme,  aai  itand*  at  the  comer  of  Pearl-etrrei  tacisg  i.  xntiea' 


honour  of  the  conquerors,  where  were  asse.nbled,  in 
one  glorious  constellation,  the  great  and  the  little  lu* 
minaries  of  New-Amsterdam.  There  were  the  lordly 
Schout  and  his  obsequious  deputy — the  burgomasters 
with  their  officious  schepens  at  their  elbows — the 
subaltern  officers  at  the  elbows  of  the  schepens,  and 
so  on  to  the  lowest  hanger-on  of  police  ;  every  Tag 
having  his  Rag  at  his  side,  to  finish  his  pipe,  drinli 
off  his  heel-taps,  and  laugh  at  his  flights  of  immottai 
dulaess.  In  short — for  a  city  feast  is  a  city  feast  sdl 
the  world  over,  and  has  been  a  city  feast  ever  since 
the  creation — the  dinner  went  off  much  the  same  as 
do  our  great  corporation  junketings  and  fourth  of 
July  banquets.  Loads  of  fish,  flesh,  and  fowl  were 
devoured,  oceans  of  liquor  drunk,  thousands  of  pipes 
smoked,  and  ntany  a  dull  Joke  honoured  with  much 
obstreperous  fat-sided  laughter. 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention,  that  to  this  far-famed 
victory  Peter  Stuyvesant  was  indebted  for  another 
of  his  many  titles — for  so  hugely  delighted  were  the 
honest  burghers  with  his  achievements,  that  they 
unanimously  honoured  him  with  the  name  of  Pietre 
de  Groodt,  that  is  to  say,  Peter  the  Great,  or,  as  it 
was  translated  by  the  people  of  New-Amsterdam, 
Piet  de  Pie — an  appellation  which  he  maintained 
unto  the  day  of  his  death. 


even  i 


BOOK    V 


CONTAINING  THE  THIRD  PART  OF  THE  REIGN 
OF  PETER  THE  HEAD''T80NG — HIS  TROUBLM 
WITH  THE  BRITISH  NATION,  AND  THE  DECT  'Vf 
AND   FALL  OF  THE  DUTCH   DYt'\STY. 


CHAPTER    I. 

HOW  PETER  STUYVESANT  RELIEVED  THE  SOV- 
EREIGN PEOPLE  FROM  THE  BURTHEN  OF  TAK- 
ING CARE  OF  THE  NATION  —  WITH  SUNDRY 
PARTICULARS  OF  HIS  CONDUCT  IN  TIME  OF 
PEACE. 

THE.history  of  the  reign  ot  Peter  Stuyvesant  fur- 
nishes a  melancholy  picture  of  the  incessant  cares 
and  vexations  inseparable  from  government ;  and 
may  serve  as  a  solemn  warning  to  all  who  are  am- 
bitious of  attaining  the  seat  of  power.  Though 
crowned  with  victory,  enriched  by  conquest,  and 
returning  in  triumph  to  his  metropolis,  his  exulta- 
tion was  checked  by  beholding  the  sad  abuses  that 
had  taken  place  during  the  short  interval  of  his 
absence. 

The  populace,  unfortunately  for  their  own  comfort 
had  taken  a  deep  draught  of  the  intoxicating  cup  of 
power,  during  the  reign  of  William  the  Testy  ;  and 
though,  upon  the  accession  of  Peter  Stuyvesant,  they 
felt,  with  a  certain  instinctive  perception,  which 
mobs  as  well  as  cattle  possess,  that  the  reins  of  gov- 
ernment had  passed  into  stronger  hands,  yet  could 
they  not  help  fretting  and  chafing  and  champinf 
upon  the  bit  in  restive  silence. 

It  seems,  by  some  strange  and  inscrutable  fatality 
to  be  the  destiny  of  most  countries,  (and  more  espe- 
cially of  your  enlightened  republics,)  always  to  be 
governed  by  the  most  incompetent  man  in  the  na- 
tion— so  that  you  will  scarcely  find  an  indiNndual, 
throughout  the  whole  community,  who  cannot  point 
out  innumerable  errors  in  administration,  and  con- 
vince you,  in  the  end,  that  had  he  been  at  the  head 
of  affairs,  matters  would  have  gone  on  a  thousand 


f 


1/ 

*        i 

p.' .  - .  ■ 


616 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


t..'  ■■ 


m'>'^  •••■■"  ■■ 


11*^,:"^' 


h  t''' 


■  ,i 


hm 


\u-'l\- 

^' '  -    ,"t-  ■ 

1     .      **■■"' 

r/*i'4 

feV;  -i: 

Umes  more  prosperously.  Strange !  that  govern- 
ment, which  seems  to  be  so  generally  understood, 
should  invariably  be  so  erroneously  administered — 
Strange,  that  the  talent  of  legislation,  so  prodigally 
bestowed,  should  be  denied  to  the  only  man  in  the 
nation  to  whose  station  it  is  requisite  I 

Thus  it  was  in  the  present  mstance ;  not  a  man 
of  all  the  herd  of  pseuao  politicians  in  New-Amster- 
dam, but  WIS  an  oracle  on  topics  of  state,  and  could 
have  directed  public  affairs  incomparably  better  than 
?rter  Stuyvesant.  But  so  severe  was  the  old  gover- 
nor, in  his  d'sposition,  that  he  would  never  suffer  one 
of  the  multitude  of  able  counsellors  by  whom  he 
was  surrounded,  to  intrude  his  adv'r*  »nd  save  the 
country  from  destruction. 

Scarcely,  therefore,  had  he  departed  on  his  expe- 
dition against  the  Swedes,  than  the  old  factions  of 
William  Kieft's  reign  began  to  thrust  their  heads 
aL  .  water,  and  to  gamer  together  in  political 
meetings,  to  discuss  "  the  state  of  the  nation."  At 
these  assemblages,  the  busy  burgom'tsters  and  their 
officious  schepens  made  a  very  considerable  figure. 
These  worthy  dignitaries  were  no  longer  the  fat, 
well-fed,  tranquil  m.agistrates  that  presided  in  the 
peaceful  days  of  Wouter  Van  Twiller — on  the  con- 
trary, being  elected  by  the  people,  they  fonned  in  a 
manner  a  sturdy  bulwark  between  the  mob  and  the 
administration.  They  were  great  cindid.ites  for  pop- 
ularity, and  strenuous  advocates  for  the  rijjhts  of  the 
rabble ;  resembling  in  disinterested  zeal  the  wide- 
mouthed  tribunes  of  ancient  Rome,  or  those  virtuous 
patriots  of  modem  days,  emphatically  denominated 
"  the  friends  of  the  people." 

Under  the  tuition  of  these  profound  politicians,  it 
is  astonisl.  iig  how  suddenly  enlightened  the  swinish 
multitude  became,  in  matters  above  their  compre- 
■iensions.  Cobblers,  tinkers,  and  tailors,  all  at  once 
elt  themselves  inspired,  like  those  religious  idiots,  in 
!ic  glorious  times  of  monkish  illumination  ;  and,  with- 
lut  any  previous  stuily  or  experience,  became  in- 
stantly cajjable  of  directing  all  the  movements  of 
government.  Nor  must  I  neglect  to  mention  a  num- 
ber of  superannuated,  wrong-headed  old  burghers, 
who  had  come  over,  when  boys,  in  the  crew  of  the 
Goede  '/rauia,  and  were  held  up  as  infallible  oracles 
by  the  enliu'htened  mob.  To  suppose  that  a  man 
who  had  helped  to  discover  a  country,  did  not  know 
how  it  ought  to  be  goveri, d,  was  preposterous  in  the 
extreme.  It  would  have  been  deemed  as  much  a 
heresy,  as  at  the. present  day  to  question  the  political 
talents  and  univers.'il  infallibility  of  our  old  "  heroes 
of  '76  " — and  to  doubt  that  he  who  had  fought  for  a 
^'overnment,  however  stupid  he  might  naturally  be, 
u.is  not  competent  io  fill  any  station  under  it. 

i5vit  as  Peter  Stuwesant  had  a  smgular  inclination 
to  govern  his  province  without  the  assistance  of  his 
subjects,  he  felt  highly  incensed  on  his  return  to  find 
the  factious  appearance  they  had  assumed  during  his 
absence.  His  hrsi  measure,  therefore,  was  to  restore 
perfect  order,  by  prostrating  the  dignity  of  the  sov- 
ereign ])eople. 

He  .iccordingly  watched  his  opportunity,  and  one 
fi'enin;,',  when  the  enlightene<l  mob  was  gathered 
logether,  lisicning  to  a  patriotic  speech  from  an  in- 
ipircd  cobbltr,  the  intrepid  I'eter  all  at  once  ap- 
jwared  among  them,  with  a  countenance  suffic  .;i)l  to 
j^etrify  a  mill-stone.  The  whole  meeting  was  thrown 
into  consternation — the  orator  seemed  to  have  re- 
ceived a  paralytic  stroke  in  the  very  middle  of  a 
sublime  sentence,  and  stood  agh.ist  with  open  mouth 
and  trembling  km-i-s,  wink-  the  words  horror  I  tyr- 
anny !  liberty  !  rij^his  '  taxt.-s  !  (ie.ith  !  destruction  ! 
and  a  deluge  ol  other  patriotic  phrases,  c.ime  roaring 
iVom  hib  iliroat,  before  he  had  power  to  close  his 
"ris.     Tl.f  shrewd  Pfter  cook  no  notic*  of  the  skulk- 


ing throng  around  him,  but  advancing  to  the  brawlini 
bully-rufRan,  and  drawing  out  a  huge  silver  watcb  1 
which  mic'ht  have  served  in  times  of  yore  as  a  town 
clock,  and  which  is  still  retained  by  his  descend.mts 
as  a  family  curiosity,  requested  the  orator  to  mend 
it,  and  set  it  going.  The  orator  humbly  confessed  it 
was  utterly  out  ofhis  power,  as  he  was  unacf|iiamied 
with  the  nature  of  its  construction.  Nay,  but," 
said  Peter,  "  try  your  ingenuity,  man ;  jou  sec  all 
the  springs  and  wheels,  and  how  easily  the  clumsles: 
hand  may  stop  it,  and  pull  it  to  pieces  ;  and  why 
should  it  not  be  equally  easy  to  regulate  as  to  stop 
it?"  The  orator  declared  that  his  trade  was  wholk 
different — that  he  was  a  poor  cobbler,  and  had  luver 
meddled  with  a  watch  in  his  life — that  there  were 
men  skilled  in  the  art,  whose  business  it  was  to  at- 
tend to  those  matters,  but  for  his  part,  he  should  only 
marthe  workmanship,  and  put  the  whole  in  contusion, 
— "  Why,  harkee,  master  of  mine,"  cried  Peter,  turn- 
ing  suddenly  upon  him,  with  a  countenance  that  .al- 
most petrified  the  patcher  of  shoes  into  a  perfect  lip. 
stone — "dost  thou  pretend  to  meddle  with  the  move- 
ments of  government — to  regulate,  and  correct,  and 
patch,  and  cobble  a  complicated  machine,  the  pnn- 
ciples  of  which  are  above  thy  comprehension,  and 
its  simplest  operations  too  subtle  for  thy  understand- 
ing ;  when  thou  canst  not  correct  a  trifling  error  in 
a  common  piece  of  mechanism,  the  whole  mystei^ 
of  which  is  open  to  thy  inspection? — Hence  with 
thee  to  the  leather  and  stone,  which  are  emblems  of 
thy  head  ;  cobble  thy  shoes,  and  confine  thyself  ic 
the  vocation  for  which  Heaven  has  fitted  thee. -But," 
elevating  his  voice  until  it  made  the  welkin  ring,  "  if 
ever  I  catch  thee,  or  any  of  thy  tribe,  meddling  again 
with  affairs  of  government,  by  St.  Nichol.is,  but  11  i 
have  every  mother's  bastard  of  ye  flay'd  alive,  an  i 
your  hides  stretched  tor  drum-heads,  that  yt  tna; 
thenceforth  make  a  noise  to  some  purpose  ! " 

This  threat,  and  the  tremendous  voice  in  which  ,t 
was  uttered,  caused  the  whole  multitude  to  cjuakf 
with  fe.ar.  The  hair  of  the  orator  arose  on  his  head 
like  his  own  swine's  bristles,  and  not  a  knight  of  the 
thimble  present  but  his  heart  died  within  him,  and 
he  felt  as  though  he  could  have  verily  escaped 
through  the  eye  of  a  needle. 

But  though  this  measure  produced  the  desired 
effect  in  reducing  the  community  to  order,  yet  ii 
tended  to  injure  the  popularity  of  the  great  I'etei 
among  the  enlightene«i  vulgar.  Many  accused  Inn 
of  entertaining  highly  aristocratic  sentiments,  .ind  ol 
leaning  too  much  in  favour  of  the  patricians.  In 
deed,  there  appeared  to  be  some  ground  for  such  an 
accusation,  as  he  always  carried  himself  with  a  very 
lofty,  soldier-like  port,  and  w.as  somewhat  particul.u 
in  his  dress ;  dressing  himself,  when  not  in  uniform, 
in  simple,  but  rich  apparel,  and  was  especially  noted 
for  having  his  sound  leg  (which  was  a  very  comely 
one)  always  arrayed  in  a  red  stocking,  and  higii- 
heeled  shoe.  Though  a  man  of  great  simplicity  of 
m.inners,  yet  there  was  something  a'xjut  him  t'^'at  re- 
pelled rude  familiarity,  while  it  encouragec  ia'.li 
and  even  social  intercours** 

He  likewise  observed  sos^p;  apfiearance  ol  cour. 
ceremony  and  etiquette.  He  received  the  coniiiicn 
class  of  visitors  on  the  stoop*  before  his  door  accord- 
ing to  the  custom  of  our  Dutch  ancestois.  But 
when  visitors  were  formally  received  in  his  c:ii 
lour,  it  was  expected  they  would  appear  in  clean 
linen  ,  by  no  meai.s  to  be  bare-footed,  and  alway« 
to  take  their  hats  off.  On  public  occasions,  nt 
ap|)eared  with  great  pomp  of  equipage,  (for.  ir. 
iruth,  his  station  required  a  little  show  and  dignity) 


•  Properly  apelled  i(M^— the  porch  commoDlT  boil'  >a  bont  > 
Dutch  huuiiet.  with  benches  on  euh  (iCl. 


A   HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


617 


imonlr  boil'  >a  from  a: 


ind  ahrayt  rode  to  church  in  a  yellow  wagon  with 
gaming  red  wheels. 

These  symptoms  of  state  and  ceremony  occasioned 
considerable  discontent  among  the  vulgar.  They  had 
been  accustomed  to  find  easy  access  to  their  former 
governors,  and  in  particular  had  livtd  on  terms  of 
atreme  familiarity  with  William  the  Testy.  They 
therefore  were  very  impatient  of  these  dijjnified  pre- 
cautions, which  discouraged  mtrusion.  But  Peter 
Stuyvesant  had  his  own  way  of  thinkine  in  these 
natters,  and  was  a  staunch  upholder  of  the  dignity 
)f  office. 

He  always  maintained  that  government  to  be  the 
least  popular  which  is  most  open  to  popular  access 
arc!  control^  and  that  the  ven  brawlers  against  court 
ceremony,  and  the  reserve  of  men  in  power,  would 
soon  despise  rulers  among  whom  they  found  even 
themselves  to  be  of  consequence.  Such,  at  least, 
had  been  the  case  with  the  administration  of  William 
the  Testy ;  who,  bent  on  making  himself  popular, 
had  listened  to  every  man's  advice,  suffered  every- 
body to  have  admittance  to  his  person  at  all  hours, 
and,  in  a  word,  treated  every  one  as  his  thorough 
equal.  By  this  means,  every  scrub  politician,  and 
public  busy-body,  was  enabled  to  measure  wits  with 
hill),  and  to  find  out  the  true  dimensions,  not  only  of 
his  person,  but  his  mind. — And  what  great  man  can 
stand  such  scrutiny  ? — It  is  the  mystery  that  envelopes 
great  men  that  {fives  them  half  their  greatness.  We 
are  always  inclined  to  think  highly  of  those  who  hold 
themselves  aloof  from  our  examination.  There  is 
likewise  a  kind  of  superstitious  reverence  for  office, 
which  leads  us  to  exaggerate  the  merits  and  abilities 
of  men  in  power,  and  to  suppose  thai  they  must  be 
constituted  different  from  other  men.  And,  indeed, 
faith  is  as  necessary  in  politics  as  in  religion.  It 
certainly  is  of  the  first  importance,  that  a  country 
ihoiild  be  governed  by  wise  men  ;  but  then  it  is  al- 
Tiost  equally  important,  that  the  people  should  believe 
hem  to  be  wise  ;  for  this  belief  alone  can  produce 
^villine  subordination. 

To  Keep  up,  therefore,  this  desirable  confidence  in 
rulers,  the  people  should  be  allowed  to  see  as  little 
of  them  as  possible.  He  who  gains  access  to  cabi- 
nets soon  finds  out  by  what  foolishness  the  world  is 
1,'ovemed.  He  discovers  that  there  is  quackery  in 
legislation,  as  well  as  in  every  thing  else ;  that  many 
1  measure,  which  is  supposed  by  the  million  to  be 
the  result  of  great  wisdom  and  deep  deliberation,  is 
the  effect  of  mere  chance,  or,  perhaps,  of  hairbrained 
experiment — that  rulers  have  their  whims  and  errors 
as  well  as  other  men,  and  after  all  are  not  so  won- 
.ierfully  superior  to  their  fellow-creatures  as  he  at 
lirst  imagined ;  since  he  finds  that  even  his  own 
opinions  nave  had  some  weight  with  them.  Thus 
awe  subsides  into  confidence,  confidence  inspires 
familiarity,  and  familiarity  produces  contempt,  Peter 
Stuyvesant,  on  the  contrary,  by  conducting  himself 
with  dignity  and  loftiness,  was  looked  up  to  with 
gre.U  reverence.  As  he  never  gave  his  teasons  for 
any  thing  he  did,  the  public  always  gave  hun  credit 
for  very  profound  ones — every  movement,  however 
intrinsically  unimportant,  was  a  matter  of  specula- 
inn,  and  his  very  red  stockings  excited  some  respect, 
«  being  different  from  the  stockings  of  other  men. 

To  these  times  may  we  refer  the  rise  of  family 
jiide  and  aristocratic  distinctions  ;*  and  indeed,  I 
rannot  but  look  bad:  w.th  reverence  to  the  early 
planting  of  those  mighty  Dutch  families,  which  have 
taken  such  vigorous  root,  and  bran  :hed  out  so  luxu- 

*  !d  «  work  publithcd  many  yean  after  the  Jme  here  treated  of, 
(in  iToi,  by  C.  W.  A.  M.)  it  is  mentioaed  that  Frederick  Philipse 
ntcuuDlcd  the  nchesl  Myuheer  in  New- York,  and  wa<  uid  to 
ki«e  whtt  kcgtkituU  of  /ndian  manty  »r  wumfum  ;  and  had  a 
HQ  and  dau|l>t«t  who,  according  to  tiie  Uutcn  cuitum,  should 
dinda  it  •quail* 


riantly  in  our  state.  TLe  blood  which  has  flcwed 
down  uncontaminated  through  a  succession  of  steady, 
virtuous  generations  since  the  times  of  the  patriaichf 
of  Communipaw,  must  certairly  be  pure  and  worthy. 
And  if  so,  then  are  the  Van  Renssclaers,  the  Vaa 
Zandts,  the  Van  Homes,  the  Rutgers,  the  Benson*, 
the  BrinkerhofTs,  the  Schermerhornes,  and  all  tha 
true  descendants  of  the  ancient  Pavonians,  the  only 
legitimate  nobility  and  real  lords  of  the  soil. 

I  have  been  led  to  mention  thus  particularly  thn 
well- authenticated  claims  of  our  genuine  Dutch  fami- 
lies, because  I  have  noticed,  with  great  sorrow  and 
vexation,  that  they  have  been  somewhat  elbowed 
aside  in  latter  days  by  foreign  intruders.  It  is  really 
astonishing  to  behold  how  many  great  families  have 
sprung  up  of  late  years,  who  pride  themselves  exces- 
sively on  the  score  of  ancestry.  Thus  he  who  can 
look  up  to  his  father  without  humiliation  assumes  not 
a  little  importance — he  who  can  safely  talk  of  his 
grandfather,  is  still  more  vain-glorious — but  he  who 
can  look  back  to  his  great-grandfather  without  blush- 
ing, is  absolutely  intolerable  in  his  pretensions  to  fam- 
ily— bless  us !  what  a  piece  of  work  is  here,  between 
these  mushrooms  of  an  hour,  and  these  mushrooms 
of  a  day  ! 

But  from  what  I  have  recounted  in  the  former 
part  of  this  chapter,  I  would  not  have  my  reader 
imagine  that  the  great  Peter  was  a  tyrannical  gov- 
ernor, ruUng  his  subjects  with  a  rod  of  iron — on  the 
contrary,  wTiere  the  dignity  of  authority  was  not 
implicated,  he  abounded  with  generosity  and  cour- 
teous condescension.  In  fact,  he  really  believed, 
though  I  fear  my  more  enlightened  republican  reader? 
will  consider  it  a  proof  of  his  ignorance  and  illiber- 
ality,  that  in  preventing  the  cup  of  social  Hfe  from 
being  dashe<l  with  the  intoxicating  ingredient  of  poli' 
tics,  he  promoted  the  tranquillity  and  happiness  of 
the  people — and  by  <letaching  their  minds  from  sub- 
jects wnich  they  could  not  understand,  and  which 
only  tended  to  inflame  their  passions,  he  enabled 
them  to  attend  more  faithfully  and  industriously  to 
their  proper  callings  ;  becoming  more  useful  citizens, 
and  more  attentive  to  their  families  and  fortunes. 

So  far  from  having  any  unreasonable  austerity,  he 
delighted  to  see  the  poor  and  the  labouring  man  re- 
joice, and  for  this  purpose  was  a  great  promoter  of 
holydays  and  public  amusements.  Under  his  reign 
was  first  introduced  the  custom  of  cracking  eggs  at 
Paas,  or  Easter.  New-year's  day  was  also  observed 
with  extravagant  festivity,  and  ushered  in  by  the 
ringing  of  bells  and  firing  of  guns.  Every  house  was 
a  temple  to  the  jolly  god — oceans  of  cherry  brandy, 
true  Hollands,  and  mulled  cider,  were  set  afloat  on 
the  occasion  ;  and  not  a  poor  man  in  town  but  made 
it  a  point  to  get  drunk,  out  of  a  principle  of  pure 
economy — taking  in  liquor  enough  to  serve  him  for 
half  a  year  afterwards. 

It  would  have  done  one's  heart  good,  also,  to  have 
seen  the  valiant  Peter,  seated  among  the  old  burghers 
and  their  wives  of  a  Saturday  afternoon,  under  the 
great  trees  that  spread  their  shade  over  the  Battery, 
watching  the  young  men  and  women,  as  they  dano^d 
on  the  green.  Here  he  would  smoke  his  pipe,  crack 
his  joke,  and  forget  the  rugged  toils  of  war  in  the 
sweet  oblivious  festivities  of  peace.  He  woul'^  oc- 
casionally give  a  nod  of  approbation  to  thcie  of  the 
young  men  who  shuffled  and  kicked  most  vigorously, 
and  now  and  then  give  a  hearty  sm.ick,  in  all  honesty 
of  soul,  to  the  buxom  lass  that  held  out  longest,  and 
tired  down  all  her  competitors,  which  he  considered 
as  infallible  proofs  of  her  being  the  best  dancer. 
Once,  it  is  true,  the  harmony  of  the  meeting  was 
rather  interrupted.  A  young  vrouw,  of  gieat  figure 
in  the  gay  world,  and  who,  having  lately  came  ^om 
Holland,  of  course  led  the  fashions  :n  the  city,  made 


■-'■•Tit 


M\ 


618 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


'U-'-i  :■ 


•  1,.- . 


her  appearance  ii  nui  more  than  half-a-dozen  petti- 
coats, and  these  t-x>  of  most  alarming  shortness.  An 
universal  whisper  ran  through  the  assembly,  the  olu 
ladies  all  felt  shoc«ed  in  the  extreme,  the  young  ladies 
blushed,  and  felt  "xcessively  for  the  "  poor  thing," 
and  even  the  governor  himself  was  observed  to  be  a 
little  troubled  in  mind.  To  complete  the  astonish- 
ment of  the  );ood  folks,  she  undertook,  in  the  course 
of  a  jig,  to  describe  some  astonishing  figures  in  al- 
gebra, which  she  had  learned  from  a  dancing-master 
At  Rotterdam.  Whether  she  was  too  animated  in 
flourishing  her  feet,  or  whether  some  vagabond 
lephyr  took  the  liberty  of  obi  aiding  his  services,  cer- 
tam  it  is  that  in  the  course  of  a  grand  evolution, 
which  would  not  have  disgruced  a  modem  ball-room, 
she  made  a  most  unexr<:cted  display— whereat  the 
whole  assembly  was  thrown  into  great  admiration, 
several  grave  country  members  were  not  a  little 
moved,  and  the  good  Peter  himself,  who  was  a  man 
of  unparalleled  modesty,  felt  himself  grievously  scan- 
dalized. 

The  shortness  of  the  female  dresses,  which  had 
continued  in  fashioi.  "ver  since  the  days  of  William 
Kieft,  had  long  offended  his  eye,  and  though  ex- 
tremely averse  to  meddling  with  the  petticoats  of  the 
ladies,  yet  he  immediately  recommended  that  every 
one  should  be  furnished  with  a  flounce  to  the  bot- 
tom. He  likewise  ordered  that  the  ladies,  and  in- 
deed the  gentlemen,  should  use  no  other  step  in 
dancing,  than  shuffle-and-turn,  and  double-trouble ; 
and  forbade,  under  pain  of  his  high  displeasure,  any 
young  lady  thenceforth  to  attempt  what  was  termed 
"  exhibiting  the  graces." 

These  were  the  only  restrictions  he  ever  imposed 
upon  the  sex,  and  these  were  considered  by  them  as 
tyrannical  oppressions,  and  resisted  with  that  becom- 
ing spirit,  always  manifested  bv  the  gentle  sex, 
whenever  their  privileges  are  invacied. — In  fact,  Peter 
Stuvvesant  plainly  perceived,  that  if  he  attempted  to 
pusti  the  matter  any  farther,  there  was  danger  of 
their  leaving  off  petticoats  altogether ;  so  like  a  wise 
man,  experienced  in  the  ways  of  women,  he  held  his 
peace,  and  suffered  them  ever  after  to  wear  their 
petticoats  and  cut  their  capers  as  high  as  they 
pleased. 


CHAPTER    II. 

auW  PETER  STUVVESANT  WAS  MUCH  MOLESTED 
BY  THE  MOSSTROOPERS  OF  THE  EAST,  AND 
THE  GIANTS  OF  MERRVLAND— AND  HOW  A 
DARK  AND  HORRID  CONSPIRACY  WAS  CAR- 
RIED ON  IN  THE  BRITISH  CABINET  AGAINST 
THE   PROSPERITY   OF   THE   MANHATTOES. 

We  arc  now  approaching  towards  the  crisis  of 
our  work,  and  if  I  be  not  mistaken  in  my  forebod- 
ings, we  shall  have  a  world  of  business  to  despatch 
in  the  ensuing  chapters. 

It  is  with  some  communities,  as  it  is  with  certain 
meddlesome  individuals,  they  have  a  wonderful  fa- 
cility at  getting  into  scrapes ;  and  I  have  always  re- 
c  arked,  that  those  are  most  liable  to  get  in,  who 
have  the  least  talent  at  getting  out  again.  This  is, 
loubtless,  owing  to  the  excessive  valour  of  those 
itates ,  for  I  have  likewise  noticed  that  this  rampant 
and  ungovernable  quality  is  always  most  unruly 
where  most  confinetl  ;  which  accounts  for  its  vapour- 
ing so  amazingly  in  little  states,  little  men,  and  ugly 
Lttle  women  especially. 

Thus,  when  one  reflects,  tiiat  the  province  of  the 
Manhattoes,  though  of  prodigious  importance  in  the 
eyes  of  its  inhabitants  and  its  histori.-in,  was  really 
of  no  very  great  conseguence  in  the  eves  of  the  res* 


of  the  world  ;  that  it  had  but  little  wei.th  or  othei 
spoils  to  reward  the  trouble  of  assailing  it,  and  thai 
it  had  nothing  to  expect  from  running  wantonly  mtc 
war,  save  an  exceeding  good  beating. — On  [Knulct 
ing  these  things,  I  say,  one  would  utterly  desn.ur  oi 
finding  in  its  history  either  battles  or  bloodshrd.  oi 
any  otiier  of  those  calamities  which  give  iiniMinmcf 
to  a  nation,  and  entertainment  to  the  reader  Hut 
on  the  contrary,  we  find,  so  valiant  is  this  provin;:e 
that  it  has  already  drawn  upon  itself  a  host  o( 
enemies;  has  had  as  many  bufTetings  as  wonH 
gratify  the  ambition  of  the  most  warlike  naimrr 
and  is,  in  sober  sadness,  a  very  forlorn,  distressed 
and  woe-begone  little  province  ! — all  which  was,  n<, 
doubt,  kindly  ordered  by  Providence,  to  give  interesi 
anil  sublimity  to  this  pathetic  history. 

Hut  1  forljear  to  enter  into  a  detail  of  the  pitiful 
maraudings  and  har.assments,  that,  for  a  long  while 
aflt-r  the  victory  on  the  Delaware,  continued  to  insuli 
the  dignity,  and  disturb  the  repose,  of  the  Niiler- 
landers.  Suffice  it  in  brevity  to  say,  that  the  iii;|)l,ic. 
able  hostility  of  the  people  of  the  east,  which  hul 
so  miraculously  been  prevented  from  breaking  cnii, 
as  my  readers  must  remember,  by  the  sudden  prev- 
alence of  witchcraft,  and  the  dissensions  in  the  coun- 
cil of  Amphyctions,  now  again  displayed  itself  m  a 
thousand  grievous  and  bitter  scourings  upon  the 
Iwrders. 

Scarcely  a  month  passed  but  what  the  Dutch  sft 
tlements  on  the  frontiers  were  alarmed  by  the  sudiler 
appearance  of  an  invading  army  from  Connecticut 
This  would  advance  resolutely  through  the  country 
like  a  puissant  car.ivan  of  the  deserts,  the  women 
and  children  mounted  in  carts  loaded  with  pots  and 
kettles,  as  though  they  meant  to  boil  the  honest 
Dutchmen  alive,  and  devour  them  like  so  many  lob. 
sters.  At  the  tails  of  these  carts  would  stalk  a  crew 
of  long-limbed,  lank-sided  varlets,  with  axes  on  theii 
shoulders  and  packs  on  their  backs,  resolutely  tieni 
upon  imprcft'tng  the  country  in  despite  of  its  pro- 
prietors. These,  settling  themselves  down,  would  in 
a  short  time  completely  dislodge  the  unfortunate 
Nederlanders ;  elbowing  them  out  of  those  rich  hoi- 
toms  and  fertile  valleys,  in  which  our  Dutch  yeo- 
manry are  so  famous  for  nestling  themselves.  For 
it  is  notorious,  that  wherever  these  shrewd  men  of 
the  east  get  a  footing,  the  honest   Dutchmen  do 

Eadually  disappear,  retiring  slowly,  like  the  Indiar.s 
fore  the  whites ;  being  totally  discomfited  by  th? 
talking,  chaffering,  swappi.  g,  bargaining  disposition 
of  their  new  neighbours. 

All  these  audacious  infringements  on  the  territories 
of  their  High  Mightinesses  were  accompanied,  as  has 
before  been  hinted,  by  a  world  of  rascally  brawls, 
ribroastings,  and  bundlings,  which  would  doubtless 
have  incensed  the  valiant  Peter  to  wreak  immediate 
chastisement,  had  he  not  at  the  very  same  time 
been  perplexed  by  distressing  accounts  from  Myn- 
heer Beckman,  who  commanded  the  territories  at 
South  river. 

The  restless  Swedes,  who  had  so  graciously  been 
suffered  to  remain  about  the  Delaware,  already  be- 
gan to  show  signs  of  mutiny  and  disaffection,  but 
what  was  worse,  a  peremptory  claim  was  laid  to  the 
whole  territory,  as  the  rigntful  property  of  Lord  Bal- 
timore, by  Fendal,  a  chieftain  who  ruled  over  the 
colony  of  Maryland,  or  Merry-land,  as  it  was  an 
ciently  called,  because  that  the  inhabitants,  nu 
having  the  fear  of  the  Lord  before  their  eyes,  were 
notoriously  prone  to  get  fuddled  and  make  merry 
with  mint-julep  and  apple-toddy.  Nay,  so  hostile 
was  this  bully  Fendal,  that  he  threatened,  unlesi 
his  claim  was  instantly  complied  withi  to  march  in- 
continently at  the  head  of  a  potent  force  of  the  roar- 
ing boys  of  Merry-land,  together  with  a  great  and 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


619 


ini{{hty  train  of  giants,  who  infested  the  banks  of  the 
Susauehanna'* — and  to  lay  waste  and  depopulate  the 
*hole  country  of  South  river. 

By  this  it  is  manifest,  that  this  boasted  colony, 
like  all  great  ac(|uisitions  of  territory,  soon  became  a 
greater  evil  to  the  conqueror  than  the  loss  of  it  was 
to  the  conquered ;  and  caused  greater  uneasiness 
ami  trouble  than  all  the  territory  of  the  New-Neth- 
frlands  besides.  Thus  Providence  wisely  orders  that 
one  evil  shall  balance  another.  The  conqueror  who 
vvrrsts  the  property  of  his  neighbour,  who  wrongs  a 
nation  and  desolates  a  country,  though  he  may  ac- 
|uiro  increase  of  empire  and  immortal  fame,  yet  in- 
sures his  own  inevitable  punishment.  He  takes  to 
hi  iiself  a  cause  of  endless  anxiety — he  incorporates 
v\iih  his  late  sound  domain  a  loose  part — a  rotten, 
ii^iffected  member ;  which  Ls  an  exhaustless  source 
ji  internal  treason  and  disunion,  and  external  alter- 
:,iu()n  and  hostility.  Happy  is  that  nation,  which 
naipact,  unite<l,  loyal  in  all  its  parts,  and  concen- 
ir  ited  in  its  strength,  seeks  no  idle  acquisition  of 
iinprutitable  and  ungovernable  territory — which,  con- 
in'i  to  be  prosperous  and  happy,  has  no  ambition  to 
be  great.  It  is  like  a  man  well  organized  in  his  sys- 
•tin,  sound  in  health,  and  full  of  vigour;  unencum- 
lured  by  useless  trappings,  and  fixed  in  an  unshaken 
itiitude.  But  the  nation,  insatiable  of  territory, 
whose  domains  are  scattered,  feebly  united  antl 
wi-.ikly  organized,  is  like  a  senseless  miser  sprawl- 
ing; among  golden  stores,  open  to  every  att.ick,  and 
unable  to  defend  the  nches  he  vainly  endeavours  to 
DviTshadow. 

At  the  time  of  receiving  the  alarming  despatches 
Inini  South  river,  the  great  Peter  was  busily  employ- 
ed in  ((uelling  certain  Indian  troubles  that  had  broken 
Jul  about  Esopus,  and  was  moreover  meditating  how 
•.,1  relieve  his  eastern  borders  on  the  Connecticut. 
H  •,  however,  aenl  word  to  Mynheer  Beckman  to  be 
.'!  gucd  heart,  to  maintain  incessant  vigilance,  and 
to  let  him  know  if  matters  wore  a  more  threatening 
.ipiwarance ;  in  which  case  he  would  incontinently 
repair  with  his  warriors  of  the  Hudson,  to  spoil  the 
merriment  of  these  Merry-landers ;  for  he  coveted 
exceedingly  to  have  a  bout,  hand  to  hand,  with  some 
half  a  score  of  these  giants — liaving  never  encoun- 
tered a  giant  in  his  whole  life,  unless  we  may  so  call 
ilvi  stout  Risingh,  and  he  was  but  a  little  one. 

Nothing  farther,  however,  occurred  to  molest  the 
tr.inquillity  of  Mynheer  Beckman  and  his  colony. 
Feudal  and  his  myrmidons  remained  at  home,  carous- 
ing; it  soundly  upon  hoe-cakes,  bacon,  and  miiit-julep, 
iiul  running  horses,  and  fighting  cocks,  for  which 
i!;ey  were  greatly  renowned. — At  hearing  of  this, 
I'etcr  Stuyvcsant  was  very  well  pleased,  for  notwith- 
standing his  inclination  to  measure  weapons  with 
these  monstrous  men  of  the  Susquehanna,  yet  he  had 
already  as  much  employment  nearer  home  as  he  could 
turn  his  hands  to.  Little  did  he  think,  worthy  soul, 
that  this  southern  calm  was  but  the  deceitful  prelude 
li)  a  most  terrible  and  fat.il  stonn,  then  brewing, 
wiiich  was  soon  to  burst  forth  and  overwhelm  the 
iinsuspecting  city  of  New-Amsterdam  ! 

Now  so  it  was,  that  while  this  excellent  governor 
•Ais  giving  his  little,  senate  laws,  ami  not  only  giving 
;liem,  but  enforcing  them  too — while  he  was  inces- 

*  Wc  find  vei-y  curu)us  and  wonderful  .tCLOiiuts  of  these  strange 
cfople  (who  were  doubtless  the  .mcestori  of  the  present  M.iry- 
iTnIers)  ntade  by  Master  Hariot,  in  his  intcrcstini;  riistury.  "  The 
Susquesahanocks,**  observes  he,  *' .ire  a  ciantly  peuplCj  strange 
in  proportiou,  behaviour,  and  ..ttire- -their  voice  sounding  from 
them  as  if  out  of  a  cave.  Their  tobacco-pipes  were  three  quarters 
gf  a  yard  li>nj{,  carved  at  the  ({real  end  with  a  bird,  beare,  or  other 
device,  luflicient  to  beat  out  tlie  braiiu's  of  a  horse,  (and  how  many 
k.<.N<k  brainei  are  beaten  out,  or  rather  men's  braines  smoked  out, 
aiul  aues  braines  haled  in,  by  our  lesser  pipes  at  hoiue.)  Th« 
calfe  of  one  of  their  le^Ket  measured  three  auartet^  of  a  yard  alMal, 
the  rest  of  hit  limbs  prapoitionable."— .Voi^rr  Haritt't  y»mr», 
Pnrck.  fSl. 

18 


santly  travelling  the  rounds  of  hift  beloved  prorlnce 
— posting  from  place  to  place  to  redress  grievances, 
and  while  busy  at  one  corner  of  his  dominions^  all 
the  rest  getting  into  an  uproar — at  this  very  time,  I 
say,  a  dark  ancT direful  plot  was  hatching  against  hiir, 
in  that  nursery  of  monstrous  projects,  the  British  ral»- 
inet.  The  news  of  his  achievements  on  the  Del.i. 
ware,  according  to  a  sage  old  historian  of  New-Am  • 
sterdam,  had  occasioned  not  a  little  talk  .and  marvel 
in  the  courts  of  Europe.  And  the  same  protouiul 
writer  assures  us,  that  the  cabinet  of  England  began 
to  entertain  great  jealousy  and  uneasiness  at  the  in- 
creasing i)ower  of  the  Manhattoes,  and  the  valour  of 
its  sturdy  yeomanry. 

Agents,  the  same  historian  observes,  were  sent  by 
the  Amphyctionic  council  of  the  east  to  entreat  the 
assistance  of  the  British  cabinet  in  subjugating  this 
mighty  province.  Lord  Sterling  also  asserted  his 
right  to  Long  Island,  and,  at  the  same  time.  Lord 
B.tltimore,  whose  agent,  as  has  before  been  men- 
tioned, had  so  alarmed  Mynheer  Beckman,  laid  his 
claim  before  the  cabinet  to  the  lands  of  South  river, 
which  he  complained  were  unjustly  and  forcibly  de- 
tained from  him,  by  these  daring  usurpers  of  the 
Nieuw-Nederlandts. 

Thus  did  the  unlucky  empire  of  the  Manhattoes 
stand  in  imminent  danger  of  expetiencing  the  fate  of 
Poland,  and  being  torn  limb  from  limb  to  be  shared 
among  its  savage  neighbours.  But  while  these  r.apa- 
cious  powers  were  whetting  their  fangs,  and  waiting 
for  the  signal  to  fall  tooth  and  nail  upon  this  delicious 
little  fat  Dutch  empire,  the  lordly  lion,  who  sat  as 
umpire,  all  at  once  settled  the  claims  of  all  parties, 
by  laying  his  own  paw  upon  the  spoil.  For  we  are 
told  that  his  majesty,  Charles  the  Second,  not  to  be 
perplexed  by  adjusting  these  several  pretensions, 
made  a  present  of  a  large  tract  of  North  America, 
including  the  province  of  New-Netherlands,  to  hLs 
brother,  the  Duke  of  York — a  donation  truly  loyal, 
since  none  but  gre.it  monarchs  have  a  right  to  give 
away  what  does  not  belong  to  them. 

That  this  munificent  gift  might  not  be  merely 
nominal,  his  majesty,  on  the  12th  of  March,  1664, 
ordered  that  an  armament  should  be  forthwith  pre- 
pared, to  inv.ide  the  city  of  New-Amsterdam  by  land 
and  water,  and  put  his  brother  in  complete  possession 
of  the  premises. 

Thus  critically  are  situated  the  affairs  of  the  New- 
Netherlanders.  The  honest  burghers,  so  far  from 
thinking  of  the  jeopardy  in  which  their  interests  are 
placed,  are  soberly  smoking  their  pipes,  and  thinking 
of  nothing  at  all — the  privy  counsellors  of  the  prov- 
ince are  at  this  moment  snoring  in  full  quorum,  while 
the  active  Peter,  who  takes  all  the  labour  of  thinking 
and  acting  upon  himself,  is  busily  devising  some 
method  of  bringing  the  grand  council  of  Amphyc- 
tions  to  t-rms.  In  the  meanwhile,  an  angry  cloud  is 
darkly  scowling  on  the  horizon — soon  shall  it  rattlt 
about  the  ears  of  these  dazing  Nederlanders,  and  put 
the  mettle  of  their  stout-hearted  governor  completel) 
to  the  trial. 

But  come  what  may,  I  here  pledge  my  veracit; 
that  in  all  warlike  conflicts  and  subtle  perplexities 
he  shall  still  acquit  himself  with  the  gallant  bearint 
and  spotless  honour  of  a  noble-minded,  obstinate  old 
cavalier. — Forward  then  to  the  charge?  —shine  out, 
propitious  stars,  on  the  renowned  cit)  of  the  Man- 
hattoes ;  and  may  the  blessing  of  S*  Nicho'as  jc 
with  thee — honest  Peter  Stuyvesant ! 


«90 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


iff  ■■'  ■ 

'i  1-    I.-.*!* 


CHAPTER   III. 

Of  PITER  STUYVESANT'S  EXPEDITION  INTO  THE 
EAST  COUNTRY,  SHOWING  THAT  THOUGH  AN 
OLD   BIRD,   HE  DID   NOT  UNDERSTAND  TRAP. 

Great  nations  resemble  ffrta^-  men  in  this  particu- 
lat,  that  their  greatness  is  seldom  known  until  they 

Set  in  trouble ;  adversity,  therefore,  has  been  wisely 
enominated  the  ordeal  of  true  greatness,  which,  lii<e 
gold,  can  never  receive  its  real  estimation,  until  :* 
has  passed  through  the  furnace.  In  proportion,  there- 
fore, as  a  nation,  a  community,  or  an  individual  (pos- 
sessing the  inherent  quality  of  greatness)  is  involved 
in  penis  and  misfortunes,  in  proportion  does  it  rise 
in  erandeur — and  even  when  smking  under  calamity, 
makes,  like  a  house  on  fire,  a  more  glorious  display 
than  ever  it  did  in  the  fairest  period  of  its  prospi-rity. 

The  vast  empire  of  China,  though  teeming  with 
population  and  imbibing  and  concentrating  the  wealth 
of  nations,  has  vegetated  through  a  succession  of 
drowsy  ages ;  and  were  it  not  for  its  internal  revo- 
lution, and  the  subversion  of  its  ancieni  ^^ovemment 
by  the  Tartars,  might  have  presented  noilung  but  an 
uninteresting  detail  of  dull,  monotonous  prosperity. 
Pompeii  and  Herculaneum  might  have  passed  into 
oblivion,  with  a  herd  of  their  contemporaries,  if  they 
bad  not  been  fortunately  overwhelmed  by  a  volcano. 
The  renowned  city  of  Troy  has  acquired  celebrity 
only  from  its  ten  years'  distress,  and  final  contlugra- 
tion — Paris  rises  in  imjiortance  by  the  plots  and  mas- 
sacres which  have  ended  in  the  exaltation  of  the  il- 
lustrious Napoleon — and  even  the  mighty  London 
itself  has  skulked  through  the  records  of  time,  cele- 
brated for  nothing  of  moment,  excepting  the  plague, 
the  great  tire,  and  Guy  Faux's  gunpowder  plot ! — 
Thus  cities  and  empires  seem  to  creep  alonjr,  enlarg- 
ing in  silent  obscurity  under  the  pen  of  the  Historian, 
ontil  at  length  they  burst  forth  in  some  tremendous 
calamity — and  snatch,  as  it  were,  immortality  from 
he  explosion ! 

The  above  principle  being  admitted,  my  reader 
•ill  plainly  perceive  that  the  city  of  New-Amster- 
am,  and  its  dependent  province,  are  on  the  high 
road  to  greatness.  Dangers  and  hostilities  threaten 
from  every  side,  and  it  is  really  a  matter  of  astonish- 
ment to  me,  how  so  small  a  state  has  b^en  able,  in 
so  short  a  time,  to  entangle  itself  in  so  many  difTi- 
culties.  Ever  since  the  province  was  first  taken  by 
the  nose,  at  the  Fort  of  Good  Hope,  in  the  tranquil 
days  of  Wouter  Van  Twiller,  has  it  been  gradually 
increasing  in  historic  importance ;  and  never  could 
it  have  had  a  more  appropriate  chieftain  to  conduct 
it  to  the  pinnacle  of  grandeur,  than  Peter  Stuyvesant. 

In  the  fiery  heart  of  this  iron-headed  old  warrior 
sat  enthroned  all  those  five  kinds  of  courage  describ- 
ed by  Aristotle,  and  had  the  philosopher  mentioned 
five  hundred  more  to  the  back  of  them,  I  verily  \x- 
lieve  he  would  have  been  found  master  of  them  all. 
The  only  misfortune  was,  that  he  was  deficient  in 
the  better  part  of  valour,  called  discretion,  a  cold- 
blooded virtue  which  could  not  exist  in  the  tropical 
climate  of  his  mighty  soul.  Hence  it  was,  he  was 
continually  hurrying  into  those  unheard-of  enter- 
prises that  give  an  air  of  chivalric  romance  to  all  his 
History,  and  hence  it  was  that  he  now  conceived  a 
project  worthy  of  the  hero  of  La  Mancha  himself. 

This  was  no  other  than  to  repair  in  person  to  the 
great  council  of  the  Amphyctions,  bearing  the  sword 
m  one  hand  and  the  olive-branch  in  the  other — to 
require  immediate  reparation  for  the  innumerable 
violations  of  that  treaty  which  in  an  evil  hour  he  had 
Ibrmed — to  put  a  stop  to  those  repeated  maraurlings 
on  the  eastern  borders— or  else  to  throw  his  gauntlet 
and  appeal  to  arms  for  satisfaction. 


On  declaring  this  resolution  In  hts  pnvy  council. 
the  venerable  members  wr,e  seiied  with  vast  aston 
ishment ;  for  once  in  their  lives  they  vei.iurrd  to  r^ 
monstrate,  setting  for*'\  the  rashness  of  exnosin;;  his 
sacred  person  in  tne  nitdst  ofa  strange  and  barbaroui 
people,  with  sundiy  other  wfighty  remonstran<,v,.. 
all  which  had  about  as  much  influence  upon  the  de- 
termination  of  the  headstrong  Peter  as  thoiuh  ynu 
were  to  endeavour  to  turn  a  rusty  weathercock  with 
a  broken-winded  bellows. 

Sumnr.oning,  therefore  to  his  presence  hi^  trust) 
toiiower,  Antony  Van  Coriear,  he  commanded  Imn 
to  hold  himself  in  readiness  to  accompany  him  the 
following  morning  on  this  his  hazardous  entcrpi  v. 
Now  Antony  the  trumf,€ter  was  a  little  stricktn  m 
years,  yet  by  dint  of  keeping  up  a  good  hem,  ii\.l 
having  never  known  cire  or  sorrow,  (having;  luv.-t 
been  married,)  he  was  still  a  hearty,  jocund,  rulii- 
cund,  gamesome  wag,  and  of  great  capacity  in  ihf 
doublet.  This  last  was  ascribed  to  his  living  a  jolK 
life  on  those  domains  at  the  Hook,  which  Peter  Stuy- 
vesant had  granted  to  him  for  his  gallantry  at  Fort 
Casimir. 

Be  this  as  It  may,  there  was  nothing  th.it  mor'-  dc- 
lighted  Antony  than  this  commanu  of  the  ^;r(ai 
Peter,  for  he  could  have  followed  the  stout-hiMited 
old  governor  to  the  world's  end  with  love  and  loy  iliy 
— and  he  moreover  still  remembered  the  froliokinn, 
and  dancing,  and  bundling,  and  other  dispurt^  ul 
the  east  country,  and  entertained  dainty  recolltciion 
of  numerous  kind  and  buxom  lasses,  whom  he  longed 
exceedingly  again  to  encounter. 

Thus,  then,  did  this  mirror  of  hardihood  set  forth, 
with  no  other  attendant  but  his  trumpeter,  upon  on? 
of  the  most  perilous  enterprises  ever  recorded  in  th* 
annals  of  knight-errantry.  For  a  single  warrior  t  i 
venture  openly  among  a  whole  nation  of  foes ;  but 
above  all,  for  a  plain  downright  Dutchman  to  think 
of  negotiating  with  the  whole  council  of  New- 
England — never  was  there  known  a  more  desperate 
undertaking  I — Ever  since  I  have  entered  up)n  the 
chronicles  of  this  [jeerless,  but  hitherto  uncelebratid, 
chieftain,  has  he  kept  me  in  a  state  of  incessant  ac- 
tion and  anxiety  with  the  toils  and  dangers  he  is 
constantly  encountering.— Oh  !  for  a  chapter  of  the 
tranquil  reign  of  Wouter  Van  Twiller,  that  1  might 
repose  on  it  as  on  a  feather  bed  ! 

Is  it  not  enough,  Peter  Stuyvesant,  that  I  have 
once  already  rescued  thee  from  the  machinations  of 
these  terrible  Amphyctions,  by  bringing  the  whole 
powers  of  witchcraft  to  thine  aid  ? — Is  it  not  enough 
that  I  have  followed  thee  undaunted,  like  a  guardian 
spirit,  into  the  midst  of  the  horrid  battle  of  Fort 
Christina  ? — That  I  have  been  put  incessantly  to  my 
trumps  to  keep  thee  safe  and  sound — now  warding 
off  with  my  single  pen  the  shower  of  dastard  blows 
that  fell  upon  thy  rear — now  narrowly  shielding  thee 
from  a  deadly  thrust,  by  a  mere  tobacco-box— now 
casing  thy  dauntless  skull  with  adamant,  wnen  even 
thy  stubborn  ram-beaver  failed  to  resist  the  sword 
of  the  stout  Risingh-— and  now,  not  merely  bringing 
thee  oflT  alive,  but  triumphant,  from  the  clutches  of 
the  gigantic  Swede,  by  the  desperate  means  of  a 
paltry  stone  pottle  ?— Is  not  all  this  enough,  hui 
must  thou  still  be  plunging  into  new  difficulties,  and 
jeopardizing  in  headlong  enterprises,  thyself,  thy 
trumpeter,  and  thy  historian  ? 

And  now  the  ruddy-faced  Aurora,  like  a  buxoit 
chamber-maid,  draws  aside  the  sable  curtains  of  the 
night,  and  out  bounces  from  his  bed  the  jolly  red- 
haired  Phoebus,  startled  at  being  caught  so  late  in 
the  embraces  of  Dame  Thetis.  With  many  a  sable 
oath,  he  harnesses  his  brazen-footed  «teeds,  and 
whips  and  lashes,  and  splashes  up  the  firmament, 
like  a  loiterirg  post-boy,  half  an  hour  behind  his 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORIC. 


S21 


ume.  And  now  behold  that  imp  of  fame  and  prow- 
eM,  the  hradstrnni;  Peter,  bpstriding;  a  rawl)«n«;d, 
switch-tailed  charger,  gallant  arnyed  in  full  regi- 
mentals, and  bracing  on  his  thigh  tnat  trusty  brass- 
hilted  sword,  which  had  wrought  such  fearful  deeds 
on  the  banks  of  the  Delaware. 

Behold,  hard  after  him,  hisdougluy  trumpeter  Van 
Corlear,  mounted  on  a  broken-wimled,  wall-eyed, 
calico  mare ;  his  stone  pottle,  which  had  laid  low  the 
:T\ighty  Kisingh,  slung  under  his  arm. and  his  trumpet 
Jisnlayed  vauntingly  in  his  right  hand,  decorated 
iviih  a  gorgeous  banner,  on  which  is  embLizoned  xhr 
great  beaver  of  the  Manhattoes.  See  them  proudly 
issuing  out  of  the  city  gate  like  an  iron-clati  hero  of 
lore,  with  his  faithful  'squire  at  his  heels,  the  popu- 
lace following  them  with  their  eyes,  and  shouting 
many  a  parting  wish  and  hearty  cheering. — Farewell, 
Hnrdkoppig  Piet  I  Farewell,  honest  Antony  ! — 
rifasant  be  your  wayfaring — prosperous  your  re- 
turn I  The  stoutest  nero  tnat  ever  drew  a  sword, 
and  the  worthiest  trumpeter  that  ever  trod  shoe- 
leather  I 

Legend'  are  lamentably  silent  about  the  events 
that  befell  our  adventurers  in  this  their  adventurous 
travel,  excepting  the  Stuyvesant  manuscript,  which 
ijives  the  substance  of  a  pleasant  little  heroic  poem, 
written  on  the  occasion  by  Domini  ^Kgidius  Luyck,* 
who  appears  to  have  been  the  poet  laureat  of  New- 
Amsterdam.  This  inestimable  manuscript  assures 
us  that  it  was  a  rare  spectacle  to  behoUl  the  great 
Peter  and  his  loyal  fullovver  hailing  the  morning  sun, 
and  rejoicing  in  the  clear  countenance  of  nature,  as 
they  pranced  it  through  the  pastoral  scenes  of  Bloe 
men  i)acl;f  which  in  those  days  was  a  sweet  and 
rural  villey,  beautified  with  many  a  bright  wild 
^.ower,  refreshed  by  many  a  pure  streamlet,  and  en- 
.ivened  here  and  there  by  a  delectable  little  Dutch 
i.ottage,  sheltered  under  some  sloping  hill,  and  al- 
•iiost  Duried  in  emlxjwering  trees. 

Now  (lid  iJu-y  enter  upon  the  confines  of  Connec- 
•icut,  where  they  encountered  many  grievous  difTi- 
culties  and  perils.  At  one  place  they  were  assailed 
by  a  troop  of  country  "squires  and  militia  colonels, 
who,  mounted  on  goodly  steeds,  hung  upon  their 
rear  for  several  mik'S,  harassing  them  exceedingly 
with  guesses  and  questions,  more  especially  the 
worthy  Peter,  whose  silver-chased  leg  excited  not  a 
liiile  marvel.  At  another  place,  hard  by  the  re- 
nowned town  of  Stamford,  thiy  were  set  upon  by  a 
i,Teat  and  mighty  legion  of  church  ile.acons,  who  im- 
periously demanded  of  them  tive  shillings,  for  travel- 
ling on  Sunday,  and  threatened  to  carry  them  captive 
to  a  neighbouring  church,  whose  steeple  peered 
iliovc  the  trees;  but  these  the  valiant  Peter  put  to 
rx)ut  with  little  difficulty,  insomuch  that  they  bestrode 
(heir  canes  and  galloped  otf  in  horrible  confusion, 
leaving  their  cocked  hats  behind  in  the  hurry  of  their 
flight.  But  not  so  easily  did  he  escape  from  the 
lands  of  a  crafty  man  of  Piquag ;  who,  with  undaunted 
!)erseverance,  and  repeated  onsets,  fairly  bargained 
liim  out  of  his  goodly  switched-tailed  charger,  leaving 
n  place  there  of  avillainous  foundered  Narraganset 
,  acer. 

But,  maugre  all  these  hardships,  they  pursued  their 
iaurney  cheerily  along  the  course  of  the  soft  flowing 
I'oiinecticut,  wnose  gentle  waves,  says  the  song,  roll 
)iroug|h  many  a  fertile  vale  and  sunny  plain ;  now 
eflccting  the  lofty  spires  of  the  bustling  city,  and 
n  iw  the  rural  beauties  of  the  humble  hamlet ;  now 


'This  l.uyck  was,  moreover,  rector  of  the  Latin  School  in  Nieuw- 
Ntdeilaodt,  iMi.  There  are  two  pieces  adilressed  to  iGsidius 
Lunk,  im  D.  Sefyn's  MSS.  of  poesies,  upon  his  marriatfe  wiut  Ju- 
Ikb  Isendoom.    Old  MS. 

*  Now  called  Blooming  Dale,  about  four  miles  from  New-York 


echoing  wlih  the  busy  hum  of  comimerce,  and  now 
with    he  cheerful  song  of  the  pea.sant. 

At  every  town  would  Peter  Stuyvesant,  who  mas 
noted  for  warlikr  punctilio,  order  tne  sturdy  Antony 
to  sound  a  courtrous  salutation  ;  though  the  manu- 
script observes,  hat  the  inhabitants  were  thrown 
into  great  disma\  when  they  heard  of  his  approach 
F'or  the  fame  of  liis  incomparable  achievements  on 
the  Delaware  had  spread  throughout  the  east  coun 
try,  and  they  dreaded  lest  he  had  come  to  take  ven- 
geance on  their  in.mifold  transgressions. 

Hut  the  good  Peter  rode  through  these  towns  with 
a  smiling  aspect ;  waving  his  hand  with  inexpressilile 
majesty  ind  condescension  ;  (or  he  verily  t)elieve(l 
that  the  old  clothes  which  these  ingenious  people 
had  thrust  into  their  broken  windows,  and  the  fes- 
toons of  dried  apples  and  peaches  which  ornamented 
the  fronts  of  their  houses,  were  so  many  decorations 
in  honour  of  his  approach  ;  as  it  was  the  custom,  in 
the  days  of  chivalry,  to  compliment  renowned  heroes 
by  sumptuous  displays  of  tapestry  and  gorgeous  lur- 
niture.  The  women  crowded  to  the  doors  to  gaze 
upon  him  as  he  passed,  so  much  does  prowess  in 
arms  delight  the  gentle  sex.  The  little  children,  too 
ran  after  nim  in  troops,  staring  with  wonder  at  hif 
regimentals,  his  brimstone  breeches,  and  the  silvei 
garniture  of  his  wooden  leg.  Nor  must  1  oniii  tc 
mention  the  joy  which  many  strapping  wenches  be- 
trayed at  beholding  the  jovial  Van  Corlear,  who  had 
whilom  delighted  them  so  much  with  his  truiii|)ci, 
when  he  bore  the  great  Peter's  challenge  to  the  Am- 
phyctions.  The  kind-heafed  Antony  alighted  from 
nis  calico  mare,  and  kissed  them  all  with  intinite 
loving  kindness — ^aml  was  right  pleased  to  see  a 
crew  of  little  trumpeters  crowding  around  him  foi 
his  blessing ;  each  of  whom  he  patted  on  the  head 
bade  him  be  a  good  boy,  and  gave  him  a  pt-nny  ti 
buy  tnol.'isses  candy. 

The  Stuyvesant  manuscript  makes  but  little  tarthei 
mention  of  the  governor's  adventures  upon  ttiis  expe- 
dition, exceptinji  that  he  was  received  with  t  xtrava 
gant  courtesy  and  resp»:ct  by  the  great  council  of  the 
.•\mphyctions,  who  almost  talked  him  to  death  with 
complimentary  and  conj^ratulatory  harangues.  I  will 
not  detain  my  readers  by  dwelling  on  his  negotiations 
with  the  grand  council.  Suffice  it  to  mention,  it  was 
like  all  other  negotiations — a  great  deal  was  said,  and 
very  little  done  :  one  conversation  led  to  another— 
one  conference  begat  misunderstandings  which  ii 
took  a  dozen  conferences  to  explain  ;  at  the  end  of 
which,  the  parties  found  themselves  just  where  thej 
were  at  first ;  excepting  that  they  had  entangled 
themselves  in  a  host  of  questions  of  etuiueite,  and 
conceived  a  cordial  distrust  of  each  other,  that  ren- 
dered their  future  negotiations  ten  times  more  diffi- 
cult than  ever.* 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  perplexities,  which  bewil- 
dered the  brain  and  incensed  the  ire  of  the  sturd) 
Peter,  who  was  perhaps  of  all  men  in  the  world,  least 
fitted  for  diplomatic  wiles,  he  privately  received  th< 
first  intimation  of  the  dark  conspiracy  which  had 
been  matured  in  the  Cabinet  of  England.  To  thi; 
was  added  the  astounding  intelligence  that  a  hostile 
squadron  had  already  sailed  from  Eneland.  destined 
to  reduce  the  province  of  New-Netherlands,  and  tha' 
the  grand  council  of  Amphyctions  had  engaged  ic 
co-operate,  by  sending  a  great  army  to  invade  New  ■ 
Amsterdam  by  land. 

Unfortunate  Peter!  did  I  not  enter  with  sad  fore 
bodin?  upon  this  ill-starred  expedition  ?  did  I  not 
tremble  when  I  saw  thee,  with  no  other  counselloi 


'-  .  4.  i| 


..  ■  t'" 


-l^ai 


*  For  certain  of  the  particulars  of  this  ancient  neguUaiion  se< 
Hax.  Col.  Stale  Papers.  It  i.i  tingular  that  Smith  is  entirely  tiles 
with  respect  to  this  memorable  expedition  of  Peter  StuvvcMnt 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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622 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


bat  thine  own  head,  with  no  other  armour  but  an 
honest  tongue,  a  spotless  conscience,  and  a  rusty 
sword  !  with  no  otlier  protector  but  St.  Nicholas — 
and  no  other  attendant  but  a  trumpeter— did  1  not 
tremble  when  I  beheld  thee  thus  sally  fo^th  to  con- 
tend with  all  the  knowing  powers  of  New-England  ? 

Oh,  how  did  the  sturdy  old  warrior  rage  and  roar, 
tvhen  he  found  himself  thus  entrapped,  like  a  lion  in 
'he  hunter's  toil !  Now  did  he  determine  to  draw 
his  trusty  sword,  and  manfully  to  fight  his  way 
through  all  the  countries  of  the  east.  Now  did  he 
resolve  to  break  in  upon  the  council  of  the  Amphyc- 
tions,  and  put  every  mother's  son  of  them  to  death. 
At  length,  as  his  direful  wrath  subsided,  he  resorted 
to  safer  though  less  glorious  expedients. 

Concealing  from  the  council  his  knowledge  of 
their  machinations,  he  privately  despatched  a  trusty 
messenger,  with  missives  to  his  counsellors  at  New- 
Amsterdam,  apprising  them  of  the  impending  dan- 
ger, commanding  them  immediately  to  put  the  city 
m  a  posture  otdefence,  while  in  the  meantime  he 
would  endeavour  to  elude  his  enemies  and  come  to 
their  assistance.  This  done,  he  felt  himself  mar\'el- 
lously  relieved,  rose  slowly,  shook  himself  like  a 
liiinoceros,  and  issued  forth  from  his  den,  in  much 
the  same  manner  as  Giant  Despair  is  described  to 
have  issued  from  Doubting  Castle,  in  the  chivalric 
history  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progj-ess. 

And  now,  much  does  it  grieve  me  that  I  must 
leave  the  gallant  Peter  in  this  imminent  jeopardy : 
but  it  behoves  us  to  hurry  back  and  see  what  is  go- 
ing on  at  Hew- Amsterdam,  for  greatly  do  I  fear  that 
city  is  already  in  a  turmoil.  Such  was  ever  the  fate 
of  Peter  Stuyvesant;  while  doing  one  thing  with 
heart  and  soul,  he  was  too  apt  to  leave  every  thing 
else  at  sixes  and  sevens.  While,  like  a  potentate  of 
yore,  he  was  absent,  attending  to  those  things  in  per- 
son, which  in  modem  days  are  trusted  to  generals 
and  ambassadors,  his  little  territory  at  home  was  sure 
to  get  in  an  uproar. — All  which  was  owing  to  that 
uncommon  streneth  of  intellect  which  induced  him 
to  trust  to  nobody  but  himself,  and  which  had  ac- 
quired him  the  renowned  appellation  of  Peter  the 
Headstrong. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HOW  THX  PEOPLE  OF  NEW-AMSTERDAM  WERE 
THROWN  INTO  A  GREAT  PANIC,  BY  THE 
NEWS  OF  A  THREATENED  INVASION,  AND  THE 
MANNER  IN  WHICH  THEY  FORTIFIED  THEM- 
SELVES. 

There  is  no  sight  more  truly  interesting  to  a 
philosopher,  than  to  contemplate  a  community, 
where  every  individual  has  a  voice  in  public  affairs, 
where  every  individual  thinks  himself  the  Atlas  of 
the  nation,  and  where  every  individual  thinks  it  his 
duty  to  bestir  himself  for  the  good  of  his  country. — 
I  say,  there  is  nothing  more  interesting  to  a  philoso- 
pher, than  to  see  such  a  community  in  a  sudden  bus- 
tle of  war.  Such  a  clamour  of  tongues — such  a 
bawling  of  patriotism — such  running  hither  and 
thither — eveiy  body  in  a  hurry — every  body  up  to 
the  ears  in  trouble — every  body  in  the  way,  and  ev- 
ery body  interrupting  his  industrious  neighbour — 
who  is  busily  employed  in  doing  nothing  I  It  is  like 
witnessing  a  great  fire,  where  every  man  is  at  work 
like  a  hero — some  dragging  about  empty  engines — 
others  scampering  with  lull  buckets,  and  spilling  the 
contents  into  the  boots  of  their  neighbours — and 
others  ringing  the  church  bells  all  night,  by  way  of 
putting  out  the  fire.  Little  firemen,  liKe  sturdy  little 
ttnights  storming  a  breach,  clambering  up  and  down 


scaling-ladders,  and  bawling  through  tin  trumpetj 
by  way  of  directing  the  attack. — Here  one  busy  lei 
low,  in  his  great  zeal  to  save  the  property  of  the  un- 
fortunate, catches  up  an  anonymous  chamber  uten 
sil,  and  gallants  it  off  with  an  air  of  as  much  self- 
importance,  as  if  he  had  rescued  a  pot  of  money— 
another  throws  looldng-glasses  and  china  out  of  fh( 
window,  to  save  them  from  the  flames,  whilst  those 
who  can  do  nothing  else  to  assist  the  great  calamity. 
run  up  and  down  the  streets  with  open  throats,  keep 
ing  up  an  incessant  cry  of  Fire!  Fire!  Fire  I 

'  When  the  news  arrived  at  Sinope,"  says  the 
p;rave  and  profound  Lucian — though  I  own  the  story 
IS  rather  trite,  "that  Philip  was  aoout  to  attack 
then),  the  inhabitants  were  thrown  into  violent 
alarm.  Some  ran  to  furbish  up  their  arms ;  others 
rolled  stones  to  build  up  the  walls — every  body,  in 
short,  was  employed,  and  ever>-  body  was  in  the  way 
of  his  neighbour.  Diogenes  alone  was  the  only  man 
who  could  find  nothing  to  do — whereupon,  deter- 
mining not  to  be  idle  when  the  welfare  of  Ijs  coun- 
try was  at  stake,  he  tucked  up  his  robe,  and  fell  to 
rolling  his  tub  with  might  and  main  up  and  down 
the  Gymnasium."  In  like  manner  did  every  mother's 
son,  in  the  patriotic  community  of  New-Amsterdam, 
on  receiving  the  missives  of  Peter  Stuyvesant,  busy 
himself  most  mightily  in  putting  things  in  confusion 
and  assisting  the  general  uproar.  "Every  man  "— 
saith  the  Stuyvesant  manuscript — "  flew  to  arms !  " 
— by  which  is  mednt,  that  not  one  of  our  honest 
Dutch  citizens  would  venture  to  church  or  to  m  ir- 
ket,  without  an  old-fashioned  spit  of  a  sword  d.mg- 
ling  at  his  side,  and  a  long,  Dutch  tbwling-niece  t)n 
his  shoulder — nor  would  he  go  out  of  a  nignt  with- 
out a  lantern ;  nor  turn  a  corner  without  fii  st  peep- 
ing cautiously  round,  lest  he  should  come  unawarei 
upon  a  British  army. — And  we  are  informed  that 
Stoffel  Brinkerhoff,  who  was  considered  by  the  oKI 
women  almost  as  brave  a  man  aJS  the  governor  him- 
self—actually had  two  one-pound  swivels  mounted 
in  his  entry,  one  pointing  out  at  the  front  door,  and 
the  other  at  the  back. 

But  the  most  strenuous  measure  resorted  to  on 
this  awful  occasion,  and  one  which  has  since  been 
found  of  wonderful  efficacy,  was  to  assemble  popu- 
lar meetings.  These  brawling  convocations,  I  have 
alrcidy  shown,  were  extremely  offensive,  lo  Peter 
Stuyvesant,  but  as  this  was  a  moment  of  unusual 
agitation,  and  as  the  old  governor  was  not  present  to 
repress  them,  they  broke  out  with  intolerable  vio- 
lence. Hither,  therefore,  the  orators  and  politicians 
repaired,  and  there  seemed  to  be  a  competition  among 
them  who  should  bawl  the  loudest,  and  exceed  the 
others  in  hyperbolical  bursts  of  patriotism,  and  in 
resolutions  to  uphold  and  defeno  the  Government. 
In  these  sage  and  all-powerful  meetings,  it  was  de- 
termined, nem.  con.,  that  they  were  the  most  enlight- 
ened, the  most  dignified,  the  most  formidable,  and 
the  most  ancient  community  upon  the  face  of  the 
earth.  Finding  that  this  resolution  was  so  univer- 
sally and  readily  carried,  another  was  immediately 
proposed — whether  it  were  not  possible  and  poliii'. 
to  exterminate  Great  Britain  ?  upon  which  sixty-nin 
members  spoke  most  eloquently  in  the  affirmativi, 
and  only  one  rose  to  suggest  some  doubts — who,  as  a 
punishment  for  his  treasonable  presumption,  wis  im- 
mediately seized  by  the  mob,  and  tarred  and  feather- 
ed— which  punishment  being  equivalent  to  the  Tar- 
peian  Rock,  he  was  afterwards  considered  as  an  out- 
cast from  society,  and  his  opinion  wtat  for  nothing. 
The  question,  therefore,  being  unanimously  carried 
in  the  affirmative,  it  was  recommended  to  the  grand 
council  to  |)ass  it  into  a  law  ;  whkh  was  accordingly 
done. — By  this  measure,  the  hearts  of  the  people  at 
large  were  wonderfully  encouraged,  and  they  waxed 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


523 


eiceeding  choleric  and  valorous.  Indeed,  the  first 
paroxysm  of  alarm  having  in  some  measure  sub- 
sided ;  the  old  women  having  buried  all  the  money 
they  could  lay  their  hands  on,  and  their  husbands 
daily  getting  fuddled  with  what  was  left — the  com- 
munity began  even  to  stand  on  the  offensive.  Songs 
were  manufactured  in  Low  Dutch,  and  sung  about 
the  stteets,  wherein  the  English  were  most  wofuUy 
beaten,  and  shown  no  quarter;  and  popular  addresses 
»ere  made,  wherein  it  was  proved  to  a  certainty  that 
dw  fait  of  Old  England  depended  upon  the  will  of 
tJte  New-Amstr.rdammers. 

Finally,  to  strike  a  violent  blow  at  the  very  vitals  of 
Great  Britain,  a  multitude  of  the  wiser  inhabitants  as- 
sembled, and  having  purchased  all  the  British  manu- 
factures they  could  find,  they  made  thereof  a  huge 
bonfire ;  and  in  the  patriotic  glow  of  the  moment, 
every  man  present,  who  had  a  hat  or  breeches  of 
English  workmanship,  pulled  it  off,  and  threw  it  most 
undauntedly  into  the  flames — to  the  irreparable  det- 
riment, loss,  and  ruin  of  the  English  manufacturers. 
In  commemoration  of  this  great  exploit,  they  erected 
a  pole  on  the  spot,  with  a  device  on  the  top  intended 
to  represent  the  province  of  Nieuw-Nederlandts  de- 
itroymg  Great  Britain,  under  the  similitude  of  an 
eagle  picking  the  little  island  of  Old  England  out  of 
the  globe ;  but  either  through  the  unskilfulness  of  the 
Kulptor,  or  his  ill-timed  waggery,  it  bore  a  striking 
resemblance  to  a  goose  vainly  striving  to  get  hold  of 
a  dumpling. 


CHAPTER    V. 

MOWING  HOW  THE  GRAND  COUNCIL  OF  THE 
NBW-NKTHERLANDS  CAME  TO  BE  MIRACU- 
LOUSLY GIFTED  WITH  LONG  TONGUES— TO- 
GETHER WITH  A  GREAT  TRIUMPH  OF  ECONOMY. 

It  will  need  but  very  little  penetration  in  any  one 
acquainted  with  the  character  and  habits  of  that 
most  potent  and  blustering  monarch,  the  sovereign 
people,  to  discover  that,  notwithstanding  all  the  bustle 
and  talk  of  war  that  stunned  him  in  the  last  chapter, 
the  renowned  city  of  New- Amsterdam  is,  in  sad  re- 
ality, not  a  whit  better  prepared  for  defence  than  be- 
fore. Now,  though  the  i>eople,  having  gotten  over 
the  first  alarm,  and  finding  no  enemy  immediately  at 
hand,  had,  with  that  valour  of  tongue,  for  which 
your  illustrious  rabble  is  so  famous,  run  into  the  op- 
posite extreme,  and  by  dint  of  gallant  vapouring  and 
rodomontado,  had  actually  talked  themselves  into 
the  opinion  that  they  were  the  bravest  and  most 
powenul  people  under  the  sun,  yet  were  the  privy 
counsellors  of  Peter  Stuyvesant  somewhat  dubious 
on  that  point  They  dreaded  moreover  lest  that 
stem  hero  should  return,  and  find,  that  instead  of 
obeying  his  peremptory  orders,  they  had  wasted  their 
time  in  listening  to  the  hectorings  of  the  n  ob,  than 
which,  thev  weu  knew,  there  was  nothing  he  held  in 
more  exaited  contempt. 

To  make  up,  therefore,  as  speedily  as  possible,  for 
bst  time,  a  grand  divan  of  the  counsellors  and  bur- 
gomasters was  convened,  to  talk  over  the  critical 
itate  of  the  province,  and  devise  measures  for  its 
safety.  Two  things  were  unanimously  agreed  upon 
a  this  venerable  assembly : — first,  that  the  city  re- 
joired  to  be  put  in  a  state  of  defence ;  and,  secondly, 
mat  as  the  danger  was  imminent,  there  should  be  no 
time  lost — which  points  being  settled,  they  imme- 
diately fell  to  making  long  speeches,  and  belabouring 
one  another  in  endless  and  intemperate  disputes. 
For  about  tliis  time  was  this  unhappy  city  first  visited 
by  that  talking  endemic,  so  universally  prevalent  in 
this  country,  and  which  so  invariably  evinces  itself 


wherever  a  number  of  wise  men  ass<  mble  together 
breaking  out  in  long,  windy  speeches,  caused,  as  phy 
sicians  suppose,  by  the  foul  air  which  is  ever  gcner 
ated  in  a  crowd.     Now  it  was,  moreover,  that  thej 
first  introduced  the  ingenious  method  of  me.isviring 
the  merits  of  a  harangue  by  the  hour-glass ;  he  be- 
ing considered  the  ablest  orator  who  spoke  longest 
on  a  question.    For  which  excellent  invention,  it  it 
recorded,  we  are  indebted  to  the   same  profound 
Dutch  critic  who  judged  of  books  by  their  size. 

This  sudden  passion  for  endless  harangues,  so  little 
consonant  with  the  customary  gravity  and  taciturn- 
ity of  our  sage  forefathers,  was  supposed,  by  certain 
learned  philosophers,  to  have  been  imbibed,  together 
with  divers  other  barbarous  propensities,  from  their 
savage  neighbours ;  who  were  peculiarly  noted  for 
their  /ow/j-  ta/As  and  council  fires — who  would  never 
undertake  any  affair  of  the  least  importance,  without 
previous  debates  and  harangues  among  their  chiefs 
and  old  men.  But  the  real  cause  was,  that  the  peo- 
ple, in  electing  their  representatives  to  the  grand 
council,  were  particular  m  choosing  them  for  their 
talents  at  talking,  without  inquiring  whether  they 
possessed  the  more  rare,  difficult,  and  ofttimes  im- 
portant talent  of  holding  their  tongues.  The  conse- 
quence was,  that  this  deliberative  body  was  composed 
of  the  most  loquacious  men  in  the  community.  As 
they  considered  themselves  placed  there  to  talk,  every 
man  concluded  that  his  duty  to  his  constituents,  and, 
what  is  more,  his  popularity  with  them,  required 
that  he  should  harangue  on  every  subject,  whether 
he  understood  it  or  not.  There  was  an  ancient  mode 
of  burying  a  chieftain,  by  every  soldier  throwing  his 
shield  full  of  earth  on  the  corpse,  until  a  mighty 
mound  was  formed ;  so,  whenever  a  question  was 
brought  forward  in  this  assembly,  every  membc; 
pressing  forward  to  throw  on  his  quantum  of  wisdom, 
the  subject  was  quickly  buried  under  a  huge  mass  of 
words. 

We  are  told,  that  when  disciples  were  admitted 
into  the  school  of  Pythagoras,  they  were  for  two  years 
enjoined  silence,  and  were  neither  permitted  to  ask 
questions  nor  make  remarks.  After  they  had  thus 
acquired  the  inestimable  art  of  holding  their  tongues, 
they  were  gradually  permitted  to  make  inquiries,  and 
finally  to  communicate  their  own  opinions. 

What  a  pity  is  it,  that,  while  superstitiously  hoard- 
ing up  the  rubbish  and  rags  of  antiquity,  we  should 
suffer  these  precious  gems  to  lie  unnoticed  !  What  a 
beneficial  effect  would  thi^  wise  regulation  of  Pytha- 
goras have,  if  introduced  in  legislative  bodies — and 
now  wonderfully  would  it  have  tended  to  expedite 
business  in  the  grand  council  of  the  Manhattoes ! 

Thus,  however,  did  dame  Wisdom,  ^whom  the 
wags  of  antiquity  have  humorously  personilied  as  a 
woman,)  seem  to  take  mischievous  pleasure  in  jilting 
the  venerable  counsellors  of  New-Amsterdam.  The 
old  factions  of  Long  Pipes  and  Short  Pipes,  which 
had  been  almost  strangled  by  the  herculean  grasp  of 
Peter  Stuyvesant,  now  sprung  up  with  tenfold  vio- 
lence. Not  that  the  original  cause  of  difTerence  still 
existed,  —  but,  it  has  ever  been  the  fate  of  party 
names  and  party  rancour  to  remain,  long  after  the 
principles  that  gave  rise  to  them  have  been  forgotten. 
To  complete  the  public  confusion  and  bewilderment, 
the  fatal  word  Economy,  which  one  would  have 
thought  was  dead  and  buried  with  William  the  Testy, 
was  once  more  set  afloat,  like  the  apple  of  discord, 
in  the  grand  council  of  Nieuw-Nederlandts — accord- 
ing to  which  sound  principle  of  policy,  it  was  deem- 
ed more  expedient  to  throw  away  twenty  thousand 
guilders  upon  an  inefficacious  plan  ot  defence,  than 
thirty  thousand  on  a  good  and  substantial  one — the 
province  thus  making  a  clear  saving  of  ten  thousai;^ 
guilders. 


ft24 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


B  It  when  they  came  to  discuss  the  mode  of  de- 
fence, then  besan  a  war  of  words  that  baffles  all 
description.  The  members  being,  as  I  observed,  en- 
listed in  opposite  parties,  were  enabled  to  proceed 
with  amazing  system  and  regularity  in  the  discussion 
of  the  questions  before  them.  Whatever  was  pro- 
(X}sed  by  a  Lon^  Pipe,  was  opposed  by  the  wnole 
tribe  of  Short  Pipes,  who,  like  true  politicians,  con- 
sidered it  their  first  duty  to  effect  the  downfall  of  the 
Long  Pipes — their  second,  to  elevate  themselves — 
and  their  third,  to  consult  the  welfare  of  the  country. 
This  at  least  was  the  creed  of  the  most  uprient 
anion?  the  party ;  for  as  to  the  great  mass,  they  left 
the  third  consideration  out  of  the  question  alto- 
gether. 

In  this  great  collision  of  hard  heads,  it  is  aston- 
ishing the  number  of  projects  for  defence  that  were 
struck  out,  not  one  of  which  had  ever  been  heard  of 
before,  nor  has  been  heard  of  since,  unless  it  be  in 
very  modem  days — projects  that  threw  the  windmill 
system  of  the  ingenious  Kieft  completely  in  the  back- 
ground. Still,  however,  nothing  could  be  decided 
on ;  for  so  soon  as  a  formidable  host  of  air  castles 
were  reared  by  one  party,  they  were  demolished  by 
the  other.  The  simple  populace  stood  gazing  in 
anxious  expectation  of  the  mighty  egg  that  was  to 
be  hatched  with  all  this  cackling ;  but  they  gazed  in 
vain,  for  it  appeared  that  the  grand  council  was  de- 
termined to  protect  the  province  as  did  the  noble 
and  gigantic  Pantagruel  his  army — by  covering  it 
with  nis  tongue. 

Indeed,  there  was  a  portion  of  the  members,  con- 
sisting of  fat,  self-important  old  burghers,  who  smok- 
ed their  pipes  and  said  nothing,  excepting  to  nega- 
tive every  plan  of  defence  that  was  ottered.  These 
were  ot  that  class  of  wealthy  old  citizens,  who,  hav- 
ing amassed  a  fortune,  button  up  their  pockets,  shut 
.heir  mouths,  look  rich,  and  are  good  for  nothing  all 
ht  rest  of  their  lives.  Like  some  phlegiAatic  oyster, 
liVhich,  ha/ing  swallowed  a  pearl,  closes  its  sheU,  set- 
tles dswn  in  the  mud,  and  parts  with  its  life  sooner 
than  its  treasure.  Every  plan  of  defence  seemed  to 
these  worthy  old  gentlemen  pregnant  with  ruin.  An 
aimed  force  was  a  legion  of  locusts,  preying  upon 
the  public  property — to  fit  out  a  naval  armament, 
was  to  throw  tneir  money  into  the  sea— to  build  for- 
tifications, was  to  bury  it  in  the  dirt.  In  short,  they 
settled  it  as  a  sovereign  maxim,  so  long  as  their 
pockets  were  full,  no  matter  how  much  they  were 
drubbed — A  kick  left  no  scar — a  broken  head  cured 
itself — but  an  empty  purse  was  of  all  maladies  the 
slowest  to  heal,  and  one  in  which  nature  did  nothing 
for  the  patient. 

Thus  did  this  venerable  assembly  of  sag'es  lavish 
away  that  time  which  the  urgency  of  affairs  rendered 
invaluable,  in  empty  brawls  and  long-winded  speech- 
es, without  ever  agreeing,  except  on  the  point  with 
which  they  started,  namely,  that  there  was  no  time 
to  be  lost,  and  delay  was  ruinous.  At  length  St. 
Nicholas,  taking  compassion  on  their  distracted  situ- 
ation, and  anxious  to  preserve  them  from  anarchy, 
so  orflered,  that  in  the  midst  of  one  of  their  most 
noisy  debates  on  the  subject  of  fortification  and  de- 
fence, when  they  had  nearly  fallen  to  loggerheads  in 
>jnsequcnce  of  not  being  able  to  convince  each 
jthcr,  the  question  was  happily  settled  by  a  messen- 
atr,  v/ho  bounced  into  the  chamber  and  informed 
tftem  that  the  hostile  fleet  had  arrived,  and  was 
actually  advancing  up  the  bay  ! 

Thus  vas  all  farther  necessity  of  either  fortifying 
or  disputing  completely  obviated,  and  thus  was  the 

Eand  council  saved  a  world  of  words,  and  the  prov- 
ce  a  world  of  expense— a  most  absolute  and  glori- 
ocs  triumph  of  economy ! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IN  WHICH  THB  TROUBLES  OP  NEW-AMSTERDAM 
APPEAR  TO  THICKEN— SHOWING  THE  BRAVERY 
IN  TIME  OF  PERIL,  OF  A  PEOPLE  WHO  DEPEND 
THEMSELVES  BY  RESOLITTIONS.  I 

Like  as  an  assemblage  of  politic  cats,  engaged  in 
clamourous  gibberings,  and  caterwaulings,  eyeing 
one  another  with  hideous  grimaces,  spitting  in  eacB  ' 
other's  faces,  and  on  the  point  of  breaking  forth  into  I 
a  general  clapper-clawing,  are  suddenly  put  to  scam- 
pering rout  and  confusion  by  the  startling  appear-  ! 
ance  of  a  house-dog — so  was  the  no  less  vociferous 
council  of  New-Amsterdam,  amazed,  astounded,  and 
totally  dispersed,  by  the  sudden  arrival  of  the  enemy. 
Every  member  made  the  best  of  his  way  home,  wad- 
dling along  as  fast  as  his  short  legs  could  fag  under 
their  heavy  burden,  and  wheezing  as  he  went  with 
corpulency  and  terror.  When  ne  arrived  at  his 
castle,  he  barricadoed  the  street  door,  and  buried 
himself  in  the  cider  cellar,  without  daring  to  peep 
out,  lest  he  should  have  his  head  carried  oflf  by  a 
cannon-ball. 

The  sovereign  people  all  crowded  into  the  market- 
place, herding  tc^ether  with  the  instinct  of  sheep, 
who  seek  for  safety  in  each  other's  company,  when 
the  shepherd  and  his  dog  are  absent,  and  the  wolf  Is 
prowling  round  the  fold.  Far  from  finding  relief, 
nowever,  they  only  increased  each  other's  terrors. 
Each  man  looked  ruefully  in  his  neighbour's  face,  in 
search  of  encouragement,  but  only  ^und  in  its  woe 
begone  lineaments,  a  confirmation  of  his  own  dis- 
may. Not  a  word  now  was  to  be  heard  of  conquei- 
ing  Great  Britain,  not  a  whisper  alx>ut  the  sovereign 
virtues  of  economy — while  the  old  women  heightentL^ 
the  general  gloom  by  clamorously  bewailing  thru 
fate,  and  incessantly  calling  for  protection  on  Saint 
Nicholas  and  Peter  Stuyvesant. 

Oh,  how  did  they  bewail  the  absence  of  the  lion- 
hearted  Peter  I — and  how  did  they  long  for  the  com- 
forting presence  of  Antony  Van  Corlear !  Indeed,  a 
gloomy  uncertainty  hung  over  the  fate  of  these  ad- 
venturous heroes.  Day  after  day  had  elapsed  since 
the  alarming  message  from  the  governor,  without 
bringing  any  farther  tidings  of  his  safety.  Many  a 
fearful  conjecture  was  hazarded  as  to  what  had  be- 
fallen him  and  his  loyal  'squire.  Had  they  not  been 
devoured  alive  by  the  cannibals  of  Marblehead  and 
Cape  Cod  ? — were  they  not  put  to  the  question  by 
the  great  council  of  Amphyctions? — were  they  not 
smothered  in  onions  by  the  terrible  men  of  Piquag? 
— In  the  midst  of  this  consternation  and  perplexity, 
when  horror,  like  a  mighty  nightmare,  sat  brooding 
upon  the  little,  fat,  plethoric  city  of  New-Amster- 
dam, the  ears  of  the  multitude  were  suddenly  startled 
by  a  strange  and  distant  sound — it  approached— it 
grew  louder  and  louder — and  nOw  it  resounded  at  the 
city  gate.  The  public  could  not  be  mistaken  in  the 
well-known  sound — a  shout  of  joy  burst  from  their 
lips,  as  the  gallant  Peter,  covered  with  dust,  and  fol- 
lowed by  his  faithful  trumpeter,  came  galloping  into 
the  market-place. 

The  first  transports  of  the  populace  having  sub 
sided,  they  gathered  round  the  honest  Antony,  as  he 
dismounted  from  his  horse,  overwhelmine  him  with 
greetings  and  congratulations.  In  breathless  accents 
he  related  to  them  the  marvellous  adventures  through 
which  the  old  governor  and  jimself  had  gone,  in 
making  their  escape  from  the  clutches  of  the  teirible 
Amphyctions.  But  though  the  Stuyvesant  manu- 
script, with  its  customary  minuteness  where  any 
thing  touching  the  sreat  Peter  is  concerned,  is  very 
particular  as  to  the  incidents  of  this  masterly  retreat, 
yet  the  particular  sUte  of  the  public  affairs  will  noi 
allow  me  to  in  lulgc  in  a  full  tecit&l  thereof.    Let  it 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


62A 


head  carried  off'  by  a 


lafhce  to  say,  L'lat  while  Peter  Stuyvesant  was  anx- 
lousiy  revolving  in  his  mind  how  he  could  make 
mod  his  escape  with  honour  &nd  dignity,  certain  of 
die  ships  sent  out  for  the  conquest  ofthe  Manhattoes 
•ouched  at  the  eastern  ports,  to  obtain  needful  sup- 

eies,  and  to  call  on  the  grand  council  of  the  leacrue 
r  its  promised  co-operation.  Upon  hearing  of  this, 
the  vigilant  Peter,  perceiving  that  a  moment's  delay 
were  fatal,.made  a  secret  and  precipitate  decamp- 
jient,  though  much  did  it  grieve  his  lofty  soul  to  be 
obliged  to  turn  his  back  even  upon  a  nation  of  foes. 
Many  hair-breadth  'scapes  and  divers  perilous  mis- 
tiaps  did  they  sustain,  as  they  scoured,  without  sound 
of  trumpet,  through  the  fair  regions  of  the  east.  Al- 
ready was  the  country  in  an  uproar  with  hostile 
preparation,  and  they  were  obliged  to  take  a  large 
circuit  in  their  flight,  lurking  along  through  the 
«roo<ly  mountains  of  the  Devil's  Back-bone ;  from 
whence  the  valiant  Peter  sallied  forth  one  day,  like 
a  lion,  and  put  to  rout  a  whole  region  of  squatters, 
consisting  of  three  generations  of  a  prolific  family, 
who  were  already  on  their  way  to  take  possession  of 
some  comer  of  the  New-Netherlands.  Nay,  the 
iaithful  Antony  had  great  difficulty  at  sundry  times 
to  prevent  him,  in  tne  excess  of  his  wrath,  from 
descending  down  from  the  mountains,  and  falling, 
iword  in  hand,  upon  certain  of  the  border  towns,  who 
were  marshalling  forth  their  draggletailed  militia. 

The  first  movements  of  the  governor,  on  reaching 
his  dwelling,  was  to  mount  the  roof,  from  whence  he 
contemplated,  with  rueful  aspect,  the  hostile  squad- 

I  ron.  1  his  had  already  come  to  anchor  in  the  bay, 
ind  consisted  of  two  stout  frigates,  having  on  board, 
u  John  Josseiyn,  Gent.,  informs  us,  "  three  hundred 

;  nliant  red-coats."  Having  taken  this  survey,  he  sat 
himself  down,  and  wrote  an  epistle  to  the  command- 

I  er,  demanding  the  reason  of  his  anchoring  in  the 
harbour  without  obtaining  previous  permission  so  to 
io.    This  letter  was  couched  in  the  most  dignified 

j  lod  courteous  terms,  though  I  have  it  from  undoubt- 

I  ed  authority,  that  his  teeth  were  clinched,  and  he 
had  a  bitter  sardonic  grin  upon  his  visage  all  the 

i  while  he  wrote.  Having  despatched  his  letter,  the 
grim  Peter  stumped  to  and  fro  about  the  town,  with 

I  imost  war-betokening  countenance,  his  hands  thrust 
into  his  breeches  pockets,  and  whistling  a  Low  Dutch 
psalm  tune,  which  bore  no  small  tsemblance  to  the 
music  of  a  north«east  wind,  when  a  storm  is  brewing. 
The  very  does,  as  they  eyed  him,  skulked  away  in 
dismay — while  all  the  old  and  ugly  women  of  New- 
Amsterdam  ran  howline  at  his  heels,  imploring  him 
to  save  them  from  murder,  robbery,  and  pitiless  rav- 
ishment ! 

The  reply  of  Col.  Nichols,  who  commanded  the 
invaders,  was  couched  in  terms  of  equal  courtesy 
with  the  letter  of  the  governor — declaring  the  right 
and  title  of  his  British  Majesty  to  the  province, 
where  he  affirmed  the  Dutch  to  M  mere  interlopers ; 
and  demanding  that  the  town,  forts,  etc.,  should  be 
forthwith  rendered  into  his  majesty's  obedience  and 
protection—promising  at  the  same  time,  life,  liberty, 
estate,  and  free  trade,  to  every  Dutch  denizen  who 
should  readily  submit  to  his  majesty's  government. 

Peter  Stuyvesant  read  over  this  fnendly  epistle 
with  lome  such  harmony  of  aspect  as  we  may  sup- 
me  %  crusty  farmer,  who  has  long  been  fattening 
!pon  his  neighjjour's  soil,  reads  the  loving  letter  oT 
!obn  Stiles,  that  warns  him  of  an  action  of  eject- 
nent.  The  old  governor,  however,  was  not  to  be 
taken  by  surprise,  out  thrusting  the  summons  into  his 
breeches  pocket,  he  stalked  tnree  times  across  the 
room,  took  a  pinch  of  snuff  with  great  vehemence, 
and  then  loftily  waving  his  hand,  promised  to  send 
in  answer  the  next  morning  In  the  meantime,  he 
nlled  a  genera)  council  of  war  of  hii  privy  counsel* 


lors  and  burgomasters,  ;iot  for  the  purpose  of  asking 
their  advice,  for  that,  as  has  already  lieen  shown,  he 
valued  not  a  rush ;  but  to  make  known  unto  them 
his  sovereign  determination,  and  require  their  prompt 
adherence. 

Before,  however,  he  convened  his  council,  he  re- 
solved upon  three  important  points ;  first,  never  t< 
give  up  the  city  without  a  little  hard  fighting,  for  he 
deemed  it  highly  derogatory  to  the  dignity  of  so  re- 
nowned a  city,  to  suffer  itself  to  be  captured  and 
stripped,  without  receiving  a  few  kicks  into  the  bar- 
gain— secondly,  that  the  majority  of  his  grand  council 
was  composed  of  arrant  poltroons,  utterly  destitute 
of  true  bottom — and,  thirdly,  that  he  would  not 
therefore  suffer  them  to  see  the  summons  of  Col, 
Nichols,  lest  the  easy  terms  it  held  out  might  induce 
them  to  clamour  for  a  surrender. 

His  orders  being  duly  promulgated,  it  was  a  pit- 
eous sight  to  behold  the  late  valiant  burgomasters, 
who  had  demolished  the  whole  British  empire  in  theit 
harangues,  peeping  ruefully  out  of  their  hiding-places, 
and  then  crawling  cautiously  forth  ;  dodging  through 
narrow  lanes  and  alleys ;  starting  at  every  little  dog 
that  b&rked,  as  though  it  had  been  a  discharge  of  ar- 
tillery*— mistaking  lamp-posts  for  British  grenadiers, 
and,  in  the  excess  of  their  panic,  metamorphosing 

Eumps  into  formidable  soldiers,  levelling  blunder- 
usses  at  their  bosoms  !  Having,  however,  in  despite 
of  numerous  perils  and  difficulties  of  the  kind,  ar- 
rived safe,  without  the  loss  of  a  single  man,  at  the 
hall  of  assembly,  they  took  their  seats,  and  awaited 
in  fearful  silence  the  arrival  of  the  governor.  In  a 
few  moments  the  wooden  leg  of  the  intrepid  Petei 
was  heard  in  regular  and  stout-hearted  thumps  upon 
the  staircase.  He  entered  the  chamber,  arrayed  in  s 
full  suit  of  regimentals,  and  carrying  his  trusty  tolcdo 
not  girded  on  his  thigh,  but  tucked  under  his  ami 
As  tne  governor  never  equipped  himself  in  this  por, 
tentous  manner,  unless  something  of  a  martial  nature 
were  working  within  his  fearless  pericranium,  his 
council  regarded  him  ruefully,  as  if  they  saw  fire  and 
sword  in  nis  iron  countenance,  and  forgot  to  light 
their  pipes  in  breathless  suspense. 

The  great  Peter  was  as  eloquent  as  he  was  valor- 
ous— indeed,  these  two  rare  qualities  seemed  to  go 
hand  in  hand  in  his  composition  ;  and,  unlike  most 
great  statesmen,  whose  victories  are  only  confined  to 
the  bloodless  field  of  argument,  he  was  always  ready 
to  enforce  his  hardy  words  by  no  less  hardy  deeds. 
His  speeches  were  generally  marked  by  a  simplicity 
approaching  to  bluntness,  and  by  a  truly  categorical 
decision.  Addressing  the  grand  council,  he  touched 
briefly  upon  the  perils  and  hardships  he  had  sustain- 
ed in  escaping  from  his  crafty  foes.  He  next  re- 
proached the  council  for  wasting,  in  idle  debate  and 
party  feuds,  that  time  which  should  have  been  de- 
voted to  their  country.  He  was  particularly  indig- 
nant at  those  brawlers,  who,  conscious  of  individual 
security,  had  disgraced  the  councils  of  the  province 
by  impotent  hectorings  and  scurrilous  invectives, 
against  a  noble  and  powerful  enemy — those  cowardl) 
curs,  who  were  incessant  in  their  barkings  and  yelp- 
ings at  the  lion,  while  distant  or  asleep,  but  the  mo- 
ment he  approached,  were  the  first  to  :J(ulk  awiv 
He  now  called  on  those  who  had  been  so  valiant  ir. 
their  threats  against  Great  Britain,  to  stand  forth  and 
support  their  vauntings  by  their  actions — for  it  was 
deeds,  not  words,  that  bespoke  the  spirit  of  a  nation. 
He  proceeded  to  recall  the  golden  days  of  formei 
prosperity,  which  were  only  to  be  regained  by  man- 
fully withstanding  their  enemies ;  for  the  peace  he 
observed,  which  is  effected  by  force  of  arms,  is  always 
more  sure  and  durable  than  that  which  is  patched 
up  by  temporary  accommodations.  He  endeavoured, 
moreover,  to  arouse  their  martial  fire,  by  reminding 


/ 


586 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


them  of  the  time  when,  before  the  frowning  walls  of 
Fort  Christina,  he  had  led  them  on  to  victory.  He 
strove  likewise  to  awaken  their  confidence,  by  assur- 
ing them  of  the  protection  of  St.  Nicholas,  who  had 
himerto  maintained  them  in  safety,  amid  all  the  sav- 
ages of  the  wilderness,  th'^  witches  and  squatters  of 
the  (>ast,  and  the  giants  ol  Merry-Land.  Finally,  he 
infjnoed  them  of  the  insolent  summons  he  had  re- 
^  ved  to  surrender,  but  concluded  by  swearing  to 
defend  the  province  as  long  as  Heaven  was  on  his 
side,  and  he  had  a  wooden  leg  to  stand  upon — which 
noble  sentence  he  emphasized  by  a  tremendous 
thwack  with  the  broadside  of  his  sword  upon  the 
table,  that  totally  eiectritied  his  auditors. 

The  privy  counsellors,  who  had  long  been  accus- 
tomed to  the  governor's  way,  and  in  fact  had  been 
brought  into  as  perfect  discipline  as  were  ever  the 
soldiers  of  the  great  Frederick,  saw  that  there  was 
no  use  in  saying  a  word — so  lighted  their  pipes  and 
smoked  away  in  silence,  like  fat  and  discreet  coun- 
sellors. But  the  burgomasters,  being  less  under  the 
governor's  control,  considering  themselves  as  repre- 
sentatives of  the  sovereign  people,  and  being  more- 
over inf  ated  with  considerable  importance  and  self- 
sulficiency,  which  they  had  acquired  at  those  notable 
schools  of  wisdom  and  morality,  the  popular  meet- 
ings, were  not  so  easily  satisfied.  Mustering  up  fresh 
spirit,  when  they  found  there  was  some  chance  of 
escaping  from  their  present  jeopardy,  without  the 
disagreeable  alternative  of  fighting,  they  re(|uested  a 
copy  of  the  summons  to  surrender,  that  they  might 
show  it  to  a  general  meeting  of  the  people. 

So  insolent  and  mutinous  a  request  would  have 
been  enough  to  have  roused  the  gorge  of  the  tranquil 
Van  Twiller  himself— what,  then,  must  have  l)een  its 
effect  upon  the  great  Stuyvesant,  who  was  not  only 
a  Dutchman,  a  governor,  and  a  valiant  wooden- 
legged  soldier  to  boot,  but  withal  a  man  of  the  most 
stomachful  and  gunpowder  disposition  ?  He  burst 
forth  into  a  blaze  of  noble  indignation, — swore  not  a 
mother's  son  of  them  should  see  a  syllable  of  it — 
that  they  deserved,  every  one  of  them,  to  be  hanged, 
drawn  and  quartered,  for  traitorously  daring  to  ques- 
tion the  infallibility  of  government — that  as  to  their 
advice  or  concurrence,  he  did  not  care  a  whiff  of  to- 
bacco for  either — that  he  had  long  been  harassed  and 
thwarted  by  their  cowardly  counsels ;  but  that  they 
might  thenceforth  go  home,  and  go  to  bed  like  old 
women  ;  for  he  was  determined  to  defend  the  colony 
himself,  without  the  assistance  of  them  or  their  adher- 
ents. So  saying,  he  tucked  his  sword  under  his  arm, 
cocked  his  hat  upon  his  head,  and  girding  up  his 
loins,  stumped  indigiiantly  out  of  the  council  cham- 
ber—every  body  making  room  for  him  as  he  passed. 

No  sooner  had  he  gone,  than  the  busy  burgomas- 
ters called  a  public  meeting  in  front  of  the  Stadt- 
house,  where  they  appointed  as  chairman  on<-.  Dofue 
Roerhack.  a  mighty  gingerbread-baker  in  the  land 
and  formerly  of  the  cabinet  of  William  the  Testy. 
He  was  looked  up  to  with  great  reverence  by  the 
populace,  who  considered  him  a  man  of  dark  knowl- 
edge, seeing  he  was  the  first  that  imprinted  new-year 
likes  with  the  mysterious  hieroglyphics  of  the  Cock 
■..-.J  Breccties,  and  such  like  magical  devices. 

This  great  burgomaster,  who  still  chewed  the  cud 
31  ll-Will  against  the  valiant  Stuyvesant,  in  conse- 
quence of  liAving  been  ignotniniously  kicked  out  of 
his  cabinet  at  the  time  of  his  taking  t)ii'  reins  of  gov- 
ernment— addressed  the  greasy  tnuititude  in  what  is 
called  a  patriotic  speech,  in  which  he  informed  them 
of  the  courteous  summons  to  surrender —of  the  gov- 
ernor's refusal  to  comply  therewith — of  his  denying 
the  public  a  sight  of  tlie  summons,  which,  he  had  no 
doubt,  contained  conditions  highly  to  the  honour 
and  advantage  of  the  province. 


He  then  proceeded  to  speak  of  his  excellency  n 
high-soundinc^  terms,  suitable  to  the  dignity  ant' 
grandeur  of  nis  station,  comparing  him  to  Nero, 
Caligula,  and  those  other  great  men  of  yore,  who  art 
generally  quoted  by  popular  orators  on  similar  ncca- 
sions ;  assuring  the  people,  that  the  histor\  of  tht 
world  did  not  contain  a  despotic  outrage  to  equal  thr 
present  for  atrocity,  cruelty,  tyranny,  and  bii  :n; 
thirstiness — that  it  would  be  recorded  in  letteiscl 
fire,  on  the  blood-stained  tablet  of  history  !  that  ngcz 
would  roll  back  with  sudden  horror  when  they  came 
to  view  it  I  that  the  womb  of  time — (by  the  way 
your  orators  and  writers  take  strange  liberties  with, 
the  womb  of  time,  though  some  would  fain  have  us 
believe  that  time  is  an  old  gentleman) — that  the 
womb  of  time,  pregnant  as  it  was  with  direful  hor- 
rors, would  never  produce  a  parallel  enormity  !— 
With  a  variety  of  other  heart-rending,  soul-stirring 
tropes  and  figures,  which  I  cannot  enumerate- 
neither,  indeed,  need  I,  for  they  were  exactly  the  same 
th&t  are  used  in  all  popular  harangues  and  patriotic 
orations  at  the  present  day,  and  may  be  classt-d  in 
rhetoric  under  the  general  title  of  Rigmarole. 

The  speech  of  this  inspired  burgomaster  being 
finished,  the  meeting  fell  into  a  kind  of  popular  fer- 
mentation, which  produced  not  only  a  string  of  riglu 
wise  resolutions,  but  likewise  a  most  resolute  memo- 
rial, addressed  to  the  governor,  remonstrating  at  his 
conduct — which  was  no  sooner  handed  to  him,  than 
he  handed  it  into  the  tire ;  and  thus  deprived  poster 
ity  of  an  invaluable  document,  that  might  have  served 
as  a  precedent  to  the  enlightened  cobblers  and  tail- 
ors of  the  present  day,  in  their  sage  intermeddling; 
with  politics. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


CONTAINING  A  DOLEFUL  DISASTER  07  ANTONV 
THE  TRUMPETER — AND  HOW  PETER  STUVES- 
ANT,  LIRE  A  SECOND  CROMWELL,  SUDDENLY 
DISSOLVED  A  RUMP  PARLIAMENT. 

Now  did  the  high-minded  Pieter  de  Groodt  showei 
down  a  pannier-load  of  benedictions  upon  his  bur>;o- 
masters,  for  a  set  of  self-willed,  obstinate,  headstrong 
varlets,  who  would  neither  be  convinced  nor  per- 
suaded ;  and  determined  thenceforth  to  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  them,  but  to  consult  merely  the 
opinion  of  his  privy  counsellors,  which  he  kne^x 
from  experience  to  be  the  best  in  the  world— inas- 
much as  it  never  differed  from  his  own.  Nor  did  he 
omit,  now  that  his  hand  was  in,  to  bestow  som.e  thou- 
sand left-handed  compliments  upon  the  sovereijjr 
people ;  whom  he  railed  at  for  a  herd  of  poltroons, 
who  had  no  relish  for  the  glorious  hardships  and  il- 
lustrious misadventures  of  battle — but  would  rather 
stay  at  home,  and  eat  and  sleep  in  ignoble  ease,  thm 
gain  immortality  and  a  broken  head  by  vahantly 
fighting  in  a  ditch. 

Resolutely  lient,  however,  upon  defending  his  be 
loved  city,  in  despite  even  of^  itself,  he  called  unto 
liim  his  trusty  Van  Coriear,  who  was  his  right-hand 
man  in  all  times  of  emergency.  Him  did  he  adiiire 
to  take  his  war-denouncing  trumpet,  and  mouniing 
his  horse,  to  beat  up  the  country,  night  and  day 
Sounding  the  alarm  along  the  pastoral  borders  of  the 
Bronx — starting  the  wild  solitufles  of  Croton— arous- 
ing the  rugged  yeomanry  of  Weehawk  and  Hobotken 
— the  mighty  men  of  battle  of  Tappan  Bay* — and 
the  brave  boys  of  Tarry  Town  and  Sleepy  Hollow- 

*  A  curruplion  of  Top-Mon  ;  M  called  from  a  triba  of  ladiui 
which  boaited  a  huadna  aad  fifty  6fhtin|[  msa.  Sm  OfilbT'i 
Hitlory. 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 


627 


lugether  with  all  the  other  warriors  of  the  country 
round  about ;  charging  them  one  and  all  to  shng 
their  powder-horns,  shoulder  their  fowling-pieces, 
ind  march  merrily  down  to  the  Manhattoes, 

Now  there  was  nothing  in  all  the  world,  the  divine 
lex  excepted,  that  Antony  Van  Corlear  loved  better 
than  errands  of  this  kind.  So,  just  stopping  to  take 
1  lusty  dinner,  and  bracing  to  his  side  his  junK  bottle, 
well  charged  with  heart-inspiring  Hollancis,  he  issued 
jollily  from  the  city  gate,  that  looked  out  upon  what 
it  a:  present  called  Broadway ;  sounding  as  usual  a 
jarewcll  strain,  that  rung  in  sprightly  echoes  through 
the  winding  streets  of  New-Amsterdam. — Alas!  never 
more  were  they  to  be  gladdened  by  the  melody  of 

I  their  favourite  trumpeter  I 

It  was  a  dark  and  stormy  night,  when  the  good 

I  Aoiony  arrived  at  the  famous  creek  (sagely  denomi- 
nated Haerlem  river)  which  separates  the  island  of 
Manna-hata  from  the  main  land.  The  wind  was 
high,  the  elements  were  in  an  uproar,  and  no  Charon 
could  be  found  to  ferry  the  adventurous  sounder  of 
brass  across  the  water.  For  a  short  time  he  vapour- 
ed like  an  impatient  ghost  upon  the  brink,  and  then, 
bethinking  himself  ofthe  urgency  of  his  errand,  took 
t  hearty  embrace  of  his  stone  bottle,  swore  most  val- 
orously  that  he  would  swim  across,  en  spijt  den  Duy- 
vtl,  (in  spite  of  the  devil  I)  and  daringly  plunged  into 
thestreanc. — Luckless  Antony  I  scarce  had  ne  buf- 
feted half-way  over,  when  he  was  observed  to  strug- 
gle violently,  as  if  battling  with  the  spirit  of  the 
waters  —  instinctively  he  put  his  trumpet  to  his 
mouth,  and  giving  a  vehement  blast,  sunk  for  ever 

I  to  the  bottom  ! 
The  potent  clangour  of  his  trumpet,  like  the  ivory 

lli>)m  of  the  renowned  Paladin  Orlando,  when  expir- 
liir  in  the  glorious  tield  of  Roncesvalles.  rung  far  and 
v>de  thro'itfh  the  country,  alarming  the  neighbours 

I  Mititi,  who  hurried  in  amazement  to  the  spot.  Here 
..1  old   Uuich  burgher,  famed  for  his  veracity,  and 

I  «ho  I- ad  been  a  witness  of  the  fact,  related  to  them 
the  r  iclancholy  affair ;  with  the  fearful  addition  (to 
whin  I  am  slow  of  giving  belief)  that  he  saw  the 
duy  el,  in  the  shape  of  a  huge  moss-bonker,  seize 
ihf  sturdy  Antony  by  the  leg,  and  drag  him  beneath 
the  waves.  Certain  it  is,  the  place,  with  the  adjoin- 
ing promontory,  which  projects  into  the  Hudson,  has 
been  calle<l  Sf>ijt  den  durvel,  or  Spiking  Devil,  ever 
jince  ; — the  restless  ghost  of  the  unfortunate  Antony 
still  haunts  the  surrounding  solitudes,  and  his  trump- 
et has  often  l)een  heard  by  the  neighbours,  of  a  stormy 
night,  mingling  with  the  howling  of  the  blast.  No- 
body ever  attempts  to  swim  over  the  creek,  after 
dark ;  on  the  contrary,  a  bridge  has  been  built,  to 
guard  against  such  melancholy  accidents  in  future — 
and  as  to  moss-honkers,  they  are  held  in  such  abhor- 
rence, that  no  true  Dutchman  will  admit  them  to  his 

I  table,  who  loves  gnoil  hsh  and  hates  the  devil. 
Such  was  the  en(r  of  Antony  Van  Corlear — a  man 

I  deserving  of  a  better  fate.  He  lived  roundly  and 
soundly,  like  a  tr  i*  and  jolly  bachelor,  until  the  day 
of  his  death  ;  b'  '  though  he  was  never  married,  yet 

I  did  he  leave  betiind  some  two  or  three  dozen  chil- 

'  ("ren  in  different  parts  of  the  country — line,  chubby, 
Drawling,  Hatiilent  little  urchins,  from  whom,  if  le- 
/irds  speak  true,  (and  they  are  not  apt  to  lie,)  did 
'tsccnd  the  irinumerahle  race  of  editors  who  people 
m\  defend  this  country,  and  who  are  bountiiully 
jaid  by  the  people  for  keeping  up  a  constant  alarm 
—and  making  them  miserable.  Would  that  they  in- 
herited the  worth,  as  they  do  the  wind,  of  their  fe- 
oowneo  progenitor  I 

The  tidings  of  this  lamentable  catastrophe  impart- 
ed a  severer  pang  to  the  bosom  of  Peter  Stuyvesant, 
than  did  even  the  invasion  of  bis  beloved  Amster- 
dam,   It  came  ruthlessly  home  to  those  sweet  af- 


fections that  grow  close  around  the  heart,  and  art 
nourished  by  its  warmest  current.  As  some  Iprr 
pilgrim,  while  the  tempest  whistles  through  his 
locks,  and  dreary  night  is  gathering  around,  sees 
stretched,  cold  and  lifeless,  his  faithful  dog — the  sole 
companion  of  his  journeying,  who  had  shared' hit 
solitary  meal,  and  so  often  licked  his  hand  in  hurt, bit 
gratitude — so  did  the  generous-hearted  hero  of  thi 
Manhattoes  contemplate  the  untimely  end  of  hit 
faithful  Antony,  He  had  been  the  humble  attendant 
of  his  footsteps — he  had  cheered  him  in  many  a 
heavy  hour  by  his  honest  gayety,  and  had  followed 
him  in  loyalty  and  affection  through  many  a  scene 
of  direful  peril  and  mishap  ;  he  was  gone  for  ever— 
and  that,  too,  at  a  moment  when  every  mongrel  cut 
seemed  skulking  from  his  side.  This — Peter  .Stuy- 
vesant—this  was  the  moment  to  try  thy  fortitude ; 
and  this  was  the  moment  when  thou  didst  indeed 
shine  forth — Peter  the  Headstrong  I 

The  glare  of  day  had  long  dispelled  the  horrors  of 
the  last  stormy  right ;  still  all  was  dull  and  gloomy. 
The  late  jovial  Apollo  hid  his  face  behind  lugubrious 
clouds,  peeping  out  now  and  then,  for  an  instant,  as 
if  anxious,  yet  fearful,  to  see  what  was  uning  on  in 
his  favourite  city.  -This  was  the  eventful  morning 
when  the  g^reat  Peter  was  to  give  his  reply  to  the 
summons  of  the  invaders.  Already  was  he  closeted 
with  his  privy  council,  sitting  in  grim  state,  brooding 
over  the  fate  of  his  favourite  trumpeter,  and  anon 
boiling  with  indignation  as  the  insolence  of  his  rec- 
reant burgomasters  flashed  upon  his  mind.  While 
in  this  state  of  irritation,  a  courier  arrived  in  all 
haste  from  Winthrop,  the  subtle  governor  of  Con- 
necticut, counselling  him  in  the  most  affectionate  ai.J 
disinterested  manner  to  surrender  the  province,  ard 
magnifying  the  dangers  and  calamities  to  which  9. 
refusal  would  subject  him.  What  a  moment  w  •.« 
this  to  intrude  officious  advice  upon  a  miii  wl-o 
never  took  advice  in  his  whole  life ! — The  fiery  old 
governor  strode  up  and  down  the  chamber,  with  a 
vehemence  that  made  the  bosoms  of  his  counsellors 
to  quake  with  awe — railing  at  his  unluckv  fate, 
that  thus  made  him  the  constant  butt  ot  facetious 
subjects  and  Jesuitical  advisers. 

Just  at  this  ill-chosen  juncture,  the  officious  burgo- 
masters, who  were  now  completely  on  the  watch, 
and  had  heard  of  the  arrival  of  mysterious  despatch- 
es, came  marching  in  a  resolute  body  into  the  room, 
with  a  legion  of  schepens  and  toad-eaters  at  their 
heels,  and  abruptly  demanded  a  perusal  of  the  letter. 
Thus  to  be  broken  in  upon  by  what  he  esteemed  a 
"  rascal  rabble,"  and  that,  too,  at  the  very  moment 
he  was  grinding  under  an  irritation  from  aliro.-id, 
was  too  much  for  the  spleen  of  the  choleric  i'eter. 
He  tore  the  letter  in  a  thousand  pieces*-  threw  ii  in 
the  face  of  the  nearest  burgomaster — broke  his  pipe 
over  the  head  of  the  next — hurled  his  spitting-box  at 
an  unlucky  schepen,  who  was  just  making  a  master- 
ly retreat  out  at  the  door,  and  finally  prorogued  the 
whole  meeting  iine  die,  by  kicking  them  down-stairs 
with  his  wooden  leg. 

As  soon  as  the  burgomasters  could  recover  fro.c 
the  confusion  into  which  their  sudden  exit  haj 
thrown  them,  and  had  taken  a  little  time  to  breatht: 
they  protested  against  the  conduct  of  the  govemoi 
which  they  did  not  hesitate  to  pronounce  tyrannical, 
unconstitutional,  highly  indecent,  and  somewhat  dis- 
respectful. They  then  called  a  public  meet  ng,  where 
they  read  the  protest,  md  addressing  the  assembly 
in  a  set  speech,  related  at  full  length,  and  with  ap^ 
propriate  colouring  and  exaggeration,  the  despotic 
and  vindictive  deportment  of  the  governor ;  decLir- 
ing  that,  for  their  own  parts,  they  did  n  at  vaiue  • 


•Saitk't  HiatoTT  of  Jaw-Vatk. 


628 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


ktraw  the  being  kicked,  cuffed,  and  mauled  by  the 
timber  toe  of  his  excellency,  but  they  felt  fof  the 
dignity  of  the  soverei^  people,  thus  rudely  insulted 
by  the  outrage  committed  on  the  seat  of  honour  of 
their  representatives.  The  latter  part  of  the  harangue 
Itad  a  violent  effect  upon  the  sensibilitv  of  the  pco- 
jile,  as  it  came  home  at  once  to  that  delicacy  of  feel- 
ing and  jealous  pride  of  character,  vested  in  all  true 
oiobs ;  who,  though  they  may  bear  injuries  without 
t  murmur,  yet  are  marvellously  iealous  of  their  sov- 
•jcign  dignity — and  there  is  no  knowing  to  what  act 
af  resentment  they  might  have  been  provoked  against 
the  redoubtable  Peter,  had  not  the  greasy  rogues 
been  somewhat  more  afraid  of  their  sturdy  old  gov- 
emor,  than  they  were  of  St  Nicholas,  the  English 
—or  the  D 1  himself. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


HOW  PKTKR  STUYVE8ANT  DIFENDID  THB  CITY 
or  NEW  AMSTERDAM,  rOR  SEVERAL  DAYS,  BY 
DINT  or  THE  STRENGTH  OF  HIS  HEAD. 

There  is  somMhing  exceedingly  sublime  and  mel- 
ancholy in  the  spectade  which  tne  present  crisis  of 
our  history  presents.  An  illustrious  and  venerable 
little  city — the  metropolis  of  an  immense  extent  of 
uninhabited  country — garrisoned  by  a  doughty  host 
of  orators,  chairmen,  committee-men,  burgomasters, 
schepens,  and  old  women — governed  by  a  deter- 
mined and  strong-headed  warrior,  and  fortified  by 
irud  batteries,  palisadoes,  and  resolutions — block- 
i-Ud  by  sea,  belea^ered  by  land,  and  threatened 
nith  direful  desolation  from  without ;  while  its  very 
r.tih  are  torn  with  internal  faction  and  commotion  I 
•ever  did  historic  pen  record  a  pa^e  of  more  com- 
plicated distress,  unless  it  be  the  stnfe  that  distract- 
t<l  the  Israelites  during  the  siege  of  Jerusalem — where 
discordant  parties  were  cutting  each  other's  throats, 
at  the  moment  when  the  victorious  legions  of  Titus 
had  toppled  down  their  bulwarks,  and  were  carrying 
fire  and  sword  into  the  very  sanctum  sanctorum  of 
the  temple. 

Governor  Stuyvesant,  having  triumphantly,  as  has 
been  recorded,  put  his  grand  council  to  the  rout,  and 
thus  delivered  nimself  from  a  multitude  ot  imperti- 
nent advisers,  despatched  a  categorical  reply  to  the 
commanders  of  the  invading  squadron ;  wherein  he 
asserted  the  right  and  title  oftheir  High  Mightinesses 
the  Lords  States  General  to  the  province  of  New- 
Netherlands,  and,  trusting  in  the  righteousness  of  his 
cause,  set  the  whole  British  nation  at  defiance  I  My 
anxiety  to  extricate  my  readers  and  myself  from  these 
disastrous  scenes,  prevents  me  from  giving  the  whole 
of  thisgallant  letter,  which  concluded  in  these  manly 
and  afllectionate  terms : 

"  As  touching  the  threats  in  your  conclusion,  we 
have  nothing  to  answer,  only  that  we  fear  nothing 
but  vhat  God  (who  is  as  just  as  merciful)  shall  lay 
jpcn  us ;  all  things  being  in  His  gracious  disposal, 
ind  we  may  as  well  be  preserved  by  him  with  small 
ijrces,  as  by  a  great  army ;  which  makes  us  to  wish 
/cu  all  happiness  and  prosperity,  and  recommend 
you  to  his  protection. — My  lords,  your  thrice  humble 
and  affectionate  servant  and  friend, 

"  P.  Stuyvesant." 

Thus  having  resolutely  thrown  his  gauntlet,  the 
bfave  Peter  stuck  a  pair  of  horse-pistols  in  his  belt, 
girded  an  immense  powder-horn  on  his  side — ^thnut 
his  sound  leg  into  a  Hessian  boot,  and  clapping  his 
fierce  little  war  hat  on  the  top  of  his  head — paraded 
up  and  down  in  front  of  his  house,  determined  to  de- 
fiend  his  beloved  city  to  the  last. 


While  all  these  woful  struggles  and  dissensioiul 
were  prevailinjg  in  the  unhappy  city  of  New-Amster.l 
dam,  and  while  its  worthy,  but  ill-starred  goveniotl 
was  framing  the  above-quoted  letter,  the  Englislil 
commanders  did  not  remain  Idle.  They  had  agenul 
secretly  employed  to  foment  the  fears  and  clamours  I 
of  the  populace:  and  moreover  circulated  far  anrfl 
wide,  through  the  adjacent  country,  a  proclamation,  I 
repeating  the  terms  they  had  already  held  out  in  I 
their  summons  to  surrenaer,  and  beguiling  the  sitrulcl 
Nederlanders  with  the  most  crafty  and  conciliating  I 
professions.  They  promised  that  every  man  wliol 
voluntarily  submitted  to  the  authority  of  his  British! 
Majesty,  should  retain  peaceable  possession  of  his  I 
house,  nis  vrouw,  and  his  cabbage-garden.  That  he  I 
should  be  suffered  to  smoke  his  pipe,  speak  Dutch,! 
wear  as  many  breeches  as  he  pleased,  and  import'! 
bricks,  tiles,  and  stone  jugs  from  Holland,  instead  of  | 
manufacturing  them  on  the  spot.  That  he  should! 
on  no  account  be  compelled  to  team  the  English  Ian- 1 
gtia^,  or  keep  accounts  in  any  other  way  tlian  byj 
castirtg  them  up  on  his  fingers,  and  chalking  themj 
down  upon  the  crown  of  his  nat ;  as  is  still  observed! 
among  the  Dutch  yeomanry  at  the  present  day.  That  | 
every  man  should  be  allowed  quietly  to  inherit  his  I 
father's  hat,  coat,  shoe-buckles,  pipe,  and  every  other  I 
personal  appendage,  and  that  no  man  should  b«| 
obliged  to  conform  to  any  improvements,  inventions,! 
or  any  other  modem  innovations ;  but,  on  the  con- 1 
trary,  should  be  permitted  to  build  his  house,  rolluwj 
his  trade,  manage  his  farm,  rear  his  hogs,  and  educate) 
his  children,  precisely  as  his  ancestors  did  beforo  hitnj 
since  time  immemorial.  Finally,  that  he  should  have} 
all  the  benefits  of  free  trade,  and  should  not  be  re.  I 
quired  to  acknowledge  any  other  saint  in  the  cal- 1 
endar  than  St.  Nichobs,  who  should  thenceforwarj, 
as  before,  be  considered  the  tutelar  saint  of  the  city! 

"rhese  terms,  as  may  be  supposed,  appeared  verj  I 
satisfactory  to  the  people,  who  had  a  great  disposition 
to  enjoy  their  property  unmolested,  and  a  most  sin- 1 
gular  aversion  to  engage  in  a  contest  where  they] 
could  gain  little  more  than  honour  and  broken  heads 
— the  hrst  of  which  they  held  in  philosophic  indif- 
ference, the  latter  in  utter  detestation.    By  these  in- 
sidious means,  therefore,  did  the  English  succeed  in  | 
alienating  the  confidence  and  alTections  of  the  popu- 
lace from  their  pliant  old  governor,  whom  they  con- 
sidered as  obstinately  bent  upon  running  them  into  I 
hideous  misadventures ;  and  did  not  hesitate  to  speak 
thei|»  minds  freely,  and  abuse  him  most  heartily— be- 
hind his  back. 

Like  as  a  mighty  grampus,  who,  though  assailed 
and  buffeted  by  roaring  waves  and  brawhng  surges, 
still  keeps  on  an  unueviatinK  course;  and  though 
overwhelmed  by  boisterous  billows,  still  emerges 
from  the  troubled  deep,  spouting  and  blowing  with 
tenfold  violence — so  did  the  inflexible  Peter  pursue,  [ 
unwavering,  his  determined  career,  and  rise,  con- 
temptuous, above  the  clamours  of  the  rabble. 

But  when  the  British  warriors  found,  by  the  tenor  I 
of  his  reply,  that  he  set  their  power  at  denance,  they 
forthwith  despatched  recruiting  officers  to  lamuica, 
and  Jericho,  and  Nineveh,  and  Quag,  and  Patchog, ' 
and  all  those  towns  on  Long  Island  which  had  been  I 
subdued  of  yore  by  the  immortal  Stoffel  Brinkerhoff 
stirring  up  the  valiant  progeny  of  Preserved  Fish, 
and  Determined  Cock,  and  those  other  illustrious  I 
squatters,  to  assail  the  city  of  New-Amsterdam  by 
land.    In  the  meanwhile,  the  hostile  ihips  made  aw- 
ful preparation  to  commence  an  assault  by  water. 

The  streets  of  New-Amsterdam  now  presented  i 
scene  of  wild  dismay  and  consternation.    In  vain  { 
did  the  gallant  Stuyvesant  order  the  citizens  to  arm, 
and  assemble  in  the  public  square  or  market-place. 
The  whole  party  of  Short  Pipes  in  the  course  of  t 


A  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK 


620 


Mngie  night  had  changed  into  arrant  old  women — a 
metamorohosis  only  to  be  paralleled  by  the  prodigies 
recorded  oy  Livy  at  having  happened  at  Rome  on  the 
approarh  of  Hai>nibal,  when  statues  sweated  in  pure 
inri^ht,  goats  were  converted  into  sheep,  and  cocks 
turnmg  into  hens  ran  cackling  about  the  streets. 

The  harassed  Peter,  thus  menaced  from  without, 
ind  tormented  from  within — baited  by  the  burgo- 
masters, and  hooted  at  by  the  rabble,  chafed  and 
{fowled  and  raged  like  a  furious  bear,  tied  to  a  stake 
ind  worried  by  a  legion  of  scoundrel  curs.  Finding, 
however,  that  all  further  attempts  to  defend  the  city 
were  vain,  and  hearing  that  an  irruption  of  borderers 
and  mosstroopers  was  ready  to  deluge  him  from  the 
east,  he  was  at  length  compelled,  in  spite  of  his 
proud  heart,  which  swelled  in  his  throat  until  it  had 
I  nearly  choked  him,  to  consent  to  a  treaty  of  sur- 
render. 

Words  cannot  express  the  transports  of  the  peo- 
ple, on  receiving  this  agreeable  intelligence;  had 
they  obtained  a  conquest  over  their  enemies,  they 
could  not  have  indulged  greater  delight.  The  streets 
resounded  with  their  congratulations — they  extolled 
their  governor,  as  the  father  and  deliverer  of  his 
country — they  crowded  to  his  house  to  testify  their 
Hfratitude,  and  were  ten  times  more  noisy  in  their 
plaudits,  than  when  he  returned,  with  victory  perched 
jpon  his  beaver,  from  the  glorious  capture  of  Fort 
Qmstina.  But  the  indignant  Peter  shut  his  doors 
and  windows,  and  took  refuge  in  the  innermost  re- 
cesses of  his  mansion,  that  he  might  not  hear  the  ig- 
noble rejoicings  of  the  rabble. 

In  conseouence  of  this  consent  of  the  governor,  a 
parley  was  demanded  of  the  besieging  forces  to  treat 
of  the  terms  of  surrender.  Accordmgly,  a  deputa- 
tion of  six  commissioners  was  appointed  on  both 
titles ;  and  on  the  27th  August,  1064,  a  capitulation 
hii^ly  favourable  to  the  province,  and  honourable  to 
Peter  Stuyvesant.  was  agreed  to  by  the  enemy,  who 
h^d  conceived  a  high  opinion  of  the  valour  of  the 
Hanhattoes,  and  the  magnanimity  and  unbounded 
discretion  of  their  governor. 

One  thing  alone  remained,  which  was,  that  the  ar- 
ticles of  surrender  should  be  ratified,  and  signed  by 
the  governor.  When  the  commissioners  respectfully 
waited  upon  him  for  this  purpose,  they  were  receiv- 
ed by  the  hardy  old  warrior  with  the  most  grim  and 
bitter  courtesy.  His  warlike  accoutrements  were 
'aid  aside — an  old  India  night-gown  was  wrapped 
about  his  rugged  limbs,  a  red  night-cap  overshadowed 
his  frownine  brow,  and  an  iron  gray  bread,  of  three 
days'  growth,  gave  additional  grimness  to  his  visage. 
Thrice  did  he  seize  a  little  worn-out  stump  of  a  pen, 
and  essay  to  sign  the  loathsome  paper — thrice  did  he 
Clinch  his  teeth,  and  make  a  most  horrible  counte- 
nance, as  though  a  pestiferous  dose  of  rhubarb,  senna, 
and  ipecacuanha,  nad  been  offered  to  his  lips;  at 
length,  dashing  it  from  him,  he  seized  his  brass-hiked 
swoid,  and  jerking  it  from  the  scabbard,  swore  by  St. 
Nicholas,  he'd  sooner  die  than  yield  to  any  power 
under  heaven. 

In  vain  was  every  attempt  to  shake  this  sturdy 
n  solution —menaces,  remonstrances,  revilings,  were 
exhausted  to  no  purpose — for  two  whole  days  was 
the  house  r>t  the  valiant  Peter  besieged  by  the  clam- 
orous rabb  e,  and  for  two  whole  days  did  he  partake 
himself  to  his  arms,  and  persist  in  a  magnanimous 
efusal  to  ratify  the  capitulation. 

At  length  the  populace,  finding  that  boisterous 
measures  did  but  incense  more  determined  opposi- 
tion, bethought  themselves  of  an  humble  expedient, 
by  which,  happily,  the  governor's  ire  might  be  sooth- 
ed, and  his  resolution  imdermined.  And  now  a 
solemn  and  mournful  procession,  headed  by  the  bur- 
gomaBters  and  schepens,  and  followed  by  the  popu- 
vot.  11— 7 


lace,  moves  slowly  to  the  governor's  dwelling  bear- 
ing the  capitulation.  Here  they  found  the  stc  tit  old 
hero,  drawn  up  like  a  giant 'in  his  castle,  the  doors 
strongly  barricadoed,  and  himself  in  full  regimentals, 
with  his  cocked  hat  on  his  head,  firmly  posted  with 
a  blunderbuss  at  the  garret-window. 

There  was  something  in  this  formidable  position 
that  struck  even  the  ignoble  vulgar  wiih  awe  and  ad< 
nliration.  The  brawling  multitude  could  not  but 
reflect  with  self-abasement  upon  their  own  pusiilaiii' 
mous  conduct,  when  they  beheld  their  hardy  but  de- 
serted old  governor,  thus  faithful  to  his  post,  like  a 
forlorn  hope,  and  fully  prepared  to  defend  his  un- 
grateful city  to  the  last.  Tnese  'ompunctions,  how- 
ever, were  soon  overwhelmed  by  the  recurring  tide 
of  public  apprehension.  The  populace  arranged 
themselves  oefore  the  house,  taking  off  their  hats 
with  most  respectful  humility, — Burgomaster  Koer- 
back,  who  was  of  that  popular  :lass  of  orators  de- 
scribed by  Sallust  as  being  "  ta.lkative  rather  than 
eloquent,'  stepped  forth  and  addressed  the  governor 
in  a  speech  of  three  hours'  length ;  detailing  in  the 
most  pathetic  terms  the  calamitous  situation  of  the 
province,  and  urging  him  in  a  constant  repetition  ol 
the  same  arguments  and  words  to  sign  the  capitula- 
tion. 

The  mighty  Peter  eyed  him  from  his  little  garret- 
window  in  grim  silence — now  and  then  his  eye 
would  glance  over  the  surrounding  rabble,  and  an 
indignant  grin,  like  that  of  an  angry  mastiff,  would 
mark  his  iron  visage.  But  though  he  was  a  man  ol 
most  undaunte<l  mettle — though  he  had  a  heart  as 
big  as  an  ox,  and  a  head  that  would  have  set  adamant 
to  scorn — yet  after  all  he  was  a  mere  mortal : — 
wearied  out  by  these  repeated  oppositions  and  this 
eternal  haranguing,  and  perceiving  that  unless  he 
complied,  the  inhabitants  would  follow  their  own  in- 
clinations, or  rather  their  fears,  without  waiting  foj 
his  consent,  he  testily  ordered  them  to  hand  up  the 
paper.  It  was  accordingly  hoisted  to  him  on  the 
end  of  a  pole,  and  h.4ving  scrawled  his  name  at  the 
bottom  of  it,  he  anathematized  them  all  for  a  set  ot 
cowardly,  mutinous,  degenerate  poltroons — thnw 
the  capitulation  at  their  neads,  slammed  down  the 
window,  and  was  heard  stumping  down  stairs  with 
the  most  vehement  indignation.  The  rabble  inconti- 
nently took  to  their  heels ;  even  the  burgomasters 
were  not  slow  in  evacuating  the  premises,  fearing  lest 
the  sturdy  Peter  might  issue  from  his  den,  and  greet 
them  with  some  unwelcome  testimonial  of  his  dis- 
pleasure. 

Within  three  hours  after  the  surrender,  a  legion  of 
British  beef-fed  warriors  poured  into  New-Amster- 
dam, taking  possession  of  the  fort  and  batteries. 
And  now  might  be  hf ,]  »rom  all  quarters  the  sound 
of  hammers,  made  b>  Ur  old  Dutch  burghers,  who 
were  busily  employed  i:  dialling  up  their  doors  and 
windows,  to  protect  their  vrouws  from  these  fierce 
barbarians,  whom  they  contemplated  in  silent  sul- 
lenness  from  the  garret-windows,  as  thry  paraded 
through  the  streets. 

Thus  did  Col.  Richard  Nichols,  the  commandei 
of  the  British  forces,  enter  into  quiet  possession  of 
the  conquered  realm,  as  locum  tenens  for  tht  Duk< 
of  York.  The  victory  was  attended  with  no  othei 
outrage  than  that  of  changing  the  name  of  the  prov- 
ince and  its  metropolis,  whicn  thenceforth  were  de- 
nominated New-York,  and  so  have  continued  to  be 
called  unto  the  present  day.  The  inhabitants,  ac- 
cording to  treaty,  were  allowed  to  maintain  quiet 
possession  of  their  property  ;  but  so  inveterately  did 
they  retain  their  aohorrence  of  the  British  nation, 
that  in  a  private  meeting  of  the  leading  citizens,  if 
was  unanimously  determined  never  to  aak  any  of 
their  conquerors  to  dinner. 


580 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVINd. 


0. 


If 


CHAPTER  IX. 

CONTAININO  THE  DIU/(iriEO  RKTIRIMBNT  AND 
MORTAL  SURKKNDRR  OV  PKTER  THK  HBAD- 
STRUNO 

Thus,  then,  have  I  concluded  this  great  historical 
entcqjrisc ;  but  before  I  lay  aside  my  weary  pen, 
there  yet  remains  to  be  performed  one  pious  duty. 
If,  among  the  variety  of  readers  that  may  peruse  this 
book,  there  should  haply  be  found  any  of  those  souls 
of  true  nohility,  whicli  glow  with  celestial  fire  at  the 
fcUtory  cf  the  generous  and  the  br.ive,  they  will 
doubtless  be  anxious  to  know  the  fate  of  the  gallant 
Peter  Stuyvesant.  To  gratify  one  such  sterling 
heart  of  gold,  I  would  go  more  lengths  than  to  in- 
struct the  cold-blooded  curiosity  of  a  whole  fraternity 
of  philosophers. 

No  sooner  had  that  high-mettled  cavalier  signed 
the  articles  of  capitulation,  than,  deterntined  not  to 
witness  the  humiliation  of  his  favourite  city,  he 
turned  his  hack  on  its  walls,  and  made  a  growling 
retreat  to  his  Bouwer^,  or  country-seat,  which  was 
situated  about  two  miles  off;  where  he  passed  the 
remainder  of  his  days  in  patriarchal  retirement. 
There  he  enjoyed  that  tranquillity  of  mind  which  he 
had  never  known  amid  the  distracting  cares  of  gov- 
ernment ;  and  tasted  the  sweets  of  absolute  and  un- 
controlled authority,  which  his  factious  subjects  had 
no  of;en  dashed  with  the  bitterness  of  op|>osition. 

No  persuasions  could  ever  induce  him  to  revisit 
the  city — on  the  contrary,  he  would  always  have  his 
great  arm-chair  placed  with  its  back  to  the  windows 
which  locked  in  that  direction ;  until  a  thick  grove 
of  trees,  planted  by  his  own  hand,  grew  up  and 
formed  a  screen  that  effectually  excluded  it  from  the 
prospect.  He  railed  continually  at  the  degenerate 
itViO/atioriS  and  improvements  introduced  by  the 
conquerors— forbade  a  word  of  their  detesteci  lan- 

Suige  to  be  spoken  in  his  liatnily — a  prohibition  read- 
y  obeyed,  since  none  of  the  housenold  could  speak 
any  thing  but  Dutch — and  even  ordered  a  fine  ave- 
nue to  be  cut  down  in  front  of  his  house,  because  it 
consisted  of  English  cherry-trees. 

The  same  incessant  vigilance  that  blazed  forth 
when  he  had  a  vast  province  under  his  care  now 
showed  itself  with  euual  vigour,  tiiough  in  narrower 
limits.  He  patrolled  with  unceasing  watchfulness 
around  the  boundaries  of  his  little  territory  ;  repelled 
every  encroachment  with  intrepid  promptness;  pun- 
ished every  vagrant  depredation  upon  his  orchard  or 
his  farm-yard  with  inflexible  severity — and  conducted 
every  stray  hog  or  cow  in  triumph  to  the  pound. 
But  to  the  indigent  neighbour,  the  friendless 
stfanger,  or  the  wear)'  wanderer,  his  sp.icious  doors 
were  ever  open,  and  his  capacious  fire-place,  that 
emblem  of  his  own  warm  and  generous  heart,  had 
always  a  corner  to  receive  and  cherish  them.  There 
was  an  exception  to  this,  I  must  confess,  in  case  the 
Ill-starred  applicant  w.ls  an  Eiiglisliinan  or  a  Yankee, 
to  whom,  though  he  might  extend  the  hand  of  as- 
sistance, he  never  could  be  brought  to  yield  the  rites 
of  hospitality.  Nay,  if  peradventure  some  straggling 
merchant  of  the  east  should  stop  at  his  door,  with 
llis  cart-load  of  tin-ware  or  wooilen  bowls,  the  fiery 
Peter  would  issue  forth  like  a  giant  from  his  castle, 
and  make  such  a  furious  clattering  among  his  pots 
and  kettles  that  the  vender  of  "notions"  was  fain  to 
l)etako  himself  to  instant  flight. 

His  handsome  suit  of  regimentals,  worn  thread- 
bare by  the  brush,  was  carefully  hung  up  in  the  state 
bed-chamber,  and  regularly  aired  on  the  first  fair 
day  of  every  month — .and  his  cocked  hat  and  trusty 
tword  were  suspended  in  grim  repose  over  the  par- 
btir  mantel-piece,  forming  supporters  to  a  full-length 
portrait  ol  tlie  renowned  Admiral  Van  Tromp.    In 


hit  domestic  empire  he  maintatned  strict  discipluu 
and  a  well-organiied,  despotic  government ;  hut 
thouffh  his  own  will  was  the  supreme  law,  yet  ihr 
good  of  his  subjects  was  his  constant  object,  lit 
watched  over,  not  merely  their  immediate  conifoin 
but  their  morals  and  their  ultimate  welfare ;  lor  hr 
gave  them  abundance  of  excellent  admonition,  n>ii 
could  any  of  them  complain,  that,  when  occasior.  re 
quired,  he  was  by  any  mean;  r.iggardly  in  bestowing 
wholesome  correction. 

The  good  old  Dutch  fest-vals,  those  perioditnl 
demonstrations  of  an  overflowing  heart  anil  a  think- 
ful  spirit,  which  are  falli'  g  into  sad  disuse  wm  w^ 
my  fellow-citizens,  were  faithfully  observed  m  ihe 
mansion  of  Governor  Stuyvesant.  New-year  w  w 
truly  a  day  of  open-handed  liberality,  of  jocund  tcv. 
eiry,  and  warm-hearted  congratulation —when  ilie 
bosom  seemed  to  swell  with  genial  good-fellow  ship 
— and  the  plenteous  table  was  attended  with  an  iiii- 
ceremonious  freedom,  and  honest,  broad-mouilicd 
merriment,  unknown  in  these  days  of  degeneracy  ind 
refinement.  Pas  and  Pinxter  were  scrupulously  ol). 
served  throughout  his  dominions;  nor  was  the  day 
of  St.  Nicholas  suffered  to  pass  by  without  making 
presents,  hanging  the  stocking  in  the  chimney,  and 
complying  with  all  its  other  ceremonies. 

Once  a  year,  on  the  tirst  day  of  April,  he  used  to 
array  himself  in  full  regimentals,  being  the  anniver- 
sary of  his  triumphal  entry  into  New-Amsteniani, 
after  the  conquest  of  New-Sweden.  This  was  al. 
ways  a -icind  of  saturnalia  among  the  domestics, 
when  they  considered  themselves  at  liberty,  in  some 
measure,  to  say  and  do  what  they  pleased ;  for  on 
this  day  their  master  was  always  observed  to  un- 
bend, and  become  exceeding  ple.isant  and  jocose, 
sending  the  old  gray-headed  negroes  on  April  I'd  s 
errands  for  pigeon's  milk ;  not  one  of  whom  but  al. 
lowed  himself  to  be  taken  in,  and  humoured  his  old 
master's  jokes,  as  became  a  faithful  and  well-disci- 
plined dependant.  Thus  did  he  reign,  happily  md 
peacefully,  on  his  own  land — injuring  no  man — envy- 
ing no  man— molested  by  no  outward  strifes- per- 
plexed  by  no  internal  commotions ;  and  the  mit;hty 
monarchs  of  the  earth,  who  were  vainly  seeking  to 
maintain  peace,  and  promote  the  welfare  of  man- 
kind, by  war  and  desolation,  would  have  done  weli 
to  have  made  a  voyage  to  the  little  island  of  Manna- 
hata.  and  learned  a  lesson  in  government  from  the 
domestic  economy  of  Peter  Stuyvesant. 

In  process  of  time,  however,  the  old  governor,  like 
all  other  children  of  mortality,  began  to  exhibit  to- 
kens of  decay.  Like  an  aged  oak,  which,  though  it 
long  has  braved  the  fury  of  the  elements,  and  still 
retains  its  gigantic  proportions,  yet  begins  to  shake 
and  groan  with  "every  blast — so  was  it  with  the  gal 
lant  Peter ;  for,  though  he  still  bore  the  port  and 
semolance  of  what  he  was  in  the  days  of  his  hardi- 
hood and  chivalry,  yet  did  age  and  infirmity  begin  to 
sap  the  vigour  of  his  franfie — but  his  heart,  that  most 
unconquerable  citadel,  still  triumphed  unsubdued. 
With  matchless  avidity  would  he  listen  to  every  ar- 
ticle of  intelligence  concerning  the  battles  between 
the  English  and  Dutch — still  would  his  pulse  beat 
high,  whenever  he  heard  of  the  victories  of  De  Ruy- 
ter — and  his  countenance  lower,  and  his  eyebrows 
knit,  when  fortune  turned  in  favour  of  the  English. 
At  length,  as  on  a  certain  day  he  had  just  smoked 
his  fifth  pipe,  and  was  napping  after  dinner  in  hit 
arm-chair,  conquering  the  whole  British  nation  in  hii 
dreams,  he  was  suddenly  aroused  by  a  feariU  ringing 
of  bells,  rattling  of  drums,  and  roaring  of  cannon, 
that  put  all  his  blood  in  a  ferment.  But  when  he 
learnt  that  these  reioicings  were  in  honour  of  a 
great  victory  obtained  by  the  combined  English  and 
French  fleets  over  the  bnve  Dr  Ruyter  and  the 


A  HISTORY   OF  NEW-/ORK 


younger  Van  Tromp,  It  went  so  much  to  his  heart, 
that  he  took  to  his  bed,  and,  in  less  than  three  days, 
WIS  brought  to  death's  door  by  a  violent  cholera 
nisrhus !  But,  evrn  in  this  extremity,  he  still  (lis- 
pliyed  the  unconquerable  spirit  of  Peter  the  Head- 
ilrcng  ;  holding  out,  to  the  last  gasp,  with  the  most 
inflexible  obstinacy,  against  a  whole  army  of  old 
women,  who  were  bent  upon  driving  the  "•lemy  out 
of  his  bowels,  after  a  true  Dutch  mode  i,.  delcnce, 
by  inundating  the  seat  of  war  with  catnip  and  pen- 
nyroyal. 

While  he  thus  lay,  lingering  on  the  verge  of  dis- 
solution, news  was  brought  htm  that  the  nraveDe 
Ruyter  had  suflered  but  little  loss — had  made  good 
his  retreat — and  meant  once  more  to  meet  the  ene- 
my in  battle.  The  closing  eye  of  the  old  warrior 
l<indled  at  the  words— he  partly  raised  himself  in 
bed — a  flash  of  martial  fire  beamed  across  his  visage 
—he  clenched  his  withered  hand,  as  if  he  felt  within 
nis  gripe  that  sword  which  waved  in  triumph  before 
the  wails  of  Fort  Christina,  and,  giving  a  grim  smile 
of  exultation,  sunk  baci<  upon  his  pillow  and  expired. 

Thus  died  Peter  Stuyvesiint,  a  valiant  soldier— a 
loyal  subject — an  upright  governor,  and  an  honest 
iJutchman — who  wanted  only  a  few  empires  to  deso- 
late to  have  been  immortalized  as  a  hero. 

His  funeral  obseauies  were  celebrated  with  the  ut- 
most grandeur  and  solemnity.  The  town  was  per- 
fectly emptied  of  its  inhabitants,  who  crowded  in 
throngs  to  pay  the  last  sad  honours  to  their  good  okl 
governor.  All  his  sterling  qualities  rushed  in  full 
tide  upon  their  recollections,  while  the  memory  of 
his  foibles  and  his  faults  had  expired  with  him.  The 
ancient  burghers  contended  wno  should  have  the 
privilege  of  oearing  the  pall ;  the  populace  strove 
who  snould  walk  nearest  to  the  bier — and  the  mel- 
ancholy procession  was  closed  by  a  number  of  gray- 
headed  negroes,  who  had  wintered  and  summered 
In  the  household  of  their  departed  master,  for  the 
iji  eater  part  of  a  century. 

With  sad  and  gloomy  countenances  the  multitude 

f[ithered  around  tlie  grave.  They  dwelt  with  mourn- 
ul  hearts  on  the  sturdy  virtues,  tne  signal  services, 
and  the  gallant  exploits  of  the  brave  old  worthy. 
They  recalled,  with  secret  upbraiUiiigs,  their  own 
factious  opposition  to  his  government — and  many  an 
ancient  burgher,  whose  phlegmatic  features  had  never 
been  known  to  relax,  nor  his  eyes  to  moisten,  was 
now  observed  to  puff  a  pensive  pipe,  and  the  big 
drop  to  steal  down  his  cheek — while  he  muttereiH 
with  affectionate  accent,  and  melancholy  shake  of 
the  head — "  Well  den ! — Hardkoppig  Peter  ben  gone 
at  last  !  " 

His  remains  were  deposited  in  the  family  vault, 
under  a  ch.ipel,  which  he  had  piously  erected  on  his 
estate,  and  dedicated  to  St.  Nicholas — and  which 
stood  on  the  identical  spot  at  present  occupied  by 
St.  Mark's  church,  where  his  tomb-stone  is  still  to  be 
seen.  His  estate,  or  Botnvery,  as  it  was  called,  has 
ever  continued  in  the  possession  of  his  descendants, 
who,  by  the  uniform  integrity  of  their  conduct,  and 
tlieir  strict  adherence  to  the  customs  and  manners 
tha'.  prevailed  in  the  "  good  old  timts"  have  proved 
themselves  worthy  of  their  illustrious  ancestor.  Many 
a  time  and  oft  has  the  farm  been  haunted,  at  night, 
by  enterprising  money-diggers,  in  ouest  of  pots  of 
jold,  said  to  have  been  buried  by  the  old  governor 
—though  I  cannot  learn  that  any  of  them  have  ever 
been  enriched  by  their  researches ;  and  who  is  there, 
^mong  my  native-bom  fellow-citizens,  that  does  not 
remember,  when,  in  the  mischievous  days  of  his  boy- 
nood,  he  conceived  it  a  great  exploit  to  rob  "  Stuy- 
vesant'9  orchard  "  on  a  nolyday  afternoon  ? 

At  this  strong-hold  of  the  family  may  still  be  seen 
certain  mnmorials  of  the  hninortal  Peter.    His  full- 


length  portrait  frowns  In  martial  terrors  from  thr 
parlour  wall — his  cocked  hat  and  sword  Btlll  hang 
up  in  the  best  bed-room — his  brimstone-coloured 
breeches  were  for  a  long  while  suspended  in  the  Lall 
until  some  years  since  they  occasion!^  I  a  dispute  be- 
tween a  new  married  couple — and  his  silver-mounted 
wooden  leg  is  still  treasured  I'p  in  the  storc'rooru 
as  an  invaluable  tWt, 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE  AUTHOB 


RErLECTIONS    Ui'ON  WHAT 
BEEN  SAID. 


HM 


Among  the  n  imerous  events,  which  aie  each  in 
their  turn  the  most  direful  and  melancholy  of  all  pos- 
sible occurrences,  in  your  interesting  and  authentic 
history,  there  is  none  that  occasion  such  deep  and 
heart-rending  grief  as  the  decline  and  fall  of  your  re- 
nowned and  mighty  empires.  Where  is  the  reader 
who  can  contemplate,  without  emotion,  the  disastrous 
events  by  which  the  great  dynasties  of  the  world 
have  been  extinguishea  ?  While  wandering,  in  imagi- 
nation, among  tlie  gigantic  ruins  of  states  and  em- 
pires, and  marking  the  tremendous  convulsions  that 
wrought  their  overthrow,  the  bosom  of  the  melan- 
choly inquirer  swells  with  sympathy  commensurate 
to  the  surrounding  desolation.  Kingdoms,  principal- 
ities, and  powers,  nave  each  h.id  their  rise,  their  pro- 
gress, and  their  downfall — each  in  its  tun;  has  sway- 
ed a  potent  sceptre — each  has  returned  to  its  prime 
val  nothingness.  And  thus  did  it  fare  with  the  em 
pire  of  their  High  Mightinesses,  at  the  Manhatto^, 
under  the  peaceful  reign  of  Walter  the  Doubter— 
the  fretful  reign  of  William  the  Testy — and  the  ch)»- 
alric  reign  of  Peter  the  Headstrong. 

Its  history  is  fruitful  instruction,  and  worthy  of  be- 
ing pondered  over  attentively ;  for  it  is  by  thus  rak- 
ing among  the  ashes  of  departed  greatness,  that  the 
sparks  of  true  knowledge  are  found,  and  the  'amp 
of  wisdom  illumined.  Let,  then,  the  reign  of  Walter 
the  Doubter  warn  against  yielding  to  that  sleek,  con- 
tented security,  that  overweening  fondness  for  com- 
fort and  repose,  that  are  produced  by  a  state  of  pros- 
perity and  peace.  These  tend  to  unnerve  a  nation  ; 
to  destroy  its  pride  of  character ;  to  render  it  patient 
of  insult,  deaf  to  the  calls  of  honour  and  of  justice ; 
and  cause  it  to  cling  to  peace,  like  the  sluggard  to 
his  pillow,  at  the  expense  of  every  valuable  duty  and 
consideration.  Such  supineness  insures  the  very  evil 
from  which  it  shrinks.  One  right,  yiehied  up,  pro- 
duces the  usurpation  of  a  second ;  one  encroach- 
ment, passively  suffered,  makes  way  for  another ;  and 
the  nation  that  thus,  through  a  doting  love  of  peace, 
has  sacrificed  honour  and  interest,  wiU  at  length  have 
to  fight  for  existence. 

Let  the  disastrous  reign  of  William  the  Testy  serve 
as  a  salutary  warning  against  that  fitful,  feverish 
mode  of  legislation  that  acts  without  system ;  de- 
pends on  shifts  and  projects,  and  trusts  to  lucky  con 
tingencies ;  that  hesitates,  and  wavers,  and  at  lengtl 
decides  with  the  rashness  of  ignorance  and  imoe- 
cility ;  that  stoops  for  popularity,  by  courting  the 
prejudices  and  flattering  the  arrogance,  rather  than 
commanding  the  respect,  of  the  rabble ;  that  seeks 
safetv  in  a  multitude  of  counsellors,  and  distracts 
itself*^  by  a  variety  of  contradictory  schemes  and 
opinions  ;  that  mistakes  procrastination  for  deliber 
ate  wariness — hurry  for  decision — starveling  parsi- 
mony for  wholesome  economy — bustle  for  business 
and  vapouring  for  valour ;  that  is  violent  in  council 
sanguine  in  expectation,  precipitate  in  action,  and 


WORKS  OP  WASHINGTON  IRVINO. 


m 


bi  eiecution ;  that  undcrtaket  enlerpritct 
without  forethought,  entere  upon  them  without  prep- 
aration, conducts  them  without  energy,  and  ends 
them  in  confusion  and  defeat. 

Let  the  reign  of  the  good  Stuyveaant  show  the 
•flSects  of  vigour  iind  decision,  even  when  destitute 
of  cool  Ju<tgment,  and  surrounded  by  perplexities. 
Let  it  show  how  franlcness,  probity,  and  nign-souled 
courage  will  command  respect  and  secure  honour, 
even  where  success  is  unattainable.  But,  at  the  same 
time,  let  it  caution  against  a  too  rcidy  reliance  on 
the  good  faith  of  others  and  a  too  honest  confidence 
in  tne  lovng  professions  of  powerful  neighlraurs, 
who  are  most  friendlv  when  they  most  mean  to  be- 
tray. Let  it  teach  a  judicious  attention  tt.  the  opin- 
ions and  wishes  of  the  many,  who,  in  times  of  peril, 
must  be  soothed  and  led,  or  apprehension  will  over- 
power the  deference  to  authonty.  Let  the  empty 
wordiness  of  his  factious  subjects ;  their  intemperate 
harangues :  their  violent  "  resolutions ;"  their  hector- 
ingt  against  an  absent  enemy,  and  their  pusillanimity 
on  his  approach,  teach  us  to  distrust  and  despise 
those  clamorous  patriots  whose  courage  dwells  but 
In  the  tongue.  Let  them  serve  as  a  lesson  to  repress 
that  insolence  of  speech,  destitute  of  real  force,  which 
too  often  breaks  forth  in  popular  bodies,  and  be- 
speaks the  vanity  rather  than  the  spirit  of  a  nation. 
Let  them  caution  us  against  vaunting  too  much  of 
our  own  power  and  prowess,  and  reviling  a  noble 
enemy.  True  gallantry  of  soul  would  always  lead 
us  to  treat  a  foe  with  courtesy  and  proud  punctilio ; 
a  contrary  conduct  but  takes  from  the  merit  of  vie- 
tonr,  and  renders  defeat  doubly  disgraceful. 

But  I  cease  to  dwell  on  the  stores  of  excellent  ex- 
amples to  be  drawn  from  the  ancient  chronicles  of 
the  Manhattoes.  He  who  reads  attentively  will  dis- 
omer  the  threads  of  gold  which  run  throughout  the 
web  of  history,  and  are  invisible  to  the  dull  eye  of 
ifnorance.  But,  before  I  conclude,  let  me  point  out 
a  solemn  warning,  furnished  in  the  subtle  chain  of 
events  bv  which  the  capture  of  Fort  Casimir  has 
produced  the  present  convulsions  of  our  globe. 

Attend,  then,  gentle  reader,  to  this  plain  deduction, 
which,  if  thou  art  a  king,  an  emperor,  or  other  pow- 
erful potentate,  1  advise  thee  to  treasure  up  in  thy 
heart  —  though  little  expectation  have  I  tn.at  my 
work  will  fall  into  such  hands,  for  well  I  know  the 
care  of  crafty  ministers,  to  keep  all  grave  and  edify- 
ing books  of  the  kind  out  of  the  way  of  unhappy 
monarchs — lest  peradventure  they  should  read  them 
and  learn  wisdom. 

By  the  treacherous  surprisal  of  Fort  Casimir,  then, 
did  the  crafty  Swedes  enjoy  a  transient  triumph ; 
but  drew  upon  their  heads  the  vengeance  of  Peter 
Stuyvesant,  who  wrested  all  New-Sweden  from  their 
hands.  By  the  conquest  of  New-Sweden,  Peter 
Stuyvesant  aroused  the  claims  of  Lord  Baltimore ; 
who  appealed  to  the  Cabinet  of  Great  Britain  ;  who 
subdued  the  whole  province  of  New-Netherlands. 
By  this  great  achievement,  the  whole  extent  of  North 
America,  from  Nova  Scotia  to  the  Floridas,  was  ren- 
leied  one  entire  dependency  upon  the  British  crown 

-but  mark  the  consequence  .—The  hitherto  scat- 


tered cokmles  being  thus  consol,  Jated,  and  havins 
no  rival  colonies  to  check  or  keep  them  in  awe 
waxed  great  and  powerful,  and  finally  becoming  tor 
strong  lor  the  mother  country,  were  enabled  to  iihakc 
off  its  bonds,  and  by  i  glorious  revolution  becatnr 
an  Independent  empire.  But  the  chain  of  etfrit: 
stopped  not  here ;  the  successful  revolution  in  Ann  r 
lea  produced  the  sanguinary  revolution  in  rr.kncr 
which  produced  the  puissant  Buonaparte,  who  pre>. 
duced  the  French  despotism,  which  nas  thrown  tlu 
whole  world  in  confusion  I — Thus  have  these  ^r'Mi 
powers  been  successively  punished  for  their  ill  st.ir 
red  conquests — and  thus,  as  I  asserted,  have  all  ihr 
present  convulsions,  revolutions,  and  disasieis  th.ti 
overwhelm  mankind,  originated  in  the  capture  <ii 
the  little  Fort  Casimir,  as  recorded  in  this  eventful 
history. 

And  now,  worthy  reader,  ere  I  take  a  sad  farewell 
— which,  alas !  must  be  for  ever — willingly  would  I 

Cart  in  cordial  fellowshij),  and  bespeak  thy  kiiul- 
earted  remembrance.  That  I  have  not  written  a 
better  history  of  the  days  of  the  patriarchs,  is  nni 
my  fault — had  any  other  person  written  one  as  kooiI, 
I  should  not  have  attempted  it  at  all.  That  niany 
will  hereafter  spring  up  and  surpass  me  in  excelleiue, 
I  have  very  httle  doubt,  and  still  less  care ;  well 
knowing,  wnen  the  great  Christovallo  Colon  (who  is 
vulgarly  called  Columbus)  had  once  stood  his  i-^g, 
upon  its  end,  every  one  at  the  table  could  stand  hu 
up  a  thousand  times  more  dexterously.  Should  any 
reader  find  matter  of  offence  in  this  history,  1  should 
heartily  grieve,  though  I  would  on  no  account  ques- 
tion his  penetration  Dy  telling  him  he  is  mistaken - 
his  good  nature,  by  tellin&r  him  he  is  captious — or 
his  pure  conscience,  by  telling  him  he  is  startled  at 
a  shadow.  Surely  if  he  is  so  ingenious  in  finding 
offence  where  none  is  intended,  it  were  a  thousand 
pities  he  should  not  be  suffered  to  enjoy  the  Lenei^i 
of  his  discovery. 

I  have  too  high  an  opinion  of  the  understandin| 
of  my  fellow-citizens,  to  think  of  yielding  them  an; 
instruction ;  and  I  covet  too  much  their  good-wdl 
to  forfeit  it  by  giving  them  good  advice.  I  am  none 
of  those  cynics  who  despise  the  world  because  it 
despises  them — on  the  contrary,  though  but  low  in 
its  regard,  I  look  up  to  it  with  the  most  pertrct 
good  nature,  and  my  only  sorrow  is,  that  it  does  not 

Crove  itself  more  worthy  of  the  unbounded  love  I 
ear  it. 

If,  however,  in  this  my  historic  protluction— the 
scanty  fruit  of  a  long  and  laborious  lite — I  have  tailed 
to  gratify  the  dainty  palate  of  the  age,  1  can  only 
lament  my  misfortune — for  it  is  too  late  in  the  sea- 
son for  me  even  to  hope  to  repair  it.  Already  hai> 
withering  age  showered  his  sterile  snows  upon  in\ 
brow ;  in  a  little  while,  and  this  genial  wannth,  whicD 
still  lingers  around  my  heart,  and  throbs — worthy 
reader — throbs  kindly  towards  thyself,  will  be  chilled 
for  ever.  Haply  this  frail  compound  of  dust,  which 
while  alive  may  have  given  birth  to  nought  but  un- 
profitable weeds,  may  form  an  humble  sod  of  the 
valley,  from  whence  may  spring  nany  a  sweet  wiM 
flower,  to  adorn  by  belcvea  IsUi  d  af  Ma&na-Aat;^  t 


SALMAGUNai; 

o»,Tn 

WHIM-WHAMS  AND  OPINIONS  OF  LAUNCELOT  LANGSTAFI    Etq«  AND  OTHII&.' 


U  kM  «M  kou,  ciuB  quU  tt  JokMu, 
It  MMkMi,  toMMm,  roMlaa  Mkiw, 
fw,  hm,  fua. 
Wllk  tak(d,  ud  braUad,  «iid  MrMd,  u4 
Am*  Mad,  Md  boiUd,  and  HMkad,  aad 
Wa  Iraal  Ika  Iowa. 


VOLUME  FIRST. 


{enious  in  findli.s 


Mo.  I.— SATURDAY,  JANUARY  94,  1807. 


As  every  body  knows,  or  ought  to  know,  what  a 
Salmagundi  is.  we  shall  spare  ourselves  the  trouble 
of  an  explanation — besides,  we  despise  trouble  as  we 
do  every  thing  that  is  low  and  mean ;  and  hold  the 
man  who  would  incur  it  unnecessarily,  as  an  object 
worthy  our  highest  pity  and  contempt.  Neither  will 
we  puisle  our  neads  to  give  an  account  of  ourselves, 
for  two  reasons;  first,  oecause  it  is  nobody's  busi- 
new :  secondly,  because  if  it  were,  we  do  not  hold 
MTwlves  bound  to  attend  to  any  body's  business  but 
lar  own ;  and  even  tkaf  we  take  the  liberty  of  neg- 
'scting  when  it  suits  our  inclination.  To  these  we 
might  add  a  third,  that  very  few  men  can  give  a  tol- 
erable account  of  themselves,  let  them  try  ever  so 
hard ;  but  this  reason,  we  candidly  avow,  would  not 
hold  good  with  ourselves. 

There  are,  however,  two  or  three  pieces  of  in- 
formation which  we  bestow  gratis  on  the  public, 
chiefly  because  it  suits  our  own  pleasure  and  con- 
venience that  they  should  be  known,  and  partly  be- 
cause we  do  not  wish  that  there  should  be  any  ill 
will  between  us  at  the  commencement  of  our  ac- 
quaintance. 

Our  intention  is  simply  to  instruct  the  young,  re- 
form the  old,  correct  the  town,  and  castigate  the  age ; 
this  is  an  arduous  task,  and,  therefore,  we  undertake 
it  with  confidence.  We  intend  for  this  purpose  to 
present  a  striking  picture  of  the  town ;  and  as  every 
body  is  anxious  to  see  his  own  phiz  on  canvas,  how- 
ever stupid  or  ugly  it  may  be,  we  have  no  doubt  but 
the  whole  town  will  flock  to  our  exhibition.  Our 
picture  will  necessarily  include  a  vast  variety  of  fig- 
ures: and  should  any  gentleman  or  lady  be  dis- 
pl»sed  with  the  inveterate  truth  of  their  likenesses, 
tLiy  may  ease  their  spleen  by  laughing  at  those  01 
their  neighbours — this  being  what  we  understand  by 
701TICAL  JUSTICE. 

Like  all  true  and  able  editors,  we  consider  our- 
selves infallible,  and,  therefore,  with  the  customary 
diffidence  of  our  brethren  of  the  quill,  we  shall  take 
the  liberty  of  interfering  in  all  matters  either  of  a 

Sublic  or  private  nature.  We  are  critics,  amateurs, 
illitanti,  and  cognoscenti ;  and  as  we  know  "  by  the 
pricking  of  our  thumbs,"  that  every  opinion  which 
we  may  advance  in  either  of  those  cnaracters  will  be 
correct,  we  are  determined,  though  it  n»y  be  ques- 

•  By  WUUaai  Irviac,  jainaa  Kirke  PauldinR,  and  Washiniton 
Irviac 

Vol  II  — U 


tioned,  contrtdictcd.  or  even  cot  troverted,  y«t  N 
shall  never  be  revoked. 

We  beg  the  public  particularly  to  understand  thai 
we  solicit  no  patronage.  We  are  determined,  on  tha 
contran,  that  the  patronage  shall  be  entirely  on  oar 
side.  We  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  necuniaif 
concerns  of  the  paper ;  its  success  will  yield  ot  ne^ 
ther  pride  nor  profit— nor  will  its  failure  occasion  to 
us  either  loss  or  mortification.  We  advise  the  pub- 
lic, therefore,  to  purchase  our  numbers  merely  for 
their  own  sakes :— if  they  do  not,  let  them  settle  the 
aflair  with  their  consciences  and  posterity. 

To  conclude,  we  invite  all  editors  of  newspapei* 
and  literary  journals  to  praise  us  heartily  in  advance 
as  we  assure  them  that  we  intend  to  deserve  their 

E raises.  To  our  next-door  neighbour  "  Town,"  we 
old  out  a  hand  of  amity,  declaring  to  him  that,  af- 
ter ours,  his  paper  will  stand  the  best  chance  for  im- 
mortality. We  proffer  an  exchange  of  civilities ;  he 
shall  furnish  us  with  notices  of  epic  poems  and  to- 
bacco ;— and  we  in  return  will  enrich  nim  with  orig- 
inal speculations  on  all  manner  of  subjects ;  tO){ether 
with  "  the  rummaging  of  my  grandfather's  mahog- 
any chest  of  drawers,"  "the  life  and  amours  of 
mine  uncle  John,"  "  anecdotes  of  the  Cockloft  fam- 
ily," and  learned  quotations  from  that  unheard-of 
writer  of  folios,  L/Hkum  Fidtlius. 


PUBLISHER'S  NOTICE. 

This  work  will  be  publishrd  and  sold  by  D.  Long- 
worth.  It  will  be  printed  on  hot  prest  vellum  paper, 
as  that  is  held  in  highest  estimation  for  buckling  up 
young  ladies'  hair — a  purpose  to  which  similar  worla 
are  usually  appropriated;  it  will  be  a  small,  neat 
duodecimo  size,  so  that  when  enough  numbers  are 
written,  it  may  form  a  volume  sufficiently  portable 
to  be  carried  in  old  ladies*  pockets  and  young  ladies' 
work-bags. 

As  the  above  work  will  not  come  out  at  stated  p^ 
riods,  notice  will  be  given  when  another  number  wiU 
be  published.  The  price  will  depend  on  the  size  of 
the  number,  and  must  be  paid  on  delivery.  The 
publisher  professes  the  same  sublime  contempt  for 
money  as  his  authors.  The  liberal  patronage  be- 
stowed by  his  discerning  fejiow-citizens  on  various 
works  of  taste  which  he  has  publishnd.  has  left  him 


684 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING 


no  inclination  to  ask  for  further  favours  at  their 
hands ;  and  he  publ'shes  this  work  in  the  mere  hope 
'>f  requiting  their  bounty.* 


FROM 


THE    ELBOW-CHAIR  OF    LAUNCE- 
LOT   LANGSTAFF,  ESQ. 


We  were  a  considerable  time  in  deciding  whether 
we  should  be  at  the  pains  of  introducing  ourselves 
to  the  public.  As  we  care  for  nobody,  and  as  wi* 
are'  iu>t  yet  at  the  bar,  we  do  not  feel  bound  to  hold 
up  our  hands  and  answer  to  our  names. 

Willing,  however,  to  gain  at  once  that  frank,  con- 
tidential  looting,  which  we  are  certain  of  ultimately 
possessing  in  this,  doubtless,  "  best  of  ail  ;  ossible 
cities  ;  "  and,  anxious  to  spare  its  worthy  inhabitants 
the  trouble  of  making  a  thousand  wise  conjectures, 
not  one  of  which  would  be  worth  a  "  tobacco-stop- 
per," we  have  thought  it  in  some  degree  a  necessary 
exertion  of  charitable  condescension  to  furnish  them 
with  a  slight  clue  to  the  truth. 

Hefore  we  proceed  further,  however,  we  advise  ev- 
ery body,  man,  woman,  and  child,  that  can  read,  or 
get  any  friend  to  read  for  them,  to  purchase  this  pa- 
per ;—  not  tnat  we  write  for  money ; — for,  in  common 
with  all  philosophical  wiseacres,  from  Solomon  down- 
wards, we  hold  it  in  supreme  contempt  The  public 
are  welcome  to  buy  this  work,  or  not ;  just  as  they 
ch'.ose.  If  it  be  purchased  freely,  so  much  the  bet- 
ter for  the  public — and  the  publisher : — we  gain  not 
a  stiver.  If  it  be  not  purchased  we  give  fair  warn- 
ing— we  shall  burn  all  our  essays,  critiques,  and  epi- 
^lams.  in  one  promiscuous  bla/e ;  and,  like  the  books 
of  the  sybu's,  and  the  Alexandrian  library,  they  will 
1^  lost  for  ever  to  posterity.  For  the  sake,  there- 
k.\t-  of  our  publisher,  for  the  sake  of  the  public,  and 
tor  the  sake  of  the  public's  children,  to  the  nine- 
teenth generation,  we  advise  them  to  purchase  our 
paper.  We  bee;  the  respectable  old  matrons  of  this 
city,  not  to  be  alarmed  at  the  appearance  we  make ; 
we  are  none  of  those  outlandish  geniuses  who  swarm 
in  New- York,  who  live  by  their  wits,  or  rather  by  the 
little  wit  of  their  neighbours ;  and  who  spoil  the  gen- 
uine honest  American  tastes  of  their  daughters,  with 
French  slops  and  fricasseed  sentiment. 

We  have  said  we  do  not  write  for  money ; — nei- 
ther do  we  write  for  fame : — we  know  too  welj  the 
variable  nature  of  public  opinion  to  build  our  hopes 
upon  it — we  care  not  what  the  public  think  of  us ; 
and  we  suspect,  before  we  reach  the  tenth  number, 
they  will  not  knew  what  to  think  of  us.  In  two 
words— we  write  for  no  other  earthly  purpose  but  to 
please  ourselves — and  this  we  shall  be  sure  of  doir.g ; 
for  we  are  all  tnree  of  us  determined  beforehand  to 
be  ple.ised  with  what  we  write.  If,  in  the  course  ot 
this  work,  we  edify  and  instruct  and  amuse  the  pul>- 
Kl,  so  much  the  better  for  the  public : — but  we 
frankly  acknowledge  that  so  soon  as  we  get  tired 
of  reading  our  own  works,  we  shall  discontinue  them 
without  the  least  remorse;  whatever  the  public  may 
think  of  it. — While  we  continue  to  go  on,  we  will  go 

rm  merrily : if  we  moralize,  it  shall  be  but  sel- 

iom  :  ancf,  on  aO  occasions,  we  shall  be  more  solicit- 
ous to  make  our  readers  Liugh  than  cry;  for  we  are 
kughing  philosophers,  and  clearly  of  opinion,  that 
wisdom,  true  wisdom,  is  a  plump,  jolly  dame,  who 

*  It  vai  not  orinaallr  the  iaieation  of  tha  authon  to  ioiert  tha 
above  addrcu  ia  tha  work  ;  bat,  aavilliag  that  a  mtreitu  *a  pra- 
cioui  thould  b«  lo(t  to  poiterilv,  thay  ha*a  baaa  induced  to  altar 
the  V  aiindf .  Thk  will  aocooA  nr  aav  repaliliaB  of  idea  that  auiy 
appear  in  the  inltoduclorr  eauv, 


sits  in  her  arm-chair,  laughs  right  merrily  at  tht 
farce  of  life— and  takes  the  world  as  it  goes. 

We  intend  particularly  to  notice  the  conduct  of 
the  fashionable  world  ;  nor  in  this  shall  we  he  gov- 
erned by  that  carping  spirit  with  which  narrow- 
minded  book-worm  cynics  squint  at  the  little  ex- 
travagancies  of  the  ton;  but  with  that  liberal  tolera- 
tion which  actuates  every  man  of  fashion.  While 
we  keep  more  than  a  Cerberus  watch  over  the 
guardian  rules  of  female  delicacy  and  decorum — wr 
shall  not  discourage  any  little  sprightliness  of  de- 
meanour, or  innocent  vivacity  of  character.  Before 
we  advance  one  line  further  we  must  let  it  be  under- 
stood, as  our  firm  opinion,  void  of  all  prejudice  or 
partiality,  that  the  ladies  of  New- York  are  the  fair- 
est, the  finest,  the  most  accomplished,  the  most  be- 
witching, the  most  ineffable  beings,  that  walk,  creep, 
crawl,  swim,  fly,  float,  or  vegetate  in  any  or  all  of 
the  four  elements ;  and  that  they  only  want  to  be 
cured  of  certain  whimn,  eccentricities,  and  unseemly 
conceits,  by  our  superintending  cares,  to  render  thein 
absolutely  perfect.  They  will,  therefore,  receive  a 
large  portion  of  those  attentions  directed  to  the  fash- 
ionable world ; — nor  will  the  gentlemen,  who  dote 
away  their  time  in  the  circles  ofthe  haut-ton,  escape 
our  currying.  We  mean  those  stupid  fellows  who 
sit  stock  still  upon  their  chairs,  without  saying  a 
word,  and  then  complain  how  damned  stupid  it  was 
at  Miss 's  party. 

This  department  will  be  under  the  peculiar  direc- 
tion and  control  of  Anthony  Evergreen,  gent., 
to  whom  all  communications  on  this  subject  are  to 
be  addressed.  This  gentleman,  from  his  long  expe 
rience  in  the  routine  of  balls,  tea-parties,  and  assem- 
blies, is  eminently  qualified  for  the  task  he  has  under 
taken.  He  is  a  kind  of  patriarch  in  the  fashionable 
world ;  and  has  seen  generation  after  generation 
pass  away  into  the  silent  tomb  of  matrimony  while 
he  remains  unchangeably  the  same.  He  can  recount 
the  amours  and  courtships  of  the  fathers,  mothers, 
uncles  and  aunts,  and  even  the  grandames,  of  all  the 
belles  of  the  present  day ;  provided  their  pedigrees 
extend  so  far  b.ick  without  being  lost  in  obscurity. 
As,  however,  treating  of  pedigrees  is  rather  an  un- 
grateful task  in  this  city,  and  as  we  mean  to  be  per- 
fectly good-natured,  he  has  promised  to  be  cautious 
in  this  particular.  He  recollects  perfectly  the  time 
when  young  ladies  used  to  go  sleigh-riding  at  night, 
without  their  mammas  or  grandmammas ;  in  short. 
without  being  matronized  at  all :  and  can  relate  a 
thousand  pleasant  stories  about  Kissing-bridge.  He 
likewise  remembers  the  time  when  ladies  paid  tea- 
visits  at  three  in  the  afternoon,  and  returned  beiore 
dark  to  see  that  the  house  was  shut  up  and  the  serv- 
ants on  duty.  He  has  often  played  cricket  in  the 
orchard  in  the  rear  of  old  Vauxnall,  and  remembers 
when  the  BuU's-head  was  ouite  out  of  town.  Though 
he  was  slowly  and  gradually  given  into  modem  fash- 
ions, and  still  flourishes  in  the  beau-momie,  yet  he 
seems  a  little  prejudiced  in  favour  of  the  dress  and 
manners  of  the  oU  school ;  and  his  chief  commenda- 
tion of  a  new  mode  is  "  that  it  is  the  same  good  old 
fashion  we  had  before  the  war."  It  has  cost  ui 
much  trouble  to  make  him  confess  that  a  cotillion  :; 
superior  to  a  minuet,  or  an  unadorned  crop  to  a  pig 
tail  and  powder.  Custom  and  fashion  have,  how 
ever,  had  more  effect  on  him  than  all  our  lectures 
and  he  tempers,  so  happily,  the  grave  and  ceremo- 
nious gallantry  of  the  old  school  with  the  "hail  fel- 
low" familiarity  of  the  new,  that,  we  trust,  on  a 
little  acquaintance,  and  making  allowance  for  hi! 
old-fashioned  prejudices,  he  will  become  a  very  con- 
siderable favourite  with  our  readers; — if  not,  thi 
wone  for  themse'.res ;  as  they  will  have  to  endure 
his  company. 


SALMAGUNDI. 


58ft 


In  the  territory  of  criticism.  WiLLiAM  Wizard, 
Etq.  has  undertaken  to  preside ;  and  though  we 
may  all  dabble  in  it  a  little  by  turns,  yet  we  have 
willingly  ceded  to  him  all  discretionary  powers  in 
this  respect,  though  Will  has  not  had  the  advantage 
ol  an  education  at  Oxford  or  Cambridge,  or  even  at 
Edinburgh,  or  Aberdeen,  and  though  he  is  but  little 
versed  in  Hebrew,  yet  we  have  no  doubt  he  will  he 
found  fully  competent  to  the  undertaking.  He  has 
i.nproved  his  taste  by  a  long  residence  abroad,  par- 
ticularly at  Canton,  Calcutta,  and  the  gay  and  pol- 
ished court  of  Hayti.  He  has  also  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  the  best  singing-girls  and  tragedians 
of  China,  is  a  great  connoisseur  in  mandarine 
dresses,  and  porcelain,  and  particularly  values  him- 
self on  his  intimate  knowledge  of  the  buffalo,  and 
war  dances  of  the  northern  In<lians.  He  is  likewise 
promised  the  assistance  of  a  gentleman,  lately  from 
London,  who  was  born  and  bred  in  that  centre  of 
science  and  bongout,  the  vicinity  of  Fleetmarket, 
where  he  has  been  edified,  man  and  boy,  these  six- 
and-twenty  years,  with  the  harmonious  jingle  of 
Bow-bells.  His  taste,  therefore,  has  attained  to  such 
an  exquisite  pitch  of  refinement  that  there  are  few 
exhibitions  of  any  kind  which  do  not  put  him  in  a 
fever.  He  has  assured  Will,  that  if  Mr.  Cooper  em- 
phasises "  and"  instead  of  "  but " — or  Mrs.  Oldmixon 
pins  her  kerchief  a  hair's  breadth  awry — or  Mrs. 
barley  oilers  to  dare  to  look  less  than  the  "  daughter 
of  a  senator  of  Venice  " — the  standard  of  a  senator's 
daughter  being  exactly  six  feet — they  shall  all  hear 
of  it  in  good  time.  We  have,  however,  advised  Will 
Wizard  to  keep  his  friend  in  check,  lest  by  opening 
the  eyes  of  the  public  to  the  wretchedness  of  tht 
actors  by  whom  they  have  hitherto  been  entertained, 
he  might  cut  off  one  source  of  amusement  from  our 
fellow-citizens.  We  hereby  give  notice,  that  we  have 
taken  the  whole  corps,  from  the  manager  in  his 
tnantleof  gorgeous  copper-lace,  to  honest  JoAn  in  his 
green  coat  and  black  breeches,  under  our  wing — and 
wo  be  unto  him  who  injures  a  hair  of  their  heads.  As 
we  have  no  design  aga-'  st  the  patience  of  our  fellow- 
citizens,  we  shall  not  dose  them  with  copious 
draughts  of  theatrical  criticism  ;  we  well  know  that 
they  nave  already  been  well  physicked  with  them  of 
late ;  our  theatrics  shall  take  up  but  a  small  part  of 
our  paper ;  nor  shall  they  be  altogether  confined  to 
the  sta^,  but  extend  from  time  to  time,  to  those 
incorrigible  offenders  against  the  peace  of  society, 
the  stage-critics,  who  not  unfrequently  create  the 
fault  they  find,  in  order  to  yield  an  ope.iing  for  their 
witticisms— censure  an  actor  for  a  gesture  he  never 
made,  or  an  emphasis  he  never  gave ;  and,  in  their 
attempt  to  show  off  fuw  readings,  make  the  sweet 
swan  of  Avon  cackle  like  a  goose.  If  any  one  should 
feel  himself  offended  by  our  remarks,  let  him  attack 
us  in  return — we  shall  not  wince  from  the  combat. 
If  his  passes  be  successful,  we  will  be  the  first  to  cry 
out,  a  hit  I  a  hit  I  and  we  doubt  not  we  shall  fre- 
quently lay  ourselves  open  to  the  weapons  of  our  as- 
uilants.  But  let  them  have  a  care  now  they  run  a 
tilting  with  us — they  have  to  deal  with  stubborn  foes, 
who  can  bear  a  world  of  pummeling ;  we  will  be  re- 
lentless in  our  vengeance,  and  will  fight  "  till  from 
our  bones  the  flesh  be  hackt." 

What  oiher  subjects  we  shall  include  in  the  range  of 
our  observations,  we  have  not  determined,  or  rather 
we  shall  not  trouble  ourselves  to  detail.  The  public 
have  already  more  information  concerning  us,  than 
we  intended  to  impart.  We  owe  them  no  favours, 
neither  do  we  ask  any.  We  again  advise  them,  for 
their  own  takes,  to  read  our  papers  when  they  come 
out.  We  recommend  to  all  mothers  to  purchase 
them  for  their  daughters,  who  will  be  taught  the 
true  line  of  propriety,  and  the  most  advisable  method 


of  managing  their  beaux.  We  advise  all  daughters 
to  purchase  them  for  the  sake  of  their  mothers,  who 
shall  be  initiated  into  the  arcana  of  the  bon  ton.-  and 
cured  of  all  those  rusty  old  notions  which  they  ac- 
quired during  the  last  century:  parents  shall  be 
taught  how  to  govern  their  cnildren,  g'ris  how  to 
get  husbands,  and  old  maids  how  to  do  without 
them. 

As  we  do  not  measure  our  wits  by  the  yard  or 
the  bushel,  and  as  they  do  not  flow  periodically  nor 
constantly,  we  shall  not  restrict  our  paper  as  to  size 
or  the  time  of  its  appearance.  It  will  Ite  published 
whenever  we  have  suficient  matter  to  constitute  a 
number,  and  the  size  of  the  number  shall  depend  on 
the  stock  in  hand.  This  will  best  suit  our  negligent 
habits,  and  leave  us  that  full  liberty  and  independ- 
ence which  is  the  joy  ai  d  pride  of  our  souls.  As  we 
have  before  hinted,  tha*.  we  do  not  concern  ourselves 
about  the  pecuniary  matters  of  our  paper,  we  leave 
its  price  to  be  regulated  by  our  puhlisner,  only  rec- 
ommending him  for  his  own  interest,  and  the 
honour  of  his  authors,  not  to  sell  their  invaluable 
productions  too  cheap. 

Is  there  any  one  who  wishes  to  know  more  about 
us? — let  him  read  Salmagundi,  and  grow  wise 
apace.  Thus  much  we  will  say — there  are  three  of 
us,  "Bardolph,  Peto,  and  1,"  all  townsmen  good 
and  true ; — many  a  time  and  oft  have  we  three 
amused  the  town  without  its  knowing  to  whom  it 
was  indebted ;  and  many  a  time  have  we  seen  the 
midnight  lamp  twinkle  faintly  on  our  studious  phizes, 
and  heard  the  morning  salutation  of  "  past  three 
o'clock,"  before  we  sought  our  pillows.  The  result 
of  these  midnight  studies  is  now  offereH  to  the  pui> 
lie  ;  and  little  as  we  care  for  the  opinion  of  this  ex- 
ceedingly stupid  world,  we  shall  take  care,  as  far  at 
hes  in  our  careless  natures,  to  fullil  the  promise* 
made  in  this  introduction ;  if  we  do  not,  we  shall 
have  so  many  examples  to  justify  us,  that  we  feel 
little  solicitude  on  that  account. 


THEATRICS. 


CONTAINING    THE    QUINTESSENCE    Or    MODERN 
CRITICISM.      BY  WILLIAM  WIZARD,  ESQ. 


Macbeth  was  performed  to  a  very  crowded 
house,  and  much  to  our  satisfaction.  As,  how- 
ever, our  neighbour'  Town  has  been  very  volu- 
minous already  in  his  criticisms  on  this  pl.iy,  we 
shall  make  but  lew  remarks.  Having  never  seen 
Kemble  in  this  character,  we  are  absolutely  at  a 
loss  to  say  whether  Mr.  Cooper  pertorined  it  well 
or  not.  We  think,  however,  there  was  an  error  in 
his  costume,  as  the  learned  Linkum  Fidelius  is  of 
opinion,  that  in  the  time  of  Macbeth  the  Scots  did 
not  wear  sandals,  but  woo<len  shoes.  Macl>eth  also 
was  noted  for  w^rin^  his  jacket  open,  that  he 
might  play  the  Scotch  hddle  more  conveniently  ;— 
thai  bemg  an  hered.  ^ry  accomplishment  in  the 
Glamis  family. 

We  have  seen  this  character  performed  in  China 
by  the  celebrated  Chmv-Ckow,  tne  Roscius  of  that 
great  empire,  who  in  the  dagger  scene  always  elec* 
tntied  the  audience  by  blowing  his  nose  like  a  trurhfv 
et.  Chow-Chow,  in  compliance  with  the  opinion 
of  the  sage  Linkum  Fidelius.  perfonned  Macbeth  in 
wooden  shoes ;  this  gave  him  an  opportunity  of  pro- 
ducing cjeat  effect,  for  on  first  seeing  the  "  air-drawn 
dagger, '  he  always  cut  a  prodigious  hivh  caper,  aiuf 
kicked  his  shoes  into  the  pit  at  the  heaiaa  of  the  cri* 


086 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


Ks ;  whereupon  the  audience  were  marveUoualy  de- 
lighted, flourished  their  hands,  and  stroked  their 
whiskers  three  times,  and  the  matter  was  carefully 
recorded  in  the  next  number  of  a  paper  called  the 
'/litHflam.    {English — town.) 

We  were  much  pleased  with  Mrs.  VlLLlERS  in 
Lady  Macbeth  :  but  we  think  she  would  have  eiven 
a  greater  effect  to  the  night-scene,  if,  instead  of  nold- 
ine  the  candle  in  her  hand  or  setting  it  down  on  the 
table,  which  is  sagaciously  censured  by  neighbour 
Town,  she  had  stuck  it  in  her  night-cap.  This  would 
have  b^en  extremely  picturesque,  and  would  have 
marked  more  strongly  the  derangement  of  her  mind. 

Mrs.  Villiers,  however,  is  not  oy  any  means  large 
enough  for  the  character ;  Lady  Macbeth  having 
been,  in  our  opinion,  a  woman  of  extraordinary  size, 
and  of  the  race  of  the  giants,  notwithstanding  what 
she  says  of  her  "  little  hand  " — which  being  said  in 
her  sleep,  passes  for  nothing.  We  should  be  Kkppy  to 
see  this  character  in  the  hands  of  the  lady  who  played 
Glumdalca,  queen  of  the  giants,  in  Tom  Thumb ; 
shf  is  exactly  of  imperial  dimensions ;  and,  provided 
she  is  well  shaved,  of  a  most  interesting  physiogno- 
my :  as  she  appears  likewise  to  be  a  lady  of  some 
nerve,  I  dare  engage  she  will  read  a  letter  about 
witches  vanishing  in  air,  and  such  common  occur- 
rences, without  l^ing  unnaturally  surprised,  to  the 
annoyance  of  honest  ")Town." 

We  are  happy  to  observe  that  Mr.  Cooper  profits 
by  the  instructions  of  friend  Town,  and  does  not  dip 
the  daggers  in  blood  so  deep  as  formerly  by  a  matter 
of  an  inch  or  two.  This  was  a  violent  outrage  upon 
our  immortal  bard.  We  differ  with  Mr.  Town  in  his 
reading  of  the  words  "this  is  a  sorry  sight,"  We 
are  of  opinion  the  force  of  the  sentence  should  be 
thrown  on  the  word  sight,  because  Macbeth,  having 
beesn  shortly  before  most  confoundedly  humbugged 
with  an  aerial  dagger,  was  in  doubt  whether  the 
daggers  actually  in  his  hands  were  real,  or  whether 
they  were  not  mere  shadows,  or  as  the  old  English 
may  have  termed  it,  syghtes  ;  (this,  at  any  rate,  will 
establish  our  skill  in  new  readings.)  Though  we 
differ  in  this  respect  from  our  neighbour  Town,  yet 
we  heartily  agree  with  him  in  censuring  Mr.  Cooper 
for  omitting  that  passage  so  remarkable  for  "  beauty 
of  imagery,"  &c.,  beginning  with  "and  pity,  like  a 
naked,  new-bom  babe,"  &c.  It  is  one  of  those  pas- 
sages of  Shakspeare  which  should  always  be  re- 
tained, for  the  purpose  of  showing  how  sometimes 
that  great  poet  could  talk  like  a  buzzard ;  or,  to 
speak  more  plainly,  like  the  famous  mad  poet  Nat 
Lee. 

As  it  is  the  first  duty  of  a  friend  to  advise — and  as 
we  profess  and  do  actually  feel  a  friendship  for  hon- 
est "Town," — we  warn  him,  never  in  his  criticisms 
to  meddls  with  a  lady's  "  petticoats,"  or  to  quote 
Nic  Bottom.  In  the  first  instance  he  may  "  catch  a 
tartar ;"  and  in  the  second,  the  ass's  head  may  rise 
up  in  judgment  against  him;  and  when  it  is  once 
afloat  there  is  no  knowing  where  some  unlucky  hand 
may  place  it.  We  would  not,  for  all  the  money  in  our 
pockets,  see  Town  flourishing  his  critical  quill  under 
the  auspices  of  an  ass's  head,  like  the  great  Franklin 
in  his  Monterio  Cap. 


NEW-YORK  ASSEMBLY. 
BY  ANTHONY  EVKRORBKN,  GENT. 


The  assemblies  this  year  have  gained  a  great  ac- 
oeMion  of  beauty.  Several  brilliant  stars  have  arisen 
&om  the  east  and  from  the  north  to  brighten  the 


firmament  of  fashion ;  amon&  the  number  I  havt 
discovered  another  planet,  whiih  rivals  even  Venus 
in  lustre,  and  I  claim  equal  honour  with  Herschel  fo? 
my  discovery.  I  shall  take  some  future  opportunity 
to  describe  this  planet,  and  the  numerous  satellita 
which  revolve  around  it. 

At  the  last  assembly  the  company  began  to  make 
some  show  about  eight,  but  the  most  fashionable 
delayed  their  appearance  until  about  nine — nine  be 
ing  the  number  of  the  muses,  and  therefore  the  best 
possible  hour  for  beginning  to  exhibit  the  graces. 
(This  is  meant  for  a  pretty  play  upon  words,  and  I 
assure  my  readers  that  I  think  it  very  tolerable.) 

Poor  Will  Honevcomb,  whose  memory  I  hold 
in  special  consideration,  even  with  his  half  century 
of  experience,  would  have  been  puzzled  to  point  out 
the  humours  of  a  lady  by  her  prevailing  colours; 
for  the  "  rival  queens  "  of  fashion,  Mrs.  Toole  and 
Madame  Bouchard,  appeared  to  have  exhausted 
their  wonderful  inventions  in  the  different  disposi- 
tion, variation,  and  combination  of  tints  and  shades. 
The  phildsopher  who  maintained  that  black  was 
white,  and  that  of  course  there  was  no  such  colour 
as  white,  might  have  given  some  colour  to  his  theory 
on  this  occasion,  by  the  absence  of  poor  forsaken 
white  muslin.  I  was,  however,  much  pleased  to  see 
that  red  maintains  its  ground  against  all  other  col- 
ours, because  red  is  the  colour  of  Mr.  Jefferson's 
*•♦♦♦♦,  Tom  Paine's  nose,  and  my  slippers. 

Let  the  grumbling  smcllfungi  of  this  world,  who 
cultivate  taste  among  books,  cobwebs,  and  spiders, 
rail  at  the  extravagance  of  the  age ;  for  my  part,  1 
was  delighted  with  the  magic  of  the  scene,  and  u 
the  ladies  tripped  through  the  mazes  of  the  dance 
sparkling  and  glowing  and  dazzling,  I,  like  the  hen 
est  Chinese,  thanked  them  heartny  for  the  jewels 
and  finery  with  which  they  loaded  themselves,  merelv 
for  the  entertainmenf  of  by-standers,  and  blesseo 
my  stars  that  I  was  a  bachelor. 

The  gentlemen  were  considerably  numerous,  and 
being  as  usual  equipt  in  their  appropriate  black  uni- 
forms, constituted  a  sable  regiment  which  contrib- 
uted not  a  Uttle  to  the  brilliant  gayety  of  the  ball- 
room. I  must  confess  I  am  indebted  for  this  remark 
to  our  friend,  the  cockney,  Mr.  "Sbidlikensflasr^ 
or  'Shidlikens,  as  he  is  called  for  shortness.  He  is  a ' 
fellow  of  infinite  verbosity — stands  in  high  favour— 
with  himself — and,  like  Caleb  Quotem,  is  "  up  to 
every  thing."  I  remember  when  a  comfortable, 
plump-looking  citizen  led  into  the  room  a  fair  dam- 
sel, who  looked  for  all  the  world  like  the  personitica- 
tion  of  a  rainbow :  'Sbidlikens  observed  that  it  re- 
minded him  of  a  fable,  which  he  had  read  some- 
where, of  the  marriage  of  an  honest,  painstaking 
snail ;  who  had  once  walked  six  feet  in  an  hour  for  a 
wager,  to  a  butterfly  whom  he  used  to  gallant  by  the 
elbow,  with  the  aid  of  much  puffing  and  exertion. 
On  being  called  upon  to  tell  where  he  had  come 
across  this  story,  'Sbidlikens  absolutely  refused  to 
answer. 

It  would  but  be  repeating  an  old  story  to  say,  tha* 
the  ladies  of  New-York  dance  well ; — ^and  well  ma> 
they,  since  they  learn  it  scientifically,  and  begin  their 
lessons  before  they  have  quit  their  swaddling  clothes 
The  immortal  DUPORT  has  usurped  despotic  sway 
overall  the  fem.iie  heads  and  heels  in  this  city;-- 
hombooks,  primers,  and  pianoes  are  neglected  to 
attend  to  his  positions ;  and  poor  CHILTON,  with  his 
pots  and  kettles  and  chymical  crockery,  finds  him  a 
more  potent  enemy  than  the  whole  collective  force 
of  the  "  North  River  Society."  'Sbidlikens  insists 
that  this  dancing  mania  will  inevitably  continue  as 
long  as  a  dancing-master  will  charge  the  fashionable 
price  of  five-and-twenty  dolbus  a  quarter  and  all  the 
other  accomplishments  are  so  vulgar  as  to  be  attain 


SALMAGUNDI. 


the  number  I  hav, 
h  rivab  even  Venus 
ur  with  Herschel  fo, 
e  future  opportum>> 
numerous  satellitei 


able  at  "half  the  money;" — but  I  put  no  faith  in 
'Sbidlikens'  candour  in  this  particular.  Among  his 
infinitude  of  endowments  he  is  but  a  poor  proficient 
In  dancing ;  and  though  he  often  flounders  through 
a  cotillion,  yet  he  never  cut  a  pigeon-wing  in  his 
Ufe. 

In  my  mind  there's  no  position  more  positive  and 
unexceptionable  than  that  most  Frenchmen,  dead  or 
alive,  are  born  dancers.  I  came  pounce  upon  this 
discovery  at  the  assembly,  and  1  immediately  noted 
it  down  in  my  register  of  indisputable  facts : — the 
public  shall  know  all  about  it  As  I  never  dance 
cotillions,  holding  them  to  be  monstrous  distorters 
of  the  human  frame,  and  tantamount  in  their  opera- 
tions to  being  broken  and  dislocated  on  the  wheel,  I 
generally  take  occasion,  while  they  are  going  on,  to 
make  my  remarks  on  the  company.  In  the  course 
cf  these  observations  I  was  strucli  with  the  energy 
and  eloquence  of  sundry  limbs,  which  seemed  to  be 
flourishing  about  without  appertaining  to  any  body. 
After  much  investigation  and  difficulty,  I  at  length 
traced  them  to  their  respective  owners,  whom  I 
found  to  be  all  Frenchmen  to  a  man.  Art  may  have 
meddled  somewhat  in  these  affairs,  but  nature  cer- 
tainly did  more.  I  have  since  been  considerably  em- 
ployed in  calculations  on  this  subject ;  and  by  the 
most  accurate  computation  I  have  determined  that 
a  Frenchman  passes  at  least  three-fifths  of  his  time 
between  the  heavens  and  the  earth,  and  partakes 
eminently  of  the  nature  of  a  gossamer  or  soap-bubble. 
One  of  these  jack-o'-lantern  heroes,  in  taking  a  figure 
which  neither  Euclid  or  Pythagoras  himself  could 
demonstrate,  unfortunately  wound  himself — I  mean 
his  feet,  his  better  part — mto  a  lady's  cobweb  mus- 
lin robe ;  but  pereeiving  it  at  the  instant,  he  set 
himself  a  spinnmg  the  other  way,  like  a  top,  unrav- 
telled  his  step  without  omitting  one  angle  or  curve, 
and  extricated  himself  without  breaking  a  thread  of 
the  lady's  dress  t  he  then  sprung  up,  like  a  sturgeon, 
crossed  his  feet  four  times,  and  finished  this  wonder- 
ful evolution  by  quivering  his  left  leg,  as  a  cat  does 
tier  paw  when  she  has  accidentally  dipped  it  in  wa- 
ter. No  man  "of  woman  born,'  who  was  not  a 
P'renchman  or  a  mountebank,  could  have  done  the 
like. 

Among  the  new  faces.  I  remarked  a  blooming 
nymph,  who  has  brought  a  fresh  supply  of  roses 
from  the  country  to  adorn  the  wreatn  of  beauty, 
where  lilies  too  much  predominate.  As  I  wish  well 
'o  every  sweet  face  under  heaven,  I  sincerely  hope 
her  roses  may  survive  the  frosts  and  dissipations  of 
winter,  and  lose  nothine  by  a  comparison  with  the 
loveliest  offerings  of  the  spring.  "Sbidlikens,  to 
whom  I  made  similar  remarks,  assured  me  that  they 
were  very  just,  and  very  prettily  exprest ;  and  that 
the  lady  in  question  was  a  prodigious  fine  piece  of 
flesh  and  blood.  Now  could  I  find  it  in  my  heart  to 
baste  these  cockneys  like  their  own  roast-beef — they 
can  make  no  distinction  between  a  fine  woman  and 
a  fine  horse. 

I  would  praise  the  sylph-like  grace  with  which 
mother  young  lady  acquitted  herself  in  the  dance, 
but  that  she  excels  in  far  more  valuable  accomplish- 
.nents.  Who  praises  the  rose  for  its  beauty,  even 
though  it  is  beautiful. 

The  company  retired  at  the  customary  hour  to  the 
lupper-room,  where  the  tables  were  laid  out  with 
their  usual  splendour  and  profusion.  My  friend, 
'Sbidlikens,  with  the  native  forethought  of  a  cockney, 
had  carefully  stowed  his  pocket  with  cheese  and 
crackers,  that  he  might  not  be  tempted  again  to 
venture  his  limbs  in  the  crowd  of  hungry  fair  ones 
who  throng  the  supper-room  door ;  his  precaution 
was  unnecessaiy,  for  the  company  entered  the  room 
irith  surprising  order  and  decorum    No  gowns  were 


torn — no  ladles  fainted — no  noses  t««d — nor  waa 
there  any  need  of  the  interference  of  either  mana- 
gers or  peace  officers. 


No.  II.— WEDNESDAY,  FEB'Y  4,  1807, 

FROM  THE  ELBOW-CHAIR  OP  LAUNCELOT  LANO 
STAPP,  ESQ. 


In  the  conduct  of  an  epic  poem,  it  has  been  the 
custom,  from  time  immemorial,  for  the  poet  occa 
sionally  to  introduce  his  reader  to  an  intimate  ac 
quaintance  with  the  heroes  of  his  story,  by  conduct- 
ing him  into  their  tents,  and  giving  him  an  opportu- 
nity of  observing  them  in  their  night-gown  and  slip- 
pers. However  I  despise  the  servile  genius  that 
would  descend  to  follow  a  precedent,  though  fur- 
nished by  Homer  himself,  and  consider  him  as  on  a 
par  with  the  cart  that  follows  at  the  heels  of  the 
norse,  without  ever  taking  the  lead,  yet  at  the  pres- 
ent moment  my  whim  is  opposed  to  my  opinion , 
and  whenever  this  is  the  case,  my  opinion  generally 
surrenders  at  discretion.  I  am  determined,  there- 
fore, to  give  the  town  a  peep  into  our  divan ;  and  I 
shall  repeat  it  as  often  as  I  please,  to  show  that  I 
intend  to  be  sociable. 

The  other  night  Will  Wizard  and  Evergreen 
called  upon  me,  to  pass  away  a  few  hours  in  social 
chat  and  hold  a  kind  of  council  of  war.  To  give  a 
zest  to  our  evening  I  uncorked  a  bottle  of  London 
particular,  which  has  grown  old  with  myseW,  and 
which  never  fails  to  excite  a  smile  in  the  counte> 
nances  of  my  old  cronies,  to  whom  alone  it  is  do- 
voted.  After  some  little  time  the  conversation 
turned  on  the  effect  produced  by  our  first  number; 
every  one  had  his  budget  of  infonnation.  and  I  as- 
sure my  readers  that  we  lau>;hcd  most  unceremo- 
niously at  their  expense  ;  they  will  excuse  us  for  out 
merriment — 'tis  a  way  vre've  got.  Evergreen,  whc 
is  equally  a  favourite  and  companion  of  young  and 
old,  was  particularly  satisfactory  in  his  details  ,  and 
it  was  highly  amusing  to  hear  how  dilferent  charac- 
ters were  tickled  with  uitTerent  passages.  The  old  folks 
were  delighted  to  find  there  was  a  bias  in  our  junto 
towards  the  "  goixi  old  times ;"  and  he  particularly 
noticed  a  worthy  old  gentleman  of  his  acquaintance, 
who  had  been  sumewhat  a  beau  in  his  day,  whose 
eyes  brightened  at  the  bare  mention  of  Kissing- 
bridge.  It  recalled  10  his  recollection  several  of  his 
youtnlul  exploits,  at  that  celebrated  pass,  on  which 
he  seemed  to  dwell  with  great  pleasure  and  sell- 
complacency  ; — he  hoped,  he  said,  that  the  bridge 
might  be  preserved  lor  the  benefit  of  posterity,  and 
as  a  monument  of  the  gallantry  of  their  grand- 
fathers; an<l  even  hinted  at  the  expediency  of  erect- 
ing a  toll-gate  there,  to  collect  the  forfeits  of  the 
ladies,  but  the  most  flattering  testimony  of  appio- 
bation,  which  our  work  has  received,  was  hom  an 
old  lady,  who  never  laughed  but  once  in  her  life,  and 
that  was  at  the  conclusion  of  the  last  war.  S*e  was 
delected  by  friend  Anthony  in  the  very  fact  of  laugh- 
ing most  obstreperously  at  the  description  of  the 
little  dancing  Frenchman.  Now  it  glads  my  very 
heart  to  find  our  effusions  have  such  a  pleasing  ef- 
fect. I  venerate  the  aged,  and  joy  whenever  it  is  in 
my  power  to  scatter  a  few  flowers  in  their  path. 

The  young  people  were  particularly  interested  ia 
the  account  of  the  assembly.  There  was  some  difr 
ference  of  opinion  respecting  the  new  planet,  and 
the  bkwming  nymph  from  the  country ;  but  aa  U 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


f 


the  compliment  paid  to  the  fascinating  little  sylph 
who  danced  so  gracefully — every  lady  modestly  took 
that  to  herself. 

Evergreen  mentioned  also  that  the  young  ladies 
were  extremely  anxious  to  learn  the  true  mode  of 
managing  their  beaux;  and  Miss  Diana  Wear- 
WBLL,  who  is  as  chaste  as  an  icicle,  has  seen  a  few 
superfluous  winters  pass  over  her  head,  and  boasts 
of  having  slain  her  thousands,  wished  to  know  how 
old  maids  were  to  do  without  husbands ; — not  that 
she  was  very  curious  about  the  matter,  she  "  only 
asked  for  information."  Several  ladies  expressed 
their  earnest  desire  that  we  would  not  spare  those 
wooden  gentlemen  who  perform  the  parts  of  mutes, 
or  stalking  horses,  in  their  drawinyr-rooms ;  and 
their  mothers  were  equally  anxious  that  he  would 
show  no  quarter  to  those  lads  of  spirit,  who  now 
and  then  cut  their  bottles  to  enliven  a  tea-party  with 
the  humours  of  the  dinner-table. 

Will  Wizard  was  not  a  little  chagrined  at  having 
been  mistaken  for  a  gentleman,  "  who  is  no  more 
like  me,"  said  Wiy,  "  than  I  hke  Hercules."—"  I 
was  well  assured,"  continued  Will,  "that  as  our 
characters  were  drawn  from  nature,  the  originals 
would  be  found  in  evenr  society.  And  so  it  has  hap- 
pened— every  little  circle  has  its  'Sbidlikens ;  and  the 
cockney,  intentled  merely  as  the  representative  of 
his  species,  has  dwindled  into  an  insignificant  indi- 
vidual, who  having  recognised  his  own  likeness,  has 
foolishly  appropriated  to  himself  a  picture  for  which 
he  never  sat.  Such,  too,  has  been  the  case  with 
Ding-dong,  who  has  kindly  undertaken  to  ht  my 
representative; — not  that  I  care  much  about  the 
matter,  for  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  the  animal 
is  a  good  animal  enough ; — and  what  is  mor^,  a 
fiuhionable  animal — and  this  is  saying  more  than  to 
call  him  a  conjurer.     But,  I  am  much  mistaken  if 

he  can  claim  any  affinity  to  the  Wisard  family. 

Surely  every  body  knows  Ding-dong,  the  gentle 
DiL.^-dong,  who  pervades  all  space,  who  is  here  and 
there  and  every  where ;  no  tea-party  can  be  com- 
plete without  Ding-dong — and  his  appearance  is 
sure  to  occasion  a  smile.  Ding-dong  has  been  the 
occasion  of  much  wit  in  his  day  ;  I  have  even  seen 
many  whipsters  attempt  to  be  dull  at  his  expense, 
who  were  as  much  inferior  to  him  as  the  gad-fly  is 
to  the  ox  that  he  buzzes  alxiut  Does  any  witling 
want  to  distress  the  company  with  a  miserable  pun? 
nobody  s  name  presents  sooner  than  Ding-dong's ; 
and  it  has  been  played  upon  with  equal  skill  and 
equal  entertainment  to  the  by-standers  as  Trinity- 
bells.  Ding-dong  is  profoundly  devoted  to  the  ladies, 
and  highly  entitled  to  their  regard  ;  for  I  know  no  man 
who  makes  a  better  bow,  or  talks  less  to  the  purp<jse 
than  Ding-dong.  Ding-dong  has  acquired  a  pro- 
digious fund  of  knowledge  by  reading  Dilworth  when 
a  boy  ;  and  the  other  day,  on  being  asked  who  was 
the  author  of  Macbeth,  answered,  witliout  the  least 
hesitation — Shakspeare !  Ding-dong  has  a  quota- 
tion for  every  day  of  the  year,  and  every  hour  of  the 
day,  and  every  minute  of  the  hour;  but  he  often 
commits  petty  larcenies  on  the  poets — plucks  Uie 
pay  hairs  of  old  Chaucer's  head,  and  claps  them  on 
tne  chin  of  Pope ;  and  filches  Johnson's  wig,  to 
cover  the  bald  pate  of  Homer ; — but  his  blunders  pass 
andetected  by  one-half  of  his  hearers.  Ding-dong, 
it  is  true,  though  he  has  long  wrangled  at  our  bar, 
cannot  boast  much  of  his  legal  knowledge,  nor  does 
his  forensic  eloquence  entitle  him  to  rank  with  a 
Cicero  or  a  Demosthenes;  but  bating  his  profes- 
•ional  deficiencies,  he  is  a  man  of  most  delectable 
discourse,  and  can  hold  forth  for  an  hour  upon  the 
colour  of  a  riband  or  the  construction  of  a  work-bag. 
Ding-dong  is  now  in  his  fortieth  year,  or  perhaps  a 
Httk  more-  rivals  all  the  little  beaux  in  the  town,  in 


his  attentions  to  the  ladies — is  in  »  state  of  rspid 
improvement ;  and  there  is  no  doubt  but  that  by  the 
time  he  arrives  at  years  cf  discretion,  he  will  be  a 
very  accomplished,  agreeable  young  fellow."— I  ad- 
vise all  clever,  good-for-nothing,  "  learned  and  au- 
thentic gentlemen,"  to  take  care  how  they  wear  this 
cap,  however  well  it  fits ;  and  to  bear  in  mind,  that 
our  characters  are  not  individuals,  but  species:  if, 
after  this  warning,  any  person  chooses  to  represent 
Mr.  Ding-dong,  the  sin  is  at  his  own  door;— we 
wash  our  hands  of  it. 

We  all  sympathized  with  Wizard,  that  he  should 
be  mistaken  for  a  person  so  very  different ;  and  1 
hereby  assure  my  readers,  that  William  Wizard  is  no 
other  person  in  the  whole  world  but  William  Wizard ; 
so  I  beg  I  may  heat  no  more  conjectures  on  the  sub- 
ject. Will  is,  in  fact,  a  wiseacre  by  inheritance. 
The  Wizard  family  has  long  been  celebrated  for 
knowing  more  than  their  neighbours,  particularly 
concerning  their  neighbours'  affairs.  "They  were 
anciently  called  JOSSELIN ;  but  Will's  great  uncle, 
by  the  father's  side,  having  been  accidentally  burnt 
for  a  witch  in  Connecticut,  in  consequence  of  blow- 
ing up  his  own  house  in  a  philosophical  experiment, 
the  family,  in  order  to  perpetuate  the  recollection  of 
this  memorable  circumstance,  assumed  the  name  and 
arms  of  Wizard ;  and  have  borne  them  ever  since. 

In  the  course  of  my  customary  morning's  walk,  I 
stopped  in  a  book-store,  which  is  noted  for  being  the 
favourite  haunt  of  a  number  of  literati,  some  of  whom 
rank  high  in  the  opinion  of  the  world,  and  others 
rank  equally  high  in  their  own.  Here  1  found  k  knc; 
of  queei'  fellows  listening  to  one  of  their  company, 
who  was  reading  our  paper ;  I  particularly  noticed 
Mr.  Ichabod  Fungus  among  the  number. 

Fungus  is  one  of  those  fidgeting,  meddling  quid- 
nuncs, with  which  this  unhappy  city  is  pestered ;  one 
of  your  "  Q  in  a  comer  fellows,"  wno  speaks  vohmes 
with  a  wink ; — conveys  most  portentous  information, 
by  laying  his  finger  beside  his  nose, — and  is  always 
smelling  a  rat  in  the  most  trifling  occurrence.  He 
Ustened  to  our  work  with  the  most  frigid  gravity— 
every  now  and  then  gave  a  mysterious  shrug— a 
humph— or  a  screw  of  the  mouth;  and  .on  bt^ing 
asked  his  opinion  at  the  conclusion,  said,  he  did  not 
know  what  to  think  of  it ; — he  hoped  it  did  not  me.'in 
any  thing  against  the  government — that  no  lurking 
treason ,  was  couched  in  all  this  talk.  These  were 
dangerous  times — times  of  plot  and  conspiracy  ;  he 
did  not  at  all  like  those  stars  after  Mr.  Jefferson's 
name,  they  had  an  air  of  concealment.  DiCK  Pad- 
dle, who  was  one  of  the  group,  undertook  our  cause. 
Dick  is  known  to  the  world,  as  being  a  most  know- 
ing genius,  who  can  sef-  :»s  far  as  any  boily — into  ■\ 
millstone ;  maintains,  ii  le  teeth  of"^  all  argument, 
that  a  spade  is  a  spade  ;  and  will  labour  a  good  half 
hour  by  St.  Paul's  clock,  to  establish  a  self-evident 
fact.  Dick  assured  old  Fungus,  that  those  stars 
merely  stood  for  Mr.  Jefferson  s  red  what-ifye-call- 
'ems  :  and  that  so  far  from  a  conspiracy  against  their 
peace  and  prosperity,  the  authors,  whom  he  ki  ew 
very  well,  were  only  expressing  their  high  respect  f.^t 
them.  The  old  man  shook  his  head,  shrugged  tils 
shoulders,  gave  a  mysterious  Lord  Burleigh  nod,  said 
he  hoped  it  might  be  so ;  but  he  was  by  no  means 
satisfied  with  this  attack  upon  the  President's  breech- 
es, as  "  thereby  hangs  a  tale." 


MR-  WILSON'S  CONCERT. 
BY  ANTHONY  KVKRORUN,  OKNT. 


In  my  register  of  indisputable  facts  I  have  noted 
it  conspicuously  that  all  modem  music  is  but  the 


SALMAGUNDI. 


639 


mane  dregs  and  draining  of  the  ancient,  and  that  all 
the  ipirit  and  7i^  iur  oi  harmony  has  entirely  evapo- 
rated in  the  lapse  of  ages.  Oh  I  for  the  chant  of  the 
Naiades,  and  Dryades,  the  shell  of  the  Tritons,  and 
<he  sweet  warbUngs  of  the  Mermaids  of  ancient  days ! 
where  now  shall  we  seek  the  Amphion,  who  built 
walls  with  a  turn  of  his  hurdy-gurtly,  the  Orpheus 
«ho  m  tde  stones  to  whistle  about  his  ears,  and  trees 
hop  in  a  country  dance,  by  the  mere  quavering  of  his 
^ddle-stick  I  ah  !  had  I  the  power  of  the  former  how 
ioon  would  1  build  up  the  new  City-Hall,  and  save 
the  cash  and  credit  of  the  Corporation  ;  and  how 
Tiuch  sooner  would  I  build  myself  a  snug  house  in 
Broadway : — nor  would  it  be  the  first  time  a  house 
has  been  obtained  there  for  a  song.  In  my  opinion, 
the  Scotch  bag-pipe  is  the  only  instrument  that  rivals 
the  ancient  lyre;  and  I  am  surprised  it  should  be 
almost  the  only  one  entirely  excluded  from  our  con- 
certs. 

Talking  of  concerts  reminds  me  of  that  given  a  few 
nights  since  by  Mr.  Wilson;  at  which  I  had  the 
misfortune  of  being  present.  It  was  attended  by  a 
numerous  company,  and  gave  great  satisfaction,  if  1 
may  be  allowed  to  judge  from  the  frequent  gapings 
of  the  audience ;  though  I  will  not  risk  my  credit  as 
a  connoisseur,  by  saying  whether  they  proceeded 
from  wonder  or  a  violent  mclination  to  aoze.  I  was 
delighted  to  find  in  the  mazes  of  the  crowd,  my  par- 
ticular friend  Sniveks,  who  had  put  on  his  cognos- 
centi phiz — he  being,  according  to  his  own  account, 
a  profound  adept  in  the  science  of  music.  He  can 
tell  a  crochet  at  first  sight ;  and,  like  a  true  English- 
man, is  delighted  with  the  plum-pudding  rotundity 
of  a  semibref;  and,  in  short,  boasts  of  having  incon- 
tinently climbed  up  Patf's  musical  tree,  which  hangs 
every  day  upon  the  poplar,  from  the  fundamental 
concord,  to  the  fundamental  major  discord ;  and  so 
on  from  branch  to  branch,  until  he  reached  the  very 
lop,  where  he  sung  "  Rule  Britannia,"  clapi)ed  his 
■vings,  and  then — came  down  again.  Like  all  true 
•rans-atlantic  judges,  he  suffers  most  horribly  at  our 
musical  entertainments,  and  assures  me,  that  what 
with  the  confounded  scraping,  and  scratching,  and 
grating  of  our  tiddlers,  he  thinks  the  sitting  out  one 
of  our  concerts  tantamount  to  the  punishment  of  that 
unfortunate  saint,  who  was  frittered  in  two  with  a 
hand-saw. 

The  concert  was  given  in  the  tea-room,  at  the 
City-Hotel ;  an  apartment  admirably  c.ilculated,  by 
its  dingy  walls,  l)eautifully  mari)led  with  smoke,  to 
show  on  the  dresses  and  complexions  of  the  ladies  ; 
and  by  the  flatness  of  its  ceiling  to  repress  those  im- 
pertinent reverberations  of  the  music,  which,  what- 
ever others  may  foolishly  assert,  are,  as  Snivers  s-iys, 
"no  better  than  rept-titions  ot  old  stories." 

Mr.  Wilson  gave  me  infinite  satisfaction  by  the 
gentility  of  his  demeanour,  and  the  roguish  looks  he 
now  and  then  cast  at  the  ladies,  but  we  fear  his  ex- 
cessive modesty  threw  him  into  some  little  confusion, 
for  he  absolutely  forgot  himself,  and  in  the  whole 
course  of  his  estrances,  and  exits,  never  once  made 
his  tK>w  to  the  audience.  On  the  whole,  however,  I 
think  he  has  a  fine  voice,  sings  with  gre.at  taste,  and 
a  a  very  modest,  good-looking  little  man  ;  but  I  beg 
leave  to  repc-it  the  advice  so  often  given  by  the  il- 
lustrious tenants  of  the  theatrical  sky-parlour,  to  the 
gentlemen  who  are  charged  with  the  "  nice  conduct " 
ot  chairs  and  tables — "  make  a  bow,  Johnny — Johnny, 
make  a  bow !  " 

I  cannot,  on  this  occasion,  but  express  my  surprise 
that  certain  amateurs  should  be  so  frequently  at  con- 
certs, considering  what  agonies  they  suffer  while  a 
piece  of  music  is  playing.  I  defy  any  man  of  com- 
mon humanity,  and  who  has  not  the  heart  of  a  Choc- 
taw, to  contemolate  the  countenance  of  one  of  these 


unhappy  victims  of  a  fiddle-stick  wi.hoit  feeling  a 
sentiment  of  compassion.  His  whoie  visage  is  dis- 
torted ;  he  rolls  up  his  eyes,  as  M 'Sycophant  .says, 
"  like  a  duck  in  tnunder,"  and  the  music  seems  to 
operate  upon  him  like  a  fit  of  the  cholic :  his  vet^' 
bowels  seem  to  sympathize  at  every  twang  ot  the 
cat-gut,  as  if  he  heard  at  that  moment  the  wailing* 
of  the  helpless  animal  that  had  been  sacrificed  U 
harmony.  Nor  does  the  hero  of  the  orchestra  seen 
less  affected :  as  soon  as  the  signal  is  given,  he  seize* 
his  fiddle-ftick,  makes  a  most  horrible  grimace, 
scowls  fie:  cely  upon  his  music-book,  as  though  he 
would  grin  everj-  crotchet  and  quaver  out  of  counte 
nance.  I  have  sometim'»  particularly  noticed  a 
hungry-looking  G.iul,  who  torments  a  huge  bass-viol, 
and  who  is,  doul)tless,  the  original  of  the  liimouf 
"  Raw-head-and-bloody-bones,"  so  potent  in  fright 
ening  naughty  children. 

The  person  who  played  the  Frjnch-hom  was  very 
excellent  in  his  way,  but  Snivers  could  not  relish  his 
performance,  having  sometime  since  heard  a  gentle- 
man amateur  in  Gotham  play  a  solo  on  his  proboscis, 
in  a  style  infinitely  superior; — Snout,  the  bellows- 
mender,  never  turned  his  wind  instrument  more  mu- 
sically ;  nor  did  the  celebrated  "  knight  of  the  burning 
lamp,'  ever  yield  more  exquisite  entertainment  with 
his  nose  ;  this  gentleman  had  latterly  ceased  to  ex- 
hibit this  prodigious  accomplishment,  having,  it  was 
whispered,  hired  out  his  snout  to  a  ferryman,  who 
had  lost  his  conch-shell ; — the  consequence  was  that 
he  did  not  show  his  nose  in  company  so  frequently 
as  before. 


Sitting  late  the  other  evening  in  my  elbow-chair, 
indulging  in  that  kind  of  indolent  meditation,  which 
I  consider  the  perfection  of  human  bliss,  I  was  roused 
from  my  reverie  by  the  entrance  of  an  old  servant  in 
the  Cockloft  livery,  who  handed  me  a  letter,  con- 
taining the  following  address  from  my  cousin  and 
old  college  chum,  Pindar  Cockloft. 

Honest  ANDREW,  as  he  delivered  it,  informed  me 
that  his  master,  who  resides  a  little  way  from  town, 
on  reading  a  small  jiamphlet  in  a  neat  yellow  cover, 
rubbed  his  hands  with  symptoms  of  great  satisfac- 
tion, called  for  his  favourite  Chinese  inkstand,  with 
two  sprawling  Mandarines  for  its  supporters,  and 
wrote  the  letter  which  he  had  the  honour  to  present 
me. 

As  I  foresee  my  cousin  will  one  day  become  a 
great  favourite  with  the  public,  and  as  1  know  him 
to  be  somewhat  punctilious  as  it  respects  etiquette, 
I  shall  take  this  opportunity  to  gratify  the  old  gen- 
tleman by  giving  him  a  proper  introduction  to  the 
fashionable  world.  The  Cockloft  family,  to  which  I 
have  the  comfort  of  being  related,  has  been  fruitful 
in  old  bachelors  and  humourists,  as  will  be  perceived 
when  I  come  to  treat  more  of  its  history.  My  cousin 
Pindar  is  one  of  its  most  conspicuous  members — he 
is  now  in  his  fifty-eighth  year — is  a  bachelor,  partly 
through  choice,  and  partly  through,  chance,  and  an 
oddity  of  the  first  water.  Half  his  lif(*  has  been  em- 
ployed in  writing  odes,  sonnets,  epigrams,  and  elegies, 
which  he  seldom  shows  to  any  body  but  myself  after 
they  are  written ;  and  all  the  old  chests,  drawers,  and 
chair-bottoms  in  the  house,  teem  with  his  productions. 

In  his  younger  days  he  figured  as  a  dashing  blade 
in  the  great  world ;  and  no  young  fellow  of  the  town 
wore  a  longer  pig-tail,  or  carried  more  buckram  in 
his  skirts.  From  sixteen  to  thirty  he  was  continually 
in  love,  and  during  that  period,  to  use  his  own  words, 
he  be-scnbbled  more  paper  than  would  serve  th( 
theatre  for  snow-storms  a  whole  season.  The  even- 
ing of  his  thirtieth  birthday,  as  he  sat  by  the  fire- 
side, as  much  in  love  as  ever  was  man  in  this  world 


040 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


and  writing  tne  name  of  his  mistress  in  the  ashes, 
with  an  old  tongs  that  had  lost  one  of  its  legs,  he 
was  seized  with  a  whim-wham  that  he  was  an  old 
fool  to  be  in  love  at  his  time  of  life.  It  was  ever  one 
of  the  Cockloft  characterist i  :s  to  strike  to  whim ; 
and  had  Pindar  stood  out  on  this  occasion  he  would 
lave  brought  the  reputation  of  his  mother  in  ques- 
tion. From  that  time  he  gave  up  all  particular  at- 
tentions to  the  ladies  ;  and  though  he  still  loves  their 
company,  he  has  never  been  known  to  exceed  the 
bounds  of  common  courtesy  in  his  intercourse  with 
them.  He  was  the  life  and  ornament  of  our  family 
circle  in  town,  until  the  epoch  of  the  French  revolu- 
tion, which  sent  so  many  unfortunate  dancing-mas- 
ters from  their  country  to  polish  and  enlighten  our 
hemisphere.  This  was  a  sad  time  for  Pindar,  who 
had  taken  a  genuine  Cockloft  prejudice  against  every 
thing  French,  ever  since  he  was  brought  to  death's 
door  by  a  ragout :  he  groaned  at  Ca  Ira,  and  the 
Marseilles  Hymn  had  much  the  same  effect  upon 
him  that  sharpening  a  knife  on  a  dry  whetstone  has 
upon  some  people ; — it  set  his  teeth  chattering.  He 
mieht  in  time  have  been  reconciled  to  these  rubs, 
had  not  the  introduction  of  French  cockades  on  the 
hats  of  our  citizens  absolutely  thrown  him  into  a 
fever.  The  first  time  he  saw  an  instance  of  this 
kind,  he  came  home  with  great  precipitation,  packed 
up  his  trunk,  his  old-fashioned  writing-desk,  and  his 
Chinese  ink-stand,  and  made  a  kind  of  growling  re- 
treat to  Cockloft-Hall,  where  he  has  resided  ever 
since. 

My  cousin  Pindar  is  of  a  mercurial  disposition, — >a 
humourist  without  ill-nature — he  is  of  the  true  gun- 
powder temper ; — one  flash  and  all  is  over.  It  is 
true  when  the  wind  is  easterly,  or  the  gout  gives  him 
a  gentle  twinge,  or  he  hears  of  any  new  successes  of 
'i.e  French,  he  will  become  a  little  splenetic ;  and 
btaven  help  the  man,  and  more  particularly  the 
iroman  that  crosses  his  humour  at  that  moment ; — 
ihe  is  sure  to  receive  no  quarter.  These  are  the 
most  sublime  moments  of  Pindar.  I  swear  to  you, 
dear  ladies  and  gentlemen,  1  would  not  lose  one  of 
these  splenetic  bursts  for  the  best  wig  in  my  ward- 
robe; even  though  it  were  proved  to  be  the  identical 
wig  worn  b>  the  sage  Linkum  Fidelius,  when  he 
demonstrated  before  the  whole  university  of  Leyden, 
that  it  was  possit>le  to  make  bricks  without  straw. 
I  have  seeii  the  old  gentleman  blaze  forth  such  a 
volcanic  explosion  of  wit,  ridicule,  and  satire,  that  I 
was  almost  tempted  to  believe  him  inspired.  Hut 
these  sallies  only  lasted  for  a  moment,  and  passed 
like  summer  clouds  over  the  benevolent  sunshme 
which  ever  warmed  his  heart  and  lighted  up  his 
countenance. 

Time,  though  it  has  den  It  roughly  with  his  person, 
has  passed  lightly  over  the  graces  of  his  mind,  and 
left  him  in  full  possession  of  all  the  sensibilities  of 
youth.  His  eye  kindles  at  the  relation  of  a  noble  and 
generous  action,  his  heart  melts  at  the  story  of  dis- 
tress, and  he  is  still  a  warm  admirer  of  the  fair. 
Like  all  old  baqhelors,  however,  he  looks  back  with 
a  fori  and  lingering  eye  on  the  period  of  his  boy- 
hood ;  and  would  sooner  suffer  the  pangs  of  matri- 
Oiony  than  acknowledge  that  the  world,  or  any  thing 
in  it,  is  half  so  clever  as  it  was  in  those  good  old 
tin  »  that  are  "gone  by." 

I  t>elieve  I  have  already  mentioned,  that  with  all 
his  good  qualities  he  is  a  humourist,  and  a  humour- 
ist of  the  highest  order.  He  has  some  of  the  most 
intolerable  whim-whams  I  ever  met  with  in  my  life, 
and  his  oddities  are  sufficient  to  eke  out  a  hundred 
tolerable  originals.  But  I  will  not  enlarge  on  them — 
enough  has  been  told  to  excite  a  desire  to  know 
more  ;  and  I  am  much  mistaken,  if  in  the  course  of 
half  a  dozen  of  oui  numbers,  he  don't  tickle,  olague. 


please,  and  perplex  the  who.e  town,  and  completetj 
establish  his  claim  to  the  laureateship  he  has  solicii. 
ed,  and  with  which  we  hereby  invest  him,  recom- 
mending him  and  his  eflusions  to  public  reverenc« 
and  respect. 

LAUNCELOT  LANOSTArr. 


TO  LAUNCELQT  LANGSTAFF,  ESQ. 

Dkar  Launcb, 

Ai  I  find  you  :.ave  taken  the  quill. 
To  put  our  gay  town,  and  its  fair  under  drill, 
I  offer  my  hopes  for  success  to  your  cause, 
And  send  you  unvarnlsh'd  ray  mite  of  applause. 

Ah,  Launce,  this  poor  town  has  been  wofully  fash'd; 
Has  long  t>een  be  -  Frenchman 'd,  be- cockney 'd,  be 

trash 'd; 
And  Our  ladies  be-devil'd,  bewilder'd  astray. 
From  the  rules  of  their  grandames  have  wander'd  away 
No  longer  that  modest  demeanour  we  meet. 
Which  whilom  the  eyes  of  our  fathers  did  greet; — 
No  longer  be-mobbled,  t>e-ruffled,  be-qulll\l, 
Be-powder'd,  bc-honded,  be-patch'd,  and  l>e-fril1'd,— 
No  longer  our  fair  ones  their  grograms  display. 
And  stiff  in  brocade,  strut  "  like  castles  "  away. 

Oh,  how  fondly  my  soul  forms  departed  have  trared. 
When  our  ladies  in  stays,  and  in  boddice  well  laced, 
When  bishop'd,  and  cushion'd,  and  hoop'd  to  the  chin, 
Well  callash'd  without,  and  well  bolster'd  within; 
All  cased  in  their  buckrams,  from  crown  down  to  tail, 
Like  O'Brallagan's  mistress,  were  shaped  like  a  pail. 

Well — peace  to  those  fashions — the  joy  of  our  eye*-~ 
Tempora  mutantur, — new  follies  will  rise; 
Yet,  "  like  joys  that  are  past,"  they  still  crowd  on  thi 

mind. 
In  moments  of  thought,  as  the  soul  looks  behind 

Sweet  days  of  our  boyhood,  gone  by,  my  dear  Launce 
Like  the  shadows  of  night,  or  the  forms  in  a  trance; 
Yet  oft  we  retrace  those  bright  visions  again, 
Nos  mutamur,  'tis  true — but  those  visions  remain. 
I  recall  with  delight,  how  my  Iwiiom  would  creep, 
When  some  delicate  foot  from  its  chamber  would  peep 
And  when  I  a  neat  stocking'd  ankle  could  spy, 
— Ky  the  sages  of  old,  I  was  rapt  to  the  sky! 
All  then  was  retiring — was  modest — discreet; 
The  beauties,  all  shrouded,  were  left  to  conceit; 
To  the  visions  which  fancy  would  form  in  her  eye, 
Of  graces  that  snug  in  soft  ambush  would  lie; 
And  the  heart,  like  the  poets,  in  thought  would  pursue 
The  clysium  of  bliss,  which  was  veil'd  from  its  view. 

We  are  old-fashion'd  fellows,  our  nieces  will  say: 
Old-fashinn'd,  indeed,  coz — and  swear  it  they  may — 
For  1  freely  confess  that  it  yielas  me  no  pride, 
To  see  them  all  blaze  what  their  mothers  would  hide 
To  see  them,  all  shivering,  some  cold  winter's  day, 
So  lavish  their  beauties  and  graces  display. 
And  give  to  each  fopling  that  offers  his  hand, 
Like  Moses  from  Pisgah — a  peep  at  the  land. 

But  a  truce  with  complaining — the  object  in  Tiew 
Is  to  offer  my  help  in  tlie  work  you  pursue; 
And  as  your  effusions  and  labours  sublime. 
May  need,  now  and  then,  a  few  touches  of  rbjme, 
I  humbly  solicit,  as  cousin  and  friend, 
A  quiddity,  quirk,  or  remonstrance  to  send: 
Or  should  you  a  laureate  want  in  your  plan. 
By  the  mu^  of  my  grandmother,  I  am  yonr  man) 
You  must  know  I  have  got  a  poetical  mill. 
Which  with  odd  lines,  and  couplets,  and  triplets  I  flSI 
And  a  poem  I  grind,  as  from  rags  white  and  blue 
The  paper-mill  yields  you  a  sheet  fair  and  new. 
I  can  grind  down  an  ode,  or  an  epic  that's  long, 
Into  sonnet,  acrostic,  conundrum,  or  song: 
As  to  dull  hudibrastlc,  so  boasted  of  late. 
The  doggerel  discharge  of  some  muddled  brain'd  paia 
I  can  grind  it  by  wholesale — and  give  it  its  point. 
With  billingsgate  dish'd  up  in  rhymes  out  of  joint 


SALMAGUNDI. 


641 


n».  and  completeti 
"hip  he  has  sohcu: 

""♦.him.  recom. 
'  public  reverenw 


1  hMf  read  all  the  poeta — and  got  them  by  heart. 
Can  ilit  them,  and  twiat  them,  and  take  them  apart; 
Can  cook  up  an  ode  out  of  patches  and  shreds, 
To  muddle  my  readers,  and  bother  their  heads. 
Old  Homer,  and  Virgil,  and  Ovid  I  scan, 
Anacreon,  and  Sappho,  who  changed  to  a  swan; — 
Iambics  and  sappliics  I  grind  at  my  will, 
And  with  ditties  of  love  every  noddle  can  fill. 

Oh,  'twould  do  your  heart  good,  Launce,  to  see  my 
mill  grind 
Old  stuff  into  verses,  and  poems  refin'd; — 
Dan  Spencer,  Dan  Chaucer,  those  poets  of  old, 
Though  cover'd  with  dust,  are  yet  true  sterling  gold; 
I  can  grind  off  their  tarnish,  and  bring  them  to  view. 
New  modell'd,  new  mill'd,  and  improved  in  their  hue. 

But  I  promise  no  more — only  give  me  the  place. 
And  I'll  warrant  I'll  fill  it  with  credit  and  grace; 
By  the  living!  I'll  figure  and  cut  you  a  dash 
—As  bold  as  Will  Wisard,  or  'Sbidlikkns-flash! 

PiNDAK  CocKLorr. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


Perhaps  the  most  fruitful  source  ofmortification  to 
a  menv  writer  who,  for  the  amusement  of  himself  and 
the  puDlic,  employs  his  leisure  in  sketching  odd  char- 
acters from  imagination,  is,  that  he  cannot  flourish 
his  pen,  but  every  Jack-pudding  ima^rines  it  is  pointed 
directly  at  himself : — he  cannot,  in  his  gambols,  throw 
a  fool's  cap  among  the  crowd,  but  every  queer  fellow 
iasists<|ipon  putting  it  on  his  own  head ;  or  chalk  an 
outlandish  (igure,  but  every  outlandish  genius  is 
eager  to  write  his  own  name  under  it.  However  we 
naay  be  mortifit-d,  that  these  men  should  each  indi- 
vidually think  himself  of  sufficient  consequence  to  en- 
gage our  attention,  we  should  not  care  a  rush  about 
it,  if  they  did  not  get  into  a  passion  and  complain  of 
having  been  ill-used. 

It  is  not  in  our  hearts  to  hurt  the  feelings  of  one 
sinele  mortal,  by  holding  him  up  to  public  ridicule  ; 
and  if  it  were,  we  lay  it  down  as  one  of  our  indispu- 
table facts,  that  no  man  can  be  made  ridiculous  but  by 
his  own  folly.  As,  however,  we  are  aware  that  when 
a  man  by  chance  gets  a  thwack  in  the  crowd,  he  is 
apt  to  suppose  the  blow  was  intended  exclusively  for 
himself,  and  so  fall  into  unreasonable  anger,  we 
have  determined  to  let  these  crusty  gentry  know 
what  kind  of  satisfaction  they  are  to  expect  from  us. 
We  are  resolved  not  to  fight,  for  three  special  rea- 
sons ;  first,  because  fighting  is  at  all  events  extreme- 
ly troublesome  and  inconvenient,  particularly  at  this 
season  of  the  year  ;  second,  because  if  either  of  us 
should  happen  to  be  killed,  it  would  be  a  great  loss 
to  the  public,  and  rob  them  of  many  a  good  laugh 
we  have  in  store  for  their  amusement ;  and  third,  1^ 
cause  if  we  should  chance  to  kill  our  adversary, 
as  is  most  likely,  for  we  can  every  one  of  us  split 
balls  upon  razors  and  snufT  candles,  it  would  be  a 
loss  to  our  publisher,  by  depriving  him  of  a  good 
customer.  If  any  gentleman  casuist  will  give  three 
U  good  reasons  for  fighting,  we  promise  him  a  com- 
plete set  of  Salmagundi  for  nothmg. 

But  though  we  do  not  fight  in  our  own  proper 
persons,  let  it  not  be  supposed  that  we  will  not  give 
ample  sat'.sfsiction  to  all  those  who  may  choose  to 
demand  it — for  this  would  be  a  mistake  of  the  first 
anagnitude,  and  lead  very  valiant  gentlemen  perhaps 
'nto  what  is  called  a  quandary.  It  would  be  a  thou- 
sand and  one  pities,  that  any  honest  man,  after  tak- 
ing to  himself  the  cap  and  bells  which  we  merely 
offered  to  his  acceptance,  should  not  have  the  privi- 
lege of  being  cudgeled  into  the  bar^in.  We  pride 
ouiselves  upon  giving  satisfaction  in  every  deoart- 


ment  of  our  paper ;  and  to  fill  that  of  fisfctins  aave 
engaged  two  of  those  strapping  heroes  otthe  theatre, 
who  ngure  in  the  retinues  of  our  ginger-bread  kings 
and  queens;  now  hurry  an  old  stuff  petticoat  on 
their  backs,  and  strut  senators  of  Rome,  or  aldermen 
of  London  ; — and  now  be-whisker  their  muflin  faces 
with  burnt  cork,  and  swagger  rieht  valiant  warriors, 
armed  cap-a-pie,  in  buckram.  Should,  therefore,  anv 
great  little  man  about  town,  take  offence  at  our  gooo- 
natured  villainy,  t>.ough  we  intend  to  ofTend  nobod) 
under  heaven,  he  will  please  to  apply  at  anv  hour 
after  twelve  o'clocx,  as  our  champions  will  then  be 
off  duty  at  the  theatre  and  ready  for  any  thine.  They 
have  promised  to  fight  "  with  or  without  bails," — to 

five  two  tweaks  of  the  nose  for  one — to  submit  to  be 
icked,  and  to  cudgel  their  applicant  most  heartily  in 
return ;  this  being  what  we  tmderstand  by  "  the  sat- 
isfiKtion  of  a  gentleman." 


No.  III.— FRIDAY,  FEBRUARY  13,  1807 


rROM  MY  KLBOW-CHAIR. 


As  I  delight  in  every  thing  novel  and  eccentric, 
and  would  at  any  time  give  an  old  coat  for  a  new 
idea,  I  am  particularly  attentive  to  the  manners 
and  conversation  of  strangers,  and  scarcely  ever  a 
traveller  enters  this  city,  whose  appearance  prom- 
ises any  thing  original,  but  by  some  means  or  an- 
other I  form  an  acquaintance  with  him.  I  must  con- 
fess I  often  sufTer  manifold  afflictions  from  the  inti- 
macies thus  contracted :  my  curiosity  is  frequentl) 
punished  by  the  stupid  details  of  a  blockhead,  or  tht 
shallow  verbosity  of  a  coxcomb.  Now  I  would  pre- 
fer at  any  time  to  travel  with  an  ox-team  through  a 
Carolina  sand-flat  rather  than  plod  through  a  heavy 
unmeaning  conversation  with  trie  former ;  and  as  to 
the  latter,  I  would  sooner  hold  sweet  converse  with 
the  wheel  of  a  knife  grinder  than  endure  his  monot- 
onous chattering.  In  fact,  the  strangers  who  flock 
to  this  most  pleasant  of  all  earthly  cities,  are  gener- 
ally mere  birds  of  passage  whose  plumage  is  often 
gay  enough,  1  own,  but  their  notes,  "  he.iven  save 
the  mark, '  are  as  unmusical  as  those  of  that  classic 
night  bird,  which  the  ancients  humourously  selected 
as  the  emblem  of  wisdom.  Those  from  the  south,  it 
is  true,  entertain  me  with  their  horses,  equipages, 
and  puns :  and  it  is  excessively  pleasant  to  hear  a 
couple  of  these  Awr  in  Aanti  gentlemen  detail  their 
exploits  over  a  bottle.  Those  from  the  east  have 
often  induced  me  to  doubt  the  existence  of  the  wise 
men  of  yore,  who  are  said  to  have  flourished  in  that 
quarter  ;  and  as  for  those  from  parts  beyond  seas — 
oh  I  my  masters,  ye  shall  hear  more  from  me  anon. 
Heaven  help  this  unhappy  town  ! — hath  it  not  gos- 
lings enow  of  its  own  hatching  and  rearing,  that  it 
must  be  overwhelmed  by  such  an  inundation  of  gan- 
ders from  other  climes  ?  1  would  not  have  any  of  mj 
courteous  and  gentle  readers  suppose  that  I  am  run- 
ning a  muck,  full  tilt,  cut  and  slash  upon  all  foreign- 
ers indiscriminately.  I  have  no  national  antipa- 
thies, though  related  to  the  Cockloft  family.  Aa 
to  honest  John  Bull,  I  shake  him  heartily  by  th« 
hand,  assuring  him  that  I  love  his  jolly  countenance, 
and  moreover  am  lineally  descended  from  him ;  in 
proof  of  which  I  allege  my  invincible  piedilection 
for  roast  beef  and  pudding.  I  therefore  look  upon 
all  his  children  as  my  kinsmen ;  and  I  b^  when  I 
tickle  a  cockney  I  may  not  be  understoodas  trim- 
ming an  Englishman ;  they  being  very  distuict  ani 
mals,  as  I  shall  clearly  demonstrate  in  a  future  mun 


042 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


ber.  If  any  one  wbhes  to  know  my  opinion  of  the 
Irish  and  Scotch,  he  may  find  it  in  the  chararters  of 
those  two  nations,  drawn  by  the  first  advocate  of  the 
age.  But  the  French,  I  must  confess,  are  my  fa- 
vourites ;  and  I  have  taken  more  pains  to  argue  my 
cousin  Pindar  out  of  his  antipathy  to  them,  than  I 
ever  did  about  any  other  thing.  When,  therefore, 
I  choose  to  hunt  a  Monsieur  for  my  own  particular 
amusement,  I  beg  it  may  not  be  asserted  that  I  in- 
tend him  as  a  representative  of  his  countrymen  at 
lAige.  Far  from  this — I  love  the  nation,  as  being 
I  nation  of  right  merry  fellows,  possessing  the  true 
jtcret  of  being  happy ;  which  is  nothing  more  than 
thinking  of  nothing,  talking  about  any  thing,  and 
laughing  at  every  thing.  I  mean  only  to  tune  up 
those  little  thing-o-mys,  who  represent  nobody  but 
themselves ;  who  have  no  national  trait  about  them 
but  their  language,  and  who  hop  about  our  town  in 
swarms  like  little  toads  after  a  shower. 

Ajnong  the  few  strangers  whose  acquaintance 
has  entertained  me,  I  particulariy  rank  the  mag- 
nanimous MusTAPHA  Kub-a-di;b  Kkli  Khan, 
•  most  illustrious  captain  of  a  ketch,  who  figured 
some  time  since,  in  our  fashionable  circles,  at  the 
head  of  a  ragged  regiment  of  Tripolitan  prisoners. 
His  conversation  was  to  me  a  perpetual  feast ; — I 
chuckled  with  inward  pleasure  at  his  whimsical  mis- 
takes and  unaffected  observations  on  men  and  man- 
ners ;  and  I  rolled  each  odd  conceit  "  like  a  sweet 
morsel  under  my  tongue." 

Whether  Mustaplu  was  captivated  by  my  iron- 
bound  physiognomy,  or  flattered  by  the  attentions 
which  I  paid  him.  I  won't  determine ;  but  1  so  far 
gained  his  confidence,  that,  at  his  departure,  he  pre- 
sented me  with  a  bundle  of  papers,  containing, 
among  other  articles,  several  copies  of  letters, 
which  he  had  written  to  his  friends  at  Tripoli. — The 
following  is  a  translation  of  one  of  them. — The  orig- 
inal is  in  Arabic-Greek ;  but  by  the  assistance  of 
Will  Wizard,  who  understands  all  languages,  not 
accepting  that  manufactured  by  Psalmanazar,  I 
have  been  enabled  to  accomplish  a  tolerable  transla- 
lion.  We  should  have  found  little  difficulty  in  ren- 
dering it  into  English,  had  it  not  been  for  Mustapha's 
confounded  pot-hooks  and  trammels. 


LETTER    FROM    MUSTAPHA 
KELl  KHAN, 


RUB-A-DUB 


CaPTAIN  op  .'.  A.KTCH,  TO  ASKH  HACCHBM,  PRIN- 
CIPAL SLAVE-DRIVER  TO  HIS  HIGHNESS  THE 
BASHAW  OP  TRIPOLI. 


Thou  wilt  learn  from  this  letter,  most  illustrious 
disciple  of  Mahomet,  that  I  have  for  some  time  re- 
sided in  New- York ;  the  most  polished,  vast,  and 
magnificent  city  of  the  United  States  of  America. 
But  what  to  me  are  its  delights !  I  wander  a  captive 
through  its  splendid  streets.  I  turn  a  heavj'  eye  on 
every  rising  day  that  beholds  me  banished  from  my 
country.  The  Christian  husbands  here  lament 
most  bitterly  any  short  absence  from  home,  though 
Ihey  leave  but  one  wife  behind  to  lament  their  de- 
{Mrture ; — what  then  must  be  the  feelings  of  thy 
unhappy  kinsman,  while  thus  lingering  at  an  im- 
measurable distance  from  three-and-twenty  of  the 
most  lovely  and  obedient  wives  in  all  Tripoli !  Oh, 
Allah  !  shall  thy  servant  never  again  return  to  his 
nadtie  land,  nor  behold  his  beloved  wives,  who  beam 
on  hia  memory  beautiful  as  the  rosy  mom  of  the  east, 
and  graceful  as  Mahomet's  camel  * 


Yet  beautiful,  oh,  most  puissant  slave-driwr,  ?j 
are  my  wives,  they  are  far  exceeded  by  the  wonier 
of  this  country.  Even  those  who  run  about  tlu 
streets  with  bare  arms  and  necks,  (tt  cetera)  whosr 
habiliments  are  too  scanty  to  protect  them  i-ithei 
from  the  inclemency  of  the  season,  or  the  scrutmu- 
ing  glances  of  the  curious,  and  who  it  would  si  t m 
belong  to  nobody,  are  lovely  as  the  houris  that  peupir 
the  elysium  of  true  believers.  If.  then,  such  a.s  i<ir 
wild  in  the  highways,  and  whom  no  one  cares  w  ,i|> 
propriate,  are  thus  beauteous;  what  must  be  thr 
charms  of  those  who  are  shut  up  in  the  ser.ii;iius 
and  never  permitted  to  go  abroad  I  surely  the  rtj;u)n 
of  beauty,  the  valley  of  the  graces,  can  contain  nuih 
ing  so  inimitably  fair  ! 

But,  notwithstanding  the  charms  of  these  inti(!el 
women,  they  are  apt  to  have  one  fault,  whith  is 
extremely  troublesome  and  inconvenient.  Wouldst 
thou  believe  it,  Asem,  I  have  been  positively  as 
sured  by  a  famous  dervise,  or  doctor  as  he  is  ht- re 
called,  that  at  least  one-fifth  part  of  them — have 
souls !  incredible  as  it  may  seem  to  thee,  I  am  the 
more  inclined  to  believe  them  in  possession  of  this 
monstrous  superfluity,  from  my  own  little  experi- 
ence, and  from  the  information  which  1  have  de- 
rived from  others.  In  walking  the  streets  1  have 
actually  seen  an  exceeding  good-looking  woman 
with  soul  enough  to  box  her  husband's  ears  to  his 
heart's  content,  and  my  very  whiskers  trembled 
with  indignation  at  the  abject  state  of  these  wretch- 
ed infideb.  I  am  told,  moreover,  that  some  of  the 
women  have  soul  enough  to  usurp  the  breeches  ot 
the  men,  but  these  I  suppose  are  married  and  kept 
close :  for  I  have  not,  in  my  rambles,  met  with  ant 
so  extravagantly  accoutred  ;  others,  I  am  informed, 
have  soul  enough  to  swear! — yea!  b>  the  bear; 
of  the  great  Omar,  who  prayed  tnree  times  to  ea.i 
of  the  one  hundred  and  twenty-four  thousand  proph 
ets  of  our  most  boly  faith,  and  who  never  swort 
but  once  in  his  life — they  actually  swear ! 

Get  thee  to  the  mosque,  good  Asem !  return  thanks 
to  our  most  holy  prophet  that  he  has  been  thus  mind- 
ful of  the  comfort  of  all  true  Mussulmen,  and  has 
given  them  wives  with  no  more  souls  than  cats  and 
dogs  and  other  necessary  animals  of  the  household. 

'Thou  wilt  doubtless  be  anxious  to  learn  our  recep- 
tion in  this  country,  and  how  we  were  treated  by  a 
people  whom  we  have  been  accustomed  to  consider 
as  unenlightened  barbarians. 

On  landing,  we  were  waited  upon  to  our  lodginf^s, 
I  suppose  according  to  the  directions  of  the  muni- 
cipality, by  a  vast  and  respectable  escort  of  boys  and 
negroes;  who  shouted  and  threw  up  their  hais, 
doubtless  to  do  honour  to  the  magnanimous  Mus- 
tapha,  captain  of  a  ketch  ;  they  were  somewhat  rag- 
ged and  dirty  in  their  equipments,  but  this  we  at- 
tributed to  their  republican  simplicity.  One  ol  them, 
in  the  zeal  of  admiration,  threw  an  old  shoe,  which 
gave  thy  friend  rather  an  ungentle  salutation  on  one 
side  of  the  hea<l,  whereat  I  was  not  a  little  otfeiukd, 
until  the  interpreter  ;:..brmed  us  that  this  was  the 
customary  manner  in  which  great  men  were  hon- 
oured in  this  country;  and  that  the  moio  distin- 
guished they  were,  the  more  they  were  subjected  !<■ 
the  attacks  and  peltings  of  the  mob.  Upon  this  I 
bowed  my  head  three  times,  with  my  har-'s  *o  my 
turban,  and  made  a  speech  in  Arabic  <i reek,  which 
gave  great  satisfaction  and  occasioned  a  shower  of 
old  shoes,  hats,  and  so  forth,  that  was  exceedingly 
refreshing  to  us  all. 

Thou  wilt  not  as  yet  expect  that  I  should  give  thee 
an  account  of  the  laws  and  politics  of  this  country 
I  will  reserve  them  for  some  future  letter  when  I 
shall  be  more  experienced  in  their  complicated  aoA 
leeminfrlv  contradictorv  natii** 


SALMAGUNDI. 


648 


This  empire  is  governed  bv  a  ^nd  and  most  pu- 
tssant  bashaw,  whom  they  aignify  with  the  title  of 
president.  He  is  chosen  liy  persons  who  are  chosen 
by  an  assembly  elected  by  the  people— hence  the 
mob  is  called  the  soverei^rn  neople ;  and  the  country, 
free ;  the  body  politic  doubtlrss  resembling  a  vessel, 
wh'ch  is  best  governed  by  its  tail.  The  present  ba- 
ihaw  is  a  very  pl.iin  oKI  irentleman — something,  they 
lay,  of  a  humourist,  as  he  amuses  himself  with  im- 
jnling  butterflies  and  pickling  tadpoles ;  he  is  rather 
lieciining  in  popularity,  having  given  great  offence 
by  w»anng  red  breeches,  and  tying  his  horse  to  a 
post.  The  people  of  the  United  .States  h.ive  assured 
me  that  they  themselves  are  the  most  enlightened 
nation  under  the  sun;  but  thou  knowest  that  the 
barbarians  of  the  desert,  who  assemble  at  the  sum- 
mer solstice  to  shoot  their  arrows  at  that  glorious 
luminary,  in  order  to  extinguish  his  burning  rays, 
make  precisely  the  same  boast ; — which  of  them 
have  the  superior  claim,  I  shall  not  attempt  to 
decide. 

I  have  observed,  with  some  degree  of  surprise, 
that  the  men  of  this  country  do  not  seem  in  naste 
to  accommodate  themselves  even  with  the  single 
wife  which  alone  the  laws  permit  them  to  marry ; 
this  backwardness  is  probably  owing  to  the  misfor- 
tune of  their  absolutely  having  no  female  mutes 
among  them.  Thou  knowest  liow  invaluable  are 
these  silent  companions ; — what  a  price  is  given  for 
them  in  the  east,  and  what  entertaining  wives  they 
moke.  What  delightful  entertainment  arises  from 
beholding  the  silent  eloquence  of  their  signs  and 
gestures ;  but  a  wife  possessed  both  of  a  tongue  and 
a  soul — monstrous !  monstrous  I  is  it  astonishing 
that  these  unhappy  infidels  should  shrink  from  a 
nnion  with  a  woman  so  preposterously  endowed. 

Thou  hast  doubtless  read  in  the  works  of  Ahul 
Fmraj,  the  Arabian  historian,  the  tradition  which 
mentions  that  the  muses  were  once  upon  the  point 
of  falling  together  by  the  ears  about  tne  admission 
of  a  tenth  among  their  number,  until  she  assured 
them  by  signs  that  she  was  dumb ;  whereupon  they 
received  her  with  ereat  rejoicing,  I  should,  perhaps. 
Inform  thee  that  there  are  but  nine  Christian  muses, 
who  were  formerly  pagans,  but  have  since  been  con- 
verted, and  that  in  this  country  we  never  hear  of  a 
tenth,  unless  some  crazy  poet  wishes  to  pay  a  hyper- 
bolical compliment  to  his  mistress ;  on  which  occa- 
sion it  goes  hard,  but  she  figures  as  a  tenth  muse,  or 
fourth  grace,  even  though  she  should  be  more  illit- 
erate than  a  Hottentot,  and  more  ungraceful  than  a 
dancing-bear !  Since  my  arrival  in  this  country  I 
have  met  with  not  less  than  a  hundred  of  these  su- 
pernumerary muses  and  graces  —and  may  Allah  pre- 
serve me  from  ever  meeting  with  any  more  ! 

When  I  have  studied  this  people  more  profoundly, 
I  will  write  thee  again  ;  in  the  mean  time,  watch  over 
my  household,  and  do  not  beat  my  beloved  wives 
unless  you  catch  them  with  their  noses  out  at  the  win- 
dow. Thoueh  far  distant  and  a  slave,  let  me  live  in 
thy  heart  as  thou  livest  in  mine  : — think  not,  O  friend 
of  xay  soul,  that  the  splendours  of  this  luxurious  c.ipi- 
fed,  Its  gorgeous  palaces,  its  stupendous  mosques, 
uid  the  beautiful  females  who  run  wild  in  herds 
about  it.-  streets,  can  obliterate  thee  from  my  remem- 
brance. Thy  name  shall  still  be  mentioned  in  the 
6vc-and-twenty  prayers  which  I  offer  up  daily ;  and 
may  our  great  prophet,  after  bestowing  on  thee  all 
the  blessings  of  this  life,  at  length,  in  good  old  age, 
lead  thee  gently  by  the  hand  to  enjoy  the  dignity  of 
OMbaw  ofthree  tails  in  the  blissful  bowers  of  Eden. 
«  MUSTAPHA. 


FASHIONS. 
By  Anthony  Everorken,  Gtn\    . 

THE  rOLLOWINO  ARTICLE  IS  FURNISHED  ME  B> 
A  YOUNO  LADY  OF  UNQUESTIONABLE  TASTE 
AND  WHO  IS  THE  ORACLE  OF  FASHION  AND 
FRIPPERY.  BEINO  DEEPLY  INITIATED  INTO 
ALL  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  THE  TOILET,  SHE  HAI 
PROMISED  ME  FROM  TIME  TO  TIME  A  SIMILAX 
DETAIL. 


Mrs.  Toole  has  for  some  time  reigned  unrivalled 
in  the  fashionable  world,  and  had  the  supreme  direc- 
tion of  caps,  bonnets,  feathers,  flowers,  and  tinsel 
She  has  dressed  and  undressed  our  l.idies  just  as  she 
pleased ;  now  loading  them  with  velvet  and  wadding, 
now  fming  them  adrift  upon  the  world  to  run  shiv- 
ering '.hrough  the  Mreets  with  scarcely  a  covering 

to  their i^acks ;  and  now  obliging  them  to  drag 

a  long  train  at  their  neels,  like  the  tailof  a  paper  kite. 
Her  despotic  sway,  however,  threatens  to  oe  limited. 
A  dangerous  rival  has  sprung  up  in  the  person  ol 
Madame  Bouchard,  an  intrepid  little  woman, 
fresh  from  the  head-ouarters  of  fashion  and  folly, 
and  who  has  burst,  lilce  a  second  Bonaparte,  upoi' 
the  fashionable  world. — Mrs.  Toole,  notwithstandmg 
seems  determined  to  dispute  her  ground  bravely  foi 
the  honour  of  old  England.  The  ladies  have  begun 
to  arrange  themselves  under  the  banner  of  one  oi 
other  of  these  heroines  of  the  needle,  and  every 
thing  portends  open  war.  Madame  Bouchard 
marches  gallantly  to  the  field,  flourishing  a  flamiie 
red  robe  for  a  standard,  "  flouting  the  skies  ;"  and 
Mrs.  Toole,  no  ways  dismayed,  sallies  out  under 
cover  of  a  forest  of  artificial  flowers,  like  Malcolm's 
host.  Both  parties  possess  great  merit,  and  botb 
deserve  the  victory.  Mrs.  Toole  charges  the  highest 
— but  Madame  Bouchard  makes  the  lowest  courtesy. 
Madame  Bouchard  is  a  little  short  lady — nor  is  there 
any  hope  of  her  growing  larger ;  but  then  she  is  per- 
fectly genteel,  and  so  is  Mrs.  Toole.  Mrs.  Toole 
lives  in  Broadway,  and  Madame  Bouchard  in  t!ourt- 
landt-street ;  but  Madame  atones  for  the  inferiority 
of  her  s/and  by  making  two  courtesies  to  Mrs. 
Toole's  one,  and  talking  French  like  an  angel. 
Mrs.  Toole  is  the  best  looking — but  Madame  Bou- 
chard wears  a  most  bewitching  little  scrubby  wig. — 
Mrs.  Toole  is  the  tallest — but  Madame  Bouchard 
has  the  longest  nose. — Mrs.  Toole  is  fond  of  roast 
beef — but  Madame  is  loyal  in  her  adherence  to 
onions :  in  short,  so  equally  are  the  merits  of  the  two 
ladies  balanced,  that  there  is  no  judging  which  wiU 
"kick  the  beam."  It,  however,  seems  to  be  the 
prevailing  opinion  that  Madame  Bouchard  will  carry 
the  day,  because  she  wears  a  wig,  has  a  long  nose, 
talks  French,  loves  onions,  and  does  not  charge 
above  ten  times  as  much  for  a  thing  as  it  is  worth. 


under  the  direction  of  these   high  PRIEST- 
ESSES of  the  beau-monde,  the  following 

IS    THE     FASHIONABLE    MORNING    DRESS    FOB 
WALKING. 

If  the  weather  be  very  cold,  a  thin  muslin  gown, 
or  frock  is  most  adviseable ;  because  it  agrees  with 
the  season,  being  perfectly  cool.  The  neck,  arms, 
and  particularly  the  elbows  bare,  in  order  that  they 
may  be  agreeably  painted  and  mottled  by  Mr.  lOHN 
Frost,  nose-painter-general,  of  the  colour  of  Ca»> 
tile  soap.  Shoes  of  kid,  the  thinnest  that  can  pos- 
sibly be  procured — as  '.hey  tend  to  promote  colds, 
and  make  a  lady  look  interesting — (i.  e.,  griufy.'' 


044 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVINU. 


l« ' . . 


Picnic  silk  stoclcines,  with  lace  clocks,  flesh-coloured 
are  most  fashionable,  as  they  have  the  appearance 
of  bare  legs— mia//'/)'  being  all  the  rage.  The 
stockings  caivlessly  bespattered  with  mud,  to 
Sffiee  with  the  gown,  which  should  be  bordered 
toout  three  iLches  deep  with  the  most  fashionable 
eoksured  mud  that  can  be  found:  the  ladies  per- 
mitted tc  hold  up  their  trains,  after  they  have  swept 

two  or    three    s'reets,    in    order   to   show the 

ckxrks  of  their  stockings.  The  shawl,  scarlet,  crim- 
lon,  flame,  orange,  salmon,  or  any  other  combus- 
*ihle  or  brimstone  colour,  thrown  over  one  shoul- 
der ;  like  an  Indian  blanket,  wttn  one  end  dragging 
on  the  ground. 

Af.  B.  If  the  hidies  have  not  a  red  shawl  at  hand, 
a  red  petticoat  turned  topsy-turvy,  over  the  shoul- 
ders, would  do  just  as  well.  This  is  called  being 
dressed  a  la  drabble. 

When  the  ladies  do  not  go  aboad  of  a  morning, 
the  usual  chimney-comer  dress  is  a  dotted,  spotted, 
striped,  or  cross-barred  gown ; — a  yellowish,  whit- 
ish, smokish,  dirty-coloured  shawl,  and  the  hair 
curiously  ornamented  with  little  bits  of  newspapers, 
or  pieces  of  a  letter  from  a  dear  friend.  This  is 
called  the  "Cinderella-dress." 

The  recipe  for  a  full  dress  is  as  follows :  take  of 
spider-net,  crape,  satin,  gymp,  cat-gut,  gauze, 
whalebone,  lace,  bobbin,  ribands,  and  artificial  flow- 
ers, as  much  as  will  rig  out  the  congregation  of  a 
village  church ;  to  these,  add  as  many  spangles, 
beads,  and  gew-eaws,  as  would  be  sufficient  to  turn 
the  heads  of  ail  tne  fashionable  fair  ones  of  Nootka- 
sound.  Let  Mrs.  Toole  or  Madame  Bouchard 
patch  all  these  articles  together,  one  upon  another, 
dash  them  plentifully  over  with  stars,  bugles,  and 
'insel,  and  they  will  altogether  form  a  dress,  which 
Itung  upon  a  lady's  back,  cannot  fail  of  supplying 
the  place  of  beauty,  youth,  and  grace,  and  of  re- 
npinaing  the  spectator  of  that  celebrated  region  of 
teay,  called  Rag  Fair, 


One  of  the  greatest  sources  of  amusement  inci- 
dent to  oiir  humourous  knight  errantry,  is  to  ramble 
about  and  hear  the  various  conjectures  of  the  town 
respecting  our  worships,  whom  every  body  pre- 
tends to  know  as  well  as  FalstalT  did  prince  Hal  at 
Gads-hill.  We  have  sometimes  seen  a  sapient, 
sleepy  fellow,  on  being  tickled  with  a  straw,  make  a 
Hirious  effort  and  fancy  he  had  fairly  caught  a  gnat 
in  his  grasp;  so,  that  many-headed  monster,  the 
public,  who,  with  all  its  heads,  is,  we  fear,  sadly  off 
for  brains,  has,  after  long  hovering,  come  souse 
down,  Uke  a  king-(isher,  on  the  authors  of  Salma- 
gundi, and  caught  them  as  certainly  as  the  afore- 
said honest  fellow  caught  the  gnat. 

Would  that  we  were  rich  enough  to  give  every 
one  of  our  numerous  readers  a  cent,  as  a/eward  for 
their  ingenuity  I  not  that  they  have  really  conjec- 
tured within  a  thousand  leagues  of  the  truth,  but 
that  we  consider  it  a  great  stretch  of  ingenuity 
even  to  have  guessed  wrong ;  and  that  we  hold 
-Hirselves  much  obliged  to  them  for*having  taken 
lie  trouble  to  guess  at  all. 

One  of  the  most  tickling,  dear,  mischievous  pleas- 
«es  of  this  life  is  to  laugh  in  one's  sleeve — to  sit 
taog  in  the  comer,  unnoticed  and  unknown,  and 
iMar  the  wise  men  of  Gotham,  who  are  profound 
ludges  of  horse-flesh,  pronounce,  from  the  style  of 
our  work,  who  are  the  authors.  This  listening  in- 
cog and  receiving  a  hearty  praising  over  another 
man's  back,  is  a  situation  so  celestially  whimsical, 
that  we  have  done  little  else  than  laugh  in  oar 
deeve  ever  since  our  first  number  was  Dublished. 


The  town  .las  at  .ength  allayed  the  titiktions  o* 
curiosity,  by  fixing  on  two  young  gentlemen  of  liter 
ary  talents— that  is  to  say,  they  are  equal  to  tli* 
composition  of  a  newspaper  squib,  a  hodge  podgt 
criticism,  or  some  such  trifle,  and  may  occasionally 
raise  a  smile  by  their  effusions ;  but  pardon  us,  swcei 
sirs,  if  we  modestly  doubt  your  capability  of  support. 
ing  the  burthen  of  Salmagundi,  or  of  keeping  up  \ 
laugh  for  a  whole  fortnight,  as  we  have  done,  and  in 
tend  to  do,  until  the  whole  town  beoMnes  a  comtnu 
nity  of  laughing  p*  llosophers  like  ourselves.  Wr 
have  no  ir.tenticr.,  h/jwever,  of  undervaluing  tlir 
abilities  of  these  twj  young  men,  whom  we  venH 
believe,  according  to  common  acceptation,  youn^ 
men  of  firomiu. 

Were  we  ill-natured,  we  might  publish  somethin-^ 
that  would  ^t  our  representatives  into  difficulties 
but  far  be  it  from  us  to  do  any  thing  to  the  injury 
of  persons  to  whom  we  are  under  such  obligations 

While  they  stand  before  us,  we,  like  little  IVu- 
ccr,  behind  tne  sevenfold  shield  of  Ajax,  can  launch 
unseen  our  sportive  arrows,  which  we  trust  will 
never  inflict  a  wound,  unless  like  his  they  tly 
"heaven  directed,"  to  some  conscious-struck  bo- 
som. 

Another  marvellous  great  source  of  pleasure  tc 
us,  is  the  abuse  our  worK  has  received  from  several 
wooden  gentlemen,  whose  censures  we  covet  more 
than  ever  we  did  any  thing  in  our  hves.  The  mo- 
ment we  declared  open  war  against  folly  and  stupid- 
ity, we  expected  to  receive  no  quarter ;  and  to  pro- 
voke a  confederacy  of  all  the  blockheads  in  town. 
For  it  is  one  of  our  indisputable  facts  that  so  sure 
as  you  catch  a  gander  by  the  tail,  the  whole  flock 
geese,  goslings,  one  and  all,  have  a  fellow-feeling  on 
the  occasion,  and  begin  to  cackle  and  hiss  like  so 
many  devils  bewitched.  As  we  have  a  profound 
respect  for  these  ancient  and  respectable  birds,  on 
the  score  of  their  once  saving  the  capitol,  we  hereby 
declare  that  we  mean  no  ofience  whatever  by  com- 
paring them  to  the  aforesaid  confederacy.  We 
nave  neard  in  our  walks  such  criticisms  on  Salma- 
gundi, as  almost  induced  a  belief  that  folly  had  here, 
as  in  the  east,  her  moments  of  inspired  idiotism. 
Every  silly  royster  has,  as  if  by  an  instinctive  sense 
of  anticipateil  danger,  joined  m  the  cry ;  and  con- 
demned us  without  mercy.  All  is  thus  as  it  should 
be.  It  would  have  mortified  us  very  sensibly,  had 
wc  been  disappointed  in  this  particular,  as  we 
should  then  have  been  apprehensive  that  our  shafts 
had  fallen  to  the  ground,  mnocent  of  the  "  blood  or 
brains  "  of  a  single  numskulf.  Our  efTorts  have  been 
crowned  with  wonderful  success.  All  the  queer 
fish,  the  ^bs,  the  flats,  the  noddies,  and  the  live 
oak  and  timber  gentlemen,  are  pointing  their  empty 
guns  at  us;  and  we  are  threatened  with  a  most 
puissant  confederacy  of  the  "  pigmies  and  cranes," 
and  other  "  light  militia,"  backed  by  the  heavy 
armed  artillery  of  dullness  and  stupidity.  The  veri- 
est dreams  of  our  most  sanguine  moments  are  thus 
realized.  We  have  no  fear  of  the  censures  of  the 
wise,  the  good,  or  the  fair ;  for  they  will  ever  be 
sacred  from  our  attacks.  We  reverence  the  wise, 
love  the  good,  and  adore  the  fair ;  we  declare  our- 
selves champions  in  their  cause  ; — in  the  cause  oi 
morality ; — and  we  throw  our  gauntlet  to  all  the 
world  besides. 

While  we  profess  and  feel  the  same  indif&ience 
to  public  applause  as  at  first,  we  most  eamestly  in- 
vite the  attacks  and  censures  of  all  the  wooden  war- 
riors of  this  sensible  city ;  and  especially  ol  that  dis- 
tinguished and  learned  body,  heretofoic  celebrated 
under  the  appellation  of  "  tWe  North-river  society." 
The  thrice  valiant  and  renowned  Don  Quixote 
never  made  tjch  work  amongst  the  wool-claa  war 


SALMAGUNDI. 


54ft 


lora  ol  Trapoban,  or  the  puppeta  of  the  itinerant 
ihowman,  at  we  promise  to  make  among  these  fine 
fellows ;  and  we  pledge  ourselves  to  the  public  in 
general,  and  the  Albany  sicippers  in  particulur,  that 
tne  North  river  shall  not  be  set  on  nre  this  winter 
It  least,  for  we  shall  give  the  authors  of  that  nefari- 
ous scheme,  ample  employment  for  some  time  to 
'-••ime. 


PROCLAMATION, 

fROH  TIU  MILL  OF  PINDAa  COCKLOPT,   ESQ. 


To  all  the  young  belles  who  enliven  our  scene, 
From  ripe  five-and-forty,  to  blooming  fifteen; 
Who  racket  at  routs,  and  who  rattle  at  plays. 
Who  visit,  and  fidget,  and  dance  out  their  days: 
Who  conquer  all  hearts,  with  a  shot  from  the  eye, 
Who  freeie  with  a  frown,  and  who  thaw  with  a  sigh: — 
To  all  those  bright  youths  who  embellish  the  age. 
Whether  young  boys,  or  old  twyi,  or  numskull  or  sage: 
Whether  dull  doks,  who  cringe  at  their  mistress'  feet. 
Who  sigh  and  who  whine,  and  who  try  to  look  sweet; 
Whether  touqh  doos,  who  squat  down  stock  still  in  a 

row 
And  play  wooden  gentlemen  stuck  up  for  a  show; 
Or  SAU  DOGS,  who  glory  in  running  their  rigs. 
Now  dash  in  their  sleighs,  and  now  whirl  in  their  gigs; 
Who  riot  at  Dyde's  on  imperial  champaign, 
And  then  scour  our  city — the  peace  to  maintain: 

To  whoe'er  it  concerns  or  may  happen  to  meet, 
By  these  presents  their  worships  I  lovingly  greet. 
Now  KNOW  VE,  that  I,  Pindar  Cocklopt,  esquire. 
Am  laureate,  appointed  at  special  desire; — 
A  censor,  self-dubb'd,  to  admonish  the  fair, 
And  tenderly  take  the  town  under  my  care. 

I'm  a  ci-devant  beau,  cousin  Launcelot  has  said — 
A  remnant  of  habits  long  vanish'd  and  dead: 
But  still,  though  my  heart  dwells  with  rapture  sublime. 
On  the  fashions  and  customs  which  reiKn'd  in  my  prime, 
I  yet  can  perceive — and  still  candidly  praise. 
Some  maxims  and  manners  of  these  "  latter  days;" 
Still  own  that  some  wisdom  and  t)eauty  appears. 
Though  almost  entomb'd  in  the  rubbish  of  years. 

No  fierce  nor  tyrannical  cynic  am  I, 
Who  frown  on  each  foible  I  chance  to  espy; 
Who  pounce  on  a  novelty,  just  like  a  kite. 
And  tear  up  a  victim  through  malice  or  spite: 
Who  expose  to  the  scoffs  of  an  ill-natured  crew, 
A  trembler  for  starting  a  whim  that  is  new. 
No,  no— I  shall  cautiously  hold  up  my  glass. 
To  the  sweet  little  blossoms  who  heedlessly  pass ; 
My  remarks  not  too  pointed  to  wound  or  offend. 
Nor  so  vague  aa  to  miss  their  benevolent  end : 
Each  innocent  fashion  shall  have  its  full  sway ; 
New  modes  shall  arise  to  astonish  Broadway : 
Red  hats  and  red  shawls  still  illumine  the  town, 
And  each  belle,  like  a  t>on-fire,  blase  up  and  down. 

Fair  spirits,  who  brighten  the  gloom  of  our  days. 
Who  cheer  this  dull  scene  with  your  heavenly  rays. 
No  monal  can  love  you  more  firmly  and  true. 
From  the  crown  of  the  head,  to  the  sole  of  your  shoe. 
I's  c!d  fashion'd,  'tis  true, — but  still  runs  in  my  heart 
fhat  affectionate  stream,  to  which  youth  gave  the  start. 
More  calm  in  its  current— yet  potent  in  force ; 
Less  ruffled  by  gales — but  still  stedfast  in  course. 
Though  the  lover,  enraptur'd,  no  longer  appears, — 
'I is  the  guide  and  the  guardian  enlighten'd  by  years. 
All  ripen  d,  and  mellow'd,  and  soften'd  by  time, 
The  asperities  polish 'd  which  chafed  in  my  prime ; 
I  am  fully  prepared  for  that  delicate  end. 
The  fair  one's  instructor,  companion  and  friend. 
— And  should  I  perceive  you  in  fashion's  gay  dance, 
Allured  by  the  frippery  mongers  of  France, 
Expose  your  freak  frames  to  a  chill  wintry  sky, 
To  be  nipp'd  by  its  frosts,  to  t>e  torn  from  the  eye  { 


My  soft  adnonitiont  shall  fall  or.  your  ear — 
Shall  whisper  those  parenu  to  whom  you  are  dear- 
Shall  warn  vou  of  haiards  you  heedlessly  run,    - 
And  sing  of  those  fair  ones  whom  frost  baa  nndona , 
Bright  suns  that  would  scarce  on  our  horison  dawa 
Ere  shrouded  from  sight,  thev  were  early  withdrawa 
Gay  sylphs,  who  have  floated  in  circles  below, 
As  pure  in  their  souls,  and  as  transient  as  snow  ( 
Sweet  roHcs,  that  bloom'd  and  decay'd  to  my  eye, 
And  of  forms  that  have  flitted  and  pass'd  to  the  Bk| . 
But  as  to  those  brainless  pert  bloods  of  our  town, 
Those  sprigs  of  the  ton  who  run  decency  down ; 
Who  lounge  and  whc  lout,  and  who  booby  about, 
No  knowledge  within,  and  no  manners  without ; 
Who  stare  at  each  beauty  with  insolent  eyes  ; 
Who  rail  at  those  morals  their  fathers  would  prise  | 
Who  are  lot  J  at  the  play— and  who  Impiously  dart 
To  come  in  their  cups  to  the  routs  of  the  fair  ; 
I  shall  hold  up  my  mirror,  to  let  them  survey 
The  figures  they  cu  as  they  danh  it  away  : 
Should  my  good-humoured  verie  no  amendment  pra 

duce. 
Like  scare-crows,  at  least,  they  shall  still  be  of  lue , 
I  shall  stitch  them,  in  ellgy,  up  in  my  rhyme. 
And  hold  them  aloft  through  ihe  progress  of  time. 
As  figures  of  fun  to  make  the  folks  laugh. 
Like  that  t>^— h  of  an  angel  erected  by  Patl, 
"  What  shtops,"  as  he  says,"  all  de  people  what  come 
What  smiles  on  dem  all,  and  what  peata  on  de  trum." 


No.  IV.— TUESDAY,  FEBRUARY  24,  1807. 

FROM  MY  ELBOW-CHAIR. 


Perhaps  there  is  no  class  of  men  to  which  the 
curious  and  literary  are  more  indebted  than  travel* 
lers ; — I  mean  travel-mongers,  who  write  whole  vtri- 
umes  about  themselves,  their  horses  and  their  serv- 
ants, interspersed  with  anecdotes  of  inn-keepers  — 
droll  sayings  of  stagfr<lrivers,  .ind  interesting  memoin 
of— the  Lord  knows  who.  They  will  give  you  a  ftiU 
account  of  a  city,  its  manners,  customs,  and  manu- 
factures ;  though,  perhaps,  all  their  knowledge  of  it 
was  obtained  by  a  peep  from  their  inn-windows,  and 
an  interesting  conversation  with  the  landlord  or  the 
waiter.  America  has  had  its  share  of  these  buzzards 
and  in  the  name  of  my  countrymen  I  return  them 
profound  thanks  for  the  compliments  they  have 
lavished  upon  us,  and  the  variety  of  particulars  con- 
cerning our  own  country,  which  we  should  never 
have  discovered  without  their  assistance. 

Influenced  by  such  sentiments,  I  am  delighted  to 
find  that  the  Cockloft  family,  among  its  other  whim- 
sical and  monstrous  productions,  is  about  to  be  en- 
riclied  with  a  genuine  travel-writer.  This  is  no  less 
a  personage  than  Mr.  Jeremy  Cockloft,  the  only 
son  and  darling  pride  of  my  cousin,  Mr.  Chris- 
topher Cocklopt.  I  should  have  said  Teremy 
Cockloft,  the  younger,  as  he  so  styles  himself,  by  way 
of  distinguishing  him  from  IL  SiGNORE  JEREMY 
CucKLOFTiCO,  a  gouty  old  gentleman,  who  flourished 
about  the  time  that  Pliny  the  elder  was  smoked  to 
death  with  the  fire  and  brimstone  of  Vesuvius ;  and 
whose  travels,  if  he  ever  wrote  any,  are  now  lost  toi 
ever  to  the  world.  Jeremy  is  at  present  in  his  oit» 
and-twentieth  year,  and  a  young  fellow  of  wonderfui 
quick  parts,  if  you  will  trust  to  the  word  of  his  father, 
who,  having  begotten  him,  should  be  the  best  judge 
of  the  matter.  He  is  the  oracle  of  the  family,  dic- 
tates to  his  sisters  on  every  occasion,  though  they 
are  some  dozen  or  more  years  older  than  himself; — 
and  never  did  son  give  mother  better  advice  thai 
Jeremy. 


046 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVINO. 


i 


m 
m 


I 


As  old  Cockloft  wu  determined  hit  ton  should  be 
tmh  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman,  he  took  great  pains 
with  his  education,  which  was  completed  at  our  uni- 
varsity,  where  he  became  cxcrecllnKly  expert  in  quis- 
sing  his  teachers  and  playing  billiards.  No  stu<lent 
made  better  squibs  and  crackers  to  blow  up  the 
chymical  professor ;  no  one  chalkrd  more  ludicrous 
caricatures  on  the  walls  of  the  college  ;  and  none 
'/ere  more  adroit  in  shaving  pigif  and  climbing  light- 
aing-rods.  He  moreover  Icanied  all  (he  letters  ofthe 
(iret'k  alphabet ;  could  demonstrate  that  water  never 
'  of  its  o*n  accord  "  rose  above  the  level  of  its 
wurcc,  and  that  air  was  certainly  the  principle  of 
life;  for  he  had  been  entertaineil  with  the  humane 
experiment  of  a  cat  worried  to  death  in  an  air-pump. 
He  once  shook  down  the  ash-house,  by  an  artificial 
earthquake ;  and  nearly  blew  his  sister  Harliara.  and 
her  cat,  out  of  the  wmdow  with  thundcrinij  powder. 
He  likewise  boasts  exceedingly  of  b<  mg  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  the  composition  '/  Lacedemonian 
black  broth ;  and  once  made  a  not  of  it,  which  b»(l 
well-ni^h  poisoned  the  whole  family,  and  actually 
threw  the  cook-maid  into  convulsions.  But  above 
all,  he  values  himself  upon  his  logic,  has  the  old  col- 
lege conundrum  of  the  cat  with  three  tails  at  his 
finger's  ends,  and  often  hampers  his  father  with  his 
r/IIogisms,  to  the  great  delij{ht  of  the  old  gentleman  ; 
who  considers  the  major,  minor,  and  conclusions,  as 
almost  euual  in  argument  to  the  pulley,  the  wedge, 
and  the  lever,  in  mechanics.  In  fact,  my  cousin 
Cockloft  was  once  nearly  annihilated  with  astonish- 
ment, on  hearing  Jeremy  trace  the  derivation  of 
Mango  from  Jeremiah  Kine ; — as  Jeremiah  Kinjj, 
Jerry  King !  Jerking  (lirkin  f  cucumber.  Mango  !  in 
short,  h.iil  Jeremy  hitn  a  student  at  Oxford  or  Cam- 
bridge, he  would,  in  all  prol).ibility,  h.xve  been  pro- 
moted to  the  dignity  of  a  senior  wranffler.  By  this 
licitch,  I  mean  no  dispar.igement  to  the  abilities  of 
Hher  students  of  our  college,  for  I  have,  no  doubt 
that  every  commencement  ushers  into  stKiety  lumi- 
htries  full  its  brilliant  as  Jeremy  Cockloft  the  younger. 

Having  made  a  very  pretty  speech  on  gradu.iting, 
to  a  numerous  assemblage  of  old  folks  and  young 
ladies,  who  all  declared  that  he  was  a  very  fine  young 
man,  and  made  very  handsome  gestures,  Jeremy  was 
seized  with  a  great  desire  to  see,  or  rather  to  be  seen 
by  the  world  ;  and  as  his  father  was  anxious  to  ^ve 
him  every  possible  advantage,  it  was  determined 
Jeremy  should  visit  foreign  parts.  In  consequence 
of  this  resolution,  he  has  spent  a  matter  of  three  or 
four  months  in  visiting  strange  places ;  and  in  the 
course  of  his  travels  has  tarried  some  few  days  at  the 
splendid  metropolis'  of  Albany  and  Philadelphia. 

Jeremy  has  travelled  as  every  modem  man  of  sense 
should  do ;  that  is,  he  judges  of  things  by  the  sample 
next  at  hand ;  if  he  has  ever  any  doubt  on  a  subject, 
always  decides  against  the  city  where  he  happens  to 
sojourn ;  and  invariably  takes  home,  as  the  standard 
by  which  to  direct  his  judgment. 

Going  into  his  room  the  other  day,  when  he  hap- 
pened to  be  absent,  I  found  a  manuscript  volume 
faying  on  his  table ;  and  was  overjoyed  to  hnd  it  con- 
tained notes  and  hints  for  a  book  ot  travels  which  he 
Intends  publishing.  He  seems  to  have  taken  a  late 
Duhionaole  travel-monger  for  his  model,  and  I  have 
BO  doubt  his  work  will  be  equally  instructive  and 
unusing  with  that  of  his  prototype.  The  following 
are  some  extracts,  which  may  not  prove  uninterest- 
ing to  my  readers. 


MEMORANDUMS  FOR  A  TOUR.  rO  BE  Ei 
TITLED   "THE  STRANGER  IN  NEW  JEK 
SEYi  OR,  COCKNEY  TRAVELLING." 

■Y  JBMMY  COCKI^rr.  THE  YOUNOIK. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Thk  man  in  the  moon*— preparations  for  dep.irt 
ure — hints  to  travellers  about  n.icking  their  tniiikst 
— straps,  buckles,  and  bed-ccrds — cuie  of  pistoN,  ,i 
la  lOtknev — five  trunks — three  bandboxes— a  cocktil 
hat — and  a  medicine  chest,  a  la  ^>(»«r<i«^— p.iriinR 
advice  of  my  two  sisters— qucre,  why  old  maids  .irr 
so  particular  in  their  cautions  against  naughty  womcti 
— description  of  Powles-Hook  ferry-boats— minhi  hr 
converted  into  gun-bo.its,  and  defend  our  port  eciuall) 
well  with  Albany  sloops — Urom,  the  black  feri-yni.m 
— Ch.iron — river  Siyx— gho.sts ;— m.njor  llunt-ijood 
story — ferry.ige  nine-pence ;— city  of  Harsiinus— Ixiili 
on  the  spot  where  the  folk  once  danced  on  iluir 
stumps,  while  the  devil  fiddled  ; — quere,  why  do  ihf 
Harsimites  l.ilk  Dutch  ? — story  of  the  tower  of  Hitn  l 
and  confusion  of  tongues — get  into  the  staijc— dnvi  i 
a  wag — famous  fellow  for  running  sta^je  races— killi-d 
three  passengers  and  crippled  nine  in  the  roiirsr  m 
his  pr.ictice — philosophical  re.isons  why  staj;e  drivers 
love  grog — causeway — tlitch  on  each  side  for  folk  to 
tumlJle  into — famous  place  for  ikilly-pot%  ,■  Phil.uli  I- 
phians  c.ill  'em  tarapins — roa.st  them  undi-r  the  .ishti 
as  we  do  potatoes— quere,  may  not  this  l)e  the  re.isor 
that  the  Philadelphians  are  all  turtle-heads?-  H.n  k- 
ensack  briilge — good  painting  of  a  blue  horse  jump. 
ing  over  a  mountain — wonder  who  it  was  painti'<l  hy 
— mem.  to  ask  the  Baron  de  Ousto  about  it  on  n^ 
return; — Rattle-snake  hill,  so  called  from  abound li» 
with  butterflies  ;— salt  marsh,  surmounted  here  .ind 
there  by  a  solitary  hay-stack  ; — more  tarapins— won- 
der why  the  Philadelphians  don't  establish  a  fishery 
here,  and  get  a  patent  for  it ; — bridge  over  the  I'.is- 
saic — rate  of  toll — description  of  toll-boards —toll 
man  had  but  one  eye— story  how  it  it  possibU  he  may 
have  lost  the  other — pence-table,  etc.) 


CHAPTER  IL 


Newark — noted  for  its  fine  breed  of  fat  musqui- 
toes — tting  through  the  thickest  boot| — story  about 
Gallynipers — Archer  Giflford  and  his  man  Caliban- 
jolly  fat  fellows ; — a  knowing  traveller  always  juilges 
of  every  thine  by  the  inn-kcepeis  and  waiters  | ;  set 
down  NcwarTc  people  all  fat  as  butter — learned  dis- 
sertation on  Archer  GiflTord's  green  coat,  with  phi- 
losophical reasons  why  the  Newarkites  wear  red 
worsted  night-caps,  ana  turn  their  noses  to  the  south 
when  the  wind  blows— Newark  academy  full  of  win- 
dows— sunshine  excellent  to  make  little  boys  grow— 
Elizabeth-town— fine  giris — vile  musquitocs — plenty 
of  o)'sters — quere,  have  oysters  any  feeling  i — good 
story  about  tne  fox  catching  them  by  his  tail — ergo, 
foxes  might  be  of  great  use  in  the  pearl-fishery  ;— 
landlord  member  of  the  legislature — treats  every 
body  who  has  a  vo't — mem.,  all  the  inn-keepers 
members  of  legislature  in  New-Jersey ;  Bridge-town, 
vulgarly  called  Spank-town,  from  a  story  of  a  quon- 


•  vid*  Can't  Stimosa  in  Irtlud. 

tWidkWald.  XvitUCtn.  |Wi<rW«ld. 

I  vide  Cut.  vid*  Moor*,  vid*  Wdd.  vide  Pukiaioa.  vidt 
Print,  vid*  UnkuB  IkUUw,  ud  vid*  IfaMct.  Tic.  RH.  >><I 
BobtaU. 


SALMAGUNDI. 


647 


lUun  pftnon  and  his  wife— real  name,  according  to 
Linkum  Fidelius,  Bridge-town,  frum  hrUf^t,  a  con- 
irivance  to  get  dry  shod  over  a  river  or  broolt;  and 
town,  an  appelhuion  given  in  America  to  the  acci- 
ilental  assemblage  of  a  church,  a  tavern,  and  a 
')lacksmith't  shop — Linkum  as  right  as  my  left  leg ; 
-Rahwav-river — good  place  for  gun-boats— wonder 
*hy  Mr.  jefTerson  don't  send  a  r«vr  Jlttt  there  to 
protect  tlie  hay-vessels  ?— Woodbndge  —  landlady 
ti'.unding  her  husband's  bri-cche^  <»>il)l>me  apostro- 
'he  to  conjugal  alTection  and  the  fair  «;«*  ; — wood- 
iiridge  famous  for  its  rralvfishrry  -  ««ntimetir»l  cor- 
respondence lietween  a  crab  and  a  lobster — digres- 
sion to  Abelard  and  Eloisa;--mcii).,  when  the  moon 
IS  in  Pitta,  she  plays  the  devil  with  the  cralt«. 


in  their  demand  fcr  sturgeon  -PhiKdi  phmni  gave 
the  prefrrence  to  racoon*  and  sni.ununrs  gava 
them  a  long  dissertation  on  the  pnletpmtic  natur* 
of  a  goose's  gi//ard— studi*nts  can't  dance  -alwayi 
•et  off  with  the  wrong  fool  foremt)st— Oiiport's  cpin- 
ion  on  that  subject— Sir  Christopher  Nation  the  nr«l 
man  who  ever  tumi-d  out  his  toes  in  dancing —great 
favourite  with  Queen  llesa  on  that  account— SU 
Walter  Raleigh — good  story  al>oul  his  snioking— hl> 
descent  mto  New  Spain — fcl  Dorado — Candid— Dr. 
Fangloss — Miss  Cunrgunde— earthquake  at  Lisboi 
— H.iron  of  Thundertenfonck —  Jesuits — Monk*— 
— ftrdinal  Woolsey— Pope  Joan — Tom  Jetferson— 

Ton  1  Paine,  and  Tom  the whew  !     N.  B.   -Stu- 

<lent»  g'}t  drunk  as  usual. 


CHAPTER  III. 


If 


Britnswick— oldest  town  in  the  state— division- 
line  between  two  counties  in  the  middle  of  the  street ; 
—posed  a  lawyer  with  the  case  of  a  man  standing 
with  one  foot  in  each  county—  wanted  to  know  in 
which  he  was  Jomuil — lawver  couldn't  tell  for  the 
ioul  of  him  — nv;m.,  all  the  New-Iersey  lawyers 
Hums.;-  Miss  Hay's  boarding-school— young  ladies 
not  allowed  to  eat  mustard  -and  why  ? — fat  story 
if  a  mustard-pot,  with  a  good  saying  of  Ding- 
Dong's; —  Vernon's  tavern — line  place  to  slet-p,  if 
the  noise  would  let  you — another  C.iliban  1— Vernon 
(/«//-eyed  —  |)eople  of  Hrunswick,  of  ( ourse,  all 
squint: — Drakes  tavern -tine  old  blade  — wears 
square  buckles  in  his  shoes — trils  liloody  long  storirs 
ibout  last  war— people,  of  course,  all  do  the  same  ; 
.'look'cm  Snivy,  the  famous  fortune-telK-r,  born  here 
-cotem|)orary  with  mother  Shoulders— particulars 
if  his  histiiry — died  one  day — lines  to  his  memory, 
Mkick  founa  thtir  way  into  my  piKketbiH'k  ,-t — mel- 
incholy  reflections  on  the  death  of  great  men — 
^>eautitul  epitaph  on  myself. 


CHAPTER   IV. 


Princiton — college — professors  wear  boots  ! — 
students  famous  for  their  love  of  a  jest — set  the  col- 
lege on  fire,  and  burnt  out  the  professors ;  an  excel- 
lent joke,  but  not  worth  repeating — mem.,  American 
students  very  much  addicted  to  burning  down  col- 
leges— reminds  me  of  a  good  story,  nothing  at  all  to 
ihe  purpose — two  societies  in  the  college — good  no- 
'ion — encourages  emulation,  and  makes  little  boys 
•ight ;— students  famous  for  their  eating  and  erudi- 
tion— saw  two  at  the  tavern,  who  had  just  got  their 
allowance  of  spending-money — laid  it  all  out  in  a 
5upper— got  fuddled,  and  d— — d  the  professors  for 
iiincoms.  N.  B.  Southern  gentlemen. — Church-yard 
—apostrophe  to  grim  death — saw  a  cow  feeding  on 
X  grave — metempsychosis — who  knows  but  the  cow 
aiay  have  been  eating  up  the  soul  of  one  of  my  an- 
.^estors — made  me  melancholy  and  pensive  for  fifteen 
aiinutes ; — man  planting  cabbagest— wondered  how 
he  could  plant  them  so  straight — method  of  mole- 
catching — and  all  that — quere,  whether  it  would  not 
be  a  good  notion  to  ring  their  noses  as  we  do  pigs- 
mem.,  to  .propose  it  to  the  American  Agricultural 
Society— get  a  premium,  perhaps ; — commencement 
—students  give  a  ball  and  supper — company  from 
New- York,  Philadelphia,  and  Albany— great  contest 
which  spoke  the  best  English — Albanians  vociferous 


CHAPTER   V. 


Lkft  Princeton-  country  finely  diversified  with 
sheep  and  ha/-stacks+ — saw  a  man  riding  alone  in 
a  wagon  !  why  the  deuce  didn't  the  blocKhead  ride 
in  a  chair  ?  fellow  must  be  a  fool  -particular  account 
of  the  construction  of  wagons — carts,  whcelh.irrowi 
and  <juail-traps— saw  a  large  Hock  of  crows — con- 
cludeil  there  must  be  a  di-ad  horse  in  thr  n(i>{hbour- 
hood— nu'in,  country  remarkable  lor  crows — won't 
let  the  horses  die  in  peace— anecdote  of  a  jury  of  crowt 
— stopped  to  give  the  horses  watifr  — good-l'oking 
man  canie  up,  and  asketl  nie  if  I  hail  seen  his  wife? 
heavens  !  thought  1,  how  strange  it  is  tiial  this  vir- 
tuous man  should  a.sk  me  a)>out  his  wife — story  oi 
Cain  and  Abel— stage-driver  took  a  ra'/l'— mem.  set 
down  all  the  people  as  drunkards  -old  house  had 
moss  on  the  top — swallows  built  in  the  roof— bette/ 
place  than  old  men's  lieards — siory  about  that — der- 
ivation of  words  kippy,  kippy,  kippy  and  ilioo-pif;\ — 
negro  driver  could  not  write  his  own  name — languish- 
in)j  state  of  literature  in  this  country ;  J — philosophi- 
cal in(iuiry  of  'Sbidlikens,  why  the  Americans  are  so 
much  inferior  to  the  notiility  of  Cheapside  and  Shore- 
ditch,  and  why  they  do  not  eat  plum-pudding  on 
Sund.iys; — superfine  reflections  about  any  thing. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


*  ^UU  The  S«ntimeDta]  KolMbua. 
>  Hdt  CojT  and  Blind  Bit  I 


t  vidt  Can. 


Trenton — built  above  the  head  of  navigation  to 
encourage  commerce — capital  of  the  State  | — only 
wants  a  castle,  a  bay,  a  mountain,  a  sea,  and  a  vol- 
cano, to  bear  a  strong  resemblance  to  the  Bay  of 
Naples — supreme  court  sitting — fat  chief  justice — 
used  to  get  asleep  on  the  bench  after  dinner — gave 
judgment,  I  suppose,  like  Pilate's  wife,  from  hii 
dreams — reminded  me  of  Justice  Bridlegoose  decid- 
ing by  a  throw  of  a  die,  and  of  the  oracle  of  the  holy 
bottle — attempted  to  kiss  the  chambermaid — boxed 
my  ears  till  they  rung  like  our  theatre-bell — girl  had 
lost  one  tooth — mem.  all  the  American  ladies  prudes, 
and  have  bad  teeth ; — Anacreon  Moore's  opinion  on 
the  matter. — State-house — fine  place  to  see  the  stur 
geons  jump  up — (juere,  whether  sturgeons  jump  up  by 
an  impulse  of  the  tail,  or  whether  they  bounce  up  from 
the  bottom  by  the  elasticity  of  their  noses — l.inkua 
Fidelius  of  the  latter  opinion — I  too — sturgeons'  nose 
capital  for  tennis-balls — learnt  that  at  school — went  to 
a  ball — negro  wench  principal  musician  I — N.  B.  Pco 
pie  of  America  have  no  fiddlers  but  females !— o^gin 
of  the  phrase,  "  fiddle  of  your  heart  " — reasons  wny 

*  •id4  Priest.  t  vidt  Can. 

%  vid*  Can't  laanied  dehvatiua  of /«  >nd  mkta 
(Moure  !  Carr 


048 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


men  fiddle  better  than  women ; — expedient  of  the 
Amazons  who  were  expert  at  the  bow : — waiter  at 
the  city-tavern — good  story  of  his — nothing  to  the 
puipose — never  mind — fill  up  my  book  like  Carr — 
make  it  sell.  Saw  a  democrat  get  into  the  stage  foU 
lowed  by  his  dog.*  N.  B.  This  town  remarkable  for 
dogs  and  democrats — superfine  sentimentt  —  good 
•tory  from  Joe  Miller— ode  to  a  piggin  of  butter — 
pensive  meditations  on  a  mouse-hole— make  a  book 
m  cle.'it  as  a  whistle  ! 


No.  v.— SATURDAY,  MARCH   7,  1807. 

rROM    MY    ELBOW-CHAIR. 


The  following  letter  of  my  friend  Mustapha 
appears  to  have  been  written  some  time  subsequent 
to  the  one  already  published.  Were  I  to  judge  from 
its  contents,  I  should  suppose  it  was  suggested  by 
the  splendid  review  of  the  twenty-fifth  of  last  No- 
vember ;  when  a  pair  of  colours  was  presented  at  the 
City-Hail,  to  the  regiments  of  artillery  ;  and  when  a 
huge  dinner  was  devoured,  by  our  corporation,  in  the 
honourable  remembrance  of  the  evacuation  of  this 
city.  1  am  happy  to  find  that  the  laudable  spirit  of 
military  emulation  which  prevails  in  our  city  has  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  a  stranger  of  Mustapha's 
sagacity ;  by  military  emulation  I  mean  that  spirited 
rivalry  in  the  size  of  a  hat,  the  length  of  a  feather, 
and  the  gingerbread  finery  of  a  sword  belt. 


LETTER   FROM   MUSTAPHA   RUB-A-DUB 
KELI   KHAN, 

to  ABDALLAH  EB'N  AL  RAHAB,  SURNAMED  THE 
SNORER,  MILITARY  SENTINEL  AT  THE  GATE 
OF  HIS   HIGHNESS'   PALACE. 


Thoi;  hast  heard,  oh  Abdallah,  of  the  great  ma- 
gician, MULEY  Fuz,  who  could  change  a  blooming 
uind,  blessed  with  all  the  elysian  charms  of  hill  and 
dale,  of  gi.ule  and  grove,  of  fruit  and  flower,  into  a 
desert,  frightful,  solitary,  and  forlorn  ; — who  with  the 
wave  of  his  wand  could  transform  even  the  disciples 
of  Mahomet  into  grinning  apet,  and  chattering  mon- 
keys. Surely,  thought  I  to  myself  this  morning,  the 
dreadful  Muley  has  been  exercising  his  infernal  en- 
chantments on  these  unhappy  infidels.  Listen,  oh 
Abdallah,  and  wonder !  Last  night  I  committed 
myself  to  tranquil  slumber,  encompassed  with  all  the 
monotonous  tokens  of  peace,  and  this  morning  I 
awoke  enveloped  in  the  noise,  the  bustle,  the  clangor, 
and  the  shouts  of  war.  Every  thing  was  changed  as 
if  by  magic.  An  immense  army  had  sprung  up,  like 
mushrooms,  in  a  night ;  and  all  the  cobblers,  tailors, 
and  tinkers  of  the  city  had  mounted  the  nodding 
plume ;  had  become,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  hel- 
mitted  heroes  and  war-worn  veterans. 

Alarmed  at  the  beating  of  drums,  the  braying  of 
bTimpeis,  and  the  shouting  of  the  multitude,  I  dressed 
niyself  in  haste,  sallied  forth,  and  followed  a  prodig- 
ious crowd  of  people  to  a  place  called  the  battery. 
This  is  so  denominated,  I  am  told,  from  having  once 
been  defended  with  formidable  woodin  bulwarks, 
which  in  the  course  of  a  hard  winter  were  thriftily 
pulled  to  pieces  by  an  economic  corporation,  to  be 
distributed  for  fire-wood  among  the  poor ;  this  was 


*Moofe 


♦  Can 


done  at  the  hint  of  a  cunning  old  engineer,  who  u- 
sured  them  it  was  the  only  way  in  which  thur  ibrti- 
fications  would  ever  be  able  to  keep  up  a  warm  ^re 
Economy,  my  friend,  is  the  watch-word  of  thii 
nation ;  I  have  been  studying;  for  a  month  pas 
to  divine  its  meaning,  but  truly  am  as  much  |)er 
plexed  as  ever.  It  is  a  kind  of  national  siarvation ; 
an  experiment  how  many  comforts  and  necessaries 
the  body  politic  can  be  deprived  of  before  it  perishes 
It  has  already  arrived  to  a  lamentable  deijree  of  de- 
bility, and  promises  to  share  the  fate  of  the  Arabinn 
philosopher,  who  proved  that  he  could  live  without 
food,  but  unfortunately  died  just  as  he  had  brought 
his  experiment  to  perfection. 

On  arriving  at  the  battery,  I  found  an  immense 
army  of  SIX  hundred  men,  drawn  up  in  a  inie 
Mussulman  crescent.  At  first  I  supposed  this  was  in 
compliment  to  myself,  but  my  interpreter  informed 
me  that  it  was  done  merely  for  want  of  room  ;  the 
corporation  not  being  able  to  afford  them  sutricinit 
to  display  in  a  straight  line.  As  I  expected  a  dis- 
play of  some  grand  evolutions,  and  military  manneu- 
vres,  I  determined  to  remain  a  tranquil  spectator,  in 
hopes  that  I  might  possibly  collect  some  hints  wlv,cl> 
might  be  of  service  to  his  highness. 

This  great  body  of  men  I  perceived  was  under  the 
command  of  a  small  bashaw,  in  yellow  and  gold, 
with  white  nodding  plumes,  and  most  fonnidahlc 
whiskers  ;  which,  contrary  to  the  Tripolitan  fashion, 
were  in  the  neighbourhood  of  his  ears  instead  of  his 
nose.  He  had  two  attendants  called  aid-de-camps, 
(or  tails)  being  similar  to  a  bashaw  with  two  tails. 
The  bashaw,  though  commander-in-chief,  seemed  to 
have  little  more  to  do  than  myself;  he  was  a  specta- 
tor within  the  lines  and  I  without :  he  was  clear  of 
the  r.abble  and  I  was  encompassed  by  them ;  this  wa? 
the  only  difference  between  us,  except  that  he  had 
the  best  opportunity  of  showing  his  clothes.  I  wai'" : 
an  hour  or  two  with  exemplary  patience,  expecting  to 
see  some  grand  military  evolutions  or  a  sliam  battle 
exhibited  ;  but  no  such  thing  took  place ;  the  men 
stood  stock  still,  supjKjrting  their  arms,  groaning  un- 
der the  fatigues  of  war,  and  now  and  then  sending 
out  a  foragfing  party  to  levy  contributions  of  beer  and 
a  favourite  beverage  which  they  denominate  grog. 
As  I  perceived  the  crowd  very  active  in  examining 
the  line,  from  one  extreme  to  the  other,  and  as  1 
could  see  no  other  pur]x)se  for  which  these  sunshine 
warriors  should  be  exposed  so  long  to  the  merciiesf 
attacks  of  wind  and  weather,  I  of  course  concluded 
that  this  must  be  the  review. 

In  about  two  hours  the  army  was  put  in  motion, 
and  marched  through  some  narrow  streets,  where 
the  economic  corporation  had  carefully  provided  a 
soft  carpet  of  mud,  to  a  magnificent  castle  of  paint- 
ed brick,  decorated  with  grand  pillars  of  pine 
boards.  By  the  ardor  which  brightened  in  each 
countenance,  I  soon  perceived  that  this  castle  was 
to  undergo  a  vigorous  attack.  As  the  ordnance  of 
the  castle  was  perfectly  silent,  and  us  they  had 
nothing  but  a  straight  street  to  advance  through, 
they  made  their  .ipproaches  with  great  courage  and 
admirable  regularity,  until  within  about  a  hun.lreti 
feet  of  the  castle  a  putnp  opposed  a  formidable  ob- 
stacle in  their  way,  ana  put  the  whole  army  to  » 
nonplus.  The  circumstance  was  sudden  and  un 
looked  for ;  the  commanding  officer  ran  over  all 
the  militaiy  tactics  with  which  his  head  was  cram- 
med, but  none  offered  any  expedient  f<.  •  the  present 
awful  emergency.  The  pump  maintained  its  post, 
and  so  did  the  commander  ;  there  was  no  knowing 
which  was  most  at  a  stand.  The  commanding 
officer  ordered  his  men  to  wheel  and  take  it  in 
flank; — the  army  accordingly  wheeled  and  came 
full  butt  against  it  in  the  rear,  exactly  as  they  were 


SALMAGUNDI. 


S49 


before .— «  wheel  to  the  left  I "  cried  the  officer  ; 
they  did  so,  and  again  as  before  the  inveterate 
pump  intercepted  their  progress.  '  "Right  about 
face  I"  cried  the  officer;  the  men  obeyed,  but 
bungled; — KYity  faced  back  to  back.  Upon  this  the 
bashaw  with  two  tails,  with  great  coolness,  un- 
dauntedly ordered  his  men  to  push  right  forward, 
pell-mell,  pump  or  no  pump ;  they  gallantly  obeyed ; 
after  unheard-of  acts  of  bravery  the  pump  was  car- 
ried, without  the  loss  of  a  man,  and  the  arniy 
•firmly  entrenched  itself  under  the  very  walls  of  the 
casile.  The  bashaw  had  then  a  council  of  war  with 
his  officers ;  the  most  vigorous  measures  were 
resolved  on.  An  advance  guard  of  musicians  were 
ordered  to  attack  the  castle  without  mercy.  Then 
the  whole  band  opened  a  most  tremendous  battery 
of  drums,  fifes,  tambourines,  and  trumpets,  and 
kept  up  a  thundering  assault,  as  if  the  castle,  like 
the  walls  of  Jericho,  spoken  of  in  the  Jewish  chron- 
icles, would  tumble  down  at  the  blowing  of  rams' 
horns.  After  some  time  a  parley  ensued.  The 
grand  bashaw  of  the  city  appeared  on  the  battle- 
ments of  the  castle,  and  as  far  as  I  could  under- 
stand from  circumstances,  dared  the  little  bashaw 
of  two  tails  to  single  combat ; — this  thou  knowest 

was  in  the  style  of   ancient  chivalry : the  little 

bashaw  dismounted  with  great  intrepidity,  and  as- 
cended the  battlements  of  the  castle,  where  the 
great  bashaw  waited  to  receive  him,  attended  by 
numerous  dignitaries  and  worthies  of  his  court,  one 
of  whom  bore  the  splendid  banners  of  the  castle. 
The  battle  was  carried  on  entirely  by  words,  ac- 
cording to  the  universal  custom  of  this  country,  of 
which  I  shall  speak  to  thee  more  fully  hereafter. 
The  grand  bashaw  made  a  furious  att.ick  in  a 
s|)eech  of  considerable  length ;  the  little  bashaw,  by 
no  means  appalled,  retorted  with  great  spirit.  The 
grand  bashaw  attempted  to  rip  him  up  with  an 
argument,  or  stun  him  with  a  solid  fact;  but  the 
litUe  bashaw  parried  them  both  with  admirable 
adrvMtness,  and  run  him  clean  through  and  through 
with  a  syllogism.  The  grand  bashaw  was  over- 
thrown, the  banners  of  the  castle  yielded  up  to  the 
little  bashaw,  and  the  castle  surrendered  after  a  vig- 
orous defence  of  thrca  hours, — during  which  the 
besiegers  suffered  great  extremity  from  muddy 
streets  and  a  drizzling  atmosphere. 

On  returning  to  dinner  I  soon  discovered  that  as 
usual  I  had  been  indulging  in  a  great  mistake.  The 
matter  was  all  clearly  explained  to  me  by  a  fellow 
lodger,  who  on  ordinary  occasions  moves  in  the 
humble  character  of  a  tailor,  but  in  the  present  in- 
stance figured  in  a  high  military  station,  denomi- 
nated corporal.  He  informed  me  that  what  I  had 
mistaken  fnr  a  castle  was  the  splendid  palace  of 
the  municipality,  and  that  the  supposed  attack  was 
nothing  more  than  the  delivery  of  a  flag  given  by 
the  authorities,  to  the  army,  for  its  magnanimous 
defence  of  the  town  for  upwards  of  twenty  years 
past,  that  is,  ever  since  the  last  war  !  Oh,  my  friend, 
surely  every   thing  in   this  country  is  on   a  great 

scale  ! the  conversation  insensibly  turned   upon 

the  military  establishment  of  the  nation  ;  and  I  do 
assure  thee  that  my  friend,  the  tailor,  though  being, 
according  to  a  national  proverb,  but  the  ninth  part 
of  a  man,  yet  acuuitted  himself  on  military  con- 
cerns as  ably  as  the  grand  bashaw  of  the  empire 
himself.  He  observed  that  their  rulers  had  decided 
that  wars  were  very  useless  and  expensive,  and  ill 
befitting  an  economic,  philosophic  nation ;  they 
had  therefore  made  up  tneir  minds  never  to  have 
any  wars,  and  consequently  there  was  no  need  of 
soldiers  or  mihtary  discipline.  As.  however,  it  was 
thought  highly  ornamental  to  a  city  to  have  a  num- 
oer  of  men  drest  in  tine  clothes  aw^  feathers,  strut- 
VOL.  II.— 15 


ting  about  the  streets  on  a  holiday — and  as  the 
women  and  children  were  particularly  fond  ol 
such  raree  shows,  it  was  ordered  that  the  tailors  of 
the  different  cities  throughout  the  empire  should, 
forthwith,  go  to  work,  and  cut  ojt  and  manufacture 
soldiers  as  fast  as  their  shears  and  needles  would 
permit. 

These  soldiers  have  no  pecuniary  pay  ;  and  then 
only  recompense  for  the  immense  services  which 
they  render  the  country,  in  their  voluntary  parades, 
is  the  plunder  of  smiles,  and  winks,  and  nods  which 
they  extort  from  the  ladies.  As  they  have  no  op- 
portunity, like  the  vagrant  Arabs,  of  making  in- 
roads on  their  neighbours ;  and  as  it  is  necessary 
to  keep  up  their  military  spirit,  the  town  is  there- 
fore now  and  then,  but  particularly  on  two  days  of 
the  year,  given  up  to  their  ravages.  The  arrange- 
ments are  contrived  with  admirable  address,  so  that 
every  officer,  from  the  bashaw  down  to  the  drum- 
major,  the  chief  of  the  eunuchs,  or  musicians,  shall 
have  his  share  of  that  invaluable  booty,  the  admi- 
ration of  the  fair.  As  to  the  soldiers,  poor  ani- 
mals, they,  like  the  privates  in  all  great  armies, 
have  to  bear  the  brunt  of  danger  and  fatigue,  while 
their  officers  receive  all  the  glory  and  reward.  The 
narrative  of  a  parade  day  will  exemplify  this  more 
clearly. 

The  chief  bashaw,  in  the  plenitude  of  his  author* 
ity,  orders  a  grand  review  of  the  whole  army  at  two 
o  clock.  The  bashaw  with  two  tails,  that  he  may 
have  an  opportunity  of  vapouring  about  as  greatest 
man  on  the  field,  orders  the  army  to  assemble  at 
twelve.  The  kiaya,  or  colonel,  as  he  is  called,  that 
is,  commander  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  men,  or- 
ders his  regiment  or  tribe  to  collect  one  mile  at  least 
from  the  place  of  parade  at  eleven.  Each  captain, 
or  fag-rag  as  we  term  them,  commands  his  squad 
tb  meet  at  ten  at  least  a  half  mile  from  the  regi- 
mental parade ;  and  to  close  all,  the  chief  of  the 
eunuchs  orders  his  infernal  concert  of  fifes,  trumpets, 
cymbals,  and  kettle-drums  to  assemble  at  ten  !  from 
that  moment  the  city  receives  no  quarter.  All  is 
noise,  hooting,  hubbub,  and  combustion.  Every 
window,  door,  crack,  and  loop-hole,  from  the  garret 
to  the  cellar,  is  crowded  with  the  fascinating  fair  of 
all  ages  and  of  all  complexions.  The  mistress 
smiles  through  the  windows  of  the  drawing-room ; 
the  chubby  chamliermaid  lolls  out  of  the  attic  case- 
ment, and  a  host  of  sooty  wenches  roll  their  white 
eyes  and  grin  and  chatter  from  the  cellar  door. — 
Every  nymph  seems  anxious  to  yield  voluntarily 
that  tribute  which  the  heroes  of  their  country  de- 
mand. First  struts  the  chief  eunuch,  or  drum-major, 
at  the  head  of  his  sable  band,  magnificently  ar- 
rayed in  tarnished  scarlet.  Alexander  himself 
could  not  have  spurned  the  earth  more  sunerbly. 
A  host  of  ragged  boys  shout  in  his  train,  and  inflate 
the  bosom  of  the  warrior  with  tenfold  self<ompla- 
cency.  After  he  has  rattled  his  kettle-drums 
through  the  town,  and  swelled  and  swaggered  like  a 
turkey-cock  before  all  the  dingy  Floras,  and  Dianas, 
and  Junoes,  and  Didoes  of  his  acquaintance,  he  re- 
pairs to  his  place  of  destination  loaded  with  a  rich 
booty  of  smiles  and  approbation.  Next  comes  the 
Fag-rag,  or  captain,  at  the  head  of  his  mighty 
band,  consisting  of  one  lieutenant,  one  ensign,  or 
mute,  four  sergeants,  four  corporals,  one  drummer, 
one  hfer,  and  if  he  has  any  privates,  so  much  th« 
better  for  himself.  In  marching  to  the  regimental 
parade  he  is  sure  to  paddle  through  the  street  or 
lane  which  is  honoured  with  the  residence  of  his 
mistress  or  intended,  whom  he  resolutely  lays  under 
a  heavy  contribution.  Truly  it  is  delectable  to  be- 
hold these  heroes,  as  they  march  along,  cast  side 
glances  at  the  upper  windows ;  to  collect  the  smiles. 


S50 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


IP- 

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■'■■  T- 


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fVoT 


the  nods,  and  the  winks,  which  the  enraptured  fair 
ones  lavish  profusely  on  the  magnanimous  defenders 
of  their  country. 

The  Fag-rags  having  conducted  their  squads  to 
their  respective  regiments,  then  comes  the  turn  of 
the  colonel,  a  bashaw  with  no  tails,  for  all  eyes  are 
now  directed  to  him ;  and  the  fa?-rags,  and  the 
eunuchs,  and  the  kettle-drummers,  navine  had  their 
hour  of  notoriety,  are  confounded  and  lost  in  the 
nilitary  crowd.  The  colonel  sets  his  whole  regi- 
ment in  motion;  and,  mounted  on  a  mettlesome 
charger,  frisks  and  fidgets,  and  capers,  and  plunges 
in  front,  to  the  great  entertainment  of  the  multi- 
tude and  the  great  hazard  of  himself  and  his  neigh- 
bours. Having  displayed  himself,  his  trappings, 
his  horse,  and  his  horsemanship,  he  at  length  ar- 
rives at  the  place  of  general  rendezvous ;  blessed 
with  the  universal  admiration  of  his  country-women. 
I  should  perhaps  mention  a  squadron  of  hardy  vet- 
erans, most  of  whom  have  seen  a  deal  of  service 
during  the  nineteen  or  twenty  years  of  their  exist- 
ence, and  who,  most  gorgeously  equipped  in  tight 
green  jackets  and  breeches,  trot  and  amble,  and 
gallop  and  scamper  like  little  devils  through  every 
street  and  nook  and  comer  and  poke-hole  of  the 
city,  to  the  great  dread  of  all  old  people  and  sage 
matrons  with  young  children.  This  is  truly  sub- 
lime !  this  is  what  I  call  making  a  mountain  out  of 
a  mole-hill.  Oh,  my  friend,  on  what  a  great  scale 
is  every  thing  in  this  country.  It  is  in  the  style  of 
the  wandering  Arabs  of  the  desert  El-tih.  Is  a  vil- 
lage to  be  attacked,  or  a  hamlet  to  be  plundered, 
the  whole  desert,  for  weeks  beforehand,  is  in  a  buzz  ; 
— such  marching  and  countermarching,  ere  they  can 
concentrate  their  ragged  forces !  and  the  conse- 
quence is,  that  before  they  can  bring  their  troops 
into  action,  the  whole  enterprise  is  blown. 

The  army  being  all  happily  collected  on  the  bat- 
tsry,  though,  perhaps,  two  hours  after  the  time  ap- 
pointed, it  is  now  the  turn  of  the  bashaw,  with  two 
tails,  to  distinguish  himself.  Ambition,  my  friend, 
is  implanted  alike  in  every  heart ;  it  pervades  each 
bosom,  from  the  bashaw  to  the  drum-major.  This 
IS  a  sage  truism,  and  I  trust,  therefore,  it  will  not  be 
disputed.  The  bashaw,  hred  with  that  thirst  for 
glory,  inseparable  from  the  noble  mind,  is  anxious 
to  reap  a  full  share  of  the  laurels  of  the  day  and  bear 
off  his  portion  of  female  plunder.  The  drums  beat, 
the  fifes  whistle,  the  standards  wave  proudly  in  the 
air.  The  $ignal  is  given  !  thunder  roars  the  cannon  ! 
away  goes  the  bashaw,  and  away  go  the  tails ! 
The  review  finished,  evolutions  and  military  ma- 
noeuvres are  generally  dispensed  with  for  three  ex- 
cellent reasons  ;  first,  because  the  army  knows  very 
little  about  them;  second,  because  as  the  countiy 
has  determined  to  remain  always  at  peace,  there  is 
no  necessity  for  them  to  know  any  thing  about  them ; 
and  third,  as  it  is  growing  late,  the  bashaw  must 
lespatch,  or  it  will  be  too  dark  for  him  to  get  his 
|Uota  of^  the  plunder.  He  of  course  orders  the 
whole  army  to  march ;  and  now,  my  friend,  now 
comes  the  tug  of  war,  now  is  the  city  completely 
sacked.  Open  fly  the  battery-gates,  forth  sallies  the 
bashaw  with  his  two  tails,  surrounded  by  a  shouting 
body-guard  of  boys  and  negroes !  then  pour  forth 
his  legions,  potent  as  the  pismires  of  the  desert  I  the 
customary  salu'.ations  of  the  country  commence  — 
those  tokens  of  joy  and  admiration  which  so  much 
annoyed  me  on  first  landing :  the  air  is  darkened 
with  old  hats,  shoes,  and  dead  cats ;  they  fly  in  show- 
ers like  the  arrows  of  the  Parthians.  The  soldiers, 
no  ways  disheartened,  like  the  intrepid  followers  of 
Leonidas,  march  gallantly  under  their  shade.  On 
they  push,  splash  dash,  mud  or  no  mud.  Down  one 
luie,   up  another;  —  the   martial   music  resounds 


through  every  street ;  the  fair  ones  throng  to  theii 
windows, — the  soldiers  look  evenr  way  but  straight 
forward.  "Carry  arms,"  cries  the  bashaw — "tan- 
ta  ra-ra,"  brays  the  trumpet — "rub-a-dub,"  roars 
the  drum — "  hurraw,"  shout  the  ragamuffins.  The 
bashaw  smiles  with  exultation— every  fag-rag  fids 
himself  a  hero — "none  but  the  brave  deserve  the 
fair  I "  head  of  the  immortal  Amrou,  on  what  a 
great  scale  is  every  thing  in  this  country. 

Ay,  but  you'll  say,  is  not  this  unfair  that  the  aff^ 
cers  should  share  all  the  sports  while  the  privates 
undergo  all  the  fatigue  ?  truly,  my  friend,  I  indulged 
the  same  idea,  and  pitied  from  my  heart  the  poor 
fellows  who  had  to  arabble  through  the  mud  and 
the  mire,  toiling  under  ponderous  cocked  hats,  which 
seemed  as  unwieldy  and  cumbrous  as  the  shell 
which  the  snail  lumbers  along  on  his  back.  I  soun 
found  out,  however,  that  they  have  their  qaantum 
of  notoriety.  As  soon  as  the  army  is  dismissed,  the 
city  swanns  with  little  scouting  parties,  who  fire  off 
their  guns  at  every  comer,  to  the  ^reaX  delijjht  of 
all  the  women  and  children  in  their  vicinity ;  and  wc 
unto  any  dog,  or  pig,  or  hog,  that  falls  in  the  w.t) 
of  these  magnanimous  warriors ;  they  are  shown  iic 
quarter.  Every  gentle  swain  repairs  to  pass  the 
evening  at  the  feet  of  his  dulcinea,  to  play  "  the  sol 
dier  tired  of  war's  alarms,"  and  to  captivate  her  with 
the  glare  of  his  regimentals ;  excepting  some  am- 
bitious heroes  who  strut  to  the  theafe,  flame  away 
in  the  front  boxes,  and  hector  every  old  apple-woman 
in  the  lobbies. 

Such,  my  friend,  is  the  gigantic  genius  of  this  na 
tion,  and  its  faculty  of  swelling  up  nothings  into  im 
portance.  Our  bashaw  of  Tripoli  will  review  his 
troops,  of  some  thousands,  by  an  early  hour  in  the 
morning.  Here  a  review  of  six  hundred  men  \' 
made  the  mighty  work  of  a  day !  with  us  a  bashaw 
of  two  tails  is  never  appointed  to  a  command  of  less 
than  ten  thousand  men  ;  but  here  we  behold  every 
grade,  from  the  bashaw  down  to  the  dnim-m.ijor, 
in  a  force  of  less  than  one-tenth  of  the  number.  By 
the  beard  of  Mahomet,  but  every  thing  here  is  in- 
deed on  a  great  scale  1 


BY  ANTHONY  EVERGREEN,  GENT. 


I  WAS  not  a  little  surprised  the  other  morning  at 
a  request  from  Will  Wizard  that  I  would  accom- 
pany him  that  evening  to  Mrs.  — — 's  ball.  The  re 
quest  was  simple  enough  in  itself,  it  was  only  singu 
lar  as  coming  from  Will ; — of  all  my  acquaintance 
Wizard  is  the  least  calculated  and  disposed  for  the 
society  of  ladies—  not  that  he  dislikes  their  company ; 
on  the  contrary,  like  every  man  of  pith  and  marrow, 
he  is  a  professed  admirer  of  the  sex ;  and  had  he 
been  bom  a  poet,  would  undoubtedly  have  bespat- 
I'ired  and  be-rhymed  some  hard-named  goddess, 
•ntil  she  became  as  famous  as  Petrarch's  Laura,  or 
Waller's  Sacharissa;  but  Will  is  such  a  confounded 
bungler  at  a  bow,  has  so  many  odd  bachelor  habits, 
and  finds  it  so  troublesome  to  be  gallant,  that  ht 
generally  prefers  smoking  his  segar  and  telling  his 
story  among  cronies  of  his  own  gender  : — and  thun- 
dering long  stories  they  are,  let  me  tell  you ; — set 
Will  once  a  going  about  China  or  Crim  Tartary,  or 
the  Hottentots,  and  heaven  help  the  poor  victim  who 
has  to  endure  his  prolixity ;  h^  might  better  be  tied 
to  the  tail  of  a  jack-o'-lantem.  In  one  word — Will 
talks  like  a  traveller.  Being  well  acquainted  with 
his  character,  I  was  the  more  alarmed  at  his  inclina- 
tion to  visit  a  party ;  since  he  has  often  assured  me, 
that  he  considered  it  as  equivalent  to  being  stuck  up 
for  three  hours  in  a  steam-engine.  I  evcii  wonder*<1 


SALMAGUNDI 


6S1 


DOT*  tile  had  received  an  invitation ; — this  he  soon 
accounted  for.  It  seems  Will,  on  his  last  arrival 
from  Canton,  had  made  a  present  of  a  case  of  tea, 
to  a  lady  for  whom  he  had  once  entertained  a  sneak- 
ing kindness  when  at  grammar  school ;  and  she  in 
rt^turn  had  invited  him  to  come  and  drink  some  of 
it ;  a  cheap  way  enough  of  paying  off  little  obliga- 
tions. 1  readily  acceded  to  Will's  proposition,  ex- 
pecting much  entertainment  from  his  eccentric  re- 
marks ;  and  as  he  has  been  absent  some  few  years, 
I  anticipated  his  surprise  at  the  splendour  and  ele- 
gance of  a  modem  rout. 

On  calling  for  Will  in  the  evenmg,  I  found  him 
full  dressed,  waiting  for  me.  I  contemplated  him 
with  absolute  dismay.  As  he  still  retained  a  spark 
of  regard  for  the  lady  who  once  reigned  in  his  affec- 
tions, he  had  been  at  unusual  pains  in  decorating 
his  person  and  broke  upon  my  sight  arrayed  in  the 
true  style  that  prevailed  among  our  beaux  some 
years  ago.  His  hair  was  turned  up  and  tufted  at  the 
top,  frizzled  out  at  the  ears,  a  profusion  of  powder 
puffed  over  the  whole,  and  a  long  plaited  club  swung 
gracefully  from  shoulder  to  shoulder,  describing  a 
pleasing  semicircle  of  powder  and  pomatum.  His 
claret-coloured  coat  was  decorated  with  a  profusion 
of  gilt  buttons,  and  reached  to  his  calves.  His  white 
casimere  small<lothes  were  so  tight  that  he  seemed 
to  have  grown  up  in  them  ;  and  his  ponderous  legs, 
w  hich  are  the  thickest  part  of  his  body,  were  beau- 
tifully clothed  in  sky-blue  silk  stockings,  once  con- 
sidered so  becoming.  But  above  all,  he  prided  him- 
self upon  his  waistcoat  of  China  silk,  which  might 
almost  have  served  a  good  housewife  for  a  short- 
prown ;  and  he  boasted  that  the  roses  and  tulips  upon 
It  were  the  work  of  Nang  Fou,  daughter  of  the  great 
Chin-Chin-Fou,  who  had  fallen  in  love  with  the 
j^races  of  his  person,  and  sent  it  to  him  as  a  parting 
present ;  he  assured  me  she  was  a  remarkable  beauty, 
vith  sweet  obliquity  of  eyes,  and  a  foot  no  larger 
than  the  thumb  of  an  alderman ; — he  then  dilated 
most  copiously  on  his  silver-sprigged  dicky,  which 
he  assured  me  was  quite  the  rage  among  the  dash- 
ing young  mandarins  of  Canton. 

I  nold  It  an  ill-natured  office  to  put  any  man  out 
of  conceit  with  himself;  so,  though  I  would  will- 
ingly have  made  a  little  alteration  in  my  friend 
Wizard's  picturesque  costume,  yet  I  politely  com- 
plimented him  on  his  rakish  appearance. 

On  entering  the  room  I  kept  a  good  look-out  on 
Will,  expecting  to  see  him  exhibit  signs  of  sur- 
prise ;  but  he  is  one  of  those  knowing  fellows  who 
are  never  surprised  at  any  thine,  or  at  least  will 
never  acknowledge  it.  He  tooK  his  stand  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  playing  with  his  great  steel 
watch-chain ;  and  looking  round  on  'the  company, 
the  furniture,  and  the  pictures,  with  the  air  of  a 

man  "who  had  seen   cl d   finer  things   in   his 

time; "and  to  my  utter  confusion  and  dismay,  I 
saw  him  coolly  pull  out  his  villainous  old  japanned 
tobacco-box,  ornamented  with  a  bottle,  a  pipe,  and 
a  scurvy  motto,  and  help  himself  to  a  quid  in  face  of 
all  the  company. 

I  knew  it  was  all  in  vain  to  find  fault  with  a  fel- 
low of  Will's  socratic  turn,  who  is  never  to  be  put 
out  of  humour  with  himself;  so,  after  he  had  given 
^is  box  its  prescriptive  rap  and  returned  it  to  his 
i.>ocket,  1  drew  him  into  a  corner  where  he  might 
:)0serve  the  company  without  being  prominent  ob- 
jects ourselves. 

"  And  pray  who  is  that  stylish  figure,"  said  Will, 
"  who  blazes  away  in  red,  like  a  volcano,  and  who 
seems  wrapped  in  flames  like  a  fiery  dragon?" — 
That,  cried  I,  is  Miss  Laurelia  Dashaway  ; — she 
J  the  highest  flash  of  the  ton — has  much  whim  and 
more  eccentricity,  and  has  reduced  many  an  un- 
19 


happy  gentleman  to  stupidity  by  her  charms ;  yov 
see  she  nolds  out  the  red  flag  in  token  of  "  no  quar- 
ter." "  Then  keep  me  safe  out  of  the  sphere  of  hei 
attractions,"  cried  Will.  "  I  would  not  e  en  come  in 
contact  with  her  train,  lest  it  should  scorch  m^ 

like  the  tail  of  a  comet. But  who,  I  beg  of  yon, 

is  that  amiable  youth  who  is  handing  along  a  yonng 
lady,  and  at  the  same  time  contemphting  his  sweet 
person  in  a  mirror,  as  he  passes  ?"     His  name,  said 
I,  is  Billy  Dimple  ; — he  is  a  universal  smiler,  and 
would  travel  from  Dan  to  Beersheba  and  smile  on 
every  body  as  he  passed.    Dimple  is  a  slave  to  .hr 
ladies — a  hero  at  tea-parties,  and  is  famous  at  the 
pirouit  and  the  pigeon-wing ;   a  fiddle-stick  is  his 
idol,   and  a  dance  his  elysium.    "  A   very  pretty 
young  gentleman,   truly,"  cried  Wizard ;  "  he  re- 
minds me  of  a  cotemporary  beau  at  Hayti.     You 
must  know  that  the  magnanimous  Dessalines  gave 
a  great  ball  to  his  court  one  fine  sultry  summer's 
evening ;  Dessy  and  me  were  great  cronies ; — hand 
and  glove : — one  of  the  most  condescending  great 
men   I   ever  knew.    Such  a  display  of  black  and 
yellow  beauties  !  such  a  show  of^  Madras  handker- 
chiefs, red  beads,  cock's-tails    and  peacock's   fea- 
thers J — it  was,  as  here,  who  should  wear  the  highest 
top-knot,  drag    the    longest  tails,   or  exhibit    the 
greatest  variety  of  combs,  colours  and  gew-gaws. 
In  the  middle  of  the  rout,  when  all  was  buzz,  slip- 
slop,  clack,   and    perfume,  who  should  enter  but 
TuCKY  Squash  !  The  yellow  beauties  blushed  blue, 
and  the  black  ones  blushed  as  red  as  they  could, 
with  pleasure ',  and  there  was  a  universal  agitation 
of  fans ;  every  eye  brightened  and  whitened  to  see 
Tucky ;  for  he  was  the  pride  of  the  court,  the  pin* 
of  courtesy,  the  mirror  of  fashion,  the  adoration  ol 
all  the  sable  fair  ones  of  Hayti.    Such  breadth  of 
nose,  such  exuberance  of  lip  !    his  shins  had   the 
true  cucumber  curve  ;  his  face  in  dancing  shone 
like  a  kettle ;  and,  provided  you  kept  to  windward 
of  him  in  summer,  I  do  not  know  a  sv/eeter  youtb 
in  all  Hayti  than  Tucky  Squash.    When  he  laughed, 
there  appeared  from  ear  to  ear  a  chevaux-de-frize 
of  teeth,   that  rivalled  the    shark's   in  whiteness; 
he  could  whistle  like  a  north-wester;    pkiy  on  a 
three-stringed  fiddle  like  Apollo ;  and  as  to  danc- 
ing,   no    Long  -  Island    negro    could    shuffle    you 
"double-trouble,"  or  "hoe  corn  and  dig  potatoes" 
more  scientifically : — in  short,  he  was  a  second  Lo- 
thario.    And  the  dusky  nymphs  of  Hayti,  one  and 
all,  declared  him  a  perpetual  Adonis.     Tucky  walk- 
ed about,  whistling  to  himself,  without   regarding 
any  body ;  and  his  nonchalance  was  irresistible." 

I  found  Will  had  got  neck  and  heels  into  one  of 
his  travellers'  stories ;  and  there  is  no  knowing  how 
far  he  would  have  run  his  parallel  between  Billy 
Dimple  and  Tucky  Squash,  had  not  the  music 
struck  up,  from  an  adjoining  apartment,  and  sum- 
moned the  company  to  the  dance.  The  souno 
seemed  to  have  an  inspiring  effect  on  honest  Will, 
and  he  procured  the  hand  of  an  old  acquaintance 
for  a  country  dance.  It  happened  to  be  the  fash- 
ionable one  of  "  the  Devil  among  the  tailors," 
which  is  so  vociferously  demanded  at  every  bail 
and  assembly:  and  many  a  torn  gown,  and  manj 
an  unfortunate  toe  did  rue  the  dancing  of  that  night 
for  Will,  thundering  down  the  d.ince  lik;  a  coach 
and  six,  sometimes  right,  sometimes  wrong ;  now 
running  over  half  a  score  of  little  Frenchmen,  and 
now  making  sad  inroads  into  ladies'  cobweb  muslins 
and  spangled  tails.  As  every  part  of  Will's  bodj 
nartook  of  the  exertion,  he  shook  from  his  capacious 
nead  such  volumes  of  powder,  that  like  pious  En»!tt 
on  the  first  interview  with  Queen  Dido,  he  might 
be  said  to  have  been  enveloped  in  a  cloud.  Nor  wa» 
Will's  partner  an  insignificant  figure  in  the  scer« 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


m 


•y. 


■lie  was  a  young  lady  of  moat  voluminous  propor- 
tions, that  quivered  at  every  skip ;  and  being  braced 
up  in  the  tashionable  style  with  whalebone,  stay- 
tape,  and  bucicram,  looked  like  an  apple  pudding 
tied  in  the  middle ;  or,  takine  her  flammg  dress  into 
consideration,  like  a  bed  and  bolsters  rolled  up  in  a 
suit  of  ted  curtains.  The  dance  finished. — I  would 
gladly  have  taken  Will  off,  but  no ; — he  was  now  in 
one  of  his  happy  moods,  and  there  was  no  doing 
any  thing  with  him.  He  insisted  on  my  intro- 
.iucing  hiia  to  Miss  SOPHY  Sparkle,  a  young  lady 
'uri vailed  for  playful  wit  and  innocent  vivacity,  and 
who,  like  a  brilliant,  adds  lustre  to  the  front  of 
fashion.  I  accordingly  presented  him  to  her,  and 
began  a  conversation  m  which,  I  thought,  he  might 
take  a  share;  but  no  such  thing.  Will  took  liis 
stand  before  her,  straddling  like  a  Colossus,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  and  an  air  of  the  most  pro- 
found attention ;  nor  did  he  pretend  to  open  his  lips 
for  some  time,  until,  upon  some  lively  sally  of 
hers,  he  electrized  the  whole  company  with  a  most 
intolerable  burst  of  laughter.  What  was  to  be  done 
with  such  an  incorrigible  fellow? — to  add  to  my 
distress,  the  first  word  he  spoke  was  to  tell  Miss 
Sparkle  that  something  she  said  reminded  him  of 
a  circumstance  that  happened  to  him  in  China  ; — 
and  at  it  he  went,  in  the  true  traveller  style— de- 
scribed the  Chinese  mode  of  eating  rice  with  chop- 
sticks ; — entered  into  a  long  eulogium  on  the  suc- 
culent qualities  of  bo'kd  bird's  nests ;  and  I  made 
my  escape  at  the  very  moment  when  he  was  on  the 
point  of  squatting  down  on  the  floor,  to  show  how 
tbo  little  Chinese  Joshes  sit  cross-legged. 


TO  THE   LADIES. 

rSOM  THK  MILL  OP  PINDAR  COCKLOFT,  BSQ. 


Though  iogging  down  the  hill  of  life, 
Without  the  comfort  of  a  wife; 
And  though  I  ne'er  a  helpmate  chose. 
To  sto''k  my  house  and  mend  my  hose; 
With  rare  my  person  to  adorn, 
And  spruce  me  up  on  Sunday  mom; — 
Still  do  I  love  the  gentle  sex, 
And  still  with  cares  my  brain  perplex 
To  keep  the  fair  ones  of  the  age 
Unsullied  as  the  spotless  page; 
All  pure,  all  simple,  all  refined, 
The  sweetest  solace  of  mankind. 

I  hate  the  loose,  insidious  jen 
To  t>eauty's  modest  ear  addrest, 
And  hold  that  frowns  should  never  fail 
To  check  each  smooth,  but  fulsome  tale; 
But  he  whose  impious  pen  should  dare 
Invade  the  morals  of  the  fair; 
To  taint  that  purity  divine 
Which  should  each  female  heart  enshrine; 
Though  soft  his  villous  strains  should  swell, 
As  those  which  erst  from  Gabriel  fell. 
Should  yet  be  held  aloft  to  shame, 
And  foul  dishonour  shade  his  name. 

iudge,  then,  my  friends,  of  my  surprise, 
'ne  ire  that  kindled  in  my  eyes. 
When  I  relate,  that  t'other  day 
I  went  a  morning-call  to  pay. 
On  two  young  nieces;  just  come  down 
To  take  the  polish  of  the  town. 
By  which  I  mean  no  more  or  less 
Than  a  la  Francaist  to  undress; 
To  whirl  the  modest  waltz'  rounds, 
Taught  by  Duport  for  snug  ten  pounds. 
To  thump  and  thunder  through  a  song. 
Play  fortes  soft  and  JoUe's  strong; 
Exhibit  loud  piano  feats. 
Caught  fiom  that  crotchet-hero,  Meets: 


To  drive  the  rose-bloom  from  the  fact, 
And  fix  the  lily  in  its  place; 
To  doff  the  white,  and  in  its  stead 
To  bounce  about  in  brazen  red. 

While  in  the  parlour  I  delay'd. 
Till  they  their  persons  had  array'd, 
A  dapper  volume  caught  my  eye. 
That  on  the  window  chanced  to  He: 
A  book's  a  friend — I  always  choose 
To  turn  its  pages  and  peruse:— 
It  proved  those  poems  known  to  fame 
For  praising  every  cyprian  dame; — 
The  bantlings  of  a  dapper  youth. 
Renown'd  for  gratitude  and  trutn: 
A  little  pest,  hight  Tommy  Moork, 
Who  hopp'd  and  skipp'd  our  country  o't: 
Who  sipp'd  our  tea  and  lived  on  sops, 
Reve'.l'd  on  syllabubs  and  slops. 
And  when  his  brain,  of  cobweb  fine, 
Was  fuddled  with  five  drops  of  wine, 
Would  all  his  puny  loves  rehearse, 
And  many  a  maid  debauch — in  verse 
.Surprised  to  meet  in  open  view, 
A  book  of  such  lascivious  hue, 
I  chid  my  nieces — but  they  say, 
'Tis  all  the  passion  of  the  day; — 
That  many  a  fashionable  belle 
Will  with  enraptured  accents  dwell 
On  the  sweet  morceau  she  has  found 
In  this  delicious,  curst,  compound  ! 

Soft  do  the  tinkling  numbers  roll, 
And  lure  to  vice  the  unthinking  soul; 
They  tempt  by  softest  sounds  away. 
They  lead  entranced  the  heart  astray; 
And  Satan's  doctrine  sweetly  sing. 
As  with  a  seraph's  heavenly  string. 
Such  sounds,  so  good,  old  Homer  sung. 
Once  warbled  from  the  Syren's  tongue; — 
Sweet  melting  tones  were  heard  to  pour 
Along  Ausonia's  sun-gilt  shore; 
Seductive  strains  in  xther  float, 
And  every  wild  deceitful  note 
That  could  the  yielding  heart  assail. 
Were  wafted  on  the  breathing  gale; — 
And  every  gentle  accent  bland 
To  tempt  Ulysses  to  their  strand. 

And  can  it  be  this  book  so  base, 
Is  lai J  on  every  window-case  ? 
Oh!  fair  ones,  if  you  will  profane 
Those  breasts  where  heaven  itself  should  reigi 
And  throw  those  pure  recesses  wide. 
Where  peace  and  virtue  should  reside 
To  let  the  holy  pi^e  admit 
A  guest  unhallowed  and  unfit; 
Pray,  like  the  frail  ones  of  the  night. 
Who  hide  their  wanderings  from  the  light. 
So  let  your  errors  secret  be. 
And  hide,  at  least,  your  fault  from  me: 
Seek  some  by-comer  to  explore 
The  smooth,  polluted  pages  o'er: 
There  dnnk  tb';  insidious  poison  in. 
There  slyly  nurse  your  souls  for  sin: 
And  while  that  purity  you  blight 
Which  stamps  you  messengers  of  light. 
And  sap  those  mounds  the  gods  bestow, 
To  keep  you  spotless  here  bielow; 
Still  in  compassion  to  our  race. 
Who  joy,  not  only  in  the  face, 
But  in  that  more  exalted  part,  i  '' 

The  sacred  temple  of  the  heart; 
Oh!  hide  for  ever  from  our  view,         .,^ 
The  fatal  mischief  you  pursue:— 
Let  MKN  your  praises  still  exalt, 
And  none  but  angels  mourn  your  fault. 


No.  VI.— FRIDAY,  MARCH   ao,  1807 

FROM  MY  ELBOW-CHAIR. 
The  Cockloft  family,  of  which  I  have  made  s-jcb 
frequent  mention,  is  of  great  antiquity,  if  there  be 
any  truth  in  the  genealogical  tree  which  hanf;s  ir 


SALMAGUNDI. 


658 


in  my  '^ausm's  libiary.    They  trace  their  descent 
rrom  a  celebrated  Roman  knight,  cousin  to  the  pro- 
genitor of  his  majesty  of  Britain,  who  left  his  native 
country  on  occasion  of  some  disgust ;  and  coming 
into  Wales  became  a  great  favourite  of  prince  Ma- 
doc,  and  accompanied  that  famous  argonaut  in  the 
voyage  which  ended  in  the  discovery  of  this  conti- 
lent.   Though  a  men>ber  of  the  family,  I  have  some- 
times ventured  to  doubt  the  authenticity  of  this  por- 
tion of  their  annals,  to  the  great  vexation  of  cousin 
Christopher :  who  is  looked  up  to  as  the  head  of  our 
house ;  and  who,  though  as  orthodox  as  a  bishop, 
would  sooner  give  up  the  whole  decalogue  than  lop 
off  a  single  limb  of  the  family  tree.    From  time  im- 
memorial, it  has  been  the  rule  for  the  Cocklofts  to 
marry  one  of  their  own  name ;  and  as  they  always 
bred  like  rabbits,  the  family  has  incn;ased  and  mul- 
tiplied like  that  of  Adam  and  Eve.     In  truth,  their 
number  is  almost  incredible ;  and  you  can  hardly 
go  into  any  part  of  the  country  without  starting  a 
warren  of  genuine  Cocklofts.    Every  person  of  the 
least  observation  or  experience  must  have  observed, 
that  where  this  practice  of  marrying  cousins  and 
second  cousins  prevails  in  a  family,  every  member  in 
the  course  of  a  few  generations  becomes  queer,  hu- 
mourous, and  original ;  as  much  distinguished  from 
the  common  race  of  mongrels  as  if  he  was  of  a  dif- 
ferent species.    This  has  happened  in  our  family, 
ind  particularly  in  that  branch  of  it  which  Mr.  Chris- 
topher Cockloft,  Of,  to  do  him  justice,  Mr.  Christo- 
pher Cockloft,  Esq.,  is  the  head.    Christopher  is,  in 
.act,  the  only  married  man  of  the  name  who  resides 
in  town  ;  his  family  is  small,  having  lost  most  of  his 
children  when  young,  by  the  excessive  care  he  took 
0  bring  them  up  like  vegetables.    This  was  one  of 
.lis  hrst  whim-whams,  and  a  confounded  one  it  was, 
a  his  children  might  have  told,  had  they  not  fallen 
tictims  to  this  experiment  before  they  could  talk, 
fie  had  got  from  some  quack  philosopher  or  other  a 
jotion  that  there  was  a  complete  analogy  between 
.■hildreix  and  plants,  and  that  they  ought  to  be  both 
reared  alike.     Accordingly,  he  sprinkled  them  every 
morning  with  water,  laid  them  out  in  the  sun,  as  he 
lid  his  geraniums ;  and  if  the  season  was  remarka- 
Dly  dry,  repeated  this  wise  experiment  three  or  four 
dmes  of  a   morning.     The   consequence  was,  the 
poor  little  souls  (lied  one  after  the  other,  except  Jer- 
emy and  his  two  sisters,  who,  to  be  sure,  are  a  trio 
of  as  odd,  runty,  mummy-looking  originals  as  ever 
Hogarth  fancied  in  his  most  happy  moments.     Mrs. 
Cockloft,  the  larger  if  not  the   oetter  half  of  my 
cousin,  often   remonstrated  against  this  vegetable 
theory ;  and  even  brought  the  parson  of  the  parish 
in  which  my  cousin's  country  house  is  situated  to 
her  aid,  but  in   vain  :    (^hristopher  persisted,  and 
attributed   the  failure  of  his  plan  to  its  not  having 
oeen  ex.actly  conformed  to.     As  1  have  mentioned 
Mrs.  Cockloft,  1  may  as  well  say  a  little  more  about 
her  while   1   am  in  the  humour.     She  is  a  lady  of 
wonderful  notability,  a  warm  admirer  of  shining  ma- 
hogany, clean  hearths,  and  her  husband  ;  who  she 
considers  the  wisest  man  in  the  world,  bating  Will 
Wizard  and  the  parson  of  our  parish ;  the  last  of 
whom  is  her  oracle  on  all  occasions.     She  goes  con- 
Siantly  to  church  every  Sunday  and  Saints-day  ;  and 
li lists  upon  it  that  no  man  is  entitled  to  ascend  a 
,  ulpit  unless  he  has  been  ordained  by  a  bishop  ;  nay, 
V)  far  does  she  carry  her  orthodoxy,  that  all  the  ar- 
mimen'  in  the  world  will  never  persuade  her  that  a 
I'resbyterian  or  Baptist,  or  even  a  Calvinist,  has  any 
possible  chance  of  going  to  heaven.     Above  every 
thing  else,  however,   she  abhors  paganism.     Can 
scarcely  refrain  from  laying  violent  nands  on  a  pan- 
theon when  she  meets  with  it ;  and  was  very  nigh 
going  into  hysterics  when  my  cousin  insisted  one  of 


his  boys  should  oe  christened  aftet  our  lauieate , 
because  the  parson  of  the  parish  had  told  her  that 
Pindar  was  the  name  of  a  pagan  writer,  famous  fot 
his  love  of  boxing-matches,  wrestling,  a.id  horse- 
racing.  To  sum  up  all  her  qualifications  in  the 
shortest  possible  way,  Mrs.  Cockloft  is,  in  the  true 
sense  of  the  phrase,  a  good  sort  of  woman ;  and  1 
often  congratulate  my  cousin  on  possessing  har. 
The  rest  of  the  family  consists  of  Jeremy  C  -wkloft 
the  younger,  who  has  already  been  mentioned,  and 
the  two  Miss  Cocklofts,  or  rather  the  young  ladies, 
as  they  have  been  called  by  the  servants,  time  out 
of  mind  ;  not  that  they  are  really  young,  the  younger 
being  somewhat  on  the  shady  side  of  thirty,  but  if 
has  ever  been  the  custom  to  call  every  member  of 
the  family  young  under  fifty.  In  the  south-east  cor- 
ner of  the  house,  I  hold  quiet  possession  of  an  old- 
fashioned  apartment,  where  myself  and  my  elbow- 
chair  are  suffered  to  amuse  ourselves  undisturbed, 
save  at  meal  times.  This  apartment  old  Cockloft 
nas  facetiously  denominated  cousin  Launce's  para- 
dise ;  and  the  good  old  gentleman  has  two  or  three 
favourite  jokes  about  it,  which  are  served  up  as  reg- 
ularly as  the  standing  family  dish  of  beef-steaks  and 
onions,  which  every  day  maintains  its  station  at  the 
foot  of  the  table,  in  defiance  of  mutton,  poultry,  or 
even  venison  itself. 

Though  the  family  is  apparently  small,  yet,  like 
most  old  establishments  of  the  kind,  it  does  not  want 
for  honorary  meml)ers.     It  is  the  city  rendezvous  of 
the  Cocklofts;  and  we  are  continually  enlivened  by 
the  company  of  half  a  score  of  uncles,  aunts,  and 
cousins,  in  the  fortieth  remove,  from  all  parts  of  the 
country,  who  profess  a  wonderful  regard  for  cousin 
Christopher,  and  overwhelm  every  member  of  his 
household,  down  to  the  cook  in  the  kitchen,  with 
their  attentions.    We  have  for  three  weeks  past  beer, 
greeted  with  the  company  of  two  worthy  old  spin 
sters,  who  came  down  from  the  country  to  settle  a 
law-suit.     They  have  done  little  else  but  retail  stories 
of  their  village  neighbours,  knit  stockings,  and  take 
snuff  all  the  time  they  have  been  here  ;  the  whole 
family    are    bewildered  with   church-yard   tales  of 
sheeted  ghosts,  white  horses  without  heads  and  with 
large  goggle  eyes  in  their  buttocks ;  and  not  one  of 
the  old  servants  dafe  budge  an  inch  after  dark  with- 
out a  numerous  company  at  his  heels.     My  cousin's 
visitors,  however,  always  return  his  hospitality  with 
due  gratitude,  and   now  and  then  remind   him  of 
their  fraternal  regard  by  a  present  of  a  pot  of  apple- 
sweetmeats  or  a  barrel  of  sour  cider  at  Christmas. 
Jeremy  displays  himself  to  great  advantage  among 
his  country  relations,  who  all  think  him  a  prodigy  , 
and   often    stand   astounded,   in  "  gaping  wonder- 
ment," at  his  natural  philosophy.     He  lately  fright 
ened  a  simple  old  uncle  almost  out  of  his  wits,  b> 
giving  it  as  his  opinion  that  the  earth  would  one  day 
be  scorched  to  ashes  by  the  eccentric  gambols  of  the 
famous  comet,  so  much  talked  of;  and  positively  as- 
serted that  this  world  revolved  round  the  sun,  and 
that  the  moon  was  certainly  inhabited. 

The  family  mansion  bears  equal  marks  of  antiq 
uity  with  its  inhabitants.  As  the  Cocklofts  are  re- 
markable for  their  attachment  to  every  thing  ths' 
has  remained  long  in  the  family,  they  are  bigoted  tc 
wards  their  old  edifice,  and  1  dare  say  would  soonet 
have  it  crumble  about  their  ears  than  abandon  it 
The  consequence  is,  it  has  been  so  patched  up  ano 
repaired,  that  it  has  become  as  full  of  whims  anc 
oddities  as  its  tenants;  requires  to  be  nursed  ano 
humoured  like  a  gouty  old  codger  of  an  alderman  , 
and  reminds  one  of  the  famous  ship  in  which  a  cer- 
tain admiral  circumnavigated  the  globe,  which  was 
so  patched  and  timbered,  in  order  to  preserve  lo 
great  a  curiosity,  that  at  length  not  a  particle  of  the 


BB4 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


:'ii|''. 


orijpnal  remained.  Whenever  the  wind  blows,  the 
old  mansion  makes  a  most  perilous  groaning ;  and 
every  storm  is  sure  to  make  a  day's  work  for  tne  car- 

S enter,  who  attends  upon  it  as  regularly  as  the  fam- 
y  physician.  This  predilection  tor  every  thing  that 
has  been  long  in  the  family  shows  itself  in  every  par- 
ticular. The  domestics  are  all  grown  gray  in  the 
service  of  our  house.  We  have  a  little,  old,  crusty, 
rray-headed  negi-o,  who  has  lived  through  two  or 
ttirw  generations  of  the  Cocklofts ;  and,  of  course, 
das  become  a  personage  of  no  little  importance  in 
(he  household.  He  calls  all  the  familv  by  their  chris- 
tian names ;  tells  long  stories  about  now  he  dandled 
them  on  his  knee  when  they  were  children  ;  and  is  a 
complete  Cockloft  chronicle  for  the  last  seventy  years. 
The  family  carriage  was  made  in  the  last  French  war, 
and  the  old  horses  were  most  indubitably  foaled  in 
Noah's  ark ;  resembling  marvellously,  in  gravity  of 
den'eanour,  those  sober  animals  which  may  \x  seen 
any  day  of  the  year  in  the  streets  of  Philadelphia, 
walking  their  snail's  pace,  a  dozen  in  a  row,  and  har- 
moniously jingling  their  bells.  Whim-whams  are 
the  inheritance  of  the  Cocklofts,  and  every  member 
of  the  household  is  a  humourist  sui  generis,  from 
the  master  down  to  the  footman.  The  very  cais  and 
dogs  are  humourists ;  and  we  have  a  little,  runty 
scoundrel  of  a  cur,  who,  whenever  the  church-bells 
ring,  will  run  to  the  street-door,  turn  up  his  nose  in 
the  wind,  and  howl  most  piteously.  Jeremy  insists 
that  this  is  owing  to  a  peculiar  delicacy  in  the  or- 
ganization of  his  ears,  and  supports  his  position  by 
many  learned  arguments  which  nobody  can  under- 
stand ;  but  I  am  of  opinion  that  it  is  a  mere  Cock- 
loft whim-wham,  which  the  little  cur  indulges,  beipg 
descended  from  a  race  of  dogs  which  has  flourished 
in  the  family  ever  since  the  time  o*"  my  grandfarher. 
A  propensity  to  save  every  thing  that  bears  the 
■tamp  of  family  antiquity,  has  accumulated  an  abun- 
dance of  trumpery  and  rubbish  with  which  the  house 
Is  encumbered  from  the  cellar  to  the  garret ;  and  ev- 
ery room,  and  closet,  and  corner  is  crammed  with 
three-legged  chairs,  clocks  without  hands,  swords 
without  scabbards,  cocked  hats,  broken  candlesticks, 
and  looking-glasses  with  frames  carved  into  fantastic 
shapes  of  feathered  sheep,  woolly  birds,  and  o  her 
animals  that  have  no  name  except  in  books  of  her- 
aldry. The  ponderous  mahogany  chairs  in  the  par- 
lour are  of  such  unwieldy  proportions  that  it  ij  quite 
a  serious  undertaking  to  gallant  one  of  them  across 
ihd  room  ;  and  sometimes  make  a  most  equivocal 
noise  when  you  set  down  in  a  hurrv ;  the  manltl- 
piece  is  decorated  with  little  lacquered  earthen  shep- 
herdesses ;  some  of  which  are  without  toes,  and 
others  without  noses;  and  the  fire-place  is  gar- 
nished out  with  Dutch  tiles,  exhibiting  a  great  vari- 
ety of  scripture  pieces,  which  my  good  old  soul  of  a 
cousin  takes  infinite  delight  in  explaining.  —  Poor 
Jeremy  hates  them  as  he  does  poison ;  for  while  a 
yonker,  he  was  obliged  by  his  mother  to  learn  the 
histor)'  of  a  tile  every  Sunday  moniing  before  she 
would  permit  him  to  join  his  playmates ;  this  was  a 
terrible  affair  for  Jeremy,  who,  by  the  time  he  had 
le^irned  the  last  had  forgotien  tne  first,  and  was 
obliged  to  begin  again.  He  assured  me  the  other 
day,  with  a  round  college  oath,  that  if  the  old  house 
stood  out  till  he  inherited  it,  he  would  have  these 
tiles  taken  out  and  ground  into  powder,  for  the  per- 
fect hatred  he  bore  them. 

My  cousin  Christopher  enjoys  unlimited  authority 
in  thi  mansion  of  his  forefathers ;  he  is  truly  what 
may  be  termed  a  hearty  old  blade,  has  a  florid,  sun- 
shine countenance;  and  if  you  will  only  praise  his 
wine,  and  laugh'at  his  long  stories,  himself  and  his 
house  are  heartily  at  your  serxace. — The  first  condi- 
tion is  indeed  easily  complied  with,  for,  to  tell  the 


truth,  his  wine  is  excellent ;  but  his  stories,  beint 
not  of  the  best,  and  often  repeated,  are  apt  to  create 
a  disposition  to  yawn ;  being,  in  addition  to  theii 
other  Qualities,  most  unreasonably  long.  His  prolix- 
ity is  tne  more  afflicting -to  me,  since  I  have  all  hij 
stories  by  heart ;  and  when  he  enters  upon  one,  it 
reminds  me  of  Newark  causeway,  where  the  travel- 
ler sees  the  end  at  the  distance  of  several  miles.  To 
the  great  misfoitune  of  all  his  acquaintance,  couslc 
Cockloft  is  blest  with  a  most  provoking  retentive 
memory ;  and  can  give  day  and  date,  and  name  and 
age  and  circumstance,  with  the  most  unfeeling  pre- 
cision. These,  however,  are  but  trivial  foit)les,  for- 
gotten, or  remembered,  only  with  a  kind  of  tender, 
respectful  pity,  by  those  who  know  with  what  a  rich 
redundant  harvest  of  kindness  and  generosity  his 
heart  is  stcred.  It  would 'delight  you  to  see  with 
what  social  gladness  he  welcomes  a  visitor  into  his 
house;  and  the  poorest  man  that  enters  his  dour 
never  leaves  it  without  a  cordial  invitation  to  sit 
down  and  drink  a  glass  of  wine.  By  the  honest 
farmers  round  his  country-scat,  he  is  looked  up  to 
with  love  and  reverence ;  they  never  pass  him  by 
without  his  inquiring  after  the  welfare  of  their  fam- 
ilies, and  receiving  a  cordial  shake  of  his  lil)eral 
hand.  There  are  but  two  classes  of  |)eople  who  arc 
thrown  out  of  the  reach  of  his  hospitality,  and  these 
are  Frenchmen  and  democrats.  Tne  okl  genilcinan 
considers  it  treason  against  the  majesty  of  (^(kkI 
breeding  to  speak  to  any  visitor  with  his  hat  on  ;  liut, 
the  momenta  democrat  enters  his  door,  he  forthwith 
bids  his  man  Pompey  bring  his  hat,  puts  it  on  his 
head,  and  salutes  him  with  an  appalling  "  well,  sir, 
what  do  you  want  with  me  ?  " 

He  has  a  profound  contempt  for  Frenchmen,  ar.d 
firmly  believes,  that  they  »:at  nothing  but  frogs  and 
soup-niaigre  in  their  own  country.  This  uniuclty 
prejudice  is  partly  owing  to  my  great  aunt,  Pamela. 
having  been  many  years  ago,  run  away  with  l)y  a 
French  Coui.t,  who  turned  out  to  be  the  son  of  a 
generation  of  barbers ; — and  partly  to  a  little  vivid 
spark  of  toryism,  which  bums  in  a  secret  corner  of 
his  heart.  He  was  a  loyal  sul)ject  of  the  crown,  has 
hardly  yet  recovered  the  shock  of  independence  ;  and, 
though  he  does  not  care  to  own  it,  always  i.oe.s  hon- 
our to  his  majesty's  birth-d.ay,  by  inviting  a  few  cava- 
liers, like  himself,  to  dinner ;  and  gr.acing  his  table 
wiih  more  than  ordinary  festivity.  If  by  chance  the 
revolution  is  mentioned  before  him,  my  cousjin  sliakrs 
his  head  ;  and  you  may  see,  if  you  take  good  note,  a 
lurking  smile  o\  conlen)pt  in  the  corner  of  his  eye, 
which  marks  a  decided  (lisapprobation  of  the  sound. 
He  once,  in  the  fulnens  of  his  heart,  observed  to  me 
that  green  peas  were  a  month  later  than  they  were 
under  the  old  government.  But  the  most  eccentric 
manifestation  of  loyalty  he  ever  gave,  was  making  a 
voyage  to  Halifax  for  no  other  reason  under  heaven 
but  to  hear  his  Majesty  prayed  for  in  church,  as  he 
used  to  be  here  formerly.  This  he  never  could  be 
brought  fairly  to  acknowledge ;  but  it  is  a  certain 
fact,  I  assure  you.  It  is  not  a  little  singular  th.ii  a 
person,  so  mudh  given  to  long  story-telling  as  my 
cousin,  should  take  a  li';'r.<^  to  another  of  tlie  sai'.^f 
character  ;  but  so  it  is  with  the  old  gentleman : 
his  prime  favourite  and  companion  is  Will  Wizard, 
v/ho  is  almost  a  member  of  the  family ;  and  will  si' 
before  the  fire,  with  his  feet  on  the  massy  audirons, 
and  smoke  his  segar.  and  screw  hvs  phiz,  and  spin 
away  tremendous  long  stories  -n  hi-,  travels,  for  a 
whole  evening,  to  the  great  dehgi.i  of  the  old  gentle- 
man and  lady ;  and  especially  of  the  young  ladies, 
who,  like  Desdemona,  do  "seriously  inc'ine,"  and 
listen  to  him  with  innumerable  "O  dears,"  "is  it 
possibles,"  "  goody  graciouses,"  and  look  upon  him 
as  a  secon''  Sinbad  the  sailor. 


SALMAGUNDI. 


655 


The  Miss  Cocklofts,  whose  pardon  I  crave  for  not 
having  particularly  introduced  them  before,  are  a 
pair  of  delectable  damsels ;  who,  having  purloined 
and  locked  up  the  family-Bible,  pass  for  just  what  age 
thry  please  to  be  guilty  to.    Barbara,  the  eldest, 
has  lone  since  resigned  the  character  of  a  belle,  and 
adopted  that  staid,  sober,  demure,  snuff-taking  air 
becoming  her  years  and  discretion.    She  is  a  good- 
natured  soul,  whom  I  never  saw  in  a  passion  but 
once  ;  and  that  was  occasioned  by  seeing  an  old 
Eivorite  beau  of  hers,  kiss  the  hand  of  a  pretty 
bloonning  girl ;  and,  in  truth,  she  only  got  angry  be- 
caasei  as  she  very  properly  said,  it  was  spoiling  the 
child.    Her  sister  Margery,  or  Maggie,  as  she  is 
familiarly  termed,  seemed  disposed  to  maintain  her 
post  as  a  belle,  until  a  few  months  since ;  when  acci- 
dently  hearing  a  gentleman  observe  that  she  broke 
very  fast,  she  suddenly  left  off  going  to  the  assembly, 
took  a  cat  into  high  tavour,  and  began  to  rail  at  the 
forward  pertness  of  young  misses.     From  that  mo- 
ment I  set  her  down  for  an  old  maid ;  and  so  she  is, 
"  by  the  hand  of  my  body."    The  young  ladies  are 
still  visited  by  some  half  dozen  of  veteran  beaux,  who 
grew  and  flourished  in  the  haut  ton,  when  the  Miss 
Cocklofts  were  quite  children ;  but  have  been  brush- 
ed rather  rudely  by  the  hand  of  time,  who,  to  say  the 
truth,  can  do  almost  any  thing  but  make  people 
young.    They  are,  notwithstanding,  still  warm  can- 
didates for  female  favour  ;  look  venerably  tender,  and 
repeat  over  and  over  the  same  honeyed  speeches  and 
sugared  sentiments  to  the  little  belles  that  they  pour- 
ed so  profusely  into  the  ears  of  their  mothers.     I  beg 
leave  here  to  give  notice,  that  by  this  sketch,  I  mean 
no  reflection  on  old  bachelors;  on  the  contrary,  I 
hold  that  next  to  a  fine  lady,  the  nt  plus  ultra,  an  old 
bachelor  to  be  the  most  charming  being  upon  earth  ; 
'■x\  as  much  as  by  Uving  in  "  single  blessedness,"  he 
jf  course  does  just  as  he  pleases ;  and  if  he  has  any 
{cnius,  must  acquire  a  plentiful  stock  of  whims,  and 
oddities, and  whalebone  habits;  without  which  1  es- 
teem a  man  to  be  mere  beef  without  mustard  ;  good 
for  nothing  at  all,  but  to  run  on  errands  for  ladies, 
take  boxes  at  the  theatre,  and  act  the  part  of  a 
screen  at   tea-parties,  or  a  walking-stick  in  the 
streets.     I  merely  speak  of  these  old  boys  who  infest 
public  walks,  pounce  upon  ladies  from  every  corner 
of  the  street,  and  worry  and  frisk  and  amble,  and 
caper  before,  behind,  and  round  about  the  fashion- 
able belles,  like  old  ponies  in  a  pasture,  striving  to 
supply  the  absence  of  youthful  whim  and  hilarity,  by 
grimaces  and  grins,  and  artificial  vivacity.     I  have 
sometimes  seen  one  of  these  "  reverend  youths  "  en- 
deavouring to  elevate  his  wintry  passions  into  some- 
thing like  love,  by  basking  in  the  sunshine  of  beauty ; 
and  It  did  remind  me  of  an  old  moth  attempting  to 
fly  through  a  pane  of  glass  towards  a  light,  without 
ever  approaching  near  enough  to  warm  itself,  or 
scorch  its  wings. 

Never,  I  firmly  believe,  did  there  exist  a  family  that 
went  more  by  tangents  than  the  Cocklofts.  Every 
thing  is  governed  by  whim  ;  and  if  one  meml^er  starts 
a  new  freak,  away  all  the  rest  follow  on  like  wild  geese 
in  a  string.  As  the  family,  the  servants,  the  horses, 
ratj,  and  dogs,  have  all  grown  old  together,  they 
iiave  accommodated  themselves  to  each  other's  hab- 
its completely ;  and  though  every  body  of  them  is 
(ull  of  odd  points,  angles,  rhomboids,  and  ins  and 
aats.  yet,  some  how  or  other,  they  harmonize  to- 
fcther  Uke  so  many  straight  lines  ;  and  it  is  truly  a 
grateful  and  refreshing  sight  to  see  them  agree  so 
well.  Should  one,  however,  get  out  of  tune,  it  is  like 
a  cracked  fiddle :  the  whole  concert  is  ajar ;  you  per- 
ceive a  cloud  over  every  brow  in  the  house,  and  even 
the  old  chairs  seem  to  creak  affetuosso.  If  my  cousin, 
w*  he  is  rather  apt  to  do,  betray  any  symptoms  of  vex- 


ation or  uneasiness,  no  matter  about  what,  he  is  wor- 
ried to  death  with  inquiries,  which  answer  no  other  end 
but  to  demonstrate  the  good-will  of  the  inquirer,  and 
put  him  in  a  passion  ;  for  every  body  knows  how  pro- 
voking it  is  to  be  cut  short  in  a  fit  of  the  blues,  by  an 
impertinent  question  about  "  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 
when  a  man  can't  tell  himself.  I  remember  a  few 
months  ago  the  old  gentleman  came  home  in  quite  a 
squall ;  kicked  poor  Caesar,  the  mastiff,  out  of  his 
way,  as  he  came  through  the  hall ;  threw  his  hat  on 
the  table  with  most  violent  emphasis,  and  pulling  out 
his  box,  took  thrc:e  huge  pinches  of  snuff,  and  threw 
a  fourth  into  the  cat's  eyes  as  he  sat  purring  his  as- 
tonishment by  the  fire-side.  This  was  enough  to  set 
the  body  pohtic  going ;  Mrs.  Cockloft  began  "  my 
dearing  '  it  as  fast  as  tongue  could  move  ;  the  young 
ladies  took  each  a  stand  at  an  elbow  of  his  chair  ; — 
Jeremy  marshalled  in  rear ;  —  the  servants  came 
tumbhng  in  ;  the  mastiff  put  up  an  inquiring  nose ; — 
and  even  grimalkin,  after  he  had  cleaned  his  whiskers 
and  finished  sneezing,  discovered  indubitable  signs 
of  sympathy.  After  the  most  affectionate  inquiries 
on  all  sides,  it  turned  out  that  my  cousin,  in  crossing 
the  street,  had  got  his  silk  stockings  bespattered  with 
mud  by  a  coach,  which  it  seems  belonged  to  a  (lash- 
ing gentleman  who  had  formerly  supplied  the  family 
with  hot  rolls  and  muffins  !  Mrs.  Cockloft  thereupon 
turned  up  her  eyes,  and  the  young  ladies  their  noses ; 
and  it  would  have  edified  a  whole  congregation  to 
hear  the  conversation  which  took  place  concerning 
the  insolence  of  upstarts,  and  the  vulgarity  of  would- 
be  gentlemen  and  ladies,  who  strive  to  emerge  from 
low  life  by  dashing  about  in  carriages  to  pay  a  visit 
two  doors  of ;  giving  partits  to  prople  who  laugh  at 
them,  and  cutting  all  their  old  friends. 


THEATRICS. 
BY  William  wizard,  esq. 


I  WENT  a  few  evenings  since  to  the  theatre  ac- 
companied by  my  friend  Snivers,  the  cockney,  who  is 
a  man  deeply  read  in  the  history  of  Cinderella,  Valen- 
tine and  Orson,  Blue  Beard,  and  all  those  recondite 
works  so  necessary  to  enable  a  man  to  understand 
the  modern  drama.  Snivers  is  one  of  those  intoler- 
able fellows  who  will  never  be  pleased  with  any 
thing  until  he  has  turned  and  twisted  it  divers  ways, 
to  see  if  it  corresponds  with  his  notions  of  congruity ; 
and  as  he  is  none  of  the  quickest  in  his  ratiocina- 
tions, he  will  sometimes  come  out  with  his  approba- 
tion, when  every  body  else  have  forgotten  the  cause 
which  excited  it.  Snivers  is,  moreover,  a  great  critic, 
for  he  finds  fault  with  every  thing ;  this  being  what  I 
understand  by  modem  criticism.  He,  however,  is 
pleased  to  acknowledge  that  our  theatre  is  not  so 
despicable,  all  things  considered ;  and  really  thinks 
Cooper  one  of  our  best  actors.  The  play  was 
Othello,  and  to  speak  my  mind  freely,  I  think  I 
have  seen  it  performed  much  worse  in  my  time. 
The  actors,  I  firmly  believe,  did  their  best ;  and 
whenever  this  is  the  case  no  man  has  a  right  to  find 
fault  with  them,  in  my  opinion.  Little  Rutherford, 
the  Roscius  of  the  Philadelphia  theatre,  looked  as 
big  as  possible ;  and  what  he  wanted  in  size  he  made 
up  in  frowning.  I  like  frowning  in  tragedy  ;  and  it 
a  man  but  keeps  his  forehead  in  proper  wrinkle, 
talks  big,  and  takes  long  strides  on  the  stage,  I  al- 
ways set  him  down  as  a  great  tragedian ;  and  so 
does  my  friend  Snivers. 

Before  Mtv-  first  act  was  over,  Snivers  began  te 
flourish    lis  critical  wooden  sword  like  a  harlequin 


550 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


m 

■it  III 


■■;■* 


t'  *■:  |[' 


fir  J 


He  titst  found  fault  with  Cooper  for  not  having 
made  himself  as  black  as  a  negro ;  "  for,"  said  he, 
"that  Othello  was  an  arrant  black,  appears  from 
several  expressions  of  the   play;  as,  lor  instance, 

thick  lips,'  'sooty  b)som,'  and  a  variety  of  others, 
I  am  inclined  to  think,"  continued  he,  '•  that  Othello 
«raj  an  Egyptian  by  birth,  from  the  circumstance  of 
•he  handka- chief  si  ven  to  his  mother  by  a  native  of 
that  c  j':..'itr)  ;  and,  if  so,  he  certainly  was  as  black  as 
ny  hat :  for  Herodotus  has  told  us,  that  the  Egyp- 
dans  had  flat  noses  and  frizzled  hair ;  a  clear  proof 
that  they  were  all  negroes."  He  did  not  confine  his 
strictures  to  this  single  error  of  the  actor,  but  went 
on  to  run  him  down  in  toto.  In  this  he  was  second- 
ed by  a  red  hot  Philadelphian,  who  proved,  by  a 
string  of  ^ost  eloquent  logical  puns,  that  Fennel 
was  unquestionably  in  every  respect  a  better  actor 
than  Cooper.  I  knew  it  was  vain  to  contend  with 
them,  since  I  recollected  a  most  obstinate  trial  of 
skill  these  two  great  Roscii  had  last  spring  in  Phila- 
delphia. Cooper  brandished  his  blood-stained  dag- 
ger at  the  theatre — Fennel  flourished  his  snuff-box 
and  shook  his  wig  at  the  Lyceum,  and  the  unfortu- 
nate Philadelphians  were  a  long  time  at  a  loss  to  de- 
cide which  deserved  the  palm.  The  literati  were 
inclined  to  give  it  to  Cooper,  because  his  name  was 
the  most  fruitful  in  puns ;  but  then,  on  the  other 
side,  it  was  contended  that  Fennel  was  the  best 
Greek  scholar.  Scarcely  was  the  town  of  Strasburgh 
in  a  greater  hub-bub  about  the  courteous  stranger's 
nose ;  and  it  was  well  that  the  doctors  of  the  univer- 
sity did  not  get  into  the  dispute,  else  it  might  have 
become  a  battle  of  folios.  At  length,  after  much 
eicellent  argument  had  been  expended  on  both 
sides,  recourse  was  had  to  Cocker's  arithmetic  and 
a  carpenter's  rule;  the  rival  candidates  were  both 
measured  by  one  of  their  most  steady-handed  critics, 
and  by  the  most  exact  measurement  it  was  proved 
diat  Mr.  Fennel  was  the  greater  actor  by  three 
inches  and  a  quarter.  Since  this  demonstration  of 
his  inferiority.  Cooper  has  never  been  able  to  hold 
up  his  head  in  Philadelphia. 

In  order  to  change  a  conversation  in  which  my 
favourite  sufiered  so  much,  I  made  some  inquiries 
of  the  Philadelphian,  concerning  the  two  heroes  of 
his  theatre,  Wood  and  Cain  ;  but  1  had  scarcely 
mentioned  their  names,  when,  whack !  he  threw  a 
whole  handful  of  puns  in  my  face ;  'twas  like  a  bowl 
of  cold  water.  I  turned  on  my  heel,  had  recourse  to 
my  tobacco-box,  and  said  no  more  about  Wood  and 
Cain ;  nor  will  I  ever  more,  if  I  can  help  it,  mention 
their  names  in  the  presence  of  a  Philadelphian. 
Would  that  they  could  leave  off  punning !  for  I  love 
every  soul  of  them,  with  a  cordial  affection,  warm 
as  their  own  generous  hearts,  and  boundless  as  their 
hospitality. 

During  the  performance,  I  kept  an  eye  on  the 
countenance  of  my  friend,  the  cockney;  because 
having  come  all  the  way  from  England,  and  having 
seen  Kemble  once,  on  a  visit  which  he  made  from 
the  button  manufactory  to  Lunnun,  I  thought  his 
phiz  might  serve  as  a  kind  of  thermometer  to  direct 
my  manifestations  of  applause  or  disapprobation. 
[  might  as  well  have  looked  at  the  back-side  of  his 
'lead;  for  I  could  not,  with  all  my  peering,  perceive 
ty  his  features  that  he  was  pleased  with  any  thing — 
except  himself.  His  hat  was  twitched  a  little  on  one 
lide,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  demme,  I'm  your  sorts ! " 
He  was  sucking  the  end  of  a  little  stick;  he  was 
"  gemman  "  from  head  to  foot ;  but  as  to  his  face, 
there  was  no  more  expression  in  it  than  in  the  face 
of  a  Chinese  lady  on  a  teacup.  On  Cooper's  giving 
one  of  his  gunpowder  explosions  of  passion,  I  ex- 
claimed, "6ne,  very  fine ! '  "  Pardon  me,"  said  my 
friend  Snivers,  "  this  is  damnable  I— the  gesture,  my 


dear  sir,  only  look  at  the  gesture  I  how  horrible !  d< 
you  not  observe  that  the  actor  slaps  his  forehead, 
whereas,  the  passion  not  having  arrived  at  the  propei 
height,  he  should  only  have  sapped  his — pocket-flap ) 
— this  figure  of  rhetoric  is  a  most  important  stage 
trick,  and  the  proper  management  of  it  is  what 
peculiarly  distinguishes  the  great  actor  from  the 
mere  plodding  mechanical  buffoon.  Different  de 
grees  of  passion  require  different  slaps,  which  we 
critics  have  -educed  to  a  perfect  manual,  improving 
upon  the  principle  adopted  by  Frederic  of  Prus.si;i 
by  deciding  that  an  actor,  like  a  soldier,  is  a  mere 
machine ;  as  thus — the  actor,  for  a  minor  burst  ut 
passion  merely  slaps  his  pocket-hole  ;  good  ! — for  a 
major  burst,  he  slaps  his  breast ; — very  good  !— but 
for  a  burst  maximus,  he  whacks  away  at  his  fore- 
head, like  a  brave  fellow ; — this  is  excellent ! — noth- 
ing can  be  finer  than  an  exit  slapping  the  forehead 
from  one  end  of  the  stage  to  the  other."  "  Except, " 
replied  I,  "  one  of  those  slaps  on  the  breast,  whicli  I 
have  sometimes  admired  in  some  of  our  fat  heroes 
and  heroines,  which  make  their  whole  body  shake 
and  quiver  like  a  pyramid  of  jelly." 

The  Philadelphian  had  listened  to  this  conversation 
with  profound  attention,  and  appeared  delighted  with 
Snivers'  mechanical  strictures ;  'twas  natural  enouijh 
in  a  man  who  chose  an  actor  as  he  would  a  grenadier. 
He  took  the  opportunity  of  a  pause,  to  enter  into  a 
long  conversation  with  my  friend ;  and  was  receiving 
a  prodigious  fund  of  information  concerning  the  true 
mode  of  emphasising  conjunctions,  shifting  scents, 
snuffing  candles,  and  making  thunder  and  lightning,', 
better  than  you  can  get  every  day  from  the  sky,  is 
practised  at  the  roy<al  theatres;  when,  as  ill  hitl 
would  have  it,  they  happened  to  run  their  hendi 
full  butt  against  a  new  reading.  Now  this  was  "  ? 
stumper,"  as  our  old  friend  Paddle  would  say ;  for 
the  Philadelphians  are  as  inveterate  new-reading 
hunters  as  the  cocknies ;  and,  for  aught  I  know,  as 
well  skilled  in  finding  them  out.  The  Philadelphian 
thereupon  met  the  cockney  on  his  own  ground; 
and  at  it  they  went,  like  two  inveterate  curs  at  a 
bone.  Snivers  quoted  Theobald,  Hannier,  and  a 
host  of  learned  commentators,  who  have  pinned 
themselves  on  the  sleeve  of  Shakspeare's  immor- 
tality, and  made  the  old  bard,  like  general  Washing- 
ton, in  general  Washington's  life,  a  most  diminutive 
figure  in  his  own  book ; — his  opponent  chose  Johnson 
for  his  bottle-holder,  and  thundered  him  forward  like 
an  elephant  to  bear  down  the  ranks  of  the  enemy. 
I  was  not  long  in  discovering  that  these  two  precious 
judges  had  got  hold  of  that  unlucky  passage  of 
Shakspeare  which,  like  a  straw,  has  tickled,  and 
puzzled,  and  confounded  many  a  somniferous  buzzard 
of  past  and  present  time.  It  was  the  celebrated  wish 
of  Dtsdemona,  that  heaven  had  made  her  such  a 
man  as  Othello. — Snivers  insisted,  that  "the  gentle 
Desdemona  "  merely  wished  for  such  a  man  for  a 
husband,  which  in  all  conscience  was  a  modest  wish 
enough,  and  very  natural  in  a  young  lady  who  might 
possibly  have  had  a  predilection  for  flat  noses ;  like 
a  certain  philosophical  great  man  of  our  day.  The 
Philadelphian  contended  with  all  the  vehemence  of 
a  member  of  congress,  moving  the  house  to  have 
"whereas,"  or  "also,"  or  "  nevertheless,"  struck  out 
of  a  bill,  that  the  young  lady  wished  heaven  had 
made  her  a  man  instead  of  a  woman,  in  order  that 
she  might  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  "  an- 
thropophagi, and  the  men  whose  heads  do  grow  be> 
neatn  their  shoulders;"  which  was  a  very  natural 
wish,  considering  the  curiosity  of  the  sex.  On  being 
referred  to,  I  incontinently  decided  in  favour  of  the 
honourable  member  who  spoke  last ;  inasmuch  as  I 
think  it  was  a  very  foolish,  and  therefore  very  natural, 
wish  for  a  young  lady  to  make  before  a  man  she 


SALMAGUNDI. 


657 


mshed  to  marrv.  It  was,  moreover,  an  indication  of 
the  violent  inclination  she  felt  to  wear  the  breeches, 
which  was  afterwards,  in  all  probability,  gratified, 
if  we  may  judge  from  the  title  of  "our  captain's 
captain,"  given  her  by  Cassio,  a  phrase  which,  in 
niy  opinion,  indicates  that  Othello  was,  at  that  time, 
most  ignominiously  hen-pecked.  I  believe  my  argu- 
ments staggered  Snivers  himself,  for  he  looked  con- 
foundedly queer,  and  said  not  another  word  on  the 
luMect. 

A  little  while  after,  at  it  he  went  again  on  another 
tack ;  and  be^an  to  find  fault  with  Cooper's  manner 
of  dying  • — "  it  was  not  natural,"  he  said,  for  it  had 
lately  been  demonstrated,  by  a  learned  doctor  of 
physic,  that  when  a  man  is  mortally  stabbed,  he 
ought  to  take  a  flying  leap  of  at  least  five  feet,  and 
drop  down  "dead  as  a  salmon  in  a  fishmonger's 
bastcet." — Whenever  a  man,  in  the  predicament 
above  mentioned,  departed  from  this  fundamental 
rule,  bv  falling  flat  down,  like  a  log,  and  rolling 
about  for  two  or  three  minutes,  making  speeches  all 
the  time,  the  said  learned  doctor  maintained  that  it 
was  owin^  to  the  waywardness  of  the  human  mind, 
which  delighted  in  flying  in  the  face  of  nature,  and 
dy<ne  in  defiance  of  all  her  esublished  rules. — I  re- 
plied, "  for  my  part,  I  held  that  every  man  had  a 
right  of  dying  in  whatever  position  he  pleased ;  and 
that  the  mode  of  doing  it  depended  altogether  on  the 
peculiar  character  of  the  person  going  to  die.  A 
Persian  could  not  die  in  peace  unless  he  had  his  face 
turned  to  the  east ; — a  Mahometan  would  always 
choose  to  have  his  towards  Mecca ;  a  Frenchman 
might  prefer  this  mode  of  throwing  a  somerset ;  but 
Mynheer  Van  Brumblebottom,  the  Roscius  of  Rotter- 
dam, always  chose  to  thunder  down  on  his  seat  of 
honour  whenever  he  received  a  mortal  wound. — Be- 
ing a  man  of  ponderous  dimensions,  this  had  a  most 
dectrifying  enect,  for  the  whole  theatre  "  shook  like 
Olympus  at  the  nod  of  Jove."  The  Philadelphian 
was  immediately  inspired  with  a  pun,  and  swore 
that  Mynheer  must  be  great  in  a  dying  scene,  since 
he  knew  how  to  make  the  most  of  his  latter  end. 

It  is  the  inveterate  cry  of  stage  critics,  that  an 
actor  does  not  perfoim  the  character  naturally,  if,  by 
chance,  he  happens  not  to  die  exactly  as  they  would 
have  him.  I  think  the  exhibition  of  a  play  at  Pekin 
would  suit  them  exactly ;  and  I  wish,  with  all  my 
heart,  they  would  go  there  and  see  one :  nature  is 
there  imitated  with  the  most  scrupulous  exactness  in 
every  trifling  particular.  Here  an  unhappy  lady  or 
gentleman,  who  happens  unluckily  to  be  poisoned  or 
stabbed,  is  left  on  the  stage  to  writhe  and  groan, 
and  make  faces  at  the  audience,  until  the  poet 
pleases  they  should  die ;  while  the  honest  folks  of 
the  dramatit  persona,  bless  their  hearts !  all  crowd 
round  and  yield  most  potent  assistance,  by  crying 
and  lamenting  most  vociferously !  the  audience,  ten- 
der souls,  pull  out  their  white  pocket  handkerchiefs, 
wipe  their  eyes,  blow  their  noses,  and  swear  it  is 
natural  as  life,  while  the  poor  actor  is  '.:ft  to  die 
without  common  Christian  comfort.  Ir  China,  on 
the  contrary,  the  first  thing  they  do  is  to  run  for  the 
doctor  and  tchoouc,  or  notaryi^  The  audience  are 
entertained  throughout  the  fifth  act  with  a  learned 
consultation  of  physicians,  and  if  the  patient  must 
die,  he  does  it  secundum  artent,  and  always  is  al- 
lowed time  to  make  his  will.  The  celebrated  Chow- 
Chow  was  the  conipletest  hand  I  ever  saw  at  killing 
himself ;  he  always  carried  under  his  robe  a  bladder 
of  bull's  blood,  wtiich,  when  he  gave  the  mortal  stab, 
spirted  out,  to  the  infinite  delight  of  the  audience. 
Not  that  the  ladies  of  China  are  more  fond  of  the 
sight  of  blood  than  those  of  our  own  country;  on  the 
contrary,  they  are  remarkably  sensitive  in  this  par- 
ticular ;  and  we  are  told  by  the  great  Linkum  Fideli- 


us,  that  the  beautiful  Ninny  Coiisequa,  one  of  the 
ladies  of  the  emperor's  seraglio,  once  fainted  awav 
on  seeing  a  favourite  slave's  nose  bleed ;  since  whicn 
time  refinement  has  been  carried  to  such  a  pitch 
that  a  buskined  hero  is  not  allowed  to  run  himself 
through  the  body  in  the  face  of  the  audience.— The 
immortal  Chow-Chow,  in  conformity  to  this  absurd 
prejudice,  whenever  he  plays  the  part  of  Othellc 
which  is  reckoned  his  master-piece,  always  keeps  a 
bold  front,  stabs  himself  slily  behind,  and  is  dead 
before  any  body  suspects  that  he  has  given  the  mor- 
tal blow. 

P.  S.  Just  £J  this  was  going  to  press,  I  was  in- 
formed by  Evergreen  that  Othello  had  not  been  per- 
formed here  the  Lord  knows  when  ;  no  matter,  I  am 
not  the  first  that  has  criticised  a  play  without  seeing 
it,  and  this  critique  will  answer  for  the  last  perform- 
ance, if  that  was  a  dozen  years  ago. 


No.  VII.— SATURDAY,   APRIL  4,  1807. 


RUB  A-DUB 


LETTER    FROM    MUSTAPHA 
KELl   KHAN, 

TO    ASEM    HACCHEM,     PRINCIPAL    SLAVK-DRIVEB 
TO  HIS  HIGHNESS  THE   BASHAW  OF  TRIPOLI. 

I  PROMISED  in  a  former  letter,  good  Asem,  that  I 
would  furnish  thee  with  a  few  hints  respecting  the 
nature  of  the  government  by  which  I  am  held  ir 
durance. — Though  my  inquiries  for  that  purpose 
have  -been  industrious,  yet  I  am  not  perfectly  satis- 
fied with  their  results ;  for  thou  mayest  easily  imagine 
that  the  vision  of  a  captive  is  overshadowed  Dy  tin 
mists  of  illusion  and  prejudice,  and  the  horizoE  3l 
his  speculations  must  be  limited  indeed.  I  find  that 
the  people  of  this  country  are  strangely  at  a  loss  to 
determine  the  nature  and  proper  character  of  theii 
government.  Even  their  dervises  are  extremely  in 
the  dark  as  to  this  particular,  and  are  continually  in- 
dul^ng  in  the  most  preposterous  disquisitions  on  the 
subject :  some  have  insisted  that  it  savours  of  an 
aristocracy ;  others  maintain  that  it  is  a  pure  democ- 
racy ;  and  a  third  set  of  theorists  declare  absolutely 
that  it  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  mobocracy. 
The  latter,  I  must  confess,  though  still  wide  in  error, 
have  come  nearest  to  the  truth.  You  of  course  m'jst 
understand  the  meaning  of  these  different  words,  as 
they  are  derived  from  the  ancient  Greek  language, 
and  bespeak  loudly  the  verbal  poverty  of  these  poor 
infidels,  who  cannot  utter  a  learned  phrase  without 
laying  the  dead  languages  under  contribution.  A 
man.  my  dear  Asem,  who  talks  good  sense  in  his 
native  tongue,  is  held  in  tolerable  estimation  in  this 
country ;  but  a  fool,  who  clothes  his  feeble  ideas  in  a 
foreign  or  antique  garb,  is  bowed  down  to  as  a  liter- 
ary prodigy.  While  I  conversed  with  these  people 
in  plain  English,  I  was  but  little  attended  to ;  but 
the  moment  I  prosed  away  in  Greek,  every  one 
looked  up  to  me  with  veneration  as  an  oracle. 

Although  the  dervises  differ  widely  in  the  par- 
ticulars above  mentioned,  yet  they  all  agree  in  term- 
ing their  government  one  of  the  most  pacific  in  the 
known  world.  I  cannot  help  pityine  their  ignorance, 
and  smiling,  at  times,  to  see  into  what  ridiculous  er- 
rors those  nations  will  wander  who  are  unenlight- 
ened by  the  precepts  of  Mahomet,  our  divine  prophet, 
and  uninstructed  by  the  five  hundred  and  forty-nine 
books  of  wisdom  of  the  immortal  Ibrattim  Hassan  a) 
Fusti.  To  caM  this  nation  pacific  !  most  preposter- 
ous I  i   -eminds  me  of  the  title  assumed  by  the  shtck 


568 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


■■♦■> 


?-:!>;* 


of  that  murderous  tribe  of  wild  Arabs,  that  desolate 
the  valleys  of  Belsaden,  who  styles  himself  star  or 
COVRTKSV— BEAM   Ur  THK   MGRCV-SEAT  t 

The  simple  truth  of  the  matter  is,  that  these  peo- 
ple are  totally  ignorant  of  their  own  true  character ; 
tor,  accordini^  to  the  best  of  my  observation,  they 
are  the  most  warlike,  and,  I  must  say,  the  most  sav- 
age nation  that  I  have  as  yet  discovered  among  all 
the  barbarians.  They  are  not  only  at  war,  in  their 
•wn  way,  with  almost  every  nation  on  earth,  but 
'Jiey  are  at  the  same  time  eng.iged  in  the  most  com- 
pl  cated  knot  of  civil  wars  that  ever  infested  any 
poor  unhappy  country  on  which  Alla  has  de- 
nounced his  malediction ! 

To  let  thee  at  once  into  a  secret,  which  is  un- 
known to  these  people  themselves,  their  government 
Is  a  pure  unadulterated  i.ooocracy,  or  government 
of  words.  The  whole  nation  does  every  thing  vt'va 
voce,  or  by  word  of  mouth ;  and  in  this  manner  is 
one  of  the  most  military  nations  in  existence.  Every 
man  who  has  what  is  here  called  the  gift  of  the  g.ib, 
that  is,  a  plentiful  stock  of  verbosity,  becomes  a  sol- 
dier outright ;  and  is  for  ever  in  a  militant  state. 
The  country  is  entirely  defended  vi  et  lingua  ;  th.at 
is  to  say,  by  force  of  tongues.  The  account  which  I 
lately  wrote  to  our  friend,  the  snorer,  respecting  the 
immense  army  of  six  hundred  men,  makes  nothing 
against  this  observation  ;  that  formidable  body  being 
kept  up,  as  I  have  already  observed,  only  to  amuse 
their  fair  country-women  by  their  splendid  appear- 
ance and  nodding  plumes  ;  and  are,  by  way  of  dis- 
tinction, denominated  the  "  defenders  of  the  fair." 

In  a  logocracy  thou  well  knowest  there  is  little  or 
no  occasion  for  fire-arms,  or  any  such  destructive 
weapons.  Every  offensive  or  defensive  measure  is 
snforced  by  wordy  battle,  and  pai>er  war ;  he  who 
Sas  the  longest  tongue  or  readiest  quill,  is  sure 
0  gain  the  victory, — will  carry  horror,  abuse,  and 
ink-shed  into  the  \  ery  trenches  of  the  enemy ;  and, 
without  mercy  or  remorse,  put  men,  women,  and 
children  to  the  poii.t  of  the — pen  I 

There  is  still  preserved  in  this  country  some  re- 
mains of  that  gotnic  spirit  of  knight-errantry,  which 
so  much  annoyed  the  faithful  in  the  middle  ages  of 
the  hegira.  As,  notwithstanding  their  martial  dis- 
position, they  are  a  people  much  g;iven  to  commerce 
and  agriculture,  and  must,  necessarily,  at  certain 
seasons  be  engaged  in  these  em|)loyments,  they  have 
accommodated  themselves  by  appointing  knights,  or 
constant  warriors,  incessant  brawlers,  similar  to 
those  who,  in  former  ages,  swore  eternal  enmity  to 
the  followers  of  our  divine  prophet. — These  knights, 
denominated  editors  or  slang-whangers,  are  ap- 
pointed in  every  town,  village,  and  district,  to  carry 
on  both  foreign  and  internal  warfare,  and  may  be 
said  to  keep  up  a  constant  firing  "in  words."  Oh, 
my  friend,  could  you  but  witness  the  enormities 
sometimes  committed  by  these  tremendous  slang- 
whangers,  your  very  turban  would  rise  with  horror 
and  astonishment.  I  have  seen  them  extend  their 
"ivages  even  into  the  kitchens  of  their  opponents, 
uid  annihilate  the  very  cook  with  a  blast ;  and  I  do 
assure  thee,  I  beheld  one  of  these  warriors  attack  a 
most  venerable  bashaw,  and  at  one  stroke  of  his  pen 
Uy  him  open  from  the  waistband  of  his  breeches  to 
Lis  chin  I 

There  has  been  a  civil  war  carrying  on  with  great 
violence  for  some  time  past,  in  consequence  of  a 
conspiracy,  among  the  higher  classes,  to  dethrone 
his  highness  the  present  bashaw,  and  place  another 
in  his  stead.  I  was  mistaken  when  I  formerly  .as- 
serted to  thee  that  this  dissatisfaction  arose  from  his 
wearing  red  breeches.  It  is  true  the  nation  have 
long  held  that  colour  in  gieat  detestation,  in  conse- 
quence o'  a  dispute  the)   had  some  twenty  years 


since  with  the  barbarians  of  the  Rrltish  .stands.  Thi 
colour,  however,  is  again  rising  into  favour,  as  the 
ladies  have  transferred  it  to  their  heads  from  tht 

bashaw's body.    The  true  reason,  I  am  told,  is, 

that  the  bashaw  absolutely  refuses  to  believe  in  th( 
deluge,  and  in  the  story  of  Balaam's  ass ; — m.iin 
taining  that  this  animal  was  never  yet  permitted  u 
talk  except  in  a  genuine  logocracy;  where,  it  is  tnr 
his  voice  may  often  be  heard,  ana  is  listened  to  wii) 
reverence,  as  "  the  voice  of  the  sovereign  people.' 
Nay,  so  far  did  he  carry  his  obstinac)',  that  he  .ihsiv 
lutely  invited  a  professed  antediluvian  from  the  (inlli< 
empire,  who  illuminated  the  whole  country  with  h^ 

principles and  his  nose.   This  was  enough  to  s<  t 

the  nation  in  a  blaze ;— every  slang-whanger  resorted 
to  his  tongue  or  his  pen  ;  and  for  seven  years  havi 
they  carried  on  a  most  inhuman  war,  in  which  vol- 
umes of  words  have  been  expended,  oceans  of  ink 
have  been  shed  ;  nor  has  any  mercy  been  shown  ti: 
age,  sex,  or  condition.  Every  day  Save  these  slan;; 
whahgers  made  furious  attacKS  on  each  other,  atnl 
upon  their  respective  adherents:  discharging  theit 
heavy  artillery,  consisting  of  large  sheets,  loadii! 
with  scoundrel !  villain  !  liar !  rascal !  numskull !  nin 
compoop  I  dunderhead  !  wiseacre  !  blockhead  !  j.icli 
ass !  and  I  do  swear,  by  my  beard,  though  I  know 
thou  wilt  scarcely  credit  me,  that  in  some  of  these 
skirmishes  the  grand  bashaw  himself  has  been  wo- 
fully  pelted !  yea,  most  ignominiously  pelted  ! — and 
yet  have  these  talking  desperadoes  escaped  without 
the  bastinado ! 

Every  now  and  then  a  slang-whanger,  who  has  a 
longer  nead,  or  rather  a  longe"-  tongue  than  the  rest, 
will  elevate  his  piece  and  disci;  rge  a  shot  quiti 
across  the  ocean,  levelled  at  the  head  of  the  em- 
peror of  France,  the  king  of  England,  or,  wouldsi 
though  believe  it,  oh  !  Asem,  even  at  his  sublime 
highness  the  bashaw  of  Tripoli  !  these  long  pieces 
are  loaded  with  single  ball,  or  langrage,  as  tyrant ! 
usurper  t  robber !  tyger !  monster  !  and  thou  may- 
est  well  suppose  they  occasion  great  distress  and 
dismay  in  the  camps  of  the  enemy,  and  arc  marvel- 
lously annoying  to  the  crowned  heads  at  which  they 
are  directed.  The  slang-whanger,  though  perhaps 
the  mere  chamr>ion  of  a  village,  having  fired  off  his 
shot,  struts  abir*  with  great  self-congratulation, 
chuckling  at  the  prodigious  bustle  he  must  have  oc- 
casioned, and  seems  to  .isk  of  every  stranger,  "  well, 
sir,  what  do  they  think  of  me  in  Europe  ?'  ♦  This  is 
sufficient  to  show  you  the  m.inner  m  which  these 
bloody,  or  rather  windy  <e))ows  fight ;  it  is  the  only 
mode  allowable  in  a  logocracy  or  government  ot 
words.  I  would  also  observe  that  their  civil  wars 
have  a  thousand  ramifications. 

While  the  fury  of  the  battle  rages  in  the  metrop- 
olis, every  little  town  and  village  has  a  distinct 
broil,  growing  like  excrescences  out  of  the  grand 
national  altercation,  or  ra  ner  agitating  within  it,  likf 
those  complicated  pieces  of  mechanism  where  there 
is  a  "wheel  within  a  wheel." 

But  in  nothing  is  the  verbose  nature  of  this  gov 


NOTE,   BY  WILLIAM   WIZARD,   ESQ. 

*  The  UKC  Miisupha,  when  he  wrote  the  above  paragrmph,  HmA 
probai'ly  in  his  eye  the  following  anecdote;  related  eitncr  b> 
Linkiim  Pideliiu,  or  Joiephui  Milleriui,  vulgarly  called  Joe  Miller, 
of  facetious  mf^mory  : 

The  captain  of  a  slave-vessel,  on  his  first  landing  oa  the  coKt 
of  Guinea,  observed,  under  a  palm-tree,  a  negi«  chief,  liltisf 
most  majestically  on  a  stump;  while  two  women,  with  wooden 
spoons,  were  administering  his  favourite  pottage  of  boiled  licc  ; 
which,  as  his  imperial  majesty  was  a  little  greedy,  would  part  of  it 
escape  the  place  of  destination  and  run  down  his  chin.  The  watch- 
ful attendants  were  particularly  careful  to  intercept  these  Kape- 
grace  particles,  and  return  them  to  their  pruuet  port  of  entry.  Ai 
the  captain  approached,  in  order  to  admire  this  curious  ezhibitioo 
of  royalty,  the  great  chief  clapped  his  hands  to  hii  aides,  moi 
laluted  his  visitor  with  the  following  pompous  quostion,  '*  well 
sir  t  what  do  they  sav  of  me  in  England  >" 


SALMAGUNDI. 


559 


laturc  of  this  gov 


eninient  mora  evident,  than  in  its  grand  national 
divan,  or  congress,  where  the  laws  arc  framed :  this 
la  a  blustering,  windy  assemblv,  where  every  thing 
Is  carried  by  noise,  tumult  and  debate ;  for  thou  must 
know,  that  the  members  of  this  assembly  do  not 
meet  to^^ether  to  find  wisdom  in  the  multitude  of 
counsellors,  but  to  wrangle,  call  each  other  hard 
names,  and  hear  thrmselves  talk.  When  the  con- 
gress opens,  the  bashaw  first  sends  them  a  long 
ui'jssage,  i,  e.,  a  huge  m«ss  of  words — vox  et  preterra 
nihil,  all  meaning  nothing ;  because  it  only  tells  them 
what  they  perfectly  know  already.  Then  the  whole 
assembly  are  thrown  into  \  ferment,  and  have  a  long 
talk  about  the  quantity  oi  words  that  are  to  be  re- 
turned in  answer  to  this  message ;  and  here  arises 
many  disputes  about  the  correction  and  alteration 
of  "  if  so  he's,"  and  "  how  so  ever's."  A  month, 
perhaps,  is  spent  in  thus  determining  the  precise 
number  of  words  the  answer  shall  contain ;  and  then 
another,  most  probably,  in  concluding  whether  it 
shall  be  carried  to  the  bashaw  on  foot,  on  horseback, 
or  in  coaches.  Having  settled  this  weighty  matter, 
they  next  fall  to  work  upon  the  message  itself,  and 
hold  as  much  chattering  over  it  as  so  many  magpies 
over  an  addled  egg.  This  done  they  divide  the  mes- 
sage into  small  portions,  and  deliver  them  into  the 
hands  of  little  juntoes  of  talkers,  called  committees : 
these  juntoes  have  each  a  world  of  talking  about  their 
respective  paragraphs,  and  return  the  results  to  the 
grand  divan,  which  forthwith  falls  to  and  retalks  the 
matter  over  more  earnestly  than  ever.  Now,  after 
all,  it  is  an  even  chance  that  the  subject  of  this  pro- 
digious arguing,  quarrelling,  and  talking,  is  an  affair 
sfno  importance,  and  ends  entirely  in  smoke.  May 
it  not  then  be  said,  the  whole  nation  have  been  talk- 
Jng  to  no  purpose  ?  The  people,  in  fact,  seem  to  be 
'somewhat  conscious  of  this  propensity  to  talk,  by 
irhich  they  are  characterized,  and  have  a  favourite 
^OTCTb  on  the  subject,  viz. :  "  all  talk  and  no  cider ;" 
rhii  is  particularly  applied  when  their  congress,  or 
aasembly  of  all  the  sage  chatterers  of  the  nation,  have 
shattered  through  a  whole  session,  in  a  time  of  great 

Eeril  «nd  momentous  event,  and  have  done  nothing 
ut  exhibit  the  length  of  their  tongues  and  the  emp- 
tiness of  their  heads.  This  has  l^en  the  case  more 
than  once,  my  friend ;  and  to  let  thee  into  a  secret, 
I  have  been  told  in  confidence,  that  there  have  been 
absolutely  several  old  women  smuggled  into  con- 
gress from  different  parts  of  the  empire ;  who,  hav- 
mg  once  got  on  the  breeches,  as  thou  mayest  veil 
imagine,  have  taken  the  lead  in  debate,  and  over- 
whelmed the  whole  assembly  with  their  garrulity ; 
for  my  part,  as  times  go,  1  do  not  see  why  oUI 
women  should  not  be  as  eligible  to  public  councils 
as  old  men  who  possess  their  dispositions : — they 
certainly  are  eminently  possessed  of  the  qualifica- 
tions requisite  to  govern  in  a  logocracy. 

Nothing,  as  I  have  repeatedly  insisted,  can  be  done 
in  this  country  without  talking;  but  they  take  so 
long  to  talk  over  a  measure,  that  by  the  time  they 
have  determined  upon  adopting  it,  the  period  has 
elapsed  which  was  proper  for  carrying  it  into  effect. 
Unnappy  nation ! — thus  torn  to  pieces  by  intestine 
talks !  never,  I  fear,  will  it  be  restored  to  trancjuil- 
Uty  and  silence.  Words  are  but  breath  ;  breath  is 
but  air ;  and  air  put  into  motion  is  nothing  but  wind. 
This  vast  empire,  therefore,  may  be  compared  to 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  mighty  windmill,  and 
the  orators,  and  the  chatterers,  and  the  slang-whang- 
ers,  are  the  breezes  that  put  it  in  motion  ;  unlucK- 
Uy,  however,  they  are  apt  to  blow  different  ways, 
and  their  blasts  counteracting  each  other — the  mill 
ia  perplexed,  the  wheels  stand  still,  the  grist  is  un- 
ground,  and  the  miller  and  his  family  starved. 
Every  thmg  partakes  of  the  windy  nature  of  the 


government.      Tn 
or  an  insult  fr« 
in  a  buzz; — -tov 
where  the  quNlni. 
an  atlas,  with  the 
his  shoulders,  each 
country,  and  e^ch 
turkey-cock;  puffed 


sc  of  iny  domestic  giievance, 
foreign  foe,  the  people  are  al 
^f-tings  are  immediately  IwU 
ui  tn<*  city  reiMJr,  each  like 
res  ol  .i<e  who1>r  nation  upon 
solute  y  bent  <  ;)n  saving  :.it 
velliht^  am)  rutting  like  a 
p  with  won      and  wind,  ant" 


nonsense.  After  bus  Hng,  and  bu  ii^,  and  b^wl 
ing  for  some  time  ;  and  after  each  nan  fvas  ■  t\ 
himself  to  be  irdubitably  the  greatest  per*-, 
in  the  meeting,  they  pass  a  stnng  of  xvsa'  ,it, 
i,  t.  words,  which  were  previously  prepared  the 
purpose;  these  resolutions  are  whimsically  i.  >mi- 
nated  the  sense  of  the  meeting,  and  are  s"  '  of) 
for  the  instruction  of  the  reigning  bashaw,  wiio  re- 
ceives them  graciously,  puts  them  into  his  red 
breeches  pocket,  forgets  to  read  them — and  so  the 
matter  ends. 

As  to  his  highness,  the  present  bashaw,  who  is 
at  the  very  top  of  the  logocracy,  never  was  a  dig- 
nitary better  qualified  for  his  station.  He  is  a  man 
of  superlative  ventosity,  and  comparable  to  nothing 
but  a  huge  bladder  of  wind.  He  talks  of  van- 
quishing ^1  opposition  by  the  force  of  reason  and 
philosophy :  tnrows  his  eauntlet  at  all  the  nations 
of  the  earth,  and  defies  them  to  meet  him— on  the 
field  of  argument ! — is  the  national  dignity  insulted, 
a  case  in  which  his  highness  of  Tripoli  would  im- 
mediately call  forth  his  foi  ces ;— — the  bashaw  of 
America — utters  a  speech.  Does  a  foreign  inva- 
der molest  the  commerce  in  the  very  mouth  of  the 
harbours;  an  insult  v^hich  would  induce  his  high- 
ness of  Tripoli  to  order  out  his  fleets ; — his  high- 
ness of  America — utters  a  speech.  Are  the  vntt 
citizens  of  America  dragged  from  on  board  the  ves- 
sels of  their  country,  and  forcibly  detained  in  tlie 
war  ships  of  another  power ^nis  highness-  -ut- 
ters a  speech.  Is  a  peaceable  citizen  killed  by  the 
marauders  of  a  foreign  power,  on  the  very  shores 

of  his  country his  highness  utters  a  speech. — 

Does  an  alarming  insurrection  break  out  in  a  dis- 
tant  part  of  the  empire his  highness  utters  a 

speech  ! — nay,  more,  for  here  he  shows  his  "  ener- 
gies ; " — he  most  intrepidly  despatches  a  courier  on 
horseback  and  orders  him  to  ride  one  hundred  and 
twenty  miles  a  day,  with  a  most  formidable  army 
of  proclamations,  /'.  e,  a  collection  of  words,  packed 
up  in  his  saddle  hags.  He  is  instructed  to  sKow 
no  favour  nor  affection ;  but  to  charge  the  thickest 
ranks  of  the  enemy;  and  to  speechify  and  batter 
by  words  the  conspiracy  and  tne  conspirators  out 
of  existence.  Heavens,  my  friend,  what  a  deal  oi 
blustering  is  here  !  it  reminds  me  of  a  dunghill 
cock  in  a  farm-yard,  who,  having  accidentally  in 
his  scratchings  found  a  worm,  immediately  begins 
a  most  vociferous  cackling ; — calls  around  him  his 
hen-hearted  companions,  who  run  chattering  from 
all  quarters  to  gobble  up  the  poor  little  worm  that 
happened  to  turn  under  his  eye.  Oh,  Asem  !  Asem  ! 
on  what  a  prodigious  great  scale  is  every  thing  in 
this  country ! 

Thus,  then,  I  conclude  my  observations.  The 
inlidel  nations  have  each  a  separate  characteristic 
trait,  by  which  they  may  be  distinguished  from 
each  other: — the  Spaniards,  for  instance,  may  be 
said  to  sleep  upon  every  affair  of  importance  ; — the 
Italians  to  fiddle  upon  every  thing ; — the  French  to 
dance  upon  every  thing ; — the  Germans  to  smoke 
upon  every  thing ; — the  British  islanders  to  eat  upon 
every  thing  ; — and  the  windy  subjects  of  the  Ameri< 
can  logocracy  to  talk  upon  every  thing. 

For  i»ver  thine, 

MUSTAPHA 


m\ 


060 


WORKS  OF  Washington  irvino. 


FROM  THE  MILL  OF  PINDAR  COCKLOFT. 
ESQ. 


How  oft  ir.  muiing  mood  my  heart  reealli. 

from  firey-beard  father  Time's  oblivloui  balls. 

Yht  moden  and  maxims  of  my  early  dny, 

Long  In  those  dark  rrcesses  siow'd  away  ; 

Drags  once  more  to  the  cheerful  realms  of  light 
Those  buckram  fashions,  long  since  lost  In  night. 

\nd  makes,  like  Endor's  witch,  once  more  to  rise 

My  grogram  grandames  to  my  raptured  eyes  I 
Shades  of  mv  fathers  !  in  your  pasteboard  skirts, 

Your  broldered  waistcoats  and  your  plaited  shirts. 

Your  formal  bag-wigii — wide-extended  cuffs, 

Your  five-inch  chitterlings  and  nine-Inch  ruffs  ! 

Gods  I  how  ye  strut,  at  times   in  all  your  state, 

\mld  the  visions  of  my  thoughtful  pate  ! 

I  see  ye  move  the  solemn  minuet  o'er, 

The  modest  foot  scarce  rising  from  the  floor  ; 

No  thundering  rigadoon  with  boisterous  prance. 

Mo  pigeon-wing  disturb  your  contre^ant*. 

But  silent  as  the  gentle  Lethe's  tide. 

\down  the  festive  maie  ye  peaceful  glide  ! 
Still  In  my  mental  eye  each  dame  appears — 

Each  modest  beauty  of  departed  years  ; 

Close  by  mamma  I  see  her  stately  march 

Or  sit,  in  all  the  majesty  of  surch  ; — 

When  for  the  dance  a  stranger  seeks  her  hand, 

I  see  her  doubting,  hesitating,  stand  ; 

Yield  to  his  claim  with  most  fastidious  grace, 

\nd  sigh  for  her  intended  in  his  place  ! 
Ah  !  golden  days  !  when  every  gentle  fair 

Jn  sacred  Sabbath  conn'd  with  pious  care 

.ler  holy  Bible,  or  her  prayer-book  o'er, 

Or  studied  honest  Bunyan's  drowsy  lore ; 

fravell'd  with  him  the  Pilgrim's  Prookess  through. 

And  storm'd  the  famous  town  of  Man-soul  too : 

Saat  Eye  and  Ear-gate  up  with  thundering  jar, 

^nd  fought  triumphant  through  the  Holy  War  ; 

Or  if.  perchance,  to  lighter  works  inclined. 
They  sought  with  novels  to  relax  the  mind. 

Twas  Grandison's  politely  formal  page 
Or  Clklia  or  Pamela  were  the  rage. 
No  plays  were  then— theatrics  were  unknown— 

K  learned  pig — a  dancing  monkey  shown — 

The  fsats  of  Punch— a  cunning  juggler's  slight. 

*Vere  sure  to  fill  each  bosom  with  delight. 
An  honest,  simple,  humdrum  race  we  were, 
Undazzled  yet  by  fashion's  wildering  glare 
Our  manners  unreserved,  devoid  of  guile. 
We  knew  not  then  the  modern  monster  style  : 
Style,  that  with  pride  each  empty  bosom  swells. 
Puffs  boys  to  manhood,  little  girls  to  belles. 

Scarce  from  the  nursery  freed,  our  gentle  fair 
Are  yielded  to  the  dancing-master's  care  ; 
And  e'er  the  head  one  mite  of  sense  can  gain, 
Arc  introduced  'mid  folly's  frippery  train. 
A  stranger's  grasp  no  longer  gives  alarms, 
Our  fair  surrender  to  their  very  arms. 
And  in  .he  insidious  waltz  (i)  will  swim  and  twine 
And  whirl  and  languish  tenderly  divine  ! 
Oh,  how  I  hate  this  loving,  hugging,  dance  i 
This  imp  of  Germany — brought  up  in  France 
Nor  can  I  see  a  niece  its  windings  trace.  , 

But  all  the  honest  blood  glows  in  my  face. 
.Sad,  sad  refinement  this,"  I  often  say. 
'Tis  modesty  indeed  refined  away  ! 
Let  France  its  whim,  its  sparkling  wit  supply. 
"  rh!  easy  grace  that  captivates  the  eye ; 

But  curse  their  waltz — their  loose  lascivious  arts. 
'  That  smooth  our  manners,  to  corrupt  our  hearts  I "  (a) 
Where  now  those  books,  from  which  in  days  of  yore 
Our  mothers  gain'd  their  literary  store  7 
Alas !  stiff-skirted  Grandison  gives  place 
To  novels  of  a  new  and  rakish  race  ; 
And  honest  Bunyan's  pious  dreaming  lore. 
To  the  lascivious  ihapsodies  of  Moork. 

And,  last  of  all,  behold  the  mimic  stage. 
Its  morals  lend  to  polish  ofl  the  age. 


With  flimsy  fares,  a  comsdy  nt  i<  all'd, 
Garnish'd  with  vulgar  cant,  and  proverks  bald 
With  puns  most  puny,  and  a  plenteous  stors 
Of  smutty  jokes,  to  catch  a  gallery  roar. 
Or  see,  more  fatal,  graced  with  every  art 
To  charm  and  captivate  the  female  heart, 
The  false,  "the  gallant,  gay  Lothario,"  smilts 
And  loudly  boasts  his  bane  seductive  wiles  ;— 
In  glowing  colours  paints  Calistu's  wrongs. 
And  with  voluptuous  scenes  the  tale  prolongs. 
When  Cuoi'KR  lends  his  (uscinating  powers. 
Decks  vice  itself  in  bright  alluring  (lowers. 
Pleased  with  hisinanly  grace,  his  youthful  Irs, 
Our  (air  are  lured  the  villain  to  admire  ; 
While  humbler  virtue,  like  a  stalking  horse. 
Struts  clumsily  and  croaks  In  honest  Morsk, 

Ah,  hapless  days  !  when  trials  thus  combined, 
In  pleasing  garb  assail  the  female  mind  ; 
When  every  smooth  insidious  snare  ;s  spread 
To  sap  the  morals  and  delude  the  head  ! 
Not  Shadrach,  Meshach  and  Abed-nego, 
To  prove  their  faith  and  virtue  here  below. 
Could. more  an  angel's  helping  hand  require 
To  guide  their  steps  uninjured  through  the  fiie. 
Where  had  but  heaven  its  guardian  aid  denied. 
The  holy  trio  in  the  proof  had  died. 
If,  then,  their  manly  vigour  sought  supplies 
From  the  bright  stranger  In  celestial  guise, 
Alas !  can  we  from  feebler  nature's  claim. 
To  brave  seduction's  ordeal,  free  from  blame  ; 
To  pass  through  fire  unhurt  like  golden  ore. 
Through  anokl  missions  bless  the  earth  no  mors 


^ 


NOTIS,  BY  WILLIAM  WIZARD,  UQ. 

I.  [Walti].  As  many  of  tht  rttirtd  matrons  cf 
this  city,  unskilUd  in  "gtslic  lort"  are  douitieu 
ignorant  of  th*  mov*mtnts  and  figures  of  this  mod- 
est exhibition,  I  will  endeavour  togix>e  some  account 
of  it,  in  ortier  that  they  may  Itarn  what  odti  captn 
their  daughters  sometimes  cut  whtn  jtom  under 
their  guardian  wings. 

On  a  signal  being  given  by  the  music,  the  gentle- 
man  seises  the  lady  round  her  waist ;  the  lady, 
scorning  to  be  outdone  in  courtesy,  very  politely  takes 
the  gentleman  round  the  nech,  with  one  arm  resting 
against    his    shoulder    to  prevent  encroachments 

Away  then  they  go,  about,  and  about,  and  about 

"  about  what.  Sir  t " about  the  room.  Madam,  to 

be  sure,  7  he  whole  economy  of  this  dance  consists 
in  turnitw  round  and  round  the  room  in  a  certain 
measured  step:  and  it  is  truly  astonishing  that  this 
continued  revolution  does  not  set  all  their  head, 
swimming  like  a  top  ;  but  I  have  been  positively  as- 
sured that  it  only  occasions  a  gentle  sensation  which 
is  marvellously  agreeable.  In  the  course  of  this  cir- 
cumnavigation, the  dancers,  in  order  to  give  the 
charm  of  -variety,  are  continually  -changing  their 

relative  situations  ; nonu  the  gentleman,  meaning 

no  harm  in  the  world,  I  assure  vou.  Madam,  care- 
lessly flings  his  arm  about  the  lady's  neck,  with  an 
air  of  celestial  impuderue ;  and  anon,  the  lady, 
meaning  as  little  harm  as  the  gentleman,  takes  htm 
round  the  waist  with  most  ingenuous  modest  Ian- 
guishment,  to  the  great  delight  of  numerous  specta- 
tors and  amateurs,  who  generally  form  a  ring,  at 
the  mob  do  about  a  pair  of  amaMons  pulling  caps,  or 
a  couple  of  fighting  mastiffs. 

After  continuing  this  divint  interchange  of 
harids,  arms,  et  cetera,  for  half  an  hour  or  so,  tht 
lady  begins  to  tire,  ana  with  "  eyes  upraised,"  in 
most  bewitchir^  languor  petitions  her  partner  for  a 
little  more  support.  This  is  always  given  wtthout 
hesitation.  The  lady  leans  geiUly  on  his  shoulder, 
their  arms  erstwine  in  a  thottsamd  seducing,  mi*. 
chievous  curves don't  bt  alarmed.  Madam- 
closer  and  clostr  they  approcuh  each  other,  and  ii» 


SALMAGUNDI. 


66\ 


tmelnHom,  tk*  partits  bting  ovtrccmu  with  txtatic 
fmUgiu,  th*  laaytttms  almost  smkin/f  into  tht  gtn- 

itiman's  arms,  and  t^*n "  WtU,  Sir,  and  what 

tktn  f  " lord,  Mtwiam,  how  should  I  know  / 

a|.  Afy  /ruHii  Pimt-^t,  and,  in  fact,  our  wholt 
junto,  has  httn  accusttt  of  an  unrtasonahU  hostility 
to  tht  French  nation  and  I  am  in/or m*d  by  a 
Parisian  torrt\pimdenl,  that  our  first  numher 
playtd  the  very  drvtl  in  the  court  of  St,  Cloud, 
Mis  imperial  majesty  got  into  a  most  outrageous 
passion,  and  being  w<ithal  a  waspish  little  gentle- 
man, had  nearly  kicked  his  bosom  friend,  i  alley- 
ran  I  out  of  the  iii''  /net,  in  the  paro.rysms  of  hi\ 
wrath.  He  insisttd  upon  it  that  the  nation  was  as- 
sailed in  its  most  vital  part ;  being,  like  Achilles, 
extremely  sensiltn*  to  any  attacks  upim  the  heel. 
When  my  correspon^tnt  sent  off  his  despatches,  it 
was  still  in  doubt  it-A  i/  measures  would  be  adopted ; 
but  it  was  strtingiy  ns/iected  that  vehement  repre- 
sentations would  l>v  made  to  our  gctiernment.  Will- 
ing, th<'refore,  to  save  our  executive  from  any  em- 
barrassment on  the  subject,  and  abtrve  all  from  the 
disagreeable  alternative  of  sending  an  apology  by 
the  HoRNKT.ttY  do  assure  Mr.  Jefferson,  that  there 
is  nothing  further  from  our  thoughts  than  the  sub- 
vtrsion  of  the  Gallic  empire,  or  any  attack  on  the 
interests,  tranquillity,  or  reputation  of  the  nati<m 
at  large,  which  we  seriously  declare  possesses  the 
highest  rank  in  our  estimation.  Nothing  less  than 
the  national  welfire  could  have  induced  us  to 
trouble  ourselves  «  ith  this  explanation  ;  and  in  the 
name  of  the  juntc,  I  once  more  declare,  that  when 
we  toast  a  I'renchman,  we  merely  mean  one  of  these 
inconnus,  who  swarmed  to  this  country,  from  the 
kitchens  and  barbers'  shops  of  Nantt,  fiordeaux, 
and  Marseilles  ;  played  game  of  leap-frog  at  all 
our  bails  and  assemblies  ; — set  this  unhappy  town 
hopping  mad ; — and  passed  themselves  off  on  our 
tnuier-hea*  ted  damsels  for  unfortunate  noblemen — 
ruined  in  the  revolutiim  t  such  imly  can  wince  at  the 
Jash,  and  accuse  us  of  se^itrity  ;  and  we  should  be 
mortified  in  the  extreme  if  they  did  not  feel  our 
well-intended  castigation . 

3.  [Fair  Penitent).  The  story  of  this  play,  if  told 
in  its  native  language,  would  exhibit  a  scene  of 
guilt  and  shame,  which  no  modest  ear  could  listen 
to  without  shrinking  with  disgust ;  but,  arrayed  as 
it  is  in  all  the  splendour  of  harmonious,  rich,  and 
polished  verse,  it  steals  into  the  heart  tike  somf 
gay,  luxurious,  smooth-faced  villain,  and bctt.iys  it 
insensibly  to  i>'imorality  and  vice  ;  our  very  sympa- 
thy is  enlisted  on  the  side  of  guilt ;  and  the  piety 
of  Altamont,  and  the  gentleness  of  Lavinia,  are  lost 
tn  tht  splendid  debaucheries  of  the  "gallant,  gay 
Lothario,"  and  the  blustering,  hollow  repentance  of 
the  fair  Calislo,  whose  sornriv  reminds  us  of  that 
of  rope's  Heloise — "  /  mourn  the  lii'er,  not  lament 
the  fault."  Nothing  is  more  easy  than  to  banish 
such  plays  from  our  stage.  Were  our  ladies, 
instead  if  crowding  to  see  them  again  and  again 
repeated,  to  discourage  their  exhibition  by  absence, 
the  stage  would  soon  be  indeed  the  school  of  moral- 
ity, and  the  number  of  "Fair  Penitents,"  in  all 
probability,  diminished. 


No.  VIII.-SATURDAY,  APRIL  18,  1807. 

■Y  ANTHONY  EVERGREEN,  GENT. 


la  all  thy  tiumoun,  whether  grave  or  mellow, 
Thou'rt  luch  ■  touchy,  leitv,  pleaunt  fellow ; 
Had  M  much  wit,  and  mirth,  and  tplecn  about  IhM, 
Than  ia  no  Ihring  with  the* — nor  without  the«." 

'  Never,  in  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant, 
I  there  been  known  a  mot%  backward  spring." 


Thli  ii  the  unlveranl  remark  amone  the  altaanac 
quidnuncs  and  wfathrr-wismcrc^  of  ine  d.ty ;  and  1 
have  heard  it  at  least  lilty-(ive  tliiirs  trom  old  Mrs 
Cockloft,  who,  poor  womnn,  is  one  of  those  talking 
almanacs  that  foretell  every  snow,  rair,  or  frost,  h> 
the  shootinf;  of  corns,  a  pain  in  the  hones,  or  ai 
"ugly  stitch  in  the  side."  I  do  not  recolUcI,  in  tbr 
whole  course  of  my  life,  to  have  seen  the  month  i>< 
March  itulul^^e  in  such  untoward  capers,  caprices 
and  coipietries,  as  it  has  done  this  year :  1  nii({ht 
have  lor>{iven  these  vagaries,  had  tney  not  com- 
pletely knocked  un  my  l'rien<l  Lan^stafT,  whose  fee!' 
m^s  are  ever  at  tne  mercy  of  •*  weathercock,  whose 
spirits  sink  and  rise  with  the  Tiercury  of  a  l>aiome- 
ter,  and  to  whom  an  east  win(.  is  as  obnoxious  as  a 
Sicilian  sirocco.  He  was  tempted  some  time  since, 
by  the  fintness  of  the  weather,  to  dress  himsell  with 
more  than  ordinary  care  and  take  his  morning  sinill; 
but  before  he  had  half  hnished  his  pereK:rination,  he 
was  utterly  discomtited,  anci  driven  home  by  a  tre- 
mendous stjiiall  of  wind,  hail,  rain,  and  snow  ;  or,  as 
he  testily  termed  it,  "a  most  villainous  congrejjalion 
of  vapors." 

This  was  too  much  for  the  patience  of  friend 
Launcelot ;  he  declared  he  would  humour  the 
weather  no  lon>;er  in  its  whim-whams  ;  and,  accord- 
ing to  his  immemorial  custom  on  these  occasions, 
rc'rcated  in  high  dudgeon  to  his  elt)ow-chair  to  lie 
in  of  the  spleen  and  rail  at  nature  for  lieing  so  fan- 
tastical •.—"confounti  the  jade,"  he  frequently  ex- 
claims, "  what  a  pity  nature  h.td  not  been  ot  the 
masculine  instead  of  the  feminine  gender ;  the  al- 
manac makers  might  then  have  calculated  with  some 
degree  of  certainty." 

When  Langsf.iff  invests  himself  with  the  spleen 
and  gives  audience  to  the  blue  devils  from  his  elbow 
chair,  1  would  not  advise  any  of  his  friends  to  corv 
witliin  gunshot  of  his  citadel  with  the   benevoldJi 
purpose  of  administering  consolation  or  amusement 
for  he  is  then  as  crusty  and  crabbed  as  that  fa  loua 
coiner  of   false  money,  Diogenes  himself.     Indeed, 
his  room  is  at  such  times  inaccessible  ;  and  old  Poiti- 
pcy  is  the  only  soul  that  can  gain  a<lmission,  or  ask 
a  question  wiiii  impunity  ;  the  truth  is,  that  on  these 
occasions,  there  is  nut  a  straw's  difference  het;vecn 
them,  for  Tompey  is  as  grum  and  grim  and  cynical 
as  his  master. 

Launcelot  h.is  now  been  above  three  weeks  in  this 
desolate  situation,  and  has  therefore  had  but  little  to 
do  in  our  last  number.  As  he  could  not  be  prevailed 
on  to  give  any  account  of  himself  in  our  introduction, 
I  will  take  the  op|X)rtunity  of  his  conhnement,  while 
his  back  is  turned,  to  give  a  slight  sketch  of  his  char- 
acter ; — fertile  in  whim-whams  and  bachelorisms,  but 
rich  in  m.iny  of  the  sterling  qualities  ol  our  nature. 
Annexed  to  this  article,  our  readers  will  perceive  a 
striking  likeness  of  my  friend,  which  was  taken  t.v 
that  cunning  rogue  Will  Wi/ard,  who  peeped  through 
the  key-hole  and  sketched  it  otf  as  honest  Launcelot 
sat  by  the  hre,  wrapped  up  in  his  Hannel  robe  d* 
chambre,  anil  indulging  in  a  mortal  ht  of  the  hyp 
Now  take  my  word  for  it,  gentle  reader,  this  is  the 
most  auspicious  moment  in  which  to  touch  off  the 
phiz  of  a  genuine  humorist. 

Of  the  antiquity  of  the  Langstaff  family  1  can  sa) 
but  little ;  except  that  I  have  no  doubt  it  is  equal  to 
that  of  most  families  who  have  the  privilege  of  mak- 
ing their  own  pedigree,  without  the  impertinent  in 
terposition  of  a  college  of  heralds.  My  friend  Laun- 
celot is  not  a  man  to  blazon  any  thing  ;  but  I  have 
heard  him  talk  with  great  complacency  of  his  ances- 
tor. Sir  Rowland,  who  was  a  dashing  buck  in  the 
days  of  Hardiknute,  and  broke  the  head  of  a  gigantic 
Dane,  at  a  game  of  quarter-staff,  in  presence  of  the 
whole  court.     In  memory  of  this  gallant  esploit.  Sir 


062 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


■,ri' 


St'* 


Rowland  was  permitted  to  take  the  name  of  Lang- 
stofTe,  and  to  assume,  as  a  crest  to  his  arms,  a  hand 
grasping  a  cudgel.  It  is,  however,  a  foible  so  ridtcu- 
fously  common  in  this  country  for  people  to  claim 
consanguinity  with  all  the  great  personages  of  their 
own  name  in  Europe,  that  I  should  put  but  little 
faith  in  this  family  boast  of  friend  Langstatf,  did  I 
not  know  him  to  be  a  man  of  most  unquestionable 
veracity. 

The  whole  world  knows  already  that  my  friend  is 
a  bachelor ;  for  he  is,  or  pretends  to  be,  exceedingly 
proud  of  his  personal  independence,  and  takes  care 
to  make  it  known  in  all  companies  where  strangers 
are  present.  He  is  forever  vaunting  the  precious 
state  of  "  single  blessedness  ;"  and  was  not  long  .igo 
considerably  startled  at  a  proposition  of  one  of  his 
great  favourites.  Miss  Sophy  Sparkle,  "  that  old  bach- 
elors should  be  taxed  as  luxuries."  Launcelot  im- 
mediately hied  him  home  and  wrote  a  tremendous 
long  representation  in  their  behalf,  which  I  am  re- 
solved to  publish  if  it  is  ever  attempted  to  carry  the 
measure  into  operation.  Whether  he  is  sincere  in 
these  professions,  or  whether  his  present  situation  is 
owing  to  choice  or  disappointment,  he  only  can  tell ; 
but  ifhe  ever  does  tell,  1  will  suffer  myself  to  be  shot 
by  the  first  lady's  eye  that  can  twang  an  arrow.  In 
his  youth  he  was  for  ever  in  love ;  but  it  was  his 
misfortune  to  be  continually  crossed  and  rivalled  by 
his  bosom  friend  and  contemporary  beau,  Pindar 
Cockloft,  Esq.,  for  as  Langstaff  never  made  a  con- 
fidant on  these  occasions,  his  friend  never  knew 
which  wav  his  affections  pointed ;  and  so,  between 
them  botn,  the  lady  generally  slipped  through  their 
6ngers. 

It  has  ever  been  the  misfortune  of  Launcelot  that 
he  could  not  for  the  soul  of  him  restrain  a  good 
thing ;  and  this  fatality  has  drawn  upon  him  the  ill 
will  of  mary  whom  he  would  not  have  offended  for 
the  woild.  With  the  kindest  heart  under  heaven, 
and  the  most  benevolent  disposition  towards  every 
being  around  him,  he  has  been  continually  betrayed 
by  the  mischievous  v.vacitv  of  his  fancy,  and  the 
good-humoured  waggery  ot*^  his  feelings,  into  satiri- 
cal sallies  which  have  been  treasured  up  by  the  in- 
vidious, and  rct.iiled  out  with  the  bitter  sneer  of 
malevolence,  instead  of  the  playful  hilarity  of  coun- 
tenance which  originally  sweetened  and  tempered 
and  disarmed  them  of  their  sting. — These  misrepre- 
sentations have  gained  him  many  reproaches  and 
lost  him  many  a  friend. 

This  unlucky  characteristic  played  the  mischief 
with  him  in  one  of  his  love  affairs.  He  was,  as  I 
have  before  observed,  often  opposed  in  his  gallantries 
by  that  formidable  rival,  Pinclar  Cockloft,  Esq.,  and 
a  most  formidable  rival  he  was ;  for  he  had  Apollo, 
the  nine  muses,  together  with  all  the  joint  tenants 
of  Olympus  to  back  him ;  and  every  body  knows 
what  important  confederates  they  are  to  a  lover. 
Poor  Launcelot  stood  no  chance; — the  lady  was 
coofied  up  in  the  poet's  corner  of  every  weekly  pa- 
per; and  at  lengtn  Pindar  attacked  her  with  a  son- 
tiet  that  took  up  a  whole  column,  in  which  he  enu- 
merated at  least  a  dozen  cardinal  virtues,  together 
with  innumerable  others  of  inferior  consideration. 
La'ncelot  saw  his  case  was  desperate,  and  that  un- 
less he  sat  down  forthwith,  be-cherubimed  and  be- 
angeled  her  to  the  skies,  and  put  every  virtue  under 
the  s()n  in  requisition,  he  might  as  well  go  hang 
himself  and  so  make  an  end  of  the  business.  At  it, 
therefore,  he  went ;  ai.c:  was  going  on  very  swim- 
mingly, for,  in  the  space  of  a  dozen  lines  he  had  en- 
listed under  her  command  at  least  three  score  and 
*en  substantial  housekeeping  virtues,  when,  unluckily 
for  Launcelot's  reputation  as  a  poet  a.id  the  lady's 
as  a  saint,  one  of  those  confounded  good  thougb's 


struck  his  laughter-loving  brain  ; — it  was  irresistible 
away  he  went  full  sweep  before  the  wind,  cutlini 
and  slashing  and  tickled  to  death  with  his  own  fun 
the  consequence  was,  thai;  by  the  time  he  had  fin 
ished,  never  was  poor  lady  so  most  ludicrously  lam- 
pooned since  lampooning  came  into  fashion.  Bui 
this  was  not  half; — so  hugely  was  Launcelot  pleased 
with  this  frolic  of  his  wits,  that  nothing  would  dc 
but  he  must  show  it  to  the  lady,  who,  as  well  she 
might,  was  mortally  offended,  and  forbid  him  hei 
presence.  My  friend  was  in  despair ;  but  through 
the  interference  of  his  generous  rival,  was  permitted 
to  make  his  apology,  wnich,  ho  vever,  most  unluckily 
happened  to  be  rather  worse  than  the  original  of- 
fence for  though  he  had  studied  an  eloquent  com- 
pliment, yet,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  a  most  pre- 
posterous whim-wham  knocked  at  his  pericranium, 
and  inspired  him  to  say  some  consummate  good 
things,  which  all  put  together  amounted  to  a  down- 
right hoax,  and  provoked  the  lady's  wrath  to  such 
a  degree  that  sentence  of  eternal  banishment  was 
awarded  against  him. 

Launcelot  was  inconsolable,  and  determined,  in 
the  true  style  of  novel  heroics,  to  make  the  tour  of 
Europe,  and  endeavour  to  lose  the  recollection  of 
this  misfortune  amongst  the  gayeties  of  France  and 
the  classic  charms  of  Italy ;  he  accordingly  took  pas- 
sage in  a  vessel  and  pursued  his  voyage  prosperously 
as  far  as  Sandy  Hook,  where  he  was  seized  with  a 
violent  fit  of  sea-sickness ;  at  which  he  was  so  af- 
fronted ihat  he  put  his  portmanteau  into  the  first 
pilot-boat  and  returned  to  town  completely  cured  of 
his  love  and  his  rage  for  travelling. 

I  pass  over  the  subsequent  amours  of  my  friend 
Langstaff,  being  but  little  acquainted  with  them ;  for, 
as  I  have  already  mentioned,  he  never  was  known  to 
make  a  confidant  of  any  body.  He  always  afhrmed 
a  man  must  be  a  fool  to  fall  in  love,  but  an  idiot  tc 
boast  of  it ; — ever  denominated  it  the  villainous  pas- 
sion ; — lamented  that  it  could  not  be  cudgelled  out 
of  the  human  heart; — and  yet  could  no  more  Hve 
without  being  in  love  with  somebody  or  otJier  than 
he  could  without  whim-whams. 

My  friend  Launcelot  is  a  man  of  excessive  irrita- 
bility of  nerve,  and  I  am  acquainted  with  no  one  so 
susceptible  of  the  petty  "  miseries  of  human  life ; " 
yet  its  keener  evils  and  misfortunes  he  bears  without 
shrinking,  and  however  they  may  pr«r  in  secret  on 
his  happiness,  he  never  complains.  This  was  strik- 
ingly evinced  in  an  affair  where  his  heart  was  deeply 
and  irrevocably  concerned,  and  in  which  his  success 
was  ruined  by  one  for  whom  he  had  long  cherished 
a  warm  friendship.  The  circumstance  cut  poor 
Langstaff  to  the  very  soul ;  he  was  not  seen  in  com- 
pany for  months  afterwards,  and  for  a  long  time  he 
seemed  to  retire  within  himself,  and  battle  with  the 
poignancy  of  his  feelings ;  but  not  a  murmur  or  a 
reproach  was  heard  to  fall  from  his  lips,  though,  at 
the  mention  of  his  friend's  name,  a  sh.ide  of  melan- 
choly might  be  observed  stealing  across  his  face,  and 
his  voice  assumed  a  touching  tone,  that  seemed  to 
say,  he  remembered  his  treachery  "  more  in  sorrow 
than  in  anger." — This  affair  has  given  a  slight  tinge 
of  sadness  to  his  disposition,  which,  however,  does 
not  prevent  his  entering  into  the  amusements  of  the 
world ;  the  only  effect  it  occasions,  is,  that  you  may 
occasionally  observe  him,  at  the  end  of  a  lively  con- 
versation, sink  for  a  few  minutes  into  an  apparent 
forgetfulness  of  surrounding  objects,  during  which 
time  he  seems  to  be  indulging  in  some  melancholy 
retrospection. 

Langstaff  inherited  from  his  father  a  love  of  liter- 
ature, a  disposition  for  castle-building,  a  mortal  en- 
mitv  to  noise,  a  sovereign  antipathy  to  cold  weathei 
aitd  brooms,  and  a  plentiful  stock  of  whim-whamt 


SALMAGUNDI. 


&63 


From  the  delicacy  of  his  perves  he  is  peculiarly  sen- 
sible to  discordant  sounds ;  the  rattling  of  a  wheel- 
barrow is  "  horrible ; "  the  noise  of  children  "  drives 
him  distracted ; "  and  he  once  left  excellent  lodgings 
merely  because  the  lady  of  the  house  wore  high-heel- 
ed shoes,  in  which  she  clattered  up  and  down  stairs, 
till,  to  use  his  own  emphatic  expression,  "  they  made 
life  loathsome  "  to  him.  He  suffers  annual  martyr- 
dom from  the  razor-edged  zephyrs  of  our  "  balmy 
spring,"  and  solemnly  declares  that  the  twasted 
month  of  May  has  become  a  perfect  "  vagabond." 
As  some  people  have  a  great  antipathy  to  cats,  and 
can  tell  when  one  is  locked  up  in  a  closet,  so  Launce- 
lot  declares  his  feelings  always  announce  to  him  the 
neighbourhood  of  a  broom  ;  a  household  implement 
which  he  abominates  above  all  others.  Nor  is  there 
any  living  animal  in  the  world  that  he  holds  in  more 
utter  abhorrence  than  what  is  usually  termed  a  not- 
able house-wife ;  a  pestilent  being,  who,  he  protests, 
is  the  bane  of  good*  fellowship,  and  1  -o  a  heavy 
charge  to  answer  for  the  many  offences  committed 
against  the  ease,  comfort,  and  social  enjoyments  of 
sovereign  man.  He  told  me,  not  long  ago,  "  that  he 
had  rather  see  one  of  the  weird  sisters  nourish  through 
his  key-hole  on  a  broomstick,  than  one  of  the  servant 
maids  enter  the  door  with  a  besom." 

My  friend  Launcelot  is  ardent  and  sincere  in  his 
attachments,  which  are  confined  to  a  chosen  few, 
in  whose  society  he  loves  to  give  free  scope  to  his 
whimsical  imagination  ;  he,  however,  mingles  freely 
with  the  world,  though  more  as  a  spectator  than  an 
actor;  and  without  an  anxiety,  or  hardly  a  care  to 
please,  is  generally  received  with  welcome  and  lis- 
tened to  with  complacency.  When  he  extends  his 
hand  it  is  in  a  free,  open,  liberal  style ;  and  when 
you  shake  it,  you  feel  his  honest  heart  throb  in  its 
pulsations.  Though  rather  fond  of  gay  exhibitions, 
DC  does  not  appear  so  frequently  at  balls  and  assem- 
blies since  the  introduction  of  the  drum,  trumpet, 
and  tamborin  :  all  of  which  he  abhors  On  account  of 
the  rude  attacks  they  make  on  his  organs  of  hear- 
ing :— in  short,  such  is  his  antipathy  to  noise,  that 
though  exceedingly  patriotic,  yet  he  retreats  every 
fourth  of  July  to  Cockloft  Hall,  in  order  to  get  out 
of  the  way  of  the  hub-bub  and  confusion  which  make 
so  considerable  a  part  of  the  pleasure  of  that  splendid 
anniversary. 

I  intend  this  article  as  a  mere  sketch  of  Lang- 
staiTs  multifarious  character ;  his  innumerable  whim- 
whams  will  be  exhibited  by  4.  mself,  in  the  course  of 
this  work,  in  all  their  strange  varieties;  and  the 
machinery  of  his  mind,  more  intricate  than  the  most 
subtle  piece  of  clock-work,  be  fully  explained.  And 
trust  me,  gentlefolk,  his  are  the  whiin-whams  of  a 
courteous  gentleman  full  of  most  excellent  qualities ; 
honourable  in  his  disposition,  independent  in  his 
sentiments,  and  of  unbounded  good  nature,  as  may 
be  seen  through  all  his  works. 


ON  STYLE. 

BY  WILLIAM  WIZARD,  ESQ. 

Stylb,  a  manner  of  writing  ;  titU  ;  pin  of  a  dial;  the 
pistil  of  plants.— JoHSSOS. 

Srvis,  is style. — Linkum  Fidbuus. 


Now  1  would  not  give  a  straw  for  either  of  the 
above  definitions,  though  I  think  the  latter  is  by  far 
the  most  satisfactory :  and  I  do  wish  sincerely  every 
modem  numskull,  who  takes  hold  of  a  subject  he 
knows  nothing  about,  would  adopt  honest  Linkum's 


mode  of  explanation.  Blah  s  Lectures  on  inis  article 
have  not  thrown  a  whit  moie  light  on  the  subject  of 
my  inquiries ;  they  puzzled  me  just  as  much  ^  did 
the  learned  and  laborious  expositions  and  illustrations 
of  the  worthy  professor  of  our  college,  in  the  middle 
of  which  I  geneially  had  the  ill  luck  to  fall  asleep. 

This  same  word  style,  though  but  a  diminutive 
word,  assumes  to  itself  more  contradictions,  and  sig- 
nifications, and  eccentricities,  than  any  monosyllabic 
in  the  language  is  legitimately  entitled  to.  It  is  an 
arrant  little  humorist  of  a  word,  and  full  of  whim- 
whams,  which  occasions  me  to  like  it  hugely ;  but  it 
puzzled  me  most  wickedly  on  my  first  return  from  a 
long  residence  abroad,  having  crept  into  fashionable 
use  during  my  absence ;  and  hac  it  not  been  for 
friend  Evergreen,  and  that  thrifty  sprig  of  knowledge, 
Jeremy  Cockloft  the  younger,  I  should  have  remain- 
ed to  this  day  ignorant  of  its  meaning. 

Though  it  would  seem  that  the  people  of  all  coun- 
tries are  equally  vehement  in  the  pursuit  of  this 
phantom,  style,  yet  in  almost  £.11  of  them  there  is  a 
strange  diversity  in  opinion  as  to  what  constitutes 
its  essence ;  and  every  different  class,  like  the  pagan 
nations,  adore  it  under  a  different  form.  In  England, 
for  instance,  an  honest  cit  packs  up  himself,  his  fam- 
ily, and  his  style,  in  a  buggy  or  tim-whisky,  and 
rattles  away  on  Sunday  with  his  fair  partner  bloom- 
ing beside  him,  like  an  eastern  bride,  and  two  chubbj 
children,  squatting  like  Chinese  images  at  his  feet 
A  Baronet  requires  a  chariot  and  pair; — a  Lord 
must  needs  have  a  barouche  and  four ; — but  a  Duke 
— oh  !  a  Duke  cannot  possibly  lumber  his  style  along 
under  a  coach  and  six,  and  half  a  score  of  footmen 
into  the  bargain.  In  China  a  puissant  Mandarin 
loads  at  least  three  elephants  with  style;  and  an 
overgrown  sheep  at  the  Cape  of  Good-Hope,  tratb 
along  his  tail  and  his  style  on  a  wheelbarrow.  In 
Egypt,  or  at  Constantinople,  style  consists  in  the 
quantity  of  fur  and  fine  clotl.es  a  lady  can  put  on 
without  danger  of  suffocation ;  here  it  is  otherwise, 
and  consists  in  the  quantity  she  can  put  off  without 
the  risk  of  freezing.  A  Chinese  lady  is  thought 
prodigal  of  her  charms  if  she  expose  the  tip  of  her 
nose,  or  the  ends  of  her  fingers,  to  the  ardent  gaze 
of  bystanders :  and  I  recollect  that  all  Canton  was 
in  a  buzz  in  consequence  of  the  great  belle.  Miss 
Nangfous,  peeping  out  of  the  window  with  her  face 
uncovered  !  Here  the  style  is  to  show  not  only  the 
face,  but  the  neck,  shoulders  &c. ;  and  a  lady  never 

Presumes  to  hide  them  except  when  she  is  not  at 
ome,  and  not  sufficiently  undressed  to  see  com- 
pany. 

This  style  has  ruined  the  peace  and  harmony  of 
many  a  worthy  household ;  for  no  sooner  do  they  set 
up  for  style,  but  instantly  all  the  honest  old  comfort- 
able sans  ceremonie  furniture  is  discarded ;  and  you 
stalk,  cautiously  about,  amongst  the  uncomfortable 
splendour  of  Grecian  chairs,  Egyptian  table;,  Turkey 
carpets,  and  Etruscan  vases. — This  vast  improve- 
ment in  furniture  demands  an  increase  in  the  do- 
mestic establishment;  and  a  family  that  once  re- 
quired two  or  three  servants  for  convenience,  now 
ennploys  half  a  dozen  for  style. 

Bell-brazen,  late  favourite  of  my  unfortunate 
friend  Dessalines,  was  one  of  these  patterns  of  style ; 
and  whatever  freak  she  was  seized  with,  however 
preposterous,  was  implicitly  followed  by  all  who 
would  be  considered  as  admitted  in  the  stylish  ar 
cana.  She  was  once  seized  with  a  whim-wham  that 
tickled  the  whole  court.  She  could  not  lay  down  to 
take  an  afternoon's  loll,  but  she  must  have  one  serv- 
ant to  scratch  her  head,  two  to  tickle  her  feet,  and 
a  fourth  to  fan  her  delectable  person  while  she  slum- 
bered. The  thing  took ; — it  become  the  rage,  and 
not  n  sable  belle  in  all  Hayti  but  what  insisted  upon 


lit' 


i. 


664 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


ae'mg  fanned,  and  scratched,  and  tickled  in  the  true 
imperial  style.  Sneer  not  at  this  picture,  my  most 
excellent  townswomen,  for  who  among  you  but  are 
daily  following  fashions  equally  absurd  I 

Style,  according  to  Evergreen's  account,  consists 
in  certain  fashions,  or  certain  eccentricities,  or  cer- 
tain manners  of  certain  people,  in  certain  situations, 
and  possessed  of  a  certain  share  of  fashion  or  im- 
portance. A  red  cloak,  for  instance,  on  the  shoul- 
ders of  an  old  market-woman  is  regarded  with  con- 
tempt ;  it  is  vulgar,  it  is  odious : — fling,  however,  its 
usurping  rival,  a  red  shawl,  over  the  hne  figure  of  a 
fiashionable  belle,  and  let  her  flame  away  with  it  in 
Broadway,  or  in  a  ball-room,  and  it  is  immediately 
declared  to  be  the  style. 

The  modes  of  attaining  this  certain  situation, 
which  entitle  its  holder  to  style,  are  various  and  op- 
posite ;  the  most  ostensible  is  the  attainment  of 
wealth ;  the  possession  of  which  changes,  at  once, 
the  pert  airs  of  vulgar  ignorance  into  fashionable 
ease  and  elegant  vivacity.  It  is  highly  amusing  to 
observe  the  gradation  of  a  family  aspiring  to  style, 
and  the  devious  windings  they  pursue  in  order  to 
attain  it.  While  beatine  up  against  wind  and  tide 
they  are  the  most  complaisant  beings  in  the  world ; 
—they  keep  "  booing  and  booing,"  as  M'Sycophant 
says,  until  you  would  suppose  them  incapable  of 
standing  upright;  they  kiss  their  hands  to  every 
body  who  has  the  least  claim  to  style ;  their  famiU 
iarity  is  intolerable,  and  they  absolutely  overwhelm 
you  with  their  friendship  and  loving-kindness.  But 
having  once  gained  the  envied  pre-eminence,  never 
were  beings  in  the  world  more  changed.  They  as- 
sume the  most  intolerable  caprices  ;  at  one  time,  ad- 
dress you  with  importunate  sociability  ;  at  another, 
pass  you  by  with  silent  indifference ;  sometimes  sit 
up  in  their  chairs  in  all  the  majesty  of  dignified  si- 
lence ;  and  at  another  time  bounce  about  with  all 
the  obstreperous  ill-bred  noise  of  a  litle  hoyden  just 
bfx>ke  loose  from  a  boarding-school. 

Another  feature  which  distinguishes  these  new- 
made  fashionables,  is  the  inveteracy  with  which  they 
look  down  upon  the  honest  people  who  are  strug- 
gling to  climb  up  to  the  same  envied  height.  They 
never  fail  to  salute  them  with  the  most  sarcastic  re- 
flections ;  and  like  so  many  worthy  hodmen,  clam- 
bering a  ladder,  each  one  looks  down  ujjon  his  next 
neighbour  below  and  makes  no  scruple  of  shaking 
the  dust  oft'  his  shoes  into  his  eyes.  Thus  by  dint 
of  perseverance,  merely,  they  come  to  be  considered 
as  established  denizens  of  the  great  world ;  as  in 
some  barbarous  nations  an  oyster-shell  is  of  sterling 
value,  and  a  copper-washed  counter  will  pass  current 
for  genuine  gold. 

In  no  instance  have  I  seen  this  grasping  after  style 
more  whimsically  exhibited,  than  in  the  family  of 
my  old  acquaintance,  Ti.MOTHY  Giblet. — I  recol- 
lect old  Giblet  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  he  was  the 
most  surly  curmudgeon  I  ever  knew.  He  was  a  per- 
fect scare-crow  to  the  small-fry  of  the  day,  and  in- 
herited the  hatred  of  all  these  unlucky  little  shavers  ; 
for  never  could  we  assemble  about  his  door  of  an 
e%enir^  to  play,  and  make  a  little  hub-bub,  but  out  he 
milled  from  his  nest  like  a  spider,  flourished  his  formid- 
able horse-whip,  and  dispersed  the  whole  crew  in  the 
twinkling  of  a  lamp.  I  perfectly  remember  a  bill  he 
Mnt  m  to  my  father  for  a  pane  of  glass  I  hat!  acci- 
dentally broken,  which  came  well-nigh  getting  me  a 
sound  flogging ;  and  1  rememl)er,  as  perfectly,  that 
the  next  night  I  revenged  myself  by  breaking  half  a 
dozen.  Giblet  was  as  arrant  a  grubworm  as  ever 
crawled ;  and  the  only  rules  of  right  and  wrong  he 
cared  a  button  for,  were  the  rules  of  multiplication 
and  addition ;  which  he  practiced  much  more  suc- 
cessfully than  he  did  any  of  the  rules  of  religion  or 


morality.  He  used  to  declare  they  were  the  trai 
golden  rules ;  and  he  took  special  care  to  put  Cock 
er's  arithmetic  in  the  hands  of  his  children,  befort 
they  had  read  ten  pages  in  the  Bible  or  the  prayer- 
book.  The  practice  of  these  favourite  maxims  was 
at  length  crowned  with  the  harvest  of  success  ;  anci 
after  a  life  of  incessant  self-denial,  and  starvation 
and  after  enduring  all  the  pounds,  shillings,  and 
pence  miseries  of  a  miser,  he  had  'he  satisfaction  o( 
seeing  himself  worth  a  plum  anci  of  dying  just  as  he 
had  determined  to  enjoy  the  remainder  of  his  davs 
in  contemplating  his  great  wealth  and  accumulatiti}) 
mortgages. 

His  children  inherited  his  money ;  but  they  burie(! 
the  disposition,  and  every  other  memorial  of  theit 
father,  in  his  grave.  Fired  with  a  noble  thirst  for 
style,  they  instantly  emerged  from  the  retired  lane 
in  which  themselves  and  their  acromplishments  had 
hitherto  been  buried ;  and  tijev  blazed,  and  thev 
whizzed,  and  they  cracked  abc.  t  town,  like  a  ncsi 
of  squibs  and  devils  in  a  firework.  I  can  liken  iheir 
sudden  eclat  to  nothing  but  that  of  the  locust,  which 
is  hatched  in  the  dust,  where  it  increases  and  swells 
up  to  maturity,  and  after  feeling  for  a  moment  the 
vivifying  rays  of  the  sun,  bursts  forth  a  mighty  in- 
sect, and  flutters,  and  rattles,  and  buzzes  from  every 
tree.  The  little  warblers  who  have  long  cheered  tht 
woodlands  with  their  dulcet  notes,  are  stunned  h) 
the  discordant  racket  of  these  -pstart  intruders,  ano 
contemplate,  in  conf-npfaous  silence,  their  tinsel 
and  their  noise. 

Having  once  started,  the  Giblets  were  determined 
that  nothing  should  stop  them  in  their  career,  until 
they  had  run  their  full  course  and  arrived  at  the  very 
tip-top  of  style.  Every  tailor,  every  shoe-maker, 
every  coach-maKer,  every  milliner,  every  mantua- 
maker,  every  paper-hanger,  every  piano  teacher,  and 
every  dancing  master  in  the  city,  were  enlisted  in 
their  service ;  and  the  willing  wights  most  courte- 
ously answered  their  call ;  and  fell  to  work  to  buiK; 
up  the  fame  of  the  Giblets,  as  they  had  done  that  o: 
many  an  aspiring  family  before  them.  In  a  littU 
time  the  young  ladies  could  dance  the  waltz,  thundei 
Lodoiska,  mur'ler  French,  kill  time,  and  commit  vio- 
lence on  the  face  of  nature  in  a  landscape  in  water- 
colours,  equ.il  to  the  best  lady  in  the  land ;  and  the 
young  gentlemen  were  seen  lounging  at  corners  of 
streets,  and  driving  tandem ;  heard  talking  loud  at 
the  theatre,  and  laughing  in  church ;  with  as  much 
ease,  and  grace,  and  modesty,  as  if  they  had  Ijeen 
gentlemen  all  the  days  of  their  lives. 

And  the  Giblets  arrayed  themselves  in  scarlet,  and 
in  fine  linen,  and  seated  themselves  in  high  places  ; 
but  nobody  noticed  them  except  to  honour  them 
with  a  little  contempt.  The  Giblets  made  a  prodig- 
ious spLish  in  their  own  opinion  ;  but  nobody  ex- 
tolled them  except  the  tailors,  and  the  milliners, 
who  had  been  employed  in  manufacturing  their  para- 
phernalia. The  (iiblets  thereupon  being,  like  Caleb 
Quotem,  determined  to  have  "  a  place  at  the  review," 
fell  to  work  more  fiercely  than  ever; —they  gave 
dinners,  and  they  gave  balls,  they  hired  cooks,  thej 
hired  fiddlers,  they  hired  confectioners ;  and  they 
would  have  kept  a  newspaper  in  j.'ay,  had  they  not 
been  all  bought  up  at  that  time  for  the  election 
They  invited  the  dancing-men  and  the  dancing- 
women,  and  the  gonnandizers,  and  the  epicures  ol 
the  city,  to  come  and  make  merry  at  their  expense ; 
and  the  dancing-men,  and  the  dancing-women, 
and  the  epicures,  and  the  gormandizers,  did  come 
and  they  did  make  merry  at  their  expense ,  and 
they  eat,  and  they  drank,  and'  they  cape:ed,  and 
they  danced,  and  they — laughed  at  their  entertainers. 

Then  commenced  the  hurry  and  the  bustle  und 
the  mighty  nothingness  o(  fashionable  lite; — suci' 


SALMAGUNDI. 


rattlinc  in  coaches  I  such  flaunting  i..  the  streets  I 
such  slamming  of  box  doors  at  the  theatre  I  such  a 
tempest  of  bustle  and  unmeaning  noise  wherever 
thev  appeared  I  the  Giblets  were  seen  here  and  there 
ina  everywhere ; — they  visited  every  body  they  knew, 
uid  every  body  they  did  not  know ;  and  there  Aras  no 
{etting  along  for  the  Giblets. — Their  plan  at  length 
succe«led.  By  dint  of  dinners,  of  feeding  and  frol- 
icking  the  town,  the  Giblet  family  worked  them- 
«lves  into  notice,  and  enjoyed  the  ineffable  pleasure 
rf  being  for  ever  pestered  by  visitors,  who  cared 
nothing  about  them ;  of  being  squeezed,  and  smoth- 
ered, and  parboiled  at  nightly  balls,  and  evening  tea- 
parties  ; — they  were  allowed  the  privilege  of  forget- 
ting the  very  few  old  friends  they  once  possessed  ; — 
they  turned  their  noses  up  in  the  wind  at  every  thing 
that  was  not  genteel ;  and  their  superb  manners 
and  sublime  affectation  at  length  left  it  no  longer  a 
matter  of  doubt  that  the  Giblets  were  perfectly  in 
style. 


" Being,  u  it  were,  a  uull  contentmente  in  a  never  content- 
ing lubjecte  :  a  bitter  pleaiaunte  taste  of  a  iweete  seaioned  lower; 
and,  ail  in  all,  a  more  than  oitlinarie  rqoycing,  in  an  extraordi- 
oaiie  sorrow  of  deljrghts." 

Link.  Fidiuus. 

We  have  been  considerably  edified  of  late  by  sev- 
eral letters  of  advice  from  a  number  of  sage  cor- 
respondents, who  really  seem  to  know  more  about 
our  work  than  we  do  ourselves.  One  warns  us 
against  saying  anv  thing  more  about  Snivers,  who 
is  a  very  particular  friend  of  the  writer,  and  who 
has  a  singular  disinclination  to  be  laughed  at. — This 
correspondent  in  particular  inveighs  against  per- 
sonalities, and  accuses  us  of  ill  nature  in  bring- 
ing forwaird  old  Fungus  and  Billy  Dimple,  as  figures 
of  fun  to  amuse  tne  public.  Another  gentleman, 
who  states  that  he  is  a  near  relation  of  the  Cock- 
lofts, proses  away  most  soporifically  on  the  impro- 
priety of  ridiculing  a  respectable  old  family ;  and 
declares  that  if  we  make  them  and  their  whim- 
whams  the  subject  of  any  more  essays,  he  shall  be 
under  the  necessity  of  applying  to  our  theatrical 
champions  for  satisfaction.  A  third,  who  by  the 
crabb«dness  of  the  hand-writing,  and  a  few  care- 
less inaccuracies  in  the  spelling,  appears  to  be  a 
lady,  assures  us  that  the  Miss  Cocklofts,  and  Miss 
Diana  Wearwell,  and   Miss   '  ashaway,   and  Mrs. 

Will   Wiiard's  quondam  flame,  are  so  much 

obliged  to  us  for  our  notice,  that  they  intend  in 
future  to  take  no  notice  of  us  at  all,  but  leave  us  out 
of  all  their  tea-parties ;  for  which  we  make  them 
one  of  our  best  bows,  and  say,  "  thank  you,  ladies." 

We  wish  to  heaven  these  good  people  would  at- 
tend to  their  own  affairs,  if  they  have  any  to  attend 
to,  and  let  us  alone.  It  is  one  of  the  most  provok- 
ing things  in  the  world  that  we  cannot  ticlcle  the 
public  a  little,  merely  for  our  own  private  amuse- 
ment, but  we  must  be  crossed  ard  jostled  by  these 
meddhng  incendiaries,  and,  in  fact,  have  the  whole 
town  about  our  ears.  We  are  much  in  the  same 
•ituation  with  an  unlucky  blade  of  a  cockney ;  who, 
having  mounted  his  bit  of  blood  to  enjoy  a  little  in- 
nooent  recreation,  and  display  his  horsemanship  along 
Broadway,  is  worried  by  all  those  little  yelpine  curs 
that  infest  our  city  ;  and  who  never  fail  to  sally  out 
and  growl,  and  bark,  and  snarl,  to  the  great  annoy- 

BCe  of  the  Birmingham  equestrian. 

Wisely  was  it  said  by  the  sage  Linkum  Fidelius, 
"  howbat,  moreover,  nevertheless,  this  thrice  wicked 
towne  is  charged  up  to  the  muzzle  with  all  manner 
of  ill*iiatures  and  uncharitablenesses,  and  is,  more- 
over, exceedinglie  naughte."  This  passage  of  the 
enidite  Linkum  was  applied  to  the  city  of  Gotham, 
Vol.  it  — 1« 


of  which  he  was  once  Lord  Mayor,  as  appears  by 
his  picture  hung  up  in  the  hah  of  that  ancient  city  ;— 
but  his  observation  flts  this  best  of  all  possiblecities 
"to  a  hair."  It  is  a  melancholy  truth  that  this 
same  New- York,  though  the  most  charming,  pleasant, 
polished,  and  praise-worthy  city  under  the  sun,  and, 
in  a  word,  the  iontu  bouche  of  the  universe,  is  most 
shockingly  ill-natured  and  sarcastic,  and  wickedly 
given  to  all  manner  of  backslidings ; — for  which  wf 
are  very  sorry  indeed.  In  truth,  for  it  must  come  out 
like  murder  one  time  or  other,  the  inhabitants  are 
not  only  ill-natured,  but  manifestly  unjust :  no  soonei 
do  they  get  one  of  our  random  sketches  in  their 
hands,  but  instantly  they  apply  it  most  unjustifiably 
to  some  "  dear  friend,"  and  then  accuse  us  vocifer- 
ously of  the  personality  which  originated  in  theii 
own  officious  friendship !  Truly  it  is  an  ill-natured 
town,  and  most  earnestly  do  we  hope  it  may  not 
meet  with  the  fate  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  of  old. 

As,  however,  it  may  be  thought  incumbent  upon 
us  to  make  some  apology  for  these  mistakes  of  the 
town ;  and  as  our  good-nature  is  truly  exemplary, 
we  would  certainly  answer  this  expectation  were  it 
not  that  we  have  an  invincible  antipathy  to  making 
apologies.  We  have  a  most  profound  contempt  for 
any  man  who  cannot  give  three  good  reasons  for  an 
unreasonable  thing ;  and  will  therefore  condescend, 
as  usual,  to  give  the  public  three  special  reasons  fot 
never  apologizing: — first,  an  apology  implies  that 
we  are  accountable  to  some  body  or  another  for  oui 
conduct ; — now  as  we  do  not  care  a  fiddle-stick,  as 
authors,  for  either  public  opinion  or  private  ill-will, 
it  would  be  implying  a  falsenood  to  a]>oIogiie  : — sec 
ond,  an  apology  would  indicate  that  we  had  been 
doing  what  we  ought  not  to  have  done.  Now,  as  we 
never  did  nor  ever  intend  to  do  any  thing  wrong 
it  would  be  ridiculous  to  make  an  apology: — ^third 
we  labour  under  the  same  incapacity  in  the  art  of 
apologizing  that  lost  Langstaff  his  mistress  ; — w« 
never  yet  undertook  to  make  apology  without  com- 
miting  a  new  offence,  and  making  matters  ten  times 
worse  than  they  were  before ;  and  we  are,  there- 
fore, determined  to  avoid  such  predicaments  in  fu- 
ture. 

But  though  we  have  resolved  never  to  apolo- 
gize, yet  we  have  no  particular  objection  to  ex 
plain ;  and  if  this  is  all  that's  wanted,  we  will  g( 

about  it  directly : allons,  gentlemen  ! before, 

however,  we  enter  upon  this  serious  affair,  we 
take  this  opportunity  to  express  our  surprise  and 
indignation  at  the  incredulity  of  some  people. — 
Have  we  not,  over  and  over,  assured  the  town 
that  we  are  three  of  the  best-natured  fellows  liv- 
ing? And  is  it  not  astonishing,  that  having  al- 
ready given  seven  convincing  proofs  of  the  truth 
of  this  assurance,  they  should .  still  have  any  doubts 
on  the  subject?  but  as  it  is  one  of  the  impossible 
things  to  make  a  knave  believe  in  honesty,  so  perhaps 
it  may  be  another  to  make  this  most  sarcastic,  satiri- 
cal, and  tea-drinking  city  believe  in  the  existence 

of  good-nature.    But  to  our  explanation. Gentle 

reader !  for  we  are  convinced  that  none  but  gentle 
or  genteel  readers  can  relish  our  excellent  produc- 
tions, if  thou  art  in  expectation  of  being  perfectly 
satisfied  with  what  we  are  about  to  say,  thou  mayest 
as  well  "whistle  lillebullero "  and  skip  quite  over 
what  follows  ;  for  never  wight  was  more  disappoint- 
ed than  thou  wilt  be  most  assuredly. — But  to  the  ex- 
planation :  We  care  just  as  much  about  the  public 
and  its  wise  conjectures,  as  we  do  about  the  man  ii 
the  moon  and  his  whim-whams,  or  the  criticisms  ot 
the  lady  who  .iti  majestically  in  her  elbow-chair 
in  the  lobster ;  and  who,  belying  her  sex,  as  we  are 
credibly  informed,  never  says  any  thing  worth 
listening  to.    We  have  launched  our  bark,  and  wc 


m 


66Q 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


U 

it 


will  steer  to  our  destined  port  with  undeviating  per 
severance,  feailess  of  being  shipwreciced  by  the 
wav.  Good>nature  is  our  steersman,  reason  our 
ballast,  whim  the  breeze  that  wafts  us  along,  and 
MORALITY  our  leading  star. 


^^4- 


m 


mi^A 


No.  IX.— SATURDAY,  APRIL  35,  1807. 

FROM  MV  KLBOW-CHAIR. 


It  in  some  measure  jumps  with  my  humour  to 
be  "melancholy  and  gentleman-like"  this  stormy 
night,  and  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  not  indulge 
myself  for  once. — Away,  then,  with  joke,  with  fun, 
and  laughter,  for  a  while ;  let  my  soul  look  back  in 
mournful  retrospect,  and  sadden  with  the  memory 
of  my  good  aunt  Charity — who  died  of  a  French- 
man I 

Stare  not,  oh,  most  dubious  reader,  at  the  men- 
tion  of  a  complaint  so  uncommon ;  grievously 
hath  it  afflicted  the  ancient  family  of  the  Cocklofts, 
who  carry  their  absurd  antipathy  to  the  French  so 
far,  that  they  will  not  suffer  a  clove  of  garlic  in 
the  house :  and  my  good  old  friend  Christopher 
was  once  on  the  point  of  abandoning  his  paternal 
country  man'<on  of  Cockloft-hall,  merely  because 
a  colony  of  frogs  had  settled  in  a  neighbouring 
swamp.  I  verily  believe  he  would  have  carried  his 
whim-wham  into  effect,  had  not  a  fortunate  drought 
obliged  the  enemy  to  strike  their  tents,  and,  like  a 
troop  of  wandering  Arabs,  to  march  off  towards  a 
nr.oif  tcr  part  of  the  country. 

My  aunt  Charity  departed  this  life  in  the  fifty- 
ninth  year  of  her  age,  thoueh  she  never  grew 
older  after  twenty-live.  In  Her  teens  she  was, 
according  to  her  own  account,  a  celebrated  beau- 
ty,— though  I  never  could  meet  with  any  body 
tnat  remembered  when  she  was  handsome ;  on 
the  contrary.  Evergreen's  father,  who  used  to 
gallant  her  m  his  youth,  says  she  was  as  knotty  a 
Rttle  piece  of  humanity  as  he  ever  saw ;  and  that, 
if  she  had  been  possessed  of  the  least  sensibility, 
she  would,  like  poor  old  Acco,  have  most  certainly 
run  mad  at  her  own  figure  and  face  the  first  time 
she  contemplated  herself  in  a  looking-glass.  In 
the  good  old  times  that  saw  my  aunt  in  the  hey- 
day of  youth,  a  line  lady  was  a  mo.st  formidable 
animal,  and  required  to  be  approached  with  the 
same  awe  and  devotion  that  a  Tartar  feels  in  the 
presence  of  his  Grand  Lama,  if  a  gentleman  of- 
fered to  take  her  hand,  except  to  help  her  into  a 
carriage,  or  lead  her  into  a  drawing-room,  such 
frowns  I  such  a  rustling  of  brocade  and  taffeta ! 
her  very  paste  shoe-buckles  spat  kled  with  indigna- 
tion, and  for  a  moment  assumed  the  brilliancy  of 
diamonds :  in  those  days  the  person  of  a  belle  was 
sacred ;  it  was  unprofaned  by  the  sacrilegious  grasp 

•f  a  stranger : simple  souls ! — they  had  not  the 

waltz  among  them  yet ! 

My  good  aunt  prided  herself  on  keeping  up  this 
buckram  delicacy ;  and  if  she  happened  to  be  play- 
ing at  the  old-fashioned  game  of  forfeits,  an.l  was 
fined  a  kiss,  it  was  always  more  trouble  to  get  it 
than  it  was  worth ;  for  she  m^de  a  most  gallant 
defence,  and  never  surrendered  until  she  saw  her 
adversary  inclined  to  give  over  his  attack.  Ever- 
green's father  says  he  remembers  once  to  have 
Been  on  a  sleighing  party  with  her,  and  when  they 
came  to  Kissing-briage,  it  fell  to  his  lot  to  levy 
contributions  on  Miss  Charity  Cockloft ;  who,  after 
squalling  at  a  hideous  rate,  at  length  iumped  out  of 
tbe  sleigh  plump  into  a  snow-bank ;  where  she  stuck 


fast  like  an  icicle,  until  he  came  to  her  rescue.  Thu 
latonian  feat  cost  her  a  rheumatism,  which  she  never 
thoroughly  recovered. 

It  is  rather  singiilar  that  my  aunt  though  a  great 
beauty,  and  an  heiress  withal,  never  got  married. 
The  reason  she  alleged  was,  that  she  never  mrt 
with  a  lover  who  resembled  Sir  Charles  Grandison, 
the  hero  of  her  nightly  dreams  and  waking  fancj '. 
but  I  am  privately  of  opinion  that  it  was  owing  ti 
her  never  naving  had  an  offer.  This  much  is  cer 
tain,  that  for  many  years  previous  to  her  decease 
she  decHned  all  attentions  from  the  gentlemen, 
and  contented  herself  with  watching  over  the  wel- 
fare of  her  fellow-creatures.  She  was,  indeed,  oh- 
served  to  take  a  considerable  lean  towards  Method- 
ism, was  frequent  in  her  attendance  at  love  feasts, 
read  Whittield  and  Wesley,  and  even  went  so  far 
as  once  to  travel  the  distance  of  five  and  twentv 
miles  to  be  present  at  a  camp-meeting.  This  gave 
great  offence  to  my  cousin  Christopher  and  his 
good  lady,  who,  as  I  have  already  mentioned,  are 
rigidly  orthodox ;  and  had  not  my  aunt  Charitj 
been  of  a  most  pacific  disposition,  her  religiouF 
whim-wham  would  have  occasioned  many  a  familj 
altercation.  She  was,  indeed,  as  good  a  soul  as  the 
Cockloft  family  ever  boasted  ;  a  lady  of  unbounded 
loving-kindness,  which  extended  to  man,  wom.-in, 
and  child ;  many  of  whom  she  almost  killed  with 
good-nature.  Was  any  acquaintance  sick  ?  in  vain 
did  the  wind  whistle  and  the  storm  beat ;  my  aunt 
would  waddle  through  mud  and  mire,  over  the  whole 
town,  but  what  she  would  visit  them.  She  would 
sit  by  them  for  hours  together  with  the  most  per- 
severing patience ;  and  tell  a  thousand  melancholy 
stories  of  human  misery,  to  keep  up  their  spirits.  Thr 
whole  catalogue  ofyerh  teas  was  at  her  fingers'  ends, 
from  formidable  worm-wood  down  to  gentle  balm  • 
and  she  would  descant  by  the  hour  on  the  healing 
qualities  of  hoar-hound,  catnip,  and  penny-royal.— 
Wo  be  to  the  patient  that  came  under  the  benev- 
olent hand  of  my  aunt  Charity  ;  he  was  sure,  willy 
nilly,  to  be  drenched  with  a  deluge  of  decoctions ; 
and  full  many  a  time  has  my  cousin  Christopher 
borne  a  twinge  of  pain  in  silence  through  fear  of 
being  condemned  to  suffer  the  martyrdom  of  her 
materia-medica.  My  good  aunt  had,  moreover, 
considerable  skill  in  astronomy,  for  she  could  teli 
when  the  sun  rose  and  set  every  day  in  the  year; 
and  no  woman  in  the  whole  world  was  able  to  pro- 
nounce, with  more  certainty,  at  what  precise  min 
ute  the  moon  changed.  She  held  the  story  of  the 
moon's  being  made  of  green  cheese,  as  an  abomina- 
ble slander  on  her  favourite  planet ;  and  she  had 
made  several  valuable  discoveries  in  solar  eclipses, 
by  means  of  a  bit  of  burnt  glass,  which  entitled 
her  at  least  to  an  honorary  acunission  in  the  Amer- 
ican-philosophical-society. Hutching's  improved 
was  her  favounte  book  ;  and  I  shrewdw  suspect  that 
it  was  from  this  valuable  work  she  drew  most  of 
her  sovereign  remedies  for  colds,  coughs,  corns,  and 
consumptions. 

But  the  truth  must  be/  told ;  with  all  her  good 
qu>'>!ities  my  aunt  Charity  was  afflicted  with  one  Utult 
extremely  rare  among  her  gentle  sex ; — it  was  curi- 
osity. How  she  came  by  it,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  im- 
agine, but  it  played  the  very  vengeance  with  her  and 
destroyed  the  comfort  of  ner  life.  Having  an  in- 
vincible desire  to  know  every  body's  character,  busi- 
ness, and  mode  of  living,  she  was  for  ever  prying 
into  the  affairs  of  her  neighbours ;  and  got  a  grcaf 
deal  of  ill  will  from  people  towards  whom  she  haa 
the  kindest  disposition  possible. — If  any  family  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  street  gave  a  dinner;  my 
aunt  would  mount  her  spectacles,  and  sit  at  the  win- 
dow until  the  company  were  all  housol ;  merely  that 


SALMAGUNDI. 


567 


she  might  know  who  they  were.  If  she  heard  a  story 
about  any  of  her  acquaintance,  she  would,  forthwith, 
set  off  full  sail  and  never  rest  until,  to  use  her  usual 
expression,  she  had  got "  to  the  bottom  of  it ; "  which 
meant  nothing  more  than  telling  it  to  every  body 
aht  Icnew. 

I  remember  one  night  my  aunt  Charity  happened 
to  hear  a  most  precious  stoiy  about  one  of  her  good 
Mends,  but  unfortunately  too  late  to  give  it  immedi- 
ate circulation.  It  made  her  absolutely  miserable ; 
and  she  hardly  slept  a  wink  all  night,  for  fear  her 
bosom-friend,  Mrs.  SiPKiNS,  should  get  the  start  of 
her  in  the  morning  and  blow  the  whole  affair.  You 
must  know  there  was  always  a  contest  between  these 
two  ladies,  who  should  nrst  give  currency  to  the 

Sood-natured  things  said  about  every  body;  and 
lis  unfortunate  rivalship  at  length  proved  fatal  to 
their  long  and  ardent  friendship.  My  aunt  got  up 
full  two  hours  that  morning  before  her  usual  time  ; 
put  on  her  pompadour  tafeta  gown,  and  sallied  forth 
to  lament  the  misfortune  of  her  dear  friend.  Would 
you  believe  it ! — wherever  she  went  Mrs.  Sipkins  had 
anticipated  her;  and,  instead  of  being  listened  to 
with  uplifted  hands  and  open-mouthed  wonder,  my 
unhappy  aunt  was  obliged  to  sit  down  quietly  and 
listen  to  the  whole  affair,  with  numerous  additions, 
alterations,  and  amendments ! — now  this  was  too 
iNid ;  it  would  almost  have  provoked  Patient  Grizzle 
or  a  saint : — it  was  too  much  for  my  aunt,  who  kept 
bar  bed  for  three  days  afterwards,  with  a  cold,  as 
she  pretended  ;  but  I  nave  no  doubt  it  was  owing  to 
this  affair  of  Mrs.  SipVins,  to  whom  she  never  would 
be  reconciled. 

But  I  pass  over  the  rest  of  mv  aunt  Charity's  life, 
checquered  with  the  various  calamities  and  misfor- 
tunes and  mortifications  incident  to  those  worthy  old 
gentlewomen  who  have  the  domestic  cares  of  the 
whole  community  upon  their  minds ;  and  I  hasten 
to  relate  the  melancholy  incident  that  hurried  her 
out  of  existence  in  the  full  bloom  of  antiquated  vir- 
ginity. 

In  their  frolicksome  malice  he  fates  had  ordered 
that  a  French  boarding-house,  or  Pension  Francaise, 
as  it  was  called,  should  be  established  directly  oppo- 
site my  aunt's  residence.  Cruel  event  I  unhappy 
aunt  Charity  1 — it  threw  her  into  that  alarming  dis- 
order denominated  the  fidgets ;  she  did  nothing  but 
watch  at  the  window  day  after  day,  but  without  be- 
coming one  whit  the  wiser  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight 
than  she  was  at  the  beginning;  she  thought  that 
neighbour  Pension  had  a  monstrous  large  familv, 
and  somepow  or  other  they  were  all  men  I  she  covjld 
not  imagine  what  business  neighbour  Pension  fol- 
lowed to  support  so  numerous  a  household;  and 
wondered  why  there  was  always  such  a  scraping  of 
fiddles  in  the  parlour,  and  such  a  smell  of  onions 
from  neighbour  Pension's  kitchen ;  in"' short,  neigh- 
bour Pension  was  continually  uppermost  in  her 
thoughts,  and  incessantly  on  tne  outer  edge  of  her 
tongue.  This  was,  1  believe,  the  very  first  time  she 
had  ever  failed  "  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  a  thing ; " 
and  the  disappointment  cost  her  many  a  sleepless 
night  I  warrant  you.  I  have  little  doubt,  however, 
that  my  a^mt  would  have  ferretted  neighbour  Pension 
out,  could  she  have  spoken  or  understood  French ; 
but  in  those  times  people  in  general  could  make 
themselves  understood  in  plain  English ;  and  it  was 
always  a  standing  rule  in  the  Cockloft  family,  which 
exists  to  this  day,  that  not  one  of  the  females  should 
learn  French. 

My  aunt  Charity  had  lived,  at  her  window,  for 
some  time  in  vain ;  when  one  day,  as  she  was  keep- 
ing her  usual  look-out,  and  suffering  all  the  pangs  of 
onsatisfied  curiosity,  she  beheld  a  little,  meagre, 
weacd-faced  Frencnman,  of  the  most  forlorn,  dimin- 


utive, and  pitiful  proportions,  arrive  at  neighbooi 
Pension's  door.  He  was  dressed  in  white,  with  a 
little  pinched-up  cocked  hat ;  he  seemed  to  shake  in 
the  wind,  and  every  blast  that  went  over  him  whistled 
through  his  bones  and  threatened  instant  annihila- 
tion. This  embodied  spirit-of-famine  was  followed 
by  three  carts,  lumbered  with  crazy  trunks,  chests 
band-boxes,  bidets,  medicine-chests,  parrots,  ami 
monkeys ;  and  at  his  heels  ran  a  yelping  pack  of  lit- 
tle black-nosed  pug  dogs.  This  was  tne  one  thing 
wanting  to  fill  up  tne  measure  of  my  aunt  Charity's 
afflictions ;  she  could  not  conceive,  for  the  soul  of 
her,  who  this  mysterious  little  apparition  could  be 
that  made  so  great  a  display ;  what  he  could  possibly 
do  with  so  much  baggc^^e,  and  particularly  with  his 
parrots  and  monkeys;  or  how  so  small  a  carcass 
could  have  occasion  for  so  many  trunks  of  clothes. 
Honest  soul !  she  had  never  had  a  peep  into  a 
Frenchman's .  wardrobe ;  that  depSt  of  old  coats, 
hats,  and  breeches,  of  the  growth  of  every  fashion  he 
has  followed  in  his  life. 

From  the  time  of  this  fatal  arrival,  my  poor  aunt 
was  in  a  quandary ; — all  her  inquiries  were  fruitless 
no  one  could  expound  the  history  of  this  mysterious 
stranger :  she  never  held  up  her  head  afterwards, — 
drooped  daily,  took  to  her  bed  in  a  fortnight,  and  in 
"  one  little  month  "  I  saw  her  quietly  deposited  in 
the  family  vault : — being  the  seventh  Cockloft  that 
has  died  of  a  whim-wham  ! 

Take  warning,  my  fair  country-women  !  and  you, 
oh,  ye  excellent  ladies,  whether  married  or  single, 
who  pry  into  other  people's  affairs  and  neglect  those 
of  your  own  household ; — who  are  so  busily  employed 
in  observing  the  faults  of  others  that  you  have  no 
time  to  correct  your  own; — remember  the  fate  of 
my  dear  aunt  Charity,  and  eschew  the  evil  spirit  of 
curiosity. 

FROM  MY  ELBOW-CHAIR. 

I  FIND,  by  perusal  of  our  last  number,  that  Will 
Wizard  and  Evergreen,  taking  advantage  of  my 
confinement,  have  been  playing  some  of  their  gam- 
bols. I  suspected  these  rogues  of  some  mal-prac- 
tices,  in  consequence  of  their  queer  looks  and  know- 
ing winks  whenever  I  came  down  to  dinner ;  and  of 
their  not  showing  their  faces  at  old  Cockloft's  for 
several  days  after  the  appearance  of  their  precious 
effusions.  Whenever  these  two  waggish  fellows  lay 
their  heads  together,  there  is  always  sure  to  be 
hatched  some  notable  piece  of  mischief;  which,  if  it 
tickles  nobody  else,  is  sure  to  make  its  authors  merry. 
The  public  will  take  notice  that,  for  the  purpose  of 
teaching  these  my  associates  better  manners,  and 
punishing  them  for  their  high  misdemeanors,  I  have, 
Dy  virtue  of  my  authority,  suspended  them  from  all 
interference  in  Salmagundi,  until  they  show  a  proper 
degree  of  repentance ;  or  I  get  tired  of  supporting 
the  burthen  of  the  work  myself.  I  am  sorry  tor  Will, 
who  is  already  sufficiently  mortified  in  not  daring  to 
come  to  the  old  house  and  tell  his  long  stones  and 
smoke  his  segar ;  but  Evergreen,  being  an  old  beau, 
may  solace  himself  in  his  disgrace  by  trimming  up 
all  his  old  finery  and  making  love  to  the  little  girls. 

At  present  my  right-hand  man  is  cousin  Findar, 
whom  I  have  taken  into  high  favour.  He  came  home 
the  other  night  all  in  a  blaze  like  a  sky-rocket - 
whisked  up  to  his  room  in  a  paroxysm  of  poetic  in- 
spiration, nor  did  we  see  any  thing  of  him  until  late 
the  next  morning,  when  he  bounced  upon  us  at 
breakfast, 

"  Fir*  in  Mch  eye— and  paper  in  each  hand." 

This  is  just  the  way  with  Pindar,  he  is  like  a  vol- 
cano; will  remain  for  a  long  time  silent  witbooi 


668 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


P  ■ 
i 

T'  '  r 

If     ' 


|: 


emitting  a  single  npark,  and  then,  all  at  once,  burst 
out  in  a  tremendous  explosion  of  rhyme  and  rhap- 
sody. 

As  the  letters  uf  my  friend  Mustapha  seem  to  ex- 
cite considerable  curiosity,  I  have  subjoined  another. 
I  do  not  vouch  for  the  justice  of  his  remarks,  or  the 
correctness  of  his  conclusions  ;  they  are  full  of  the 
Manders  and  errors  into  which  strangers  continually 
indul);e,  who  pretend  to  give  an  account  of  this 
country  before  they  well  know  the  geography  of  the 
itreet  in  which  they  live.  The  copies  of  my  friend's 
papers  being  confused  and  without  date,  I  cannot 
pretend  to  give  them  in  systematic  order  ; — in  fact, 
they  seem  now  and  then  to  treat  of  matters  which 
have  occurred  since  his  departure ;  whether  these  are 
sly  interpolations  of  that  meddlesome  wight  Will 
Wizard,  or  whether  honest  Mustapha  was  gifted  with 
the  spirit  of  prophecy  or  second  sight,  I  neither 
know — nor,  in  fact,  do  I  care.  The  fqilowing  seems 
to  have  been  written  when  the  Tripolitan  prisoners 
were  so  much  annoyed  by  the  ragged  state  of  their 
wardrobe.  Mustapha  feelingly  depicts  the  embar- 
rassments of  his  situation,  traveller-like ;  makes  an 
easy  transition  from  his  breeches  to  the  seat  of  gov- 
ernment, and  incontinently  abuses  the  whole  admin- 
istration ;  like  a  sapient  traveller  I  once  knew,  who 
damned  the  Frencn  nation  in  toto — because  they 
eat  sugrar  with  green  peas. 


LETTER 


FROM    MUSTAPHA 
KELI   KHAN, 


RUB-A-DUB 


CAPTAIN  OF  A  KETCH,  TO  ASEM  HACCHEM, 
PRINCIPAL  SLAVE-DRIVER  TO  HIS  HIGHNESS 
THE  BASHAW  OF  TRIPOLI. 

Sweet,  oh,  Aseml  is  the  memory  of  distant 
Iriends !  like  the  mellow  ray  of  a  departing  sun  it 
falls  tenderly  yet  sadly  on  the  heart.  Every  hour  of 
absence  from  my  native  land  rolls  heavily  by,  like  the 
sandy  wave  of  the  desert ;  and  the  fair  shores  of  my 
country  rise  blooming  to  my  imagination,  clothed  in 
the  soft,  illusive  charms  of  distance.  I  sigh,  yet  no 
one  listens  to  the  sigh  of  the  captive ;  1  shed  the 
bitter  tear  of  recollection,  but  no  one  sympathizes  in 
the  tear  of  the  turbaned  stranger  !  Think  not,  how- 
ever, thou  brother  of  my  soul,  that  I  complain  of  the 
horrors  of  my  situation  ; — think  not  that  my  captiv- 
ity is  attended  with  the  labours,  the  chains,  the 
scuurges,  the  insults,  that  render  slavery,  with  us, 
more  dreadful  than  the  pangs  of  hesitating,  linger- 
ing death.  Light,  indeed,  are  the  restraints  on  the 
personal  freedom  of  thy  kinsman  ;  but  who  can  en- 
ter into  the  afflictions  of  the  mind  ? — who  can 
describe  the  agonies  of  the  heart  ?  they  are  muta- 
ble as  the  clouds  of  the  air — they  are  countless  as 
the  waves  that  divide  me  from  my  native  country. 

I  have,  of  late,  my  dear  Asem,  laboured  under  an 
inconvenience  singularly  unfortunate,  and  am  re- 
duced to  a  dilemma  most  ridiculously  embarrassing. 
Why  should  I  hide  it  from  the  companion  of  my 
thoughts,  the  partner  of  my  sorrows  and  my  joys? 
Alas  I  Asem,  thy  friend  Mustapha,  the  invincible 
captain  of  a  ketch,  is  sadly  in  want  of  a  pair  of 
.breeches !  Thou  wilt  doubtless  smile,  oh,  most 
grave  Mussulman,  to  hear  me  indulge  in  such  ar- 
dent lamentations  about  a  circumstance  so  trivial, 
and  a  want  apparently  so  easy  to  be  satisfied :  but 
little  canst  thou  know  of  the  mortifications  attend- 
ing my  necessities,  and  the  astonishing  difficulty  of 
supplying  them.  Honoured  by  the  smiles  and  atten- 
tions of  the  beautiful  ladies  of  this  city,  who  have 
fallen  in  love  with  mv  whiskers  «td  my  turban ; 


courted  by  the  bashaws  and  the  great  men,  who  de- 
light to  have  me  at  their  feasts ;  the  honour  of  mj 
company  eagerly  solicited  by  every  tiddler  who  gives 
a  concert ;  think  of  my  chagrin  at  being  oblige^  to 
decline  the  host  of  invitations  that  daily  overwhelr.^ 
me,  merely  for  want  of  a  pair  of  breeches  I  Oh.  Al- 
lah !  Allah  !  that  thy  disciples  could  come  into  the 
world  all  be-feathered  like  a  bantam,  or  with  a  paii 
of  leather  breeches  like  the  wild  deer  of  the  forest ' 
Surely,  my  friend,  it  is  the  destiny  of  man  to  be  toi 
ever  subjected  to  petty  evils;  which,  howevci 
trifling  in  appearance,  prey  in  silence  on  his  littlt 
pittance  of  enjoyment,  and  poison  those  moments  of 
sunshine  which  m'ght  oth'»rwise  be  consecrated  to 
happiness. 

The  want  of  a  garment,  thou  wilt  say,  is  easily 
supplied ;  and  thou  mayest  suppose  need  only  ht- 
mentioned,  to  be  remedied  at  once  by  any  tailor  oi 
the  land :  little  canst  thou  conceive  the  impediment!; 
which  stand  in  the  way  of  my  comfort ;  and  still  less 
ai  thou  acquainted  with  the  prodigious  great  scale 
on  which  every  thing  is  transacted  in  this  country. 
The  nation  moves  most  majestically  slow  and  clumsy 
in  the  most  trivial  affairs,  like  the  unwieldy  elephant 
which  makes  a  formidable  difficulty  of  picking  up  n 
straw  !  When  I  hinted  my  necessities  to  the  ofiicf  i 
who  has  charge  of  myself  and  my  companions,  I  ex 
pected  to  have  them  forthwith  relieved  ;  but  he  made 
an  amazing  long  face,  told  me  that  we  were  pris- 
oners of  state,  that  we  must,  therefore,  be  clothed 
at  the  expense  of  government ;  that  as  no  provision 
had  been  made  by  congress  for  an  emergency  of  tl  r 
kind,  it  was  impossible  to  furnish  me  with  a  pair  <.' 
breeches,  until  all  the  sages  of  the  nation  had  bee 
convened  to  talk  over  the  matter  and  debate  up(  - 
the  exped  ency  of  granting  my  request.  Sword  < 
the  immortal  Khalid,  thought  I,  but  this  is  great . 
this  is  truly  sublime  t  All  the  sages  of  an  immense 
logocracy  assembled  together  to  talk  about  nn 
breeches !  Vain  mortal  that  I  am  ! — I  cannot  bu; 
own  I  was  somewhat  reconciled  to  the  delay, 
which  must  necessarily  attend  this  method  of  clotli- 
iiig  me,  by  the  consideration  that  if  they  made  the 
affair  a  national  act,  my  "  name  must,  of  course,  i)e 
embodied  in  history,"  and  myself  and  my  breeches 
flourish  to  immortality  in  the  annals  of  this  mighty 
empire ! 

"But,  pray,"  said  I,  "how  does  it  happen  that  a 
matter  so  insignihcant  should  be  erected  into  an  ob- 
ject of  such  importance  as  to  employ  the  represent- 
ative wisdom  of  the  nation  ;  and  what  is  the  cause 
of  their  talking  so  much  about  a  trifle?" — "Oh,' 
replied  the  officer,  who  acts  as  our  slave-driver,  "  it 
all  proceeds  from  economy.  If  the  government  did 
not  spend  ten  times  as  much  money  in  debating 
whether  it  was  proper  to  supply  you  with  breeches, 
as  the  breeches  themselves  would  cost,  the  people 
who  govern  the  bashaw  and  his  divan  woult'. 
straightway  begin  to  complain  of  their  liberties  be 
ing  infringed ;  the  national  finances  squandered  !  no< 
a  hostile  slang-whanger  throughout  the  logocracy, 
but  would  burst  forth  like  a  barrel  of  combustion 
and  ten  chances  to  one  but  the  bashaw  and  the  izgts 
of  his  divan  would  all  be  turned  out  of  office  to- 
gether. My  good  Mussulman,"  continued  he,  "  the 
administration  have  the  good  of  the  people  too  much 
at  heart  to  trifle  with  their  pockets;  and  they  wouiu 
sooner  assemble  and  talk  away  ten  thousand  dollars, 
than  expend  fifty  silently  out  of  the  treasury ;  such 
is  the  wonderful  spirit  of  economy  that  pervades  every 
branch  of  this  government."  "But,'  said  I,  "how 
is  it  possible  they  can  spend  money  in  talking 
surely  words  cannot  be  the  current  coin  of  this  coun- 
try? '  "Truly,"  cried  he,  smiling,  "your  question 
is  pertinent  enough,  for  words  indeed  often  supph 


SALMAGUNDI. 


669 


tne  place  o(  cash  among  us,  and  many  an  honest 
debt  is  paid  in  promises :  but  the  fact  is,  the  grand 
bashaw  and  the  lembers  of  congress,  or  grand- 
talk'^rs-of-the-nation,  either  receive  a  yearly  salary 
ir  are  paid  by  the  day."  "  By  the  nine  nundred 
tongues  of  the  great  beast  in  Mahomet's  vision,  but 
the  murder  is  out ; — it  is  no  wonder  these  honest 
men  talk  so  much  about  nothing,  when  they  are 
|iaid  for  talking,  like  day-labourers.  '  "  You  are  mis- 
Ukcn,"  said  my  driver,    "it  is  nothing  but  econ- 

I  remained  silent  for  some  .rinutes,  for  this  inex- 
plicable word  economy  always  discomfits  me;  and 
when  I  flatter  myself  I  have  grasped  it,  it  slips 
through  my  fingers  like  a  jack-o'-lantern.  I  have 
not,  nor  perhaps  ever  shall  acquire,  sufficient  of  the 
philosophic  policy  of  this  government,  to  draw  a 
proper  distinction  between  an  individual  and  a  na- 
tion. Ka  man  was  to  throw  away  a  pound  in  order 
to  save  a  beggarly  penny,  and  boast,  at  the  same 
time,  of  his  economy,  I  should  think  him  on  a  par 
with  the  fool  in  the  fable  of  Alfanji ;  who,  in  skin- 
ning a  flint  worth  a  farthing,  spoiled  a  knife  worth 
fifty  times  the  sum',  and  thought  he  had  acted  wisely. 
The  shrewd  fellow  would  doubtless  have  valued 
himself  much  more  highly  on  his  economy,  could  he 
have  known  that  his  example  would  one  day  be  fol- 
lowed by  the  bashaw  of  America,  and  the  sages  of 
his  divan. 

This  economic  disposition,  my  friend,  occasions 
much  tightmg  of  the  spirit,  and  innumerable  contests 
of  the  tongue  in  this  talking  assembly. — Wouldst 
thou  believe  it  ?  they  were  actually  employed  for  a 
whole  week  in  a  most  strenuous  and  eloquent  debate 
about  patching  up  a  hole  in  the  wall  of  the  room  ap- 
propriated to  their  meetings  !  A  vast  profusion  of 
r.ervous  argument  and  pompous  declamation  was 
expended  on  the  occasion.  Some  of  the  orators,  I 
iin  told,  being  rather  waggishly  inclined,  were  most 
itupidly  jocular  on  the  occasion  ;  but  their  waggery 
gave  great  offencf,  and  was  highly  reprobated  bv  the 
more  weighty  part  of  the  assembly ;  who  hold  all 
wit  and  humour  in  abomination,  and  thought  the 
business  in  hand  much  too  solemn  and  serious  to  be 
treated  lightly.  It  is  supposed  by  some  that  this 
affair  would  have  occupied  a  whole  winter,  as  it  was 
a  subject  upon  which  several  gentlemen  spoke  who 
had  never  been  known  to  open  their  lips  in  that  place 
except  to  say  yes  and  no.  These  silent  members  are 
byway  of  distinction  denominated  orator  mums,  and 
are  highly  valued  in  this  country  on  account  of  their 
great  talents  for  silence  ; — a  qualification  extremely 
rare  in  a  logocracy. 

Fortunately  for  the  public  tranquillity,  in  the  hot- 
test part  of  the  debate,  when  two  rampant  Virgin- 
ians, brim-full  of  logic  and  philosophy,  were  measuring 
tongv'es,  and  syllogistically  cudgelling  each  other  out 
of  their  unreasonable  notions,  the  president  of  the 
divan,  a  knowing  old  gentleman,  one  night  slyly  sent 
1  mason  with  a  nod  of  mortar,  who,  in  the  course  of 
a  few  minutes,  closed  up  the  hole  and  put  a  final  end 
to  the  argument.  Thus  did  this  wise  old  gentleman, 
by  hitting  on  a  most  simple  expedient,  in  all  proba- 
bility save  his  country  as  much  money  as  would 
build  a  gun-boat,  or  pay  a  hireling  slang-whanger 
'or  a  vhole  volume  of  words.  As  it  happened,  only 
a  few  thousand  dollars  were  expended  in  paying 
these  men,  who  are  denominated,  I  suppose  in  de- 
rision, legislators. 

Another  insunce  of  their  economy  I  relate  with 
pleasure,  for  I  really  begin  to  feel  a  regard  for  these 
poor  barbarians.  They  talked  away  the  best  part  of 
a  whole  winter  before  they  could  determine  not  to 
expend  a  few  dollars  in  purchasing  a  sword  to  be- 
stow on  an  illustrious  warrior :  yes,  Asem,  on  that 


very  hero  who  frightened  all  our  poor  old  womep 
and  young  children  at  Deme,  and  fully  proved  him- 
self a  greater  man  than  the  mother  that  bote  him. 
Thus,  my  friend,  is  the  whole  collective  wisdom  of 
this  mighty  logocracy  employed  in  somniferous  de- 
bates about  the  most  trivial  affairs ;  like  I  have 
sometimes  seen  a  herculean  mountebank  exerting 
all  his  energies  in  balancing  a  straw  upon  his  nose 
Their  sages  behc'd  the  minutest  object  with  the 
microscopic  eyes  of  a  pismire;  niiie-hills  swell  iiito 
mountains,  and  a  grain  of  mustard-seed  will  set  the 
whole  ant-hill  in  a  hub-bub.  Whether  this  indicates 
a  capacious  vision,  or  a  diminutive  mind,  1  leave 
thee  to  decide ;  for  my  part,  I  consider  it  as  another 
proof  of  the  great  scale  on  which  every  thiiig  is 
transacted  in  this  country. 

I  have  before  told  thee  that  nothing  can  he  lone 
without  consulting  the  sages  of  the  nation,  who 
compose  the  assembly  called  the  congress.  This 
prolific  body  may  not  improperly  be  termed  the 
"  mother  of  inventions ;  "  and  a  most  fruitful  mother 
it  is,  let  me  tell  thee,  though  its  children  are  gener- 
ally abortions.  It  has  lately  laboured  with  what 
was  deemed  the  conception  of  a  mighty  navy. — All 
the  old  women  and  the  good  wives  that  assist  the 
bashaw  in  his  emergencies  hurried  to  head-quarters 
to  be  busy,  like  midwives,  at  the  delivery. — All  was 
anxiety,  hdgetting,  and  consultation ;  when,  after  a 
deal  of  groaning  and  struggling,  instead  of  formid- 
able first  rates  and  gallant  frigates,  out  crept  a  litter 
of  sorry  little  gun-noats !  These  are  most  pitiful 
little  vessels,  partaking  vastly  of  the  character  of  the 
grand  bashaw,  who  has  the  credit  of  begetting  them  ; 
being  flat,  shallow  vessels  that  can  only  sail  before 
the  wind  ; — must  always  keep  in  with  the  land  ; — arc 
continually  foundering  or  running  ashore;  and,  ii. 
short,  are  only  fit  for  smooth  water.  Though  in- 
tended for  the  defence  of  the  maritime  cities,  yet  the 
cities  are  obliged  to  defend  them;  and  they  require 
as  much  nursing  as  so  many  ricketty  little  bantlings. 
They  are,  however,  the  darling  pets  of  the  grand 
bashaw,  being  the  children  of  his  dotage,  and,  per- 
haps from  their  diminutive  size  and  palpable  weak- 
ness, are  called  the  "  infant  navy  of  America."  The 
act  that  brought  them  into  existence  was  almost 
deified  by  the  majority  of  the  people  as  a  grand 
stroke  of  economy. — By  the  beard  of  Mahomet,  but 
this  word  is  truly  ine'-.i.l'cable! 

To  this  economic  bi;tly,  therefore,  was  I  advised 
to  address  my  petition,  and  humbly  to  pray  that  the 
august  assembly  of  sages  would,  in  the  plenitude  of 
their  wisdom  and  the  magnitude  of  their  powers, 
munificently  bestow  on  an  unfortunate  captive,  a  pair 
of  cotton  breeches  !  "  Head  of  the  immortal  Amrou," 
cried  I,  "  but  this  would  be  presumptuous  to  a  ile- 
gree ; — what  !  after  these  worthies  have  thought 
proper  to  leave  their  country  naked  and  defencelfss, 
and  exposed  to  all  the  political  storms  that  rattle 
without,  can  I  expect  that  they  will  lend  a  helpmg 
hand  to  comfort  the  extremities  of  a  solitary  cap- 
tive ? "  My  exclamation  was  only  answered  by  a 
smile,  and  I  was  consoled  by  the,  assurance  that,  so 
tar  from  being  neglected,  it  was  every  way  probablr 
my  breeches  might  occupy  a  whole  session  of  the 
divan,  and  set  several  of  the  longest  heads  togethei 
by  the  ears.  Flattering  as  was  the  idea  of  a  whole 
nation  being  agitated  about  my  breeches,  yet  1  own 
I  was  somewhat  dismayed  at  the  idea  of  remaining 
in  querpo,  until  all  the  national  gray-beards  should 
have  made  a  speech  on  the  occasion,  and  given 
their  consent  'o  the  measure.  The  embarrassment 
and  distress  of  mind  which  I  experienced  was  visible 
in  my  countenance,  and  my  guard,  who  is  a  man  of 
infinite  good-nature,  immetliately  suggested,  as 
more  expeditious  plan  of  supplying  my  wants — a 


] 


XJ70 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


■'H 


benefit  at  the  theatre.  Though  profoundly  ignorant 
of  his  meaning,  I  agreed  to  his  proposition,  the 
result  cf  which  I  shall  disclose  to  thee  in  another 
letter. 

Fare  thee  well,  dear  Asem ;  in  thy  pious  prayers 
to  our  great  prophet,  never  forget  to  solicit  thy 
friend's  return;  and  when  thou  numberest  up  the 
many  blessings  bestowed  on  thee  by  all-bountiful 
Allah,  pour  forth  thy  gratitude  that  he  has  cast  thy 
aattirity  in  a  land  where  there  is  no  assembly  of 
Ifgislative  chatterers :— no  great  bashaw,  who  be- 
strides a  gun-boat  for  a  hobby-horse :— where  the 
word  economy  is  unknown ; — and  where  an  unfortu- 
nate captive  is  not  obliged  to  call  upon  the  whole 
nation,  to  cut  him  out  a  pair  of  breeches. 


Ever  thine. 


MUSTAPUA. 


FROM  THE  MILL  Or 
PINDAR   COCKLOFT,  ESQ. 


Though  enter'd  on  that  sober  age, 
When  men  withdraw  from  fashion  s  stage. 
And  leave  the  follies  of  the  day, 
To  shape  their  course  a  graver  way ; 
Still  those  gay  scenes  I  loiter  round. 
In  which  my  youth  sweet  transport  found : 
And  though  I  feel  their  joys  decay. 
And  languish  every  hour  away, — 
Yet  like  an  exile  doom'd  to  part, 
From  the  dear  country  of  his  heart. 
From  the  fair  spot  in  i»hich  he  sprung. 
Where  his  first  notes  of  love  were  sung. 
Will  often  turn  to  wave  the  hand. 
And  sigh  his  blessings  on  the  land ; 

{ust  so  my  lingering  watch  I  keep, — 
'hus  oft  I  take  my  farewell  peep. 
And,  like  that  pilgrim  who  retreats, 
Thus  lagging  from  his  parent  seats. 
When  the  sad  thought  pervades  his  mind, 
That  the  fair  land  he  leaves  behind 
Is  ravaged  by  a  foreign  foe, 
Its  cities  waste,  its  temples  low,  ' 

And  ruined  all  those  haunts  of  joy 
That  gave  him  rapture  when  a  boy ; 
Turns  from  it  with  averted  eye. 
And  while  he  heaves  the  anguish'd  sigh. 
Scarce  feels  regret  that  the  loved  shore 
Shall  beam  upon  his  sight  no  more ; — 
Just  so  it  grieves  my  soul  to  view. 
While  breathing  forth  a  fond  adieu. 
The  innovations  pride  has  made. 
The  fustian,  frippery,  and  parade. 
That  now  usurp  with  mawkish  grace 
Pure  tranquil  pleasure's  wonted  place  t 

'Twas  joy  we  look'd  for  in  my  prime, 
That  idol  of  the  olden  time  ; 
When  all  our  pastimes  had  the  art 
To  piease,  and  not  mislead,  the  heart. 
Style  curs'd  us  not, — that  modern  flash, 
That  love  of  racket  and  of  trash ; 
Which  scares  at  once  all  feeling  joys. 
And  drowns  delight  in  empty  noise ; 
Which  barters  friendship,  mirth,  and  truth. 
The  artless  air,  the  bloom  of  youth. 
And  all  those  gentle  sweets  that  swarm 
Round  nature  in  her  simplest  form. 
For  cold  display,  for  hollow  state. 
The  trappings  of  the  would-be  great. 

Oh  I  once  again  those  days  recall. 
When  heart  met  heart  in  fashion's  hall ; 
When  every  honest  guest  would  flock 
To  add  his  pleasure  to  the  stock. 
More  fond  his  transports  to  express. 
Than  show  the  tinsel  of  his  dress  t 


These  weie  the  times  ^ha  dasp'd  the  soul 
In  gentle  friendship's  soft  control , 
Our  fair  ones,  unprofan'd  by  art. 
Content  to  gain  one  honest  heart. 
No  train  of  sighi.ng  swains  desired. 
Sought  to  be  loved  and  not  admired. 
But  now  'tis  form,  not  love,  unites  ; 
'Tis  show,  not  pleasure,  that  invites. 
Each  seeks  the  ball  to  play  the  queen, 
To  flirt,  to  conquer,  to  be  seen  ; 
Each  grasps  at  universal  sway, 
And  reigns  the  idol  of  the  day  , 
Exults  amid  a  thousand  sighs. 
And  triumphs  when  a  lover  dies. 
Each  t>elle  a  rival  t>elle  surveys. 
Like  deadly  foe  with  hostile  gaze ; 
Nor  can  her  "dearest  friend    caress, 
Till  she  has  slyly  scann'd  her  dress ; 
Ten  conquests  in  one  year  will  makie. 
And  six  eternal  friendships  break  I 

How  oft  I  breathe  the  inward  sigh. 
And  feel  the  dew-drop  in  my  eye. 
When  I  behold  some  beauteous  frame, 
Divine  in  every  thing  but  name, 
Just  venturing,  in  the  tender  age. 
On  fashion's  late  new-fangled  stage ! 
Where  soon  the  guiltless  heart  shall  ceaae 
To  beat  in  artlessness  and  peace  ; 
Where  all  the  flowers  of  gay  delight 
With  which  youth  decks  its  prospects  bright 
Shall  wither  'mid  the  cares,  the  strife. 
The  cold  realities  of  life  ! 

Thus  lately,  in  my  careless  mood, 
As  I  the  world  of  fashion  view'd 
While  celebrating  great  and  small 
That  grand  solemnity,  a  ball. 
My  roving  vision  chanced  to  light 
On  two  sweet  forms,  divinely  bright  ( 
Two  sister  nymphs,  alike  in  face. 
In  mien,  in  loveliness,  and  grace ; 
Twin  rose-buds,  bursting  into  bloom. 
In  all  their  brilliance  and  perfume : 
Like  those  fair  forms  that  often  beam 
Upon  the  Eastern  poet's  dream  ! 
For  Eden  had  each  lovely  maid 
In  native  innocence  arrayed, — 
And  heaven  itself  had  almost  shed 
Its  sacred  halo  round  each  head  ! 

They  seem'd.  just  entering  hand  In  haa4, 
To  cautious  tread  this  fairy  land ; 
To  take  a  timid,  hasty  view. 
Enchanted  with  a  scene  so  new. 
The  modest  blush,  unuught  by  art. 
Bespoke  their  purity  of  heart ; 
And  every  timorous  act  unfuri'd 
Two  souls  unspotted  by  the  world. 

Oh,  how  these  strangers  joy'd  my  light, 
And  thrill'd  my  tK>som  with  delight ! 
They  brought  the  visions  of  my  youth 
Back  to  my  soul  in  jdl  their  truth ; 
Recall'd  fair  spirits  into  day. 
That  time's  rough  hand  had  swept  away  I 
Thus  the  bright  natives  from  atwre. 
Who  come  on  messages  of  love. 
Will  bless,  at  rare  and  distant  whiles. 
Our  sinful  dwelling  by  their  smiles  I 
Oh  !  my  romance  of  youth  is  past 
Dear  airy  dreams  too  bright  to  last  I 
Yet  when  such  forms  as  Uiese  appear, 
I  feel  your  soft  remembrance  here ; 
For,  oh  !  the  simple  poet's  heart. 
On  which  fond  love  once  play'd  its  put 
Still  feels  the  soft  pulsations  beat. 
As  loth  to  quit  their  former  seat. 
Just  like  the  harp's  melodious  wir«, 
Swept  by  a  bard  with  heavenly  fire. 
Though  ceased  the  loudly  aweUing  atfala 
Yet  sweet  ▼  brations  long  remain. 

Full  soon  I  found  the  lovely  pair 
Had  sprung  beneath  a  mother's  tare. 


SALMAGUNDI. 


571 


Hard  bv  a  neighbouring  streamlet's  side, 
At  once  Its  ornament  and  pride. 
The  beauteous  parent's  tender  heart 
Had  well  fulfill'd  its  pious  part ; 
And,  like  the  holy  man  of  old, 
As  we're  by  sacred  writings  told, 
Who,  when  he  from  his  pupil  sped, 
Pour'd  two-fold  blessings  on  his  head.— 
So  this  fond  mother  had  imprest 
Her  early  virtues  in  each  breast. 
And  as  she  found  her  stock  enlarge. 
Had  stampt  new  graces  on  her  charge. 

The  fair  resign'd  the  calm  retreat, 
Where  first  their  souls  in  concert  beat. 
And  flew  on  expectation's  wing. 
To  sip  the  joys  of  life's  gay  spring ; 
To  sport  in  fashion's  splendid  maie, 
Where  friendship  fades  and  love  decays. 
So  two  sweet  wild  flowers,  near  the  side 
Of  some  fair  river's  silver  tide, 
Pure  as  the  gentle  stream  that  laves 
The  green  banks  with  its  lucid  waves. 
Bloom  beauteous  in  their  native  ground. 
Diffusing  heavenly  fragrance  round  ; 
But  should  a  venturous  hand  transfer 
These  blossoms  to  the  gay  parterre. 
Where,  spite  of  artificial  aid. 
The  fairest  plants  of  nature  fade. 
Though  they  may  shine  supreme  awhile 
'Mid  pale  ones  of  the  stranger  soil, 
The  tender  beauties  soon  decay, 
And  their  sweet  fragrance  dies  away. 

Blest  spirits  !  who,  enthroned  in  air, 
Watch  o'er  the  virtues  of  the  fair, 
And  with  angelic  ken  survey 
Their  windings  through  life  s  checquer'd  ' 
Who  hover  round  them  as  they  glide 
Down  fashion's  smooth,  deceitful  tide. 
And  guard  them  o'er  that  stormy  deep 
Where  dissipation's  tempest  sweep : 
Oh,  make  this  inexperienced  pair 
The  objects  of  your  tenderest  care. 
Preserve  them  from  the  languid  eye, 
The  faded  cheek,  the  long  drawn  sigh  ; 
And  let  it  be  your  constant  aim 
To  keep  the  fair  ones  still  the  same  : 
Two  sister  hearts,  unsullied,  bright 
As  the  first  beam  of  lucid  light 
That  sparkled  from  the  youthful  sun. 
When  first  his  jocund  race  begun. 
So  when  these  hearts  shall  burst  their  shrine, 
To  wing  their  flight  to  realms  divine, 
They  may  to  radiant  mansions  rise 
Pure  as  when  first  they  left  the  skies. 


I  way! 


No.  X.— SATURDAY,  MAY  i6,  1807. 

FROM  HY  ELBOW  CHAIR. 


thereupon,  and  will  give  some  nccount  ol  he  rea- 
sons wnich  induced  us  to  resume,  our  useful  labours 
— or  rather  our  amusement ;  for,  if  writing'  cosit 
either  of  us  a  moment's  Inbour,  there  is  not  a 
man  but  what  would  hang  up  his  pen,  to  the  great 
detriment  of  the  world  at  large,  and  of  our  nub 
Usher  in  particular;  who  has  actually  bought  rim- 
self  a  pair  of  trunk  breeches,  with  the  profits  of  out 
writings  1 1 

He  informs  me  th.it  several  persons" having  called 
last  Saturday  for  No.  X.,  took  the  disappointment 
so  much  to  heart,  that  he  really  apprehended  some 
terrible  catastrophe ;  and  one  good-looking  man, 
in  particular,  declared  his  intention  of  quitting  the 
country  if  the  work  was  not  continued.  Add  to 
this,  the  town  has  grown  quite  melancholy  in  the 
last  fortnight ;  and  several  young  ladies  have  de- 
clared, in  my  hearing,  that  if  another  number  did 
not  make  its  appearance  soon,  they  would  be  obliged 
to  amuse  themselves  with  teasing  their  beaux  and 
making  them  miserable.  Now  I  assure  my  readers 
there  was  no  flattery  in  this,  for  they  no  more  sus- 
pected me  of  being  Launcelot  LangstafT,  than  they 
suspected  me  of  ^ing  the  emperor  of  China,  or  the 
man  in  the  moon. 

I  have  also  received  several  letters  complaining  ol 
our  indolent  procrastination  ;  and  one  of  my  cor- 
respondents assures  me,  that  a  number  of  young 
gentlemen,  who  had  not  read  a  book  thrcugh  since 
they  left  school,  but  who  have  taken  a  wonderfu' 
liking  to  our  paper,  will  certainly  relapse  into  theii 
old  habits  unless  we  go  on. 

For  the  sake,  therefore,  of  all  these  good  people 
and  most  especially  for  the  satisfaction  of  the  ladies, 
every  one  of  whom  we  would  love,  if  we  possibly 
could,  I  have  again  wielded  my  pen  with  a  most 
hearty  determination  to  set  the  whole  world  to 
rights ;  to  make  cherubims  and  seraphs  of  all  the 
fair  ones  of  this  enchanting  town,  and  raise  the 
spirits  of  the  poor  federalists,  who,  in  truth,  seem  to 
be  in  a  sad  taking,  ever  since  the  American-Ticket 
met  with  the  accident  of  being  so  unhappily  thrown 
out 


Ths  long  interval  which  has  elapsed  since  the 
publication  of  our  last  number,  like  many  other  re- 
markable events,  has  given  rise  to  much  conjecture 
and  excited  considerable  solicitude.  It  is  but  a  day 
or  two  since  I  beard  a  knowing  young  gentleman 
obierxe.  that  he  suspected  Salmagundi  would  be  a 
Bine  days  wonder,  and  had  even  prophesied  that  the 
•inth  would  be  our  last  effort.  But  the  age  of  proph- 
ecy, as  well  as  that  of  chivalry,  is  past;  and  no 
rsasonable  man  should  now  venture  to  foretell  aught 
but  what  he  is  determined  to  bring  about  himself: 
—he  n»y  then,  if  he  please,  monopolite  predic- 
tion, and  be  honoured  as  a  prophet  even  in  his  own 
country. 

Though  I  hold  whether  we  write,  or  not  write,  to 
be  none  of  the  public's  business,  yet  as  I  have  just 
heard  of  the  loss  of  three  thousand  votes  at  least  to 
the  Clintonians,  I  feel  in  a  ronarkable  dulcet  htunour 


TO  LAUNCELOT    LANGSTAFF,  ESQ. 


Sir  : — I  felt  myself  hurt  and  offended  by  Mr.  Ever 
green's  terrible  philippic  against  modem  music,  in 
No.  II.  of  your  work,  and  was  under  serious  appre- 
hension that  his  strictures  might  bring  the  art,  which 
I  have  the  honor  to  profess,  into  contempt.  The 
opinion  of  yourself  and  fraternity  appear  indeed  to 
have  a  wonderful  effect  upon  the  town. — I  am  told 
the  ladies  are  all  employed  in  residing  Bunyan  and 
Pamela,  and  the  waltz  has  been  entirely  forsaken 
ever  since  the  winter  balls  have  closed.  Under 
these  apprehensions  I  should  have  addressed  you 
before,  nad  I  not  been  sedulously  employed,  while 
the  theatre  continued  open,  in  supporting  the  as- 
tonishing variety  of  the  orchestra,  and  in  composing 
a  new  chime  or  Bob-Major  for  Trinity  Church,  to 
be  rung  during  the  summer,  beginning  with  ding- 
dong  di-do,  instead  of  di-do  ding-dong.  The  citi- 
zens, especially  those  who  live  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  that  harmonious  quarter,  will,  no  doubt,  be  in- 
fmitely  delighted  with  this  novelty. 

But  to  the  object  of  this  communication.  So  far, 
sir,  from  agreemg  with  Mr.  Evergreen  in  thinking 
that  all  mwiem  music  is  but  the  mere  dregs  and 
drainings  of  the  ancient,  I  trust,  before  this  letter  is 
concluded,  I  shall  convince  you  and  him  that  some 
of  the  late  professors  of  this  enchanting  art  have 
completely  uistanced  the  paltry  efforts  of  the  an 


fi72 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


iv<' 


cienU;  and  that  I,  in  particular,  have  at  length 
brouijht  it  almost  to  absolute  perfection. 

The  Greeks,  simple  souls  !  were  astonished  at  the 
powers  of  Orpheus,  who  made  the  woods  and  rocks 
dance  to  his  lyre ; — of  Amphion,  who  converted 
crotchets  into  bricks,  and  quavers  into  mortar; — 
and  of  Arion,  who  won  upon  the  compassion  of  the 
fishes.  In  the  fen'ency  of  admir.ition,  their  poets 
fabled  that  Apollo  had  lent  them  his  lyre,  and  in- 
spirsd  them  with  his  own  spirit  of  hannony.  \Vhat 
tnen  would  they  have  said  had  thev  witnessed  the 
wonderful  effects  of  my  skill  ?  had  they  heard  me  in 
the  compass  of  a  sin^^le  niece,  describe  in  glowing 
notes  one  of  the  most  sublime  operations  of  nature  ; 
and  not  only  make  inanimate  objects  dance,  but 
even  speak  ;  and  not  only  speak,  but  speak  in  strains 
of  exquisite  harmony  ? 

Let  me  not,  however,  be  understood  to  say  that 
I  am  the  sole  author  of  this  extraordinary  improve- 
ment in  the  art,  for  I  confess  I  took  the  hint  of 
many  of  my  discoveries  from  some  of  those  meri- 
torious proiiuctions  that  have  lately  come  abroad 
and  maae  so  much  noise  under  the  title  of  overtures. 
From  some  of  these,  as,  for  instance,  Lodoiska,  and 
the  battle  of  Marengo,  a  gentleman,  or  a  captain  in 
the  city  militia,  or  an  amazonian  voung  lady,  may 
indeed  acquire  a  tolerable  idea  of  military  tactics, 
and  become  very  well  experienced  in  the  firing  of 
musketry,  the  roaring  of  cannon,  the  rattling  of 
drums,  the  whistling  of  fifes,  braying  of  trum|)ets, 
groans  of  the  dyine,  and  trampling  of  cavalry,  with- 
out ever  going  to  tne  wars ;  but  it  is  more  especially 
in  the  art  of  imitating  inimitable  things,  and  giving 
the  language  of  every  passion  and  sentiment  of  the 
human  mind,  so  as  entirely  to  do  away  the  necessity 
af  speech,  that  1  particularly  excel  the  most  celebra- 
ted musicians  of  ancient  and  modem  times. 

I  think,  sir,  I  may  venture  to  say  there  is  not  a 
Mwnd  in  the  whole  comp;iss  of  nature  which  I  can- 
not imitate,  and  even  improve  upon  ; — nay,  what  I 
consider  the  perfection  of  my  art,  1  have  discovered 
a  metho<l  of  expressing,  in  the  most  striking  manner, 
that  undefinable,  indescribable  silence  which  accom- 
panies the  falling  of  snow. 

In  order  to  prove  to  you  that  I  do  not  arrogate 
to  myself  what  I  am  unable  to  (lerform,  I  will  detail 
to  y(ju  the  different  movements  of  a  grand  piece 
which  I  pride  myself  upon  exceedingly,  calletl  the 
"  Breaking  up  of  the  ice  in  the  North  River." 

The  piece  o|)ens  with  a  gentle  andante  affetuosso, 
which  ushers  you  into  the  assembly-room  in  the 
State-house  at  Albany,  where  the  speaker  addresses 
his  farewell  speech,  informing  the  memliers  that 
the  ice  is  about  breaking  up,  and  thanking  them  for 
their  great  services  and  good  beh.iviour  in  a  man- 
ner so  pathetic  as  to  bring  tears  into  their  eyes. — 
F.aurisn  of  Jacks-a-donkies. — Ice  cracks ;  Albany 
ip.  a  hub-bub: — air,  "Three  children  sliding  on  the 
ice,  all  on  a  summer's  day." — Citizens  quarrelling 
in  Dutch ;        chorus  of  a  tin  trumpet,  a  cracked 

fid  He,    and    a    hand-saw  ! alUt^ro  moderato. — 

Hard  frost :— this,  if  given  with  proper  spirit,  has  a 
:harming  effect,  and  sets  every  body's  teeth  chat- 
ieiing. — Symptoms  of  snow — consultation  of  old 
irunien  who  complain  of  pains   in  the  bones  and 

>,\eumatics; air,   "There   •  as    an   old    woman 

tossed  up  in  a  blanket,"  &c. allegro  staccato ; 

wagon  breaks  into  the  ice ; — people  all  run  to  see 

what  is  the  matter ; air,  siciliano — "  Can   you 

row  the  boat  ashore,  Billy  boy,  Billy  boy ;  " — an- 
dante; — frost  fbh  froie  up  m  the  ice  ; air, — "  Ho, 

why  dost  thou  shiver  and  shake,  Gaffer  Gray,  and 

why  does  thy  nose  look  so  blue  ?  " Flourish  of 

two-penny  trumpets  and  rattles; — consultation  of 
the  North-river  society ;— determine  to  set  the  North- 


river  on  fire,  as  soon  as  it  will  oum ; — air,  "  O,  what 
a  fine  kettle  of  fish." 

Part  U.— Great  Thaw.  — This  consists  of  th« 
most  melting  strains,  flowing  so  smoothly  as  to  oc- 
casion a  great  overflowing  o7  scientific  rapture ;  air 
— "  One  misty  moisty  morning."  The  house  of  ;i». 
sembly  breaks  up — air — "  The  owls  came  out  and 

flew  about." Assembly-men  embark  on  the ii 

way  to  New- York air "  The  ducks  and  the 

geese  they  all  swim  over,  fal,  de  ral,"  &c. Ves  .cl 

sets  sail — chorus  of  mariners — "  Steer  her  up,  anl 
let  her  gang."  After  this  a  rapid  movenrent  con- 
ducts you  to  New- York; — the  North-river  socit-ty 
hold  a  meeting  at  the  comer  of  Wall-street,  and  ile 
termine  to  delay  burning  till  al  the  assembly-incn 
are  safe  home,  for  fear  of  consuming  some  of  their 
O'"       -embers  who  belong  to  that  respectable  body. 

c  jrn  again  to  the  capital. — Ice  floats  down  the 
river ;  lamentation  of  skaiters ,  air,  affetuosso—"  \ 
sigh  and  lament  me  in  vain,"  &c. — Albanians  cut- 
ting up  sturgeon  ; — air,  "  O  the  roast  beef  of  Al- 
bany."— Ice  mns  again.st  Polopoy's  island,  with  a 
terrible  crash. — This  is  'epresented  by  a  fierce  fcl- 
low  travelling  '  /ith  his  fiddle-stick  over  a  huge  bass 
viol,  at  the  rate  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  bars  a 
minute,  and  tearing  the  music  to  rags ; — this  l)ein^, 
what  is  called  execution. — The  great  body  of  Ice 
passes  West-point,  and  is  saluted  by  three  or  four  dis- 
mounted cannon,  from  Fort  Putnam. — "Jefferson's 
march"  by  a  full  band; — air,  "Yankee  doodle,' 
with  seventy-six  variations,  never  before  attempted, 
except  by  the  celebrated  eagle,  which  flutters  his 
wings  over  the  copper-bottomed  angel  at  Messrs. 
PafTs  in  Broadway.  Ice  passes  New- York  ;  conch- 
shell  sounds  at  a  distance — ferrymen  ciUs  o-v-e-i  ; 
— people  run  down  Courtlandt-street  —  ferry-boat 

sets  sail air — accompanied  by  the  conch-shell— 

"  We'll  all  go  over  the  ferry." — Rondeau — giving  a 
particular  account  of  BrOM  the  Fowles-hook  admi- 
ral, who  is  supposed  to  be  closely  connected  with 
the  North-river  society. — The  society  make  a  gr.ind 
attempt  to  fire  the  stream,  but  are  utterly  duli-at''d 
by  a  remarkable  high  tide,  which  brings  the  plot  tr 
light ;  drowns  upwards  of  a  thousand  rats,  and  oc- 
casions twenty  robins  to  break  their  necks.* — So- 
ciety not   being  discouraged,  apply  to   "Common 

Sense,"  for  his  lantern  ; Air — "  Nose,  nose,  jolly 

red  nose."  Flock  of  wild  geese  fly  over  the  city  ;— 
old  wives  chatter  in  the  fog ; — cocks  crow  at  Coin- 
munipaw — dmms  beat  on  Governor's  island. — The 
whole  to  conclude  with  the  blowing  up  of  Sand's 
powder-house. 

Thus,  sir,  you  perceive  what  wonderful  powers  «i 
expression  have  been  hitherto  locked  up  m  this  en- 
chanting art : — a  whole  history  is  here  told  without 
the  aid  of  speech,  or  writing;  and  provided  the 
hearer  is  in  the  least  acquainted  with  music,  he  can- 
not mistake  a  single  note.  As  to  the  blowing  up  of 
the  powder-house,  I  look  upon  it  as  a  chef  d'ouvre 
which  I  am  confident  will  delight  all  modern  ama- 
teurs, who  very  properly  estimate  music  in  propor 
tion  to  the  noise  it  makes,  and  delight  in  thundering 
cannon  and  earthquakes. 

I  must  confess,  however,  it  is  a  difficult  part  to 
manage,  and  1  have  already  broken  six  pianoes  in 
giving  it  the  proper  force  and  efliect  But  I  do  not 
despair,  and  am  quite  certain  that  by  the  time  I  have 
broken  eight  or  ten  more,  I  shall  have  brought  it  to 
such  perfection,  as  to  be  able  to  teach  any  young 
lady  of  tolerable  ear,  to  thunder  it  away  to  the  int'i- 
nite  delight  of  papa  and  mamma,  and  the  great  an- 
noyance of  those  Vandals,  who  are  so  barbarous  as 
to  prefer  the  simple  melody  of  a  Scots  air,  to  the 
sublime  eAisions  of  modem  musical  doctors. 


•  Tide— SotoBon  Lang. 


SALMAGUNDI. 


673 


am ;— «ir,  "  O,  wf»i 


In  my  warm  anticipations  of  future  improvement, 
f  have  sometimes  almost  convinced  myself  that 
uusic  will,  in  time,  be  brought  to  such  a  climax  of 
perfection,  as  to  supersede  the  necessity  of  speech 
and  writing;  and  every  kind  of  social  intercourse 
be  conducted  by  the  flute  and  fiddle. — The  immense 
benefits  that  will  result  from  this  improvement  must 
be  plain  to  every  m.in  of  the  least  consideration.  In 
the  present  unhappy  situation  of  mortals,  a  man  has 
\nl  one  way  of  m.iKing  himself  perfectly  understood  ; 
If  he  loses  hit  speech,  he  must  inevitably  be  dumb 
all  the  rest  of  his  life ;  but  having  once  learned  tliis 
new  musical  language,  the  loss  of  speech  will  be  a 
mere  trifle  not  worth  a  moment's  uneasiness.  Not 
only  this,  Mr.  L.,  but  it  will  add  much  to  the  har- 
mony of  domestic  intercourse ;  for  it  is  certainly  much 
more  agreeable  to  hear  a  lady  give  lectures  on  the 
piano  than,  viva  voce,  in  the  usual  discordant  meas- 
ure. This  manner  of  discoursing  may  also,  I  think, 
be  introduced  with  great  effect  into  our  national  as- 
semblies, where  every  man,  instead  of  wagging  his 
tongue,  should  be  obliged  to  flourish  a  fiddle-stick, 
by  which  means,  if  he  said  nothing  to  the  purpose, 
he  would,  at  all  events,  "  discourse  most  elo(|uent 
music,"  which  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  most  of 
them  at  present.  They  mi^ht  also  sound  their  own 
trumpets  without  being  obhged  to  a  hireling  scrib- 
bler, for  an  immortality  of  nine  days,  or  subjected 
to  the  censure  of  egotism. 

But  the  most  important  result  of  this  discovery  is 
that  it  may  be  applied  to  the  establishment  of  that 
neat  desideratum,  in  the  learned  world,  a  universal 
umguage.  Wherever  this  science  of  music  is  culti- 
vated, nothing  more  will  be  necessary  than  a  knowl- 
edge nf  its  alphabet ;  which  bein^  almost  the  same 
•very  where,  wi''.!  amount  to  a  universal  medium  of 
»xnmunication.  A  man  may  thus,  with  his  violin 
■jitder  his  arm,  a  piece  of  rosin,  and  a  few  bundles 
of  catffut,  fiddle  his  way  through  the  world,  and 
never  oe  at  a  loss  to  make  himself  understood. 

I  am,  &c. 

Demy  Skmiquiver. 

[ind  op  vol.  one.] 


NOTE  BY  THE  PUBLISHER, 

Without  the  knowledge  or  permission  of  the  authors, 
and  which,  if  he  dared,  he  would  have  placed  near 
where  their  remarks  are  made  on  the  great  differ- 
ence of  manners  which  exists  between  the  sexes 
BOW,  from  what  it  did  in  the  days  of  our  grandames. 
The  danger  of  that  check-by-jowi  familiarity  of  the 


present  day,  must  be  oovious  to  many ;  and  1  think 
the  following  a  strong  example  of  one  of  its  evils 


EXTRACTED   FROM   "THE   MIRROR  CP  THE 
GRACES." 

"  I  KEMRMBER  the  Count  M ,  one  ,f  the  moa 

accomplished  and  handsomest  young  men  in  Vienna 
when  I  was  there,  he  was  passionately  in  love  with 
a  girl  of  almost  peerless  beauty.  She  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  man  of  great  rank,  and  great  influence  at 
court :  and  on  these  considerations,  as  well  as  in  re- 
gard to  her  charms,  she  was  followed  by  a  multitudr 
of  suitors.  She  was  lively  and  amiable,  and  treated 
them  all  with  an  affability  which  still  kept  them  in 
her  train,  although  it  was  generally  known  she  hao 

avowed  a    partiality  for   Count    M ;  and  that 

preparations  were  making  for  their  nuptials.  The 
Count  was  of  a  refined  mind,  and  a  delicate  sensi- 
bility ;  he  loved  her  for  herself  alone ;  for  the  virtues 
which  he  believed  dwelt  in  her  beautiful  form  ;  and, 
like  a  lover  of  such  perfections,  he  never  approached 
her  without  timidity ;  and  when  he  to-jcned  her,  a 
fire  shot  through  his  veins,  that  warned  him  not  to 
invade  the  vermilion  sanctuary  of  her  lips.  Sucli 
were  his  feelings  when,  one  evening,  at  his  intended 
father-in-law's,  a  party  of  young  people  were  met  to 
celebrate  a  certam  festival ;  several  of  the  young 
lady's  rejected  suitors  were  present.  Forfeits  were 
one  of  the  pastimes,  and  all  went  oh  with  the  greatest 
merriment,  till  the  Count  was  commanded,  by  some 
witty  mam'selle,  to  redeem  his  glove  by  salutmg  the 
cheek  of  his  intended  bride.  The  Count  blushed 
trembled,  advanced,  retreated ;  again  advanced  tr 
his  mistress; — and,  —  at  last,— with  a  tremor  tha^ 
shook  his  whole  soul,  and  every  fibre  of  his  frame 
with  a  modest  and  diffident  grace,  he  took  the  soft 
ringlet  which  played  upon  her  cheek,  pressed  it  tc 
his  lips,  and  retired  to  demand  his  redeemed  pledge 
in  the  most  evident  confusion.  His  mistress  gaily 
smiled,  and  the  game  went  on. 

"  One  of  her  rejected  suitors  who  was  of  a  merry, 
unthinking  disposition,  was  adjudged  by  the  same 
indiscreet  crier  of  the  forfeits  as  "  his  last  treat  be- 
fore he  hanged  himself"  to  snatch  a  kiss  from  the 
object  of  his  recent  vows.  A  lively  contest  ensued 
between  the  gentleman  and  lady,  which  lasted  foi 
more  than  a  minute ;  but  the  lady  yielded,  though 
in  the  midst  of  a  convulsive  laugh. 

"  The  Count  had  the  mortification — the  agony — to 
see  the  lips,  which  his  passionate  and  delicate  love 
would  not  permit  him  to  touch,  kissed  with  rough- 
ness, and  repetition,  by  another  man : — even  by  one 
whom  he  really  despised.  Mournfully  and  silently, 
without  a  word,  he  rose  from  his  chair — left  the  room 
and  the  house.  By  that  good-natured  kiss  the  fait 
boast  of  Vienna  lost  her  lover — lost  her  husband 
I  The  Count  never  saw  her  more.' 


674 


WORKS  OP  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


P 


If'-'' 

B 


SALMAGUNDI; 

•  .  * 

OR,  THB 
WH7M-WHAMS  AND  OPINIONS  OF  LAUNCELOT  LANGSTAFF.  Esq.,  AND  OTHERS 


In  hoc  Ml  hou,  eua  quit  tl  Jokmai, 
Et  tmokcni,  loatUn,  rouua  folkui, 

Fm,  h«r,  foin.  Plmtmm 

With  bak'd,  and  broii'd,  and  lUw'd,  and  loailad  i 
And  fritd,  and  boil'd,  and  tmok'd,  and  roaatad, 
Wa  iraal  ih*  lows. 


rVJ 


VOLUME  SECOND 


■  V 


m 

» 


No.  XL— TUESDAY,  JULY  a,  1807.  ' 

LETTER    FROM    MUSTAPHA    RUB-A-DUB 
KELI    KHAN 

CAPTAIN  OP  A  KKTCH,  TO  ASEM  HACCHEM, 
PRIN':iPAL  SLAVE-DRIVER  TO  HIS  HIGHNESS 
THE   BASHAW  OF  TRIPOLI. 


The  deep  shadows  of  midnight  eather  around 
oe; — the  footsteps  of  the  passengers  nave  ceased  in 
he  streets,  and  nothing  disturbs  the  holy  silence  of 
he  hour  save  the  sound  of  distant  drums,  mingled 
with  the  shouts,  the  bawlings.  and  the  discordant 
revelry  of  his  miijesty,  the  sovereign  mob.  Let  the 
hour  be  sacred  to  friendship,  and  consecrated  to  thee, 
oh,  thou  brother  of  my  inmost  soul ! 

Oh,  Asem  I  I  almost  shrink  at  the  recollection  of 
the  scenes  of  confusion,  of  licentious  disorganization, 
which  I  have  witnessed  during  the  last  tnree  days. 
I  have  beheld  this  whole  city,  nay,  this  whole  state, 

S'ven  up  to  the  tongue,  and  the  pen  ;  to  the  puffers, 
e  bawlers,  the  babblers,  and  the  slang-whangers. 
I  have  beheld  the  community  convulsed  with  a  civil 
war,  or  civil  talk ;  individuals  verbally  massacred, 
families  annihilated  by  whole  sheets  full,  and  slang- 
whangors  coolly  bathing  their  pens  in  ink  and  noting 
in  the  slaughter  of  their  thousands.  I  have  seen,  in 
short,  that  awful  despot,  the  people,  in  the  moment 
of  unlimited  power,  wielding  newspapers  in  one 
hand,  and  with  the  other  scattering  mud  and  filth 
about,  like  some  desperate  lunatic  relieved  from  the 
restraints  of  his  straight  waistcoat.  I  have  seen 
beggars  on  horseback,  ragamuffins  riding  in  coach- 
es, and  swine  seated  in  places  of  honour;  I  have 
set  n  liberty ;  I  have  seen  equality ;  I  have  seen 
fraternity  ! — I  have  seen  that  great  political  puppet- 

»hoW AN  ELECTION. 

A  few  days  ago  the  friend,  whom  I  have  mention- 
ed in  some  of  my  former  letters,  called  upon  me  to 
accompany  him  to  witness  this  grand  ceremony ; 
and  we  forthwith  sallied  out  to  the  polls,  as  he  called 
them.  Though  for  several  weeks  before  this  splen- 
did exhibition,  nothing  else  had  been  talked  of,  yet  I 
do  assure  thee  I  was  entirely  ienorant  of  its  nature ; 
and  when,  on  coming  up  to  a  church,  my  companion 
informed  me  we  were  at  the  poll,  I  suppiosed  that  an 
election  was  some  great  religious  ceremony  like  the 


fast  of  Ramazan,  or  the  great  festival  of  Han^  hat 
so  celebrated  in  the  east. 

My  friend,  however,  undeceived  me  at  once,  and 
entered  into  a  long  dissertation  on  the  nature  and 
object  of  an  election,  the  substance  of  which  wai 
nearly  to  this  effect :  "  You  know,"  said  he,  "  {\ui 
this  country  is  engaged  in  a  violent  internal  warfare, 
and  suffers  a  variety  of  evils  from  civil  dissensions 
An  election  is  a  grand  trial  of  strength,  the  decisive 
battle,  when  the  belligerents  draw  out  their  forces  in 
martial  array ;  when  every  leader,  burning  with  war 
like  ardour,  and  encouraged  by  the  shouts  and  ac- 
clamations of  tatterdmalions,  buffoons,  dependents, 
parasites,  toad-eaters,  scrubs,  vagrants,  mumpers, 
ragamuffins,  bravoes,  and  beggars,  in  his  rear ;  and 
puffed  up  by  his  bellows-blowing  slang-whangers, 
waves  gallantly  the  banners  of  faction,  and  presses 
forward  TO  OFFICE  and  immortality  t" 

"  For  a  month  or  two  previous  to  the  critical 
period  which  is  to  decide  this  important  affair,  the 
whole  community  is  in  a  ferment.  Every  man,  of 
wh.itever  rank  or  degree,  such  is  the  wonderful 
patriotism  of  the  people,  disinterestedly  neglects  his 
business,  to  devote  himself  to  his  country  ; — and  not 
an  insignificant  fellow,  but  feels  himself  inspired,  on 
this  occasion,  with  as  much  warmth  in  favour  of  the 
cause  he  has  espoused,  as  if  all  the  comfort  of  his 
life,  or  even  his  life  itself,  was  dependent  on  the  issue. 
Grand  councils  of  war  are,  in  the  first  place,  c.illed 
by  the  different  powers,  which  are  duboed  genera] 
meetings,  where  all  the  head  workmen  of  the  party 
collect,  and  arrange  the  order  of  battle; — appoint 
the  different  commanders,  and  their  subordinate  in- 
struments, and  furnish  the  funds  indispensal)le  for 
supplying  the  expenses  of  the  war.  Inferior  councils 
are  next  called  in  the  different  classes  or  wards; 
consisting  of  young  cadets,  who  are  candidates  foi 
offices;  idlers  who  come  there  for  mere  curiosity; 
and  orators  who  appear  for  the  purpose  of  detailing 
all  the  crimes,  the  faults,  or  the  weaknesses  of  theli 
opponents,  and  speaking'  the  sense  of  the  meetint;,  as 
it  IS  called  ;  for  as  the  meeting  generally  consists  of 
men  whose  quota  of  sense,  taken  individually,  would 
make  but  a  poor  figure,  these  orators  are  appointed 
to  collect  it  all  in  a  lump;  when  I  assure  you  it 
makes  a  very  formidable  appearance,  and  furnishes 
sufficient  matter  to  spin  an  oration  of  two  or  three 
hours." 

"  The  oratora  who  declaim  at  these  meetings  are, 
with  a  few  exceptions,  men  of  most  profourd  and 


SALMAGUNDI 


AND  OTHERS 


estival  of  Har»»  hat 


ptrpieied  eloquence ;  who  are  the  oracles  of  barber's 
ihops.  market-places,  and  porter-houiic^ ;  and  who 
you  mikV  see  every  day  at  the  comers  of  the  street:*, 
taking  nonest  men  prisoners  by  the  button,  and  talk- 
ing their  ribs  quite  bare  without  mercy  and  without 
end.  These  orators,  in  a<ldrcssing  an  audience, 
generally  mount  a  chair,  a  table,  or  an  empty  beer 
barrei,  which  la»t  is  supposed  to  afford  conHi<lerahle 
inspiration,  and  thunder  away  their  combustible  sen- 
timents at  the  heads  of  the  audience,  who  are  gener- 
tl)>-  so  busily  employed  in  smoldng,  drinking,  and 
heating  themselves  talk,  that  they  seldom  hear  a 
word  of  the  matter.  This,  however,  is  of  little  mo- 
ment ;  for  as  they  come  there  to  agree  at  nil  events 
to  a  certain  set  of  resolutions,  or  articles  of  war,  it 
is  not  at  all  necessary  to  hiMr  the  speech ;  more 
especially  as  few  would  understand  it  if  they  did. 
L)o  not  suppose,  however,  that  the  minor  persons  of 
the  meeting  are  entirely  idle. — Besides  smoking  and 
drinking,  which  are  generally  practised,  tliere  are 
few  who  do  not  come  with  as  great  a  desire  to  talk 
aa  the  orator  himself;  each  has  his  little  circle  of 
listeners,  in  the  midst  of  whom  he  sets  his  hat  on 
one  side  of  his  head,  and  deals  out  matter-of-fact  in- 
formation ;  and  draws  self-evident  conclusions,  with 
the  pertinacity  of  a  pedant,  and  to  the  great  edifica- 
tion of  his  gaping  auditors.  Nay,  the  very  urchins 
from  the  nursery,  who  are  scarcely  emancipated 
from  the  dominion  of  birch,  on  tnese  occasions 
strut  pigmy  great  men  ; — bellow  for  the  instruction 
of  gray-l>ear(red  ignorance,  and,  like  the  frog  in  the 
ikble,  endeavour  to  pufT  themselves  up  to  the  size 
of  the  jrreat  object  of  their  emulation — the  principal 
orator. 

"  But  is  it  not  preposterous  to  a  degree,"  cried  I, 
"for  those  puny  whipsters  to  attempt  to  lecture  age 
and  experience?  They  should  be  sent  to  school  to 
learn  better."  "  Not  at  all,"  replied  my  friend ;  "  for 
u  an  election  is  nothing  more  than  a  war  of  words, 
the  man  that  can  wag  his  tongue  with  the  greatest 
elasticity,  whether  he  speaks  to  the  purpose  or  not, 
is  entitled  to  lecture  at  ward  meetings  and  polls,  and 
instruct  all  who  are  inclined  to  listen  to  him :  you 
may  have  remarked  a  ward  meeting  of  politic  dogs, 
where  although  the  great  dog  is,  ostensibly,  the 
leader,  and  makes  the  most  noise,  yet  every  little 
scoundrel  of  a  cur  has  something  to  say ;  and  in 
proportion  to  his  insieniticance,  fidgets,  and  worries, 
and  puffs  about  mightily,  in  order  to  obtain  the 
notice  and  approbation  of  his  betters."  Thus  it  is 
with  these  little,  beardless,  bread-and-butter  poli- 
ticians who,  on  this  occasion,  escape  from  the  juris- 
dktion  of  their  mammas  to  attend  to  the  affairs  of 
the  nation.  You  will  see  them  engaged  in  dreadful 
wordy  contest  with  old  cartmen,  cobblers,  and  tailors, 
and  plume  themselves  not  a  little  if  they  shoulcl 
chance  to  gain  a  victory. — Aspiring  spirits !  how  in- 
teresting are  the  first  dawnings  of  |x>litical  greatne.<is ! 
an  election,  my  friend,  is  a  nursery  or  hot-bed  of 
genius  in  a  l^gocracy ;  and  I  look  with  enthusiasm 
on  a  troop  of  these  Lilliputian  partizans,  as  so  many 
chatterers,  and  orators,  and  puffers,  and  slang- 
whangers  in  embryo,  who  will  one  day  take  an  im- 
portant part  in  the  quarrels,  and  wordy  wars  of 
their  country. 

"  As  the  time  for  fighting  the  decisive  battle  ap- 
proaches, appearances  Become  more  and  more  alarm- 
ing ;  committees  are  appointed,  who  hold  little  en- 
campments from  whence  they  send  out  small  detach- 
ments of  tattlers,  to  reconnoitre,  harass,  and  skirmish 
with  the  enemy,  and  if  possible,  ascertain  their  num- 
bers ;  every  body  seems  big  with  the  mighty  event 
that  is  impending ;  the  orators  they  graduaily  swell 
up  beyond  their  usual  size ;  the  little  orators  they 
grow  greater  and  greater ;  the  secretaries  <d  the  ward 


committees  unit  .ihout  looking  like  wooden  3niclet 
the  puffers  put  on  thr  airs  nf  mighty  consequrnee 
the  slang-whaiigers  <lfal  out  direliil  innueniioeik,  and 
threats  of  dougnty  import ;  and  all  is  buzz,  murmuj-, 
suspense,  and  sublimity  I 

"  At  length  the  ilay  arrives.  The  storm  that  has 
been  so  long  gathering,  and  threatening  in  distant 
thunders,  bursts  forth  in  terrible  explosion  :  all  buai- 
ness  is  at  an  end  ;  the  whole  city  is  in  a  tumult ;  the 
people  are  running  helter-skilter,  they  know  not 
whither,  and  they  know  not  why ;  the  h.ickney 
coaches  rattle  through  the  streets  with  thundering 
vehemence,  loaded  with  recruiting  Serjeants  who 
have  been  prowlin)^  in  cellars  and  caves,  to  unearth 
some  miserable  minion  of  poverty  and  ignorance, 
who  will  barter  his  vote  for  a  glass  of  beer,  or  a  ride 
in  a  co.ich  with  such  fine  f^entltmen  I — the  liuz/ards 
of  the  party  scamper  from  poll  to  poll,  on  foot  or  on 
horseback ;  and  they  worry  from  committee  to  com- 
mittee,  and  buzz,  and  fume,  and  talk  big,  ^nA—do 
nothing :  like  the  vagabond  drone,  who  wastes  his 
time  in  the  laborious  idleness  of  see-saw-soni^,  and 
busy  nothingness." 

1  know  not  how  long  my  friend  would  have  con- 
tinued his  detail,  had  he  not  been  interrupted  by  a 
scjuabble  which  took  place  between  two  oU  conti- 
nentals, as  they  were  calU-d.  It  seems  they  had 
entered  into  an  argument  on  the  respective  merits 
of  their  cause,  and  not  being  able  to  make  each 
other  clearly  understood,  resorted  to  what  is  called 
knock-down  arguments,  which  form  the  superlativ<? 
degree  of  ar^umentum  ad  hcimincm ;  but  are,  in  mjf 
opinion,  extremely  inconsistent  with  the  true  spirit 
Ota  genuine  logocracy.  After  they  had  beaten  each 
other  soundly,  and  set  the  whole  mob  together  l>> 
the  ears,  they  came  to  a  full  explanation  ;  when  \\ 
was  discovered  that  they  were  both  of  the  same 
way  of  thinking ; — whereupon  they  shook  each  othei 
heartily  by  the  hand,  and  laughed  with  great  glee  at 
their  humorous  misunderstanding. 

I  could  not  help  being  struck  with  the  exceeding 
great  number  of  ragged,  dirty-looking  persons  th.it 
swaggered  about  the  place  and  seemed  to  think 
themselves  the  bashaws  of  the  land.  I  inquired  of 
my  friend,  if  these  people  were  employed  to  drive 
away  the  hogs,  do^s,  and  other  intruders  that  might 
thrust  themselves  in  and  inlermpt  the  ceremony  ? 
"By  no  means,"  replied  he;  "these  are  the  repre- 
sentatives of  the  sovereign  |>eople,  who  come  here  to 
make  governors,  sen.'xtoi's,,  and  members  of  assembly, 
and  are  the  source  of  all  power  and  authority  in  this 
nation."  "  Preposterous  I  "  said  1,  '*  how  is  it  pos- 
sible that  such  men  can  be  ca|)able  of  distinguishing 
between  an  honest  man  and  a  knave ;  or  even  if  they 
were,  will  it  not  always  happen  that  they  are  led  by  the 
nose  by  some  intriguing  demagogue,  and  made  the 
mere  tools  of  ambitious  political  jugglers?  Surely 
it  would  be  better  to  trust  to  providence,  or  even  to 
chance,  for  governors,  than  resort  to  the  discrimi- 
nating powers  of  an  ignorant  mob. — I  plainly  per- 
ceiv'  the  consequence.  A  man  who  possesses 
superior  talents,  and  that  honest  pride  which  evei 
accompanies  this  possession,  will  always  be  sacri< 
fictd  to  some  cree|)ing  insect  who  will  prostitute 
himself  to  familiarity  with  the  lowest  of  mankind ; 
and,  like  the  idolatrous  Egyptian,  worship  the  wal- 
lowing tenants  of  filth  and  mire." 

"  All  this  is  true  enough,"  replied  my  friend,  "  bat 
after  all,  you  cannot  say  but  that  this  is  a  free  coun- 
try, and  that  the  people  can  get  drunk  cheaper  here, 
particularly  at  elections,  than  in  the  despotic  coun- 
tries of  the  east."  1  could  not,  with  any  degree  of 
propriety  or  truth,  deny  this  last  assertion  ;  for  iust 
at  that  moment  a  patriotic  brewer  arrived  with  a  load 
of  beer,  which,  for  a  moment,  occasioned  a  cesaation 


^1 


tf76 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


i 


r 


of  mrgument. The  great  crowd  of  buzzards,  puff- 
ers, and  "  old  continentals "  of  all  parties,  who 
throng  to  the  polls,  to  persuade,  to  cheat,  or  to  force 
the  freeholders  into  the  right  way,  and  to  maintain 
the  freedom  of  sufTrage,  seemed  for  a  moment  to  for- 

fet  tiieir  antipathies  and  joined,  heartily,  in  a  copious 
nation  of  this  patriotic  and  argumentative  beverage. 
These  beer-barrels  indeed  seem  to  be  most  able 
k>g^.cians,  well  stored  with  that  kind  of  sound  argu- 
ment, best  suited  to  the  comprehension,  and  most 
relished  by  the  'mob,  or  sovereign  people  ;  who  are 
never  so  tractable  as  when  operated  upon  by  this 
convincing  liquor,  which,  in  fact,  seems  to  be  imbued 
with  the  very  spirit  of  a  logocracy.  No  sooner  does 
it  begin  its  operation,  than  the  tongue  waxes  exceed- 
ing valorous,  and  becomes  impatient  for  some 
mighty  conflict.  The  puffer  puts  himself  at  the 
head  of  his  body-guard  of  buzzards,  and  his  legion 
of  ragamuffins,  and  wo  then  to  every  unhappv  ad- 
versary who  is  uninspired  by  the  deity  of  the  beer- 
barrel — he  is  sure  to  be  talked  and  argued  into 
complete  insignificance. 

While  I  was  making  these  observations,  I  was  sur- 
prised to  observe  a  bashaw,  high  in  office,  shaking  a 
fellow  by  the  hand,  that  looked  rather  more  ragged 
than  a  scare-crow,  and  inquiring  with  apparent  solic- 
itude concerning  the  health  of  his  family ;  after  which 
he  slipped  a  little  folded  paper  into  his  hand  and 
turned  away.  I  could  not  help  applauding  his  hu- 
mility in  shaking  the  fellow's  hand,  and  his  benevo- 
lence in  relieving  his  distresses,  for  I  imagined  the 
paper  contained  something  for  the  poor  man's  neces- 
sities ;  and  truly  he  seem«i  verging  towards  the  last 
stage  of  starvation.  My  friend,  however,  soon  un- 
deceived me  by  saying  that  this  was  an  elector,  and 
thit  the  bashaw  had  merely  given  him  the  list  of 
candidates  for  whom  he  was  to  vote.  "  Ho !  ho !  " 
said  J,  "  then  he  is  a  particular  friend  of  the  bashaw  ?  " 
'  By  no  means,"  replied  my  friend,  "  the  bashaw  will 
pass  hi.Ti  without  notice,  the  day  after  the  election, 
except,  perhaps,  just  to  drive  over  him  with  his 
coacn." 

My  friend  then  proceeded  to  inform  me  that  for 
some  time  before,  and  during  the  continuance  of  an 
election,  there  was  a  most  delectable  courtship,  or 
intrigue,  carried  on  between  the  great  bashaws  and 
mother  mob.  That  mother  mob  generally  preferr-d 
the  attentions  of  the  rabble,  or  of  fellows  of  her  own 
stamp ;  but  would  sometimes  condescend  to  be 
treated  to  a  feasting,  or  any  thing  of  that  kind,  at 
the  bashaw's  expense ;  nay,  sometimes  when  she 
was  in  good  humour,  she  would  condescend  to  toy 
with  them  in  her  roueh  way ; — but  wo  be/  to  the 
bashaw  who  attempted  to  be  familiar  with  her.  for 
she  was  the  most  pestilent,  cross,  crabbed,  scolding, 
thieving,  scratching,  toping,  wrongheaded,  rebellious, 
and  alraminable  termagant  that  ever  was  let  loose 
in  the  world,  to  the  confusion  of  honest  gentlemen 
bashaws. 

Just  then  a  fellow  came  round  and  distributed 
among  the  crowd  a  number  of  hand-bills,  written 
by  the  ghost  of  Washington,  the  fame  of  whose 
illustrious  actions,  and  still  more  illustrious  virtues, 
lias  reached  even  the  remotest  regions  of  the  east, 
and  who  is  venerated  by  this  people  as  the  Father 
at  his  country.  On  reading  this  paltry  paper,  I 
."Xjuld  not  restrain  my  indignation.  "  Insuited  hero," 
cried  1,  "is  it  thus  thy  name  is  profaned,  thy 
memory  disgraced,  thy  spirit  drawn  down  from 
heaven  to  administer  to  the  brutal  violence  of  party 
rage  ! — It  's  thus  the  necromancers  of  the  east,  by 
their  infernal  incantations,  sometimes  call  up  the 
shades  of  the  just,  to  give  their  sanction  to  frauds, 
to  lies,  and  to  every  species  of  enormity."  My 
friend   smiled  at   my  warmth    and  observed,  that 


raising  ghosts,  and  not  only  raising  them,  but  mak 
ing  them  speak,  was  one  ot  the  miracles  of  elec- 
tions.    "And  believe  me,"    continued  he,  "there 
is  good  reason   for  the  ashes  of  departed  heroe? 
being  disturbed  on  these  occasions,  for  such  is  the 
sandy   foundation  of  our  government,   that    there 
never  happens  an  election  of  an  alderman,  or  a  col- 
lector, or  even  a  constable,  but  we  are  in  immineii! 
danger  of  losing  our  liberties,  and  becoming  a  |  ro ; 
ince  of  France,  or  tributary  to  the  British   i'-lands. 
"  By  the  hump  of  Mahomet's  camel,"  said  1,  "  bi.i 
this  is  only  another  striking  example  of  the  prodig- 
ious great  scale  on  which  every  thing  is  transacted 
in  this  country!" 

By  this  time  I  had  become  tired  of  the  scene ; 
my  head  ached  with  the  uproar  of  voices,  mingling 
in  all  the  discordant  tones  of  triumphant  exclama- 
tion, nonsensical  argument,  intemperate   reproach, 
and  drunken  absurdity. — The  confusion  was  such 
as  no  language  can    adequately  describe,  and  ii 
seemed  as  if  all  the  restraints  of  decency,  and  all 
the  bands  of  law,  had  been  broken  and  given  place 
to  the  wide  ravages  of  licentious  brutality.    These, 
thought  I,  are  the  orgies  of  liberty !  these  are  the 
maniff>«tations  of  the  spirit  of  independence  1  these 
are  the  symbols  of  man's  sovereignty !      Head  of 
Mahomet !  with  what  a  fatal  and  inexorable  des- 
potism do  empty  names  and  ideal  phantoms  exer- 
cise their  dominion  over  the  human  mind  !    The 
experience  of  ages  has  demonstrated,  that  in  all 
nations,  barbarous  or  enlightened,  the  mass  of  the 
people,  the  mob,  must  be  slaves,  or  they  will  be 
tyrants  ;  but  their  tyranny  will  not  be  long  : — some 
ambitious  leader,  having  at  first  condescended  to 
be  their  slave,  will  at  length  become  their  master ; 
and  in  proportion  to  the  vileness  of  his  former  serv- 
itude, will  be  the  severity  of  his  subsequent  tyr- 
anny.— Yet,    with    innumerable    examples    staring 
them  in  the  face,  the  people  still  bawl  out  liberty ; 
by  which  they  mean  nothing   but  freedom   from 
every  species  of  legal  restraint,  and  a  warrant  for 
all  kinds  of  licentiousness :  and  the  bashaws  and 
leaders,   in  courtin?  the  mob,   convince  them  of 
their  power;  and  Dy  administering  to  their  pas- 
sions, for  the  purposes  of  ambition,  at  length  learn, 
by  fatal  experience,  that  he  who  worships  the  beast 
that  carries  him  on  its  back,  will  sooner  or  later  be 
thrown  into  the  dust  and  trampled  under  foot  by  the 
animal  who  has  learnt  the  secret  of  its  power  by 
this  very  adoration. 

Ever  thine, 

MUSTAPHA. 


.FROM  MY  KLBOW-CHAIR. 
MINE    UNCLE    JOHN. 


To  those  whose  habits  of  abstraction  may  have 
let  them  into  some  of  the  secrets  of  their  own 
minds,  and  whose  freedom  from  daily  toil  hai  left 
them  at  leisure  to  analyze  their  feelings,  it  will  be 
nothing  new  to  say  that  the  present  is  peculiarly 
the  season  of  remembrance.  The  flowers,  the 
zephyrs,  and  the  warblers  of  spring,  returning  after 
their  tedious  absence,  brine  naturally  to  our  recollec- 
tion past  times  and  buried  feelings ;  and  the  whispers 
of  the  full-foliaged  grove,  fall  on  the  ear  of  contem- 
plation, like  the  sweet  tones  of  far  distant  friends 
whom  the  rude  jostles  of  the  world  have  severed 
from  us  and  cast  far  beyond  our  reach.  It  is  at  such 
times,  that  casting  backward  many  a  lingering  look 
we  recall,  with  a  kind  of  sweet-iouled  melancholy 


the  da 
who  si 
way  ii 
that 

and  n( 
we  ha 
have  e 
chosei 
is;  th 
tnd 
unidsl 
of  win 
The 
John, 
ments, 
must 


is  an 
that 
into 
ance. 


died 


SALMAGUNDI. 


671 


the  days  rf  our  youth,  and  the  jocund  companions 
who  started  with  us  tiie  race  of  life,  but  parted  mid- 
way in  the  journey  to  pursue  some  winding  path 
that  allured  them  with  a  prospect  more  seducing — 
and  never  returned  to  us  again.  It  is  then,  too,  if 
we  have  been  afflicted  with  any  heavy  sorrow,  if  we 
have  even  lost — and  who  has  not !— an  old  friend,  or 
chosen  companion,  that  his  shade  will  hover  around 
js ;  the  memory  of  his  virtues  press  on  the  heart  ; 
tnd  a  thousand  endearing  recollections,  forgotten 
iinidst  the  cold  pleasures  and  midnight  dissipations 
of  winter,  arise  to  our  remembrance. 

These  speculations  bring  to  my  mind  MY  uncle 
John,  the  history  of  whose  loves,  and  disappoint- 
ments, I  have  promised  to  the  world.  Though  I 
must  own  myself  much  addicted  to  forgetting  my 
promises,  yet,  as  I  have  been  so  happily  remmded 
of  this,  I  believe  I  must  pay  it  at  once,  "  and  there 
is  an  end."  Lest  my  readers — good-natured  souls 
that  they  are !— should,  in  the  ardour  of  peeping 
into  millstones,  take  my  uncle  for  an  old  acquaint- 
ance, I  here  inform  them,  that  the  old  gentleman 
died  a  great  many  years  ago,  and  it  is  impossible 
they  should  ever  have  known  him : — I  pity  them 
— for  they  would  have  known  a  good-natured,  be- 
nevolent man,  whose  example  might  have  been  of 
service. 

The  last  time  I  saw  my  uncle  John  was  *ifteen 
fears  aeo,  when  I  paid  him  a  visit  at  his  old  man- 
iion.  1  found  him  reading  a  newspaper — for  it 
WIS  election  time,  and  he  was  always  a  warm 
federalist,  and  had  made  several  converts  to  the 
true  pohtical  faith  in  his  time; — particularly  one 
old  tenant,  who  always,  just  before  the  election,  be- 
came a  violent  anti ; in  order  that  he  might  be 

convinced  of  his  errors  by  my  uncle,  who  never 
biled  to  rewaii  his  conviction  by  some  substantial 
!m  nefit. 

After  we  had  settled  the  affairs  of  the  nation,  and 
1  had  paid  my  respects  to  the  old  family  chroni- 
cles in  the  kitchen, — an  indispensable  ceremony, 
— the  old  gentleman  exclaimed,  with  heart-felt 
glee,  "  Well,  1  suppose  you  are  for  a  trout-fishing  ; 
— I  have  got  every  thing  prepare  1 ; — but  first  you 
must  take  a  walk  with  me  to  see  my  improve- 
ments." I  was  obliged  to  consent ;  though  1  knew 
my  uncle  would  lead  me  a  most  villainous  dance, 
and  in  all  probability  treat  me  to  a  quagmire,  or  a 
tumble  into  a  ditch.  If  my  readers  choose  to  ac- 
company me  in  this  expedition,  they  are  welcome ; 
tf  pot,  let  them  stay  at  home  like  lazy  fellows — and 
sleep — or  be  hanged. 

Though  I  had  been  absent  several  years,  yet 
there  was  very  little  alteration  in  the  scenery,  and 
every  object  retained  the  same  features  it  bore 
when  I  was  a  school-boy :  for  it  was  in  this  spot 
that  I  grew  up  in  the  fear  of  ghosts,  and  in  the 
breaking  of  many  of  the  ten  commandments.  The 
brook,  or  river  as  they  would  call  it  in  Europe,  still 
murmured  with  its  wonted  sweetness  through  the 
meadow ;  and  its  banks  were  still  tufted  with  dwarf 
wilbws,  that  bent  down  to  the  surface.  The  same 
xha  inhabited  the  valley,  and  the  same  tender  air 
:if  repose  pervaded  the  ^hole  scene.  Even  my 
rood  uncle  was  but  little  altered,  except  that  his 
nail  was  grown  a  little  grayer,  and  his  forehead 
had  lost  some  of  its  former  smoothness.  He  had. 
however,  lost  nothing  of  his  foimer  activity,  and 
laughed  heartily  at  the  difficulty  I  found  in  keeping 
ap  with  him  as  he  stumped  through  bushes,  and 
Driers,  and  hedges ;  talking  all  the  time  about  his 
improvements,  and  telling  what  he  would  do  with 
such  a  spot  of  ground  and  such  a  tree.  At  length, 
after  showing  me  his  stone  fences,  his  famous  two- 
fear-old  bull,  his  new  invented  cart,  which  was  to 


go  before  the  horse,  and  his  Eclipse  colt,  be  was 
pleased  to  return  home  to  dinner. 

After  dinner  and  returning  thanks, — which  with 
him  was  not  a  ceremony  merely,  but  an  offering 
from  the  heart, — my  uncle  opened  his  trunk,  tooS 
out  his  fishing-tackle,  and,  without  saying  a  word, 
sallied  forth  with  some  of  those  truly  alarming  stepf 
which  Daddy  Neptune  once  t  x>k  when  he  wai  In  a 
great  hurry  to  attend  to  the  iffair  of  the  siege  of 
Troy.  Trout-fishing  was  my  uncle's  favourite  sport 
and,  though  I  always  caught  two  fish  to  his  one,  he 
never  would  acknowledge  my  superiority  ;  but  puz- 
zled himself  often  and  often  to  account  for  such  a 
singular  phenomenon. 

Following  the  current  of  the  brook  for  a  mile  or 
two,  we  retraced  many  of  our  old  haunts,  and  told  a 
hundred  adventures  which  had  befallen  us  at  differ- 
ent times.  It  was  like  snatching  the  hour-glass  of 
time,  inverting  it,  and  rolling  back  again  the  sands 
that  h?d  matlced  the  lapse  of  years.  At  length  the 
shadows  began  to  lengthen,  the  south-wind  gradu- 
ally settled  into  a  perfect  calm,  the  sun  threw  his 
rays  through  the  trees  on  the  hill-tops  in  golden  lus- 
tre, and  a  kind  if  Sabbath  stillness  pervaded  the 
whole  valley,  indicating  that  the  hour  was  fast  ap- 
proaching which  was  to  relieve  for  a  while  the  far- 
mer from  his  rural  labour,  the  ox -from  his  toil,  the 
school-urchin  from  his  primer,  and  bring  the  loving 
ploughman  home  to  the  feet  of  his  blooming  dairy- 
maid. 

As  we  were  watching  in  silence  the  last  rays  of 
the  sun,  beaming  their  farewell  radiance  on  the  high 
hills  at  a  distance,  my  uncle  exclaimed,  in  a  kind  of 
half-desponding  tone,  while  he  rested  his  arm  over 
an  old  tree  that  had  fallen — "  I  know  not  how  it  is, 
my  dear  Launce,  but  such  an  evenmg,  and  such  a 
still  quiet  scene  as  this,  always  make  me  a  little  sa(( ; 
and  it  is,  at  such  a  time,  I  am  most  apt  to  look  for* 
ward  with  regret  to  the  period  when  this  farm,  on 
which  'I  have  been  young,  but  now  am  old,'  and 
every  object  around  me  that  is  endeared  by  long  ac- 
quaintance,— when  all  these  and  I  must  shake  hands 
and  part.  I  have  no  fear  of  death,  for  my  life  has 
afforded  but  little  temptation  to  wickedness ;  and 
when  I  die,  I  hope  to  leave  behind  me  more  substan- 
tial proofs  of  virtue  than  will  be  found  in  my  epitaph, 
and  more  lasting  memorials  than  churches  built  or 
hospitals  endowed ;  with  wealth  wrung  from  the  hard 
hand  of  poverty  by  an  unfeeling  landlord  or  unprin- 
cipled knave ; — but  still,  when  I  pass  such  a  day  as 
this  and  contemplate  such  a  scene,  I  cannot  help 
feeling  a  latent  wish  to  linger  yet  a  little  longer  in 
this  peaceful  asylum ;  to  enjoy  a  little  more  sunshine 
in  this  world,  and  to  have  a  few  more  iishing- 
matches  with  my  boy."  As  he  ended  he  raised  his 
hand  a  little  from  the  fallen  tree,  and  dropping  it 
languidly  by  his  side,  turned  himself  towards  home. 
The  sentiment,  the  look,  the  action,  all  seemed  to  be 

Crophetic.    And  so  they  were,  for  when  I  shook  him 
y  the  hand  and  bade  him  farewell  the  next  morning 
— it  was  for  the  last  time  1 

He  died  a  bachelor,  at  the  age  of  sixty-three, 
though  he  had  been  all  his  life  trying  to* get  married  ; 
and  always  thought  himself  on  the  point  of  acconi* 
plishing  his  wishes.  His  disappointments  were  not 
owing  either  to  the  deformity  of  his  mind  or  person , 
for  in  his  youth  he  was  reckoned  handsome,  and  I 
myself  can  witness  for  him  that  he  had  as  kind  a 
heart  as  ever  was  fashioned  by  heaven ;  neither  weie 
they  owing  to  his  poverty, — which  sometimes  standi 
in  an  honest  man's  way ; — for  he  was  bom  to  the  in* 
heritance  of  a  small  estate  which  was  sufficient  to 
establish  his  claim  to  the  title  of  "  one  well-to-do  ii 
the  world."  The  truth  is,  my  uncle  had  a  prodig* 
ious  antipathy  to  doing  things  in  a  hurry.—'  A  irnut 


tfT8 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


If? 
m 


should  consider,"  said  he  to  me  once — "that  he  can 
always  get  a  wife,  but  cannot  always  get  rid  of  her. 
For  my  part,"  continued  he,  "  I  am  a  young  fellow, 
with  the  world  befo>,«  me," — he  was  but  about  forty ! 
— "  and  am  resolved  to  look  sharp,  weigh  matters 
well,  and  know  what's  what,  before  I  marry: — in 
ihort,  Launce.  /  don'f  intend  to  do  the  thing  in  a 
kurry,  depend  upon  it."  On  this  whim-wham,  he 
proceeded :  he  began  with  young  girls,  and  ended 
with  widows.  The  girls  he  courtea  until  they  gjrew 
old  maids,  or  married  out  of  pure  apprehension  of 
incurring  certain  penalties  hereafter ;  and  the  widows 
not  having  quite  as  much  patience,  generally,  at  the 
end  of  a  yeai,  while  the  good  man  thought  himself 
in  the  high  road  to  success,  married  some  harum- 
Karum  young  fellow,  who  had  not  such  an  antipathy 
to  doing  things  in  a  hurry. 

My  uncle  would  have  inevitably  sunk  under  these 
repeated  disappointments — for  he  did  not  want  sen- 
sibility—had he  not  hit  upon  a  discovery  which  set 
all  to  rights  at  once.  He  consoled  his  vanity, — for 
he  was  a  little  vain,  and  soothed  his  pride,  which 
was  his  master-passion,— by  telling  his  friends  very 
significantly,  while  his  eye  would  flash  triumph, 
"that  he  might  have  had  her." — Those  who  know 
how  much  of  the  bitterness  of  disappointed  affection 
arises  from  wounded  vanity  and  exasperated  pride, 
will  give  my  uncle  credit  for  this  discovery. 

My  uncle  had  been  told  by  a  prodigious  number 
of  married  men,  and  had  read  in  an  innumerable 
quantity  of  boolcs,  that  a  man  could  not  possibly  be 
nappy  except  in  the  married  state ;  so  he  determined 
at  an  early  age  to  marry,  that  he  might  not  lose  his 
only  chance  for  happiness.  He  accordingly  forth- 
with paid  his  addresses  to  the  daughter  of  a  neigh- 
bouring gentleman  farmer,  who  was  reckoned  the 
beauty  of  the  whole  world  ;  a  phrase  by  which  the 
faonest  country  people  mean  nothing  more  than  the 
circle  of  their  acquaintance,  or  that  territory  of  land 
which  is  within  sight  of  the  smoke  of  their  own 
hamlet. 

This  young  lady,  in  addition  to  her  beauty,  was 
highly  accomplished,  for  she  had  spent  hve  or  six 
months  at  a  boarding-school  in  town ;  where  she 
learned  to  work  pictures  in  satin,  and  paint  sheep 
that  might  be  mistaken  for  wolves ;  to  hold  up  her 
head,  set  straight  in  her  chair,  and  to  think  every 
species  of  useful  acquirement  beneath  her  attention. 
When  she  returned  home,  so  completely  had  she  for- 
gotten every  thing  she  knew  before,  that  on  seeing 
one  of  the  maids  milking  a  cow,  she  asked  her  fa- 
ther, with  an  air  of  most  enchanting  ignorance, 
"what  that  odd-looking  thing  was  doing  to  that 
queer  animal  ?  "  The  old  man  shook  his  head  at 
this ;  but  the  mother  was  delighted  at  these  symp- 
toms of  gentility,  and  so  enatr-jared  of  her  daugh- 
ter's accomplishments  that  ahe  actually  got  framed  a 
picture  worked  in  salin  by  the  young  lady.  It  repre- 
sented the  Tomb  Scene  in  Romeo  and  Juliet,  Ro- 
meo was  dressed  in  an  orange-coloured  cloak,  fas- 
tened round  his  neck  with  a  large  golden  clasp ;  a 
white  satin,  tamboured  vvaistcoat,  leather  breeches, 
blue  silk  stockings,  and  white  lopt  boots.  The  .-vmi- 
able  Juliet  shone  in  a  flame-coloured  gown,  most 
gorgeously  bespangled  with  silver  stai-s,  a  high- 
Cfowned  muslin  cap  that  reached  to  the  top  of  the 
tomb ;— on  her  feet  she  wore  a  pair  of  sliort-quar- 
tered,  high-heeled  shoes,  and  her  waist  was  ttie  ex- 
act fac-simile  of  an  inverted  suearloaf.  The  head 
of  th£  "  noble  county  Paris  "  looked  like  a  chimney- 
sweeper's brush  that  had  lost  its  handle ;  and  the 
cloak  ot  the  good  Friar  hung  about  him  as  grace- 
fully as  the  armour  of  a  rhinoceros.  The  good  lady 
considered  this  picture  as  a  splendid  proof  of  her 
daughter's  accomplishments,  and  hung  it  up  in  the 


best  parlour,  as  an  honest  tradetmu  does  hii  certifr 
cate  of  admission  into  that  enlightened  body  yclept 
the  Mechanic  Society. 

With  this  accomplished  young  lady  then  did  my 
uncle  John  become  deeply  enamoured,  and  as  it  was 
his  first  love,  he  determined  to  bestir  himself  in  ar 
extraordinary  manner.  Once  at  least  in  a  fortnight, 
and  generally  on  a  Sunday  evening,  he  would  put  on 
his  leather  breeches,  for  he  was  a  great  beau,  mount 
his  gray  horse  Pepper,  and  ride  over  to  see  his  Min 
Pamela,  though  stie  lived  upwards  of  a  mile  oiT,  and 
he  was  obliged  to  pass  close  by  a  church-yard,  which 
at  least  a  hundred  creditable  persons  would  sweat 
was  haunted  ! — Miss  Pamela  could  not  be  insensible 
to  such  proofs  of  attachment,  and  accordingly  re- 
ceived him  with  considerable  kindness ;  her  mother 
always  left  the  room  when  he  came,  and  my  uncle 
had  as  good  as  made  a  declaration  by  saying  one 
evening,  very  significantly,  "  that  he  beheved  that  he 
should  soon  change  his  condition ; "  when,  some  how 
or  other,  he  began  to  think  he  was  doing  things  in 
too  great  a  hurry,  and  that  it  was  hieh  time  to  con- 
sider ;  so  he  considered  near  a  month  about  it,  and 
there  is  no  saying  how  much  longer  he  might  have 
spun  the  thread  of  his  doubts  had  he  not  been  roused 
from  this  state  of  indecision  by  the  news  that  his 
mistress  had  mairied  an  attorney's  apprentice  who 
she  had  seen  the  Sunday  before  at  church ;  where  he 
had  excited  the  applause  of  the  whole  congregation 
by  the  invincible  gravity  with  which  he  listened  to  a 
Dutch  sermon.  The  young  people  in  the  neighbour- 
hood laughed  a  good  deal  at  my  uncle  on  the  occa- 
sion, but  he  only  shrugged  his  shoulders,  looked 
mysterious,  and  replied,  "  Tut,  boys  /  /  might  havt 
had  her." 


NOTE   BY  WILLIAM   WIZARD,   KSQ. 

Our  publisher,  who  is  busily  engaged  in  printing  a 
celebrated  work,  which  is  perhaps  more  generally  read 
in  this  city  than  any  other  book,  not  excepting  the 
Bible  ; — I  mean  the  New- York  Directory — has  begged 
so  hard  that  we  will  not  overwhelm  him  with  too  much 
of  a  good  thing,  that  we  have,  with  Langstafl's  appro- 
iMition,  cut  short  the  residue  of  uncle  John's  amours. 
In  all  probability  it  will  be  given  in  a  future  number, 
whenever  Launcelot  is  in  the  humour  for  it — he  i-i  such 
an  odd but,  mum — for  fear  of  another  suspension. 


No.  XII.— SATURDAY,  JUNE  2^,  1807, 

rROM    MY    KLBOW-CHAIR. 


Some  men  delight  in  the  study  of  plants,  in  the 
dissection  of  a  leaf,  or  the  contour  and  complexion 
of  a  tulip ; — others  are  charmed  with  the  beauties  of 
the  feathered  race,  or  the  varied  hues  of  th':  insect 
tribe.  A  naturalist  will  spend  hours  in  the  i^.tiguing 
pursuit  of  a  butterfly,  and  a  man  of  the  ton  rill  waste 
whole  years  in  the  chase  of  a  fine  lady.  I  feel  a  re- 
spect for  their  avocations,  for  my  own  are  somewhat 
similar.  I  love  to  open  the  great  volume  of  human 
character: — to  me  the  examination  of  a  beau  it 
more  interesting  than  that  of  a  Daffodil  or  Narcissus ; 
and  I  feel  a  thousand  times  more  pleasure  i.i  catch- 
ing a  new  view  of  human  nature,  than  in  k\daapping 
the  most  gorgeous  butterfly, — even  an  ir.m,>eror  of 
Morocco  himself  I 

In  my  present  situation  I  have  ample  room  for  the 
indulgence  of  this  taste ;  for,  perhaps,  there  is  not  a 
house  in  this  city  more  fertile  in  subjects  for  ^h* 


SALMAGUNDI. 


679 


anatomist  of  human  character,  than  my  cousin  Cock- 
loft's. Honest  Christopher,  as  I  have  before  men- 
tioned, is  one  of  those  hearty  old  cavaliers  who  pride 
themselves  upon  keeping  up  the  good,  honest,  un- 
ceremonious hospitality  of  old  times. — He  is  never  so 
happy  as  when  he  has  drawn  about  him  a  knot  of 
stetline-hearted  associates,  and  sits  at  the  head  of 
his  table  dispensing  a  warm,  cheering  welcome  to 
all.  His  countenance  expands  at  every  glass  and 
beams  forth  emanations  of  hilarity,  benevolence,  and 
{Md  (ellowstlip,  that  inspire  and  gladden  every  guest 
around  him.  It  is  no  wonder,  tnerefore,  that  such 
excellent  social  qualities  should  attract  a  host  of 
friends  and  guest:> ,  in  fact,  my  cousin  is  almost  over- 
whehned  with  them ;  and  they  all,  uniformly,  pro- 
nounce old  Cockloft  to  be  one  of  the  finest  fellows  in 
the  world.  His  wine  also  always  comes  in  for  a 
good  share  of  their  approbation ;  nor  do  they  forget 
to  do  honour  to  Mrs.  Cockloft's  cookery,  pronouncing 
it  to  be  modelled  after  the  most  approved  recipes  of 
Heliogabulus  and  Mrs.  Glasse.  The  variety  of  com- 
pany thus  attracted  is  particularly  pleasing  to  me ; 
for,  being  considered  a  privileged  person  in  the 
family,  I  can  sit  in  a  corner,  indulge  in  my  favour- 
ite amusement  of  observation,  and  retreat  to  my 
elbow-chair,  like  a  bee  to  his  hive,  whenever  I  have 
collected  sufficient  food  for  meditation. 

Will  Wizard  is  particularly  efficient  in  adding  to 
the  stock  of  originals  which  freciuent  our  house ;  for 
he  is  one  of  the  most  inveterate  hunters  of  oddities  I 
ever  knew  ;  and  his  first  care,  on  making  a  new  ac- 
quaintance, is  to  gallant  him  to  old  Cockloft's,  where 
he  never  fails  to  receive  the  freedom  of  the  house  in 
a  pinch  from  his  gold  box.  Will  has,  without  excep- 
tion, the  queerest,  most  eccentric,  and  indescribable 
set  of  intimates  that  ever  man  possessed ;  how  he 
became  acquainted  with  them  I  cannot  conceive,  ex- 
;'.ept  by  supposing  there  is  a  secret  attraction  or  un- 
nlel'-jfible  sympathy  that  unconsciously  draws  to- 
ge'f.      idd  I  ties  of  every  soil. 

W.I       -Tt  It  crony  for  some  time  was  Tom  Strad- 
Dl  . :  .1    n  he  really  took  a  great  liking.    Strad- 

dle i  '!  '  arrived  in  an  importation  of  hardware, 
fresh  Mum  the  city  of  Birmingham,  or  rather,  as  the 
most  learned  English  would  call  it,  Brummagem,  so 
famous  for  its  manufactoiies  of  gimblets,  pen-knives, 
and  pepper-boxes ;  and  where  tney  make  buttons  and 
beaux  enough  to  inundate  our  whole  country.  He 
was  a  young  man  of  considerable  standing  in  the 
manufactory  at  Birmingham,  sometimes  had  the 
honour  to  nand  his  master's  daughter  into  a  tim- 
whiskey,  was  the  oracle  of  the  tavern  he  frequented 
on  Sundays,  and  could  beat  all  his  associates,  if  you 
would  take  his  word  for  it,  in  boxing,  beer-drinking, 
jumping  over  chairs,  and  imitating  cats  in  a  gutter 
and  opera  singers.  Straddle  was,  moreover,  a  mem- 
ber of  a  Catch-club,  and  was  a  great  hand  at  ringing 
bob-majors ;  he  was,  of  course,  a  complete  connois- 
seur of  music,  and  entitled  to  assume  that  character 
at  all  performances  in  the  art.  He  was  likewise  a 
member  of  a  Spouting-club,  had  seen  a  company  of 
itrolling  actors  perform  in  a  barn,  and  had  even,  like 
4bel  Drugger,  "enacted  "  the  part  of  Major  Stur- 
geon with  considerable  applause ;  he  was  conse- 
luently  a  profound  critic,  and  fully  authorized  to  turn 
jp  his  nose  at  any  American  performances. — He  had 
twice  partaken  of  annual  dinners,  given  to  the  head 
manufacturers  of  Birmingham,  where  he  had  the 
;ood  fortune  to  get  a  taste  of  turtle  and  turbot ;  and 
a  smack  of  Champaign  and  Burgundy ;  and  he  had 
heard  a  vast  deal  of  the  roast  beef  of  Old  England  ; 

he  was  therefore  epicure  sufficient  to  d n  every 

dish,  and  every  glass  of  wine,  he  tasted  in  America ; 
though  at  the  same  time  he  was  as  voracious  an 
aninwl  as  ever  crossed  the  Atlantic.    Straddle  had 


been  splashed  half  a  dozen  times  by  the  can  agei 
of  nobility,  and  had  once  the  superlative  felicity  of 
being  kicked  out  of  doors  by  the  footman  of  a 
noble  Duke ;  he  could,  therefore,  talk  of  nobility  and 
despise  the  untitled  plebeians  of  America.  In  short 
Straddle  was  one  of  those  dapper,  bustling,  florid, 
round,  self-important  "gemmen  who  bounce  upon 
us  half  beau,  naif  button-maker ;  undertake  to  give 
us  the  true  polish  of  the  bon-ton,  and  endeavour  to 
inspire  us  with  a  proper  and  dignified  contempt  of 
our  native  country. 

Straddle  was  quite  in  raptures  when  his  employers 
determined  to  send  him  to  America  as  an  agent. 
He  considered  himself  as  going  among  a  nation  of 
barbarians,  where  he  would  be  received  as  a  prodigy; 
he  anticipated,  with  a  proud  satisfaction,  the  bustle 
and  confusion  his  arrival  would  occasion  ;  the  crowd 
that  would  throng  to  gaze  at  him  as  he  passed 
through  the  streets ;  and  had  little  doubt  but  that  he 
should  occasion  as  much  curiosity  as  an  InH-an- 
chief  or  a  Turk  in  the  streets  of  Birmingham.  He 
had  heard  of  the  beauty  of  our  women,  and  chuckled 
at  the  thought  of  how  completely  he  should  eclipse 
their  unpolished  beaux,  and  the  number  of  despairing 
lovers  that  would  mourn  the  hour  of  his  arrival.  1 
am  even  informed  by  Will  Wizard  that  he  put  goo;' 
store  of  beads,  spike-nails,  and  looking-glasses  m 
his  trunk  to  win  the  affections  of  the  fair  ones  as 
they  paddled  about  in  their  bark  canoes ; — the  rea- 
son Will  gave  for  this  error  of  Straddle's,  respecting 
our  ladies,  was,  that  he  had  read  in  Guthrie's 
Geography  that  the  aborigines  of  America  were  all 
savages ;  and  not  exactly  understanding  the  word 
aborigines,  he  applied  to  one  of  his  fellow  apprentices, 
who  assured  him  'hat  it  was  the  Latin  word  fcr  in- 
habitants. 

Wizard  used  to  tell  another  anecdote  of  Straddle, 
which  always  put  him  in  a  passion  ;  Will  swore 
that  the  captain  of  the  ship  told  him,  that  when 
Straddle  heard  they  were  off  the  banks  of  Newfound- 
land, he  insisted  upon  going  on  shore  there  to  gather 
some  good  cabbages,  of  which  he  was  excessively 
fond ;  Straddle,  however,  denied  all  this,  and  de- 
clared it  to  be  a  mischievous  quiz  of  Will  Wizard  : 
who  indeed  often  made  himself  merry  at  his  expense. 
However  this  may  be,  certain  it  is,  he  kept  his  tailor 
and  shor-maker  constantly  employed  for  a  month 
before  his  departure  ;  equipped  himself  with  a  smart 
crooked  stick  about  eighteen  inches  long,  a  pair  of 
breeches  of  most  unheard-of  length,  a  little  short 
pair  of  Hoby's  white-topped  boots,  that  seemed  to 
stand  on  tip-toe  to  reach  his  breeches,  and  his  hat 
had  the  true  trans-atlantic  declination  tovvards  his 
rijp;ht  ear.  The  fact  was,  nor  did  he  make  any  secret 
of  it — he  was  determined  to  "astonish  the  natives  a 
few  I" 

Straddle  was  not  a  little  disappointed  on  his  ar- 
rival, to  find  the  Americans  were  rather  more  civil- 
ized than  he  had  imagined ; — he  was  suffered  to 
walk  to  his  lodgings  unmolested  by  a  crowd,  and 
even  unnoticed  by  a  single  individual ; — no  love- 
letters  came  pouring  in  upon  him  ;  no  rivals  lay  in 
wait  to  assassinate  him ;  his  very  dress  excited  nc 
attention,  for  there  were  many  fools  dressed  equally 
ridiculously  with  himself.  'This  was  mortifying  in- 
deed to  an  aspiring  youth,  who  had  comt  out  with 
the  idea  of  astonishing  and  captivating.  He  was 
equally  unfortunate  in  nis  pretensici  s  to  the  char- 
acter of  critic,  connoisseur,  and  boxer;  he  con- 
demned our  whole  dramatic  corps,  and  every  thing 
appertaining  to  the  theatre ;  but  his  critical  abilities 
were  ridiculed — he  found  fault  with  old  Cockloft's 
dinner,  not  even  sparing  his  wine,  and  was  never  in- 
vited to  the  house  afterwards; — he  scoured  the 
streets  at  night,  and  was  cudgelled  by  a  sturd) 


680 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


watc'iman ; — he  hoaxed  an  hon'jst  mechanic,  and 
was  siundly  kicked.  Thus  disappointed  in  all  his 
attempts  at  notoriety,  Straddle  hit  on  the  expedient 
which  was  resorted  to  by  the  Giblets — he  determined 
to  take*khe  town  by  storm. — He  accordingly  bought 
horses  and  equipages,  and  forthwith  made  a  furious 
dash  at  style  in  a  gig  and  tandem. 

As  Str.addle's  finances  were  but  limited,  it  may 
easily  be  supposed  that  his  fashionable  career  in- 
fringed a  little  upon  his  consignment,  which  was  in- 
leed  the  case,  for,  to  use  a  true  cockney  phrase, 
Brummagem  suffered.  But  this  was  a  circum- 
stance that  made  little  impression  upon  Straddle, 
who  w.is  now  a  lad  of  spirit,  and  lads  of  spirit  al- 
ways despise  the  sordid  cares  of  keeping  another 
man's  money.  Suspecting  this  circumstance,  I 
never  could  witness  any  of  his  exhibitions  ot'  style, 
without  some  whimsical  association  of  ideas.  Did 
he  give  an  entertainment  to  a  host  of  guzzling 
friends,  I  immediately  fancied  them  gormandizing 
heartily  at  the  expense  of  ptx)r  Birmingham,  and 
swallowing  a  consignment  of  hand-saws  and  razors. 
Did  1  behold  him  dashing  through  Broadway  in  his 
gig,  I  saw  him,  "  in  my  mind's  eye,"  driving  tan- 
dem on  a  nest  of  tea-boards ;  nor  could  I  ever  con- 
template his  cockney  exhibitions  of  horsemanship, 
but  my  mischievous  imagination  would  picture  him 
spurring  a  cask  of  hardware,  like  rosy  Bacchus  be- 
striding a  beer  barrel,  or  the  little  gentleman  who 
bestraddles  the  world  in  the  front  ot  Mulching's  al- 
manac. 

Straddle  was  equally  successful  with  the  Giblets, 
as  may  well  be  supposed  ;  for  though  pedestrian 
merit  may  strive  in  vain  to  become  fashionable  in 
Gotham,  yet  a  candid.-ite  in  an  equipage  is  always 
recognized,  and  like  Philip's  ass,  laden  with  gold, 
will  gain  admittance  every  where.  Mounted  in  his 
i;urricle  or  his  gig,  the  candidate  is-  like  a  statue  ele- 
vated on  a  high  pedestal :  his  merits  are  discernible 
'rom  afar,  and  strike  the  dullest  optics.  Oh!  Gotham, 
Gotiiam  !  most  enlightened  of  cities  ! — how  does  my 
heart  swell  with  delight  when  '.  behold  your  sapient 
inhabitants  lavishing  their  attention  with  such  won- 
derful discernment ! 

Thus  Straddle  became  quite  a  man  of  ton,  and 
was  caressed,  and  courted,  a.id  invited  to  dinners 
and  balls.  Whatever  was  absurd  or  ridiculous  in 
him  before,  was  now  declared  to  be  the  style.  He 
criticised  our  theatre,  and  was  listened  to  with  rev- 
erence. He  pronounced  our  musical  entertain- 
ments barbarous ;  and  the  judgment  of  Apollo  him- 
self would  not  have  been  more  decisive.  He  abused 
our  dinners ;  and  the  god  of  eating,  if  there  be  any 
such  deity,  seemed  to  speak  through  his  organs. 
He  became  at  once  a  man  of  taste,  for  he  put  his 
malediction  on  every  thing;  and  his  arguments 
were  conclusive,  for  he  supported  every  assertion 
with  a  bet.  .  He  was  likewise  pronounced,  by  the 
learned  in  the  fashionable  world,  a  young  man  of 
great  research  and  deep  observation  ;  for  he  had 
sent  home,  as  natural  curiosities,  an  ear  of  Indian 
com,  a  pair  of  moccasons,  a  belt  of  wampum,  and 
1  four-leaved  clover.  He  had  taken  great  pains  to 
:nnch  this  curious  collection  with  an  Indian,  and  a 
:auract,  but  without  success.  In  fine,  the  people 
(a!i<ed  of  Straddle,  and  his  equipage,  and  Straddle 
ta<ked  to  his  horses,  until  it  was  impossible  for  the 
most  critical  observer  to  pronounce,  whether  Strad- 
dle or  his  horses  were  most  admired,  or  whether 
Straddle  admired  himself  or  his  horses  most. 

Straddle  was  now  in  the  zenith  of  his  glory.  He 
swaggered  about  parlours  and  drawing-rooms  with 
the  fame  unceremonious  confidence  he  used  to  dis- 
play in  the  taverns  at  Birmingham.  He  accosted 
\  lady  as  he  would  a  bar-maia  ;  and  this  was  pro- 


nounced a  certain  proof  tnat  he  had  been  uaed  to 
better  company  in  Birmingham.  He  became  tne 
great  man  of  all  the  taverns  between  New- York 
and  Haerlem,  and  no  one  stood  a  chance  of  being 
accommodated,  until  Straddle  and  his  horses  were 

perfectly  satisfied.    He  d d   the  landlords  and 

waiters,  with  the  best  air  in  the  world,  and  accostsd 
them  with  the  true  gientlemanly  familiarity.  H<.- 
staggered  from  the  dinner  table  to  the  play,  enterei 
the  box  like  a  tempest,  and  staid  locig;  enough  to  he 
bored  to  death,  and  to  bore  all  those  who  nad  the 
misfortune  to  be  near  him.  From  thence  he  dashed 
off  to  a  ball,  time  enough  to  flounder  through  c. 
cotillion,  tear  half  a  dozen  gowns,  commit  a  num- 
ber of  other  depredations,  and  make  the  whole 
company  sensible  of  his  infinite  condescension  in 
coming  amongst  them.  The  people  of  Gotham 
thought  him  a  prodigious  fine  fellow ;  the  young 
bucks  cultivated  his  acouaintance  with  the  most 
persevering  assiduity,  and  his  retainers  were  some- 
times complimented  with  a  seat  in  his  curricle,  oi 
a  ride  on  one  of  his  fine  horses.  The  belles  wen 
delighted  with  the  attentions  of  such  a  fashionablr 
gentleman,  and  struck  with  astonishment  at  l.i? 
learned  distinctions  between  wrought  scissors  ami 
those  of  cast-steel ;  together  with  his  profound  dis 
sertations  on  buttons  and  horse  flesh.  The  ricii 
merchants  courted  his  acquaintance  because  he  wai 
an  Englishman,  and  their  wives  treated  him  with 
great  deference,  because  he  had  come  from  beyond 
seas.  I  cannot  help  here  observing,  that  your  sah 
water  is  a  marvellous  great  sharpener  of  men's  wits 
and  I  intend  to  recommend  it  to  some  of  my  ac- 
quaintance in  a  particular  essay. 

Straddle  continued  his  b.illiant  career  for  only  - 
short  time.  His  prosperous  journey  over  the  tun; 
pike  of  fashion  was  checked  by  some  of  those  stum 
bling-blocks  in  the  way  of  aspiring  youth,  calle 
creditors — or  duns  ; — a  race  of  people  who,  as  a  cele 
brated  writer  observes,  "  are  hated  by  go<ls  and  men." 
Consignments  slack<;ned,  whispers  of  distant  sus- 
picion flo-ated  in  the  dark,  and  those  pests  of  society, 
the  tailors  and  shoe-makers,  rose  in  rebellion  against 
Straddle.  In  vain  were  all  his  remonstrances,  in  vain 
did  he  prove  to  them  that  though  he  had  given  tiiem 
no  money,  yet  he  had  given  them  more  custom,  ami 
as  many  promises  as  any  young  man  in  the  city. 
They  were  inflexible,  and  the  signal  of  danger  bein;.^ 
given,  a  host  of  other  prosecutors  pounced  upon  hi^ 
back.  Straddle  saw  there  was  but  one  way  for  it . 
he  determined  to  do  the  thing  genteelly,  to  go  ii 
smash  like  a  hero,  and  dashed  into  the  limits  in  high 
style,  being  the  fifteenth  gentleman  I  have  known  tc 
drive  tandem  to  the — ne  plus  ultra — the  d L 

Unfortunate  Straddle  !  may  thy  fate  be  a  warning 
to  all  young  gentlemen  who  come  out  from  Birming- 
ham to  astonish  the  natives ! — I  should  never  have 
taken  the  trouble  to  delineate  his  character,  had  he 
not  been  a  genuine  cockney,  and  worthy  to  l)e  the 
represenl.ative  of  l^is  numerous  tril)e.  Perhaps  ni) 
simple  countrymen  may  hereafter  be  able  to  distin- 
guish between  the  real  English  gentleman,  and  indi- 
viduals of  the  cast  I  have  heretofore  spoken  of,  as 
mere  mongrels,  springing  at  one  bound  from  con- 
temptible ol)Scurity  at  home,  to  day-light  and  splen- 
dour in  this  g(x>d-natured  land.  The  true-bom  and 
true-bred  English  gentleman  is  a  character  I  hold  in 
great  respect ;  and  I  love  to  look  back  to  the  period 
when  our  forefathers  flourished  in  the  same  generous 
soil,  and  hailed  each  other  as  brothers.  But  the 
cockney !— when  I  contemplate  him  as  springing  toe 
from  the  same  source,  I  feel  ashamed  of  the  relation 
ship,  and  am  tempted  to  deny  my  origin.  In  the 
character  of  Straddle  is  traced  the  complete  outline 
of  a  trie  cockney,  of  English  growth,  and  a  descend 


SALMAGUNDI. 


681 


ant  of  that  individual  facetioia  cliaracter  mentioned 
by  Shakspeare,  *'who,  in  purt  kindness  to  his  horse, 
httttered  his  hay." 


THE  STRANGER  AT  HOME;  or,   A 
TOUR   IN   BROADWAY. 

BY  JBRSMY  COCKLOFT,  THE  YOUNGER. 


PREFACE. 


Your  learned  traveller  begins  his  travels  at  the 
coTimencement  of  his  journey;  others  beg^in  theirs 
at  the  end ;  and  a  third  class  begin  any  how  and 
any  where,  which  I  think  is  the  true  way.  A  late 
facetious  writer  begins  what  he  caUs  "  a  Picture  of 
New-Yorlc,"  vyrith  a  particular  descri|/ion  of  Glen's 
Falls,  from  whence  with  admirable  dexterity  he 
makes  a  digression  to  the  celebrated  Mill  Rock,  on 
Long-Island !  Now  this  is  what  I  like ;  and  I  in- 
tend, in  my  present  tour,  to  digress  as  often  and  as 
long  as  I  please.  If,  therefore,  I  choose  to  make  a 
hop,  skip,  and  jump,  to  China,  or  New-Holland,  or 
Terra  Incognita,  or  Communipaw,  I  can  produce  a 
host  of  examples  to  justify  me,  even  in  books  that 
have  been  praised  by  the  English  reviewers,  whose 
fiat  being  all  that  is  necessary  to  give  books  a  cur- 
rency in  this  country,  I  am  determined,  as  soon  as 
I  finish  my  edition  of  travels  in  seventy-five  volumes, 
to  transmit  it  forthwith  to  them  for  judgment.  If 
these  trans-atlantic  censors  praise  it,  I  have  no  fear 
sf  its  success  in  this  country,  where  their  approba- 
don  gives,  like  the  tower  stamp,  a  fictitious  value, 
and  make  tinsel  and  wampum  pass  current  for  classic 
gold. 


CHAPTER  I. 


BattbRV  — flag-sUff  kept  by  Louis  Keaffee  — 
Keaffee  maintains  two  spy-glasses  by  subscriptions — 
merchants  pay  two  shilhngs  a-year  to  look  through 
them  at  the  signal  poles  on  Staten- Island — a  very 
pleasant  prospect ;  but  not  so  pleasant  as  that  from 
the  hill  of  Howth — auere,  ever  been  there  ? — Youne 
seniors  go  down  to  the  flag-staff  to  buy  peanuts  and 
beer,  after  the  fatigue  of  their  morning  studies,  and 
sometimes  to  play  at  ball,  or  some  other  innocent 
amusement— digression  to  the  Olympic,  and  Isth- 
mian games,  with  a  description  of  the  Isthmus  of 
Corinth,  and  that  of  Darien '  to  conclude  with  a 
dissertation  on  the  Indian  cusiom  of  offering  a  whiff 
of  tobacco  smoke  to  their  great  spirit,  Areskou. — 
Return  to  the  battery— delightful  place  to  indulge  in 
the  luxury  of  sentiment. — How  various  are  the  muta- 
tions of  this  world  !  but  a  few  days,  a  few  hours — ^at 
least  not  above  two  hundred  years  ago,  and  this 
soot  was  inhabited '  by  a  race  of  aborigines,  who 
dwelt  in  bark  huts,  lived  upon  oysters  and  Indian 
corn,  danced  buffalo  dances,  and  were  lords  "  of  the 
fgfwl  and  the  brute  " — but  the  spirit  of  time  and  the 
•pint  of^randy  have  swept  them  from  their  ancient 
inheritance :  and  as  the  white  wave  of  the  ocean,  by 
its  ever  toiling  assiduity,  gains  on  the  brown  land, 
so  the  white  man,  by  slow  and  sure  degrees,  has 
gained  on  the  brown  savage,  and  dispossessed  him 
of  the  land  of  his  forefathers. — Conjectures  on  the 
firat  peopling  of  America — diffeient  opinions  on  that 
•abject,  to  the  amount  o('  near  one  hundred — opinion 
Vo!,.  IL— 17 


of  Augustine  TcrniCi — that  they  are  the  descendants 
of  Shem  and  Japheth,  who  came  by  the  way  of  Japan 
to  America — Juffridius  Petri  says  they  came  from 
Friezeland,  mem.  cold  journey. — Mons.  Charron  says 
they  are  descended  from  the  Gauls — bitter  enough. 
— A.  Milius,  from  the  Celta: — Kircher,  from  the 
Egyptians — L'Compte,  from  the  Phenicians — Les- 
carbot,  from  the  Cannaanites,  alias  the  Apthropo^ 
phagi — Brerewood,  frOm  the  Tartars— Grotius,  from 
the  Norwegians — and  Linkum  FideLus  has  written 
two  folio  volumes  to  prove  that  America  was  first  of 
all  peopled  either  by  the  Antipodeans  or  the  Cornish 
miners,  who,  he  maintains,  might  easily  have  made 
a  subterraneous  passage  to  this  country,  particularly 
the  antipodeans,  who,  he  asserts,  can  get  along  un- 
der-ground as  fast  as  moles — quere,  vvnich  of  these 
is  in  the  right,  or  are  they  all  wrong? — For  my 
part,  I  don't  see  why  America  had  not  as  good  a 
right  to  be  peopled  at  first,  as  any  little  contemptible 
country  in  Europe,  or  Asia ;  and  I  am  determined  to 
write  a  book  at  my  first  leisure,  to  prove  that  Noah 
was  born  here — and  that  so  far  is  America  from 
being  indebted  to  any  other  country  for  inhabitants, 
that  they  were  every  one  of  them  peopled  by  colonies 
from  her! — mem.  battery  a  very  pleasant  place  to 
walk  on  a  Sunday  evening — not  quite  genteel  though 
— every  body  walks  there,  and  a  pleasure,  however 
genuine,  is  spoiled  by  general  participation — the 
fashionable  ladies  of  New- York  turn  up  their  noses 
if  you  ask  them  to  walk  on  the  battery  on  Sunday 
— quere,  have  they  scruples  of  conscience,  or  scruples 
of  delicacy? — neither — they  have  only  scruples  of 
gentility,  which  are  quite  different  things. 


CHAPTER  II. 


CUSTOM-HOUSB — origin  of  duties  on  merchandise 
— this  place  much  frequented  by  merchants — and 
why  ?— ^different  classes  of  merchants — importers — 
a  kind  of  nobility — wholesale  merchants — have  the 
privilege  of  going  to  the  city  assembly ! — Retail 
traders  cannot  go  to  the  assembly. — Some  curious 
speculations  on  the  vast  distinction  betwixt  selling 
tape  by  the  piece  or  by  the  yard. — Wholesale  mer- 
chants look  aown  upon  the  retailers,  who  in  return 
look  down  upon  the  green-grocers,  who  look  down 
upon  the  market  women,  who  don't  care  a  straw 
about  any  of  them. — Origin  of  the  distinction  of 
rapks — Dr.  Johnson  once  norribly  puzzled  to  settle 
the  point  of  precedence  between  a  louse  and  a  flea — 
good  hint  enough  to  humble  purse-proud  arrogance. 
— Custom-house  partly  used  as  a  lodging  house  for 
the  pictures  belonging  to  the  academy  of  arts — 
— couldn't  afford  the  statues  house-room,  most  of 
them  in  the  cellar  of  the  City-hall — poor  place  for 
the  gods  and  goddesses — after  Olympus. — Pensive 
reflections  on  the  ups  and  downs  of  life — Apollo,  and 
the  rest  of  the  set,  used  to  cut  a  great  figure  in  days 
of  yore.— Mem. — every  dog  has  nis  day — sorry  for 
Venus  though,  poor  wench,  to  be  cooped  up  in  a 
cellar  with  not  a  single  grace  to  wait  on  her !-  ■ 
Eulogy  on  the  gentlemen  of  the  academy  of  arts 
for  the  great  spirit  with  which  they  began  the  under 
taking,  and  the  perseverance  with  which  they  have 
pursued  it. — It  is  a  pity,  however,  they  'ixgan  at  tl:e 
wrong  end — maxim — If  you  want  a  bird  and  a  cage, 
always  buy  the  cage  first — hem  I  a  word  to  the  v/se  I 


CHAPTER  III. 


Bowling-Green — fine  place  for  pasturing  cows 
— a  perquisite  of  the  late  corporation — formerly  orna- 
mented with  a  statue  of  George  the  3d— people 


I'  'jl 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


J'.'r' 


pttOed  it  down  in  the  war  to  make  bullets — great 
pity,  as  it  mieht  have  been  given  to  the  academy — 
■t  would  have  Decome  a  cellar  as  well  as  any  other. 
Broadway — great  difference  in  the  gentility  of 
streets — a  man  who  resides  in  Pearl-street,  or  Chat- 
ham-row, derives  no  kind  of  dignity  from  his  domicil ; 
but  place  him  in  a  certain  part  of  Broadway,  any 
where  between  the  battery  and  Wall-street,  and  he 
ttraifhtway  becomes  entitled  to  figure  in  the  beau 
monde,  and  strut  as  a  person  of  prodigfious  conse- 
quence ! — Quere,  whether  there  is  a  degree  of  purity 
in  the  air  of  that  quarter  which  changes  the  gross 
particles  of  vulgarity  into  gems  of  refinement  and 
polish  ? — A  uuestion  to  be  asked,  but  not  to  be  an- 
swered— Wall-street — City-hall,  famous  place  for 
catch-poles,  deputy-sheriffs,  and  young  lawyers ; 
which  last  attend  the  courts,  not  because  they  have 
business  there,  but  because  they  have  no  business 
any  where  else.  My  blood  always  curdles  when  I 
see  a  catch-pole,  they  being  a  species  of  vermin,  who 
feed  and  fatten  on  the  common  wretchedness  of 
mankind,  who  trade  in  misery,  and  in  becoming  the 
executioners  of  the  law,  by  their  oppression  .ind  vil- 
lainy, almost  counterbalance  all  the  benefits  which  are 
derived  from  its  salutary  regulations — Story  of  Que- 
vedo  about  a  catch-pole  possessed  by  a  devil,  who, 
on  being  interrogated,  declared  that  he  did  not  come 
there  voluntarily,  but  by  compulsion ;  and  that  a  de- 
cent devil  would  never  of  his  own  free  will  «nter  into 
the  body  of  a  catch-pole ;  instead,  therefore,  of  doing 
him  the  injustice  to  say  that  here  was  a  catch-pole 
be-deviled,  they  should  say,  it  was  a  devil  be-catch- 
poled  :  that  being  in  reality  the  truth — Wonder  what 
nas  become  of  the  old  crier  of  the  court,  who  used  to 
make  more  noise  in  preserving  silence  than  the  au- 
dience did  in  breaking  it — if  a  man  happened  to  drop 
fcis  cane,  the  old  hero  would  sing  out  "  silence  ! "  in 
a  voice  that  emulated  the  "wide-mouthed  thunder" 
—On  inquiring,  found  he  had  retired  from  business 
to  enjoy  oUum  cum  dignitate,  as  many  a  great  man 
had  clone  before — Strange  that  wise  men,  as  they  are 
thought,  should  toil  through  a  whole  existence  merely 
to  enioy  a  few  moments  of  leisure  at  last !  why  don't 
they  begin  to  be  easy  at  first,  and  not  purchase  a 
moment's  pleasure  with  an  age  of  pam? — nficra. 
posed  some  of  the  jockeys — eh  I 


CHAPTER    IV. 


Barber's  pole ;  three  different  orders  of  shavers 
in  New- York — those  who  shave  pigs  ;  N.  B. — fresh- 
men and  sophomores, — those  who  cut  beards,  and 
those  who  shave  notes  of  hand  ;  the  last  are  the  most 
respectable,  because,  in  the  course  of  a  year,  they 
make  more  money,  and  that  honestly,  than  the  whole 
corps  of  other  shavers  can  do  in  half  a  century ;  be- 
sides, it  would  puzzle  a  common  barber  to  ruin  any 
man,  except  by  cutting  his  throat:  whereas  your 
higher  order  o\  sf^avers,  your  true  blood-suckers  of 
the  community,  seated  snugly  behind  the  curtain,  in 
iratch  for  prey,  live  on  the  vitals  of  the  unfortunate, 
Mid  grow  rich  on  the  ruin  of  thousands. — Yet  this 
last  class  of  barbers  are  held  in  high  respect  in  the 
woild ;  they  never  offend  against  the  decencies  of 
tiffe,  ^o  often  to  church,  look  down  on  honest  poverty 
walking  on  foot,  and  call  themselves  gentlemen ;  yea, 
men  of  honour! — Lottery  offices — another  set  of 
capital  shavers  I — licensee!  gambling  houses  I — good 
things  enough  though,  as  they  enable  a  few  honest, 
industrious  gentlemen  to  humbug  the  people — ac- 
cording to  law  ; — besides,  if  the  people  will  be  such 
fooli,  whose  fault  is  it  but  their  own  if  they  get  bit  t 
—Messrs.  Faff— beg  pardon  for  putting  them  in  such 


bad  company,  because  thev  are  a  couple  of  fine  fel 
lows — mem.  to  recommend  Michael's  antique  snuff 
box  to  all  amateurs  in  the  art. — Eagle  singing  Yan- 
kee-doodle— N.  B. — Buffon,  Penant,  and  the  rest  ol 
the  naturalists,  all  naturals  not  to  know  the  eagl( 
was  a  singing  bird ;  Linkum  Fidelius  knew  bettei , 
and  gives  a  long  description  of  a  bald  eagle  that  sere- 
naded him  once  in  Canada ; — digression  ;  particulai 
account  of  the  Canadian  Indians ; — story  about  Ares- 
kou  learning  to  make  fishiog  nets  of  a  spider— don't 
believe  it  though,  because,  according  to  Linkum,  and 
many  other  learned  authorities,  Areskou  is  the  same 
as  Mars,  being  derived  from  his  Greek  names  ot 
Ares ;  and  if  so,  he  knew  well  enough  what  a  net 
was  without  consulting  a  spider ; — story  of  Arachne 
being  changed  into  a  spider  as  a  reward  for  having 
hanged  herself; — derivation  of  the  word  cpinster 
from  spider  ; — CoU/phon,  now  Altobosco,  the  birth- 
place of  Arachne,  remarkable  for  a  famous  breed  of 
spiders  to  this  day ; — mem. — nothing  like  a  little 
scholarship — make  the  ignoramus,  vii.,  the  majority 
of  my  readers,  stare  like  wild  pigeons ; — return  to 
New- York  a  short  cut — meet  a  cashing  belle,  in  a 
little  thick  white  veil — tried  to  eet  a  peep  at  her  face 
— saw  she  squinted  a  little — thought  so  at  first  ;- 
never  saw  a  face  covered  with  a  veil  that  was  worth 

looking  at ; saw  some  ladies  holding  a  conversation 

across  the  street  about  going  to  church  next  Sunday 
— talked  so  loud  they  frightened  a  cartman's  horse, 
who  ran  away,  and  overset  a  basket  of  gingerbread 
with  a  little  boy  under  it ; — mem. — I  don  t  much  see 
the  use  of  speaking-trumpets  now-a-days. 


CHAPTER  V. 


Bought  a  pair  of  gloves ;  dry-good  stores  the 
genuine  schools  of  politeness — true  Parisian  man- 
ners there — got  a  pair  of  gloves  and  a  pistareen's 
worth  of  bows  for  a  dollar — dog  cheap !— Court- 
landt-street  comer — famous  place  to  see  the  belles 
go  by — quere,  ever  been  shopping  with  a  lady  ?— 
some  account  of  it — ladies  go  into  all  the  shops  in 
the  city  to  buy  a  pair  of  gloves — good  way  of  spend- 
ing time,  if  they  have  nothing  else  to  do. — Oswego- 
market — looks  very  much  like  a  triumphal  arch- 
some  account  of  the  manner  of  erecting  them  in  an- 
cient times ; — digression  to  the  ar^^-duke  Charles, 
and  some  account  of  the  ancient  Germans. — N.  B. 
quote  Tacitus  on  this  subject. — Particular  description 
of  market-baskets,  butchers*  blocks,  and  wheelbar- 
rows : — mem.  queer  things  run  upon  one  wheel  !— 
Saw  a  cartman  driving  full-tilt  through  Broadway- 
run  over  a  child — good  enough  for  it — what  business 
had  it  to  be  in  the  way  ? — Hint  concerning  the  laws 
against  pigs,  goats,  dogs,  and  cartmen — grand  apos- 
trophe to  the  subUme  science  of  jurisprudence ; 

comparison  between  legislators  and  tinkers ;  quere, 
whether  it  requires  greater  ability  to  mend  a  law 
than  to  mend  a  kettle  ? — inquiry  into  the  utility  of 
making  laws  that  are  broken  a  hundred  times  in  a 
day  with  impunity ; — my  lord  Coke's  opinion  on  the 
subject :  my  lord  a  very  great  man — so  was  lord 
Bacon:  good  story  about  a  criminal  named  Hog 
claiming  relationship  with  him. — Hogg's  porter- 
house ; — great  haunt  of  Will  Wizard ;  Wul  put  down 
there  one  night  by  a  sea  captain,  in  an  avgumeni 
concerning  the  aera  of  the  Chinese  empire  Whangpo ; 
— Hogg's  a  capital  place  for  hearing  the  same  stories, 
the  same  jokes,  and  the  same  songs  every  night  in 
the  year — mem.  except  Sunday  nights ;  fine  schooi 
for  young  politicians  too — some  of  the  longest  and 
thkrkest  neads  in  the  city  come  there  to  settle  the 
nation. — Scheme  of  Ichabod  Fungus  to  restore  thr 


SALMAGUNDI. 


6sa 


balance  of  Europe ; — digression ;— some  account  of 
the  balance  of  Europe ;  comparison  between  it  and 
a  pair  of  scales,  with  tlie  Kmpcror  Alexander  in  one 
and  ti\c  Emperor  Napoleon  in  the  other :  fine  fellows 
—both  of  a  weight,  can't  tell  which  will  kick  the 
beam : — mem.  don't  care  much  either — nothing  to 
me  : — Ichabod  very  unhappy  about  it — thinks  Na- 
poleon has  an  eye  on  this  country — capital  place  to 
pasture  his  horses,  and  provide  for  the  rest  of  his 
lamily : — Dey-street — ancient  Dutch  n.ime  of  it,  sig- 
.lifying  murJerers'-valley,  formerly  the  site  of  a  great 
peach  orchard ;  my  grandmother's  history  of  the 
tamous  Peach  war — arose  from  an  Indian  stealing 
peaches  out  of  this  orchard ;  good  cause  as  need  be 
tor  a  war;  just  as  good  as  the  balance  of  power. 
Anecdote  of  a  war  between  two  Italian  states  about 
a  bucket ;  mtroduce  some  capital  new  truisms  about 
the  folly  of  mankind,  the  ambition  of  kings,  poten- 
tates, and  princes ;  particularly  Alexander,  C3es.'r, 
Charles  the  Xllth,  Napoleon,  little  King  Pepin,  ?.nd 
the  great  Charlemagne. — Conclude  with  an  exhorta- 
tion to  the  present  race  of  sovereigns  to  keep  the 
king's  peace  and  abstain  from  all  those  deadly  quar- 
rels which  produce  battle,  murder,  and  sudden  death : 
mem.  ran  my  nose  against  a  lamp-post — conclude  in 
great  dudgeon. 


mOM  THE  MILL  Or 
PINDAR  COCKLOFT,  ESQ. 


FROM  MY  ELBOW-CHAIR. 


,  OUR  cousin  Pindar,  after  having  been  confined  for 
tome  time  past  with  a  fit  of  the  gout,  which  is  a  kind 
of  keepsake  in  our  family,  has  again  set  his  mill  go- 
^g,  as  my  readers  will  perceive.  On  reading  his 
piece  I  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  high  compli- 
ments which,  contrary  to  his  usual  style,  he  has  lav- 
ished on  the  dear  sex.  The  old  gentleman,  unfortu- 
nately observing  my  merriment,  stumped  out  of  the 
room  with  great  vociferation  of  crutch,  and  has  not 
exchanged  three  words  with  me  since.  I  expect 
every  hour  to  hear  that  he  has  packed  up  his  move- 
ables, and,  as  usual  in  all  cases  of  disgust,  retreated 
to  his  old  country  house. 

Pindar,  like  most  of  the  old  Cockloft  heroes,  is  won- 
derfully susceptible  to  the  genial  influence  of  warm 
weather.  In  winter  he  is  one  of  the  most  crusty  old 
bachelors  under  heaven,  and  is  wickedly  addicted  to 
sarcastic  'reflections  of  every  kind  ;  particularly  on 
the  little  enchanting  foibles  and  whim-whams  of 
women.  But  when  the  spring  comes  on,  and  the 
mild  influence  of  the  sun  releases  nature  from  her 
icy  fetters,  the  ice  of  his  bosom  dissolves  into  a  gen- 
tle current  which  reflects  the  bewitching  uualities  of 
the  fair ;  as  in  some  mild  clear  evening,  when  nature 
reposes  in  silence,  the  stream  bears  in  its  pure  bo- 
•om  all  the  starry  magiiificence  of  heaven.  It  is  un- 
der the  control  of  this  influence  he  has  written  his 
vAfiCK  ;  and  I  beg  the  ladies,  in  the  plenitude  of  their 
OMmless  conceit,  not  to  flatter  themselves  that  be- 
r*use  the  good  Pindar  has  suffered  them  to  escape 
tlit  censures  he  had  nothing  more  to  censure.     It 

«  but  sunshine  and  zephyrs  which  have  wrought 
(his  wonderful  change ;  and  I  am  much  mistaken  if 
the  tirst  north-easter  don't  convert  all  his  good  nat- 
are  into  most  exquisite  spleen. 


20 


How  often  I  cast  ray  reflections  behind, 
And  call  up  the  days  of  past  youth  to  my  mind. 
When  folly  astsails  in  habiliments  new, 
When  fashion  obtrudes  some  fresh  whim-wham  to  vitii 
When  the  foptings  of  fashion  bedazzle  my  fcight, 
Bewilder  my  feelings — my  senses  l3enii;iit ; 
I  retreat  In  disgust  from  the  world  of  to-day, 
To  commune  with  the  world  that  has  moulder'd  away; 
To  converse  with  the  shades  of  those  friends  o(  my 

love, 
Long  gather'd  in  peace  to  the  angels  above. 
In  my   rambles  through  life  should  I   meet  witk 

annoy, 
From  the  bold  beardless  stripling— the  turbid  pert  t)oy, 
One  rear'd  in  the  mode  lately  reckon'd  genteel, 
Which  neglecting  the  head,  aims  to  perfect  the  heel ; 
Which  completes  the  sweet  fopling  while  yet  in  hit 

teens. 
And  fits  "-im  for  fashion's  light  changeable  scenes  , 
Proclaims  him  a  man  to  the  near  and  the  far. 
Can  he  dance  a  cotillion  or  smoke  a  scgar ; 
And  though  brainless  and  vapid  as  vapid  can  be. 
To  routs  and  to  parties  pronounces  him  free : — 
Oh,  I  think  on  the  beaux  that  existea  of  yore. 
On  those  rules  of  the  ton  that  exist  now  no  more  ! 

I  recall  with  delight  how  each  yonker  at  first 
In  the  cradle  of  science  and  virtue  was  nursed  : 
— How'the  graces  of  person  and  graces  of  mind. 
The  polish  of  learning  and  fashion  combined. 
Till  softened  in  manners  and  strengthened  In  head. 
By  the  classical  lore  of  the  living  and  dead. 
Matured  in  his  person  till  manly  in  size, 
He  then  was  presented  a  beau  to  our  eyes  ! 

My  nieces  of  late  have  made  frequent  complaint 
That  they  suffer  vexation  a.id  painful  constraint 
By  having  their  circles  too  often  distrest 
By  some  three  or  four  goslings  just  fledged  frou:  tbt 

nest. 
Who,  propp'd  by  the  credit  their  fathers  sustain. 
Alike  tender  in  years  and  in  person  and  brain, 
But  plenteously  stock'd  with  that  substitute,  brass. 
For  true  wits  and  critics  would  anxiously  pass. 
They  complain  of  that  empty  sarcasticat  slang, 
So  common  to  all  the  coxcombical  gang. 
Who  the  fair  with  their  shallow  experience  vex, 
By  thmmming  for  ever  their  weakness  of  sex  ; 
And  who  boast  of  themselves,  when  they  talk  wit! 

proud  air 
Of  Man's  mental  ascendancy  over  the  fair. 

'Twas  thus  the  young  owlet  produced  in  the  nest. 
Where  the  eagle  of  Jove  her  young  eagieis  had  presi 
Pretended  to  boast  of  his  royal  descent. 
And  vaunted  that  force  which  to  eagles  is  lent. 
Though  fated  to  shun  with  his  dim  visual  ray. 
The  cheering  delights  and  the  brilliance  of  day ; 
To  forsake  the  fair  regions  of  sether  and  I'ght, 
For  dull  moping  caverns  of  darkness  and  night : 
Still  talk'd  of  that  eagle-like  strength  of  the  eye. 
Which  approaches  unwinking  the  pride  of  the  sky, 
Of  that  wing  which  unwearied  can  hover  and  play 
In  the  noon-tide  effulgence  and  torrent  of  day. 

Dear  girls,  the  sad  evils  of  which  ye  complain. 
Your  sex  must  endure  from  the  feeble  and  vain, 
'Tis  the  commonplace  jest  of  the  nursery  scape-goai, 
'Tis  the  commonplace  ballad  that  croaks  from  U 

throat ; 
He  knows  not  that  nature — that  polish  decrees. 
That  women  should  always  endeavour  to  please : 
That  the  law  of  their  system  has  early  imprest 
The  importance  of  fitting  themselves  to  each  guest ; 
And,  of  course,  that  full  oft  when  ye  trifle  and  pUy, 
'Tis  to  gratify  triflers  who  strut  in  your  way. 
The  child  might  as  well  of  its  mother  complain. 
As  wanting  true  wisdom  and  soundness  of  brain ; 
Because  that,  at  times,  while  it  hangs  on  her  brewt 
She  with  "  luUa-by-baby  "  beguiles  it  to  resL 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


w 


8 


^vV, 


Til  lu  weakneu  of  mind  that  Induces  the  suain, 
For  wlidom  to  infants  is  prattled  in  vain. 

"Tu  true  at  odd  times,  when  in  frolicluome  St, 
In  the  midst  of  his  gambols,  the  mischievous  wl( 
May  start  some  light  (oible  that  clings  to  the  fail 
IJke  cob-webs  that  fasten  to  objects  most  rare.— 
lu  the  play  of  his  fancy  will  sportively  say 
Seme  delicate  censure  that  pops  in  his  way. 
He  may  smile  at  your  fashions,  and  frankly  ezpreti 
His  dislike  of  a  dance,  or  a  flaming  red  dress ; 
Yet  he  blames  not  your  want  of  man's  physical  fore?, 
Nor  complains  though  ye  cannot  in  Latin  discourse. 
He  delights  in  the  language  of  nature  ye  speak, 
Though  not  so  refined  as  true  classical  Greek. 
He  remembers  that  F'rovidence  never  design'd 
Our  females  tike  suns  to  bewilder  and  blind ; 
But  like  the  mild  orb  of  pale  ev'ning  serene, 
Whose  radiance  illumines,  yet  softens  the  scene. 
To  light  us  with  cheering  and  welcoming  ray, 
Along  (ho  rude  path  when  the  sun  is  away. 

I  own  in  my  scribblings  I  lately  have  nam'd 
Seme  faults  of  our  fair  which  I  gently  have  blam'd, 
But  be  it  for  ever  by  all  understood 
My  censures  were  only  pronounc'd  for  their  good. 
I  delight  in  the  sex,  'tis  the  pride  of  my  mind 
To  consider  them  gentle,  endearing,  refin'd  ; 
As  our  solace  l)elow  in  the  journey  of  life. 
To  smooth  its  rough  passes ; — to  soften  its  stnfc : 
As  objects  intended  our  joys  to  supply. 
And  to  lead  us  in  love  to  the  temples  on  high. 
How  oft  have  I  felt,  when  two  lucid  blue  eyes. 
As  calm  and  as  bright  as  the  gems  of  the  skies. 
Have  beam'd  their  soft  radiance  into  my  soul, 
Impress'd  with  an  awe  like  an  angel's  control  I    , 

Yes,  fair  ones,  by  this  is  for  ever  defin'd 
The  fop  from  the  man  of  refinement  and  mind  { 
The  latter  believes  ye  in  bounty  were  given 
As  s  bond  upon  earth  of  our  union  with  heaven : 
And  if  ye  are  weak,  and  are  frail,  in  his  view, 
'Tis  to  call  forth  fresh  warmth  and  his  fondness  renew. 
Tis  his  joy  to  support  these  defects  of  your  frame. 
And  his  love  a.  your  weakness  redoubles  its  flame : 
He  rejoices  the  gem  is  so  rich  and  so  fair. 
And  is  proud  that  it  claims  his  protection  and  care. 


No.  XIII.— FRIDAY,  AUGUST  14,  1807. 

rROM  IfY  ELBOW-CHAIR. 


I  WAS  not  a  little  perplexed,  a  short  time  since, 
by  the  eccentric  conduct  of  my  knowing  coadju- 
tor. Will  Wizard.  For  two  or  three  days,  he  was 
completely  in  a  quandary.  He  would  come  into 
old  Cockloft's  parlour  ten  times  a  day,  swinging 
his  ponderous  legs  along  with  his  usual  vast 
strides,  clap  his  hands  into  his  sides,  contem- 
plate the  little  shepherdesses  on  the  mantel-piece 
for  a  few  minutes,  whistling  all  the  while,  and 
then  sally  out  full  sweep,  without  uttering  a  word. 
To  be  sUre.  a  pish  or  a  pshaw  occasionally  escaped 
him;  and  he  was  observed  once  to  pull  out  his 
enormous  tobacco-box,  drum  for  a  moment  upon 
its  lid  with  his  knuckles,  and  then  return  it  mto 
his  pocket  without  taking  a  quid : — 'twas  evident 
Will  was  full  of  some  mighty  idea : — not  that  his 
restlessness  was  any  way  uncommon ;  for  I  have 
often  seen  Will  throw  himself  almost  into  a  fever 
of  heat  and  fatigue — doing  nothing.  But  his  in- 
flexible taciturnity  set  the  whole  family,  as  usual, 
a  wondering:  as  Will  seldom  enters  the  house 
without  giving  one  of  his  "  one  thousand  and  one  " 
stones.  For  my  part,  I  began  to  think  that  the 
late  frcuoi  at  Canton  had  alarmed  Will  for  the 
safety  of  hit  friends  Kinglun,  Chinqua,  and  Con- 


sequa;  or,  that  something  had  gone  wr«>ng  !o  tht 
alterations  of  the  theatre— or  that  some  r.cw  out- 
rage at  Norfolk  had  put  him  in  a  worry ;  i.t  short, 
I  did  not  know  what  to  think;  for  will  Is  such 
an  universal  busy-body,  and  meddles  so  nr.uch  ir 
every  thing  going  forward,  that  you  might  aa  well 
attempt  to  conjecture  what  is  goin^  on  in  the  north 
star,  as  in  his  precious  pericranium.  Even  Mra 
Cockloft,  who,  like  a  wortny  woman  as  she  is,  sel- 
dom troubles  herself  about  any  thinK  in  this  w  uric', 
— saving  the  atTairs  of  her  household,  and  the  cor- 
rect deportment  of  her  fcma!e  friends — was  struck 
with  tne  mystery  of  Will's  behaviour.  She  hap- 
pened, when  he  came  in  and  went  out  the  tenth 
time,  to  be  busy  darning  the  bottom  of  one  of  the 
old  red  damask  chairs  ;  and  notwithstanding  this  is 
to  her  an  affair  of  vast  importance,  yet  she  could 
not  help  turning  round  and  exclaiming,  "  I  wonder 
what  can  be  the  matter  with  Mr.  Wizard  ?  "  "  Noth- 
ing," replied  old  Christopher,  "  only  we  shall 
have  an  eruption  soon."  I'ne  old  lady  did  not  un- 
derstand a  word  of  this,  neither  did  she  care ;  she 
had  expressed  her  wonder ;  and  that,  with  her,  is 
always  sufficient. 

I  am  so  well  acquainted  with  Will's  peculiarities 
that  I  can  tell,  even  by  his  whistle,  when  he  is 
about  an  essay  for  our  paper  as  certainly  as  a  wea- 
ther wiseacre  knows  that  it  is  goin^  to  rain  when 
he  sees  a  pig  run  squeaking  about  with  his  nose  in 
the  wind.  I,  therefore,  laid  my  account  with  re- 
ceiving a  communication  from  him  before  long ; 
and  sure  enough,  the  evening  before  last  I  distin- 
guished his  free-mason  knock  at  my  door.  I  havf^ 
seen  many  wise  men  in  my  time,  philosopher  1, 
mathematicians,  astronomers,  politicians,  editors, 
and  almanac  makers ;  but  never  did  I  see  a  rjas 
look  half  so  wise  as  did  my  friend  Wizard  on  enter- 
ihg  the  room.  Had  Lavatcr  beheld  him  at  th:U 
moment  he  would  have  set  hiim  down,  to  a  certain- 
ty, as  a  fellow  who  had  just  discovered  the  longitude 
or  the  philosopher's  stone. 

Without  saying  a  word,  he  handed  me  a  roll  of 
paper ;  after  which  he  lighted  his  segar,  sat  down, 
crossed  his  legs,  folded  his  arms,  and  elevating  his 
nose  to  an  angle  of  about  forty-five  degrees,  began 
to  smoke  like  a  steam  engine ; — Will  delights  in 
the  picturesque.  On  opening  his  budget,  and  p:r- 
ceiving  the  motto,  it  struck  me  that  Will  nad 
brought  me  one  of  his  confounded  Chinese  manu- 
scripts, and  I  was  forthwith  going  to  dismiss  it 
with  indignation ;  but  accidentally  seeing  the  name 
of  our  oracle,  the  sage  Linkum,  of  whose  inesti- 
mable folioes  we  pride  ourselves  upon  being  the 
sole  possessors,  I  began  so  think  the  better  of  it, 
and  looked  round  to  Will  to  express  my  approba- 
tion. I  shall  never  forget  the  figure  he  cut  at  that 
moment !  He  had  watched  my  countenance,  on 
opening  his  manuscript,  with  the  argus  eyes  of  an 
author :  and  perceiving  some  tokens  of  disappro- 
bation, began,  according  to  custom,  to  puff  away 
at  his  segar  with  such  vigour  that  in  a  few  minuter 
he  had  entirely  mvolved  himself  in  smoke :  except 
his  nose  and  one  foot,  which  were  jtut  visible,  trc 
latter  wagging  with  great  velocity.  I  believe  I 
have  hinted  before — at  least  I  ought  to  have  done 
so — that  Will's  nose  is  a  very  goodly  nose ;  to 
which  it  may  be  as  well  to  add,  that  in  nis  voyages 
under  the  tropics,  it  has  acuuired  a  copper  com- 
plexion, which  renders  it  very  brilliant  and  luminous. 
You  may  imagine  what  a  sumptuous  appearance  it 
made,  projecting  boldly,  like  the  celebrated  promon- 
torium  nasidium  at  Samos  with  a  light-house  upon 
it,  and  surrounded  on  all  sides  with  smoke  and 
vapour.  Had  my  gravity  been  like  the  Chinese 
philosopher's  "  withm  one  degree  of  absolute  frigid- 


SALMAGUNDI 


58B 


Ity,"  here  would  have  been  a  trial  for  it. — 1  could 
not  stand  it,  but  burst  into  such  a  laugh  as  I  do  not 
indulge  in  above  once  in  a  hundred  years  ; — this  was 
too  much  for  Will ;  he  emerged  from  his  cloud,  threw 
his  segar  into  the  fire-place,  and  strode  out  of  the 
room,  pulling  up  his  breeches,  muttering  something 
which,  I  veriW  believe,  was  nothing  more  than  a 
horrible  long  Chinese  malediction. 

He,  however,  loft  his  manuscript  behind  him, 
which  I  now  give  to  the  world.  Whether  he  is 
Krious  on  the  occasion,  or  only  bantering,  no  one, 
I  believe,  can  tell:  for,  whether  in  speaking  or 
writing,  there  is  such  an  invincible  gravity  in  his 
demeanour  and  style,  that  even  I,  who  have  studied 
him  as  closely  as  an  antiquarian  studies  an  old 
manuscript  or  inscription,  am  frequently  at  a  loss 
to  know  what  the  rogue  would  be  at.  I  have  seen 
him  indulge  in  his  favourite  amusement  of  quizzing 
for  hours  together,  without  any  one  having  the 
least  suspicion  of  the  matter,  until  he  would  sud- 
denly twist  his  phiz  into  an  expression  that  baffles 
aH  description,  thrust  his  tongue  in  his  cheek  and 
blow  up  in  a  laugh  almost  as  loud  as  the  shout  of 
the  Romans  on  a  certain  occasion;  which  honesi 
Plutarch  avers  frightened  several  crows  to  such  a 
degree  that  they  fell  down  stone  dead  into  the 
Omfipus  Martius.  Jeremy  Cockloft  the  younger, 
who  like  a  true  modem  philosopher  delights  in  ex- 
periments that  are  of  no  kind  of  use,  took  the  trouble 
to  measure  one  of  Will's  risible  explosions,  and  de- 
clared to  me  that,  according  to  accurate  measure- 
ment, it  contained  thirty  feet  square  of  solid  laugh- 
ter:— what  will  the  professor*  say  to  this? 


PLAHS  FOR  DEFENDING  OUR  HARBOUR. 
BY    WILLIAM  WIZARD,   ESQ. 


Loof-fenc  teko  bun  tor-pc-do, 

Fudge 

W«'U  bUw  the  vilUint  ail  iky  bigh ; 
But  do  It  with  econo ay. 


—Link.  fid. 


SURILY  never  was  a  town  more  subject  to  mid- 
summer fancies  and  dog-day  whim-whams,  than 
this  must  excellent  of  cities; — our  notions,  like 
our  dise.'ises,  seem  all  epidemic ;  and  no  sooner 
does  a  new  disorder  or  a  new  freak  seize  one  indi- 
vidual but  it  is  sure  to  run  through  all  the  commu- 
nity. This  is  particularly  the  case  when  the  sum- 
mer is  at  the  hottest,  and  every  body's  head  is  in 
a  vertigo  and  his  brain  in  a  ferment ;  'tis  absolute- 
ly necessary  then  the  poor  souls  should  have  some 
bubble  *,o  amuse  themselves  with,  or  they  would 
certainly  run  mad.  Last  year  the  poplar  worm 
made  its  appearance  most  fortunately  for  our  citi- 
Ecns ;  and  every  body  was  so  much  in  horror  of  be- 
ing poisoned,  and  devoured ;  and  so  busied  in  mak- 
ing numane  experiments  on  cats  and  dogs,  that  we 
|ol  til  rough  the  su  Timer  quite  comfortably; — the 
cats  had  the  worst  of  it ;— -every  mouser  of  them 
KtM  shaved,  and  there  was  not  a  whisker  to  be  seen 
in  the  whole  sisterhood.  This  summer  every  body 
has  had  full  employment  in  planning  fortifications 
for  otir  harbour.  Not  a  cobbler  or  tailor  in  the  city 
but  has  left  his  awl  and  his  thimble,  became  an  en- 
gineer outright,  and  aspired  most  magnanimously 
to  the  building  of  forts  and  destruction  of  navies  I — 
heavens  I  as  my  friend  Mustapha  would  say,  on  what 
a  great  scale  is  every  thing  in  this  country  I 

Among  the  various  plans  that  have  been  offered, 


the  must  conspicuous  is  one  devised  tnJ  exhibited. 
as  I  am  informed,  by  that  notable  cor.fedtracy,  TH> 

NORTH  RIVER  SOCIETY. 

Anxious  to  redeem  their  reputation  from  the  fou' 
suspicions  that  have  for  a  long  time  overclouded  it, 
these  aquatic  incendiaries  have  come  forward,  at  th< 
present  alarming  juncture,  and  announced  a  most  po- 
tent discovery  which  is  to  guarantee  our  port  fron 
the  visits  of  any  foreign  marauders.  The  societal 
have,  it  seems,  inventeua cunning  machine,  shrewdly 
yclep'd  a  Torpedo  ;  by  which  the  stoutest  line  of  bat- 
tle ship,  even  a  Santissima  Trinidada,  may  b« 
caught  napping  and  decomposed  in  a  twinkling ;  a 
kind  of  sub-marine  powder-magazine  to  sv^nm  undei 
water,  like  an  aquatic  mole,  or  water  rat,  and  de- 
stroy the  enemy  in  the  moments  of  unsuspicious  se- 
curity. 

This  straw  tickled  the  noses  of  all  our  dignitaries 
wonderfully ;  for  to  do  our  government  justice,  it  hai 
no  objection  to  injuring  and  exterminating  its  ene- 
mies in  any  manner — provided  the  thing  can  be  done 
economically. 

It  was  determined  the  experiment  should  be  tried, 
and  an  old  brig  was  purchased,  for  not  more  than 
twice  its  value,  and  delivered  over  into  the  hands  of 
its  tormentors,  the  North  River  Society,  to  be  tor- 
tured, and  battered,  and  annihilatecf,  secundum 
artem.  A  day  was  appointed  for  the  occasion,  when 
all  the  good  citizens  of  the  wonder-loving  city  of 
Gotham  were  invited  to  the  blowing  up  ;  like  the  fat 
inn-keeper  in  Rabelais,  who  requested  all  his  cus- 
tomers to  come  on  a  certain  day  and  see  hinn  hurst. 

As  I  have  almost  as  great  a  veneration  as  the  good 
Mr.  Waker  Shandy  for  all  kinds  of  experiments  thai 
are  ingeniously  ridiculous,  I  made  very  particulaj 
mention  of  the  one  in  question,  at- the  table  of  xa^ 
friend  Christopher  Cockloft ;  but  it  put  the  honest 
old  gentleman  in  a  violent  passion.  He  condemned 
it  in  toto,  as  an  attempt  to  introduce  a  dastardly  and 
exterminating  mode  of  warfare.  "  Already  have  we 
proceeded  far  enough,"  said  he,  "  in  the  science  ol 
destruction ;  war  is  already  invested  with  sufhciem 
horrors  and  calamities,  let  us  not  increase  the  cata 
logue ;  let  us  not  by  these  deadly  artifices  provoke  a 
system  of  insidious  and  indiscriminate  hostility,  thai 
snail  terminate  in  laying  our  cities  desolate,  and  ex 
posing  our  women,  our  children,  and  our  infirm  tc 
the  sword  of  pitiless  recrimination."  Honest  ol<* 
cavalier  ! — it  was  evident  he  did  not  reason  as  a  truf 
politician, — but  he  felt  as  a  christian  and  philanthro 
pist ;  and  that  was,  perhaps,  just  as  well. 

It  may  be  readily  supposed,  that  our  citizens  did 
not  refuse  the  invitation  of  the  society  to  the  blow- 
up ;  it  was  the  first  naval  action  ever  exhibited  in 
our  port,  and  the  good  people  all  crowded  to  see  the 
British  navy  blown  up  in  effigy.  The  young  ladiet 
were  delighted  with  the  novelty  of  the  show,  and 
declared  that  if  war  could  be  conducted  in  this  man- 
ner, it  would  become  a  fashionable  amusement ;  and 
the  destruction  of  a  fleet  be  as  pleasant  as  a  ball  oi 
a  tea-party.  The  old  folk  were  equally  pleased  with 
the  spiectacle, — because  it  cost  them  nothing.  Dear 
souls,  how  hard  was  it  they  should  be  disappointed  1 
the  brig  most  obstinately  refused  to  be  decomposed ; 
the  dinners  grew  cold,  and  the  puddings  were  over- 
boiled, throughout  the  renowned  city  of  Gotham , 
and  its  sapient  inhabitants,  like  the  honest  Stras 
burghers,  from  whom  most  of  them  are  doubtless 
descended,  who  went  out  to  see  the  courteous 
stranger  and  his  nose,  all  returned  home  after  hav- 
ing threatened  to  pull  down  the  flag-staff  by  way 
of  taking  satisfaction  for  their  disappointment.  By 
the  way,  there  is  not  tn  animal  in  the  world  more 
discriminating  in  its  vengeance  than  a  frec-bon> 
mob. 


686 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


my 


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i 


In  the  evening  I  repaired  to  friend  Hogg's  to 
tmolce  a  sociable  segar,  but  had  scarcely  entered  the 
room  when  I  was  taken  prisoner  by  my  friend,  Mr. 
Ichabod  Fungus  ;  who  I  soon  saw  was  at  his  usual 
trade  of  prying  into  mill-stones.  The  old  gentleman 
informed  me,  that  the  brig  had  actually  blown  up, 
aft<r  1  world  of  manoeuvring,  and  had  nearly  blown 
up  the  society  with  it ;  he  seemed  to  entertain  strong 
doubts  as  to  the  objects  of  the  society  in  the  inven- 
tion of  these  infernal  machines ; — hinted  a  suspicion 
of  their  wishing  to  set  the  river  on  fire,  and  that  he 
should  not  be  surprised  on  waking  one  of  these 
mornings  to  find  the  Hudson  in  a  blaze.  "  Not  that 
I  disiipprove  of  the  plan,"  said  he,  "  provided  it  has 
the  end  in  view  which  they  profess ;  no,  no,  an  ex- 
cellent plan  of  defence ;—  no  need  of  batteries,  forts, 
frigates,  and  gun-boats ;  observe,  sir,  all  that's  neces- 
sary is  that  the  ships  must  come  to  anchor  in  a  con- 
venient place ; — watch  must  be  asleep,  or  so  com- 
placent as  not  to  disturb  any  boats  paddling  about 
them — fair  wind  and  tide — no  moonlight — machines 
well-directed — musn't  flash  in  the  plan — bang's  the 
word,  and  the  vessel's  blown  up  in  a  moment ! " 
"  Good,"  said  I,  "  you  remind  me  of  a  lubberly  Chi- 
nese who  was  flogged  by  an  honest  captain  sf  my 
acquaintance,  and  who,  on  being  advised  to  retali- 
ate, exclaimed — '  Hi  yah  I  s'pose  two  men  hold  fast 
him  captain,  den  very  mush  me  bamboo  he ! ' " 

The  old  gentleman  grew  a  little  crusty,  and  in- 
sisted that  I  did  not  understand  him ; — all  that  was 
requisite  to  render  the  effect  certain  was,  that  the 
enemy  should  enter  into  the  project;  or,  in  other 
words,  be  agreeable  to  the  measure ;  so  that  if  the 
machine  did  not  come  to  the  ship,  the  ship  should 
go  to  the  machine ;  by  which  means  he  thought  the 
success  of  the  machine  would  be  inevitable — pro- 
vided it  struck  fire.  "But  do  not  you  think,"  said 
I,  douhtinKly,  "  that  it  would  be  rather  difficult  to 
persua<le  the  enemy  into  such  an  agreement? — 
some  people  have  an  invincible  antipathy  to  being 
blown  up. '  "  Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  replied  he,  tri- 
umphantly ;  "got  an  excellent  notion  for  that ; — do 
with  them  as  we  have  done  with  the  brie ;  buy  all 
the  vessels  we  mean  to  destroy,  and  blow  em  up  as 
best  suits  our  convenience.  I  have  thought  deeply 
on  that  subject  and  have  calculated  to  a  certainty, 
that  if  our  funds  hold  out  we  may  in  this  way  de- 
stroy the  whole  British  navy — by  contract." 

By  this  time  all  the  quidnuncs  of  the  room  had 
gathered  around  us,  each  pregnant  with  some  mighty 
scheme  for  the  salvation  of  his  country. — One  pa- 
thetically lamented  that  we  had  no  such  men  among 
us  as  the  famous  Toujoursdort  and  Grossitout ;  who, 
when  the  celebrated  captain  Tranchemont  made  war 
against  the  city  of  Kalacahabalaba,  utterly  discom- 
fited the  great  king  Bigstaff,  and  blew  up  his  whole 
army  by  sneezing. — Another  imparted  a  sage  idea, 
which  seems  to  have  occupied  more  heads  than  one ; 
that  is,  that  the  best  way  of  fortifying  the  harbour 
was  to  ruin  it  at  once :  choke  the  channel  with  rocks 
and  blocks  ;  strew  it  with  chevaux-de-frises  and  tor- 
pedoes :  and  make  it  like  a  nursery-garden,  full  of 
men-traps  and  spring-guns.  No  vessel  would  then 
have  the  temerity  to  enter  our  harbour ;  we  should 
not  even  dare  to  navigate  it  ourselves.  Or  if  no 
daeaper  way  could  be  devised,  let  Governor's  Island 
be  raised  by  levers  and  pulleys — floated  with  empty 
casks,  &c.,  towed  down  to  the  Narrows,  and  dropped 
phimp  in  the  very  mouth  of  the  harbour ! — "  But," 
said  I,  "would  not  the  prosecution  of  these  whim- 
whams    be    rather  expensive  and   dilatory  ? " 

'  Fshaw  I "  cried  the  other — "  what's  a  million  of 
money  to  an  experiment ;  the  true  spirit  of  our  econ- 
omy requires  tnat  we  should  spare  no  expense  in 
discovering  the  cheapest  mode  of  defendmg  our- 


selves ;  and  then  if  all  these  modes  should  bi ,  why 
you  know  the  worst  we 'have  to  do  is  to  return  to 
the  old-fashioned  hum-drum  mode  of  forts  and  bat 
teries."  "  By  which  time,"  cried  I,  ''  the  arrival  of 
the  enemy  may  have  rendered  their  erection  super- 
fluous." 

A  shrewd  old  gentleman,  who  stood  listening  by, 
with  a  mischievously  equivocal  look,  oltserved  that 
the  most  effectual  mode  of  repulsing  a  fleet  from  out 
ports  would  be  to  administer  them  a  proclamatioD 
from  time  to  time,  till  it  operated. 

Unwilling  to  leave  the  company  without  demon- 
strating my  patriotism  and  ingenuity,  I  communi- 
cated a  plan  of  defence ;  which,  in  truth,  was  sug- 
gested lone  since  by  that  infallible  oracle  MUSTA- 
PHA,  who  had  as  clear  a  head  for  cobweb-weaving 
as  ever  dignified  the  shoulders  of  a  projector.  He 
thought  the  most  effectual  mode  would  be  to  assem- 
ble all  the  slang-vjhangers,  great  and  small,  from  all 
parts  of  the  state,  and  marshal  them  at  the  battery ; 
where  they  should  be  exposed,  point  blank,  to  the 
enemy,  and  form  a  tremendous  body  of  scolding  in- 
fantry; similar  to  the  poiisards  or  doughty  cham- 
pions of  Billingsgate.  They  should  be  exhorted  to 
fire  away,  without  pity  or  remorse,  in  sheets,  half- 
sheets,  columns,  hand-bills,  or  squibs ;  great  canon, 
little  canon,  pica,  eerman-text,  stereotype,  and  to 
run  their  enemies  through  and  through  with  sharp- 
pointed  italics.  They  should  have  orders  to  show 
no  quarter — to  blaze  away  in  their  loudest  epithets 

"  miscreants  I"  "  murderers  I "  '•  barbarians  I " 

"pirates I"  "robbers I"  "Blackguards!"  and 
to  do  away  all  fear  of  consequences,  they  should  be 
guaranteed  from  all  dangers  of  pillory,  kicking,  cuff- 
ing, nose-pulling,  whipping-post,  or  prosecution  for 
libels.  If,  continued  Mustapha,  you  wish  men  to 
fight  well  and  valiantly,  they  must  l)e  allowed  those 
weapons  they  have  been  used  to  handle.  Your  coun- 
trymen are  notoriously  adroit  in  the  management  of 
the  tongue  and  the  pen,  and  conduct  all  their  battles 
by  speeches  or  newspapers.  Adopt,  therefore,  the 
plan  I  have  pointed  out ;  and  rely  upon  it  that  let  any 
fleet,  however  large,  be  but  once  assailed  by  this  bat- 
tery of  slang-whangers,  and  if  they  have  not  entirely 
lost  the  sense  of  hearing,  or  a  regard  for  their  own 
characters  and  feelings,  they  will,  at  the  very  first 
fire,  slip  their  cables  and  retreat  with  as  much  pre- 
cipitation as  if  they  had  unwarily  entered  into  the 
atmosphere  of  the  Bohxn  upas.  In  this  manner 
may  your  wars  be  conducted  with  proper  economy  j 
ana  it  will  cost  no  more  to  drive  off  a  fleet  than  to 
write  up  a  party,  or  write  down  a  bashaw  with  three 
tails. 

The  sly  old  gentleman,  I  have  before  mentioned, 
was  highly  delighted  with  this  plan ;  and  proposed, 
as  an  improvement,  that  mortars  should  be  placed 
on  the  battery,  which,  instead  of  throwing  shells  and 
such  trifles,  might  be  charged  with  newspapers, 
Tammany  addresses,  etc.,  by  way  of  red-hot  shot, 
which  would  undoul)tedly  be  very  potent  in  blowing 
up  any  powder-magazine  they  might  chance  to  come 
in  contact  with.  He  concluded  by  informing  the 
company,  that  in  the  course  of  a  few  evening  he 
would  nave  the  honour  to  present  them  with  a 
scheme  for  loading  certain  vessels  with  news- 
papers, resolutions  of  "numerous  and  respectable 
meetings,"  and  other  combustibles,  which  vessels 
were  to  be  blown  directly  in  the  midst  of  the  enemy 
by  the  bellows  of  the  slane-whangers :  and  he  was 
much  mistaken  if  they  would  not  be  more  fatal  than 
fire-ships,  bomb-ketches,  gun-boats,  or  even  torpe- 
does. 

These  are  but  two  or  three  specimens  of  the  'Mt> 
ure  and  efficacy  of  the  innumetable  plans  with  wi.'«b 
this  city  abounds.  £yery  body  teems  charged  to  ti.« 


SALMAGUNDI. 


687 


■raulewlth  gunpowder,— «very  eye  flashes  fireworks 
tnd  torpedoes,  and  every  comer  is  occupied  by  knou 
of  inflammatory  projectors ;  not  one  of  whom  but 
has  some  preposterous  mode  of  destruction  which 
be  has  proved  to  be  infallible  by  a  previous  experi- 
ment in  a  tub  of  water  t 

Even  Jeremy  Cockloft  has  causht  the  infection,  to 
the  great  annoyance  of  the  inhabitants  of  Cockloft- 
hall,  whither  he  retired  to  make  his  experiments  un- 
disturbed. At  one  time  all  the  mirrors  in  the  house 
^«ere  unhun{{, — their  collected  rays  thrown  into  the 
hot-liouse,  to  try  Archimedes'  plan  of  burning- 
glasMS ;  and  the  honest  old  gardener  was  almost 
imocked  down  by  what  he  mistook  for  a  stroke  of 
the  sun,  but  which  turned  out  to  be  nothing  more 
than  a  sudden  attack  of  one  of  these  tremendous 
jack-o'-lantems.  It  became  dangerous  to  walk 
through  the  court-yard  for  fear  of  an  explosion :  and 
the  whole  family  was  thrown  into  absolute  distress 
and  consternation  bv  a  letter  from  the  old  house- 
keeper to  Mrs.  Cockiolt ;  informing  her  of  his  hav- 
ing blown  up  a  favourite  Chinese  gander,  which  I 
had  brought  from  Canton,  as  he  was  majestically 
sailing  in  the  duck-pond. 

"  in  the  multitude  of  counsellors  there  is  safety ; " 
—if  so,  the  defenceless  city  of  Gotham  has  nothing 
to  apprehend ; — but  much  do  I  fear  that  so  many 
excellent  and  infallible  projects  will  be  presentetl, 
that  we  shall  be  at  a  loss  which  to  ailopt ;  and  the 
peaceable  inhabitants  fare  like  a  famous  projector  of 
rny  acquaintance,  whose  house  was  unfortunately 
plundered  while  he  was  contriving  a  patent  lock  to 
secure  his  door. 


rnOM  MY  BLBOW-CHAIR. 
.%  RETROSPECT;  OR,  "WHAT  YOU  WILL." 


or  even  torpe- 


Lolling  in  my  elbow-chair  this  fine  summer 
noon,  I  feel  myselt  insensibly  yielding  to  that  genial 
feeling  of  indolence  the  season  is  so  well  litted  to  in- 
spire. Every  one  who  is  blessed  with  a  little  of  the 
delicious  languor  of  disposition  that  delights  in  re- 
pose, must  often  have  sported  among  the  faery 
scenes,  the  golden  visions,  the  voluptuous  reveries, 
that  swim  before  the  imagination  at  such  moments, 
and  which  so  much  resemble  those  blissful  sensa- 
tions a  Mussulman  enjoys  after  his  favourite  indul- 
gence of  opium,  which  Will  Wizard  declares  can  be 
compared  to  nothing  but  "  swimming  in  an  ocean 
of  peacocks'  feathers."  In  such  a  mood,  every  l>ody 
must  be  sensible  it  would  be  idle  and  unprofitable  for 
a  man  •  to  send  his  wits  a-gadding  on  a  voyage  of 
discovery  into  futurity ;  or  even  to  trouble  himself 
with  a  laborious  investigation  of  what  is  actually 
passing  under  his  eye.  We  are  at  such  times  more 
disposed  to  resort  to  the  pleasures  of  memory  than 
to  those  of  the  imagination ;  and,  like  the  wayfaring 
traveller,  reclining  Tor  a  moment  on  his  statT,  had 
'«ther  contemplate  the  ground  we  have  travelled, 
than  the  region  which  is  yet  before  us. 
_  I  could  here  amuse  myself  and  stultify  my  read- 
ers v/ith  a  most  elaborate  and  ingenious  parallel  be- 
tween authors  and  travellers ;  but  in  this  balmy 
season  which  makes  men  stupid  and  dogs  mad,  and 
when  doubtless  many  of  our  most  strenuous  ad- 
mirers have  great  difficulty  in  keeping  awake 
through  the  day,  it  would  be  cruel  to  saddle  them 
with  the  formidable  difficulty  of  putting  two  ideas 
together  and  drawing  *  conclusion  ;  or  in  the  learn- 
ed phrase,  forging  syiUgisms  in  Baroco  .•-  a  terrible 
anuertaking  for  the  dog  days    ♦©  say  the  truth,  my 


observations  weie  only  intended  to  prove  th;>*  thit, 
of  all  others,  is  the  most  auspicious  moment,  and 
my  present,  the  most  favourable  mood  for  indulging 
in  a  retrospect.  Whether,  like  certain  great  person- 
ages of  the  day,  in  attempting  to  prove  one  thing,  I 
have  exposed  another;  or  whether,  like  ceruda 
other  ureat  personages,  in  attempting  to  prove  s 
great  deal,  I  have  proved  nothing  at  ail,  I  leave  tc 
my  readers  to  decide  ;  provided  they  have  the  powei 
and  inclination  so  to  do ;  but  a  rktrospkct  will  I 
take  notwithstanding. 

1  ^m  perfectly  aware  that  in  doing  this  I  shall  la\ 
myself  open  to  the  charge  of  imitation,  than  whicn 
a  man  might  be  better  accused  of  downright  house- 
breaking ;  for  it  has  been  a  standing  rule  with  many 
of  my  illustrious  predecessors,  occasionally,  and  par- 
ticularly at  the  conclusion  of  a  volume,  to  look  over 
their  shoulder  and  chuckle  at  the  miracles  they  had 
achieved.  But  as  I  l^fore  professed,  1  am  deter- 
mined to  hold  myself  entirely  independent  of  all 
manner  of  opinions  and  criticisms  as  the  only  method 
of  getting  on  in  this  world  in  any  thing  like  a 
straight  line.  True  it  is,  I  may  sometimes  seem  to 
angle  a  little  for  the  good  opinion  of  mankind  by 
giving  them  some  excellent  reasons  for  doing  unrea- 
sonable things ;  but  this  is  merely  to  show  them, 
that  although  I  may  occasionally  go  wrong,  it  is  not 
for  want  of  knowing  how  to  go  right ;  and  here  I 
will  lay  down  a  maxim,  which  will  for  ever  entitle 
me  to  the  gratitude  of  my  inexperienced  readers, 
namely,  that  a  man  always  gets  more  credit  in  the 
eyes  of  this  naughty  world  for  sinning  wiKully,  than 
for  sinning  through  sheer  ignorance. 

It  will  doubtless  be  insisted  by  many  ingenious 
cavillers,  who  will  be  meddling  with  what  does  not 
at  all  concern  them,  that  this  retrospect  should 
have  been  taken  at  the  commencement  of  our  seo 
ond  volume ;  it  is  usual,  I  know :  moreover,  it  W 
natural.  So  soon  as  a  writer  has  once  accomplished 
a  volume,  he  forthwith  becomes  wonderfully  increas- 
ed in  altitude !  he  steps  upon  his  book  as  upon  a 
pedestal,  and  is  elevated  in  proportion  to  its  magni- 
tude. A  duodecimo  makes  nim  one  inch  taller ;  an 
octavo,  three  inches ;  a  quarto,  six :— but  he  who  has 
made  out  to  swell  a  folio,  looks  down  upon  his  fellow- 
creatures  from  such  a  fearful  height  that,  ten  to  one, 
the  poor  man's  head  is  turned  for  ever  afterwards. 
From  such  a  lofty  situation,  therefore,  it  is  natural 
an  author  should  cast  his  eyes  behind  ;  and  having 
reached  the  first  landing  place  on  the  stairs  of  im- 
mortality, may  reasonably  be  allowed  to  plead  his 
privilege  to  look  back  over  the  height  he  has  ascend- 
ed. I  have  deviated  a  little  from  this  venerable  cus- 
tom, merely  that  our  retrospect  might  fall  in  the  dog 
days—of  all  days  in  the  year  most  congenial  to 
the  indulgence  of  a  httle  self-sufficiency  ;  inasmuch 
as  people  have  then  little  to  do  but  to  retire  within 
the  sphere  of  self,  and  make  the  mos»  of  what  they 
find  there. 

Let  it  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  we  think 
ourselves  a  whit  the  wiser  or  better  since  we  have 
finished  our  volume  than  we  were  before ;  on  the 
contrary,  we  seriously  assure  our  readers  that  we 
were  fully  possessed  of  all  the  wisdom  and  morality 
it  contains  at  the  moment  we  commenced  writing. 
It  is  the  world  which  has  grown  wiser, — not  us ;  we 
have  thrown  our  mite  into  the  common  stock  of 
knowledge,  we  have  shared  our  morsel  with  the  ig- 
norant multitude;  and  so  far  from  elevating  our- 
selves above  the  world,  our  sole  endeavour  has  beea 
to  raise  the  world  to  our  own  level,  and  make  it  as 
wise  .IS  we,  its  disinterested  benefactors. 

To  a  moral  writer  like  myself,  who,  next  to  his 
own  comfort  and  entertainment,  has  the  good  of  his 
fellow-citizens  at  heart,  a  retrospect  is  but  a  sorn 


f 


088 


WORKS   OV  WASHINGTON    IRVING 


W 


Ui 


:\: 


amusement  Like  the  industrious  husbandman,  he 
often  cuntempl.iti-s  in  silent  disapnointment  his 
labours  wasted  on  a  barren  soil,  or  tne  seed  he  hns 
carefully  sown,  chol<ed  by  a  redundancy  of  worthless 
weeds.  I  expected  long  ere  this  to  have  seen  a  com- 
plete reformation  m  manners  and  morals,  achieveit 
Sour  united  eflbrts.  My  fancy  echoed  to  the  iip- 
mdini;  voices  o*  %  irirlsted  generation ;  I  antici- 
pated, with  prou  I  satisfaction,  the  period,  not  far 
distant,  when  our  work  would  be  introduced  into  the 
academies  with  which  every  lane  and  alley  of  our 
cities  abounds  ;  when  our  precepts  would  t)e  gently 
inducted  into  every  unlucky  urchin  by  force  of 
birch,  and  my  iron-hound  physiog^nomy,  as  taken  by 
Will  Wiiard,  be  as  notorious  iis  that  of  Noah  Web- 
ster, iunr.  Esq.,  or  his  no  less  renowned  predecessor, 
the  illustrious  Oilworth,  of  spellin)T-t)ook  unmortality. 
But,  weil-a-day  I  to  let  my  readers  into  a  profound 
secret — the  expectations  of  man  are  like  the  varied 
hues  that  tinge  the  distant  prospect ;  never  to  be 
realized,  never  to  be  enjoyed  but  in  (wrspcctive. 
Luckless  Launcelot,  that  the  huinhlcst  of  the  many 
air  castles  thou  hast  erected  should  prove  a  "  base- 
less fabric  !  "  Much  does  it  grieve  me  to  confess, 
that  after  all  our  lectures,  precepts,  and  excellent  .id- 
monitions,  the  people  of  Nkw-Yokk  are  nearly  as 
much  given  to  backsliding  and  ill-nature  as  ever ;  they 
are  just  as  much  abantloned  to  dancing,  and  tea- 
drinking  ;  and  as  to  scandal.  Will  Wizard  informs 
me  that,  by  a  rough  computation,  since  the  last 
cargo  of  gunpowder-tea  from  Canton,  no  less 
than  eighteen  characters  have  been  blown  up,  be- 
sides a  number  of  others  that  have  been  wofully 
shattered. 

The  ladies  still  labour  under  the  same  scarcity  of 
muslms,  and  delight  in  flesh-coloured  silk  stockings  ; 
It  is  evklent,  however,  that  our  advice  has  had  very 
considerable  effect  on  them,  as  they  endep.vour  to 
act  as  opposite  to  it  as  possible ;  this  being  what 
Evergreen  calls  female  independence.  As  to  the 
Sttaildles,  they  abound  as  much  as  ever  in  Hro.id- 
way,  particularly  on  Sundays ;  and  Wizard  roundly 
asserts  that  he  supped  in  company  with  a  knot  of 
them  a  few  evenings  since,  when  they  liquidated  a 
whole  Birmingham  consignment,  in  a  b.-itch  of  im- 
perial chamiMign.  I  have,  furthermore,  in  the  course 
of  a  month  past,  detected  no  less  than  three  Giblct 
families  making  their  first  onset  towards  style  and 
gentility  in  the  very  manner  we  have  heretofore 
rcprob.ited.  Nor  have  our  utrriost  efforts  been  able 
to  check  the  progress  of  that  alarming  epidemic, 
the  rage  for  punning,  which,  though  doubtless  origi- 
nally intended  merely  to  ornament  and  enliven  con- 
versation by  little  sports  of  fancy,  thre^itens  to  over- 
run and  poison  the  whole,  like  the  baneful  ivy  which 
destroys  the  useful  plant  it  first  embellished.  Now 
1  look  upon  an  habitual  punster  as  a  depredator  up- 
on conversation  ;  aad  1  have  remarked  sometimes 
one  of  these  ofTenders,  sitting  silent  on  the  watch 
for  an  hour  together,  until  .some  luckless  wight,  un- 
fortunfttely  for  the  ease  and  quiet  of  the  company, 
dropped  a  phrase  susceptible  of  a  double  meaning  ; 

—when pep,  our  punster  would  dart  out  like  a 

TCtenuj  mouser  from  ner  covert,  seise  the  unlucky 
word,  and  after  worrying  ancl  mumbling  at  it 
sntil  it  was  capable  of  no  further  marring,  relapse 
again  into  silent  watchfulness,  and  lie  in  wait  for 
ariother  opportunity.  —Even  this  might  be  borne  with, 
by  the  aia  of  a  little  philosophy  ;  but  the  worst  of  it 
is,  thev  are  not  content  to  manufacture  puns  and 
laugh  neartily  at  them  themselves ;  but  they  expect 
we  should  laugh  with  them ; — which  I  consider  as 
an  intolerable  hardship,  and  a  flagrant  imposition  on 
good-nature.  Let  those  gentlemen  fritter  away  con- 
versation with  impunity,  and  deal  out  their  wiis  in 


sixpenny  hits  if  they  please  ;  but  I  beg  1  m«v  hax 
the  choice  of  refusing  currency  to  their  small  cnan(,'r 
I  am  seriously  afraiiH  however,  that  our  junto  is  noi 
quite  free  from  the  inlectiun ;  nay,  that  it  hat  ever, 
approached  so  near  as  to  menace  the  tranquillity  o\ 
my  ellHjw-chair :  for.  Will  Witaril,  as  we  were  ir, 
caucus  the  other  night,  absolutely  electrified  Pind.ii 
an  I  myself  with  a  most  palpable  and  perplcxini, 
pun ;  h.nl  it  been  a  torpedo,  it  could  not  nave  moi» 
discomposed  the  Iraternity.  Sentence  of  banish- 
ment was  unanimously  decreed :  but  on  his  confess- 
ing that,  like  many  celebrated  wits,  he  was  merely 
retailing  other  m'  n's  wares  on  commission,  he  waa 
for  that  once  forgiven  on  condition  of  refraining  from 
such  diabolical  pr.tctices  in  lutura.  Pindar  is  par- 
ticularly outr.tgeous  against  punsters  ;  and  quite  as- 
tonished and  put  me  to  a  nonplus  a  day  or  two  since, 
by  asking  abruptly  "  whether  1  thought  a  punster 
could  be  a  good  christian  ?  "  He  followed  up  his 
question  triumphantly  by  uffering  to  prove,  by  sound 
logic  and  historical  fact,  that  the  Roman  empire 
owed  its  decline  and  fall  to  a  pun  :  and  that  nothing 
tended  so  much  to  ileniorali/e  the  French  nation,  an 
thi'ir  alximinable  rage  for  jrux  d«  mo/s. 

But  what,  alxjve  every  thing  else,  has  caused  me 
much  vexation  of  spirit,  and  displeased  me  most  with 
this  stiff-necked  nation,  is,  that  in  spite  of  all  the  se- 
rious and  profound  censures  of  the  sage  Mustapha, 
in  his  various  letters— they  will  talk  ! — tiiey  will  still 
wag  their  tongues,  and  chatter  like  very  slang- 
wh.angers  !  this  is  a  degree  of  obstinacy  incompre- 
hensible in  the  extreme  ;  and  is  another  proof  now 
alarming  is  the  force  of  habit,  and  how  dithcult  it  is 
to  reduce  beings,  accustomed  to  talk,  to  that  statt 
of  silence  which  is  the  very  acme  of  human  wisdom. 

We  can  only  account  for  these  disappointments  in 
our  motlerate  and  reasonable  expectations,  by  sup- 
posing the  world  so  deeply  sunk  in  the  mire  of  delin- 
quency, that  not  even  Hercules,  were  he  to  put  hii 
shoulder  to  the  axletree,  would  be  able  to  extricate  it. 
We  comfort  ourselves,  however,  by  the  reflection 
that  there  are  at  least  three  g(X>d  men  left  in  this  de- 
generate age  to  Itenefit  the  world  by  ex.imple  should 
precept  ultimately  fail.  And  borrowing,  lor  once,  an 
example  from  certain  sleepy  writers  who,  after  the  first 
emotions  of  surprise  at  hnding  their  invaluable  effu- 
sions neglected  or  despised,  console  themselves  with 
the  idea  that  'tis  a  stupid  age.  and  look  forward  to 
posterity  for  redress ; — we  bequeath  our  first  volume 
to  future  generations,  and  much  good  may  it  do 
them.  Heaven  grant  they  may  be  able  to  read  it ! 
for,  if  our  fashionable  mode  of  educatum  continues 
to  improve,  as  of  late,  1  am  under  serious  apprehen- 
sions that  the  period  is  not  far  distant  w|ien  the  dis- 
cipline of  the  (lancing  master  will  supcrse<le  that  oi 
the  grammarian  ;  crotchets  and  quavers  supplant  the 
alphabet ;  and  {he  heels,  by  an  antipo<lean  manoeuvre, 
obtain  entire  pre-eminence  over  the  head.  How  does 
my  heart  yearn  for  poor  dear  posterity,  when  this 
work  shall  become  as  unintelligible  to  our  grand- 
children as  it  seems  to  be  to  their  grand  lathers  and 
grandmothers. 

In  fact,  for  I  love  to  be  candid,  we  begin  to  $u»- 
pect  that  many  people  read  our  nunilnrs,  merely  for 
their  amusement,  without  paying  any  attention  to 
the  serious  truths  conveyetl  iii  every  page.  Unpar- 
donable want  of  penetration  !  not  that  we  wish  to 
restrict  our  readers  in  the  article  of  laughing,  which 
we  consider  as  one  of  tlie  dearest  prenjgatives  of 
man,  and  the  distinguishing  characteristic  which 
raises  him  above  all  other  animals :  let  thun  laugh, 
therefore,  if  they  will,  providetl  they  profit  at  the  same 
time,  and  do  not  mistake  our  object  It  is  one  of  our 
indisputable  facts  that  it  is  easier  to  laugh  ten  follies 
out  of  countenance  than  to  coax,  reason  or  flog  a 


SALMAGUNDI. 


08f 


n«a  eat  of  ooa.  In  thli  odd.  sinipUM-  and  Indescrib- 
able age,  which  is  neither  the  agt;  r>i  g<M,  xilvTr,  iron 
bra«t,  chivalry,  or  /i//r,  as  Sir  Joim  e,irr  asserts,  a 
grave  writer  who  atieinpts  to  ait.icic  follv  wiih  the 
heavy  artillery  ul  inoral  reasoinnt',  will  farr  like 
Smollet's  honest  pe'lant,  who  clearly  (It-iiioiiiitratL'd 
by  angles,  Sic,  after  the  manner  of  Kuclid,  that  it 
Wiis  wrong  to  do  evil ; — and  was  laui(hcd  at  for  his 
(Miins.  Take  my  word  for  it,  a  little  well-applied 
ridicule,  like  Hannibal's  application  of  vinegar  to 
tocks,  will  do  more  with  certain  hard  heads  and  oh* 
luiatt;  leans,  than  all  the  lo^ic  or  diuiuinsiniiions 
in  Longinus  or  Euclid.  But  the  people  o(  Gotham, 
wise  suuls  I  are  so  much  accustomed  to  see  morality 
approach  them  clothed  in  fi>rmidable  wigs  and  sable 
garbs,  "with  leaden  eyr  that  loves  the  ground,"  that 
they  can  never  recognise  her  when,  drt-st  in  gay  at- 
tire, she  comes  tripping  towards  them  with  smiles 

and  sunshine  in  her  countenance. Well,  let  the 

rogues  remain  in  happy  igtiorance,  for  "  ignorance  is 
bliss,"  as  the  poet  says  ;   -and  1  put  .is  implicit  faith 

in  poetry  as  I  ilo  in  rhe  almanac  or  the  news|>aper ; 

we  will  improve  them,  without  iheir  being  tne  wiser 
for  it,  and  they  shall  bet:ome  betttir  in  spite  of  their 
teeth,  and  without  their  having  the  least  suspicion 
of  the  reformation  working  withii-  them. 

Among  all  our  manilold  grievances,  however,  still 
wme  small  but  vivid  niys  ot  sunL.hiiie  (Kcasionalb- 
brighten  along  our  |»th  ;  cheering  nur  steps,  and  in- 
viting us  to  persevere. 

The  public  have  paid  some  little  regard  to  a  few 
articles  of  our  advice;  —  they  have  p.irchased  our 
numljcrs  freelv ; — so  much  the  belter  for  our  pub- 
lisher ; — they  have  read  them  attentively  ; — so  much 
the  better  tor  themselves.  The  melancholy  fate  of 
my  dwar  aunt  Charity  has  had  a  wonderful  effect ; 
and  I  have  now  before  me  a  letter  from  a  gcntlei.ian 
who  lives  opposite  to  .i  couple  of  old  ladies,  rcmark- 
*ble  for  thfi  interest  they  took  in  his  affairs; — his 
3)>artment3  were  absolutely  in  a  state  of  blockade, 
and  he  was  on  the  mint  of  changing  his  lodgings,  or 
capitulating,  until  the  ap|)earance  of  our  ninth  num- 
ber, which  he  immediately  sent  over  with  liis  compli- 
'ments  ; — the  good  ladies  louk  the  hint,  and  have 
scarcely  appeared  at  their  window  since.  As  to  the 
wooden  gentlemen,  our  friend  Miss  Sparkle  assures 
me,  they  .'ire  wonderfully  improved  by  our  criticisms, 
and  sometimes  venture  to  make  a  remark,  or  attempt 
a  pun  in  company,  to  the  great  edification  of  all  who 
happen  to  understand  them.  As  to  red  shawls,  they 
are  entirely  discarded  from  the  fair  shoulders  of  our 
ladies — ever  since  the  last  iinportaiion  of  finery; — 
nor  has  any  lady,  since  the  cold  weather,  ventured  to 
expose  her  ell>ows  to  th',  admiring  ga^e  of  ;  crutiniz- 
ing  passengers.  Hut  there  is  one  victory  we  have 
acnieved  which  has  given  us  more  pleasure  than  to 
have  written  down  the  whole  administration  :  I  am  as- 
sured, from  unquestionable  authority,  tliat  our  young 
ladies,  doubtless  in  consequence  of  our  weighty  ad- 
monitions, have  not  once  indulged  in  that  intoxicat- 
ing, intlammatory,  and  whirligig  dance,  the  waltz — 
ever  since  hot  weather  commenced.  True  it  is,  > 
understand,  an  attempt  was  made  to  exhibit  it  h, 
some  of  th:  sable  fair  ones  at  the  last  African  bi^f, 
but  it  was  highly  disapproved  of  by  all  the  resp  ,i  U- 
bk  elderly  ladies  present. 

These  aie  sweet  sources  of  coifilr.rt  to  atone  for 
$be  many  wrongs  and  tiji'Tt-)  r.-^si  niations  heaped 
upon  us  b-  the  vvorlu  ;—  Sor  even  we  have  experi- 
enced its  ill  -.lature.  How  often  have  we  heard  our- 
selves reproached  for  the  insidious  applications  of 
the  uncharitable  1 — how  often  have  we  been  accused 
of  emotions  which  never  found  an  entrance  into  our 
303oms  ! — how  often  have  our  sportive  etTusions  been 
vrested  to  serve  the  purposes  of  particular  enmity 


and  hittemeu? Mf<ldlesome  snirfts!    little    dc 

they  know  our  disposition  ;  we  "  Kick  g:dl "  to  wound 
the  feel'ngs  of  a  single  innocent  individual;  we  can 
even  forgive  them  from  the  very  bottom  of  our  souls , 
may  tliey  meet  as  ready  a  forgiveness  from  their  owi 
consciences  I  like  true  and  inde|)endent  b.-ichelors, 
having  no  domestic  cares  to  interfere  with  our  gen- 
eral benevolence,  we  consider  it  incumbent  upon  us 
to  watch  over  the  welfare  of  society  ;  and  althougtj 
we  are  indebted  to  the  world  for  little  cUe  tl  an  lett- 
handed  favours,  yet  we  feel  a  proud  satisfaction  in 
requiting  evil  with  good,  and  the  sneer  of  illiherality 
with  the  unfeigned  smile  of  good  humour.  With 
these  mingled  motives  ol  selhshness  and  philanthropy 
we  commenced  our  work,  and  if  we  cannot  solace 
ourselves  with  the  consciousness  of  having  done 
much  gooil  I  yet  there  is  still  one  pleasing  consola- 
tion left,  which  the  world  can  neither  give  nor  take 
away.  There  are  moments,— lingering  moments  of 
listless  indifference  and  heavy-hearted  desjiondency, 
— when  our  best  hopes  an(l  alTections  slipping,  as 
they  sometiines  will,  from  their  hold  on  those  objects 
to  which  they  usually  cling  for  support,  seem  aban- 
doned on  the  wide  w,'iste  of  cheerless  existence,  with* 
out  a  place  to  cast  ancho"* ;  without  a  shrre  ir  view 
to  excite  a  sinur'e  wish,  c.  to  give  a  nomeni^ry  inter- 
est to  conten')l;ttii!(i.  W^-  TocV-  back  wiih  delight 
ujxin  ni.iny  ol  th.-se  monr?i'i.is  o:  mental  gloom,  whiTed 
s'way  b)  .he  ci  •  "rlVI  ej  .;rris<  i.f  u^r  pen,  and  con- 
sider e>'.'r/ tuil'  liiur.iph  ovr-t/.e  spl'-en  as  retard- 
iny  the  ii>rrowr>i  ini.d  i"  time  in  its  insidious  en- 
croachments c>i.  „Mjr  brov/s.  If,  in  addition  to  oui 
own  an.use.itriti,  v;c  have,  a'i  we  jogged  carelessly 
laus{hiiig  tiot'C,  imjihw'  2'.vay  onr  te/i;-  oi  dejeiJion 
aiul  calf..)  .urih  a  '■•u  it  in  ita  pl;ir.e- -"f  -nr  iiavi 
brightc.»ij(l  'i'.  jii'.' (Ui.ntecance  C  t*.  siigi'  ch.K?  of 
sorn*/-.  -'.ve  shnU  |.-el  .ilmost  -.h  .luch  loy  and  i> 
jor,  ii;;  ),.<.  a  >iii,ii;-w^niv«>  do.-.i  wiien  he  baiH«  *  }u<i 
j>-n  in  the  hy,f.».  i  bJool  rif  a  palion  :.r.<'  I:f.'nfl4.'.'".f ; 
or  fcritiff  es  one  moi ;  lilustrioj.^  >  .rt!;i:  ou  '' -i  dtar 
Gt  party  •i.nimosity 


TO    P.EtVDURJi    AND  CCRREiil'ONDENTS. 

It  is  rv;r  misftirtune  tc>  h:  frequently  I'.'.rered,  m 
our  peregrirp-oons  .ibodt  (his  b.ess«:d  city,  b;  ce'vain 
critical  v;.id-hies  ;  tvno  l.nizz  around  i'.nd  merely  atiaci: 
the  aki>i.  wil'iixi;  ev,;.-  being  auli;  to  pei)etrirc  'ht 
body.  The  ffput.iliou  <f  our  jirotnisini?  p'l-ti'gi, 
Jeremy  CocwloU  tl-e  vM'.t'^tr,  has  bftC'i  .issaiiti'  by 
these  skin-(k'cj..  critics  r  they  luve  questi'-nt-d  his 
claims  to  originality,  .-xnd  i-xri  hdited  tivM  tlv:  ideas 
for  his  New-jersey  Tour  wc.v  '."^r.-oved  fr jni  i  iate 
work  entitled  "  Mv  PocWET-nooK. '  As  here  is  no 
literary  cffei.'jc  r  ore  despicable  ir  tl-e  ( yts  of  the 
trio  ihan  i-oricwiiifr,  \^<;  iminediai.  ■!/ c.'Jie.t  Jtrcmy 
ivi  an  account"  when  If:  |  roved,  by  the  dedication 
of  ihi?  work  in  quejtiou,  that  it  was  hn-t  pubhshed  in 
L  iiulo"  n  .M^.-h,  '.807 — ^^<\  that  his  "Stranger  in 
Now  Jir.ey  "  h.itl  in.u'c  ts  appeararw:e  on  the  24th 
of  the  iirec.'ding  Fei  ri.;.ry. 

Vt  were  on  'he  point  of  acquitting  Jeremy  with 
honour  on  the  gri<and  that  it  was  impossible,  kncw- 
i't^;  HS  he  is,  to  borrow  from  a  foreign  work  one 
month  before  it  was  in  existence ;  when  Will  Wizard 
suddenly  took  up  the  cudgels  for  the  critics,  and  in- 
sisted that  nothing  was  more  probable  ;  for  he  recol- 
lected reading  ofan  ingenious  Dutch  author  who 
plainly  convicted  the  ancients  of  stealing  from  his 
labours ! So  much  for  criticism. 


Wb  have  received  a  host  of  fiiendly  and  Admoni- 
tory letters  troin  ditTercnt  quarters,  and  among  the 


ru  aiaaara 


AOO 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVINO. 


I'M 
&  > 


'A 


M 


rest  a  very  loving  epistle  from  George-town,  Colum- 
bia, signed  Teddy  M'Gundy,  who  addresses  us  by 
the  name  of  Saul  M'Gundy,  and  insists  that  we  are 
descended  from  the  same  Irish  progenitors,  and 
nearly  related.  As  friend  Teddy  seemg  to  be  an 
honest,  merr)  rogue,  we  are  sorry  that  we  cannot 
admit  his  claims  to  kindred ;  we  thank  him,  how- 
ever, for  his  good-will,  and  should  he  ever  be  inclined 
to  favour  us  with  another  epistle,  we  will  hint  to  him, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  to  our  other  numerous  cor- 
respondents, that  their  communications  will  be  in- 
finitely more  acceptable,  if  they  will  just  recollect  Tom 
Shuffleton's  advice,  "  pay  the  post-boy,  Muggins." 


No.  XIV.— SATURDAY,  SEPT.   19,  1807. 


LETTER    FROM   MUSTAPHA   RUB-A-DUB 
KELI    KHAiN. 

rO  ASKM  HACCHEM,  PRINCIPAL  SLAVV-DRIVKR  TO 
HIS   HIGHNESS   THE   BASHAW  OF  TRIPOLI. 


Health  and  joy  to  the  friend  of  my  heart ! — May 
the  angel  of  peace  ever  watch  over  thy  dwelling,  and 
the  star  of  prosperity  shed  its  benignant  lustre  on  all 
thy  undertakings.  Far  other  is  the  lot  of  thy  captive 
friend ; — his  brijjhtest  hopes  extend  but  to  a  length- 
ened period  of  weary  captivity,  and  memory  only 
adds  to  the  measure  of  his  griefs,  by  holding  up  a 
mirror  which  reflects  with  redoubled  charms  the 
hours  of  past  felicity.  In  midnight  slumbers  my  soul 
holds  sweet  converse  with  the  tender  objects  of  its 
affections; — it  is  then  the  exile  is  restored  to  his 
country ; — it  is  then  the  wide  waste  of  waters  that 
rolls  between  us  disappears,  and  I  clasp  to  my  bosom 
tlie  companion  of  my  youth ;  I  awake  and  find  it  is 
but  a  vision  of  the  night.  The  sigh  will  rise, — the 
tear  of  dejection  will  steal  down  my  cheek : — I  fly  to 
my  pen,  and  strive  to  forget  myself,  and  my  sorrows, 
in  conversing  with  my  friend. 

In  such  a  situation,  my  good  Asem,  it  cannot  be 
expected  that  I  should  be  able  so  wholly  to  abstract 
myself  from  my  own  feelings,  as  to  give  thee  a  full 
and  systematic  account  of  the  singular  people  among 
whom  my  disastrous  lot  has  been  cast.  I  can  only 
find  leisure,  from  my  own  individual  sorrows,  to 
entertain  thee  occasionally  with  some  of  the  most 
prominent  features  of  their  character ;  and  now  and 
then  a  solitary  picture  of  their  most  preposterous  ec- 
centricities. 

I  have  before  observed,  that  among  the  distinguish- 
mg  characteristics  of  the  people  of  this  logocracy,  is 
their  invincible  love  of  talking;  and,  that  I  could 
compare  the  nation  to  nothing  but  a  mighty  wind- 
mill. Thou  art  doubtless  at  a  loss  to  conceive  how 
this  mill  is  supplied  with  grist ;  or,  in  other  words, 
how  it  is  possible  to  furnish  subjects  to  supply  the 
perpetual  motion  of  so  many  tongues. 

I'he  genius  of  the  nation  appears  in  its  highest 
instre  in  this  particular  in  the  discovery,  or  rather 
the  application,  of  a  subject  which  seems  to  supply 
an  inexhaustible  mine  of  words.  It  is  nothing  more, 
my  friend,  than  Politics  ;  a  word  which,  I  declare 
to  thee,  has  perplexed  me  almost  as  much  as  the  re- 
doubtable one  of  economy.  On  consulting  a  diction- 
ary of  this  language,  I  found  it  denoted  the  science 
of  government ;  and  the  relations,  situations,  and 
dispositions  ol  states  and  empires. — Good,  thought  I, 
for  a  people  who  boast  of  governing  themselves 
where  could  not  be  a  more  important  subject  of  in- 
vestigation.    1  therefore   listened   attentively,    ex- 


pecting to  hear  from  "  the  m.»t  enlightened  peopk 
under  the  sun,"  for  so  they  modestly  term  them- 
selves, sublime  disputations  on  the  science  of  legisla- 
tion and  precepts  of  political  wisdom  that  would  not 
have  disgraced  our  great  prophet  and  legislator  him- 
self ! — but,  alas,  Asem  !  how  continually  are  my  ex- 
pectations disappointed  !  how  dignified  a  rneanin); 
does  this  word  Dear  in  the  dictionary ;-  -how  lie*- 
picible  its  common  application  ;  I  find  it  extending 
to  every  contemptible  discussion  of  local  animosity, 
and  every  petty  altercation  of  insignificant  individu- 
als. It  embraces,  alike,  all  manner  of  concerns; 
from  the  organization  of  a  divan,  the  election  of  a 
bashaw,  or  the  levying  of  an  army,  to  the  appoint- 
ment of  a  constable,  the  personal  disputes  of  two 
miserable  slang-whangers,  the  cleaning  of  the  streets, 
or  the  economy  of  a  dirt-cart,  A  couple  of  politicians 
will  quarrel,  with  the  most  vociferous  pertinacity, 
about  the  character  of  a  bum-bailiff  whom  nobociy 
cares  for;  or  the  deportment  of  a  little  great  man 
whom  nobody  knows; — and  this  is  called  talking 
politics ;  nay !  it  is  but  a  few  days  since  that  I  was 
annoyed  by  a  debate  between  two  of  my  fellow- 
lodgers,  wlio  were  magn.inimously  employed  in  con- 
demning a  luckless  wight  to  infamy,  because  he  chose 
to  wear  a  red  coat,  and  to  entertain  certain  erroneous 
opinions  some  thirty  years  ago.  Shocked  at  their  il- 
liberal and  vindictive  spirit,  1  rebuked  them  for  thus 
indulging  in  slander  and  uncharitableness,  about  the 
colour  of  a  coat ;  which  had  doubtless  for  many  years 
been  worn  out ;  or  the  belief  in  errors,  which,  in  all 
probability,  had  been  long  since  atoned  for  and 
abandoned  ;  but  they  justified  themselves  by  alleg- 
ing that  they  were  only  engaged  in  politics,  and  ex- 
erting that  liberty  of  speech,  ^nd  freedom  of  discus- 
sion, which  was  the  glory  and  safeguard  of  their 
national  independence.  "Ob,  Mahomet !  "  thought 
I,  "what  a  country  must  that  be,  which  builds  its 
political  safety  on  ruined  characters  and  the  perse- 
cution of  individuals ! " 

Into  what  transports  of  surprise  and  incredulity 
am  I  continually  betrayed,  as  the  character  of  this 
eccentric  people  gradually  developes  itself  to  my  ob- 
servations. Every  new  research  increases  the  per- 
plexities in  which  I  am  involved,  and  I  am  more  than 
ever  at  a  loss  where  to  place  tlicm  ir>  the  scale  of  my 
estimation.  It  is  thus  tne  philosopher,  in  pursuing 
truth  through  the  labynnth  of  doubt,  error,  and  mis- 
representation, frequently  finds  himself  bewildered  in 
the  mazes  of  contradictory  experience ;  and  almost 
wishes  he  could  quietly  retrace  his  wandering  steps, 
steal  back  into  the  patn  of  honest  ignorance,  and  jog 
on  once  more  in  contented  indifference. 

How  fertile  in  these  contradictions  is  this  extensive 
logocracy  I  Men  of  different  nations,  manners,  and 
languages  live  in  this  country  in  the  most  perfect 
harmony ;  and  nothing  is  more  common  than  to  see 
individuals,  whose  respective  governments  are  at  va- 
riance, taking  each  other  by  the  hand  and  exchang- 
ing the  offices  of  friendship.  Nay,  even  or.  the  sub- 
ject of  rehgion,  which,  as  it  affects  our  dearest  inter- 
ests, our  earliest  opinions  and  prejudices,  some 
wariiith  and  heart-burnings  might  be  excused,  which, 
even  in  our  enlightened  country,  is  so  fruitful  in  dif' 
ference  between  man  and  man  ! — even  religion  occa- 
sions no  dissension  among  these  people ;  and  it  has 
even  been  discovered  by  one  of  their  sages  that  be- 
lieving in  one  God  or  twenty  Gods  '  neither  breaks 
a  man's  leg  nor  picks  his  pocket."  The  idolatrous 
Persian  may  here  bow  down  before  his  everlasting 
fire,  and  prostrate  himself  towards  the  glowinc  east. 
The  Chinese  may  adore  his  Fo,  or  his  Josh ;  the 
Egyptian  his  stork ;  and  the  Mussulman  practise, 
unmolested,  the  divine  precepts  of  our  immortal 
prophet.    Nay,  even  the  lorlom,  abandoned  Atheist 


SALMAGUNDI. 


691 


wbo  lays  down  at  nif  ht  without  committing  himself 
to  the  protection  of  heaven,  and  rises  in  the  momine 
without  returning  thanics  for  his  safety ; — who  hatn 
no  deitv  but  his  own  will; — whose  soul,  like  the 
sandy  aesert,  is  barren  of  every  flower  of  hope  to 
throw  a  soUtary  bloom  over  the  dead  level  of  sterility 
and  soflsn  the  wide  extent  of  desolation ; — whose 
darkened  views  extend  not  beyond  the  horizon  that 
bounds  his  cheerless  existence  ;-^to  whom  no  blissful 
[)erepective  opens  beyond  the  grave ; — even  he  is 
suffered  to  indulge  in  his  desperate  opinions,  with- 
out exciting  one  other  emotion  than  pity  or  contempt. 
But  this  mild  and  tolerating  spirit  reaches  not  be- 
yond the  pale  of  religion : — once  differ  in  politics,  in 
mere  theories,  visions,  and  chimeras,  the  growth  of 
interest,  of  folly,  or  madness,  and  deadly  warfare 
ensues ;  every  eye  flashes  fire,  every  tongus  <  loaded 
with  reproach,  and  every  heart  is  filled  with  gall  and 
bitterness. 

At  this  period  several  unjustifiable  and  serious  in- 
juries on  the  part  of  the  barbarians  of  the  British 
island,  have  given  a  new  impulse  to  the  tongue  and 
the  pen,  and  occasioned  a  terrible  wordy  fever. — Do 
not  suppose,  my  friend,  that  I  mean  to  condemn  any 
proper  and  dignified  expression  of  resentment  for 
injuries.  On  the  contrary,  I  love  to  see  a  word  be- 
fore a  blow :  for  "  in  the  fulness  of  the  heart  the 
tongue  moveth."  But  my  long  experience  has  con- 
vinced me  that  people  who  talk  the  most  about  tak- 
ing satisfaction  for  affronts,  generally  content  them- 
selves with  talking  instead  of  revenging  the  insult : 
like  the  street  women  of  this  country,  who,  after  a 
prodigious  scolding,  quietly  sit  down  and  fan  them- 
selves cool  as  fast  as  possible.  But  to  return  : — the 
rage  for  talking  has  now,  in  consequence  of  the  ag- 
gressions 1  alluded  to,  increased  to  a  degree  far  be- 
yos-d  what  I  have  observed  heretofore.  In  the  gar- 
dens of  his  highness  of  Tripoli  are  fifteen  thousand 
^>ce-hives,  three  hundred  peacocks,  and  a  prodigious 
number  of  parrots  and  baboons ; — and  yet  I  declare 
to  thee,  Asem,  that  their  buzzing,  and  squalling,  and 
chattering  is  nothing  compared  to  the  wild  uproar 
and  war  of  words  now  raging  within  the  bosom  of 
this  mighty  and  distracted  logocracy.  Politics  per- 
vade every  city,  every  village,  every  temple,  every 
porter-house ; — the  universal  question  is,  "  what  is 
the  news  ?  " — This  is  a  kind  of  challenge  to  political 
debate ;  and  as  no  two  men  think  exactly  alike,  'tis 
ten  to  one  but  before  they  finish  all  the  polite  phrases 
in  the  language  are  exhausted  by  way  of  giving  fire 
and  energy  to  argument.  What  renders  this  talking 
fever  more  alarming,  is  that  the  people  appear  to  be 
in  the  unhappy  state  of  a  patient  whose  palate  nau- 
seates the  medicine  best  calculated  for  the  cure  of 
his  disease,  and  seem  anxious  to  continue  in  the  full 
enjoyment  of  their  chattering  epidemic.  They  alarm 
each  other  by  direful  reports  and  fearful  apprehen- 
sions ;  like  I  have  seen  a  knot  of  old  wives  in  this 
country  entertain  themselves  with  stories  of  ghosts 
and  goblins  until  their  imaginations  were  in  a  most 
agonizing  panic.  Every  day  begets  some  new  tale, 
big  with  agitation ;  anci  the  busy  goddess,  rumour, 
to  speak  in  the  poetic  language  of  the  Christians,  is 
constantly  in  motion.  She  mounts  her  rattling  stage- 
wagon  and  gallops  about  the  country,  freighted  with 
a  load  of  "  hmts,"  "  informations,"  '  extracts  of  letters 
from  respectable  r-ntlemen,"  "observations  of  re- 
Mjcctabl:  correspondents,"  and  "  unquestionable  au- 
thorities ;" — which  her  high-priests,  the  slang-whang- 
ers,  retail  to  their  sapient  follo\\ers  with  all  the  so- 
'•■jnnity — and  all  the  authenticity  of  oracles.  True 
it  IS,  the  unfortunate  slang-whangers  are  sometimes 
at  a  loss  for  food  to  supply  this  insatiable  appetite 
for  intelligence ;  and  are,  not  unfrequently,  reduced 
to  the  necessity  of  manufacturing  dishes  suited  to 


the  taste  of  the  times :  *o  be  served  up  as  morning 
and  evening  repasts  to  their  disciples. 

When  the  hungry  politician  is  thus  full  charged 
with  important  information,  he  sallies  forth  to  give 
due  exercise  to  his  tongue :  and  tells  all  he  knows  to 
every  body  he  meets.  Now  it  is  a  thousand  to  one 
that  every  person  he  meets  is  just  as  wise  as  himself, 
charged  with  the  same  articles  of  information,  and 
possessed  of  the  same  violent  inclination  to  give  it 
vent ;  for  in  this  country  every  man  adopts  some 
particular  slang-whanger  as  the  standard  of  his  judg- 
ment, and  reails  every  thing  he  writes,  if  he  reads 
nothing  else ;  which  is  doubtless  the  reason  why  the 
people  of  this  logocracy  are  so  marvelously  enlight- 
ened. So  away  they  tilt  at  each  other  with  their 
borrowed  lances,  advancing  to  the  combat  with  the 
opinions  and  speculations  of  their  respective  slang- 
whangers,  whicn  in  all  probability  are  diametrically 
opposite  ; — here,  then,  arises  as  lair  an  opportunity 
for  a  battle  of  words  as  heart  could  wish ;  and  thou 
mayest  rely  upon  it,  Asem,  they  do  not  let  it  pass 
unimproved.  They  sometimes  begin  with  argument ; 
but  in  process  of  time,  as  the  tongue  begins  to  wax 
wanton,  other  auxiliaries  become  necessary ;  recrim- 
ination commences ;  reproach  follows  close  at  its 
heels ; — from  political  abuse  they  proceed  to  per- 
sonal ;  and  thus  often  is  a  friendship  of  years  tram- 
pled down  by  this  contemptible  enemy,  this  gigantic 
dwarf  of  POLITICS,  tlie  mongrel  issue  of  grovelling 
ambition  and  aspiring  ignorance  ! 

There  would  be  but  little  harm  indeed  in  all  this, 
if  it  ended  merely  in  a  broken  head  ;  for  this  might 
soon  be  healed,  and  the  scar,  if  any  remained,  might 
serve  as  a  warning  ever  after  against  the  indulgence 

of  political  intemperance  ; at  the  worst,  the  loss 

of  such  heads  as  these  would  be  a  gain  to  the  na- 
tion. But  the  evil  extends  far  deeper ;  it  threatens 
to  impair  all  social  intercourse,  and  even  to  sevei 
the  sacred  union  of  family  and  kindred.  The  con- 
vivial table  is  disturbed  ;  the  cheerful  fireside  is  in- 
vaded ;  the  smile  of  social  hilarity  is  chased  away ; — 
the  bond  of  social  love  is  broken  by  the  everlasting 
intrusi(  II  of  this  fiend  of  contention,  who  lurks  in  the 
sp.arkliag  bowl,  crouches  by  the  fireside,  growls  in 
the  friendly  circle,  infests  every  avenue  to  pleasure ; 
and,  like  the  scowling  incubus,  sits  on  the  bosom  of 
society,  pressing  down  and  smothering  every  throb 
and  pulsation  of  liber,al  philanthropy. 

But  thou  wilt  perhaps  ask,  "What  can  these  peo- 
ple dispute  about  ?  one  would  suppose  that  being  all 
free  and  equal,  they  would  harmonize  as  brothers ; 
children  of  the  same  parent,  and  equal  heirs  of  the 
same  inheritance."  This  theory  is  most  exquisite, 
my  good  friend,  but  in  practice  it  turns  out  the  very 
dream  of  a  madman.  Equality,  Asem,  is  one  of  the 
most  consummate  scoundrels  that  ever  crept  from 
the  brain  of  a  political  juggler  —  a  fellow  who 
thrusts  his  hand  into  the  pocket  of  honest  industry, 
or  enterprising  talent,  and  squanders  their  hard- 
earned  profits  on  profligate  idleness  or  indolent  stu- 
pidity. There  will  always  be  an  inequality  among 
mauKind  so  long  as  a  portion  of  it  is  enlightened  and 
industrious,  and  the  rest  idle  and  ignorant.  The  one 
will  acquire  a  latger  share  of  wealth,  and  its  attend- 
ant comforts,  refinements,  and  luxuries  of  life ;  and 
the  influence,  and  power,  which  those  will  always 
possess  who  have  the  greatest  ability  of  administer 
mg  to  the  necessities  of  their  fellow-creatures« 
These  advantages  will  inevitably  excite  envy ;  and 
envy  as  inevitably  begets  ill-will : — hence  arises  that 
eternal  warfare,  which  the  lower  orders  of  society 
are  waging  against  those  who  have  raised  themselves 
by  their  own  merits,  or  have  been  raised  by  the  mer- 
its of  their  ancestors,  above  the  common  level.  In 
a  nation  possessed  of  quick  feelings  and  impeluoas 


693 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


i 


i^^ 


pasdons,  the  hostility  might  engender  deadly  broils 
and  bloody  commotions ;  but  here  it  merely  rents 
Itself  in  high-sounding  words,  which  lead  to  contin- 
ual breaches  of  decorum  ;  or  in  the  insidious  assas- 
sination of  character,  and  a  restless  propensity  among 
the  base  to  blacken  every  reputation  which  is  fairer 
tha:i  their  own. 

I  ccnnot  help  smiling  sometimes  to  see  the  solici- 
tude with  which  the  people  of  America,  so  called 
ttom  the  country  having  been  first  discovered  by 
Christopher  Columbus,  battle  about  them  when  any 
election  takes  place ;  as  if  they  had  the  least  con- 
cern in  the  matter,  or  were  to  be  benefited  by  an  ex- 
change of  bashaws ; — they  really  seem  ignorant  that 
none  but  the  bashaws  and  their  dependants  are  at 
all  interested  in  the  event ;  and  that  the  people  at 
large  will  not  find  their  situation  altered  in  the  least. 
I  formerly  gave  thee  an  account  of  an  election  which 
took  place  under  my  eye. — The  result  has  been  that 
the  people,  as  some  of  the  slang-whangers  say,  have 
obtained  a  glorious  triumph;  which,  however,  is 
flatly  denied  by  the  opposite  slang-whangers,  who 
insist  that  their  party  is  composed  of  the  true  sover- 
eign people ;  and  tnat  the  others  are  all  jacobins, 
Frenchmen,  and  Irish  rebels.  I  ought  to  apprise 
thee  that  the  last  is  a  tenn  of  great  reproach  here ; 
which,  perhaps,  thou  wouldsf  not  otherwise  imagine, 
considering  that  it  is  not  many  years  since  this  very 
people  were  engaged  in  a  revolution  :  the  failure  of 
which  would  have  subjected  them  to  tiie  same  igno- 
minious epithet,  and  a  participation  in  which  is  now 
the  highest  recommendation  to  public  confidence. 
By  Mahomet,  but  it  cannot  be  denied,  that  the  con- 
sistency of  this  people,  like  every  thing  else  apper- 
taining to  them,  is  on  a  prodigious  great  scale !  To 
return,  however,  to  the  event  of  the  election. — The 

rople  triumphed ;  and  much  good  has  it  done  them, 
for  my  part,  expected  to  see  wonderful  changes, 
■ad  most  magical  metamorphoses.  I  expected  to 
•ee  the  people  all  rich,  that  they  would  be  all  gentle- 
men bashaws,  riding  in  their  coaches,  and  faring 
sumptuously  every  day ;  emancipated  from  toil,  and 
revelling  in  luxurious  ease.  Wilt  thou  credit  me, 
Asem,  when  I  declare  to  thee  that  every  thing  re- 
mains exactly  in  the  same  state  it  was  before  the  last 
wordy  campaign  ? — except  a  few  noisy  retainers,  who 
have  crept  into  office,  and  a  few  noisy  patriots,  on 
the  other  side,  who  have  been  kicked  out,  there  is 
not  the  least  difference.  The  labourer  toils  for  his 
daily  support ;  the  beggar  still  lives  on  the  charity 
of  those  who  have  any  charity  to  bestow ;  and  the 
only  solid  satisfaction  the  multitude  have  reaped  is, 
that  they  have  got  a  new  governor,  or  bashaw,  whom 
they  will  praise,  idolize,  and  exalt  for  a  while ;  and 
afterwards,  notwithstanding  the  sterling  merits  he 
really  possesses,  in  compliance  with  immemorial  cus- 
tom, tney  will  abuse,  calumniate,  and  trample  him 
tinder  foot. 

Such,  my  dear  Asem,  is  the  way  in  which  the 
wise  people  of  "  the  most  enlightened  country  under 
the  sun  '  are  amused  with  straws  and  puffed  up 
with  mighty  conceits;  like  a  certain  fisn  I  have 
■een  here,  which,  having  his  belly  tickled  for  a  short 
dme,  will  swell  and  puffhimsclf  up  to  twice  his  usual 
■le,  and  become  a  mere  bladder  of  wind  and  vanity. 

The  blessing  of  a  true  Mussulman  light  on  thee, 
gocJ  A.:"ri ;  ever  while  thou  livest  be  true  to  thy 
prophet ;  and  rejoice,  that,  though  the  boasting  po- 
litical chatterers  of  this  logocracy  cast  u^ion  thy 
countrymen  the  ignominious  epithet  of  slaves,  thou 
livest  in  a  country  where  the  people,  instead  of  being 
at  the  mercy  of  a  tyrant  with  a  milUon  of  heads, 
have  nothing  to  do  but  submit  to  the  will  of  a  ba- 
■haw  of  only  three  tails. 

Ever  thine,  MuSTAPHA. 


COCKLOFT  HALL. 
BY  LAUNCELOT  LAXOSTAffr,  UQ. 


Those  who  pass  their  time  immured  in  the  smck] 
circumference  of  the  city,  amid  the  rattling  of  carts, 
the  brawling  of  the  multitude,  and  the  variety  of  un« 
meaning  and  discordant  sounds  that  prey  insensibl; 
upon  the  nerves  and  beget  a  weariness  of  the  spirits, 
can  alone  understand  and  feel  that  expansion  of  the 
heart,  that  physical  renovation  which  a  citizen  expe- 
riences when  he  steals  forth  from  his  dusty  prison  to 
breathe  the  free  air  of  heaven  and  enjoy  the  clear 
face  of  nature.  Who  that  has  rambled  by  the  side 
of  one  of  our  majestic  rivers  at  the  hour  of  sunset, 
when  the  wildly  romantic  scenery  around  is  softened 
and  tinted  by  the  voluptuous  mist  of  evening ;  when 
the  bold  ana  swelling  outlines  of  the  distant  mount- 
ain seem  melting  into  the  glowing  horizon  and  a  rich 
mantle  of  refulgence  is  thrown  over  the  whole  ex- 
panse of  the  heavens,  but  must  have  felt  how  abun- 
dant is  nature  in  sources  of  pure  enjoyment ;  how 
luxuriant  in  all  that  can  enliven  the  senses  or  delight 
the  imagination.  The  jocund  zephyr,  full  freighted 
with  native  fragrance,  sues  sweetly  to  the  senses ; 
the  chirping  of  the  thousand  varieties  of  insects  with 
which  our  woodlands  abound,  forms  a  concert  of 
simple  melody ;  even  the  barking  of  the  farm  dog, 
the  lowing  of  the  cattle,  the  tinkling  of  their  bells, 
and  the  strokes  of  the  woodman's  axe  from  the  op. 
posite  shore,  seem  to  partake  of  the  softness  of  the 
scene  and  fall  tunefully  upon  the  ear ;  while  the  voice 
of  the  villager,  chanting  some  rustic  ballad,  swells 
from  a  distance  in  the  semblance  of  the  very  musit 
of  harmonious  love. 

At  such  time  I  feel  a  sensation  of  sweet  tranquil- 
lity ;  a  hallowed  calm  Is  diffused  over  my  senses  ;  1 
cast  my  eyes  around,  and  every  object  is  serene,  sim- 
ple, and  beautiful ;  no  warring  passion,  no  discordant 
string  there  vibrates  to  the  touch  of  ambition,  self- 
interest,  hatred,  or  revenge ; — I  am  at  peace  with 
the  whole  world,  and  hail  all  mankind  as  friends  and 
brothers. — Blissful  moments  !  ye  recall  the  careless 
days  of  my  boyhood,  when  nere  existence  was  hap- 
piness, when  hope  was  cert.iinty,  this  world  a  para- 
dise, and  every  woman  a  ministering  angel ! — surely 
man  was  designed  for  a  tenant  of  the  universe,  in- 
stead of  being  pent  up  in  these  dismal  cages,  these 
dens  of  strife,  disease,  and  discord.  We  were  crea- 
ted to  range  the  fields,  to  sport  among  the  groves, 
to  build  castles  in  the  air,  and  have  every  one  of 
them  realized  I 

A  whole  legion  of  reflections  like  these  insinuated 
^themselves  into  my  mind,  and  stole  me  from  the  in- 
fluence of  the  cold  realities  before  me,  as  I  took  my 
accustomed  walk,  a  few  weeks  since,  on  the  battery. 
Here  watching  the  splendid  mutations  of  one  of  our 
summer  skies,  which  emulated  the  boasted  glories 
of  an  Italian  sun-set,  I  all  at  once  discovered  that  it 
was  but  pack  up  my  portmanteau,  bid  adieu  for 
awhile  to  my  elbow-chair,  and  in  a  little  time  I 
should  be  transported  from  the  region  of  smoke,  and 
noise,  and  dust,  to  the  enjoyment  of  a  far  sweeter 
prospect  and  a  brighter  sky.  The  next  morning  I 
was  off  full  tilt  to  Cockloft-Hall,  leaving  my  man 
Pompey  to  follow  at  his  leisure  with  my  baggage. 
I  love  to  indulge  in  rapid  transitions,  which  arc 
prompted  by  the  quick  impulse  of  the  moment ; — 
tis  the  only  mode  of  guarding  against  that  intruding 
and  deadly  foe  to  all  parties  of  pleasure, — anticipa 
tion. 

Having  now  made  good  my  retreat,  until  the 
black  frosts  commence,  it  s  but  a  piece  of  civility 
due  to  my  reader*,  who  I  trust  are,  ere  this,  id) 


SALMAGUNDI. 


693 


(Hrnds,  to  ^ve  them  a  proper  introduction  to  my 
present  residence.  I  do  this  r '^  much  to  gratify 
them  as  myself:  well  knowing  a  reader  is  always 
arxious  to  learn  how  his  author  is  lodged,  whether 
in  a  garret,  a  cellar,  a  hovel,  or  a  palace ;  at  least  an 
author  is  generally  vain  enough  to  think  so ;  and  an 
author's  vanitv  ought  sometimes  to  be  gratified ; 
poor  vagabond  I  it  is  often  the  only  gratificaticn  he 
eves  tastes  in  this  world ! 

Cockloft-hall  is  the  country  residence  of  the 
foniily,  or  rather  the  paternal  mansion ;  which,  like 
the  mother  country,  sends  forth  whole  colonies  to 

Sopulate  the  face  of  the  earth.  Pindar  whimsically 
enominates  it  the  family  hive !  and  there  is  at  least 
as  much  truth  as  humour  in  my  cousin's  epithet ; — 
for  many  a  redundant  swarm  has  it  proauced.  I 
don't  recollect  whether  I  have  at  any  time  menticn- 
ed  to  my  readers,  for  I  seldom  look  back  on  what  1 1 
have  written,  that  the  fertility  of  the  Cocklofts  vs  • 
proverbial.  The  female  members  of  the  family  are 
most  incredibly  fruitful ;  and  to  use  a  favourite  phrase 
of  old  Cocklon,  who  is  excessively  addicted  to  back- 
gammon, they  seldom  fail  "  to  throw  doublets  every 
time."  I  myself  have  known  three  or  four  very  in- 
dustrious youne  men  reduced  to  great  extremities, 
with  some  of  these  capital  breeders ;  heaven  smiled 
upon  their  union,  and  enriched  them  with  a  numer- 
ous and  hopeful  offspring — who  eat  them  out  of 
doors. 

Hut  to  return  to  the  hall. — It  is  pleasantly  situated 
on  the  bank  of  a  sweet  pastoral  stream :  not  so  near 
town  as  to  invite  an  inundation  of  unmeaning,  idle 
acquaintance,  who  come  to  lounge  away  an  after- 
noon, nor  so  distant  as  to  render  it  an  absolute  deed 
of  charity  or  friendship  to  perform  the  journey.  It 
is  one  of  the  oldest  habitations  in  the  country,  and 
was  built  by  my  cousin  Christopher's  grandfather, 
who  was  also  mme  by  the  mother's  side,  in  his  latter 
days,  to  form,  as  the  old  gentleman  expressed  him- 
self, "  a  snug  retreat,  where  he  meant  to  sit  himself 
down  in  his  old  days  and  be  comfortable  for  the  rest 
of  his  life."  He  was  at  this  time  a  few  years  over 
four  score :  bi:t  this  was  a  common  saying  of  his, 
with  which  he  usually  closed  his  airy  speculations. 
One  would  have  thought,  from  the  long  vista  of 
years  through  which  he  contemplated  many  of  his 
projects,  that  the  good  man  had  forgot  tlie  age  of 
the  patriarchs  had  long  since  gone  by,  and  calculated 
upon  living  a  century  longer  at  least.  He  was  for  a 
considerable  time  in  doubt  on  the  question  of  roof- 
ing his  house  with  shingles  or  slate  : — shingles  would 
not  last  above  thirty  years !  but  then  they  were  much 
cheaper  than  slates.  He  settled  the  matter  by  a 
kind  of  compromise,  and  determined  to  build  with 
shingles  first;  "and  when  they  are  worn  out,"  said 
the  old  gentleman,  triumphantly,  "  'twill  be  time 
enough  to  replace  them  with  more  durable  mate- 
rials ! "  But  his  contemplated  improvements  sur- 
passed every  thing ;  and  scarcely  had  he  a  roof  over 
nis  hejid,  when  he  discovered  a  thousand  things  to 
be  arranged  before  he  could  "  sit  down  comfortably." 
In  the  first  place,  every  tree  and  bush  on  the  place 
was  cut  down  or  grubbed  up  by  the  roots,  because 
they  were  not  placed  to  his  mind  ;  and  a  vast  quan- 
tity of  oaks,  chestnuts,  and  elms,  set  out  in  clumps 
and  rows,  and  labyrinths,  which  he  observed  in 
about  tive-and-twenty  or  thirty  years  at  most,  would 
yield  a  very  tolerable  shade,  anci,  moreover,  shut  out 
all  the  surrounding  country ;  for  he  was  determined, 
he  said,  lO  have  all  his  views  on  his  own  land,  and 
be  beholden  to  no  man  for  a  prospect.  This,  my 
learned  readers  will  perceive,  was  something  very 
like  the  idea  of  Lorenzo  de  Medici,  who  gave  as  a 
reason  for  preferring  one  of  his  seats  above  all  the 
'Sthtrs,  "  that  all  the  ground  within  view  of  it  was 


his  own : "  now.  whether  my  grandfather  ever  heard 
of  the  Medici,  is  more  than  I  can  say;  I  rather 
think,  however,  from  the  characteristic  originality  of 
the  Cocklofts,  that  it  v/as  a  whim-wham  of  his  own 
begetting.  Another  odd  notion  of  the  old  gentle- 
man was  to  blow  up  a  large  bed  of  rocks,  for  the 
purpose  of  having  a  fish-pond,  although  the  river 
ran  at  about  one  hundred  yards  distance  from  the 
house,  and  was  well  stored  with  fish ; — but  there  was 
nothing,  he  said,  like  having  things  to  one's-selu 
So  at  it  he  went  with  all  the  ardour  of  a  projector 
who  has  just  hit  upon  some  splendid  and  useless 
whim-wham.  As  he  proceeded,  his  views  enlarged ; 
he  would  have  a  summer-nouse  built  on  the  margin 
of  the  fish-pond ;  he  would  ha^  e  it  surrounded  with 
elms  and  willows ;  and  he  wouid  have  a  cellar  dug 
under  it,  for  some  incomprehensible  purpose,  which 
remains  a  secret  to  this  clay.  "  In  a  few  years."  he 
observed,  "it  would  be  a  delightful  piece  of  wood 
and  water,  where  he  might  ramble  on  a  summer's 
noon,  smoke  his  pipe,  and  enjoy  himself  in  his  old 
days : " — thrice  honest  old  soul ! — he  died  of  an  ap. 
oplexy  in  his  ninetieth  year,  just  as  he  had  begun  to 
blow  up  the  fish-pond. 

Let  no  one  ridicule  the  whim-whams  of  my  grand- 
father.  If— and  of  this  there  is  no  doubt,  for  wise 

men  have  said  it — if  lite  is  but  a  dream,  happy  is  he 
who  can  make  the  most  of  the  illusion. 

Since  my  grandfather's  death,  the  hall  has  passed 
through  the  hands  of  a  succession  of  true  oltl  cava- 
liers. Tike  himself,  who  gloried  in  observing  the  gold- 
en rules  of  hospitality;  which,  according  to  the 
Cockloft  principle,  consist  in  giving  a  guest  the  free- 
dom of  the  house,  cramming  him  with  beef  and 
pudding,  and,  if  possible,  laying  him  under  the  tibia 
with  prime  port,  claret,  or  London  particular.  The 
mansion  appears  to  have  been  consecrated  to  the 
jolly  god,  and  teems  with  monuments  sacred  to  con« 
viviality.  Every  chest  of  drawers,  clothes-presa, 
and  cabinet,  is  decorated  with  enormous  China 
punch-bowls,  which  Mrs.  Cocklofl  has  paraded  with 
much  ostentation,  particularly  in  her  favourite  red 
damask  bed-chamber,  and  in  which  a  projector  might 
with  great  satisfaction,  practise  his  experiments  on 
fleets,  diving-bells,  and  sub-marine  boats. 

I  have  before  mentioned  cousin  Christopher's  pro- 
found veneration  for  antique  furniture ;  in  conse- 
quence of  which  the  old  hall  is  furnished  in  much 
the  same  style  with  the  house  in  town.  Old-fashion- 
ed bedsteads,  with  high  testers ;  massy  clothes- 
presses,  standing  most  majestically  on  eagles'  claws, 
and  ornamented  with  a  profusion  of  shining  brass 
handles,  clasps,  and  hinges  ;  and  around  the  grand 
parlour  are  solemnly  arranged  a  set  of  high-backed, 
leather-bottomed,  massy,  mahogany  chairs,  that  al- 
ways remind  me  of  the  formal  lotig-waisted  belles, 
who  flourished  in  stays  and  buckram,  about  the  time 
they  were  in  fashion. 

If  I  may  judge  from  thf  :r  height,  it  was  not  the 
fashion  for  gentlemen  in  tho&e  days  to  loll  over  the 
back  of  a  lady's  chair,  and  whisper  in  her  ear  what 
— might  be  as  well  spoken  aloud ; — at  least,  they 
must  have  been  Patagonians  to  have  effected  it, 
Will  Wizard  declares  that  he  saw  a  little  fat  German 
gallant  attempt  once  to  whisper  Miss  Barbara  Cock- 
lott  in  this  manner,  but  being  unluckily  caught  by  the 
chin,  he  dangled  and  kicked  about  for  half  a  minute, 
before  he  couiJ  find  terra  firma  ; — but  Will  is  much 
addicted  to  hyperbole,  by  reason  of  his  having  been 
a  great  traveller. 

But  what  the  Cocklofts  most  especi.illy  pride  them- 
selves upon,  is  the  possession  of  several  family  por- 
traits, which  exhibit  as  honest  a  square  set  of  portly, 
well-fed  looking  gentlemen,  and  gentlewomen,  aj 
ever  grew  and  flourished  under  the  pencil  of  a  Dutch 


-; 


I 


1594 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


painter.  Old  Christopher,  who  is  a  complete  geneal- 
ogist, has  a  story  to  tell  of  each ;  and  dilates  with 
copious  eloquence  on  the  great  services  of  the  gen- 
eral in  large  sleeves,  during  the  old  French  war ; 
and  on  the  piety  of  the  lady  in  blue  velvet,  who  so 
attentively  peruses  her  book,  and  was  once  so  cele- 
brated for  a  beautiful  arm  :  but  much  as  I  reverence 
my  illustrious  ancestors,  I  find  little  to  admire  in 
their  bic^^aphy,  except  my  cousin's  excellent  mem- 
tarj ;  which  is  most  provokingly  retentive  of  every 
uninteresting  particular. . 

My  allotted  chamber  in  the  hall  is  the  same  that 
was  occupied  in  days  of  yore  by  my  honoured  uncle 
John.  Tne  room  exhibits  many  memorials  which 
recall  to  my  remembrance  the  solid  excellence  and 
amiable  eccentricities  of  that  gallant  old  lad.  Over 
the  mantel-piece  hangs  the  portrait  of  a  young  lady 
dressed  in  a  flaring,  long-waisted,  blue-si^k  gown  ; 
be-flowered,  and  be-furbelowed,  and  be-culTed,  in  a 
most  abundant  manner ;  she  holds  in  one  hand  a 
book,  which  she  very  complaisantly  neglects  to  turn 
and  smile  on  the  spectator ;  in  the  other  a  (lower, 
which  I  hope,  for  the  honour  of  dame  nature,  was 
the  sole  production  of  the  painter's  imagination  ;  and 
a  little  behind  her  is  something  tied  to  a  blue  riband, 
but  whether  a  little  dog,  a  monkey,  or  a  pigeon,  must 
?«■,-,  be  left  to  the  judgment  of  future  commentators.  This 

little  damsel,  tradition  says,  was  my  uncle  John's  third 
flame ;  and  he  would  infallibly  have  run  away  with 
her,  could  he  have  persuaded  her  into  the  measure ; 
but  at  that  time  ladies  were  not  quite  so  easily  run 
away  with  as  Columbine ;  and  my  uncle,  failing  in 
the  point,  took  a  lucky  thought ;  and  with  great  gal- 
lantry run  off  with  her  picture,  which  he  conveyed  in 
triumph  to  Cockloft-hall,  and  hung  up  in  his  bed- 
chamber as  a  monument  of  his  enterprising  spirit. 
The  old  gentleman  prided  himself  mightily  on  this 
chivalric  manoeuvre;  always  chuckled,  and  pulled 
op  his  stock  when  he  contemplated  the  picture,  and 
never  related  the  exploit  without  winding  up  with — 
"  I  might,  indeed,  have  carried  ofT  the  original,  had 
I  chose  to  dangle  a  little  longer  after  her  chariot- 
wheels  ; — for,  to  do  the  ^irl  justice,  I  believe  she  had 
a  liking  for  me  ;  but  I  always  scorned  to  coax,  my 
boy, — always, — 'twas  my  way."  My  uncle  John  was 
of  a  happy  temperament ; — I  would  give  half  I  am 
worth  for  his  talent  at  self-consolation. 

The  Miss  Cocklofts  have  made  several  spirited  at- 
tempts to  introduce  modem  furniture  into  the  hall ; 
but  with  very  indifferent  success.  Modem  style  has 
always  been  an  object  of  great  annoyance  to  honest 
Christopher ;  and  is  ever  treated  by  nim  with  sover- 
eign contempt,  as  an  upstart  intruder. — It  is  a  com- 
mon observation  of  his,  that  your  old-fashioned  sub- 
stantial furniture  bespeaks  the  respectability  of  (»ne's 
ancestors,  and  indicates  that  the  family  has  been 
used  to  hold  up  its  head  for  more  than  the  present 
generation  ;  wnereas  the  fragile  appendages  of  mod- 
em style  seemed  to  be  emblems  of  mushroom  gen- 
tility ;  and,  to  his  mind,  predicted  that  the  family 
dignity  would  moulder  away  and  vanish  with  the 
finery  thus  put  on  of  a  sudden. — The  same  whim- 
wham  makes  him  averse  to  having  his  house  sur- 
rounded with  poplars ;  which  he  stigmatizes  as  mere 
upstarts ;  just  fit  to  ornament  the  shingle  palaces  of 
modem  gentry,  and  characteristic  of  the  establish- 
ments they  decorate.  Indeed,  so  far  does  he  carry 
his  veneration  for  all  the  antique  tmmpery,  that  he 
can  scarcely  see  the  venerable  dust  bmshed  from  its 
resting  place  on  the  old-fashioned  testers ;  or  a  gra;y- 
bearded  spider  dislodged  from  his  ancient  inhent- 
ance  without  groaning;  and  I  once  saw  him  in  a 
<lansport  of  passion  on  Jeremy's  knocking  down  a 
mouldering  martin-coop  with  his  tennis-ba'',  which 
bad  been  set  up  in  the  latter  davs  of  my  grandfather. 


Another  object  of  his  peculiar  affectfon  Is  an  old 
English  cherry  tree,  which  leans  aga'nst  a  comer  of 
the  hall ;  and  whether  the  house  supports  it.  or  ii 
supports  the  house,  would  be,  I  believe,  a  question 
of  some  difficulty  to  decide.  It  is  held  sacred  by 
friend  Christopher  because  he  planted  and  reared  it 
himself,  and  had  once  well-nign  broke  his  neck  by  a 
fall  from  one  of  its  branches.  This  is  one  of  nig 
favourite  stories: — and  there  is  reason  to  believe, 
that  if  the  tree  was  out  of  the  way,  the  old  gentle- 
man  would  forget  the  whole  affair; — which  would 
be  a  great  pity. — The  old  tree  hasjong  since  ceased 
bearing,  and  is  exceedingly  infirm  ; — every  tempest 
robs  it  of  a  limb ;  and  one  would  suppose  from  the 
lamentations  of  my  old  friend,  on  such  occasion:;, 
that  he  had  lost  one  of  his  own.  He  often  con- 
templates it  in  a  half-melancholy,  half-moralizing 
humour — "  together,"  he  says,  "  have  we  flourished, 
and  together  shall  we  wither  away: — a  few  years, 
and  both  our  heads  will  be  laid  low ;  and,  perhaps, 
my  mouldering  bones  may,  one  day  or  other,  mingle 
with  the  dust  of  the  tree  I  have  planted."  He  often 
fancies,  he  says,  that  it  rejoices  to  see  him  when  he 
revisits  the  hail ;  and  that  its  leaves  assume  a  bright- 
er verdure,  as  if  to  welcome  his  arrival.  How  whim- 
sically are  our  tenderest  feelings  assailed  !  At  one 
time  the  old  tree  h--\  obtruded  a  withered  br.inch 
before  Miss  Barbari.  s  window,  and  she  desired  her 
father  to  order  the  gardener  to  saw  it  off.  I  shall 
never  forget  the  old  man's  answer,  and  the  look  that 
accompanied  it.  "What,"  cried  he,  "lop  off  the 
limbs  of  my  cherry  tree  in  its  old  age? — why  do 
you  not  cut  off  the  gray  locks  of  your  poor  oid  fa- 
ther ?  " 

Do  my  readers  yawn  at  this  long  family  detail  ? 
They  are  welcome  to  throw  down  our  work,  and 
never  resume  it  again.  I  have  no  are  for  such  un- 
gratified  spirits,  and  will  not  throw  away  a  thought 
on  one  of  them; — full  often  have  I  contributed  to 
their  amusement,  and  have  I  not  a  right,  for  once,  to 
consult  my  own?  Who  is  there  that  does  not  fondiv 
turn,  at  times,  to  hnger  round  those  scenes  which 
were  once  the  haunt  of  his  boyhood,  ere  his  heart 
grew  heavy  and  his  head  waxed  pray : — and  to  dwell 
with  fond  affection  on  the  friends  who  have  twined 

themselves  round  his  heart, mingled  in  all  his 

enjoyments, contributed  to  all  his  felicities  ?     If 

there  be  any  who  cannot  relish  these  enjoyments, 
let  them  despair ; — for  they  have  been  so  soiled  in 
their  intercourse  with  the  world,  as  to  be  incapable 
of  tasting  some  of  the  purest  pleasures  that  survive 
the  happy  period  of  youth. 

To  such  as  have  not  yet  lost  the  rural  feeling,  I 
address  this  simple  family  picture ;  and  in  the  honest 
sincerity  of  a  warm  heart,  I  invite  them  to  turn  aside 
from  bustle,  care,  and  toil,  to  tarry  with  me  for  a 
season,  in  the  hospitable  mansion  of  the  Cocklofts. 


I  WAS  really  apprehensive,  on  reading  the  follow- 
ing effusion  of  Will  Wizard,  that  he  still  retained  that 
pestilent  hankering  aficr  puns  of  which  we  latelj 
convicted  him.  He,  however,  declares,  that  he  is 
ftilly  authorized  by  the  example  of  the  most  populai 
critics  and  wits  of  the  present  age,  whose  mannei 
and  matter  he  h.-is  closely,  and  he  flatters  bimself 
successfully,  copied  in  the  subsequent  essay. 


THEATRICAL    INTELLIGENCE. 

BY  WILLIAM  WIZARD,  ESQ. 

The  uncommon  healthiness  of  the  season,  occa- 
sioned, as  several  learned  physicians  assure  me,  b; 


SALMAGUNDI 


695 


Ssctfon  Is  an  oW 
a'nst  a  corner  of 
iupporls  it.  or  ii 
ilieve,  a  question 
held  sacred  b> 
id  and  reared  it 
ke  his  neck  by  a 
is  is  one  of  hij 
ason  to  believe, 
the  old  gentle. 
; — which  would 
•ng  since  ceased 
—every  tempest 
ippose  from  tht 
such  occasions, 
He  often  con- 
half-moralizing 
e  we  flourished, 
—a  few  years, 
;  and,  perhaps, 
or  other,  mingle 
(H."    He  often 
Je  him  when  he 
ssume  a  bright- 
al.    How  whim- 
ailed  !     At  one 
'ithered  branch 
Jhe  desired  her 
it  off.     I  shall 
id  the  look  that 
:.  "  lop  off  the 
age?— why  do 
ur  poor  oid  fa. 

family  detail  ? 

our  work,  and 
\re  for  such  un. 
away  a  thought 

contributed  to 
fht,  for  once,  to 
does  not  fondlv 
!  scenes  which 
I.  ere  his  heart 
—and  to  dwell 

0  have  twined 
fled  in  all  his 

felicities  ?  If 
le  enjoyments, 
n  so  soiled  in 
•  be  incapable 
s  that  survive 

•ural  feeling,  I 

1  in  the  honest 
1  to  turn  aside 
inth  me  for  a 
ie  Cocklofts. 


g  the  follow- 
!  retained  thai 
ich  we  lately 
:s,  that  he  is 
most  popuku 
hose  mannei 
tters  himself 
;ssay. 


NCE, 

I. 

leason,  occa< 
ssure  me.  by 


the  nnivenal  prevalence  of  the  influenza,  has  en- 
couraged the  chieftain  of  our  dramatic  corps  to 
marshal  his  forces,  and  to  commence  the  campaign 
at  a  much  e<trlicr  day  than  usual.  He  has  been  in- 
duced  to  take  the  field  thus  suddenly,  I  am  told,  by 
the  invasion  of  certain  foreign  marauders,  who  pitched 
their  tents  at  Vauxhall-Garden  during  the  warm 
months;  and  taxing  advantage  of  his  army  being  dis- 
banded and  dispersed  in  summer  quarters,  committed 
»i*A  depredations  apon  the  borders  of  his  territories : 
— carrying  off  a  considerable  portion  of  his  winter 
harvest,  and  murdtring  some  of  his  most  distinguished 
characters. 
It  is  true,  these  hitrdy  invaders  have  been  reduced 

0  great  extremity  by  the  late  heavy  rains,  which  in- 
jured and  destroyed  much  of  their  camp-equipage ; 
besides  spoiling  the  besrt  part  of  their  wardrobe.  Two 
cities,  a  triumphal  car,  and  a  new  moon  for  Cinde- 
rella, together  with  the  barber's  boy  who  was  em- 
ployed every  night  to  powder  and  make  it  shine 
white,  have  been  entirely  washed  away,  and  the  sea 
has  become  very  wet  and  mouldy ;  insomuch  that 
great  apprehensions  are  entertained  that  it  will  never 
be  dry  enough  for  use.  Add  to  this  the  noble  county 
Paris  had  the  misfortune  to  tear  his  corduroy  breech'js, 
in  the  scuffle  with  Romeo,  by  reason  of  the  tomb 
being  very  wet,  which  occasioned  him  to  slip ;  and 
he  and  his  noble  rival  possessing  but  one  poor  pair 
of  satin  ones  between  them,  were  reduced  to  con- 
siderable shifts  to  keep  up  the  dignity  of  their  re- 
spective houses.  In  spite  of  these  disadvantages, 
and  the  untoward  circumstances,  they  continued  to 
enact  most  intrepidly ;  performing  with  much  ease 
and  confidence,  inasmuch  as  they  were  seldom 
pestered  with  an  audience  to  criticise  and  put  them 
out  of  countenance.  It  is  rumoured  that  the  last 
heavy  shower  absolutely  dissolved  the  company,  and 
Ihat  our  manager  has  nothing  further  to  apprehend 
lYom  that  quarter. 

The  theatre  opened  on  Wednesday  last,  with  preat 
eclat,  as  we  critics  say,  and  almost  vied  in  brilliancy 
with  that  of  my  superb  friend  Consequa  in  Canton  ; 
where  the  castles  were  all  ivory,  the  sea  mother-of- 
pearl,  the  skies  gold  and  silver  leaf,  and  the  outside 
of  the  boxes  inlaid  with  scallop  shell-work.  Those 
who  want  a  better  description  of  the  theatre,  may  as 
well  go  and  see  it ;  and  then  they  can  judge  for  them- 
selves. For  the  gratification  of'^  a  highly  respectable 
class  of  readers,  who  love  to  see  every  thmg  on  paper, 

1  had  indeed  prepared  a  circumstantial  and  truly  in- 
comprehensible account  of  it,  such  as  your  traveller 
always  tills  his  book  with,  and  which  I  defy  the  most 
intelligent  architect,  even  the  great  Sir  Christopher 
Wren,  to  understand.  I  had  jumbled  cornices,  and 
pilasters,  and  pillars,  and  capitals,  and  trigliphs,  and 
modules,  and  plinths,  and  volutes,  and  perspectives, 
and  foreshortenings,  helter-skelter ;  and  had  set  all 
the  orders  of  architecture,  Doric,  Ionic,  Corinthian, 
tec,  together  by  the  ears,  in  order  to  work  out  a 
satisfactory  description;  but  the  manager  having 
lent  me  a  polite  note,  requesting  that  I  would  not 
take  off  the  sharp  edge,  as  he  whi-nsically  expresses 
It,  of  public  curiosity,  thereby  diminishing  the  re- 
ceipts of  his  house,  I  have  willingly  consented  to 
•bnge  him,  and  have  left  my  description  at  the  store 
of  our  publisher,  where  any  person  may  see  it— pro- 
idded  he  applies  at  a  proper  hour. 

I  cannot  refrain  here  from  giving  vent  to  the  satis- 
bction  I  received  from  the  excellent  performances  of 
the  different  actors,  one  and  all ;  and  particularly  the 

Spntlemcn  who  shifted  the  scenes,  who  acquitted 
lemselves  throughout  with  great  celerity,  dignity, 
pathos,  and  effect.  Nor  must  1  pass  over  the  peculiar 
merits  of  my  friend  John,  who  gallanted  off  the 
chairs  and  tables  in  the  most  dignified  and  circum- 


spect manner  Indeed,  I  have  had  frtouent  occasion 
to  applaud  the  correctness  with  whicn  this  gentle- 
man fulfils  the  parts  allotted  him,  and  consider  him 
as  one  of  the  best  general  performers  in  the  com- 
pany. My  friend,  the  cockney,  found  considerable 
fault  with  the  manner  in  which  John  shoved  a  hnsc 
rock  from  behind  the  scenes;  maintaining  that  he 
should  have  put  his  left  foot  forward,  and  pushed  it 
with  his  right  hand,  that  being  the  method  prartise«f 
by  his  contemporaries  of  the  royal  theatres,  and  uni- 
versally approved  by  their  best  critics.  He  also  took 
exception  to  John's  coat,  which  he  pronounced  too 
short  by  a  foot  at  least ;  particularly  when  he  turned 
his  back  to  the  company.  But  I  look  upon  these 
objections  in  the  same  light  as  new  readings,  and 
insist  that  John  shall  be  allowed  to  m.inoeuvre  his 
chairs  and  tables,  shove  his  rocks,  and  wear  his 
skirts  in  that  style  which  his  genius  best  effects.  My 
hopes  in  the  rising  merit  of  this  favourite  actor  daily 
increase ;  and  I  would  hint  to  the  manager  the  pro- 
priety of  giving  him  a  benefit,  advertising  in  the  usual 
style  of  play-bills,  as  a  "  springe  to  catch  woodcocks," 
that,  between  the  play  and  farce,  John  will  make  a 
BOW — for  that  nignt  only ! 

I  am  told  that  no  p.ains  have  been  spared  to  make 
the  exhibitions  of  this  season  as  splendid  as  possible. 
Several  expert  rat-catchers  have  been  sent  into  dif- 
ferent p.arts  of  the  country  to  catch  white  mice  for 
the  grand  pantomime  of  Cinderella.  A  nest  full 
of  little  squab  Cupids  have  been  taken  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Communipaw ;  they  are  as  yet  but  half 
fledged,  of  the  true  Holland  breed,  and  it  is  hoped 
will  be  able  to  fly  about  by  the  middle  of  October ; 
otherwise  they  will  be  suspended  about  the  stage  by 
the  waistband,  like  little  alligators  in  an  apothecary's 
shop,  as  the  pantomime  must  positively  be  perform- 
ed by  that  time.  Great  pains  and  expense  have  been 
incurred  in  the  importation  of  one  of  the  most  portly 
pumpkins  in  New-England  ;  and  the  public  may  be 
assured  there  is  now  one  on  board  a  vessel  nom 
New-Haven,  which  will  contain  Cinderella's  coach 
and  six  with  perfect  ease,  were  the  white  mice  eien 
ten  times  as  large. 

Also  several  barrels  of  hail,  rain,  brimstone,  and 
gunpowder,  are  in  store  for  melo-dramas  ;  of  which 
a  number  are  to  be  played  off  this  winter.  It  is  fur- 
thermore whispered  me  that  the  great  thunder-drum 
has  been  new  braced,  and  an  expert  performer  on 
that  instrument  engaged,  who  will  thunder  in  plain 
English,  so  as  to  be  understood  by  the  most  illiterate 
hearer.  This  will  be  infinitely  preferable  to  the 
miserable  Italian  thunderer,  employed  last  winter  by 
Mr.  Ciceri,  who  performed  in  such  an  unnatural  and 
outlandish  tongue,  that  none  but  the  scholars  of 
signor  Da  Ponte  could  understand  him.  It  will  be  a 
further  gratification  to  the  patriotic  audience  tc 
know,  that  the  present  thunderer  is  a  fellow-country- 
man, bom  at  Dunderbarrack,  among  the  echoes  of 
the  Highlands ; — and  that  he  thunders  with  peculiai 
emphasis  and  pompous  enunciation,  in  the  true  style 
of  a  fourth  of  July  or.itor. 

In  addition  to  all  these  additions,  the  manager  hat 
provided  an  entire  new  snow-storm ;  the  very  sight 
of  which  'will  he  quite  sufficient  to  draw  a  shawl  ovet 
every  naked  bosom  in  the  tneatre ;  the  snow  is  per- 
fectly fresh,  having  been  manufactured  last  August 

N.  B.  The  outside  of  the  the.atre  has  been,  ome 
mented  with  a  new  chimney  !  1 


696 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


No.  XV.— THURSDAY,  OCTOBER  i,  1807. 


SKETCHES    FROM    NATURE. 

BY  ANTHONY  KVERGRKEN,  GENT. 


m 


W 


The  brisk  north-westers,  which  prevailed  not  long 
since,  had  a  powerful  effect  in  arresting  the  progress 
of  belles,  beaux,  and  wild  pigeons  in  their  fashion- 
able northern  tour,  and  turning  them  back  to  the 
more  balmy  repon  of  the  South.  Among  the  rest,  I 
was  encountered,  full  butt,  by  a  blast  which  set  my 
teeth  chattering,  just  as  1  doubled  one  of  the  frown- 
ing bluffs  of  the  Mohawk  mountains,  in  my  route  to 
Niagara;  and  facing  about  incontinently,  I  forthwith 
scud  before  the  wind,  and  a  few  days  since  arrived 
at  my  old  quarters  in  New- York.  My  first  care,  on 
returning  from  so  long  an  absence,  was  to  visit  the 
worthy  family  of  the  Cocklofts,  whom  I  found  safe, 
burrowed  in  their  country  mansion.  On  inquiring 
for  my  highly  respected  coadjutor,  Langstaff,  I 
learned  with  great  concern  that  he  had  relapsed  into 
one  of  his  eccentric  fits  of  the  spleen,  ever  since  the 
era  of  a  turtle  dinner  given  by  old  Cockloft  to  some 
of  the  neighbouring  squires ;  wherein  the  old  gentle- 
man had  achieved  a  glorious  victorj',  in  laying  nonest 
Launcelot  fairly  under  the  table.  Langstaff,  although 
fond  of  the  social  board,  and  cheerful  glass,  yet 
abominates  any  excess ;  and  has  an  invincible  aver- 
sion to  getting  mellow,  considering  it  a  wilful  outrage 
on  the  sanctity  of  imperial  mind,  a  senself^ss  abuse 
of  the  body,  and  an  unpardonable,  because  a  volun- 
tary, prostration  of  both  mental  and  personal  dignity. 
{  have  heard  him  moralize  on  the  subject,  in  a  style 
that  would  have  done  honour  to  Michael  Cassia  him- 
lelf:  but  I  believe,  if  tlie  truth  were  known,  this 
Antipathy  rather  arises  from  his  having,  as  the  phrase 
iS,  but  a  weak  head,  and  nerves  so  extremely  sensi- 
tive, that  he  is  sure  to  suffer  severely  from  a  frolic ; 
and  will  groan  and  make  resolutions  against  it  for  a 
week  afterwards.  He  therefore  took  this  waggish 
exploit  of  old  Christopher's,  and  the  consequent 
quizzing  •  •■~!ch  he  underwent,  in  high  dudgeon ;  had 
kept  aloof  trom  company  for  a  fortnight,  ana  appeared 
to  be  meditating  some  deep  plan  of  retaliation  upon 
his  mischievous  old  crony.  He  had,  however,  for 
the  last  day  or  two,  shown  some  symptoms  of  con- 
valescence :  had  listened,  without  more  than  half  a 
dozen  twitches  of  impatience,  to  one  of  Christopher's 
unconscionable  long  stories ;  and  even  was  seen  to 
smile,  for  the  one  hundred  and  thirtieth  time,  at  a 
venerable  joke  originally  borrowed  from  Joe  Miller : 
but  which,  by  dint  of  long  occupancy,  and  frequent 
repetition,  the  old  gentleman  now  firmly  believes 
happened  to  himself  somewhere  in  New-England. 

As  I  am  well  acquainted  wi'  h  Launcelot 's  haunts, 
I  soon  found  him  out.  He  was  lolling  on  his  favour- 
ite bench,  rudely  constructed  at  the  foot  of  an  old 
tree,  which  is  full  of  fantastical  twists,  and  with  its 
ipreading  branches  forms  a  canopy  of  luxuriant  foli- 
age. This  tree  is  a  kind  of  chronicle  of  the  short 
reigns  of  his  uncle  John's  mistresses ;  and  its  trunk 
is  sorely  wounded  with  carvings  of  true  lovers'  knots, 
b;arts,  darts,  names,  and  inscriptions ! — frail  memo- 
rials of  the  variety  of  the  fair  dames  who  captivated 
the  wandering  fancy  of  that  old  cavalier  in  the  days 
of  his  youthful  romance.  Launcelot  holds  this  tree 
in  particular  regard,  as  he  does  every  thing  else  con- 
nected with  the  memory  of  his  good  uncle  John. 
He  was  reclining,  in  one  of  his  usual  brown  studies, 
against  its  tnmk,  and  gazing  pensively  upon  the  river 
tSaX  glided  just  by,  washing  the  drooping  branches 
of  the  dwarf  villows  that  fringed  its  bank.    My  ap- 


pearance roused  him ; — he  grasped  my  hand  witk 
nis  usual  warmth,  and  with  a  tremulous  but  close 
pressure,  which  spoke  that  his  heart  entered  into  the 
salutation.  After  a  number  of  affectionate  inquiries 
and  felicitations,  such  as  friendship,  not  form,  dic- 
tated, he  seemed  to  relapse  into  his  former  flow  of 
thought,  and  to  resume  the  chain  of  ideas  my  a|V' 
pearance  had  broken  for  a  moment. 

"  I  was  reflecting,"  said  he,  "  my  dear  Anthony 
upon  some  observations  I  made  in  our  last  number  ■ 
and  considering  whether  the  sight  of  objects  onc<r 
dear  to  the  affections,  or  of  scenes  where  we  have 
passed  different  happy  periods  of  early  life,  really  oc- 
casions most  enjoyment  or  most  regret.  Renewing 
our  acquaintance  with  well-known  but  long-sepa- 
rated objects,  revives,  it  is  true,  the  recollection  of 
former  pleasures,  and  touches  the  tunderest  feelings 
of  the  heart ;  like  the  flavour  of  a  delicious  bever- 
age will  remain  upon  the  palate  long  after  the  cup 
has  parted  from  the  lips.  But  on  tne  other  hano, 
my  friend,  these  same  objects  are  too  apt  to  awaken 
us  to  a '  keener  recollection  of  what  we  were,  when 
they  erst  delighted  us  ;  to  provoke  a  mortifying  and 
melancholy  contrast  with  what  we  are  at  present. 
They  act,  in  a  manner,  as  milestones  of  existence, 
showing  us  how  far  we  have  travelled  in  the  journey 
of  life ; — how  much  of  our  weary  but  fascinating 
pilgrimage  is  accomplished.  I  look  round  me,  and 
my  eye  fondly  recognizes  the  fields  I  once  sported 
over,  the  river  in  which  I  once  swam,  and  the 
orchard  I  intrepidly  robbed  in  the  halcyon  days  of 
boyhood.  The  fields  are  still  green,  the  river  still 
rolls  unaltered  and  undiminished,  and  the  orchard  is 
still  flourishing  and  fruitful ; — it  is  I  only  am  chang' 
ed.  The  thoughtless  flow  of  mad-cap  spirits  that 
nothing  could  depress ; — the  elasticity  of  nerve  thai 
enabled  me  to  bound  over  the  field,  to  stem  tie 
stream,  and  climb  the  tree  ; — the  '  sunshine  of  tie 
breast*  that  beamed  an  illusive  charm  over  every 
object,  and  created  a  paradise  around  me  I — where 
are  they? — the  thievish  lapse  of  years  has  stolen 
them  away,  and  left  in  return  nothing  but  gray  hairs, 
and  a  repining  spirit."  My  friend  Launcelot  con- 
cluded his  harangue  with  a  sigh,  and  as  I  saw  he 
was  still  under  the  influence  of  a  whole  legion  of  the 
blues,  and  just  on  the  point  of  sinking  into  one  of 
his  whimsical  and  unreasonable  fits  of  melancholy 
abstraction,  I  proposed  a  >yalk ; — he  consented,  and 
slipping  his  left  arm  in  mine,  and  waving  in  the 
other  a  gold-headed  thorn  cane,  bequeathed  him  by 
his  uncle  John,  we  slowly  rambled  along  the  margin 
of  the  river. 

Langstaff,  though  possessmg  great  vivacity  ot 
temper,  is  most  wofully  subject  to  these  "  thick 
coming  fancies : "  and  I  do  not  know  a  man  whose 
animal  spirits  do  insult  him  with  more  jiltings,  and 
coquetries,  and  slippery  tricks.  In  these  moods  he 
is  oflen  visited  by  a  whim- wham  which  he  indulges 
in  common  with  the  Cocklofts.  It  is  that  of  lookine 
back  with  regret,  conjuring  up  the  phantoms  of  good 
old  times,  and  decking  them  out  in  imaginary  finery, 
with  the  spoils  of  his  fancy ;  like  a  good  lady  widow 
regretting  the  loss  of  the  "  poor  dear  man ; "  foi 
whom,  while  living,  she  cared  not  a  rrsh.  I  have 
seen  him  and  Pindar,  and  old  Cockloft,  amuse  them- 
selves over  a  bottle  with  their  youthful  days ;  until 
by  the  time  they  had  become  what  is  termed  merry, 
they  were  the  most  miserable  beings  in  existence. 
In  a  similar  humour  was  Launcelot  at  present,  and  I 
knew  the  only  way  was  to  let  him  moralize  himself 
out  of  it. 

Our  ramble  was  soon  interrupted  by  the  appear 
ance  of  a  personage  of  no  little  importance  at  Cock- 
loft-hall :— for,  to  let  my  readers  into  a  family  secret 
friend  Christopher  is  noMriously  hen-pecked  by  an  old 


SALMAGUNDI. 


697 


megm,  who  has  whitene«.  on  the  place ;  and  is  his 
master,  almanac,  and  counsellor.  My  readers,  if 
haply  they  have  sojourned  in  the  country,  and  be- 
come conversant  in  rural  manners,  must  have  ob- 
served, that  there  is  scarce  a  little  hamlet  but  has 
one  of  these  old  weather-beaten  wiseacres  of  ne- 
groes, who  ranks  among  the  great  characters  of  the 
place.  He  is  always  resorted  to  as  an  oracle  to  re- 
solve any  question  about  the  weather,  fishing,  shoot- 
ing, farming,  and  horse-doctoring :  and  on  such  oc- 
casions will  slouch  his  remnant  of  a  hat  on  one  side, 
fold  his  arms,  roll  his  white  eyes,  and  examine  the 
iky,  with  a  look  as  knowing  as  Peter  Pindar's  mag- 
pie when  peeping  into  a  marrow-bone.  Such  a  sage 
curmudgeon  is  Old  Cxsar,  who  acts  as  friend  Cock- 
loft's prime  minister  or  grand  vizier  ;  assumes,  when 
abroad,  his  master's  style  and  title ;  to  wit,  squire 
Cockloft ;  and  is,  in  effect,  absolute  lord  and  ruler  of 
the  soil. 

As  he  passed  us  he  pulled  off  his  hat  with  an  air 
of  something  more  than  respect ; — it  partook,  I 
thought,  of  affection.  "  There,  now,  is  another 
memento  of  the  kind  I  have  been  noticing,"  said 
Launcelot ;  "  Caesar  was  a  bosom  friend  and  chosen 
playmate  of  cousin  Pindar  and  myself,  when  we 
were  boys.  Never  were  we  so  happy  as  when,  steal- 
ing away  on  a  holiday  to  the  hall,  we  ranged  about 
the  fiel(ls  with  honest  Caesar.  He  was  particularly 
adroit  in  making  our  quail-traps  and  fishing-rods ; 
was  always  the  ring-leader  in  all  the  schemes  of 
frolicksoine  mischief  perpetrated  by  the  urchins  of 
the  neighbourhood ;  considered  himself  on  an  equal- 
ity with  the  best  of  us ;  and  many  a  hard  battle  have 
I  had  with  him,  about  a  division  of  the  spoils  of  an 
orchard,  or  the  title  to  a  bird's  nest.  Many  a  sum- 
mer evening  do  I  remember  when  huddled  together 
in  the  steps  of  the  hall  door,  Caesar,  with  his 
atones  of  ghosts,  goblins,  and  witches,  would  put  us 
S'Jl  in  a  panic,  and  people  every  lane,  and  church- 
yard, and  solitary  wood,  with  imaginary  beings.  In 
process  of  time,  he  became  the  constant  attendant 
and  Man  Friday  of  cousin  Pindar,  whenever  he  went 
a  sparking  among  the  rosy  country  girls  of  the 
neighbouring  farms ;  and  brought  up  his  rear  at 
every  rustic  dance,  when  he  would  mingle  in  the 
sable  group  that  always  thronged  the  door  of  merri- 
ment ;  and  it  was  enough  to  put  to  the  rout  a  host  of 
splenetic  imps  to  see  his  mouth  gradually  dilate  from 
ear  to  ear,  with  pride  and  exultation,  at  seeing  how 
neatly  master  Pindar  footed  it  over  the  floor. 
Caesar  was  likewise  ttie  chosen  confidant  and  special 
agent  of  Pindar  in  all  his  love  affairs,  until,  as  his 
evil  stars  would  have  it.  on  being  entrusted  with  the 
delivery  of  a  poetic  billctdoux  to  one  of  his  patron's 
sweethearts,  he  took  an  unlucky  notion  to  send  it  to 
his  own  sable  dulcinea ;  who,  not  being  able  to  read 
it,  took  it  to  her  mistress  ; — and  so  the  whole  affair 
was  blown.  Pindar  was  universally  roasted,  and 
Czesar  discharged  for  ever  from  his  confidence. 

'■  Poor  Csesar ! — he  has  now  grown  old,  like  his 
young  masters,  but  he  still  remembers  old  times; 
and  will,  now  and  then,  remind  me  of  them  as  he 
lip;hts  me  to  my  room,  and  lingers  a  little  while  to 
bid  me  a  good-night : believe  me,  my  dear  Ever- 
green, th-  ionest,  simple  old  creature  has  a  warm 
comer  in  my  heart ; — I  don't  see,  for  my  part,  why  a 
body  may  not  like  a  negro  as  well  as  a  white  man ! " 

By  the  time  these  biographical  anecdotes  were 
ended  we  had  reached  the  stable,  into  which  we  in- 
voluntarily strolled,  and  found  Caesar  busily  employed 
in  rubbing  down  the  horses ;  an  office  he  would  not 
entrust  to  any  body  else ;  having  contracted  an  af- 
fection for  every  beast  in  the  stable,  from  their  being 
descendants  of  the  old  race  of  animals,  his  youthful 
contemporaries.  Caesar  was  very  particular  in  giving 
Vol.  U.— 18. 


ua  their  pedigrees,  tcwether  with  a  panegyric  on  the 
swiftness,  bottom,  blood,  and  spirit  cf  their  sires. 
From  these  he  digressed  into  a  variet)  of  anecdotes, 
in  which  Launcelot  bore  a  conspicuous  part,  and  on 
which  the  old  negro  dwelt  with  all  the  garrulity  of 
age.  Honest  Langstaff  stood  leaning  with  his  arm 
over  the  back  of  his  favourite  steed,  old  Killi!eer; 
and  I  could  perceive  he  listened  to  Czsar's  simple 
details  with  that  fond  attention  with  which  a  feeling 
mind  will  hang  over  narratives  of  boyish  days.  His 
eyes  sparkled  with  animation,  a  glow  of  youthful  fire 
stole  across  his  pale  visage  ;  he  nodded  with  smiling 
approbation  at  every  sentence  ;—chuckled  at  every 
exploit ;  laughed  heartily  at  the  story  of  his  once 
having  smoked  out  a  country  singing-school  with 
brimstone  and  assafoetida ; — and  slipping  a  piece  of 
money  into  old  Caesar's  hand  to  buy  himself  a  new 
tobacco-box,  he  seized  me  by  the  arm  and  hurried 
out  of  the  stable  brim  full  of  good-nature.  "'Tis  a 
pestilent  old  rogue  for  talking,  my  dear  fellow,"  cried 
he,  "but  you  must  not  find  fault  with  him, — the 
creature  means  well."  I  knew  at  the  very  moment 
that  he  made  this  apology,  honest  Caesar  could  not 
have  given  him  half  the  satisfaction  had  he  talked 
like  a  Cicero  or  a  Solomon. 

Launcelot  returned  to  the  house  with  me  in  the 
best  possible  humour: — the  whole  family,  who,  in 
truth,  love  and  honour  him  from  their  very  souls, 
were  delighted  to  see  the  sunbeams  once  more  play 
in  hif.  countenance.  Every  one  seemed  to  vie  who 
should  talk  the  most,  tell  the  longest  stories,  and  be 
most  agreeable ;  and  Will  Wizard,  who  had  accom- 
panied me  in  my  visit,  declared,  as  he  lighted  his 
segar,  which  had  gone  out  forty  times  in  the  course 
of  one  of  his  oriental  tales, — that  he  had  not  passed 
so  pleasant  an  evening  since  the  birth-night  ball  af 
the  beauteous  empress  of  Hayti. 

[The  following  essay  wais  written  by  my  friend 
Langstaff,  in  one  of  the  paroxysms  of  his  splenetic 
complaint ;  and,  for  aught  I  know,  may  have  been 
effectual  in  restoring  him  to  good  humour.— A  men- 
tal discharge  of  the  kind  has  a  remarkable  tendency 
toward  sweetening  the  temper, — and  Launcelot  is, 
at  this  moment,  one  of  the  best-natured  men  in  ex- 
istence.  A.  Evergrkrn.] 


ON    GREATNESS. 
BY  LAUNCELOT  LANGSTAFF,  ESQ. 


We  have  more  than  once,  in  the  course  of  oui 
work,  been  most  jocosely  familiar  with  great  person 
ages ;  and,  in  truth,  treated  them  with  as  little  cere- 
mony, respect,  and  consideration,  as  if  they  had  been 
our  most  particular  friends.  Now,  we  would  not  suf- 
fer the  mortification  of  having  our  readers  ev(  n  sus- 
pect us  of  an  intimacy  of  the  kind  ;  assuring  them 
we  are  extremely  choice  in  our  intimates,  and  un- 
commonly circumspect  in  avoiding  connexions  witb 
all  doubtful  characters ;  particularly  pimps,  bailiffs 
lottery-brokers,  chevaliers  of  industry,  and  gteat 
men.  The  world,  in  general,  is  pretty  well  aware 
of  what  is  to  be  understood  by  the  former  classes  oi 
delinquents  ;  but  as  the  latter  has  never,  1  believe, 
been  specifically  defined ;  and  as  we  are  determined 
to  instruct  our  readers  to  the  extent  of  our  abilities, 
and  their  limited  comprehension,  it  may  not  be  amis.* 
here  to  let  them  know  what  we  understand  by  ■ 
great  man. 

First,  therefore,  let  us — editors  and  kings  are  at^ 
ways  plural— premise,  that  there  are  two  kinds  ot 


"»-i-inwi»  wf^mmmmi 


598 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


||V': 


)■■ ' 


'  I- 


1*1 


V, 


greatness  , — one  conferred  by  heaven — the  eialted 
nobility  of  the  soul ; — the  other,  a  spurious  distinc- 
tion.'engendered  by  the  mob  and  lavished  upon  its 
favourites.  The  former  of  these  distinction*  we  have 
always  contemplated  with  reverence ;  the  latter,  we 
will  take  this  opportunity  to  strip  naked  before  our 
unenlightened  readers  ;  so  that  if  by  chance  any  of 
them  are  held  in  ignommious  thraldom  by  this  base 
circulation  of  false  coin,  they  may  forthwith  emanci- 
pate themselves  from  such  inglorious  delusion. 

It  is  a  fictitious  value  given  to  individuals  by  pub- 
He  caprice,  as  bankers  g^ve  an  impression  to  a  worth- 
less slip  of  paper ;  thereby  gaining  it  a  currency  for 
infinitely  more  than  its  intrinsic  value.  Every  nation 
has  its  peculiar  coin,  and  peculiar  great  men ;  neither 
of  which  will,  for  the  most  part,  pass  current  out  of 
the  country  where  they  are  stamped.  Your  true 
mob-created  great  man,  is  like  a  note  of  one  of  the 
little  New-England  banks,  and  his  value  depreciates 
in  proportion  to  the  distance  from  home.  In  En- 
gland, a  great  man  is  he  who  has  most  ribands  and 
gew-gaws  on  his  coat,  most  horses  to  his  carriage, 
most  slaves  in  his  retinue,  or  most  toad-eaters  at  his 
table;   in    France,  he  who    can  most  dexterously 

flourish  his  heels  above  his  head Duport  is  most 

inconiestably  the  greatest  man  in  France ! — when 
the  emperor  is  absent.  The  greatest  man  in  China 
is  he  who  can  trace  his  ancestry  up  to  the  moon  ; 
and  in  this  country,  our  great  men  may  generally 
hunt  down  their  pedigree  until  it  burrows  in  the  dirt 
like  a  rabbit.  To  tx;  concise ;  our  great  men  are 
those  who  are  most  expert  at  crawling  on  all  fours, 
and  have  the  happiest  facility  in  dragging  and  wind- 
ing themselves  along  in  the  dirt  like  very  reptiles. 
This  may  seem  a  paradox  to  many  of  my  readers, 
wfaOt  with  great  good-nature  be  it  hinted,  are  too 
•tupid  to  look  beyond  the  mere  surface  of  our  invalu- 
able writings  ;  and  often  pass  over  the  knowing  al- 
insion,  and  poignant  meaning,  that  is  slily  couching 
beneath.  It  is  for  the  benefit  of  such  helpless  igno- 
lants,  who  have  no  other  creed  but  the  opinion  of 
the  mob,  that  I  shall  trace — as  far  as  it  is  possible  to 
follow  him  in  his  progress  from  insignificance — the 
rise,  progress,  and  completion  of  a  little  great 
MAN. 

In  a  logocracy,  to  use  the  sage  Mustapha's  phrase, 
It  is  not  absolutely  necessaiy  to  the  formation  of  a 
great  man  that  he  should  be  either  wise  or  valiant, 
upright  or  honourable.    On  the  contrary,  daily  ex- 

Cericnce  shows  that  these  qualities  rather  impede 
is  preferment ;  inasmuch  as  they  are  prone  to  ren- 
der him  too  inflexibly  erect,  and  are  directly  at  vari- 
ance with  that  willowy  suppleness  which  enables  a 
man  to  wind  and  twist  through  all  the  nooks  and 
turns  and  dark  win* ling  passages  that  lead  to  great- 
ness. The  grand  requisite  for  climbing  the  rugged 
hill  of  popularity, — the  summit  of  which  is  the  seat 
of  power, — is  to  be  useful  And  here  once  more,  for 
the  sake  of  our  readers,  who  are,  of  course,  not  so 
wise  as  ourselves,  I  must  explain  what  we  under- 
stand by  usefulness.  The  horse,  in  his  native  state, 
is  wild,  swift,  impetuous,  full  of  majesty,  and  of  a 
most  generous  spirit.  It  is  then  the  animal  is  noble, 
exalted,  and  useless. — But  entrap  him,  manacle  him, 
cudgel  him,  break  down  his  lofty  spirit,  put  the  curb 
tntc  his  mouth,  the  load  upon  his  oack.  and  reduce 
him  into  servile  obedience  to  the  bridle  and  the  lash, 
and  it  is  then  he  becomes  useful.  Your  jackass  is 
one  of  the  most  useful  animals  in  existence.  If  my 
readers  do  not  now  understand  what  I  mean  by  usc- 
fiilness,  I  give  them  all  up  for  most  absolute  nincoms. 
To  rise  in  this  countr)',  a  man  must  first  descend. 
The  aspiring'  politician  may  be  compared  to  that 
Indefatigable  insect  called  the  tumbler ;  pronounced 
by  a  distinguished  personage  to  be  the  only  indus- 


trious animal  in  Virsfinia,  which  buries  Itself  in  filth, 
and  works  i^obly  in  the  dirt,  until  it  forms  a  littls 
ball,  which  it  rolls  laboriously  along,  like  Diogenei 
in  his  tub ;  sometimes  head,  sometimes  tail  foremost, 
pilfering  from  every  rut  and  mud-hole,  and  increasing 
Its  ball  of  greatness  by  the  contributions  of  the  ken- 
nel, lust  so  the  candidate  for  greatness ; — he  plunKCi 
into  that  mass  of  obscenity,  the  mob ;  labours  in  dirt 
and  oblivion,  and  makes  unto  himself  the  rudiment! 
of  a  popular  name  from  the  admiration  and  praises 
of  rogues,  ignoramuses,  and  blackguards.  His  name 
once  started,  onward  he  goes  struggling,  and  puffing, 
and  pushing  it  before  him  ;  collecting  new  tributes 
from  the  dregs  and  oflals  of  the  land,  as  he  proceeds, 
until  having  gathered  together  a  mighty  mass  of 
popularity,  ne  mounts  it  in  triumph ;  is  lioisted  into 
ofhce,  and  becomes  a  great  man,  and  a  ruler  in  the 
land ; — all  this  will  be  clearly  illustrated  by  a  sketch 
of  a  worthy  of  the  kind,  who  sprung  up  under  my 
eye,  and  was  hatched  from  pollution  by  the  broad 
rays  of  popularity,  which,  like  the  sun,  can  "  breed 
maggots  in  a  dead  dog." 

Timothy  Dabble  was  a  yonng  man  of  very 
promising  talents :  for  he  wrote  a  fair  hand,  and  had 
thrice  won  the  silver  medal  at  a  country  academy ; 
— he  Was  also  an  orator,  for  he  talked  with  emphatic 
volubility,  and  could  argue  a  full  hour,  without  taking 
either  side,  or  advancing  a  single  opinion  ; — he  had 
still  further  requisites  for  eloquence ; — for  he  made 
very  handsome  gestures,  had  dimples  in  his  cheeks 
when  he  smiled,  and  enunciated  most  harmoniously 
through  his  nose.  In  short,  nature  had  certainly 
marked  him  out  for  a  great  man  ;  for  though  he  was 
not  tall,  yet  he  added  at  least  half  an  inch  to  his 
stature  by  elevating  his  head,  and  assumed  an  amaa- 
ing  expression  of  dignity  by  turning  up  his  nose  and 
curling  his  nostrils  in  a  style  of  conscious  superiority 
Convinced  by  these  unequivocal  appearances.  Dab- 
ble's  friends,  in  full  caucus,  one  and  all.  declared  that 
he  was  undoubtedly  bom  to  be  a  great  man,  and  it 
would  be  his  own  fault  if  he  were  not  one.  Dibble 
was  tickled  with  an  opinion  which  coincided  so  tiappily 
with  his  own. — for  vanity,  in  a  confidential  whisper, 
had  given  him  the  like  intimation ; — and  he  reverenced 
the  judgment  of  his  friends  because  they  thought  so 
highly  of  himself; — accordingly  he  sat  out  with  a 
determination  to  become  a  great  man.  and  to  start 
in  the  scrub-race  for  honour  and  renown.  How  to 
attain  the  desired  prizes  was,  however,  the  question. 
He  knew  by  a  kind  of  instinctive  feeling,  which 
seems  peculiar  to  grovelling  minds,  that  honour, 
and  its  better  part — profit,  would  never  seek  him 
out ;  that  they  would  never  knock  at  his  door  and 
crave  admittance ;  but  must  be  courted,  and  toiled 
after,  and  earned.  He  therefore  strutted  forth  into 
the  highways,  the  market-places,  and  the  assemblies 
of  the  people;  ranted  like  a  true  cockerel  orator 
about  virtue,  and  patriotism,  and  liberty,  and  equal- 
ity, and  himself.  Full  many  a  political  wind-mill 
did  he  battle  with  ;  and  full  many  a  time  did  he  talk 
himself  out  of  bre.ith,  and  his  heartrs  out  of  their 
patience.  But  Dabble  found,  to  his  vast  astunish- 
ment,  that  there  was  not  a  notorious  political  pimp 
at  a  ward  meeting  but  could  out-talk  him ;  and  what 
was  still  more  mortifying,  there  was  not  a  notorious 
political  pimp  but  was  more  noticed  and  caressed 
than  himself.  The  reason  was  simple  enough ;  while 
he  harangued  about  principles,  the  others  ranted 
about  men ;  where  he  reprobated  a  political  error 
they  blasted  a  political  character ; — tncy  were,  con- 
sequently, the  most  useful ;  for  the  great  object  of  our 
political  disputes  is  not  who  shall  have  the  honour  ot 
emancipating  the  community  from  the  leading  strings 
of  delusion,  out  who  shall  have  the  profit  ofholding 
the  strings  and  leading  the  community  by  the  now. 


lurics  itself  in  fihb, 
il  it  forms  a  litth 
Dng,  liicc  Diogenei 
imes  tail  foremost, 
lole,  and  increasing 
tutions  of  the  Icen- 
tness ; — he  plunges 
sb ;  labours  in  dirt 
iseif  the  rudiments 
ration  and  praises 
^ards.  His  name 
j^gling,  and  puffing, 
cting  new  tributes 
nd,  as  he  proceeds, 
I  mighty  mass  of 
h  ;  is  lioisted  into 
and  a  ruler  in  the 
trated  by  a  sicetch 
ung  up  under  my 
tion  by  the  broad 
e  sun,  can  "  breed 

inng  man  of  very 
fair  hand,  and  had 
country  academy ; 
Iked  with  emphatic 
our,  without  taking 
opinion  ; — he  had 
nee ; — for  he  made 
pies  in  his  cheeks 
nost  harmoniously 
ture  had  certainly 
for  though  he  was 
lalf  an  inch  to  his 
assumed  an  amai- 
-ig  up  his  nose  and 
nscious  superiority 
appearances.  Dab- 
id  all.  declared  that 
great  man,  and  it 
:  not  one.  Dabble 
:oincided  so  nappily 
)nfidential  whisper, 
—and  he  reverenced 
jse  they  thought  so 
he  sat  out  with  a 
man,  and  to  start 
renown.  How  to 
vever,  the  question. 
:ive  feeling,  which 
inds,  that  honour. 
Id  never  seek  him 
:k  at  his  door  and 
courted,  and  toiled 
strutted  forth  into 
and  the  assemblies 
ue  cockerel  orator 
liberty,  and  equal- 
political  wind-mill 
yr  a  time  did  he  talk 
learirs  out  of  their 
I  his  vast  astuhish- 
rious  political  pimp 
talk  htm  ;  and  what 
vas  not  a  notorious 
tticed  and  caressed 
nple  enough ;  while 
the  others  ranted 
;d  a  political  error 
r ; — tney  were,  con- 
:  great  object  of  our 
have  the  honour  ot 
n  the  leading  strings 
he  profit  ofholding 
lunity  by  the  no«r. 


r 


Mi: 


■m 


pi 

m 


'_) 


lU 


I- 


SALMAGUNDI. 


699 


Dmbble  WM  likewiae  vtry  loud  in  his  prore!i<iiont 
of  integrity,  incorruptibility,  and  disinterestedness; 
words  wliich,  from  being  filtered  and  refined  through 
newspapers  and  election  handbills,  have  lost  their 
oiiginal  significatinn ;  and  in  the  political  dictionary 
Are  synonymous  with  empty  pockets,  itching  palms, 
and  interested  ambition.  He,  in  addition  to  all  this, 
declared  that  he  would  support  none  but  honest 
men ; — but  unluckily  as  but  few  of  these  offered 
themselves  to  be  supported,  Dabble's  services  were 
seldom  required.  He  pledged  himself  never  to  en- 
gnge  in  party  schemes,  or  party  politics,  hut  to  stand 
up  solely  fur  the  broad  interests  of  his  country ; — so 
he  stood  alone;  and  what  is  the  same  thing,  he 
stood  still;  for,  in  this  country,  he  who  does  not 
side  with  either  party,  is  like  a  body  in  a  vacuum 
between  two  planets,  and  must  for  ever  remain  mo- 
tionless. 

Dabble  was  immeasurably  sui  prised  that  a  man 
so  honest,  so  disinterested,  and  so  sagacious  withal, 
— and  one  too  who  had  the  good  of  his  country  so 
much  at  heart,  should  thus  rem.iin  unnoticed  and 
unapplauded.  A  little  worldly  advice,  whispered  in 
his  ear  by  a  shrewd  old  politician,  at  once  explained 
the  whole  mystery.  "  He  who  would  become  great," 
said  he, "  must  serve  an  apprenticeship  to  greatness; 
and  rise  by  regular  gradation,  like  the  master  of  a 
vessel,  who  commences  by  being  scrub  and  cabin- 
boy.  He  must  fag  in  the  train  of  great  men,  echo 
all  their  sentiments,  become  their  toad-eater  and 
parasite; — laugh  at  all  their  jokes,  and  above  all, 
endeavour  to  make  them  laugh ;  if  you  only  now  and 
then  make  a  man  laugh,  your  fortune  is  made. 
Look  but  about  you,  youngster,  and  you  will  not  see 
a  single  little  great  man  of  the  day,  but  has  his 
miserable  herd  of  retainers,  who  yelp  at  his  heels, 
come  at  his  whistle,  worry  whoever  he  points  his 
£nger  at,  and  think  themselves  fully  rewarded  by 
■ometimes  snapping  up  a  crumb  that  falls  from  the 
great  man's  table.  Talk  of  p.itriotism  and  virtue, 
and  incorruptibility ! — tut,  man  I  they  are  the  very 
qualities  that  scare  munificence,  and  keep  patronage 
at  a  distance.  You  might  as  well  attempt  to  entice 
crows  with  red  rags  and  gunpowder.  Lay  all  these 
scarecrow  virtues  aside,  and  let  this  be  your  maxim, 
that  a  candid.ite  for  political  eminence  is  like  a  dried 
herring ;  he  never  becomes  luminous  until  he  is  cor- 
Hipt." 

Dabble  caught  with  hungry  avidity  these  congenial 
doctrines,  and  turned  into  his  pre-destined  channel 
of  action  with  the  force  and  rapidity  of  a  stream 
which  has  for  a  while  been  restrained  from  its  natu- 
ral course.  He  l)ecame  what  nature  had  fitted  him 
to  be;— his  tone  softened  down  from  arrogant  self- 
sufficiency,  to  the  whine  of  fawning  solicitation. 
He  mingled  in  the  caucuses  of  the  sovereign  people ; 
adapted  his  dress  to  a  similitude  of  dirty  raggedness ; 
argued  most  logically  with  those  who  were  of  his 
own  opinion ;  and  slandered,  with  all  the  malice  of 
impotence,  exalte<l  characters  whose  orbit  he  des- 
paired ever  to  approach : — ^just  as  that  scoundrel 
midnight  thief,  the  owl,  hoots  at  the  blessed  light  of 
the  sun,  whose  glorious  lustre  he  dares  never  con- 
template. He  likewise  applied  himself  to  discharg- 
ing, faithfully,  the  honourable  duties  of  a  partizan ; 
—he  poached  about  for  private  slanders  and  ribald 
smecdotes ;— he  folded  handbills ; — he  even  wrote 
ons  or  two  himself,  which  he  carried  about  in  his 
pocket  and  read  to  every  body ; — he  became  a  secre- 
tary at  ward-meetings,  set  his  hand  to  divers  resolu- 
tions of  patriotic  imiwrt,  and  even  once  went  so  far 
as  to  make  a  speech,  in  which  he  proved  that  patri- 
otism was  a  virtue ; — the  reigning  bashaw  a  great 
man ; — that  this  was  a  free  country,  and  he  himself 
an  arrant  and  incuntestible  buzzard  I 


Dabble  wu  now  very  frequent  And  devout  in  hit 
visits  to  those  temples  of  politics,  popularity,  and 
smoke,  the  ward  porter-houses ;  those  true  dens  of 
equality  where  all  ranks,  ages,  and  talents  are 
brought  down  to  the  dea<l  level  of  rude  familiarity. 
'Twas  here  his  talents  expanded,  and  his  genius 
swelled  up  into  its  proper  sizt* ;  like  the  loathsome 
toail,  which,  shrinking  from  balmy  airs  and  jocund 
sunshine,  finds  his  congenial  home  in  caves  and  dun- 
geons, and  there  nourishes  his  venom,  and  bloats 
his  deformity.  'Twas  here  he  revelled  with  the 
swinish  multitude  in  their  debauches  on  patriotism 
and  porter ;  ami  it  became  an  even  chance  whethei 
Dabble  would  turn  out  a  great  man  or  a  great 
drunkard.  But  Dabble  in  all  this  kept  steadily  in 
his  eye  the  only  deity  he  ever  worshipped  —  his 
interest.  Having  by  this  Timiliarity  ingratiated 
himself  with  the  mob,  he  became  wonderfully 
potent  and  industrious  at  elections ;  knew  all  the 
dens  and  cellars  of  profligacy  and  intemperance; 
brought  more  negroes  to  the  polls,  and  knew  to  a 
greater  certainty  where  votes  could  be  bought  for 
beer,  than  any  of  his  contemporaries.  His  exer- 
tions in  the  c.iusc,  his  persevering  industry,  his  de- 
grading compliance,  his  unresisting  humility,  his 
steadfast  dependence,  at  leneth  caught  the  atten- 
tion of  one  of  the  leaders  o?  the  party  ;  who  was 
pleased  to  observe  that  Dabble  was  a  verj'  useful 
fellow,  who  would  go  all  lengths.  From  that  mo- 
ment his  fortune  was  made ; — he  was  hand  and 
glove  with  orators  and  slang-whangers ;  basked  in 
the  sunshine  of  great  men's  smiles,  and  had  the 
honour,  sundry  timt^s,  of  sh.iking  hands  with  digni- 
taries, and  drinking  out  of  the  same  pot  with  them 
at  a  porter-house  !  I 

I  will  not  fatigue  myself  with  tracing  this  cater* 
pillar  in  his  slimy  progress  from  worm  to  butter 
fly :  suffice  it  that  Dabble  bowed  and  bowed,  and 
fawned,  and  sneaked,  and  smirked,  and  libelled, 
until  one  would  have  thought  perseverance  itself 
would  have  settled  down  into  despair.  There  was 
no  knowing  how  long  he  might  have  lingered  at 
a  distance  from  his  hopes,  had  he  not  luckily  got 
tarred  and  feathered  for  some  of  his  electioneering 
manoeuvres ; — this  was  the  making  of  him  ! — Let 
not  my  readers  stare  ; — tarring  and  feathering  here 
is  equal  to  pillory  and  cropped  ears  in  England ; 
and  either  of  these  kinds  of  martyrdom  will  ensure 
a  patriot  the  sympathy  and  support  of  his  faction. 
His  partizans,  for  even  he  had  his  partizans,  took 
his  case  into  consideration  ; — he  had  been  kicked 
and  cuffed,  and  disgraced,  and  dishonoured  in  the 
cause ; — he  had  licked  the  dust  at  the  feet  of  the 
mob ; — he  was  a  faithful  drudge,  slow  to  anger,  of 
invincible  patience,  of  incessant  assiduity  ; — a  thor- 
ough-going tool,  who  could  be  curbed,  and  spur- 
re<T,  and  directed  at  pleasure ; — in  short,  he  had 
all  the  important  qualifications  for  a  little  great 
man,  and  he  was  accordingly  ushered  into  office 
amid  the  acclamations  of  the  party.  The  leading 
men  complimented  his  usefulness,  the  multitude 
his  republican  simplicity,  and  the  slang  whangers 
vouched  for  his  patriotism.  Since  his  elevation  he 
has  discovered  indubitable  signs  of  having  been 
destined  for  a  great  man.  His  nose  has  acquired 
an  additional  elevation  of  several  degrees,  so  that 
now  he  appears  to  have  bidden  adieu  to  this  world 
and  to  have  set  his  thoughts  altogether  on  things 
above ;  and  he  has  swelled  and  inflated  himself  to 
such  a  degree,  that  his  friends  are  under  apprehen- 
sions that  he  will  one  day  or  other  explode  and  Wow 
up  like  a  torpedo. 


000 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON    IRVINO. 


No.  XVI.— THURSDAY,  OCT.  15,  1807. 

STYLE,    AT    BALLSTON. 
BY  WILLIAM  WIZARD,  ESQ 


m 


NOTWITHSTANDINO  Evergreen  has  never  been 
■hniad,  nor  had  his  understandin'^  enlightened,  or 
his  views  enlarged  by  that  marvellous  sharpener  of 
the  wits,  a  salt-water  voyaf^e;  yet  he  is  tolerably 
■hiewd,  and  correct,  in  the  limited  sphere  of  his 
observations  ;  and  now  and  then  astounds  me  with 
a  righi  pithy  remark,  which  would  do  no  discredit 
even  to  a  man  who  had  made  the  grand  tour. 

In  several  late  conversations  at  Cockloft-Hall,  he 
has  amused  us  exceedingly  by  detailinR  sundry  par- 
ticulars concerning  that  notorious  slau(;hter-nouse 
of  time,  Ballston  Springs ;  where  he  spent  a  consid- 
erable part  of  the  last  summer.  The  following  is  a 
•ummary  of  his  observations. 

Pleasure  has  passed  through  a  variety  of  signifi- 
cations at  Ballston.  It  originally  meant  nothing 
more  than  a  relief  from  pain  and  sickness  ;  and  the 
patient  who  had  journeyed  many  a  weary  mile  to 
the  Springs,  with  a  heavy  heart  and  emaciated  form, 
callecf  it  pleasure  when  he  threw  by  his  crutches, 
and  danced  away  from  them  with  renovated  spirits 
and  limbs  jocund  with  vigour.  In  process  of  time 
pleasure  underwent  a  retinement,  and  appeared  in 
the  likeness  of  a'  sober,  unceremonious  country- 
dance,  to  the  flute  of  an  amateur  or  the  three- 
stringed  fiddle  of  an  itinerant  country  musician. — 
Still  every  thing  bespoke  that  happy  holid.iy  which 
It.:  spirits  ever  enjoy,  when  emancipated  from  the 
thackies  of  formality,  ceremony,  and  modern  po- 
ijteness :  things  went  on  cheerily,  and  B.allston  was 
pronounced  a  charming,  hum-drum,  careless  place  of 
ifsort,  where  every  one  was  at  his  ease,  antl  might 
follow  unmolested  the  bent  of  his  humour— pro- 
vided his  wife  was  not  there  ; — when,  lo !  all  on  a 
sudden  Style  made  its  baneful  appearance  in  the 
semblance  of  a  gig  and  tandem,  a  pair  of  leather 
breeches,  a  liveriwl  footman,  and  a  cockney ! — 
since  that  fatal  er?  pleasure  has  taken  an  entire 
new  signification,  ana  at  present  means  nothing 
but  STYLE. 

The  worthy,  fashionable,  dashing,  good-for-noth- 
ing people  of  every  state,  who  hao  rather  suffer  the 
martyrdom  of  a  crowd  than  endure  the  monotony 
of  their  own  homes  and  the  stupid  company  of  their 
own  thoughts,  flock  to  the  Springs ;  not  to  enjoy  the 
pleasures  of  society  or  benefit  by  the  qualities  of  the 
waters,  but  to  exhibit  their  equipages  and  wardrobes, 
and  to  excite  the  admiration,  or  what  is  much  more 
satisfactory,  the  envy  of  their  fashionable  competi- 
tors. This,  of  course,  awakens  a  spirit  of  noble 
emulation  between  the  eastern,  middle,  and  southern 
states;  and  every  lady  hereupon  finding  herself 
charged  in  a  manner  with  the  whole  weight  of  her 
country's  dignity  and  style,  dresses  and  dashes  and 
sparkles  witnout  mercy  at  her  competitors  from 
Other  parts  of  the  Union.  This  kind  of  rivalship 
»at-,:r2lly  requires  a  vast  deal  of  preparation  and 
protiigiojs  quantities  of  supplies.  A  sober  citizen's 
wife  will  break  half  a  dozen  milliners'  shops,  and 
sometimes  starve  her  family  a  whole  season,  to  ena- 
ble herself  to  make  the  Springs  campaign  in  style. — 
She  repairs  to  the  s<;at  of  war  with  a  mighty  force 
of  trunks  and  bandboxes,  like  so  many  ammunition 
chests,  filled  with  caps,  hats,  gowns,  ribands,  shawls, 
and  all  the  various  artillery  of  fashionable  warfare. 
The  lady  of  a  southern  planter  will  lay  out  the  whole 
•anual  produce  of  a  nee  plantation  in  silver  and 


gold  muslins,  lace  veils,  and  itew  HvRriet;  carry  a 
hogshead  of  tobacco  on  her  head,  and  trail  a  bair 
of  sea-island  cotton  at  her  heels ;  while  a  lady  ot 
Boston  or  Salem  will  wrap  herself  up  in  the  net  pro- 
ceeds of  a  cargo  of  whale-oil,  and  tie  on  her  hat 
with  a  quintal  of  codfish. 

The  planters'  Ladies,  however  have  generally  th? 
advantage  in  this  contest ;  for,  as  it  it  an  incontesi 
able  fact,  th.at  whoever  comes  from  the  West  or 
East  Indies,  or  Georgia,  or  the  Carolinas,  or.  In  fact 
any  warm  climate,  is  immensely  rich,  it  cannot  Ix 
expected  that  a  simple  cit  r.f  the  north  can  cr.pe 
with  them  in  style.  The  ilanter,  therefore,  who 
drives  four  horses  abroad  anci  a  thousand  negroes  at 
home,  and  who  flourishes  up  to  the  Springs,  followed 
by  half  a  score  of  black-a-moors  in  gorgeous  liveries, 
is  un(|uestionably  superior  to  the  northern  merchant, 
who  plods  on  in  a  carriage  and  pair ;  which,  being 
nothing  more  than  is  unite  necessary,  has  no  claim 
whatever  to  style.  He,  nowt-ver,  h.is  his  consolation 
in  feeling  superior  to  the  honest  cit  who  dashes 
about  in  a  simple  gig: — he,  in  return,  sneers  a  the 
country  squire,  who  jogs  along  with  his  scrul>by, 
long-eared  pony  and  s.addle-bags ;  and  the  squ  re, 
by  w,ay  of  taking  satisfaction,  would  make  no  si  ru- 
pie  to  run  over  the  unobtrusive  pedestrian,  were  it 
not  that  the  last  being  the  most  independent  of  the 
whole,  might  chance  to  break  his  head  by  way  of 
retort. 

The  great  misfortune  is,  that  this  style  is  supported 
at  such  an  expense  <as  sometimes  to  encroach  on  the 
rights  and  privileges  of  the  pocket,  and  occasion 
very  awkward  embarrassments  to  the  tyro  of  fash' 
ion.  Among  a  number  of  instances.  Evergreen 
mentions  the  fate  of  a  dashing  blade  from  the  south, 
who  m.ade  his  fn/ri'  with  a  tandem  and  two  out- 
riders, by  the  aid  of  which  he  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  all  the  ladies,  and  caused  a  coolness  between 
several  young  couples,  who,  it  was  thought,  before 
his  arrival,  had  a  considerable  kindness  for  each 
other.  In  the  course  of  a  fortnight  his  tandem  dis- 
appeared ! — the  class  of  good  folk  who  seem  to  have 
nothing  to  do  in  this  world  but  pry  into  other  peo- 
ple's affairs,  began  to  stare  ! — in  a  little  time  longer 
an  outrider  was  missing ! — this  increased  the  "ilarm, 
and  it  wiis  consequently  whispered  that  he  had  eaten 
the  horses  and  drank  the  negro. — N.  B.  Southern 
gentlemen  are  very  apt  to  do  this  on  an  emergency. 
— Serious  apprehensions  were  entertained  about  the 
fate  of  the  remaining  servant,  which  were  soon  veri- 
fied by  his  actually  vanishing;  and,  in  "one  little 
month,"  the  dashing  Carolinian  modestly  took  his 
departure  in  the  stage-coach  ! — universally  regretted 
by  the  friends  who  had  generously  released  him  from 
his  cumbrous  load  of  style. 

Evergreen,  in  the  course  of  his  detail,  gave  very 
melancholy  accounts  of  an  alarming  famine  which 
raged  with  great  violence  at  the  Springs.  Whether 
this  was  owing  to  the  incredible  appetites  of  the 
company,  or  the  scarcity  which  prevailed  at  the  inns, 
he  did  not  seem  inclmed  to  say ;  but  he  declares  that 
he  was  for  several  days  in  imminent  danger  of 
starvation,  owing  to  his  being  a  little  too  dilatoni 
in  his  attendance  at  the  dinner-table.  He  relates  a 
number  of  "  moving  accidents  "  which  befell  many 
of  tht;  polite  company  in  their  zeal  to  get  a  good 
seat  at  dinner ;  on  which  occasion  a  kind  of  scrub* 
race  always  took  place,  wherein  a  vast  deal  ot 
jockeying  and  unfair  play  was  shown,  and  a  variety 
of  squabbles  and  unseemly  altercations  occurrwl. 
But  when  arrived  at  the  scene  of  action,  it  was 
truly  an  awful  sight  to  behold  the  confusion,  and  to 
hear  the  tumultuous  uproar  of  voices  crying,  some 
for  one  thing  and  some  for  another,  to  the  tuneful 
accompanyment  of  knives  and  forks,  rattling  vitb 


SALMAGUNDI. 


eoi 


Utfiriet :  carry  a 

■J.  and  trail  a  half 

while  a  lady  of 

[P  in  the  net  pro- 

tie  on   her  hat 

»ve  generally  thr 
t  is  an  incontesi 
»m  the  West   or 

'linaii,  or,  in  fact 
ch,  it  cannot  lie 

north  can  cr.pc 
•.  therefore,  who 
jsand  nrprocs  ai 
SprinjTs.  followrd 
rorfTcoiw  liverips, 
■thern  m«-rcharit, 
"■;  which,  beinj. 
ry.has  no  claim 
»  his  consolation 
cit  who   dashes 
m,  sneers  a   the 
th  his  scruliby. 
and  the  squ  re, 

make  no  si  ni- 
lestrian,  were  it 
ependent  of  tiie 
nead  by  way  of 

yie  is  supported 
incroach  on  the 
.  and  occasion 
>e  tyro  of  fash 
ces.  Evergreen 
from  the  south, 
and  two  ouf- 
icted  the  atten- 
olness  between 
■bought,  before 
Iness   for  each 
lis  tandem  dis- 

0  seem  to  have 
into  other  peo- 
tle  time  longer 
'M«l  the  ilarm, 
t  he  had  eaten 

1  B.  Southern 
an  emergency, 
ined  about  the 
'ere  soon  veri- 
in  "one  littJe 
sstly  took  his 
ally  regretted 
«d  him  from 

»il.  gave  veiy 
amine  which 
:s.     Whether 
elites  of  the 
i  at  the  inns, 
declares  thai 
danger  of 
too  dijatory 
He  relates  a 
befell  many 
get  a  good 
id  of  scrub- 
wt  deal  ot 
nd  a  variety 
s  occurreff. 
tion,  it  was 
sion,  and  to 
rying,  some 
the  tusefui 
ittling  vitb 


til  the  energy  oi  hungry  iin|utience. — The  feast  of 
the  Centaurs  and  the  Lapitha  was  nothing  when 
compared  with  a  dinner  at  the  great  houM.  At  one 
time  an  old  gentleman,  whose  natur.il  ir.-iscibility 
was  a  little  sharpened  by  the  gout,  had  scalded  his 
throat  by  gobblinK  down  a  bowl  of  hot  soup  in  a 
vast  hurry,  in  order  to  secure  the  first  fruits  of  a 
toasted  partridge  before  it  was  snapfxtd  up  by  some 
hungry  rival ;  when,  just  as  he  was  whetting  his 
knife  and  fork,  preparatory  for  a  descent  on  the 
promised  land,  he  had  the  mortilicatinn  to  ace  it 
transferred  bodily  to  (he  plate  of  a  squeamish  little 
damsel  who  was  taking  the  waters  for  det>ility  and 
loss  of  appetite.  This  w.is  too  much  for  the  patience 
of  old  Crusty ;  he  lodged  his  fork  into  the  partridge, 
whipt  it  into  his  dish,  and  cutting  otT  a  wing  of  it, — 
"There,  Miss,  there's  more  th.in  you  can  eat, — 
Oons  I  what  should  such  a  little  chalky-faced  pup- 
pet as  you  do  with  a  whole  partridge ! " — At  an- 
other time  a  mighty,  sweet-disposed  old  dowager, 
who  loomed  most  magnificently  at  the  table,  had  a 
sauce-boat  launched  upon  the  capacious  lap  of  a 
silver-sprigged  muslin  gown  by  the  manoeuvring  of 
a  little  politic  Frenchman,  who  was  dexterously 
;%ttempting  to  make  a  lodgment  under  the  covered 
way  of  a  chicken-pye ;— human  na'ure  could  not 
bear  it  I — the  lady  bounced  round,  and  with  one  box 
on  the  ear,  drove  the  luckless  wight  to  utter  anni- 
hilation. 

But  these  little  cross  accidents  are  amply  com- 
pensated by  the  great  variety  of  amusements  which 
abound  it  this  charming  resort  of  beauty  and  fash- 
ion. In  the  morning  the  company,  each  like  a  jolly 
Bacchanalian  with  glass  in  hand,  sally  (crth  to  the 
Springs :  where  the  gentlemen,  who  wish  to  make 
themselves  .agreeable,  have  an  opportunity  of  dip- 
ping themselves  into  the  good  opinion  of  the  ladies : 
and  it  is  truly  delectable  to  see  with  what  gnace  and 
adroitness  they  perform  this  ingratiating  feat.  An- 
thcD)  says  that  it  is  peculiarly  amazing  to  behold 
the  quantity  of  water  the  ladies  drink  on  this  occa- 
sion for  the  purpose  of  getting  an  appetite  for 
breakfast.  He  assures  me  he  has  been  present 
when  a  young  lady  of  unparalleled  delicacy  tossed 
off  in  the  space  of  a  minute  or  two  one  and  twenty 
tumblers  and  a  wine-glass  full.  On  my  asking  An- 
thony whether  the  solicitude  of  the  by-standers  w.as 
not  greatly  awakened  as  to  what  might  be  the  ef- 
fects of  this  dcliauch,  he  replied  th.at  the  ladies  at 
Ballston  had  become  such  great  sticklers  for  the 
doctrine  of  evaporation,  th.at  i>o  gentleman  ever  ven- 
tured to  remonstrate  against  this  excessive  drinking 
for  fear  of  bringing  his  philosophy  into  contempt. 
The  most  notorious  water-drinkers  in  particular 
were  continually  holding  forth  on  the  surprising 
aptitude  with  which  tne  Ballston  waters  evaporated ; 
and  several  gentlemen,  who  had  the  hardihood  to 

Jiiestion  this  female  philosophy,  were  held  in  high 
ispleasure. 

After  breakfast  every  one  chooses  his  amusement ; 
—some  take  a  ride  into  the  pine  woods  and  enjoy 
the  varied  and  romantic  scenery  of  burnt  trees,  post 
and  rail  fences,  pine  flats,  potatoe  patches,  and  log 
huts ; — others  scramble  up  the  surrounding  sand- 
hills, that  look  like  the  abodes  of  a  gigantic  race  of 
vits , — take  a  peep  at  the  other  sand-hills  beyond 
tncm; — and  then — come  down  again:  o'hers,  who 
are  romantic,  and  sundry  young  ladies  insist  upon 
being  so  whenever  they  visit  the  SprWigs,  or  go 
any  where  into  the  country,  stroll  alrc.g  the  l>or-' 
ders  of  a  little  swampy  brook  that  drags  itself  along 
like  an  Alexandrine;  and  that  so  Uzily  as  not  to 
m.^ke  a  single  murmur ; — watching  the  little  tadpoles 
as  ihey  frolic,  right  flippantly,  in  tne  muddy  stream ; 
and  listening  to  the  inspiring  melody  of  the  harmo- 


nious frogs  that  croak  upon  its  borders.  Some  play 
at  billiards,  some  play  at  the  liddle,  and  some-  pla) 
the  fool : — the  latter  being  the  most  prevalent  amus«^ 
ment  at  Ballston. 

These,  together  with  abundance  of  dancing,  and 
a  pro<ligious  deal  of  sleeping  of  afternoons,  make  up 
the  variety  of  pleasures  at  tne  .Springs ; — a  deliciouf 
life  of  alternate  lassitude  and  fatigue ;  of  laltoriouJ 
dissipation  and  listless  idleness ;  of  sleepless  nights, 
and  days  spent  In  that  dozing  insensibility  wnicfa 
ever  succeeds  them.  Now  and  then,  indeed,  the  in- 
fluenz.i,  the  fever-and-agiie,  or  some  such  pale-faced 
intnider,  may  h.api)en  to  throw  a  momentary  damp 
on  the  gcner.al  felicity ;  but  on  the  whole,  I'lvergreen 
declares  that  Ballston  wants  only  six  things,  to  wit' 
gocxl  air,  good  wine,  good  living,  good  beds,  good 
company,  and  good  humour,  to  be  the  most  enchant- 
ing place  in   the  world ; excepting  liotany-bay, 

Musqulto  Cove,  Dismal  Swamp,  and  tiie  Black-hole 
at  Calcutta. 


The  following  letter  from  the  sage  Mustapha  hat 
cost  us  more  trouble  to  decypher  and  render  into 
tolerable  English  than  .iny  hitherto  published.  It 
w.is  full  of  blots  and  erasures,  particularly  the  latter 
part,  which  we  have  no  doubt  was  penned  in  a  mo- 
ment of  great  wrath  and  in<lignation.  Mustapha  has 
often  a  rambling  mode  of  writing,  and  his  thoughts 
take  such  unaccountable  turns  that  it  is  dillicult  to 
tell  one  moment  where  he  will  lead  you  the  ncM, 
This  is  particularly  obvious  in  the  comniencement 
of  his  letters,  which  seldom  bear  much  analogy  to 
the  subsequent  parts  ; — he  sets  ofT  with  a  flourish, 
like  a  dramatic  hero, — assumes  an  air  of  great  porr.'* 
nosity,  and  struts  up  to  his  subject  mounted  most 
loftily  on  stilts.  L.  LANGSTAff. 


RUB-A-DUB 


LETTER    FROM    MUSTAPHA 
KELI    KHAN, 

TO    ASEM    HACCHRM,     PRINCIPAL    SLAVB-DRIVKK 
TO  HIS   HIGHNESS  THK   BASHAW  OF  TRIPOLI. 


Among  the  variety  of  principles  by  which  man- 
kind are  actuated,  there  is  one,  my  de.ar  Asem,  which 
I  scarcely  know  whether  to  consider  as  springing 
from  grandeur  and  nobility  of  mind,  or  from  a  re- 
fined species  of  vanity  and  egotism.  It  is  that  singu- 
lar, although  almost  univers.al,  desire  of  living  in  the 
memory  of  posterity ;  of  occupying  a  shace  of  the 
world's  attention  when  we  snail  long  since  have 
ceased  to  be  susceptible  either  of  its  praise  or  cen- 
sure. Most  of  the  p.assions  of  the  minu  are  bounded 
by  the  grave ; — sometimes,  indeed,  an  anxious  hope 
or  trembling  fear  will  venture  beyond  the  clouds  and 
darkness  that  rest  upon  our  mortal  horizon,  and  ex- 
patiate in  boundless  futurity  ;  but  it  is  only  this  act- 
ive love  of  fame  which  steadily  contemplates  its  fru- 
ition in  the  applause  or  gratitude  of  future  ages. 
Indignant  at  the  narrow  limits  which  circumscribe 
existence,  ambition  is  for  ever  struggling  to  soar  be- 
yond them ; — to  triumph  over  space  anJ  tune,  and 
to  bear  a  name,  at  least,  above  the  inevitable  oblivion 
in  which  every  thing  else  that  concerns  us  must  be 
involved.  It  is  this,  my  friend,  which  prompts  th« 
patriot  to  his  most  heroic  achievements ;  which  in- 
spires the  sublimest  strains  of  the  poet,  and  breathes 
ethereal  fire  into  the  productions  of  the  painter  and 
the  statuary. 

I'or  this  the  monarch  rears  the  lofty  colunn  ;  the 
laurelled  conqueror  claims  the  triumphal  arch  ;  while 
the  obscure  individual,  who  moved  in  an  humble; 


1 


I 


603 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


sphere,  aaks  but  a  plain  and  simple  stone  to  mark 
his  gfrave  and  bear  to  the  next  generation  this  im- 
portant truth,  that  he  was  bom,  died — and  was 
buried.  It  was  this  passion  which  once  erected  the 
vast  Numidian  piles,  whose  ruins  we  have  so  often 
regarded  with  wonder,  as  the  sliades  of  evening — fit 
emblems  of  oblivion — gradually  stole  over  and  en- 
veloped them  in  darknesj. — It  was  this  which  gave 
being  to  those  sublime  monuments  of  Saracen  mag- 
.'lificence,  wliich  nod  in  mouldering  desolation,  as 

the  blast  sweeps  over  our  deserted  plains. How 

futile  are  ail  our  efforts  to  evade  the  obliterating 
hand  of  time  1  As  I  traversed  the  dreary  wastes  ot 
Egypt,  on  my  journey  to  Grand  Cairo,  I  stopped  my 
camel  for  <i  while  and  contemplated,  in  awful  ad- 
miration, the  stupendous  pyramids. — An  appalling 
silence  prevailed  around  ;  such  as  reigns  in  the  wil- 
derness when  the  tempest  is  hushed  and  the  beasts 
of  prey  have  retired  to  their  dens.  The  myriads  that 
had  once  been  employed  in  rearing  these  lofty  me- 
mentoes of  human  vanity,  whose  busv  hum  once  en- 
livened the  solitude  of  the  desert.— had  all  been 
swept  from  the  earth  by  the  irresistible  arm  of 
death ,— all  were  mingled  with  their  native  dust ; — 
all  were  forgotten  f  Even  the  mighty  n.imes  which 
these  sepulchres  were  designed  to  perpetuate  had 
long  since  faded  from  remembrance ;  nistory  and 
tradition  afforded  but  vague  conjectures,  and  the 
pyramids  imparted  a  humiliating  lesson  to  the  can- 
didate for  immortality. Alas !  alas !  said  I  to  my- 

selfi  how  mutable  are  the  foundations  on  which  our 

Elest  hopes  of  future  fame  are  reposed !  He  who 
nes  he  has  secured  to  himself  the  meed  of 
less  renown,  indulges  in  deluding  visions,  which 
only  bespeak  the  vanitv  of  the  dreamer.  The  sto- 
red obelisk, — the  tr  iphal  arch, — the  swelling 
Jame,  shall  crumble  ,  o  dust,  and  the  names  they 
would  preserve  from  oolivion  shall  often  pass  away 
before  their  own  duration  is  accomplished. 

Yet  this  passion  for  fame,  however  ridiculous  in 
the  eye  of  the  philosopher,  deserves  respect  and  con- 
sideration, from  having  been  the  source  of  so  many 
illustrious  actions ;  and  hence  it  has  been  the  prac- 
tice in  all  enlightened  governments  to  perpetuate,  by 
monv.  lents,  the  memory  of  great  men,  as  a  testi- 
mony J  respect  for  the  illustrious  dead,  and  to 
awaken  in  the  bosoms  of  posterity  an  emulation  to 
merit  the  same  honourable  distinction.  The  people 
of  the  American  logocracy,  who  pride  themselves 
upon  improving  on  ever/  precept  or  example  of  an- 
cient or  modem  governments,  have  discovered  a  new 
mof-  of  exciting  this  love  of  glory ;  a  mode  by  which 
they  do  honour  to  their  great  men,  even  in  their  life- 
time ) 

rhou  must  have  observed  by  this  time  that  they 
manage  every  thing  in  a  manner  peculiar  to  them- 
selves ;  and  aoubtless  in  the  best  possible  manner, 
seeing  they  have  denominated  themselves  "  the  most 
enlightened  people  under  the  sun."  Thou  wilt  there- 
fore, perhaps,  be  curious  to  know  how  they  contrive 
to  honour  the  name  of  a  living  patriot,  and  what 
unheard-of  monument  they  erect  m  memory  of  his 
achievements. — By  the  fiery  beard  of  the  mighty 
Barbarossa,  but  I  can  scarcely  preserve  the  sobriety 
of  a  true  disciple  of  Mahomet  while  I  tell  thee  ! — 
wilt  thou  not  smile.  O  Mussi  Iman  of  invincible  grav- 
ity, to  learn  that  they  honour  their  great  men  by  eat- 
ing, and  that  the  only  trophy  erected  to  their  exploits 
is  a  public  dinner !  But,  trust  me,  Aseni,  even  in 
this  measure,  whimsical  as  it  may  seem,  the  philo- 
sophic and  considerate  spirit  of  this  people  is  ad- 
mirably displayed.  Wisely  concluding  that  when  the 
hero  is  dead  he  becomes  insensible  to  the  voice  of 
fame,  th*^  song  of  adulation,  or  the  splendid  trophy, 
they  have  determined  that  hs  shall  enjoy  his  (]uan- 


tum  of  celebrity  while  living,  and  revel  in  the  full  en- 
joyment of  a  nine-days'  immortality.  The  barbarous 
nations  of  antiquity  immolated  human  victims  to  the 
memory  of  their  lamented  dead,  but  the  enlightened 
Americans  offer  up  whole  hecatombs  of  geese  and 
calves,  and  oceans  of  wine,  in  honour  of  the  illustii- 
ous  living ;  and  the  patriot  has  the  felicity  of  hearinn 
from  every  quarter  the  vast  exploits  in  gluttony  anc 
revelling  that  have  been  celebrated  to  the  glory  oi' 
his  name. 

No  so  jner  does  a  citizen  si^alize  himself  in  a  con- 
spicuous manner  in  the  service  of  his  country,  than 
all  the  gormandizers  assemble  and  discharge  the  na- 
tional debt  of  gratitude — by  giving  him  a  dinner  ;— 
not  that  he  really  receives  all  the  luxuries  provided 
on  this  occasion ; — no,  my  friend,  it  is  ten  chances 
to  one  that  the  great  man  does  not  taste  a  morsel 
from  the  table,  and  is,  perhaps,  five  hundred  miles 
distant ;  and,  to  let  thee  into  a  melancholy  fact,  a 
patriot  under  this  economic  government,  may  be 
ofleti  in  want  of  a  dinner,  while  dozens  are  devoured 
in  his  praise.  Neither  are  these  repasts  spread  out 
for  the  hungry  and  necessitous,  who  might  other- 
wise be  filled  with  food  and  gladness,  and  inspired 
to  shout  forth  the  illustrious  name,  which  had  beeii 
the  means  of  their  enjoyment ; — far  from  this.  Asem ; 
it  is  the  rich  only  who  indulge  in  the  banquet ;-  - 
those  who  pay  for  the  dainties  are  alone  privileged 
to  enjoy  them  ;  so  that,  while  opening  their  purses  in 
honour  of  the  patriot,  they  at  the  same  time  fulfil  a 
great  maxim,  which  in  this  country  comprehends  all 
the  rules  of  prudence,  and  all  the  duties  a  man  owes 
to  himself;  —  namely,  getting  the  worth  of  their 
money. 

In  process  of  time  this  mode  of  testifying  public 
applause  has  been  found  so  marvellously  agreeable, 
that  they  extend  it  to  events  as  well  as  characters, 
and  eat  in  triumph  at  the  news  of  a  treaty, — at  the 
anniversary  of  any  grand  national  era,  or  at  the 
gaining  of"^  that  splendid  victory  of  the  tongue — an 
election. — Nay.  so  far  do  they  carry  it,  that  certain 
days  are  set  apart  when  the  guzzlers,  the  gorman- 
dizers, and  the  wine-bibbers  meet  together  to  cele- 
brate a  grand  indigestion,  in  memory  of  some  great 
event ;  and  every  man  in  the  zeal  of  patriotism  gets 
devoutly  dnmk — "as  the  act  directs." — Then,  my 
friend,  mayest  ihou  behold  the  sublime  spectacle  of 
love  of  country,  elevating  itself  from  a  sentiment 
into  an  appetite,  whetted  to  the  quick  with  the  cheer- 
ing prospect  of  tables  loaded  with  the  fat  things  of 
the  land.  On  this  occasion  every  man  is  anxious  to 
fall  to  work,  cram  himself  in  honour  of  the  day,  and 
risk  a  surfeit  in  the  glorious  cause.  Some,  I  have 
been  told,  actually  fast  for  four  and  twenty  hours 
preceding,  that  they  may  be  enabled  to  do  greater 
nonour  to  the  feast;  and  certainly,  if  eating  and 
drinking  are  patriotic  rites,  he  who  eats  and  drinks 
most,  and  proves  himself  the  greatest  glutton,  is,  un- 
doubtedly, the  most  distinguished  patnot.  Such,  at 
any  rate,  seems  to  be  the  opinion  here  ;  and  they  act 
up  to  it  so  rigidly,  that  by  the  time  it  is  dark,  evtry 
kennel  in  the  neighbourhood  teems  with  illustrious 
members  of  the  sovereign  people,  wallowing  in  theii 
congenial  element  of  mud  and  mire. 

Tliese  patriotic  feasts,  or  rather  national  monu- 
ments, are  patronized  and  promoted  by  certain  infe- 
rior cadis,  called  ALDERMEN,  who  are  ccmmor.l) 
complimented  with  their  direction.  These  digr.isa 
ries,  as  far  as  1  can  learn,  are  generally  appointed 
%n  account  l^*  their  great  talents  for  eating,  a  quali 
fication  peculiarly  necessary  in  the  discharge  of  theii 
official  cfuties.  They  hold  frequent  meetings  at  uv- 
erns  and  hotels,  where  they  enter  into  solemn  con- 
sultations for  the  benefit  of  lobsters  and  turtles  ;— 
establish  wholesome  reg'ilations  for  the  safety  and 


^ 


SALMAGUNDI. 


603 


«vcl  in  the  fun  em- 
y.  The  barbarous 
man  victims  to  the 
ut  the  enlightened 
mbs  of  geese  and 
lour  of  the  illusui. 
felicity  of  hearinp 
s  in  gluttony  an,^ 
«  to  the  glory  oi" 

e  himself  in  a  con- 
his  country,  than 
discharge  the  na- 
f  him  a  dinner  ,— 
luxuries  provided 
it  is  ten  chances 
lot  Uste  a  morspl 
ive  hundred  miles 
nelancholy  fact,  a 
;mment,  may  be 
tens  are  devoured 
epasts  spread  out 
vho  might  other- 
less,  and  inspired 
,  which  had  beej. 
from  this,  Asem ; 
1  the  banquet  ;-- 
alone  privileged 
ng  their  purses  in 
same  time  fulfil  a 
comprehends  aU 
uties  a  man  owes 
!  worth  of  their 

testifying  public 
lously  agreeable, 
;11  as  characters, 
a  treaty,— at  the 
1  era,  or  at  the 

the  tongue— an 
1  it,  that  certain 
:rs,  the  gorman- 
ogether  to  cele- 
y  of  some  great 

patriotism  gets 
rs."— Then,  my 
ime  spectacle  of 
>ni  a  sentiment 
;  with  the  cheer- 
he  fat  things  of 
»n  is  anxious  to 
of  the  day,  and 
Some,  I  have 
d  twenty  hours 

to  do  greater 

if  eating  and 
:ats  and  drinks 
glutton,  is,  un- 
not.  Such,  at 
! :  and  they  act 
:  is  dark,  evt  ry 
"vith  illustrious 
lowing  in  thcit 

ational  monu- 
y  certain  infe- 
ire  ccmmor.l) 
rhese  digniia 
ally  appointed 
iting,  a  quali 
harge  of  theii 
«tings  at  uv- 
)  solemn  con- 
nd  turtles;— 
he  safety  and 


']««s«rviitlon  of  fish  and  wild-fowl;  —  appoint  the 
ieasous  rr.ent  proper  for  eating  oysters;  —  inquire 
int."  fjn  •eov.n'".y  of  taverns,  the  characters  of  pub- 
lic&r.>r,  v*i.  the  abilities  of  their  cooks ;  and  discuss, 
nic<it  learnedly,  the  merits  of  a  bowl  of  soup,  a 
cLicken-pye,  or  a  ha'  :h  of  venison :  in  a  word,  the 
elderman  has  absc.aie  coijtrol  in  all  matters  of  eat- 
ing, and  superintends  the  whole  police — of  the  belly. 
Having,  in  the  prosecution  of  their  important  office, 
fipialized  themselves  at  so  many  public  festivals ; 
h  tving  goi|[ed  so  often  on  patriotism  and  pudding, 
and  entombed  so  many  great  names  in  their  exten- 
sive maws,  thou  wilt  easily  conceive  that  they  wax 
portly  apace,  that  they  fatten  on  the  fame  of  mighty 
men,  and  that  their  rotundity,  like  the  rivers,  the 
lakes,  and  the  mountains  of  their  country,  must  be 
on  a  great  scale  1  Even  so,  my  friend  ;  and  when  I 
9jn  sometimes  see  a  portly  alderman,  pufiing  along,  and 
^  swelling  as  if  he  had  the  world  under  his  waistcoat, 
I  cannot  help  looking  upon  him  as  a  walking  monu- 
ment, and  am  often  ready  to  exclaim — "  Tell  me, 
thou  majestic  mortal,  thou  breathing  catacomb ! — 
to  what  illustrious  character,  what  mighty  ;vent, 
does  that  capacious  carcass  of  thine  bear  testi- 
mony ?  " 

But  though  the  enlightened  citizens  of  this  logoc- 
racy  eat  in  honour  of  their  friends,  yet  they  drink 
destruction  to  their  enemies. — Yea,  Asem,  wo  unto 
those  who  are  doomed  to  undergo  the  public  ven- 
geance, at  a  public  dinner.  No  sooner  are  the  viands 
removed,  than  they  prepare  for  merciless  and  exter- 
minating hostilities.  They  drink  the  intoxicating 
juice  of  the  grape,  out  of  little  glass  cups,  and  over 
each  draught  pronounce  a  short  sentence  or  prayer ; 
—not  such  a  prayer  as  thy  virtuous  heart  would  dic- 
tate, thy  pious  lips  give  utterance  to,  my  good  Asem  ; 
—not  a  tribute  of  thanks  to  all  bountiful  Allah,  nor  a 
tnmble  supplication  for  his  blessing  on  the  draught ; 
— no,  my  friend,  it  is  merely  a  toast,  that  is  to  say, 
a  fulsome  tribute  of  flattery  to  their  demagogues ; — 
a  laboured  sally  of  affected  sentiment  or  national 
egotism ;  or,  what  is  more,  despicable,  a  malediction 
on  their  enemies,  an  empty  threat  of  vengeance,  or 
a  petition  for  their  destruction ;  for  toasts,  thou  must 
know,  are  another  kind  of  missive  weapon  in  a  logoc- 
racy,  and  are  levelled  from  afar,  like  the  annoying 
arrows  of  the  Tartars. 

Oh,  Asem  !  couldst  thou  but  witness  one  of  these 
patriotic,  these  monumental  dinners  ;  how  furiously 
the  flame  of  patriotism  blazes  forth  ; — how  suddenly 
they  vanquisn  armies,  subjugate  whole  countries, 
ana  exterminate  nations  in  aliumner,  thou  wouldst 
more  than  ever  admire  the  force  of  that  omnipotent 
weapon,  the  tongue.  /  t  these  moments  every  cow- 
ard becones  a  hero,  every  ragamuflfin  an  invincible 
warrior ;  and  the  most  zealous  votaries  of  peace  and 
quiet,  forget,  for  a  while,  their  cherished  maxims  and 
join  in  the  furious  .ittack.  Toast  succeeds  toast ; — 
idngs,  emperors,  bashaws,  are  like  chaff  before  the 
tempest ;  the  inspired  patriot  vanquishes  fleets  with 
a  single  gun-boat,  and  swallows  down  navies  at  a 
draught,  until,  overpowered  with  victorj-  and  wine, 
he  sinks  upon  the  field  of  battle — dead  onrnk  in  his 
country's  cause.  —  Sword  of  the  puissant  Khalid  ! 
what  a  display  of  valour  is  here  ! — the  sons  of  Afric 
are  hardy,  brave,  and  enterprising,  but  they  can 
achieve  nothing  like  this. 

Happy  would  it  be  if  this  mania  for  toasting  ex- 
tended no  further  than  to  'he  expression  of  national 
resentment,  Though  we  might  smile  at  the  impo- 
tent vapouring  and  windy  hyi^erbole,  by  which  it  is 
distinguished,  yet  we  wouUl  excuse  it,  as  the  un- 
guarded overflowings  of  a  heart  glowing  w'th  na- 
tional injuries,  and  indignant  at  ;.ie  insults  -.(fered 
to  i»^  country.     But  alas,  my  friend, 


ment,  individual  hatred,  and  the  illiberal  spirit  of 
party,  are  let  loose  on  these  festive  occasions.  Even 
the  names  of  individuals,  of  unoffending  fellow-citi- 
zens,  are  sometimes  dragged  forth  to  undergo  the 
slanders  and  execrations  of  a  distempered  herd  of 
revellers.* — Head  of  Mahomet !  how  vindictive,  how 
insatiably  vindictive  must  be  that  spirit  which  can 
drug  the  mantling  bowl  with  gall  and  bitterness, 
and  indulge  an  angry  passion  in  the  moment  of  re- 
joicing ! — "  Wine,"  says  their  poet,  "  is  like  sunshine 
to  the  heart,  which  under  its  generous  influence  ex 
pands  with  good-will,  and  becomes  the  very  temple 
of  philanthropy." — Strange,  that  in  a  temple  conse- 
crated to  such  a  divinity,  there  should  remain  a  se- 
cret corner,  polluted  by  the  lurkings  of  malice  and 
revenge ;  strange,  that  in  the  full  now  of  social  en- 
joyment, these  votaries  of  pleasure  can  turn  aside  to 
call  down  curses  on  the  head  of  a  fellow-creature. 
Despicable  souls !  ye  are  unworthy  of  being  citizens 
of  tnis  "  most  enlightened  country  under  the  sun  : " 
— rather  herd  with  the  murderous  savages  who  prowl 
the  mountains  of  Tibesti ;  who  stain  their  midnight 
orgpes  with  the  blood  of  the  innocent  wanderer,  and 
drink  their  infernal  potations  from  the  skulls  of  the 
victims  they  have  massacred. 

And  yet,  trust  me,  Asem,  this  spirit  of  vindictive 
cowardice  is  not  owing  to  any  inherent  depravity  of 
soul,  for,  on  other  occasions,  I  have  had  ample  proof 
that  this  nation  is  mild  and  merciful,  brave  and  mag- 
nanimous ; — neither  is  it  owing  to  any  defect  in  their 
political  or  religious  precepts.  The  principles  incul- 
cated by  their  rulers,  on  all  occasions,  breathe  a 
spirit  of  universal  philanthropy ;  and  as  to  their  re- 
li^fion,  much  as  I  am  devoted  to  the  Koran  of  our 
divine  prophrt,  still  I  cannot  but  acknowledge  with 
admiration  the  mild  forbearance,  the  amiable  benev- 
olence, the  sublime  morality  bequeathed  them  by  the 
founder  of  their  faith. — Thou  rememberest  the  doc- 
trines of  the  mild  Nazarine,  who  preached  peace  and 
good-will  to  all  mankind ;  who,  wnen  he  was  reviled, 
reviled  not  again;  who  blessed  tliose  who  cursed 
him,  and  prayed  for  those  who  despitefully  used  and 
persecuted  him  !  What  then  can  give  rise  to  tiiis  un- 
charitable, this  inhuman  custom  among  the  disciples 
of  a  master  so  gentle  and  forgiving? — It  is  that 
fiend  POLITICS,  Asem  —  that  baneful  fiend,  which 
bcwildereth  every  brain,  and  poisons  every  social 
feeling ;  which  intrudes  itself  at  the  festive  banquet, 
and  like  the  detestable  harpy,  pollutes  the  ven^  viands 
of  the  table ;  which  contaminates  the  refreshing 
draught  while  it  is  inhaled  ;  wh'cli  piompts  the  cow- 
ardly assassin  to  launch  his  poisoned  arrows  from 
behind  the  social  board ;  and  which  renders  the  bot- 
tle, that  boasted  promoter  of  good  fellowship  and 
hilarity,  an  infernal  engine,  charged  with  direful 
combustion. 

Oh,  Asem  !  Asem  1  how  does  my  heart  sicken 
when  I  contemplate  these  cowardly  barbarities? 
Let  me,  therefore,  if  possible,  withdraw  my  attention 
from  them  for  ever.  My  feelings  have  borne  me 
from  my  subject ;  and  from  the  monuments  of 
ancient  greatness,  I  have  wandered  to  those  of 
modem  degradation.  My  warmest  wishes  remain 
with  thee,  thou  most  illustrious  of  slave-drivers  ; 


NOTE  BY  WILLIAM  WIZARD,   ESQ. 

*  It  would  aeem  that  in  thii  sentence,  the  wee  Muitapha  tad 
reference  to  a  patrintic  dinner,  celebrated  last  uiurth  of  July,  b^ 


H)me  gentlemen  of  Haliimore^  when  they  righieou.sly  drank  penll- 
tion  10  an  unofleniling  individual,  and  really  thoiijchi  "  they  had 
done  the  state  »ome  jervice."  Thi«  amiable  ciiiiom  of  "eating 
and  dnnking  damaatiun  "  to  uthers,  is  not  confiiie<<  to  any  party  : — 
for  a  momli  or  two  after  th«  fourth  of  July,  the  different  new»- 
papers  file  oft'  their  tolumns  of  patriotic  toajln  against  e-ch  other, 
and  take  a  pride  in  sho'r'ng  how  brilliantly  their  parimns  can 
blackRuard  public  characiers  in  their  cup* — "  they  do  but  jest- 
in  ie«t,"  as  Hamlet  sav>. 


604 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


iv. 


mayest  thou  ever  be  sensible  of  the  mercies  of  our 
great  prophet,  who,  in  compassion  to  human  imbe- 
cility, has  prohibited  his  disciples  from  the  use  of  the 
dehiding  beverage  of  the  grape ; — that  enemy  to  rea- 
son— that  promoter  of  defamation — that  auxiliary  of 
POLITICS. 

Ever  thine.         MUSTAPHA. 


No.  XVII.— WEDNESDAY,  NOV.  ii,  1807. 


AUTUMNAL  REFLECTIONS 
BY   LAUNCELOT  LANGSTAFF,   ESQ. 


When  a  man  is  quietly  journeying  downwards  into 
the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  departed  youth,  and  be- 
gins to  contemplate,  in  a  shortened  perspective,  the 
end  of  his  pilgrimage,  he  becomes  more  solicitous 
than  ever  that  the  remainder  of  his  wayfaring  should 
be  smooth  and  pleasant ;  and  the  evening  ofhis  life. 
like  the  evening  of  a  summer's  day,  fade  away  in 
mild  uninterrupted  serenity.  If  haply  his  he.art  has 
escaped  uninjured  through  the  dangers  of  a  seduc- 
tive world,  it  may  then  administer  to  the  purest  of 
his  felicities,  and  its  chords  vibrate  more  musically 
for  the  trials  they  have  sustained  ; — like  the  viol, 
which  yields  a  melody  sweet  in  proportion  to  its  age. 

To  a  mind  thus  temperately  harmonized,  thus 
matured  and  mellowed  by  a  long  lapse  of  years, 
Ibere  is  something  truly  congenial  in  the  quiet  en- 
jojp'ment  of  our  early  autumn,  amid  the  tranquillities 
Of  the  country.  There  is  a  sober  and  chastened  air 
of  gayety  ditfiised  over  the  face  of  nature,  peculiarly 
rnterestin^  to  an  old  man  ;  and  when  he  views  the 
Wii  rounding  landscape  withering  under  his  eye,  it 
jecms  as  if  he  and  nature  were  taking  a  last  farewell 
of  each  other,  and  parting  with  a  melancholy  smile  ; 
like  a  couple  of  old  friends,  who  having  sported  away 
the  spring  and  summer  of  life  together,  part  at  the 
approach  of  winter  with  a  kind  of  prophetic  fear  that 
they  are  never  to  meet  again. 

It  is  either  my  good  fortune  or  mishap  to  be 
keenly  susceptible  to  the  influence  of  the  atmos- 
phere ;  and  I  can  feel  in  the  morning,  before  I  open 
my  window,  whether  the  wind  is  easterly.  It  will 
not,  therefore,  I  presume,  be  considered  an  extrav.i- 
gant  instance  of  vain-glory  when  I  assert  that  there 
are  few  men  who  can  discriminate  more  accurntely 
in  the  different  varieties  of  damps,  togs,  Scotch- 
mists,  and  north-east  siorms.  than  myscU".  To  the 
great  discredit  of  my  philosophy  1  confess  I  seldom 
fail  to  anathematize  and  excommunicate  the  weather, 
when  it  sf)orts  too  rudely  with  my  sensitive  sys- 
tem ;  init  then  I  always  endeavour  to  atone  theretor, 
by  eulogizing  it  when  deserving  of  spprobation. 
And  as  most  of  my  readers — simple  folks !  make 
but  one  distinction,  to-wit,  rain  and  sunshine  ; — hv- 
irg  in  most  honest  ignorance  of  the  various  nice 
sha  les  which  distinguish  one  fine  day  from  another, 
[  take  the  trouble,  from  time  to  time,  of  letting  them 
hitn  some  of  the  secrets  of  nature  ; — so  will  they  be 
the  better  enabled  to  enjoy  her  beauties,  with  the 
test  of  connoisseurs,  and  derive  at  least  as  much  in- 
formation from  my  pages,  as  fron  the  weather-wise 
lore  of  tne  almanac. 

Much  of  my  recreation,  since  I  retreated  to  the 
Hall,  has  consisted  in  making  little  excursions 
through  the  neighbourhood ;  which  abounds  in  the 
variety  of  wild,  romantic,  and  luxuriant  landscape 
that  generally  characterizes  the  scenery  in  the 
vicinity  ot  our  rivers.  There  is  not  an  eminence 
within  a  circuit  of  many  miles  but  commands  an 


extensive  range  of  diversified  tnd  enchanting  pr  m, 
pect. 

Often  have  I  rambled  to  the  summit  of  some 
favourite  hill ;  and  thence,  with  feelings  sweetlj 
tranquil  as  the  lucid  expanse  of  the  heavens  that 
canopied  me,  have  noted  the  slow  and  almost  im- 
perceptible changes  that  mark  the  waning  year. 
There  are  many  features  peculiar  to  our  autumn, 
and  which  give  it  an  individual  character.  The 
"  green  and  yellow  melancholy "  that  first  steals 
over  the  landscape ;—  the  mild  and  steady  serenity 
of  the  weather,  and  the  transparent  purity  of  the 
atmosphere,  speak,  not  merely  to  the  senses,  but  the 
heart; — it  is  the  season  of  liberal  emotions. — To 
this  succeeds  fantastic  gayety,  a  motley  dress,  which 
the  woods  assume,  where  green  and  yellow,  orange, 
purple,  crimson,  and  .scarlet,  are  whimsically  blended 
together. — A  sickly  splendour  this  ! — like  the  wild 
and  broken-hearted  gayety  that  sometimes  precedes 
dissolution  ; — or  that  childish  sportiveness  of  super- 
annuated age,  proceeding,  not  rom  a  vigorous  now 
of  animal  spirits,  but  from  the  decay  and  iml)ecility 
of  the  mind.  We  might,  perhaps,  be  deceived  by  this 
gaudy  garb  of  nature,  were  it  not  for  the  rustling  01 
the  tailing  leaf,  which,  breaking  on  the  stillness  of 
the  scene,  seems  to  announce,  in  prophetic  whispers, 
the  dreary  winter  that  is  approaching.  When  I  nave 
sometimes  seen  a  thrifty  young  oak  changing  its  hue 
of  sturdy  vigour  for  a  bright,  but  transient,  glow  of 
red.  it  has  recalled  to  my  mind  the  treacherous 
bloom  that  once  mantled  the  cheek  of  a  friend  who 
is  now  no  more ;  and  which,  while  it  seemed  to  prom 
ise  a  long  life  of  jocund  spirits,  was  the  sure  pre 
cursor  of  premature  decay.  In  a  little  while  and 
this  ostentatious  foliage  disappears;  the  close  ci 
autumn  leaves  but  one  wide  expanse  of  duikj 
brown  ;  save  where  some  rivulet  .steals  along,  or- 
dered with  little  strips  of  green  grass  ; — the  wocj- 
land  echoes  no  more  to  the  carols  of  the  feathered 
tribes  that  sported  in  the  leafy  covert,  and  its  soli- 
tude and  silence  is  uninterrupted,  except  by  the 
plaintive  whistle  of  the  quail,  the  barking  of  the 
s<iuirrel,  or  the  still  more  melancholy  wintry  wind, 
which,  nishing  and  swelling  through  the  hollows  of 
the  mountains,  sighs  through  the  leafless  branches 
of  the  grove,  and  seems  to  mourn  the  desolation  of 
the  year. 

To  one  who,  like  myself,  is  fond  of  drawing  com- 
parisons between  the  diflerent  divisions  of  life,  and 
those  of  the  Seasons,  there  will  .ipjiear  a  striking 
analogy  which  connects  the  fet-iings  of  the  aged  with 
the  decline  of  the  year.  Often  as  I  contemplate  the 
mild,  uniform,  and  genial  lustre  with  which  the  sun 
cheers  and  invigorates  us  in  the  month  of  October, 
and  the  almost  imperceptible  haze  which,  without 
obscuring,  tempers  all  the  asperities  of  the  landscape, 
and  gives  to  every  object  a  character  of  stillness  and 
repose,  I  cannot  he  Ip  comparing  it  with  that  portion 
of  existence,  when  the  spring  of  youthful  hope,  and 
ih':  summer  of  the  passions  having  gone  by,  reason 
assumes  an  undisputed  sway,  and  lights  us  on  with 
bright  but  undazziing  lustre  .idown  the  hiU  of  life. 
There  is  ,-.  full  and  mature  luxuriance  in  the  fields 
that  fills  the  bosom  with  generous  and  disint-rested 
content.  It  is  not  the  thoughtless  extravagance  of 
spring,  prodigal  only  in  blossoms,  nor  the  languid 
voluptuousness  of  summer,  feverish  in  its  enjoyments, 
and  tetiinmg  only  with  immature  abundance  ; — it  Li 
that  cert.iin  fruition  of  th-;  labours  of  the  p.ast — that 
prospect  of  comfortable  realities,  which  thoje  will  be 
sure  to  etijoy  who  have  improved  the  boiiiilcouo 
smiles  of  heaven,  nor  wasted  away  their  spring  and 
suTiiiner  in  empty  trifling  or  critninal  indulgence. 

Cousin  I'indar,  who  is  my  constant  comuaniun  in 
these  expeditions,  and  who  stiU     \»se»'>fs  much  of 


SALMAGUNDI. 


605 


the  fire  and  eneray  of  youthful  sentiment,  and  a  bux- 
om hilarity  of  the  spirits,  often,  indeed,  draws  me 
from  these  hali-melancholy  reveries,  and  makes  me 
feel  young  again  by  the  enthusiasm  with  which  he 
contemplates,  and  the  animation  with  which  he 
eulogizes  the  beauties  of  nature  displayed  before 
him.  His  enthusiastic  disposition  never  allows  him 
to  enioy  thines  by  halves,  and  his  feelings  are  con- 
tinually breaking  out  in  notes  of  admiration  and 
ejaculations  that  sober  reason  might  perhaps  deem 
extravagant : — But  for  my  part,  when  I  see  a  hale, 
hearty  old  man,  who  has  jostled  through  the  rough 
path  of  the  world,  without  having  worn  away  the 
fine  edge  of  his  feelings,  or  blunted  his  sensibility  to 
natural  and  moral  beauty,  I  compare  him  to  the 
ever-green  of  the  forest,  whose  colours,  instead  of 
fading  at  the  approach  of  winter,  seem  to  assume 
additional  lustre  when  contrasted  with  the  surround- 
ing desolation  ; such  a  man  is  my  friend  Pindar ; 

— yet  sometimes,  and  particularly  at  the  approach  of 
evening,  even  he  will  fall  in  with  my  humour  ;  but  he 
soon  recovers  his  natural  tone  of  spirits :  and,  mount- 
ing on  the  elasticity  of  his  mind,  like  Ganymede  on 
the  eagle's  wing,  he  soars  to  the  ethereal  regions  of 
sunshine  and  fancy. 

One  afternoon  we  had  strolled  to  the  lop  of  a  high 
hill  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Hall,  which  com- 
mands an  almost  boundless  prospect ;  and  as  the 
shadows  bejjan  to  lengthen  around  us,  and  the  dis- 
tant mountains  to  fade  into  nnists,  my  cousm  was 
seized  with  a  moralizing  fit.  "  It  seems  to  me," 
said  he,  laying  his  hand  lightly  on  my  shoulder, 
"that  there  is  just  at  this  season,  and  this  Iiour,  a 
jympathy  between  us  and  the  world  we  are  now  con- 
templating. The  evening  is  stealing  upon  nature  as 
well  as  upon  us ; — the  shadows  of  the  opening  day 
have  given  place  to  those  of  its  close ;  and  the  only 
dilferrnce  is,  that  in  the  morning  they  were  before 
U,  now  they  are  behind  ;  and  that  the  first  vanished 
in  the  splendours  of  noon-flay,  the  latter  will  be  lost 
in  the  oblivion  of  night ; — our  '  May  of  life,'  my  dear 
Launce,  has  for  ever  fled ;  and  our  summer  is  over 
and  gone  : but,"  continued  he,  suddenly  recover- 
ing himself  and  slapping  me  gaily  on  the  shoulder, 
— "  but  why  should  we  repine  ?  -what .'  though  the 
capricious  zephyrs  of  spring,  the  heats  and  hurricanes 
of  summer,  nave  given  place  to  the  sober  sunshine 
of  autumn  ! — and  though  the  woods  hejjin  to  assume 
the  dappled  livery  of  decay ! — yet  the  prevailing 
colour  IS  still  green  : — gay,  sprij;htly  green. 

"  Let  us,  then,  comfort  ourst- Ives  with  this  reflec- 
tion ;  that  though  the  shades  of  the  morning  have 
given  place  to  those  of  the  evening, — though  the 
spring  is  past,  the  summer  over,  and  the  autumn 
come, — still  you  and  I  go  on  our  way  rejoicing ; — 
and  while,  like  the  lofty  mountains  of  our  southern 
America,  our  heads  are  covered  with  snow,  still,  like 
tlicm,  we  feel  the  genial  warmth  of  spring  and  sum- 
mer playing  upon  our  bosoms." 


BY   lAUNCEI,OT  LANOSTArf,    FSQ, 


111  the  description  which  I  gave,  sometime  since, 
t<  Cockloft -hall,  I  tot:dly  forgot  to  make  honourable 
mention  of  the  library ;  which  1  confe.ss  was  a  most 
inexcusable  oversight  ;  for  in  tnith  it  would  bear  a 
comparison,  in  point  of  usclulne  s  and  eccentricity, 
with  the  motley  collection  of  the  renowned  hero  of 
La  Mancha. 

It  was  chiefly  gathered  together  by  my  grand- 
father ;  who  spared  neither  pains  nor  expense  to  pro- 
cure specin  ens  of  the  oldest,  most  quaint,  and  in- 


sufferable books  in  the  whole  com  tass  of  English. 
Scotch,  and  Irish  literature.  There  is  a  tradition  in 
the  family  that  the  old  gendeman  once  gave  a  grand 
entertainment  in  consequence  of  having  got  posses 
sion  of  a  copy  of  a  philippic,  by  archbishop  Ansclm 
against  the  unseemly  luxury  of  long-toed  shoes,  a: 
worn  by  the  courtiers  in  the  time  of  William  Ru^s 
which  he  purchased  of  an  honest  brickmaker  in  tht 
neighbourho3d,  for  a  little  less  than  forty  times  it* 
value.  He  had  undoubtedly  a  singular  reverence  foi 
old  authors,  and  his  highest  eulogium  on  his  librarj 
was,  that  it  consisted  of  books  not  to  be  met  with  in 
any  other  collection  ;  and,  as  the  phrase  is,  entirely 
out  of  print.  The  reason  of  which  was,  I  suppose, 
that  they  were  not  worthy  of  being  reprinted. 

Cousin  Christopher  preserves  these  relics  with 
great  care,  and  has  added  considerably  to  the  col- 
lection ;  for  with  the  hall  he  has  inherited  almost  all 
the  whim-whams  of  its  former  possessor.  He  cher- 
ishes a  reverential  regard  for  ponderous  tomes  ol 
Greek  and  Latin ;  though  he  knows  about  as  much 
of  these  languages  as  a  young  bachelor  of  arts  does 
a  year  or  two  after  leaving  college.  A  worm-eaten 
work  in  eight  or  ten  volumes  he  compares  to  an  old 
family,  more  respectable  for  its  antiquity  than  its 
splendour; — a  lumbering  folio  he  considers  as  a 
duke ; — a  sturdy  quarto,  as  an  earl ;  and  a  row  oJ 
gilded  duodecimos,  as  so  many  gallant  knights  oJ 
the  garter.  But  as  *;o  modern  works  of  literature 
they  are  thrust  into  tmnks  and  drawers,  as  intniding 
upstarts,  and  regarded  with  as  much  contempt  as 
mushroom  nohility  in  England ;  who,  having  risen 
to  grandeur,  merely  by  their  talents  and  servires^arc 
regarded  as  utterly  unworthy  to  mingle  their  blfx>d 
with  those  noble  currents  that  can  be  trared  without 
a  single  contamination  through  a  long  line  of,  per- 
haps, useless  and  profligate  ancestors,  up  to  William 
the  bastard's  cook,  or  outler,  or  groom,  or  some  one 
of  Rollo's  freebooters. 

Will  Wizard,  whose  studies  are  of  a  m<v5t  uncom- 
mon complexion,  takes  great  delight  in  ransacking 
the  library ;  and  h<as  been,  during  his  late  sojourn- 
ings  at  the  hall,  very  constant  and  devout  in  his  visits 
to  this  receptacle  of  obsolete  learning.  He  seemed 
particularly  tickled  with  the  contents  of  the  great 
mahogany  chest  of  drawers  mentioned  in  the  begin- 
ning of  this  work.  This  venerable  piece  of  archi- 
tecture has  frovmed,  in  sullen  majesty,  from  a  comer 
of  the  lihr.iry,  time  out  of  mind ;  and  is  filled  with 
musty  manuscripts,  some  in  my  grandfather's  hand- 
writing, and  others  evidently  written  long  before  his 
day, 

it  was  a  sight,  worthy  of  a  man's  seeing,  to  behold 
Will  with  his  outlandish  phiz  poring  over  old  scrawls 
that  would  p'l/zle  a  whole  society  of  antiquarians  to 
expound,  ^ind  div.ng  into  receptacles  of  trumpery, 
which,  for  a  centurv'  past,  had  been  undisturbed  by 
mortal  h.iiid.  He  would  sit  for  whole  hours,  with  a 
phle^matit  patience  unknown  in  these  degenerate 
diys,  except,  per.idvtnture,  among  the  High  Dutch 
commentators,  [irying  iiilo  ihe  quaint  obscurity  ot 
musty  parcliinents,  until  his  whole  face  seemed  to  be 
converted  into  a  folio  leaf  of  black-letter ;  and  oc- 
casionally, when  the  whimsical  meaning  of  .n  ob- 
.scure  passage  flashed  on  his  mind,  his  countenance 
would  curl  up  into  an  expression  of  gothic  risibility, 
not  unlike  tfie  physiogromy  of  a  cabbage  leaf  wilting 
before  a  hot  fire. 

At  such  times  there  was  no  getting  Will  to  join  in 
our  walks  ;  or  take  any  part  in  our  usual  reiieations ; 
he  hardiv  gave  us  an  oriental  tale  in  a  week,  and 
would  stroke  so  inveteraiely  that  no  one  el-c  dnred 
enter  the  libnry  under  pain  of  suffocation.  Thin  was 
more  especially  the  case  when  he  enrount'-rcd  any 
knotty  piece  ot  wiiting,  and   he  boiiestI\  ronf(j,s>^ 


f 


i 


OVb 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


I 


■lV»S 


I 


to  me  that  one  worm-eaten  manuscript,  written  in  a 
pestilent  crabbed  hand,  had  cost  him  a  box  of  the 
best  Spanish  segnrs  before  he  could  make  it  out ;  and 
after  all,  it  was  not  worth  a  tobacco-stalk.  Such  is 
the  turn  of  my  knowing  associate ; — only  let  him  get 
Oairly  in  the  track  of  any  odd  out-of-the-way  whim- 
wham,  and  away  he  goes,  whip  and  cut,  until  he 
either  runs  down  his  ga  ne,  or  runs  himself  out  of 
jrfath ; — I  never  in  my  life  met  with  a  man  who  rode 
his  hobby-horse  more  intolerably  hard  than  Wizard. 

One  of  his  favourite  occupations  for  some  time 
past,  has  been  the  hui.ting  of  black-letter,  which  he 
□olds  in  high  regard ,  and  he  often  hints,  that  learn- 
ing has  been  on  the  decline  ever  since  the  introduc- 
tion of  the  Roman  alphabet.  An  old  book  printed 
three  hundred  years  ago,  is  a  treasure ;  and  a  ragged 
scroll,  about  one-half  unintelligible,  fills  him  with 
rapture.  Oh !  with  what  enthusiasm  will  he  dwell 
on  the  discovery  of  the  Pandects  of  Justinian,  and 
Livy's  history :  and  when  he  relates  the  pious  exer- 
tions of  the  Medici,  in  recovering  the  lost  treasures 
of  Greek  and  Roman  literature,  his  eye  brightens, 
and  his  face  assumes  all  the  splendour  of  an  illumi- 
nated manuscript. 

Will  had  vegetated  for  a  considerable  time  in  per- 
fect tranquillity  among  dust  and  cobwebs,  when  one 
morning  as  we  were  gathered  on  the  piazza,  listen- 
ing with  exemplary  patience  to  one  of  cousin  Chris- 
topher's long  stories  about  the  revolutionary  war, 
we  were  suddenly  electrified  by  an  explosion  of 
laughter  from  the  library. — My  readers,  unless  per- 
adventure  they  have  heard  honest  Will  laugh,  can 
form  no  idea  of  the  protiigious  uproar  he  makes.  To 
hear  him  in  a  forest,  you  would  imagine — that  is  to 
say,  if  you  were  classical  enough — that  the  satyrs  and 
the  dry.ids  had  just  discovered  a  pair  of  rural  lovers 
In  the  shade  and  were  deriding,  with  bursts  of  ob- 
■:<feperous  laughter,  the  blushes  of  the  nymph  and 
ifee  mdignation  of  the  swain  ; — or  if  it  were  suddenly, 
js  in  the  present  instance,  to  break  upon  the  serene 
and  pensive  silence  of  an  autumnal  morning,  it  would 
cause  a  sensation  something  like  that  wmch  arises 
from  hearing  a  sudden  clap  of  thunder  in  a  summer's 
day,  wi'ien  not  a  cloud  is  to  be  seen  above  the  horizon. 
In  short,  I  recommend  Will's  laugh  as  a  sovereign 
remedy  for  the  spleen  :  and  if  any  of  our  readers  are 
troubled  with  that  villainous  complaint, — which  can 
hardly  be,  if  they  make  good  use  of  our  works, — I 
advise  them  earnestly  to  get  introduced  to  him  forth- 
with. 

This  outr.igeous  merriment  of  Will's,  .is  may  be 
easily  supposed,  threw  the  whole  family  into  a  vio- 
lent tit  of  wondering;  we  all,  with  the  exception  of 
Christopher,  who  took  the  intermption  in  high 
duslgeon,  silently  stole  up  to  the  library  ;  and  bolting 
in  upon  him,  were  fain  at  the  first  glance  to  join  in 
his  aspiring  roar.  His  face, — but  I  despair  to  give 
an  idea  of  his  appearance ! — and  until  his  portr.-:^,it, 
which  is  now  in  the  hands  of  an  eminent  artist,  is  en- 
graved, my  readers  must  t>e  content : — I  promise 
them  thpy  shall  one  day  or  other  have  a  striking 
likeness  of  Will's  indescribable  phiz,  in  all  its  n.ative 
comeliness. 

Upon  my  inquiring  the  occasicn  of  his  mirth,  he 
thrust  an  old,  rusty,  musty,  and  dusty  manuscript 
•nto  my  hand,  of  which  1  could  not  decypher  one 
iVcrd  out  of  ten,  without  more  trouble  than  it  was 
worth.  This  task,  however,  he  kindly  took  off  my 
hands ;  and,  in  a  little  more  than  eight  and  forty 
hours,  produced  a  translation  into  fair  Roman  let- 
ters ;  though  he  assured  me  it  had  lost  a  vast  deal 
of  its  humour  by  being  motlernized  and  degraded  into 
plain  English.  In  return  lor  the  great  pains  he  had 
taken.  I  cuuld  nf>t  do  less  than  insert  it  in  our  work. 
Will  intoni's  mc  that  u  is  but  one  sheet  of  a  stu- 


pendous bundle  which  still  r«.inu.is  uninvesti^tul 
— who  was  the  author  we  have  not  yat  ltico\crej 
but  a  note  on  the  back,  in  my  grand(kthe;'.«  ^Vkd* 
\vriting,  informs  us  that  it  was  presented  1 1  b;M  as  a 
literary  curiosity  by  his  particular  friend,  the  iHjstri- 
ous  Rip  Van  Daiw,  formerly  lieutenant-govemcr  f,f 
the  colony  of  New  Amsterdam  ;  and  whose  fatnc, 
if  it  has  never  reached  these  latter  days,  it  is  only 
because  he  was  too  modest  a  man  ever  to  do  any 
thing  worthy  of  being  particularly  recorded. 


CHAP.  CIX.  OF  THE  CHRONICLES  OF  THE 
RENOWNED  AND  ANTIENT  CITY  OF 
GOTHAM. 


How  Gotham  city  conquered  wu, 
And  how  the  folic  tum'd  apes— becaus*. 


Ltni.  Fid. 


Albeit,  much  about  this  time  it  did  fall  out  that 
the  thrice  renowned  and  delcctab'.e  city  of  Gotham 
did  suffer  great  discomfiture,  and  was  reduced  to 
perilous  extremity,  by  the  invasion  and  assaults  of 
the  Hoppingtots.  These  are  a  people  inhabiting 
a  far  distant  country,  exceedingly  pleasaunte  and 
fertile  •  but  they  being  withal  egregiously  addicted 
to  migrations,  do  thence  issue  forth  in  mighty 
swarms,  like  the  Scythians  of  old,  overrunning  divers 
countries,  and  commonwealths,  and  committing 
great  devastations  wheresoever  they  do  go,  by  theii 
horrible  and  dreadful  feats  and  prowesses.  They 
are  specially  noted  for  being  right  valorous  in  all 
exerci.ses  of  the  leg;  and  of  them  it  hath  been  rightly 
affirmed  that  no  nation  in  all  Christendom  or  elsr- 
where,  can  cope  with  them  in  the  adroit,  deiteroui, 
and  jocund  shaking  of  the  heel. 

This  engaging  excellence  doth  stand  unto  thern 
a  sovereign  recommendation,  by  the  which  they  do 
insinuate  themselves  into  universal  favour  and  good 
countenance  ;  and  it  is  a  notable  fact,  that,  let  a 
Hoppingtot  but  once  introduce  a  foot  into  com- 
pany, and  it  goeth  hardly  if  he  doth  not  contrive  to 
flourish  his  whole  body  in  thereafter.  The  learned 
Linkum  Fidelius,  in  his  famous^  and  unheard-of 
treatise  on  man,  whom  he  defineth,  with  exceed- 
ing sagacity,  to  be  a  corn-cutting,  tooth-drawing 
animal,  is  particularly  minute  and  elalxirate  in  treat- 
ing of  the  nation  of  the  Hoppingtots,  and  betrays 
a  little  of  the  Pythagorean  in  his  theory,  inasmuch 
as  he  accounteth  for  their  being  so  wonderously 
adroit  in  pedestrian  exercises,  by  supposing  that  they 
did  originally  acquire  this  unaccountable  and  un- 
paralleled aptitude  for  huge  and  unmatchable  feats 
of  the  leg,  by  having  heretofore  been  condemned  for 
their  numerous  offences  against  that  harmless  race 
of  bipeds, — or  quadrupeds, — for  herein  the  sage 
Linkum  Fidelius  appear-th  to  doubt  and  waver  ex- 
ceedingly— the  fro,,s,  to  .animate  their  bodies  for  the 
space  of  one  or  iw-  generations. 

Hf  liso  giveth  it  .ts  his  opinion,  that  the  name  ot 
Hoppingtots  is  manifestly  d<^rivative  'rorr:  t.Tis  trans- 
migration. Be  this,  however,  as  it  may,  ihe  matter, 
albeit  it  hath  t)een  the  subject  of  controversy  amors 
the  learned,  is  but  little  pertinent  to  the  subject  gi 
this  history;  wherefore  shall  we  treat  and  consider 
it  as  naughte. 

Now  these  people  being  theieto  impelled  by  a 
supertUiity  of  appetite,  and  a  plentiful  deficiency 
of  the  wherewithal  tc  Aatisty°  the  same,  did  take 
thought  that  the  antient  and  venerable  city  of 
Golhnm,  was,  peradventure,  po.ssessed  of  mighty 
tre.isures,  and  did.  moreover,  abound  with  all  man- 
ner of  fish  and  tiesh,  and  eatables  and  drink.ibles 
and  such  like  delightsome  and  whcie.'iuinc  excel 


SALMAGUNDI. 


•ifl  uainvesti^ttC 
lot  y&i  iurKvcnj 
"and(kth<w'.»  riviji, 

friend,  the  iliastri. 
tenant-govemcr  <,f 
;  and  whose  feme, 
ter  days,  it  is  only 
an  ever  to  do  anv 

recorded.  ' 


7CLES  or  THE 
ENT   CITY   OF 


a.       Lim*.  IVti, 

it  did  fall  out  that 

e  city  of  Gotham 
"  was  reduced  to 
and  assaults  of 

people  inhabiting 
y  pleasaunte  and 
egiously  addicted 

forth  m  mighty 
verrunning  divers 

and  committing 
•y  do  go,  by  theii 
)rowesses.  They 
It  valorous  in  all 
hath  been  rightly 
istendom  or  else- 
adroit,  dextcroai, 


601 


»Und  unto  them 
le  which  they  do 
favour  and  good 
fact,  that.  let  a 
■  foot  into  torn- 
>  not  contrive  to 
Jr,    The  learned 
and    unheard-of 
h,  with  exceed- 
r.  tooth-drawing 
alx)rate  in  treat- 
)ts,  and  betrays 
heory.  inasmuch 
so  wonderously 
posing  that  they 
ntahle  and  un- 
matchable  feats 
condemned  for 
I  harmless  race 
-rein   the    sage 
and  waver  ex- 
r  bodies  for  the 

at  the  name  ot 
rom  t.iis  trans- 
»y.  ihe  matter, 
roversy  amoiis 
the  subject  21 
and  consid.T 

irnpeiled  by  a 
fill  deficiency 
me,  did  take 
rable  city  of 
=d  of  mighty 
vith  all  man- 
d  drinkables 
esoiijc  excel- 


lendes  withaL  Whereupon  calling  a  council  of 
the  most  active  heeled  warriors,  they  did  resolve 
forthwith  to  put  forth  a  mighty  array,  make  them- 
selves masters  of  the  same,  and  revel  in  the  good 
things  of  the  land.  To  this  were  they  hotly  stirred 
np,  and  wickedly  incited,  by  two  redoubtable  and 
renowneil  warriors,  hight  pirouet  and  rigadoon  ; 
yclepcd  in  such  sort,  by  reason  that  they  were  two 
inignty,  valiant,  and  invincible  little  men ;  utterly 
famous  for  the  victories  of  the  leg  which  they 
luid,  on  divers  illustrious  occasions,  right  gallantly 
achieved. 

These  doughty  champions  did  ambitiously  and 
wickedly  inflame  the  minds  of  their  countrymen, 
with  gorgeous  descriptions,  in  the  which  they  did 
cunninglie  set  forth  the  marvellous  riches  and  lux- 
uries of  Gotham ;  where  Hoppingjtots  might  have 
garments  for  their  bodies,  shirts  to  their  ruffles,  and 
might  riot  most  merrily  every  day  in  the  week  on 
beef,  pudding,  and  sucn  like  lusty  dainties. — They, 
Pirouet  and  Rigadoon,  did  likewise  hold  out  hopes 
of  an  easy  conquest ;  forasmuch  as  tne  Gothamites 
were  as  yet  but  little  versed  in  the  mystery  and 
science  of  handling  the  legs  ;  and  being,  moreover, 
tike  unto  that  notable  bully  of  antiquity,  Achilles, 
:Tiost  vulnerable  to  all  attacks  on  the  heel,  would 
doubtless  surrender  at  the  very  first  assault. — 
Whereupon,  on  the  hearing  of  this  inpiriting  coun- 
sel, the  Hoppin(ftots  did  set  up  a  prodigious  great 
cry  of  joy,  snook  their  heels  in  triumph,  and  were 
all  impatience  to  dance  on  to  Gotham  and  take  it  by 
storm. 

The  cunning  Pirouet  and  the  arch  caitiff  Riga- 
doon, knew  fuU  well  how  to  profit  of  this  enthusi- 
asm. They  forthwith  did  order  every  man  to  arm 
himself  with  a  certain  pestilent  little  weapon,  called 
a  fiddle  ; — to  p<ack  up  in  his  knapsack  a  pair  of  silk 
breeches,  the  like  of  ruffles,  a  cocked  hat  of  the 
Jbrm  of  a  half-moon,  a  bundle  of  catgut — and  in- 
asmuch as  in  marching  to  Gotham,  the  army  might, 
peradventure,  be  smitten  with  scarcity  of  provis- 
ions, they  did  account  it  proper  that  each  man 
should  take  especial  care  to  carry  with  him  a  bunch 
of  right  merchantable  onions?  Having  proclaimed 
these  orders  by  sound  of  fiddle,  they,  Pirouet  and 
Rigadoon,  did  accordingly  put  their  army  behind 
them,  and  striki^,;  up  the  right  jolly  and  sprightful 
tune  of  Ca  Ira,  away  they  all  capered  towards  the 
devoted  city  of  Gotham,  with  a  most  horrible  an<l 
app:tlling  chattering  of  voices. 

Of  their  first  appearance  before  the  beleaguered 
town,  and  of  the  vario  is  difficulties  which  (fid  en- 
counter them  in  their  march,  this  history  saith  not ; 
being  that  other  matters  of  more  weighty  imixirt 
require  to  be  written.  When  that  the  army  of  the 
Hoppingtots  did  peregrinate  within  sight  of  Go- 
tham, and  the  people  of  the  city  did  behold  the 
villainous  and  hitherto  unseen  capers,  and  grimaces, 
which  they  did  make,  a  most  norrific  panic  was 
stirred  up  among  the  citizens  ;  and  the  sages  of  the 
town  fell  into  great  despondency  and  tribulation, 
as  supposing  tl^t  these  invaders  were  of  the  race 
of  the  Jig-hees,  who  did  make  men  into  baboons 
when  they  achieved  a  conquest  over  them.  The 
sages,  therefore,  called  upon  all  the  dancing  men, 
and  c.ancing  womer,  and  exhorted  them  with  great 
»ehcmency  of  speecii,  to  make  heel  against  the  in- 
»ader»,  and  to  put  themselves  upon  such  gallant 
teft-nce,  such  glorious  array,  and  such  sturdy  evo- 
lution, elevation,  and  transposition  of  the  foot  as 
miglit  incontinently  impester  the  legs  of  the  Hop- 
piT.gtots.  and  produce  their  complete  discomfiture. 
But  so  it  did  happen,  by  great  mischance,  that  di- 
»^rs  light-htreled  youth  of  Gotham,  more  especially 
'JioK  who  are  descended  from  thnx  wise  men,  so 


lenowned  of  yore  for  having  most  venturesomely 
voyaged  over  sea  in  a  bowl,  were,  from  time  to  time, 
captured  and  inveigled  into  the  camp  of  the  enemy'  j 
where,  being  foolisnly  cajoled  and  treated  for  a  sea. 
son  with  outlandish  disports  and  pleasantries,  they 
were  sent  back  to  their  friends,  entirely  changea, 
degenerated,  and  turned  topsy-turvy;  insomuch 
that  they  thought  thenceforth  of  nothing  but  their 
heels,  always  essaying  to  thrust  them  into  the  most 
manifest  point  of  view  ; — and,  in  a  word,  as  might 
truly  be  affirmed,  did  for  ever  after  walk  upon  theii 
heads  outright. 

And  the  Hoppingtots  did  day  by  day,  and  at  late 
hours  of  the  night,  wax  more  and  more  urgent  in 
this  their  investment  of  the  city.  At  one  time 
they  would,  in  goodly  procession,  make  an  open 
assault  by  sound  of  fiddle  in  a  tremendous  contra  . 
dance ; — and  anon  they  would  advance  by  little  de- 
tachments and  manoeuvres  to  take  the  town  by 
figuring  in  cotillions.  But  truly  their  most  cunning 
and  devilish  craft,  and  subtilty,  was  made  manifest 
in  their  strenuous  endeavouis  to  corrupt  the  garri- 
son, by  a  most  insidious  and  pestilent  dance  called 
the  Waltz,  This,  in  good  truth,  was  a  potent  aux- 
iliary ;  for,  by  it,  were  the  heads  of  the  simple  Go- 
thamites most  villainously  turned,  their  wits  sent  a 
wool-gathering,  and  themselves  on  the  point  of  sur- 
rendering at  discretion  even  unto  the  very  arms  ot 
their  invading  foemen. 

At  length  the  fortifications  of  the  town  began  to 
gfive  manifest  symptoms  of  decay ;  inasmuch  as  the 
breastwork  of  decency  was  considerably  broken 
down,  and  the  curtain  works  of  propriety  blown 
up.  When  that  the  cunning  caitiff  Pirouet  beheld 
the  ticklish  and  jeopardized  state  of  the  city — 
"  Now,  by  my  leg,"  quoth  he, — he  always  swore  by 
his  leg,  being  that  it  was  an  exceeding  goodlie  leg  ; 
— "  Now,  by  my  leg,"  quoth  he,  "  but  this  is  no  great 
matter  of  recreation ; — I  will  show  these  people  a 
pretty,  strange,  and  new  way  forsooth,  presentUe, 
and  will  shake  the  dist  off  my  pumps  upon  this 
most  obstinate  and  uncivilized  town.".  Whereupon 
he  ordered,  and  did  command  his  warriors,  one  and 
all,  that  they  should  put  themselves  in  readiness, 
and  prepare  to  carry  the  town  by  a  grand  ball. 
They,  in  no  wise  to  be  daunted,  do  forthwith,  at 
the  word,  equip  themselves  for  the  ass.-iult ;  and  in 
good  faith,  truly,  it  was  a  gracious  and  glorious 
sight,  a  most  triumphant  and  incomparable  specta- 
cle, to  behold  them  gallantly  arrayed  in  glossy  and 
shining  silk  breeches  tied  with  abundance  of  riband ; 
with  silken  hose  of  the  gorgeous  colour  of  the  sal- 
mon ; — right  goodlie  morocco  pumps,  decorated 
with  cLasps  or  buckles  of  a  most  cunningt  and  secret 
contrivance,  inasmuch  as  they  did  of  themselves 
grapple  to  the  shoe  without  any  .lid  of  fluke  or 
tongue,  marvellously  ensembling  witchcralt  and 
necromancy.  They  had,  withal,  exuberant  chitter- 
lings ;  which  puffed  out  at  the  neck  and  bosom, 
after  a  most  jolly  fashion,  like  unto  the  beard  of 
an  antient  he-turkey  ; — and  cocked  hats,  the  which 
they  did  carry  not  on  their  heaiis,  after  the  fashion 
of  the  Gothamites,  but  under  their  arms,  as  a  roasted 
fowl  his  gizzard. 

Thus  being  equipped,  and  marshalled,  they  do  at- 
tack, assault,  batter  and  belaboui  the  town  with 
might  and  main  ; — most  gallantly  displaying  the  vig- 
our of  their  legs,  and  shaking  their  heels  at  it  most 
emphatically.  And  the  manner  of  their  attack  was 
in  this  sort ;— first,  they  Jid  thunder  and  gallop  for- 
ward in  a  contre-tempi  ; — and  anon,  displayed  column 
in  a  Cossack  dance,  a  fandango,  or  a  gavot.  Where- 
at the  Gothamites,  in  no  wise  understandmg  this 
unknown  system  of  warfare,  marvelled  exceedinglie, 
and  did  open  their  mouths  incontinently,  the  full  di» 


'i 


) 


608 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


tance  of  a  bow-shot,  meaning  a  cross-bow,  in  sore 
dismay  and  apprehension.  Whereupon,  saith  Riga- 
doon,  flourishing  his  left  leg  with  great  expression  of 
valour,  and  most  magnihc  carnage — "my  copes- 
mates,  for  what  wait  we  here ;  are  not  the  townsmen 
alre.idy  won  to  our  favour  ? — do  not  their  women  and 
young  damsels  wave  to  us  from  the  walls  in  such 
■on  that,  albeit  there  is  some  sho^  of  defence,  yet  is 
it  manifestly  converted  into  our  interests  ?  "  so  say- 
ing, he  macle  no  more  ado,  but  leaping  into  the  air 
about  a  flight-shot,  and  crossing  his  ^et  six  times, 
after  the  manner  of  the  Hoppingtots,  he  gave  a  short 
partridge-run,  and  with  mighty  vigour  and  swiftness 
did  bolt  outright  over  the  walls  with  a  somerset. 
The  whole  army  of  Hoppingtots  dance  J  in  after  their 
valiant  chieftain,  with  an  enormous  squeaking  of  fid- 
dles, and  a  horrific  blasting  and  brattling  of  horns  ; 
insomuch  that  the  dogs  did  howl  in  the  streets,  so 
hideously  were  their  ears  assailed.  The  Gothamites 
made  some  semblance  of  defence,  but  their  women 
having  bvw.«  all  won  over  into  the  interest  of  the  ene- 
my, they  were  shortly  reduced  to  make  most  abject 
submission  ;  and  delivered  over  to  the  coercion  of 
certain  professors  of  the  Hoppingtots,  who  did  put 
them  under  most  ignominious  durance,  for  the  space 
of  a  long  time,  until  they  had  learned  to  turn  out 
their  toes,  and  flourish  their  legs  after  the  true  man- 
ner of  their  conquerors.  And  thus,  after  the  manner 
I  have  related,  was  the  mighty  and  puissant  city  of 
Gotham  circumvented,  and  taken  by  a  coup  de  pied  : 
or  as  it  might  be  rendered,  by  force  of  legs. 

The  conquerors  showed  no  mercy,  but  did  put  all 
ages,  sexes,  and  conditions  to  the  fiddle  and  the 
dance  ;  and,  in  a  word,  compelled  and  enforced  them 
to  Income  absolute  Hoppingtots.  "  Habit,"  as  the 
lagenious  Linkum  Fidelius  profoundly  affirmeth,  "  is 
vecond  nature."  And  this  original  and  invaluable 
ti'bservation  hath  been  most  aptly  proved,  and  illus- 
tt  ated,  by  the  example  of  the  (iothamites,  ever  since 
this  disastrous  and  unlucky  mischance.  In  process  of 
time,  they  have  waxed  to  be  most  flagrant,  outra- 
geous, and  abandoned  dancers ;  they  do  ponder  on 
nouk^hte  but  how  to  gallantize  it  at  balls,  routs,  and 
fandangoes ;  insomuch  that  the  Uke  was  in  no  time 
or  place  ever  observed  before.  They  do,  moreover, 
pitifiiUy  devote  their  nights  to  the  jollification  of  the 
tegs,  and  their  days  torsooth  to  the  instruction  and 
edification  of  the  heel.  And  to  conclude ;  their 
young  folk,  who  whilome  did  bestow  a  modicum  of 
leisure  upon  the  improvement  o,  the  head,  have  of 
late  utterly  abandoned  this  hopeless  task ;  and  have 
quietly,  as  it  were,  settled  themselves  down  into  mere 
machines,  wound  up  by  a  tune,  and  set  in  motion  by 
a  fiddle-stick ! 


No.  XVIII.— TUESDAY,  NOV.  24,  1807. 


THE  LITTLE  MAN   IN   BLACK. 
BY   LAUNCELOT   LANGSTAFr,   ESQ. 


The  following  story  has  been  handed  down  by 
dmiily  tradition  tor  more  than  a  century.  It  is  one 
on  which  my  cousin  Christopher  dwells  with  more 
than  usual  prolixity ;  and,  being  in  some  measure 
connected  with  a  personage  often  quoted  in  our  work, 
1  have  thought  it  worthy  of  being  laid  before  my 
readers. 

Soon  after  my  grandfather,  Mr.  Lemuel  Cockloft, 
had  quietly  settled  himself  at  the  hall,  and  -ust  alx>ut 
the  time  that  the  gossips  ot  the  nciglibourtiood,  tired 


of  prying  into  his  afTain,  were  aanous  Ux  sonw  ne» 
tea-table  topic,  the  busy  community  of  oui  little  vi|. 
lage  was  thrown  into  a  grand  turmoil  of  curiosity 
and  conjecture — a  situation  very  common  to  littl« 
gossiping  villages — by  the  sudden  and  unaccountable 
appearance  of  a  mysterious  individual. 

The  object  of  this  solicitude  was  a  little  black- 
looking  man,  of  a  foreign  aspect,  who  took  posses- 
sion of  an  old  building,  which  having  long  had  tbi^ 
reputation  of  being  haunted,  was  in  a  state  of  ruii;- 
oils  desolation,  and  an  object  of  fear  to  all  true  be- 
lievers in  ghosts.  He  usually  wore  a  high  sugarloaf 
hat  with  a  narrow  brim ;  and  a  Uttle  black  cloak, 
which,  short  as  he  was,  scarcely  reached  below  his 
knees.  He  sought  no  intimacy  or  acquaintance  with 
any  one  ;  appeared  to  take  no  interest  in  the  pleas- 
ures or  the  little  broils  of  the  village ;  nor  ever 
talked  ,  except  sometimes  to  himself  in  an  outland- 
ish tongue.  He  commonly  carried  a  large  book,  cov- 
ered with  sheepskin,  under  his  arm ;  appeared  always 
to  be  lost  in  meditation ;  and  was  often  met  by  the 
peasantry  ;  sometimes  watching  thedawnjng  of  day, 
sometimes  at  noon  seated  under  a  tree  poring  over 
his  volume ;  and  sometimes  at  evening  gazing  with  a 
look  of  sober  tranquillity  at  the  sun  as  it  gradually 
sunk  below  the  horizon. 

The  good  people  of  the  vicinity  beheld  something 
prodigiously  singular  in  all  this ; — a  profound  mystery 
seemed  to  hang  about  the  stranger,  which,  with  all 
their  sagacity,  they  could  not  penetrate  ;  and  in  the 
excess  of  worldly  charity  ihey  pronounced  it  a  sure 
sign  "  that  he  was  no  lietter  than  he  should  be  ;  " — 
a  phrase  innocent  enough  in  itself:  but  which,  as  ap- 

Clied  in  common,  signifies  nearly  every  thing  that  ii 
ad.  The  young  people  thought  him  a  gloomy  mis- 
anthrope,  because  he  never  joined  in  their  sports ; — 
the  old  men  thought  still  more  hardly  of  him  because 
he  followed  no  trade,  nor  ever  seemed  ambitious  of 
earning  a  farthing ; — and  as  to  the  old  gossips,  baf- 
fled by  the  inflexible  taciturnity  of  the  stranecr.  they 
unanimously  decreed  that  a  man  who  could  not  or 
would  not  talk  w,as  no  better  than  a  dumb  beast. 
The  little  man  in  black,  careless  of  their  opinions, 
seemed  resolved  to  maintain  the  liberty  of  keeping 
his  own  secret ;  and  the  consequence  was,  that,  in  a 
little  while,  the  whole  village  was  in  an  uproar ; — for 
in  httle  communities  of  this  description,  the  members 
have  always  the  privilege  of  being  thoroughly  versed, 
and  even  of  meddling  in  all  the  affairs  of  each  other. 
A  confidential  conference  was  held  one  Sunday 
morning  after  sermon,  at  the  door  of  the  village 
church,  and  the  character  of  the  unknown  fully  in- 
vestigated. The  schoolmaster  gave  a.s  his  opinion, 
that  he  was  the  wandering  Jew ; — the  sexton  was 
certain  that  he  must  be  a  free-mason  from  his  si- 
lence;—a  third  maintained,  with  great  obstinacy, 
that  he  was  a  high  German  doctor ;  and  that  the 
Iwok  which  he  carried  about  with  hir.i,  contained 
the  secrets  of  the  black  art ;  bdt  the  most  prevailing 
opinion  seemed  to  be  that  he  was  a  witch  . — a  race 
of  beings  at  that  time  abounding  in  those  parts ;  and 
a  sagaciou*  ol<l  matron,  from  Coiinecticui,  proposed 
to  ascertain  Jie  fact  by  sousing  hiin  into  a  kette  of 
hot  water. 

Suspicion,  when  once  afloat,  goes  with  wind  and 
tide,  and  soon  becomes  certainty.  Many  a  stormy 
night  was  the  little  man  in  black  seen  by  the  flashes 
of  lightning,  frisking  and  curveting  in  fhe  air  upon  a 
broomstick ;  and  it  was  always  obsei-ved,  that  at 
those  times  the  stonn  did  more  mischief  than  at  any 
other.  The  old  la-iy  in  particular,  who  suggested 
the  humane  ordeal  of  the  boiling  kettle,  lost  on  one 
of  these  occasions  a  tine  br  uiTe  row;  which  acci- 
dent was  eii'irely  ascribed  to  the  vengeance  of  the 
little  mail  in  black.    If  ever  a  mischievous  bircUiig 


SALMAGUNDI. 


60fl 


rode  ht<i  master's  favourite  horse  to  a  distant  frolic, 
and  the  animal  was  observed  to  i)e  lame  and  jaded 
in  the  morning, — the  little  man  in  black  was  sure  to 
be  at  the  bottom  of  the  affair ;  nor  could  a  high  wind 
howl  through  the  village  at  night  but  the  old  women 
shrugged  up  their  shoulders,  and  observed,  "the 
little  man  in  black  was  in  his  tantrums."  In  short, 
he  became  the  bugbear  of  every  house  ;  and  was  as 
effectual  in  frightening  little  children  into  obedience 
and  hysterics,  as  the  redoubtable  Raw-hcad-and* 
bloody-bones  himself:  nor  could  a  housewife  of  the 
village  sleep  in  peace,  except  under  the  guardianship 
of  a  norse-shoe  nailed  to  the  door. 

The  object  of  these  direful  suspicions  remained 
for  some  time  totally  ignorant  of  the  wonderful 
ouandary  he  had  occasioned ;  but  he  was  soon 
ooomed  to  feel  its  effects.  An  individual  who  is 
once  so  unfortunate  as  to  incur  the  odium  of  a 
village,  is  in  a  great  measure  outlawed  and  pro- 
scribed ;  and  becomes  a  mark  for  injury  and  insult  I 
particularly  if  he  has  not  the  power  or  the  disposi- 
tion to  recriminate.  The  little  venomous  passion's, 
which  in  the  great  world  are  dissipated  and  weaken- 
ed by  being  widely  diffused,  act  in  the  narrow  limits 
of  a  country  town  with  collected  vigour,  and  become 
rancorous  in  proportion  .as  they  are  confined  in  their 
sphere  of  action.  The  little  man  in  black  experi- 
enced the  truth  of  this ;  ever>'  mischievous  urchin 
returning  from  school,  had  full  liberty  to  break  his 
windows,  and  this  was  considered  as  a  most  daring 
exploit ;  foi  in  such  awe  did  they  stand  of  him,  that 
the  most  adventurous  school  boy  was  never  seen  to 
approach  his  threshold,  and  at  night  would  prefer 
eoing  round  by  the  cross-roads,  where  a  traveller 
Bad  been  murdered  by  the  Indians,  rather  than  pass 
by  the  door  of  his  forlorn  habitation. 

The  only  living  creature  that  seemed  to  have  any 
sarc  or  affection  for  this  deserted  being,  was  an  old 
tumr>pit, — the  companion  of  his  lonely  mansion  and 
his  solitary  wanderings ; — the  sharer  of  his  scanty 
ireals,  ami,  sorry  am  I  to  say  it, — the  sharer  of  his 
persecutions.  The  turnspit,  like  his  master,  was 
peaceable  and  inoffensive ;  never  known  to  bark  at 
a  horse,  to  growl  at  a  traveller,  or  to  quarrel  with 
the  dogs  of  the  neighbourhood.  He  followed  close 
at  his  master's  heels  when  he  went  out,  and  when 
he  returned  stretched  himself  in  the  sunbeams  at 
the  door  ;  demeaning  himself  in  all  things  like  a  civil 
and  well-disposed  turnspit.  But  notwithstanding 
his  exemplary  deportment,  he  fell  likewise  under  the 
ill  report  of  the  village ;  as  l>eing  the  familiar  of  the 
Irttle  man  in  black,  and  the  evil  spirit  that  presideil 
at  his  incant.'itions.  The  old  hovel  was  considereci 
as  the  scene  of  th«ir  unhallowed  riles,  and  its  harm- 
less tenants  regarded  with  a  detestation  which  their 
inoffensive  conduct  never  merited.— Though  pelted 
and  jt:ere«l  at  by  the  brats  of  the  village,  and  fre- 
quently at)used  by  their  parents,  the  httle  man  in 
b'ack  never  turned  to  rebuke  them  ;  and  his  faithful 
dog,  when  wantonly  assaulted,  looked  up  wistfully 
in  nis  master's  face,  and  there  learned  a  lesson  of 
pttience  and  forbearance. 

The  movements  of  this  inscrutable  being  had  long 
ier.n  the  subject  of  speculation  at  Cockloft-hall,  for 
fts  inmates  were  full  as  much  given  to  wondering  as 
their  de.scendants.  The  patience  with  which  he  l)ore 
his  persecutions  particularly  surprised  them ;  for  pa- 
tience is  a  v'rtue  but  little  known  in  the  Cockloft 
family.  My  grandmother,  who  it  appears  was  rather 
•tiperstitious,  t.aw  in  this  humility  nothing  but  the 
gloomy  sullenness  of  a  wizard,  who  restrained  him- 
self for  the  present,  in  hopes  of  midnight  vengeance ; 
— the  parson  of  the  village,  who  w.is  a  man  of  some 
reading,  pronounced  it  the  stubi>urn  insensibility  of 
ft  stoic  philosopher  ; — my  grandfather,  who,  worthy 


soul,  seldom  wandered  abroad  in  search  of  conclu* 
sions,  took  a  data  from  his  own  excellent  heart,  and 
regarded  it  as  the  humble  forgiveness  of  a  Christian. 
Kut  however  different  were  their  opinions  as  to  the 
character  of  the  stranger,  they  agreed  in  one  partic- 
ular, namely,  in  never  intruding  upon  his  solitude ; 
and  my  grandmother  who  was  at  that  time  nursing 
my  motner,  never  left  the  room  without  wisely 
putting  the  large  family  Uible  in  the  cradle ;  a  sure 
talisman,  in  her  opinion,  against  witchcraft  and  neO' 
romancy. 

One  stormy  winter  night,  when  a  bleak  north- 
cast  wind  moaned  about  the  cottages,  and  howled 
around  the  village  steeple  my  grandfather  was  re- 
tun.ing  from  club,  prececed  by  a  servant  witVi  a 
lantern.  Just  as  he  arrived  opposite  the  desolate 
abode  of  the  little  man  in  black,  he  was  arrested  by 
the  piteous  howling  of  a  dog,  which,  heard  in  the 
pauses  of  a  storm,  was  exquisitely  mournful ;  and 
he  fancied  now  and  then,  that  he  caught  the  low 
and  broken  groans  of  some  one  in  distress. — He 
stopped  for  some  minutes,  hesitating  between  the 
benevolence  of  his  heart  and  a  sensation  of  genuine 
delicacy,  which,  in  spite  of  his  eccentricity,  he  fully 
possessed, — and  which  forbade  him  to  pry  into  the 
concerns  of  his  neighbours.  Perhaps,  too,  this  hesi- 
tation might  have  been  strengthened  by  a  little  taint 
of  superstition  ;  for  surely,  if  the  unknown  had  been 
addicted  to  witchcraft,  this  wfis  a  most  propitious 
night  for  his  vagaries.  At  length  the  old  gentle- 
man's philanthropy  predominated;  he  approached  the 
hovel,  and  pushing  open  the  door, — for  ooverty  has 
no  occasion  for  locks  and  keys, — beheld,  by  the  light 
of  the  lantern,  a  scene  that  smote  his  generous  heAfl 
to  the  core. 

On  a  miserable  bed,  with  pallid  and  emaciatfij 
visage,  and  hollow  eyes  ; — in  a  room  destitute  of  evei^ 
convenience ; — without  fire  to  warm  or  friend  te 
console  him,  lay  this  helpless  mortal,  who  had  becti 
so  long  the  terror  and  wonder  of  the  village.  His 
dog  was  crouching  on  the  scanty  coverlet,  and  shiv- 
ering with  cold.  My  grandfailier  stepped  softly  and 
hesitatingly  to  the  bed-side,  and  accosted  the  forlorn 
sutTcrer  in  his  usual  accents  of  kindness.  The  little 
man  in  black  seemed  recalled  by  the  tones  of  com- 
passion from  the  lethargy  into  which  he  had  fallen ; 
for,  though  his  heart  was  almost  frozen,  there  was 
yet  one  cliord  that  answered  to  the  call  of  the  good 
old  man  who  bent  over  him  ;  the  tones  of  sympathy, 
so  novel  to  his  ear,  called  back  his  wandering  senses, 
and  acted  like  a  restorative  to  his  solitary  feelings. 

He  raised  his  eyes,  but  they  were  vacant  and  hag- 
gard ; — he  put  forth  his  hand,  but  it  was  cold;  he 
essayed  to  speak,  but  the  sound  died  away  in  his 
throat ; — he  pointed  to  his  mouth  with  an  expression 
of  dreadful  meaning,  and,  siid  to  relate  !  my  grand- 
father understood  tnat  the  harmless  stranger,  tiesert- 
cd  by  society,  was  perishing  with  hunger  i— with  the 
quick  impulse  of  humanity  ne  desfiatcned  the  servant 
to  the  hall  lor  refreshment.  A  little  warm  nourish- 
ment renovated  him  for  a  short  time,  but  not  long : 
— it  was  evident  his  pilgrimage  was  drawing  to  a 
close,  and  he  was  about  entering  that  peaceful  asyiurn 
where  "  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling." 

His  tale  of  misery  was  short,  and  quickly  to'd ; 
infirmities  had  stolen  upon  him,  heightened  by  im 
rigours  of  the  season  :  he  had  taken  to  his  bed  with- 
out strength  to  rise  and  ask  for  assistance ; — "  and 
if  I  had,'  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  bitter  despondency, 
"  to  whom  should  I  have  •tpplied  ?  1  have  no  friend 
that  1  know  of  in  the  world ! — the  villagers  avoid  me 
as  something  loathsome  and  dangerous;  and  here, 
in  the  midst  of  Christians,  should  1  have  perished, 
without  a  fellow-being  to  sooth  the  last  inomeats  of 
existence,  and  close  my  dying  eyes,  bad   not  the 


m 


m 


610 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


■'•'■'4 


Ua 


K:^ 


howlings  of  my  faithful  dog  excited  your  atten- 
tion." 

He  seemed  deeply  sensible  of  the  kindness  of  my 
n-^ndfathcr  ;  and  at  one  time  as  he  looked  up  into 
his  old  benefactor's  face,  a  solitary  tear  was  observed 
to  steal  ado^n  the  parched  furrows  of  his  cheek — 
poor  outcast  I — it  was  the  last  tear  he  shed — but  I 
waiTant  it  was  not  the  first  by  millions  t  my  grand- 
ia'.her  watched  by  him  all  night.  Towards  mominK 
ht  gradually  diiclined ;  and  as  the  rising  sun  gleamed 
throu^n  the  window,  he  begged  to  be  raised  in  his 
bed  that  he  might  look  at  it  Tor  the  last  time.  He 
contemplated  it  for  a  moment  with  a  kind  of  religious 
enthusiasm,  and  his  lips  moved  as  if  engaged  in 
praver.  The  strange  conjecture  i  concerning  him 
rusned  on  my  grandfather's  mi'.d :  "  he  is  an  idol- 
ater!" thought  he,  "and  is  v.orshipping  the  sunt' 
-He  listened  a  moment  s>z,ii  blushed  at  his  own  un- 
cai.-itable  suspicion :  he  was  only  engaged  in  the 
pious  devotions  of  a  Christian.  His  simple  orison 
jeing  finished,  the  little  man  in  black  withdrew  his 
eyes  from  the  ea.it,  and  taking  my  grandfather's 
hand  in  one  of  his,  \nd  making  i>.  inotion  with  the 
Jther  towards  the  sun  ; — "  I  lovr  to  contemplate  it," 
laid  he,  "  'tis  an  emblem  of  the  universal  benevolence 
of  a  true  Christian ; — and  it  is  the  most  glorious 
work  of  him  who  is  philanthropy  itself  I "  My  f^and- 
father  blushed  still  deeper  at  his  ungenerous  sur- 
mises ;  he  had  pitied  the  stranger  at  first,  but  row 
he  revered  him : — he  turned  once  more  to  regard 
him,  but  his  countenance  had  undergone  a  change  ; 
— the  holy  enthusiasm  that  had  lighted  up  each 
feature,  had  given  place  to  an  expression  of  mysteri- 
ous import ; — a  gleam  of  grandeur  seemed  to  steal 
across  his  Gothic  visage,  and  he  appeared  full  of 
jome  mightv  secret  which  he  hesitated  to  impart. 
He  raised  the  tattered  nightcap  that  had  sunk  al- 
most over  his  eyes,  and  waving  his  withered  hand 
y?jth  a  slow  and  feeble  expression  of  dignity, — "  In 
me,"  said  he,  with  laconic  solemnity, — "in  me  you 
behold  the  last  descendant  of  the  renowned  Linkum 
Fidelius  ! "  My  grandfather  gazed  at  him  with  rev- 
erence ;  for  though  he  had  never  heard  of  the  illus- 
trious personage,  thus  pompously  announced,  yet 
there  was  a  certain  black-letter  dienity  in  the  name 
that  peculiarly  struck  his  fancy  and  commanded  his 
respect. 

"  You  have  been  kind  to  me,"  continued  the  little 
man  in  black,  after  a  momentary  pause,  "  and  richly 
will  1  requite  your  kindness  by  making  you  heir  to 
my  treasures  !  In  yonder  large  deal  box  are  the 
volumes  of  my  illustrious  ancestor,  of  which  I  alone 
am  the  fortunate  possessor.  Inherit  them — ponder 
over  them,  and  be  wise  ! "  He  grew  faint  with  the 
exertion  he  had  made,  and  sunk  back  almost  breath- 
less on  his  pillow.  His  hand,  which,  inspired  with 
the  importance  of  his  subject,  he  had  raised  to  my 
grandfather's  arm,  slipped  from  its  hold  and  fell  over 
the  side  of  the  bed,  and  his  faithful  dog  licked  it ;  as 
if  anxious  to  sooth  the  last  moments  of  his  master, 
and  testify  his  gratitude  to  the  hand  that  had  so 
often  cherished  him.  The  untaught  caresses  of  the 
fiuthful  animal  were  not  lost  upon  his  dying  master , 
— he  raised  iiis  languid  eyes, — turned  them  on  the 
dog,  then  on  my  grandfather;  and  having  given  this 
tU-'int  recommendation — closed  them  for  ever. 

The  remains  of  the  little  man  in  black,  notwith- 
standing the  objections  of  many  pious  people,  were 
decently  interred  in  the  church-yard  of  the  village ; 
and  his  spirit,  h.irmlessas  the  body  it  once  animated, 
has  never  been  known  to  molest  a  living  being.  My 
grardfather  complied,  as  far  as  possible,  with  his 
fast  request ;  he  conveyed  the  volumes  of  Linkum 
Fidelius  to  his  library  ; — he  ponderel  over  them  fre- 
quently • — but  whetner  he  grew  wiser,  the  traditicn 


doth  not  mention.  This  much  is  certain,  that  hia 
kindncM  to  the  poor  descendant  of  Fidelius  waj 
amply  rewarded  by  the  approbation  of  his  own 
heart  and  the  devoted  attachment  of  the  oM  turn- 
spit, who,  transferring  his  affection  from  his  deceaseo 
master  to  his  bene^ctor,  became  his  constant  at- 
tendant, and  was  father  to  a  long  line  of  ninty  curs 
that  still  flourish  in  the  family.  And  thus  was  the 
Cockloft  library  first  enriched  by  the  invaluable  folios 
of  the  sage  LiNKUM  I  idklius. 


LETTER 


FROM    MUS-irAPHA 
KELI   KHAN. 


RUB-A-DUB 


10    ASBM    HACCHKM,    PRINCIPAL    SLAVE-T)RIVBIt 
TO  HIS   HIGHNESS  THK   BASHAW  Or  TRirOLI. 


Though  I  am  often  disgtisted.  my  good  Asem, 
with  the  vices  and  absurdities  of  the  men  of  this 
country,  yet  the  women  afford  me  a  world  of  amuse- 
ment. "Their  lively  prattle  is  as  diverting  as  the 
chattering  of  the  red-tailed  parrot ;  nor  can  the 
green-headed  monkey  of  Timandi  equal  them  in 
whim  and  playfulness.  But,  notwithstanding  these 
valuable  qualifications,  I  am  sorry  to  observe  they 
are  not  treated  with  half  the  attention  bestowed  on 
the  before-mentioned  animals.  These  infidels  put 
their  parrots  in  cages  and  chain  their  monkeys ;  but 
their  women,  instead  of  being  carefully  shut  up  in 
harems  and  seraglios,  are  abandoned  to  the  direc* 
tion  of  their  own  reason  and  suffered  to  run  about 
in  perfect  freedom,  like  other  domestic  animals  :— 
this  comes,  Asem,  of  treating  their  women  as  ra- 
tional beings  and  allowing  them  souls.  The  conse- 
quent of  this  piteous  neglect  may  easily  be  imag- 
ined:— they  have  degenerated  into  all  their  native 
witdness,  are  seldom  to  be  caught  at  home,  and,  a* 
an  early  age,  take  to  the  streets  and  highways, 
where  they  rove  about  in  droves,  giving  almost  as 
much  annoyance  to  the  peaceable  people  as  the 
troops  of  wild  dogs  that  infest  our  great  cities,  or 
the  flights  of  locusts  that  sometimes  spread  famine 
and  desolation  over  whole  regions  of  fertility. 

This  propensity  to  relapse  into  pristine  wildness 
convinces  me  of  the  untameable  disposition  of  the 
sex,  who  may  indeed  be  partially  domesticated  by  a 
long  course  of  confinement  and  restraint,  but  the 
moment  they  are  restored  to  p  rsonal  freedom,  be- 
come wild  as  the  young  partriuge  of  this  country, 
which,  though  scarcely  half  hatched,  will  take  to  the 
fields  and  run  about  with  the  shell  upon  its  back. 

Notwithstanding  their  wildness,  however,  they  are 
remarkably  easy  of  access,  and  suffer  themselves  to 
be  approached  at  certain  hours  of  the  day  without 
any  symptoms  of  apprehension ;  and  I  have  even 
happily  succeeded  in  detecting  them  at  their  domes- 
tic occupations.  One  of  the  most  ir.iportant  of  these 
consists  in  thumping  vehemently  on  a  kind  of  mu- 
sical instrument,  and  producing  a  confused,  hideous, 
and  indefinable  uproar,  which  they  call  the  descrip- 
tion  of  a  battle  ; — a  jest,  no  doubt,  for  they  are  wori> 
derfully  facetious  at  times,  and  make  great  practice 
of  passing  jokes  upon  strangers.  Sometimes  they 
employ  themselves  in  painting  little  caricatiu-es  of 
landscapes,  wherein  they  display  their  singular  droll- 
ery in  bantering  nature  fairly  out  of  countenance ; 
representing  her  tricked  out  in  all  the  tawdry  finery 
of  copper  sKifci  purple  rivers,  calico  rocks,  red  grass, 
clouds  that  look  tike  old  clothes  set  adrift  by  the  tem- 
pest, and  foxy  trees  whose  melancholy  foliage,  droop 
ing  and  curling  most  fmtastically,  reminds  me  ol 
an  undressed  tierriwit;  that  I  have  now  and  thet 


SALMAGUNDI. 


611 


certain,  that  hia 
of  Fiddius  was 
on  of  his  own 
of  the  old  turn- 
om  hisdeceasea 
lis  constant  at- 
ne  of  runty  curs 
nd  thus  was  the 
invaluable  folioi 


RUB-A-DUB 


SLAVE-DRIvm 
OF  TRIPOLI. 

nygood  Asem, 
le  men  of  this 
vorld  of  amuse- 
iverting  as  the 

;  nor  can  the 
equal  them  in 
islanding  these 
■0  observe  they 
on  bestowed  on 
;se  infidels  put 

monkeys;  but 
uUy  shut  up  in 
d  to  the  direc- 
^  to  run  about 
>tic  animals : — 
women  as  ra- 
Is.    The  conse- 
easily  be  imag- 
ill  their  native 
t  home,  and,  a* 
and   highways, 
ving  almost  as 
people  as  the 
great  cities,  or 
i  spread  famine 
fertility, 
istine  wildness 
position  of  the 
nesticated  by  a 
trainf,  but  the 
d  freedom,  be- 
f  this  country, 
vill  take  to  the 
}n  its  back, 
vever,  they  are 
themselves  to 
»e  day  without 
I  I  have  even 
t  their  domes- 
Jrtant  of  these 

I  kind  of  mu- 
uscd,  hideous, 

II  the  descrip" 
they  are  wok. 
great  practice 
metimes  they 
:aricatures  of 
singular  droU- 
countenance  ; 
tawdry  finery 
:ks,  red  grass, 
ft  by  the  tern- 
oliaKe,  droop- 
minds  me  ot 
ow  and  thei 


hung  on  a  stick  in  a  barber's  window.  At 
other  times  they  employ  themselves  in  acquiring  a 
smattering  of  languages  spoken  by  nations  on  the 
other  sHie  of  the  globe,  as  they  find  their  own  lan- 
guage not  sufficiently  copious  to  supply  their  con- 
stant demands  and  express  their  multifarious  idiJas. 
But  their  most  important  dotnestic  avocatipn  is  to 
embroider,  on  satin  or  muslin,  flowers  of  a  nonde- 
script kind,  in  which  the  great  art  is  to  make  them 
US  unlike  nature  as  possible ; — or  to  fasten  little  bits 
9f  silver,  geld,  tinsel,  and  glass  on  long  strips  of 
m  tslin,  which  they  drag  after  them  with  mucn  dig- 
nity whenever  they  go  abroad ; — a  fine  lady,  like  a 
bini  of  paradise,  being  estimated  by  the  length  of 
her  tail. 

But  do  not,  my  friend,  fall  into  the  enormous  error 
of  supposing  that  the  exercise  of  these  arts  is  at- 
tended with  any  useful  or  profitable  result ; — believe 
me,  thou  couldst  not  indulge  an  idea  more  unjust 
and  injurious ;  for  it  appears  to  be  an  establisht'd 
maxim  among  the  women  of  this  country,  that  a 
lady  loses  her  dignity  when  she  condescends  to  be 
useful,  and  forfeits  all  rank  in  society  the  moment 
she  can  be  convicted  of  earning  a  farthing.  Their 
labours,  therefore,  are  directed  not  towards  supply- 
ing their  household,  but  m  decking  their  persons, 
and— generous  souls !— they  deck  their  persons,  not 
so  much  to  please  themselves,  as  to  gratify  others, 
particularly  strangers.  1  am  confident  tnou  wilt 
stare  at  this,  my  good  Asem,  accustomed  as  thou 
art  to  our  eastern  females,  who  shrink  in  blushing 
timidity  even  from  the  glance  of  a  lover,  and  are  so 
chary  of  their  favours,  that  they  even  seem  fearful 
of  lavishing  their  smiles  too  profusely  on  their  hus- 
bands. Here,  on  the  contrary,  the  stranger  has  the 
first  place  in  female  regard,  and,  so  far  do  they 
carry  their  hospitality,  that  I  have  seen  a  fine  lady 
Ui^ht  a  dozen  tried  friends  and  real  admirers,  who 
lived  in  her  smiles  and  made  her  happiness  their 
study, "merely  to  allure  the  vague  and  wandering 
^nces  of  a  stranger,  who  viewed  her  person  with 
indifference  and  treated  her  advances  with  con- 
tempt.  By  the  whiskers  of  our  sublime  bashaw, 

but  this  is  highly  flattering  to  a  foreigner !  and  thou 
mayest  judge  how  particularly  pleasing  to  one  who 
is,  like  myself,  so  ardent  an  admirer  of  the  sex.  Far 
be  it  from  me  to  condemn  this  extraordinary  mani- 
festation of  good  will — let  their  own  countrymen 
look  to  that. 

Be  not  alarmed,  I  conjiire  thee,  my  dear  Asem, 
lest  I  should  be  tempted  by  these  lieautiful  barl)a- 
rians  to  break  the  faith  I  owe  to  the  three-and-twenty 
wives  from  whom  my  unhappy  destiny  has  perhaps 
severed  me  for  ever: — no,  Asem,  neither  time  nor 
the  bitter  succession  of  misfortunes  that  pursues  me 
can  shake  from  my  heart  the  memory  of  former  at- 
tachments. I  listen  with  tranquil  heart  to  the 
strumming  and  prattling  of  these  fair  syrens ;  their 
whimsical  paintings  touch  not  the  tentler  chord  of 
my  affections ;  and  I  would  still  defy  their  fascina- 
tions, though  they  trailed  after  them  trains  as  long 
■s  the  gorgeous  trappings  which  are  dragged  at 
tbj  heels  of  the  holy  camel  of  Mecca :  or  as  the 
^l  of  the  great  beast  in  our  prophet's  vision,  which 
.Tieasured  mree  hundred  and  fortv-nine  leagues,  two 
miles,  three  furlongs,  and  a  hana's  breadth  in  longi- 
tude. 

The  diess  of  these  women  is,  if  possible,  more 
eccentric  and  whimsical  than  their  deportment ;  and 
they  take  an  inordinate  pride  in  certain  ornaments 
which  are  probably  derived  from  their  savage  pro- 
genitors.  A  woman  of  this  country,  dressed  out 

ior  an  exhibition,  is  loaded  with  as  many  ornaments 
as  a  Circassian  slave  when  brought  out  for  sale. 
Theii  heads  are  tricked  out  with  little  bits  of  horn 


or  shell,  cut  into  fantastic  shapes,  and  they  ft  em  t« 
emulate  each  other  in  the  number  of  these  sin^lat 
baubles ; — like  the  women  we  have  seen  in  our  jour- 
neys to  Aleppo,  who  cover  their  heads  with  the  en- 
tire shell  of  a  tortoise,  and,  thus  equipped,  are  the 
envy  of  all  their  less  fortunate  acquaintance.  They 
also  decorate  their  necks  and  ears  with  coral,  gold 
chains,  and  glass  beads,  and  load  their  fingers  with 
a  variety  of  rings ;  though,  I  must  confess,  I  have 
never  perceived  that  they  wear  any  in  their  noses — 
as  has  been  affirmed  by  many  travellers.  We  have 
heard  much  of  their  painting  themselves  most  hide- 
ously, and  makine  use  of  bear's  grease  in  great  pro- 
fusion ;  but  this,  T  solemnly  assure  thee,  is  a  misrep- 
resentation ;  civilization,  no  doubt,  having  gradually 
extirpated  these  nauseous  practices.  It  is  true,  1  have 
seen  two  or  three  of  these  fe.-iialcs,  who  had  disguis- 
ed their  features  with  paint  but  then  it  was  merely 
to  give  a  tinge  of  red  to  their  cheeks,  and  did  not 
loot  very  frigntful ;  and  as  to  ointment,  they  rarely 
use  any  now,  except  occasionally  a  little  Grecian  oil 
for  their  hair,  which  gives  it  a  glossy,  greasy,  and, 
they  think,  very  comely  appearance.  The  last-men- 
tioned cla.ss  of  females,  I  take  it  for  granted,  have 
been  but  lately  caught,  and  still  retain  strong  traits 
of  their  original  savage  propensities. 

The  most  flagrant  and  inexcusable  fault,  how- 
ever, which  I  find  in  these  lovely  savages,  is  the 
shameless  and  abandoned  exposure  of  their  persons. 
Wilt  not  thou  suspect  me  of  exaggeration  when  I 
affirm  ; — wilt  thou  not  blush  for  them,  most  discreet 
Mussulman,  when  I  declare  to  thee,  that  they  are  so 
lost  to  all  sense  of  modesty,  as  to  expose  the  whole 
of  their  faces  from  their  forehead  to  the  chin,  and 
they  even  go  abroad  with  their  hands  uncovered  ! — 
Monstrous  indelicacy ! — 

But  what  I  am  going  to  disclose,  will,  doubtless, 
appear  to  thee  still  more  incredible.  Though  I  can- 
not forbear  paying  a  tribute  of  admiration  to  the 
beautiful  faces  of  these  fair  infidels,  yet  I  must  give 
it  as  my  firm  opinion,  that  their  persons  are  prepos* 
terously  unseemly.  In  vain  did  I  look  around  me, 
on  my  first  landing,  for  those  divine  forms  of  redun- 
dant proportions,  which  answer  to  the  true  standard 
of  eastern  beauty  ; — not  a  single  fat  fair  one  could 
1  behold  among  the  multitudes  that  thronged  the 
streets  ;  the  females  that  passed  in  review  before  me, 
tripping  sportively  along,  resembled  a  procession  of 
siiadows,  returning  to  their  graves  at  the  crowing  of 
the  cock. 

This  meagreness  I  first  ascribed  to  their  excessive 
volubility ;  for  I  have  somewhere  seen  it  advanced 
by  a  learned  doctor,  that  the  sex  were  endowed  with 
a  peculiar  activity  of  tongue,  in  order  that  they 
might  practise  talking  as  a  healthful  exercise,  neces- 
sary to  their  confined  and  sedentary  mode  of  life. 
This  exercise,  it  was  natural  to  suppose,  would  be 
carried  to  great  excess  in  a  logocracy. — "Too  true," 
thought  I,  "  they  have  converted,  what  was  undoubt- 
edly meant  as  a  beneficent  gift,  into  a  noxious  habit, 
that  steals  the  flesh  from  their  bones  and  the  rose 
from  their  cheeks — they  absolutely  talk  themselves 
thin  !  "  Judge  then  of  my  surprise  when  1  was  as- 
sured, not  long  since,  that  this  meagreness  was  con- 
sidered the  perfection  of  personal  beauty,  and  that 
many  a  lady  starved  herself,  with  all  the  obst^nats 

perseverance  of  a  pious  dervi«e into  a  fine  figure  I 

"  Nay,  more,'  said  my  informer,  "  they  will  often 


sacrifice  their  healths  in  this  eager  pursuit  of  skele- 
ton beauty,  and  drink  vinegar,  eat  pickles,  and  smoke 
tobacco,  to  keep  themselves  withm  the  scanty  out- 
Hnes  of  the  fashions." — Faugh  !  Allah  preserve  me 
from  such  beauties,  who  contaminate  their  pure 
blood  with  noxious  recipes  ;  who  impious'y  sacrifice 
the  best  gifts  of  Heaven,  to  a  preposterous  and  mis- 


019 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


i»'J 


W^^ 


T.'S''  Yi^Uj.  Era  lon^  I  shall  nov  be  surprised  to 
M^'  t:,eai  scarring  their  faces  like  the  ne^oes  of 
O  '.go,  flattening  their  noses  in  imitation  of  the  Hot- 
♦f.ifts,  or  like  the  barbarians  of  Ab-al  Timar,  distort- 
ing their  lips  and  ears  out  of  all  natural  dimensions. 
Since  1  received  this  inlorniation,  1  cannot  contem- 
pt ilu  u  fine  figure,  without  thinking  of  a  vinegar  cruet; 
nor  look  at  a  dashing  belle,  without  fancying  her  a 
rot  of  pickled  cucumbers!  What  a  ditlerence,  my 
iricnd,  lietwecn  these  shades  and  the  plump  beauties 
i)f  Tripoli, — what  a  contrast  between  an  infidel  fair 
um:  and  my  favourite  wife  Fatima,  whom  I  bought  by 
the  hundred  weight,  and  had  trundled  home  in  a 
wheel-barrow ! 

But  enough  for  the  present ;  I  am  promised  a 
faithiul  account  of  the  arcana  of  a  lady's  toilette — 
a  complete  initiation  into  the  arts,  mysteries,  spells, 
and  potions ;  in  short,  the  whole  chymical  process 
by  which  she  reduces  herself  down  to  the  most  fash- 
ionable standard  of  insignificance ;  together  with 
specimens  of  the  strait  waistcoats,  the  lacings,  the 
bandages,  and  the  various  ingenious  instruments  with 
which  she  puts  nature  to  the  r.ick,  and  tortures  her- 
self into  a  proper  figure  to  be  admired. 

Farewell,  thou  sweetest  of  slave-tl rivers  I  the 
echoes  that  repeat  to  a  lover's  ear  the  song  of  his 
mistress,  are  not  more  soothing  than  tidings  from 
those  we  love.  Let  thy  answer  to  my  letters  be 
speedy ;  and  never,  I  pray  thee,  for  a  moment,  cease 
to  watch  over  the  prosperity  of  my  house,  and  the 
welfare  of  my  beloved  wives.  Let  them  want  for 
nothing,  my  friend ;  but  feed  them  plentifully  on 
honey,  boiled  rice,  and  water  gruel ;  so  that  when  I 
return  to  the  blessed  land  of  my  fathers,  if  that  can 
ever  be  I  I  may  find  them  impro'ed  in  size  and  loveli- 
ness, and  sleek  as  the  graceful  elephants  that  range 
the  green  valley  of  Abimar. 

Ever  thine, 

MUSTAPHA. 


No.  XIX.— THURSDAY,   DEC.  31,  1807. 

FROM   MY  ELBOW-CHAIR. 


Having  returned  to  town,  and  once  more  formally 
taken  possession  of  my  elbow-chair,  it  behooves  me 
to  discard  the  rural  feelings,  and  the  rural  sentiments, 
in  which  I  have  for  some  tmie  past  indulged,  and 
devote  myself  more  exclusively  to  the  edification  of 
the  town.  As  I  feel  at  this  moment  a  chivalric  spark 
of  gallantry  playing  around  my  heart,  and  one  of 
those  dulcet  emotions  of  cordiality,  which  an  old 
bachelor  will  sometimes  entertain  towards  the  divine 
sex,  I  am  determined  to  gratify  the  sentiment  for 
once,  and  devote  this  number  exclusively  to  the 
ladies.  I  would  not,  however,  have  our  fair  readers 
imagine  that  we  wish  to  flatter  ourselves  into  their 
good  graces ;  devoutly  as  we  adore  them  ! — and  what 
true  cavalier  does  not, — and  heartily  as  we  desire  to 
flourish  in  the  mild  sunshine  of  their  smiles,  yet  we 
ftcom  to  insinuate  ourselves  into  their  favour;  unless 
it  be  as  honest  friends,  sincere  well-wishers,  and  dis- 
^jiierested  advisers.  If  in  the  course  of  this  number 
they  find  us  rather  prodigal  of  our  encomiums,  they 
will  have  the  modesty  to  ascribe  it  to  the  excess  of 
their  own  merits ; — if  they  find  us  extremely  indul- 
gent to  their  faults,  they  will  impute  it  rather  to  the 
superabundance  of  our  good-nature,  than  to  any  ser- 
vile and  illiberal  fear  of  giving  otience. 

I'he  following  letter  of  Mustapha  falls  in  exactly 
with  the  current  of  my  purpose.  As  1  have  before 
mentioned  that  his  letters  are  without  date*  we  arc 


obliged  to  give  them  very  inegularly,  withoal  m.^ 
regard  to  chronological  order. 

The  present  one  ap|)ears  to  have  been  written  not 
long  after  his  aiTiv.il,  and  antecedent  to  aeveru  al 
ready  published.     It  i'  more  in  the  tamiliu  i.nd  ooU 
loquial  style  than  the  others.     Will  Wizard  declaic. 
he  h.as  translated  it  with  tidtlity.  excepting  that  he 
has  omitted  several  remarks  on  the  waltz,  which  tht* 
honest  Mussulman  eulogizes  with  great  enthusiasm 
comparing  it  to  certain  voluptuous  dances  of  thi 
seraglio.     Will  regretted  exceedingly  that   the   in- 
delicacy of  several  of  these  observations  compelled 
their  total  exclusion,  as  he  wishes  to  give  all  possible 
enccurageroent  to  this  popular  and  amiable  exhibi 
tion. 


LETTER 


FROM    MUSl'APHA    RU3-A-DUB 
KELI   KHAN, 


TO  MULEV  HEI.tM  AL  RAGOI,  SURNAMKD  THB 
AGREEABLE  RAOA.MUKFIN,  CHIEF  MOUNTE- 
BANK AND   BUFFA-DANCBR  TO  HIS   HIGHNESS. 


The  niim.^rous  letters  which  I  have  written  to  our 
friend  the  si .ive -driver,  as  well  as  those  to  thy  kins- 
man THE  SNOKER,  and  which,  doubtless,  weie  read 
to  thee,  honest  Muley,  have,  in  all  probability,  awak- 
ened thy  curiosity  to  know  further  particulars  con- 
cerning the  manners  of  the  barbarians,  who  hold  me 
in  such  ignominious  captivity.  I  was  lately  at  one 
of  their  public  ceremonies,  which,  at  firs t  ^<rplexed 
me  exceedingly  as  to  its  object ;  but  as  the  etplana- 
tions  of  a  friend  have  let  me  somewhat  into  tht 
secret,  and  as  it  seems  to  bear  no  small  analogy  tc 
thy  profession,  a  description  of  it  miiy  contribute  to 
thy  amusement,  if  not  to  thy  instruction. 

A  few  days  since,  just  as  I  had  finished  my  coflTce, 
and  was  perfuming  my  whiskers,  preparatory  to  a 
morning  walk,  I  was  waited  upon  by  an  inhabitant 
of  this  place,  a  gay  young  infidel  who  h.ts  of  late 
cultivated  my  acquaintance.  He  presented  me  with 
a  square  bit  of  painted  p.asteboard.  which,  he  inform- 
ed me,  would  entitle  me  to  admittance  to  the  city 
ASSEMBLY.  Curious  to  know  the  meaning  of  a 
phrase  which  was  entirely  new  to  me,  1  requested 
an  explanation ;  when  my  friend  informed  me  that 
the  assembly  was  a  numerous  concourse  of  youn-j 
people  of  both  sexes,  who,  on  certain  occasions, 
gathered  together  to  dance  about  a  large  room  with 
violent  gesticulation,  and  try  to  out-dress  each  other. 
— "  In  short,"  said  he,  "  if  you  wish  to  see  the  natives 
in  all  their  glory,  there's  no  place  like  the  Ct(y  As- 
semhly  ;  so  you  must  go  there,  and  sfwrt  your  whis- 
kers. '  Though  the  matter  of  sporting  my  whiskera 
was  considerably  above  my  apprehension,  yet  I  now 
began,  as  1  thought,  to  underst.and  him.  I  h.id 
heard  of  the  war  dances  of  the  natives,  which  are  a 
kind  of  religious  institution,  and  had  little  doubt  but 
that  this  must  be  a  solemnity  of  the  kind — Upon  a 
prodigious  great  scale.  Anxious  as  I  am  to  conten- 
plate  these  strange  people  in  every  situation,  I  wJ- 
iingly  acceded  to  his  proposal,  and,  to  be  the  more  at 
ease,  1  determined  to  lay  aside  my  Turkish  dress, 
and  appear  in  plain  garments  of  the  fashion  of  this 
country ;  as  is  my  custom  whenever  I  wish  to  mingle 
in  a  crowd  without  exciting  the  attention  of  the 
gaping  multitude. 

It  was  long  after  the  shades  of  night  had  fallen, 
before  my  friend  appeared  to  conduct  me  fo  the  as- 
sembly. "These  infidels,"  thought  1,  "shroud  them- 
selves in  mystery,  and  seek  the  aid  of  gloom  ano 
darkness,  to  heighten  the  solemnity  of  their  pious 
orgies."    Resolving  to  conduct  myself  with  that 


SALMAGUNDI. 


UZ 


■ularly,  withoot  ».) 


A    RU3-A-DUB 


de<«nt  respect  which  every  strangnr  o\  a  to  the 
customs  of  the  land  in  which  he  soiournA,  I  chastised 
my  features  into  an  expression  of  sober  reverence, 
and  stretched  my  face  i  o  a  degree  of  lon^ntude 
suitable  to  the  ceremuny  I  was  about  to  witness. 
Spite  of  nnyself,  1  felt  an  emotion  of  awe  stealiujf  over 
my  senses  as  I  apppjached  the  majestic  pile.  My 
imagination  pictured  something  siinilaf  to  a  (U-8ci;nt 
into  the  cave  of  Uom-Uaniel,  wiiere  the  necroman- 
cers of  the  East  are  taught  thiir  intt-rnal  arts.  I 
entered  with  the  sime  gravity  ol  demeanour  th.it  1 
would  have  approached  the  holy  temple  at  Mecca. 
and  bowed  my  head  three  times  as  1  p.issed  the 
threshold.  "  Head  of  the  mighty  Amrou  I  "  ihuu^'ht 
I,  on  being  ushered  into  a  splendid  saloon,  "  what  a 
display  is  here  I  surely  1  am  transported  to  the  man- 
sions of  the  Houris,  the  elysium  of  the  faithful  I  " — 
How  tame  appeared  all  the  descriptions  of  enchant- 
ed palaces  in  our  Arabian  poetry ! — wherever  I  turned 
my  eyes,  the  ouick  glances  of  beauty  dazzled  my 
vision  and  ravisned  my  heart ;  lovely  virgins  tiuttered 
by  me,  darting  imperial  looks  of  conquest,  or  beam- 
ing such  smiles  of  invitation,  as  diil  Ciahriel  when  he 
brckor  .vi  our  holy  prophet  to  Heaven.  Shall  I  own 
the  weakness  of  thy  friend,  good  Muley  ? — while  thus 
gazing  on  the  enchanted  scene  before  me,  I,  for  a 
moment,  forgot  my  country ;  and  even  the  memory 
o(  my  three-and-twenty  wives  laded  from  my  heart ; 
my  thoughts  were  bewildered  and  led  astray  by  the 
charms  of  these  b<;witching  savages,  and  I  sunk,  for 
a  while,  into  that  delicious  state  of  mind,  where  the 
senses,  all  enchanted,  and  all  striving  for  mastery, 
produce  an  endless  variety  of  tumultuous,  yet  pleas- 
ing emotions.  Oh,  Mulev,  never  shall  I  again  won- 
der that  an  infidel  should  prove  a  recreant  to  the 
single  solitary  wife  allotted  him,  when,  even  thy 
friend,  armed  with  all  the  precepts  of  Mahomet,  can 
to  easily  prove  faithless  to  three-and-twenty  ! 

"  Whither  have  you  led  me  ?  "  said  I,  at  length,  to 
jny  companion,  "and  to  whom  do  these  beautiful 
creatures  belong?  Certainly  this  must  be  the  se- 
raglio of  the  grand  bashaw  of  the  city,  and  a  most 
happy  bashaw  must  he  be,  to  possess  treasures, 
which  even  his  highness  of  Tripoli  cannot  parallel." 
"  Have  a  care,"  cried  my  companion,  "  how  you  talk 
about  seraglios,  or  you'll  have  all  tliesc  gentle  nymphs 
about  your  ears ;  for  seraglio  is  a  word  which,  beyond 
all  others,  they  abhor; — most  of  them,"  continued 
he,  "  have  no  lord  and  master,  but  ccnie  here  to  catch 
one — they're  in  the  market,  as  we  term  it."  ••  Ah, 
hah  !  "  said  1,  exultingly,  "  then  you  really  have  a  fair, 
or  slave-market,  such  as  we  have  in  the  east,  where 
the  faithful  are  provided  with  the  choicest  virgins  of 

Georgia  and  Circassia  ? by  our  glorious  sun  of 

Afric,  but  I  should  like  to  select  some  ten  or  a  dozen 
wives  from  so  lovely  an  assemblage !  Pray,  what 
would  you  suppose  they  might  be  bought  for  ?  " 

Before  I  could  receive  an  answer,  my  attention 
was  attracted  by  two  or  three  good-looking,  middle- 
sized  men,  who,  being  dressed  in  black,  a  colour 
universally  worn  in  this  country  by  the  muftis  and 
dervises,  1  immediately  concluded  to  be  high-priests, 
and  was  confirmed  in  my  original  opinion  that  this 
was  a  religious  ceremony.  These  reverend  person- 
ages are  entitled  managers,  and  enjoy  unlimited  au- 
thority in  the  assemblies,  being  armed  with  swords, 
with  which,  I  am  told,  they  would  infallibly  put  any 
lady  to  death  who  infringed  the  laws  of  the  temple. 
They  walked  round  the  room  with  great  solemnity, 
and,  with  an  air  of  profound  importance  and  mystery. 
put  a  little  piece  of  folded  pa|)er  in  each  fair  hand, 
which  I  concluded  were  religious  talismans.  One 
of  them  dropped  on  the  floor,  whereupon  I  slily  put 
my  foot  on  it,  and,  watching  an  opportunity,  picked 
it  up  unobserved,  and  fuui  i  ii  lo  contain  some  unin- 
Vou  IL— Ift 


telligible  words  and  the  myatic  number  9.    Vi'^) 

were  iK  virtues  I  know  not ;  eicept  that  I  put  it  .1 
ifiy  pocket,  and  have  hitherto  bfcn  preserved  .■..::.! 
my  tit  of  the  lumbago,  which  I  generally  h.u  e  .1'  ttxtt 
this  season  of  the  yea.,  iver  since  I  tumuird  into  the 
well  of  /.irn-cim  on  my  pilgrimage  to  Mecca.  !  en- 
close it  to  till-'  III  this  le.ter,  presuming  it  to  he  pi,- 
ticularly  serviceable  aganist  the  dangers  of  thy  pro- 
fession. 

Shortly  after  the  distribution  of  these  talisn  !«a*, 
one  of  the  high-ciests  stalked  into  the  middle  of  Ihi 
room  with  great  m.ijesty,  and  clajjped  his  hands  thr^* 
times ,  a  loud  explosion  of  music  succeeded  from  a 
numberof  black,  yellow, and  white  mus''::ans,  perched 
in  a  kind  of  cage  over  the  grand  entrance.  Tnc  con- 
pany  were  thereupon  thrown  into  preat  confusia'. 
and  apparent  consternation. — They  nurricd  to  anc* 
fro  about  the  room,  and  at  length  formed  themselves 
into  little  groupes  of  eight  persons,  half  male  and 
half  female ; — the  music  siruck  iiitu  somethi.ig  like 
harmony,  and,  in  a  moment,  to  my  utter  antoiiish- 
ment  and  dismay,  they  were  all  seized  with  «'hat  I 
concluded  to  be  a  paroxysm  of  religiouj  plv.enzy, 
tossing  about  their  heads  in  a  ludicrous  style  from 
side  to  side,  and  indulging  in  extra v.igant  nntortions 
of  figure; — now  throwing  their  heels  into  the  air, 
and  anon  whirling  round  with  the  velocity  of  the 
eastern  idolaters,  who  think  they  pay  a  grateful 
homage  to  the  sun  by  imitating  liis  motions.  I  ex- 
pectp<l  every  moment  to  see  them  fall  down  in  con- 
vulsions, foam  at  the  mouth,  and  shriek  with  fancied 
inspiration.  As  usual  the  females  seemed  most  fer- 
vent in  their  religious  exercises,  and  performed  them 
with  a  melancholy  expression  of  feature  that  w?J 
peculiarly  touching  ;  hut  1  was  highly  gratified  by 
the  exemplary  conduct  of  several  male  devotees,  w  trf*. 
though  their  gesticulations  would  intimate  awild  mci^ 
riment  of  the  feelings,  maintained  throughout  as  i.'»» 
flexible  a  gr.ivity  of  counten;ince  as  so  many  monkeys 
of  the  island  of  Homeo  at  their  anticks. 

"  And  pray,"  said  1,  "  who  is  the  divinity  that  pre- 
sides in  this  splendid  mosque  ?  " "  The  divinity  1 

— oh,  1  understand — you  mean  the  MU  of  the  even- 
ing ;  we  have  a  new  one  every  season  :  the  one  at 
present  in  fashion  is  that  lady  you  see  yonder,  dressed 
in  white,  with  pink  ribands,  and  a  crowd  of  adorers 
around  her."  "  Truly,"  cried  I,  "  this  is  the  pleas- 
antest  deity  I  have  encountered  in  the  whole  course 
of  my  travels ;— so  familiar,  so  condescending,  and 
so  merry  withal ; — why,  her  very  worshippers  taKe  her 

by  the  hand,  and  whisper  in  her  ear." "  My  good 

Mussulman,"  replied  my  friend,  with  great  gravity, 
"  I  perceive  you  are  completely  in  an  error  concern- 
ing the  intent  of  this  ceremony.  You  are  now  in  a 
place  of  public  amusement,  not  of  public  worship  , — 
and  the  pretty-looking  young  men  you  see  making 
such  violent  .ind  grotesque  distortions,  are  merely 
indulging  in  our  favourite  amusement  of  dancing.  ' 
"  I  cry  your  mercy,"  exclaimed  I,  "these,  then,  are 
the  dancing  men  and  women  of  the  town,  su^h  as 
we  have  in  our  principal  cities,  who  hire  themselves 
out  for  the  entertainment  of  the  wealthy ; — but,  pruy 
who  pays  them  for  this  fatiguing  exhibition  ?  "— — 
My  fnend  regarded  me  for  a  moment  with  an  air  of 
wiiimsical  perplexity,  as  if  doubtful  whether  I  was  in 

jest  or  earnest. "  'Sblood,  man,"  cr.'ed  he, "  these 

are  some  of  our  greatest  people,  our  fashionables, 

who  are  merely  dancing  here  for  amusement." 

Dancing  for  amusement  I  think  of  that,  Muley  I — 
thou,  whose  greatest  pleasure  is  to  chew  opium, 
smoke  tobacco,  loll  on  a  couch,  and  doze  thyself  into 
the  regions  of  the  Houris ! Dancing  for  amuse- 
ment ! — shall  I  never  cease  having  occasion  to  laugb 
at  the  absurdities  of  these  barbarians,  who  are  latwri- 
ous  in  their  recreations,  and  indolent  only  in  theiif 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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I.I 


liim    |2.5 
■  2.2 

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1—  llll'-^    '-^ 

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Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporalion 


33  V;iST  MAIN  STRUT 

WnSTIR.N.Y.  l4StO 

(716)172.4503 


614 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


hours  of  business  ? Dancing  for  amusement ! — 

tlie  veiy  idea  makes  my  bones  ache,  and  I  never 
thinlc  of  it  without  being  obliged  to  apply  my  hand- 
kerchief to  my  forehead,  and  fan  myself  into  some 
degree  of  coolness. 

"  And  pray,"  said  I.  when  my  astonishment  had 
a  little  subsided,  "  do  these  musicians  also  toil  for 
amusement,  or  are  they  confined  to  their  cage,  like 
bi(ds,  to  sine  for  the  gratification  of  others? — I 
tbould  think  Uie  former  was  the  case,  from  the  ani- 
oiation  with  which  they  flourish  their  elbows." — 
"  Not  so,"  replied  my  friend,  "  they  are  well  paid, 
which  is  no  more  than  just,  for  I  assure  you  they  are 
the  most  important  personages  in  the  room.  The 
fiddler  puts  the  whole  assembly  in  motion,  and  di- 
rects their  movements,  like  the  master  of  a  puppet- 
show,  who  sets  all  his  pasteboard  gentry  kicking  oy  a 
jerk  of  his  fingers : there,  now— look  at  that  dap- 
per little  genUeman  yonder,  who  appears  to  be  suf- 
fering the  pangs  of  dislocation  in  every  limb :  he  is 
the  most  expert  puppet  in  the  room,  and  performs, 
not  so  much  for  nis  own  amusement,  as  for  that  of 

the  by-standerS." Just  then  the  little  gentleman, 

having  finished  one  of  his  paroxysms  of  activity, 
■eemed  to  be  looking  round  for  applause  from  the 
spectators.  Feeling  myself  really  much  obliged  to 
him  for  his  exertions,  I  made  him  a  low  bow  of 
thanks,  but  nobody  followed  my  example,  which  I 
thought  a  singular  instance  of  ingratitude. 

Thou  wilt  perceive,  friend  Muley,  that  the  dancing 
of  these  barbarians  is  totally  different  from  the 
science  professed  by  thee  in  Tripoli ; — the  country, 
in  fact,  is  afflicted  by  numerous  epidemical  diseases, 
which  travel  from  house  to  house,  from  city  to  city, 
with  the  regularity  of  a  caravan.  Among  these,  the 
most  formidable  is  this  dancing  mania,  which  pre- 
Tkils  chiefly  throughout  the  winter.  It  at  first  seized 
tm  a  few  people  of  fashion,  and  being  indulged  in 
ffloderation,  was  a  cheerful  exercise ;  but  in  a  little 
time,  by  quick  advances,  it  infected  all  classes  of  the 
community,  and  became  a  raging  epidemic.  The 
doctors  immediately,  as  is  their  usual  way,  instead 
of  devising  a  remedy,  fell  together  by  the  ears,  to 
decide  whether  it  was  native  or  imported,  and  the 
•ticklers  for  the  latter  opinion  traced  it  to  a  cargo 
of  trumpery  from  France,  as  they  had  before  hunted 
down  the  yellow-fever  to  a  bag  of  coffee  from  the 
West  Indies.  What  makes  this  disease  the  more 
formidable  is,  that  the  patients  seem  infatuated  with 
their  malady,  abandon  themselves  to  its  unbounded 
ravages,  and  expose  their  persons  to  wintry  storms 
and  midnight  airs,  more  fatal,  in  this  capricious  cli- 
mate, than  the  withering  Simoom  blast  of  the  desert. 

I  know  not  whether  it  is  a  sight  most  whimsical  or 
melancholy,  to  witness  a  fit  of  this  dancing  malady. 
The  lady  hops  up  to  the  gentleman,  who  sUnds  at 
the  distance  of  about  three  paces,  and  then  capers 
back  again  to  her  place ; — the  gentleman  of  course 
does  the  same ;  then  they  skip  one  way,  then  they 
jump  another ; — then  they  turn  their  backs  to  each 
other ; — then  they  seize  each  other  and  shake  hands ; 
then  they  whirl  round,  and  throw  themselves  into  a 
tbousancf  grotesque  and  ridiculous  attitudes.; — some- 
lines  on  one  leg,  sometimes  on  the  other,  and  some- 
tlmss  on  no  leg  at  all ; — and  this  they  call  exhibiting 
the  graces  1 — By  the  nineteen  thousand  capers  of  the 
great  mountebank  of  Damascus,  but  these  graces 
must  be  something  like  the  crooked-backed  dwarf 
Shabrac,  who  is  sometimes  permitted  to  amuse  his 
highness  by  imitating  the  tricks  of  a  monkey.  These 
fits  continue  at  short  intervals  from  four  to  five  hours, 
till  at  last  the  lady  is  led  off,  faint,  languid,  exhaust- 
ed, and  panting,  to  her  carriage ; — rattles  home ; — 
passes  a  night  of  feverish  restlessness,  cold  perspira- 
tions and  troub'ed  sleep ; — rises  late  next  morning. 


if  she  rises  at  all,  is  nervous,  petulant,  or  a  prey  to 
languid  indifference  all  day;  —  a  mere  household 
spectre,  neither  giving  nor  receiving  enjoyment ;  in 
tne  evening  hurries  to  another  dance ;  receives  an 
unnatural  exhilaration  from  the  lights,  the  mjsic, 
the  crowd,  and  the  unmeaning  bustle;  —  flutters, 
sparkles,  and  blooms  for  a  while,  until  the  transient 
delirium  being  past,  the  infatuated  maid  drof  ps  and 
languishes  into  apathy  again ; — is  again  led  off  to 
her  carriage,  and  tne  next  morning  rises  to  go  through 
exactly  the  same  joyless  routine. 

And  yet,  wilt  tnou  believe  it,  my  dear  Raggi,  these 
are  rational  beings:  nay  more,  their  countrymen 
would  fain  persuade  me  they  have  souls ! — Is  it  not 
a  thousand  times  to  be  lamented  that  beings,  en- 
dowed with  charms  that  might  warm  even  the  frigid 
heart  of  a  dervise ; — with  social  and  endearing  pow- 
ers, that  would  render  them  the  joy  and  pride  of  the 
harem ; — should  surrender  themselves  to  a  habit  of 
heartless  dissipation,  which  preys  imperceptibly  on 
the  roses  of  the  cheek ; — which  robs  the  eye  of  its 
lustre,'  the  mouth  of  its  dimpled  smile,  the  spirits 
of  their  cheerful  hilarity,  and  the  limbs  of  their 
elastic  vigour ; — which  hurries  them  off  in  the  spring- 
time of  existence ;  or,  if  they  survive,  yields  to  the 
arms  of  a  youthful  bridegroofn  a  frame  wrecked  in 
the  storms  of  dissipation,  and  struggling  with  pre- 
mature infirmity.  Alas,  Muley !  may  I  not  ascribe 
to  this  cause,  the  number  of  little  old  women  I  meet 
with  in  this  country,  from  the  age  of  eighteen  to 
eight-and-twenty  ? 

In  sauntering  down  the  room,  my  attention  was 
attracted  by  a  smoky  painting,  which,  on  nearer  ex- 
amination, 1  found  consisted  of  two  female  figures 
crowning  a  bust  with  a  wreath  of  laurel.  "  This,  I 
suppose, '  cried  I,  "was  some  favourite  dancer  in 

his  time?" "Oh,  no,"  replied  my  friend,  ''he 

was  only  a  general." "  Good ;  but  then  he  must 

have  been  great  at  a  cotillion,  or  expert  at  a  tiddlc> 

stick — or  why  is  his  memorial  here?" "Quite 

the  contrary, '  answered  my  companion,  "  history 
makes  no  mention  of  his  ever  having  flourished  a 
fiddle-stick,  or  figured  in  a  single  dance.  You  have, 
no  doubt,  heard  of  him ;  he  was  the  illustrious 
Washington,  the  father  and  deliverer  of  his  coun- 
try ;  and,  as  our  nation  is  remarkable  for  gratitude 
to  great  men,  it  always  does  honour  to  their  mem- 
ory, by  placing  their  monuments  over  the  doors  of 
taverns,  or  in  the  corners  of  dancing-rooms." 

From  thence  my  friend  and  I  strolled  into  a  small 
apartment  adjoining  the  grand  saloon,  where  I  be- 
held a  number  of  grave-looking  persons  with  vener- 
able gray  heads,  but  without  beards,  which  I  thought 
very  unbecoming,  seated  around  a  table,  studying 
hieroglyphics; — I  appioached  them  with  reverence, 
as  so  many  magi,  or  learned  men,  endeavouring  to 
expound  the  mysteries  of  Egyptian  science :  several 
of  them  threw  down  money,  which  I  supposed  was 
a  reward  proposed  for  some  great  discovery,  when 
presently  one  of  them  spread  his  hieroglyphics  on 
the  table,  exclaimed  triumphantly,  "  two  l)ullets  and 
a  bragger  f "  and  swept  all  the  mcney  into  his  pock- 
et. He  has  discovered  a  key  to  the  hieroglyphics, 
thought  I ;' — happy  mortal  I  no  doubt  his  name  will 
be  immortalizea.  Willing,  however,  to  be  satisfied, 
I  looked  round  on  my  companion  with  an  inquiring 
eye — he  understood  me,  ana  infonned  me,  that  these 
were  a  company  of  friends,  who  had  met  together 
to  win  each  other's  money,  and  be  agreeable.  "  Is 
that  all  ?  "  exclaimed  I,  "  why,  then,  I  pray  you,  make 
way,  and  let  me  escape  from  this  temple  of  abomi- 
nations, or  who  knows  but  these  people,  who  meet 
together  to  toil,  worry,  and  fatigue  themselves  to 
death,  and  give  it  the  name  of  pleasure ; — and  whc 
win  each  other's  money  by  way  of  being  agreeable . 


.  SALMAGUNDI. 


615 


—may  Mine  one  oi  them  take  a  liking  to  me,  and 

Rick  my  pocket,  or  break  my  head  in  a  paroxysm  of 
earty  Kood-will  I " 

Thy  friend,         Mustapha. 


i^  Raggi.  these 


BY  ANTHONY  EVERGREEN,  GBNT. 

/fume  ttt  iiiendum,  nune/tJt  liitr» 
fultanda  ttllut,  — Hor, 

TKvm  it  the  tymc  for  wine  and  myrthful  sportes, 
For  daunce,  and  long,  and  ditportes  of  lyche  sortes. 

—Link.  Fid. 

The  winter  campaign  has  opened.    Fashion  has 
•ummoned  her  numerous  legions  at  the  sound  of 
trimpCt,  tumborine,  and  drum  ;  and  all  the  harmo- 
ni  )us  mmstrelsy  of  the  orchestra,  to  hasten  from  the 
uuU,  silent,  and  insipid  glades  and  groves,  where 
thoy  have  vegetated  d  iring  the  summer;  recovering 
trom  the  ravages  of  the  last  winter's  campaigrn. 
Our  fair  ones  nave  hurried  to  town,  eager  to  pay 
their  devotions  to  this  tutelary  deity,  and  to  make 
an  offenng  at  her  shrine  of  the  few  pale  and  tran- 
sient roses  they  gathered  in  their  healthful  retreat. 
The  fiddler  rosins  his  bow,  the  card -'.able  devotee 
is  shufflmg  her  pack ;  the  young  ladies  are  indus- 
triously spangling  muslins ;  and  the  tea-party  heroes 
are  airing  their  ^hapeaux  bras,  and  pease-blossom 
breeches,  to  prepare  for  figuring  in  the  gay  circle  of 
smiles,  and  graces,  and  beauty.    Now  the  fine  lady 
forgets  her  country  friends  in  the  hurry  of  fashiona- 
ble engagements,  or  receives  the  simple  intruder, 
who  has  Toolishly  accepted  her  thousand  pressing  in- 
fitations,  with  such  politeness  that  the  poor  soul  de- 
tennir4es  never  to  come  again ; — now  the  gay  buck, 
who  erst  figured  at  Ballston,  and  quaffed  the  pure 
■pring,  exchanges  the  sparkling  water  for  still  more 
jparklks  champaign ;  and  deserts  the  nymph  of  the 
fountain,  to  eniist  under  the  standard  of  jolly  Bac- 
chus.   In  short,  now  is  the  important  time  of  the 
year  in  which  to  harangue  the  bon-ton  reader ;  and, 
like  some  ancient  hero  in  front  of  the  battle,  to 
8  )irit  him  up  to  deeds  of  noble  daring,  or  still  more 
n-ible  suffering,  in  the  ranks  of  fashionable  warfare. 
Such,  indeed,  has  been  my  intention ;  but  the  num- 
ber of  cases  which  have  lately  come  before  me,  and 
the  variety  of  complaints  I  have  received  from  a 
crowd  of  honest  and  well-meaning  correspondents, 
call  for  more  immediate  attention.    A  host  of  ap- 
peals, petitions,  and  letters  of  advice  are  now  before 
me;  and  I  believe  the  shortest  way  to  satisfy  my 
petitioners,  memorialists,  and  advisers,  will  be  to 
publish  their  letters,  as  I  suspect  the  object  of  most 
of  them  is  merely  to  get  into  print. 


TO  ANTHONY  EVERGREEN,  GENT. 


mr : — As  you  appear  to  have  taken  to  yourself  the 
trouble  of  meddling  ir  the  concerns  of  the  beau 
monde,  I  take  the  liberty  of  appealing  to  you  on  a 
subject  which,  though  considered  merely  as  a  very 
go(d  joke,  has  occasioned  me  great  vexation  and 
eipmse.  You  must  know  1  pride  myself  on  being 
very  useful  to  the  ladies :  that  is,  I  take  boxes  for 
then  at  the  theatre,  go  shopping  with  them,  supply 
them  with  bouquets,  and  furnish  them  with  novels 
from  the  circulating  library.  In  consequence  of  these 
•tte  itions,  I  am  become  a  great  favourite,  and  there 
is  sr  Idom  a  party  going  on  in  the  city  without  my 
having  an  invitation.  The  grievancs  I  nave  to  men- 
tion is  the  exchange  of  hats  which  takes  place  on 

21 


these  occasions ;  for,  t)  speak  m}  nind  freely,  there 
are  certain  young  gentlemen  who  seem  to  corsidei 
fashionable  parties  as  mere  places  to  barter  old 
clothes ;  and  I  am  informed  that  a  number  of  them 
manage,  by  this  great  system  of  exchange,  to  keep 
their  crowns  decently  covered  without  their  hatter 
suffering  in  the  least  by  it. 

It  was  but  lately  that  I  went  to  a  private  ball  with 
a  new  hat,  and  on  returning,  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
evening,  and  asking  for  it,  the  scoundrel  of  a  serv- 
ant, with  a  broad  gfrin,  informed  me  that  the  new 
hats  had  been  dealt  out  half  an  hour  since,  and  they 
were  then  on  the  third  quality ;  and  I  was  in  the 
end  obliged  to  borrow  a  young  lady's  beaver  ratlier 
than  go  nome  with  any  of  the  ragged  remnants  that 
were  left. 

Now  I  would  wish  to  know  if  there  is  no  possibil- 
ity of  having  these  ofierders  punished  by  law ;  and 
whether  it  would  not  be  advisable  for  ladies  to  men- 
tion in  their  cards  of  invitation,  as  a  postscript, 
"  stealing  of  hats  ar.\!  shawls  positively  prohibited." 
At  any  rate  I  would  thank  you,  Mr.  Evergreen,  to 
discountenance  the  thing  totally,  by  publishing  in 
your  paper  that  stealing  a  hat  is  no  joke. 

Your  humble  servant,        Walter  Withers. 

My  correspondent  is  informed  that  the  police  have 
determined  to  take  this  matter  into  consideration, 
and  have  set  apart  Saturday  mornings  for  the  cogni- 
zance of  fashionable  larcenies. 

Mr.  Evergreen — St'r : — Do  you  think  a  married 
woman  may  lawfully  put  her  husband  right  in  a 
story,  before  strangers,  when  she  knows  him  to  be 
in  the  wrong ;  and  can  any  thing  authorize  a  wife  in 
the  exclamation  of— "lord,  my  dear,  how  can  you 
say  so  ? "  Margaret  Timson. 

Dear  Anthony  :— Going  down  Broadway  this 
morning  in  a  great  hurry,  I  ran  full  against  an  ob- 
ject which  at  first  put  me  to  a  prodigious  nonplus. 
Observing  it  to  be  dressed  in  a  man's  hat,  a  cloth 
overcoat  and  spatterdashes,  I  framed  my  apology 
accordingly,  exclaiming,  "my  dear  sir,  I  ask  ten 
thousancT pardons ; — I  assure  you,  sir,  it  was  entirely 
accidental : — pray  excuse  me,  sir,"  &c.  At  every  one 
of  these  excuses  the  thing  answered  me  with  a  down- 
right laugh ;  at  which  I  was  not  a  little  surprised, 
until,  on  resorting  to  my  pocket-glass,  I  discovereoi 
that  it  was  no  other  than  my  old  acquaintance,  Cb- 
rinda  Trollop  ; — I  never  was  more  chagrined  in  my 
life;  for,  being  an  old  bachelor,  I  like  to  appear  as 
young  as  possible,  and  am  always  boasting  of  the 
goodness  of  my  eyes.  I  beg  of  you,  Mr.  Evergreen, 
if  you  have  any  feeling  for  your  cotemporanes,  to 
discourage  this  hermaphrodite  mode  of  dress  for 
really,  if  the  fashion  take,  we  poor  bachelors  will  be 
utterly  at  a  loss  to  distinguish  a  woman  from  a  man. 
Pray  let  me  know  your  opinion,  sir,  whether  a  lady 
who  wears  a  man's  hat  and  spatterdashes  before 
marriage,  may  not  be  apt  to  usurp  some  otner  arti- 
cle ot  his  dress  afterwards. 

Your  humble  servant,       Roderic  Worry. 


Dear  Mr.  Evergreen  :— The  other  night,  at 
Richard  the  Third,  I  sat  behind  three  gentlemen 
who  talked  very  loud  on  the  subject  of  Richard's 
wooing  Lady  Ann  directly  in  the  face  of  his  crimes 
against  that  lady.  One  of  them  declared  such  an 
unnatural  scene  would  be  hooted  at  in  China.  Pray, 
sir,  was  that  Mr.  Wizard  ?         Selina  Baoger. 

P.  S.  The  gentleman  I  allude  to  had  a  pocket- 
glass,  and  wore  his  hair  fastened  behind  by  a  tor 
toise-shell  comb,  with  two  teeth  wanting. 


616 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Mm.  EVKRGRIJ— JiV."— BeinjT  a  little  curious  in 
the  affairs  of  the  toilette,  I  was  much  interested  by 
the  sage  Mustapha's  remarks,  in  your  last  num- 
ber, concerning^  the  art  of  manufacturing  a  modem 
fine  lady.  I  would  have  you  caution  your  fair  read- 
ers, however,  to  be  very  careful  in  the  management 
of  their  machinery ;  as  a  deplorable  accident  hap- 
pened last  assembly,  in  consequence  of  the  archi- 
tecture of  a  lady's  figure  not  being  sufficiently  strong. 
In  the  middle  of  one  of  the  cotillions,  the  company 
was  suddenly  alarmed  by  a  tremendous  crash  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  room,  and,  on  crowding  to  the 
place,  discovered  that  it  was  a  fine  figure  which  had 
unfoitunately  broken  down  from  too  great  exertion 
in  a  pigeon  wing.  By  great  good  luck  I  secured  the 
corset,  which  I  carried  home  in  triumph ;  and  the 
next  morning  had  it  publicly  dissected,  and  a  lect- 
ure read  on  it  at  Surgeon's  Hall.  I  have  since  com- 
menced a  dissertation  on  the  subject;  in  which  I 
shall  treat  of  the  superiority  of  those  figures  manu- 
factured by  steel,  stay-tape,  and  whale-bone,  to  those 
formed  by  dame  nature.  I  shall  show  clearly  that 
the  Venus  de  Medicis  has  no  pretension  to  beauty 
of  form,  as  she  never  wore  stays,  and  her  waist  is  in 
exact  proportion  to  the  rest  of  her  body.  I  shall  in- 
quire into  the  mysteries  of  compression,  and  how 
tight  a  figure  can  be  laced  without  danger  of  faint- 
ing ;  and  whether  it  would  not  be  advisable  for  a 
lady,  when  dressing  for  a  ball,  to  be  attended  by  the 
family  physician,  as  culprits  are  when  tortured  on 
the  rack,  to  know  how  much  more  nature  will  en- 
dure. I  shall  prove  that  ladies  have  discovered  the 
secret  of  that  notorious  juggler,  who  offered  to 
squeeze  himself  into  a  quart  bottle ;  and  I  shall  dem- 
onstrate, to  the  satisfaction  of  every  fashionable 
reader,  that  there  is  a  degree  of  heroism  in  purchas- 
mg  a  preposterously  slender  waist  at  the  expense  of 
an  old  age  of  decrepitude  and  rheumatics.  "This  dis- 
Mrtation  shall  be  published  as  soon  as  finished,  and 
distributed  gratis  among  boarding-school  madams 
and  all  worthy  matrons  who  are  ambitious  that  their 
daughters  should  sit  straight,  move  like  clock-work, 
and  "  do  credit  to  their  bringing  up."  In  the  mean 
lime,  I  have  hung  up  the  skeleton  of  the  corset  in  the 
museum,  beside  a  dissected  vveazle  and  a  stuffed  alli- 
gator, where  it  may  be  inspected  by  all  those  natu- 
ralists who  are  fond  of  studying  the  "  human  form 
livine."    Yours,  &c.  Julian  Cognous. 

P.  S.  By  accurate  calculation  I  find  it  is  danger- 
ous for  a  fine  figure,  when  full  dressed,  to  pronounce 
a  word  of  more  than  three  syllables.  Fine  Figure, 
if  in  love,  may  indulge  in  a  gentle  sigh ;  but  a  sob  is 
Hazardous.  Fine  Figure  may  smile  with  safety,  may 
rven  venture  as  far  as  a  giggle,  but  must  never  risk 
a  loud  laugh.  Figure  must  never  play  the  part  of  a 
confidante ;  as  at  a  tea-party  some  fine  evenings 
since,  a  young  lady,  whose  unparalleled  impalpability 
of  waist  was  the  envy  of  the  drawing-room,  burst 
with  an  important  secret,  and  had  three  ribs — of  her 
corset ! — fractured  on  the  spot. 

Mr  Evergreen — Sir: — I  am  one  of  those  in- 
dustrious gemmen  who  labour  hard  to  obtain  cur- 
rency in  the  fashionable  world.  I  have  went  to  great 
expense  in  little  boots,  short  vests,  and  long  breech- 
es ; — my  coat  is  regularly  imported,  per  stage  from 
Philadelphia,  duly  insured  against  all  risks  and 
my  boots  are  smuggled  from  Bond-street.  I  have 
tounged  in  Bcoadway  with  one  of  the  most  crooked 
walking-sticks  I  could  procure,  and  have  sported  a 
pair  of  salmon-coloured  small-clothes,  and  flame- 
coloured  stockings,  at  every  concert  and  ball  to 
which  I  could  purchase  admission.  Being  affeared 
that  I  might  possibly  appear  to  less  advantage  as  a 
pedestrian,  in  consequence  of  my  being  rather  short 


and  a  little  bandy,  I  have  lately  hired  a  ta.1  horie, 
with  cropped  ears  and  a  cocked  tail,  on  whicn  ] 
have  jo.'ned  the  cavalcade  of  pretty  gemmen,  who 
exhibit  bright  stirrups  every  fine  morning  in  BiDad- 
way  and  take  a  canter  of  two  miles  per  day,  at  the 
rate  of  three  hundred  dollars  per  annum.  But,  irit 
alL  this  expense  has  been  laid  out  in  vain,  for  I  can 
scarcely  get  a  partner  at  an  assembly,  or  an  itiTita* 
tion  to  a  tea-party.  Pray,  sir,  inform  me  what  mbn 
I  can  do  to  acquire  admission  into  the  true  stylish 
circles,  and  whether  it  would  not  be  advisable  to 
charter  a  curricle  for  a  month  and  have  my  cypher 
put  on  it,  a"  is  done  by  certain  dashers  of  my  ar 
quaintancr.. 

YcTs  to  ierve,        Malvolio  Dubstir. 


TEA:   A  POEM. 

FROM  TKE  MILL  OF  PINDAR  COCKLOFT,  ESQ. 

And eamtstfy  rtcommtnded  to  the  attention  ofallMaidtm 
of  a  certain  age. 


Old  time,  my  dear  girls,  is  a  knave  who  in  truth 
From  the  fairest  of  beauties  will  pilfer  their  youth; 
Who,  by  constant  attention  and  wily  deceit. 
For  ever  is  coaxing  some  g^iace  to  retreat; 
And,  like  crafty  seducer,  with  subtle  approach, 
The  further  indulged,  will  still  further  encroach. 
Since  this  "  thief  of  the  world"  has  made  off  with  youi 

bloom, 
And  left  you  some  score  of  stale  yean  in  its  room- 
Has  depriv'd  you  of  all  those  gay  dreams,  that  would 

dance 
In  your  brains  at  fifteen,  and  your  bosoms  entrance; 
And  has  forc'd  you  almost  to  renounce,  in  despair, 
The  hope  of  a  husband's  affection  and  care — 
Since  such  is  the  case,  and  a  case  rather  hard  ! 
Permit  one  who  holds  you  in  special  regard, 
To  furnish  such  hints  in  your  loveless  estate 
As  may  shelter  your  names  from  distraction  and  hate. 
Too  often  our  maidens,  grown  aged,  I  ween. 
Indulge  to  excess  in  the  workings  of  spleen; 
And  at  times,  when  annoy'd  by  the  slights  of  mankind, 
Work  off  their  resentment — by  speaking  their  mind: 
Assemble  together  in  snuff-taking  clan. 
And  hold  round  the  tea-urn  a  solemn  divan. 
A  convention  of  tattling — a  tea  party  bight, 
Which,  like  meeting  of  witches,  is  brew'd  up  at  night: 
Where  each  matron  arrives,  fraught  with  tales  of  sur 

prise, 
With  knowing  suspicion  and  doubtful  surmise; 
Like  the  broomstick  whirl'd  hags  that  appear  in  Mac- 
beth, 
Each  bearing  some  relic  of  venom  or  death, 
"  To  stir  up  the  toil  and  to  double  the  trouble. 
That  fire  may  bum,  and  that  cauldron  may  bubble." 

When  the  party  commences.atl  starch 'd  and  all  glum 
They  t^lk  of  the  weather,  their  coms,  or  sit  mum: 
They  will  tell  you  of  cambric,  of  ribands,  of  lace, 
How  cheap  they  were  sold — and  will  name  you  the 

place. 
They  discourse  of  their  colds,  and  they  hem  and  the) 

cough. 
And  complain  of  their  servants  to  pass  the  time  off; 
Or  list  to  the  tale  of  some  doating  mamma 
How  her  ten  weeks'  old  baby  will  laugh  and  say  taa' 

But  tea,  that  enlivener  of  wit  and  of  soul — 
More  loquacious  by  far  than  the  draughts  of  the  bow 
Soon  unloosens  the  tongue  and  enlivens  the  mind. 
And  enlightens  their  eyes  to  the  faults  of  mankind. 

'Twas  thus  with  the  Pythia,  who  served  at  the  foos 
That  flow'd  near  the  far-famed  Parnassian  mount. 
While  the  steam  was  inhal'd  of  the  sulphuric  spiinf. 
Her  vision  expanded,  her  fancy  took  wing; — 
By  it<  aid  she  pronounced  the  oracular  will 
That  Apollo  commanded  his  sons  to  fulfiL 


SALMAGUNDI. 


617 


hem  and  tbef 


Itat  alaat  the  tad  vestal,  performing  the  rite, 
Appear'd  lilce  a  demon — terrific  to  sight. 

E'en  the  priesta  of  Apollo  averted  their  eyes, 
And  the  temple  of  Delphi  resounded  her  cries. 
But  quitting  the  njrmpti  of  the  tripod  of  yore, 
We  return  to  the  dames  of  the  tea-pot  once  more. 

In  harmless  chit-chat  an  acquaintance  they  roast. 
And  serve  up  a  friend,  as  they  serve  up  a  toast; 
Some  gentle  faux  pas,  or  some  female  mistake. 
If  lilce  sweetmeats  delicious,  or  relished  as  cake; 
A  oit  of  broad  scandal  is  like  a  dry  crust, 
\X  would  stick  in  the  throat,  so  they  butter  it  first 
With  a  little  affected  good-nature,  and  cry 
'  No  body  regrets  the  thing  deep  than  I. 
Oar  young  ladies  nibble  a  good  name  in  play 
As  for  pastime  they  nibble  a  biscuit  away: 
While  with  shrugs  and  surmises,  the  toothless  old  dame, 
As  she  mumbles  a  crust  she  will  mumble  a  name. 
And  as  the  fell  sisters  astonished  the  Scot, 
In  predicting  of  Banquo's  descendants  the  lot, 
Making  shadows  of  kings,  amid  flashes  of  light. 
To  appear  in  array  and  to  frown  in  his  sight, 
So  they  conjure  up  spectres  all  hideous  in  hue, 
Whick,  as  shades  of  their  neighbours,  are  passed  in 
review. 

The  wives  of  our  cits  of  inferior  degree, 
Will  soak  up  repute  in  a  little  bohea; 
The  potion  is  vulgar,  and  vulgar  the  slang 
With  which  on  their  neighbours'  defects  they  harangue; 
But  the  scandal  improves,  a  refinement  in  wrong! 
As  our  matrons  are  richer  and  rise  to  souchong. 
With  hyson — a  beverage  that's  still  more  refin'd. 
Our  ladies  of  fashion  enliven  their  mind, 
And  by  nods,  innuendoes,  and  hints,  and  what  not, 
Reputations  and  tea  send  together  to  pot. 
While  madam  in  cambrics  and  laces  array'd. 
With  her  plate  and  her  liveries  in  splendid  parade, 
Will  dtifik  in  imperial  a  friend  at  a  sup, 
Ot  in  gunpowder  blow  them  by  dozens  all  up. 
Ah  me!  how  I  groan  when  with  full  swelling  sail 
Wafted  stately  along  by  the  favouring  gale, 
A  China  ship  proudly  arrives  in  our  bay, 
Oisplaying  her  streamers  and  blazing  away. 
Oh!  more  .fell  to  our  port,  is  the  cargo  she  bears. 
Than  grcnadoes,  torpedoes,  or  warlike  affairs: 
Elach  chest  is  a  bombshell  thrown  into  our  town 
To  shatter  repute  and  bring  character  down. 

Ye  Samquas,  ye  Chinquas,  Chouquas,  so  free, 
Who  discharge  on  our  coast  your  cursed  quantums  of 

tea, 
Oh  think,  as  ye  waft  the  sad  weed  from  your  strand, 
Of  the  plagues  and  vexations  ye  deal  to  our  land. 
As  the  Upas'  dread  breath,  o'er  the  plain  where  it 

flies,  • 

Empoisons  and  blasts  each  green  blade  that  .nay  rise. 
So,  wherever  the  leaves  of  your  shrub  find  their  way. 
The  social  affections  soon  suffer  decay: 
Like  to  Java's  drear  waste  they  embarren  the  heart. 
Till  the  blossoms  of  love  and  of  friendship  depart. 

Ah,  ladies,  and  was  it  by  heaven  design'd, 
Th^:  yi  should  be  merciful,  loving  and  kind ! 
Did  it  form  you  like  angels,  and  send  you  below 
To  prophesy  peace — to  bid  charity  flow! 
And  have  ye  thus  left  your  primeval  estate. 
And  wandered  so  widely — so  strangely  of  late  ? 
Alas!  the  sad  cause  I  too  plainly  can  see — 
These  evils  have  all  come  upon  you  through  tea! 
Cursed  weed,  that  can  make  our  fair  spirits  resign 
The  character  mild  of  their  mission  divine; 
That  can  blot  from  their  bosoms  that  tenderness  true, 
Which  from  female  to  female  for  ever  is  due! 
Oh.  how  nice  is  the  texture — how  fragile  the  frame 
Of  ihat  delicate  blossom,  a  female's  fair  fame! 
T'S  the  sensitive  plant,  it  recoils  from  the  breath 
And  shrinks  from  the  touch  as  if  pregnant  with  death. 
How  often,  how  often,  has  innocence  sigh'd; 
Has  beauty  been  reft  of  its  honour— its  pride; 
Has  virtue  though  pure  as  an  angel  of  light. 
Been  painted  as  dan  as  a  demon  of  night: 
All  offer'd  up  victims,  an  auto  da  fi. 
At  the  gloomy  cabali— the  dark  orgies  of  teal 


If  I,  in  the  remnant  tha.  s  left  me  of  ife, 
Am  to  suffer  the  torments  of  slandcrouu  strife 
Let  me  fall,  I  implore,  in  the  slang-whanger's  clflif, 
Where  the  evil  is  open,  and  subject  to  law. 
Not  nibbled,  and  mumbled,  and  put  to  the  rack 
By  the  sly  underminings  of  tea  party  clack: 
Condemn  me,  ye  gods,  to  a  newspaper  roasting, 
But  spare  me!  oh,  spare  me,  a  tea  table  toasting! 


No.  XX.— MONDAY,  JANUARY   25,  1808 

FROM   MY  ELBOW-CHAIR. 


Eat*tmum  iume  miki  conctdt  laiorim.     VnG. 
"  Soft  you,  a  wird  or  two  before  we  part." 

In  this  season  of  festivity,  when  the  gate  of  time 
swings  open  on  its  hinges,  and  an  honest  rosy-faced 
New- Year  comes  waddling  in,  liite  a  jolly  fat-sided 
alderman,  loaded  with  good  wishes,  good  humour, 
and  minced  pies ; — at  this  joyous  era  it  has  been  the 
custom,  from  time  immemorial,  in  this  ancient  and 
respectable  city,  for  periodical  writers,  from  reverend, 
grave,  and  potent  ess<iyists  like  ourselves !  down  to 
the  humble  but  industrious  editors  of  magazines,  re- 
views, and  newspapers,  to  tender  their  subscribers 
the  compliments  of  the  season ;  and  when  they  have 
slily  thawed  their  hearts  with  a  little  of  the  sunshine 
of  flattery,  to  conclude  by  delicately  dunning  them 
for  their  arrears  of  subscription  money.  In  like 
manner  the  carriers  of  newpapers,  who  undoubtedly 
belong  to  the  ancient  and  honourable  order  of  liter- 
ati, do  regularly,  at  the  commencement  of  the  /ear 
salute  their  patrons  with  abundance  of  excellent  ad- 
vice, conveyed  in  exceeding  good  poetry,  for  which 
the  aforesaid  good-natured  patrons  are  well  pleased 
to  pay  them  exactly  twenty-five  cents.  In  walking 
the  streets  I  am  every  day  saluted  witii  good  wishes 
from  old  gray-headed  negroes,  whom  I  never  recol- 
lect to  have  seen  before ;  and  it  was  but  a  few  days 
ago,  that  I  was  called  to  receive  the  compliments  of  an 
ugly  old  woman,  who  last  spring  was  employed  by 
Mrs.  Cockloft  to  whitewash  my  room  and  put 
things  in  order ;  a  phrase  whicn,  if  rightly  under- 
stood, means  little  else  than  huddling  every  thing 
into  holes  and  corners,  so  that  if  I  want  to  find  any 
particular  article,  it  is,  in  the  language  of  an  humble 
but  expressive  saying, — "  looking  for  a  needle  in  a 
haystack."  Not  recognizing  my  visitor,  I  demanded 
by  wiiat  authority  she  wished  me  a  "  Happy  New- 
Year  ? "  Her  claim  was  one  of  the  weakest  she 
could  have  urged,  for  I  have  an  innate  and  mortal 
antipathy  to  this  custom  of  putting  things  to  rights; 
— so  giving  the  old  witch  a  pistareen,  I  desired  her 
forthwith  to  mount  her  broomstick,  and  ride  off  as 
fast  as  possible.  ' 

Of  all  the  various  ranks  of  society,  the  bakers 
iilone,  to  their  immortal  honour  be  it  recorded,  de- 
part from  this  practice  of  making  a  market  of  con- 
gratulations ;  and,  in  addition  to  always  allowing 
thirteen  to  the  dozen,  do  with  great  liberality,  in- 
stead of  drawing  on  the  purses  of  their  customers 
at  the  New-Year,  present  them  with  divers  large, 
fair,  spiced  cakes ;  which,  like  the  shield  of  Achilles, 
or  an  Egyptian  obelisk,  are  adorned  with  figures 
of  a  variety  of  strange  animals,  that,  in  their  con- 
formation, out-marvel  all  the  wild  wonders  of  nat- 
ure. 

This  honest  gray-beard  custom  of  setting  apart  a 
certain  portion  of  this  good-for-nothing  existence 
for  the  purposes  of  cordiality,  social  merriment,  and 

Sood  cheer,  is  one  of  the  inestimable  reiics  handed 
own  to  us  from  our  worthy  Dutch  ancestois.    Id 


u 


018 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


perusing  one  of  the  manuscripts  from  my  worthy 
grandfather's  mahogany  chest  of  drawers,  I  find  the 
new  year  was  celebrated  with  great  festivity  during 
mat  golden  age  of  our  city,  when  the  reins  of  gov- 
ernment were  held  by  the  renowned  Rip  Van  Dam. 
who  always  did  lionour  to  thC  season  by  seeing  out 
the  old  year  ;  a  ceremony  which  consisted  in  plying 
his  guests  with  (Jumpers,  until  not  one  of  them  was 
capable  of  seeing,  "Truly,"  observes  my  grand- 
father, who  was  generally  of  these  parties — "  Truly, 
he  was  a  most  stately  and  magnificent  burgomaster  I 
inasmuch  as  he  did  right  lustily  carouse  it  with  his 
friends  about  New- Year;  roasting  huge  quantities 
of  turkeys  ;  baking  innumerable  minced  pyes ;  and 
smacking  the  lips  of  all  fair  ladies  the  which  he 
did  meet,  with  such  sturdy  emphasis  that  the  same 
might  have  been  heard  the  distance  of  a  stone's 
throw."  In  his  days,  according  to  my  grandfather, 
were  first  invented  these  notable  cakes,  hight  new- 
year  cookies,  which  originally  were  impressed  on  one 
side  with  the  honest,  burly  countenance  of  the 
illustrious  Rip;  and  on  the  other  with  that  of  the  noted 
St.  Nicholas,  vulijarly  called  Santaclaus  ; — of  all  the 
saints  in  the  kalendar  the  most  venerated  by  true 
Hollanders,  and  their  unsophisticated  descendants. 
These  cakes  are  to  this  time  given  on  the  first  of 
January  to  all  visitors,  together  with  a  glass  of 
cherrj'-bounce,  or  raspberry-brandy.  It  is  with 
great  regret,  however,  I  observe  that  the  simplicity 
of  this  venerable  usage  has  been  much  violated  by 
modem  pretenders  to  style !  and  our  respectable 
ncw-year-cookies,  and  cherry-bounce,  elbowed  aside 
by  plum-cake  and  outlandish  liqueurs,  in  the  same 
way  that  our  worthy  old  Dutch  families  are  out- 
dazzled  by  modern  upstarts,  and  mushroom  cockneys. 

In  addition  to  this  divine  origin  of  new-year  fes- 
tivity, there  is  something  exquisitely  grateful,  to  a 
good-natured  mind,  in  seeing  every  face  dressed  in 
Siniles ; — in  hearing  the  oft-repeated  salutations  that 
flow  spontaneously  from  the  heart  to  the  lips  ; — in 
beholding  the  poor,  for  once,  enjoying  the  smiles  of 
plenty,  and  forgetting  the  cares  which  press  hard 
upon  them,  in  the  jovial  revelry  of  the  feelings ; — 
the  young  children  decked  out  in  their  Sunday 
clothes  and  freed  from  their  only  cares,  the  cares  of 
the  school,  tripping  through  the  streets  on  errands 
of  pleasure  ; — and  even  the  verj*  negroes,  those  holi- 
day-loving rogues,  gorgeously  arrayed  in  cast-ofT 
finery,  collected  in  juntos,  at  corners,  displaying 
their  white  teeth,  and  making  the  welkin  ring  with 
bursts  of  laughter, — loud  enough  to  crack  even  the 
icy  cheek  of  old  winter.  There  is  something  so 
pleasant  in  all  this,  that  I  confess  it  would  give  me 
real  pain  to  behold  the  frigid  influence  of  modem 
style  cheating  us  of  this  jubilee  of  the  heart ;  and 
converting  it,  as  it  does  every  other  article  of  social 
intercourse,  into  an  idle  and  unmeaning  ceremony. 
'Tis  the  annual  festival  of  good-humour ; — ^it  comes 
in  the  dead  of  winter,  when  nature  is  without  a 
chann,  when  our  pleasures  are  contracted  to  the 
fire-side,  and  where  every  thing  that  unlocks  the 
icy  fetters  of  the  heart,  and  sets  the  genial  current 
flowing,  should  be  cherished,  as  a  stray  lamb  found 
in  the  wilderness;  or  a  flower  blooming  among 
thoms  and  briers. 

Animated  by  these  sentiments,  it  is  with  peculiar 
satisfaction  1  perceived  that  the  last  New- Year  was 
kept  with  more  than  ordinary  enthusiasm.  It  seem- 
ed as  if  the  good  old  times  had  rolled  back  again 
and  brought  with  them  all  the  honest,  unceremoni- 
ous intercourse  of  those  golden  days,  when  people 
were  more  open  and  sincere,  more  moral,  and  more 
hospitable  than  now; — when  every  object  carried 
about  it  a  charm  which  the  hand  of  time  has  stolen 
away,  oi  turned  to  a  deformity;  when  the  women  were 


more  simple,  more  domestic,  more  lovely,  and  man 

true ;  ana  when  even  the  sun,  like  a  hearty  okl  black 
as  he  is,  shone  with  a  genial  lustre  unknown  in  these 
degenerate  days:— in  short,' those  fairy  times,  when 
I  was  a  mad-cap  boy,  crowding  every  enjoy- 
ment into  the  present  moment ; — making  of  the  past 
an  oblivion  ; — of  the  future  a  heaven  ;  and  careless 
of  all  that  was  "  over  the  hills  and  far  away."  Only 
one  thing  was  wanting  to  make  every  part  of  tlw 
celebration  accord  with  its  ancient  simplicity.  The 
ladies,  who — I  write  it  with  the  most  piercing  regret — 
are  generally  at  the  head  of  all  domestic  innovations, 
most  fastidiously  refused  that  mark  of  good-will,  thai 
chaste  and  holy  salute  which  was  so  fashionable  in 
the  happy  days  of  go-emor  Rip  and  the  patriarchs. 
Even  the  Miss  Cocklofts,  who  belong  to  a  family 
that  is  the  last  entrenchment  behind  \vnich  the  man- 
ners of  the  good  old  school  have  retired,  niade  vio- 
lent opposition  ;  and  whenever  a  gentleman  entered 
the  room,  immediately  put  themselves  in  a  posture  of 
defence ; — this  Will  Wizard,  with  his  usual  shrewd- 
ness, insists  was  only  to  give  the  visitor  a  hint  that 
they  expected  an  attack;  and  declares,  he  has  uni- 
formly observed,  that  the  resistance  of  those  ladies 
who  make  the  greatest  noise  and  bustle,  is  most 
easily  overcome.  This  sad  innovation  originated  with 
my  good  aunt  Charity,  who  was  as  arrant  a  tabby  as 
ever  wore  whiskers ;  and  I  am  not  a  little  afflicted  to 
find  that  she  has  found  so  many  followers,  even 
among  the  young  and  beautiful. 

In  compliance  with  an  ancient  and  venerable  cus- 
tom, sanctioned  by  time  and  our  ancestors,  and 
more  especially  by  my  own  inclinations,  I  will  take 
this  opportunity  to  salute  my  readers  with  as  many 
good  wishes  as  I  can  possibly  spare ;  for,  in  tmth, 
I  have  been  so  prodigal  of  late,  that  I  have  but  fc\» 
remaining.  I  should  have  offered  my  congratula< 
tions  sooner ;  but,  to  be  candid,  having  made  the 
last  new-year's  campaign,  according  to  custom,  un- 
der cousin  Oiristopher,  in  which  I  have  seen  some 
pretty  hard  service,  my  head  has  been  somewhat 
out  of  order  of  late,  and  my  intellects  rather  cloudy 
for  clear  writing.  Beside,  I  may  allege  as  another 
reason,  that  I  have  deferred  my  greetings  until  this 
day,  which  is  exactly  one  year  since  we  introduced 
ourselves  to  the  public ;  and  surely  periodical  wri- 
ters have  the  same  right  of  dating  from  the  com- 
mencement of  their  works  that  monarchs  have  from 
the  time  of  their  coronation ;  or  our  most  puissant 
republic  from  the  declaration. of  its  independence. 

These  good  wishes  are  warmed  into  more  than 
usual  benevolence  by  the  thought  that  I  am  now 
perhaps,  addressing  my  old  friends  for  the  last  time. 
That  we  should  thus  cut  off  our  work  in  the  very 
vigour  of  its  existence  may  excite  some  little  matter  of 
wonder  in  this  enlightened  community. — Now,  though 
we  could  give  a  variety  of  good  reasons  for  so  doing, 
yet  it  would  be  an  ill-natured  act  to  deprive  the  pub- 
lic of  such  an  admirable  opportunity  to  indulge  in 
their  favourite  amusement  of  conjecture :  so  we  gen- 
erously leave  them  to  flounder  in  the  smooth  ocean 
of  glorious  uncertainty.  Beside,  we  have  ever  con- 
sidered it  as  beneath  persons  of  our  dignity  to  ac- 
count for  our  movements  or  caprices ;  —  thank 
heaven,  we  are  not  like  the  unhappy  rulers  of  this 
enlightened  land,  accountable  to  the  mob  for  oux 
actions,  or  dependent  on  their  smiles  for  support ! — 
this  much,  however,  we  will  say,  it  is  not  for  want 
of  subjects  that  we  stop  our  career.  We  are  not  in 
the  situation  of  poor  Alexander  the  Great,  who  wept, 
as  well  indeed  he  might,  because  there  were  no  more 
worlds  to  conquer ;  for,  to  do  justice  to  this  queer, 
odd,  rantipole  city  and  this  whimsical  country,  there 
is  matter  enough  in  them  to  keep  our  risible  muscles 
and  our  pens  going  until  doomsday. 


SALMAGUNDI. 


,  619 


Moat  people,  in  taking  a  farewell  which  may,  per- 
haps, lie  for  ever,  are  anxious  to  part  on  good  terms ; 
and  it  is  usual,  on  such  melancholy  occasions,  for 
even  enemies  to  shake  hands,  forget  their  previous 
quarrels,  and  bury  all  former  animosities  in  parting 
regrets.  Now,  because  most  people  do  this,  1  am 
determined  to  act  in  quite  a  different  way ;  for,  as  I 
have  lived,  so  I  should  wish  to  die  in  my  own  way, 
without  imitating  any  person,  whatever  may  be  his 
rank,  talents,  or  reputation.  Besides,  if  I  know  our 
trio,  we  have  no  enmities  to  obliterate,  no  hatchet  to 
bury,  and  as  to  all  injuries — those  we  have  long  since 
forgiven.  At  this  moment  there  is  not  an  individ- 
tial  in  the  world,  not  even  the  Pope  himself,  to  whom 
we  have  any  personal  hostility.  But  if,  shutting 
their  eyes  to  tne  many  striking  proofs  of  good-nat- 
ure displayed  through  the  whole  course  of  this  work, 
there  should  be  any  persons  so  singularly  ridiculous 
as  to  take  offence  at  our  strictures,  we  heartily  for- 
give their  stupidity ;  earnestly  entreating  them  to  de- 
sist from  all  manifestations  of  ill-humour,  lest  they 
should,  pcradventure,  be  classed  under  some  one  of 
the  denominations  of  recreants  we  have  felt  it  our 
duty  to  hold  up  to  public  ridicule.  Even  at  this  mo- 
ment we  feel  a  glow  of  parting  philanthropy  stealing 
upon  us ; — a  sentiment  of  cordial  good-will  towards 
the  numerous  host  of  readers  that  ha\e  jogged  on 
at  our  heels  during  the  last  year ;  and,  in  justice  to 
oui^elves,  must  seriously  protest,  that  if  at  any  time 
we  have  treated  them  a  little  ungjently,  it  was  purely 
in  that  spirit  of  hearty  affection  *ith  which  a  school- 
master drubs  an  unlucky  urchin,  or  a  humane  mule- 
teer his  recreant  animal,  at  the  very  moment  when 
b'.s  heart  is  brim-full  of  loving-kindness.  If  this  is 
not  considered  an  ample  justification,  so  much  the 
worse ;  for  in  that  case  I  fear  we  shall  remain  for 
ever  unjustified ; — a  most  desperate  extremity,  and 
worthy  of  every  man's  commiseration  ! 

One  circumstance  in  particular  has  tickled  us 
mightily  as  we  jogged  along,  and  that  is  the  aston- 
Ithmg  secrecy  with  which  we  have  been  able  to  carry 
oi;  our  lucubrations !  Fully  aware  of  the  profound 
aagacitv  of  the  public  of  Gotham,  and  their  won- 
derful faculty  of  distinguishing  a  writer  by  his  style, 
it  is  with  great  self-congratulation  we  find  that  sus- 
picion has  never  pointed  to  us  as  the  authors  of  Sal- 
magundi. Our  gray-beard  speculations  have  been 
most  bountifully  attributed  to  sundry  smart  young 
gentlemen,  who,  for  aught  we  know,  have  no  beards 
at  all :  and  we  have  often  been  highly  amused,  when 
they  were  charged  with  the  sin  of  writing  what  their 
harmless  minds  never  conceived,  to  see  them  affect 
all  the  blushing  modesty  and  beautiful  embarrass- 
ment of  detected  virgin  authors.  The  profound  and 
penetrating  public,  having  so  long  been  led  away 
from  truth  and  nature  by  a  constant  perusal  of  those 
delectable  histories  and  romances  from  beyond  seas, 
in  which  human  nature  is  for  the  most  part  wickedly 
mangled  and  debauched,  have  never  once  imagined 
this  work  was  a  genuine  and  most  authentic  history ; 
that  the  Cocklofts  were  a  real  family,  dwelling  in  the 
city  i^ — paying  scot  and  lot,  entitled  to  the  right  of 
suffrage,  and  holding  several  respectable  offices  in 
the  corporation. — As  little  do  they  suspect  that  there 
is  a  knot  of  merry  old  bachelors  seated  snugly  in  the 
old-fashioned  parlour  of  an  old-fashioned  Dutch 
^use,  with  a  weathercock  on  the  top  that  came 
uotn  Holland,  who  amuse  themselves  of  an  evening 
bjr  laughing  at  their  neighbours  in  an  honest  way, 
and  who  manage  to  jog  on  through  the  streets  of 
our  ancient  and  venerable  city  without  elbowing  or 
being  elbowed  by  a  living  soul. 

When  we  first  adopted  the  idea  of  discontinuing 
this  work,  we  determined,  in  order  to  give  the  critics 
k  fair  opportunity  for  dissection,  to  de<:lare  ourselves. 


one  and  all,  alsolutely  defunct ;  for,  it  is  one  of  tne 
rare  and  invaluable  privileges  of  a  periodical  writer, 
that  by  an  act  of  innocent  suicide  he  may  iawfullj 
consign  himself  to  the  grave  and  cheat  the  world 
of  posthumous  renown.  But  we  abamloned  this 
scheme  for  many  substantial  reasons.  In  the  first 
place,  we  care  but  little  hr  the  opinion  of  critics, 
who  we  consider  a  kind  of  freebooters  in  the  repub- 
lic of  letters ;  who,  like  deer,  goats,  and  divers  other 
graminivorous  animals,  gain  stibsistence  by  gorging 
upon  the  buds  and  leaves  of  the  young  shrubs  of  the 
forest,  thereby  robbing  them  of^  their  verdure  and 
retarding  their  progress  to  mat  .rity.  It  also  oc- 
curred to  us,  that  though  an  author  might  lawfully 
in  all  countries  kill  himself  outright,  yet  this  privi- 
lege did  not  extend  to  the  raising  himself  from  the 
dead,  if  he  was  ever  so  anxious ;  and  all  that  is  left 
him  in  such  a  case  is  to  take  the  benefit  of  the  me- 
tempsychosis act  and  revive  under  a  new  name  and 
form. 

Fat  be  it,  therefore,  from  us  to  condemn  ourselves 
to  useless  embarrassments,  should  we  ever  be  dis- 
posed to  resume  the  guardianship  of  this  learned  city 
of  Gotham,  and  finish  this  invaluable  work,  which  is 
yet  but  half  completed.  We  hereby  openly  and 
seriously  declare,  that  we  are  not  dead,  but  intend, 
if  it  pleases  Providence,  to  live  for  many  years  to 
come ; — to  enjoy  life  with  the  pfenuine  relish  of  honest 
souls ;  careless  of  riches,  hotiours,  and  every  thing 
but  a  good  name,  among  good  fellows ;  and  with  the 
full  expectation  of  shuffiing  off  the  remnant  of  exist- 
ence, alter  the  excellent  fashion  of  that  merry  Greciao 
who  died  laughing. 


TO  THE  LADIES. 
BY  ANTHONY  EVERGREEN,  GENT. 


Next  to  our  being  a  knot  of  independent  old 
bachelors,  there  is  nothing  on  which  we  pride  our- 
selves more  highly  than  upon  possessing  that  true 
chivalric  spirit  of  gallantry,  which  distinguished  the 
days  of  king  Arthur,  and  his  valiant  knights  of  the 
Round-table.  We  cannot,  therefore,  leave  the  lists 
where  we  have  so  long  been  tilting  at  folly,  without 
giving  a  farewell  salutation  to  those  noble  dames  and 
beauteous  damsels  who  have  honoured  us  with  their 
presence  at  the  tourney.  Like  true  knights,  the  only 
recompense  we  crave  is  the  smile  of  beauty,  and  the 
approbation  of  those  gentle  fair  ones,  whose  smile 
and  whose  approbation  far  excels  all  the  trophies  of 
honour,  and  all  the  rewards  of  successful  ambition. 
True  it  is,  that  we  have  suffered  infinite  perils  in 
standing  forth  as  their  champions,  from  the  sly 
attacks  of  sundry  arch  caitiffs,  who,  in  the  overflow- 
ings of  their  malignity,  have  even  accused  us  of  en- 
tering the  lists  as  defenders  of  the  very  foibles  and 
faults  of  the  sex. — Would  that  we  could  meet  with 
these  recreants  hand  to  hand ; — tliey  should  receive 
no  more  quarter  than  giants  and  enchanters  in  ro- 
mance. 

Had  we  a  spark  of  vanity  in  our  natures,  here  is 
a  glorious  occasion  to  show  our  skill  in  refuting  these 
illiberal  insinuations  ; — but  there  is  something  manly, 
and  ingenuous,  in  making  an  honest  confession  of 
one's  ofTences  when  about  retiring  from  tlie  world ; 
— and  so,  without  any  more  ado,  we  doff  our  hel- 
mets and  thus  publicly  plead  guilty  to  the  deadly  sin 
of  GOOD  NATURE ;  hoping  and  expecting  forgive- 
ness from  our  good-natured  readers, — yet  careless 
whether  they  bestow  it  or  not.  And  in  this  we  do 
but  imitate  sundry  condemned  criminals,  who,  find 


620. 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


(ng  themselves  convicted  of  a  capital  crime,  with 

Evsit  openness  and  candour  do  generally  in  their 
St  dying  speech  make  a  confession  of  all  their  pre- 
vtous  offences,  which  confession  is  always  read  with 
gieat  delight  by  all  true  lovers  of  biog^raphy. 

Still,  however,  nothwithstanding  our  notorious  de- 
vutisn  to  the  g^entle  sex,  and  our  indulgent  partiality, 
we  have  endeavoured,  on  divers  occasions,  with  all 
the  polite  and  becoming  delicacy  of  true  respect,  to 
racUm)  them  from  many  of  those  delusive  follies  and 
{DiscetTily  peccadilloes  in  which  they  are  unhappily 
too  prone  to  indulge.  We  have  warned  them  agamst 
the  sad  consec^uences  of  encountering  our  midnight 
damps  and  withering  wintry  blasts ; — we  have  en- 
deavoured, with  pious  hand,  to  snatch  them  from  the 
wildering  mazes  of  the  waltz,  and  thus  rescuing  them 
from  the  arms  of  strangers,  to  restore  them  to  the 
bosoms  of  their  friends ;  to  preserve  them  from  the 
nakedness,  the  famine,  the  cobweb  muslins,  the  vin- 
egar cruet,  the  corset,  the  stay-tape,  the  buckram, 
and  all  the  other  miseries  and  racks  of  a  fine  figure. 
But,  above  all,  we  have  endeavoured  to  lure  themfrom 
the  mazes  of  a  dissipated  world,  where  they  wander 
about,  careless  of  tneir  value,  until  they  lose  their 
original  worth ; — and  to  restore  them,  before  it  is  too 
late,  to  the  sacred  asylum  of  home,  the  soil  most  con- 
genial to  the  opening  blossom  of  female  loveliness ; 
where  it  blooms  and  expands  in  safety,  in  the  foster- 
ing sunshine  of  maternal  affection,  and  where  its 
heavenly  sweets  are  best  known  and  appreciated. 

Modem  philosophers  may  determine  the  proper 
destination  of  the  sex ; — they  may  assign  to  them  an 
extensive  and  brilliant  orbit,  in  which  to  revolve,  to 
the  delight  of  the  million  and  the  confusion  of  man's 
•uperior  intellect ;  but  when  on  this  subject  we  dis- 
claim philosophy,  and  appeal  to  the  higher  tribunal 
of  the  neart ; — and  what  neart  that  had  not  lost  its 
better  feelings,  would  ever  seek  to  repose  its  hap- 
piness on  the  bosom  of  one  whose  pleasures  all  lay 
without  the  threshold  of  home ; — who  snatched  en- 
joyment only  in  the  whirlpool  of  dissipation,  and 
amid  the  thoughtless  and  evanescent  gayety  of  a  ball- 
room. The  fair  one  who  is  for  ever  in  the  career  of 
amusement,  may  for  a  while  dazzle,  astonish,  and 
entertain ;  but  we  are  content  with  coldly  admiring; 
and  fondly  turn  from  glitter  and  noise,  to  seek  the 
happy  fire-side  of  social  life,  there  to  confide  our 
dearest  and  best  affections. 

Yet  some  there  are,  and  we  delight  to  mention 
them,  who  mingle  freely  with  the  world,  unsullied 
by  its  contalhinations ;  whose  brilliant  minds,  like 
the  stars  of  the  firmament,  are  destined  to  shed  their 
light  abroad  and  gladden  every  beholder  with  their 
radiance ; — to  withhold  them  from  the  world,  would 
be  doing  it  injustice ; — they  are  inestimable  gems, 
which  were  never  formed  to  be  shut  up  in  caskets  ; 
but  to  be  the  pride  and  ornament  of  elegant  society. 

We  have  endeavoured  always  to  discriminate  be- 
tween a  female  of  this  superior  order,  and  the 
thoughtless  votary  of  pleasure ;  who,  destitute  of  intel- 
lectiuil  resources,  is  servilely  dependent  on  others 
for  every  little  pittance  of  enjoyment ;  who  exhibits 
herself  incessantly  amid  the  noise,  the  giddy  frolic, 
and  capricious  variety  of  fashionable  assemblages; 
dissipating  her  languid  affections  on  a  crowd  ;  layish- 
!jig  her  ready  smiles  with  indiscriminate  prodigality 
ta  the  worthy,  or  the  undeserving ;  and  listening,  with 
fqual  vacancy  of  mind,  to  the  conversation  of  the 
enlightened,  the  frivolity  of  the  coxcomb,  and  the 
flourish  of  the  fiddle-stick. 

There  is  a  certain  artificial  polish, — a  common- 
place vivacity  acquired  by  perpetually  mingling  in  the 
ieau  monde ;  which,  in  the  commerce  of  the  world, 
supplies  the  place  of  natural  suavity  of  good  humour : 
but  is  purchased  at  the  expense  of  all  original  and 


steriing  traits  ol  character.  By  a  kin;  tf  faihlooabk 
discipline,  the  eye  is  taught  to  brigh  en.  the  Up  to 
smile,  and  the  whole  countenance  to  emanate  with 
the  semblance  of  friendly  welcome,  while  the  bosom 
is  unwarmed  by  a  single  spa^k  of  genuine  kindness 
or  good-will. — This  elegant  simulation  may  be  ad- 
mired by  the  connoisseur  of  human  character,  as  a 
perfection  of  art ;  but  the  heart  is  not  to  be  deceived 
by  the  superficial  illusion :  it  turns  with  delight  to 
the  timid  retiring  fair  one,  whose  smile  is  the  smile 
of  nature ;  whose  blush  is  the  sof^  suffusion  of  delicate 
sensibility ;  and  whose  affections,  unblighted  by  the 
chilling  effects  of  dissipation,  glo-v  with  all  the  ten- 
derness and  purity  of  artless  youth .  Hers  is  a  single- 
ness of  mind,  a  native  innocence  of  manners,  and  a 
sweet  timidity,  that  steal  insensibly  upon  the  heart, 
and  lead  it  a  willing  captive ; — though  venturing  oc- 
casionalhr  among  the  fairy  haunts  of  pleasure,  she 
shrinks  from  the  broad  glare  of  notoriety,  and  seems 
to  seek  refuge  among  her  friends,  even  from  the  ad- 
miration of  the  world. 

These  observations  bring  to  mind  a  little  allegory 
in  one  of  the  manuscripts  of  the  sage  Mustapha* 
which,  being  in  some  measure  applicable  to  the  sub 
ject  of  this  essay,  we  transcribe  for  the  benefit  of  out 
fair  readers. 

Among  the  numerous  race  of  the  Bedouins,  who 
people  the  vast  tracts  of  Arabia  Deserta,  is  a 
small  tribe,  remarkable  for  their  habits  of  solitude 
and  love  of  independence.  They  are  of  a  rambling 
disposition,  roving  from  waste  to  waste,  slaking  their 
thirst  at  such  scanty  pools  as  are  found  in  those 
cheerless  plains,  and  glory  in  the  unenvied  liberty 
they  enjoy.  A  youthful  Arab  of  this  tribe,  a  simple 
son  of  nature,  at  length  growing  weary  of  his  pre> 
carious  and  unsettled  mode  of  life,  determined  to  r,et 
out  in  search  of  some  pennanent  abode.  "  I  will 
seek,"  said  he,  "  some  happy  region,  some  generous 
clime,  where  the  dews  of  neaven  diffuse  fertility ; — I 
will  find  out  some  unfailing  stream ;  and,  forsaking 
the  joyless  life  of  my  forefathers,  settle  on  its  borders, 
dispose  my  mind  to  gentle  pleasures  and  tranquil  en- 
joyments, and  never  wander  more." 

Enchanted  with  this  picture  of  pastoral  felicity,  he 
departed  from  the  tents  of  his  companions ;  and  hav- 
ing journeyed  during  five  days,  on  the  sixth,  as  the 
sun  was  just  rising  in  all  the  splendours  of  the  east, 
he  lifted  up  his  eyes  and  beheld  extended  before  him 
in  smiling  luxuriance,  the  fertile  regions  of  Arabia 
the  Happy.  Gently  swelling  hills,  tufted  with  bloom- 
groves,  swept  down  into  luxuriant  vales,  enamel- 


mi 


led  with  flowers  of  never-withering  beauty.  The 
sun,  no  longer  darting  his  rays  with  torrid  fervour, 
beamed  with  a  genial  warmth  that  gladdened  and 
enriched  the  landscape.  A  pure  and  temperate 
serenity,  an  air  of  voluptuous  repose,  a  smile  of  con- 
tented abundance,  pervaded  the  face  of  nature ;  and 
every  zephyr  breathed  a  thousand  delicious  odours. 
The  soul  of  the  youthful  wanderer  expanded  with 
delight ;— he  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  almost 
mingled  with  his  tribute  of  gratitude  a  sigh  of  r^^ 
that  he  had  lingered  so  long  amid  the  sterile  soli< 
tudes  of  the  desert. 

With  fond  impatience  he  hastened  to  make  choice 
of  a  stream  where  he  might  fix  his  habitation,  and 
taste  the  promised  sweets  of  this  land  of  delight 
But  here  commenced  an  unforeseen  perplexity;  for, 
though  he  beheld  innumerable  streams  on  every  side, 
yet  not  one  could  he  find  which  completely  answered 
his  high-raised  expectations.  One  abounded  with 
wild  and  picturesque  beauty,  but  it  was  capricious 
and  unsteady  in  its  course ;  sometimes  dashing  its 
angry  billows  against  the  rocks,  and  often  raging 
and  overflowing  its  banks.  Another  flowed  smoothly 
along,  without  even  a  ripple  or  a  murmur '  but  its 


botto 

slu 

watsi 

and 

tinkll 

had; 

whild 

pung 


■I  jiliiWiii'^ti 


SALMAGUNDI. 


621 


to  brigh  en.  the  lip  to 
«nce  to  emanate  with 
:ome,  while  the  bosom 
^  of  genuine  kindneu 
iimulation  may  be  ad- 
luman  character,  as  a 
t  is  not  to  be  deceived 
turns  with  delight  to 
ose  smile  is  the  smile 
>ft  suffusion  of  delicate 
ns,  unblighted  by  the 
:lo'v  with  all  the  ten- 
ith.    Hers  is  a  single- 
ce  of  manners,  and  a 
sibly  upon  the  heart, 
though  venturing  oc- 
ants  of  pleasure,  she 
notoriety,  and  seems 
is,  even  from  the  ad- 
mind  a  little  allegory 
the  sage  Mustapha'* 
ipplicable  to  the  sub 
for  the  benefit  of  out 

f  the  Bedouins,  who 
rabia  Deserta,  is  a 
ir  habits  of  solitude 
■y  are  of  a  rambling 
waste,  slalcing  their 
are  found  in  those 
he  unenvied  liberty 
this  tribe,  a  simple 
!f  weary  of  his  pre- 
e,  determined  to  t^el 
:nt  abode.    "  I  wiD 
ion,  some  generous 
diffuse  fertility ;— I 
am ;  and,  forsaking 
ettle  on  its  borders, 
-es  and  tranquil  en- 
e." 

pastoral  felicity,  he 
ipanions ;  and  hav- 
>n  the  sixth,  as  the 
fidours  of  the  east, 
tended  before  him 
regions  of  Arabia 
tufted  with  bloom- 
iant  vales,  enamel- 
ing b'-auty.    The 
fith  torrid  fervour, 
at  gladdened  and 
B  and    temperate 
«,  a  smile  of  con- 
:e  of  nature ;  and 
delicious  odours, 
■r  expanded  with 
aven,  and  almost 
e  a  sigh  of  regret 
d  the  sterile  soli- 

d  to  make  choice 
s  habitation,  and 

land  of  delight. 
I  perplexity;  for, 
ms  on  every  side, 
pletely  answered 

abounded  with 
t  was  capricious 
mes  dashing  ks 
nd  often  raging 
flowed  smoothly 
nurmur-  but  its 


bottom  was  soft  and  muddy,  and  its  current  dull  and 
•lugfiah.  A  thiid  was  pure  and  transparent,  but  its 
waters  were  of  a  chilling  coldness,  and  it  had  rocks 
and  flints  in  its  bosom.  A  fourth  was  dulcet  in  its 
tinklings,  and  graceful  in  its  meanderings ;  but  it 


had  a  cloying  sweetness  that  palled  upon  the  taste ; 
while  a  nfth  possessed  a  sparkline  vivacity,  and  a 
pungency  of  flavour,  that  deterred  the  wanderer  from 


rq)eating  his  draught, 

The  youthful  Bedouin  began  to  weary  with  fruit- 
ktt  trials  and  repeated  disappointments,  when  his 
attention  was  suddenly  attracted  by  a  lively  brook, 
whose  dancing  waves  glittered  in  the  sunbeams,  and 
whose  prattling  current  communicated  an  air  of  be- 
witching gayety  to  the  surrounding  landscape.  The 
heart  oftne  wayworn  traveller  beat  with  expectation ; 
but  on  regarding  it  attentivclv  in  its  course,  he  found 
that  it  constantly  avoided  tne  embowering  shade; 
k>itering  with  equal  fondness,  whether  gliding  through 
the  rich  valley,  or  over  the  barren  sand ; — that  the 
fragrant  flower,  the  fruitful  shrub,  and  worthless 
bramble  were  alike  fostered  by  its  waves,  and  that 
its  current  was  often  interrupted  by  unprofitable 
weeds.  With  idle  ambition  it  expanded  itself  be- 
yond its  proper  bounds,  and  spread  into  a  shallow 
waste  of  water,  destitute  of  beauty  or  utility,  and 
babbling  along  with  uninteresting  vivacity  and  vapid 
turbulence. 

The  wandering  son  of  the  desert  turned  away  with 
a  sigh  of  regret,  and  pitied  a  stream  which,  if  con- 
tent within  Its  natural  limits,  might  have  been  the 
pride  of  the  valley,  and  the  object  of  all  his  wishes. 
Pensive,  musine,  and  disappointed,  he  slowly  pur- 
sued his  now  almost  hopeless  pilgrimage,  and  had 
rambled  for  some  time  along  the  margin  of  a  gentle 
rivulet,  before  he  became  sensible  of  its  beauties.  It 
was  a  simple. pastoral  stream,  which,  shunning  the 
voonday  glare,  pursued  its  unobtrusive  course  through 
retired  and  tranquil  vales ; — now  dimpling  among 
flowery  banks  and  tufted  shrubbery;  now  winding 
among  spicy  groves,  whose  aromatic  foliage  fondly 
bent  down  to  meet  the  limpid  wave.  Sometimes, 
but  not  often,  it  would  venture  from  its  covert  to 
stray  through  a  flowery  meadow ;  but  quickly,  as  if 
fearful  of  being  seen,  stole  back  again  into  its  more 
congenial  shade,  and  there  lingered  with  sweet  delay. 
Wherever  it  bent  its  course,  the  face  of  nature  bright- 
ened into  smiles,  and  a  perennial  spring  reigned  up- 
on its  borders. — The  warblers  of  the  woodland  de- 
lighted to  quit  their  recesses  and  carol  among  its 
bowers :  while  the  turtle-dove,  the  timid  fawn,  the 
soft-eyed  gazelle,  and  all  the  rural  populace,  who  joy 
in  the  sequestered  haunts  of  nature,  resorted  to  its 
ncinity. — Its  pure,  transparent  waters  rolled  over 
snow-white  sands,  and  heaven  itself  was  reflected  in 
its  tranquil  bosom. 

The  simple  Arab  threw  himself  upon  its  verdant 
margin ;— -he  tasted  the  silver  tide,  and  it  was  like 
nectar  to  his  lips ; — he  bounded  with  transport,  for 
he  had  found  the  object  of  his  wayfaring.  "  Here," 
cried  his,  "  will  I  pitch  my  tent : — here  will  I  pass  my 
days ;  for  pure,  on,  fair  scream,  is  thy  gentle  current ; 
beauteous  are  thy  borders ;  and  the  grove  must  be  a 
ftaradise  that  is  refreshed  by  thy  meanderings  I  " 


Pendtmt  oferm  imterrupta. 
The  work's  all  aback. 


-Virg. 
—Link.  Fid. 


"  How  hard  it  is,"  exclaims  the  divine  Con-futs6, 
better  known  among  the  illiterate  by  the  name  of 
Cojifucius,  "  for  a  man  to  bite  off  his  own  nose  I  " 
At  this  moment  I,  William  Wizard,  Esq.,  feel  the 


full  force  of  this  remark,  and  cannot  but  give  vent  ta 
my  tribulation  at  being  obliged,  through  the  whim 
of'^  friend  Langstaff,  to  stop  short  in  my  literarj 
career,  when  at  the  very  point  of  astonishing  my 
country,  and  reaping  the  brightest  laurels  of  hter.v 
ture.  We  daily  near  of  shipwrecks,  of  failures  and 
bankruptcies ;  they  are  trifline  mishaps  which,  (Vom 
their  frequency,  exc.te  but  little  astonishment  or 
sympathy ;  but  it  is  not  often  that  we  heat  of  a  man'i 
letting  immortality  slip  through  his  fingers ;  and  when 
he  does  meet  with  such  a  misfortune,  who  would 
deny  him  the  comfort  of  bewailing  his  calamity  ? 

Next  tc  embargo,  laid  upon  our  commerce,  the 
greatest  public  annoyance  is  the  embargo  laid  upon 
our  work ;  in  consequence  of  which  the  produce  ol 
my  wits,  like  that  of  my  country,  must  remain  at 
home ;  and  my  ideas,  like  so  many  merchantmen  in 
port,  or  redoubtable  frigates  in  the  Potomac,  moulder 
away  in  the  mud  of  my  own  brain.  I  know  of  few 
things  in  this  world  more  annoying  than  to  be  inter- 
rupted in  the  middle  of  a  favourite  story,  at  the  most 
interesting  part,  where  one  expects  to  shine ;  or  to 
have  a  conversation  broken  off  just  when  you  aie 
about  coming  out  with  a  score  of  excellent  jokes, 
not  one  of  which  but  was  eood  enough  to  make 
every  fine  figure  in  corsets  nterally  split  her  sides 
with  laughter.  In  some  such  predicament  am  I 
placed  at  present ;  and  I  do  protest  to  you,  my  good- 
looking  and  well-beloved  readers,  by  the  chop-sticks 
of  the  immortal  Josh,  I  was  on  tne  very  brink  of 
treating  you  with  a  full  broadside  of  the  most  in- 
genious and  instructive  essays  that  your  precious 
noddles  were  ever  bothered  with. 

In  the  first  place,  I  had,  with  infinite  labour  and 
pains,  and  by  consulting  the  divine  Plato,  Sanco- 
niathon,  Apollonius,  Rhodius,  Sir  John  Harrington, 
Noah  Webster,  Linkum  Fidelius,  and  others,  fully 
refuted  all  those  wild  theories  respecting  the  first 
settlement  of  our  venerable  country ;  and  proved, 
beyond  contradiction,  that  America,  so  far  from  be- 
ing, as  the  writers  of  upstart  Europe  denominate  it, 
the  new  world,  is  at  least  as  old  as  any  country  in 
existence,  not  excepting  Egypt,  China,  or  even  the 
land  of  the  Assiniboils ;  which,  according  to  the  tra- 
ditions of  that  ancient  people,  has  already  assisted  at 
the  funerals  of  thirteen  suns  and  four  hundred  ana 
seventy  thousand  moons ! 

I  had  likewise  written  a  long  dissertation  on  cer- 
tain hieroglyphics  discovered  on  these  fragments  of 
the  moon,  which  have  lately  fallen,  with  singular 
propriety,  in  a  neighbouring  state ; — and  have  thrown 
considerable  light  on  he  state  of  literature  and  the 
arts  in  that  planet ;  -  .'liowing  that  the  universal  lan- 
guage which  prevaii.,  I'^jre  is  High  Dutch;  thereby 
proving  it  to  be  the  mc. .  ancient  and  original  tong^ue, 
and  corroborating  the  opinion  of  a  celebrated  poet, 
that  it  is  the  language  in  which  the  serpent  tempted 
our  grandmother  Eve. 

To  support  the  theatric  department,  I  had  several 
very  judicious  critiques,  ready  written,  wherein  no 
quarter  was  shown  either  to  authors  or  actors ;  and 
1  was  only  waiting  to  determine  at  what  plays  or 
performances  they  should  be  levelled.  As  to  the 
grand  spectacle  of  Cinderella,  which  is  to  be  repre- 
sented tnis  season,  I  had  given  it  a  most  unmerciful 
handling :  showing  that  it  was  neither  tragedy,  com- 
edy, nor  farce ;  that  the  incidents  were  highly  im- 
probable, that  the  prince  played  like  a  perfect  harle- 
quin, that  the  white  mice  were  merely  powdered  for 
tne  occasion,  and  that  the  new  moon  had  a  most 
outrageous  copper  nose. 

But  my  most  profound  and  erudite  essay  in  em- 
bryo is  an  analytical,  hypercritical  review  of  these 
Salmagundi  lucubrations ;  which  I  had  written  part- 
Iv  in  revenge  for  the  many  waggish  jokes  played  ofl 


;¥ 


623 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


■gainit  me  by  my  conrederates,  and  partly  for  the 
punwse  of  saving  much  invaluable  labour  to  the 
Zoiluses  and  Dennises  of  the  age,  by  detecting  and 
exposing  all  the  similarities,  resemblances,  synony- 
mies, analogies,  coincidences,  &c.,  which  occur  m 
this  work. 

I  hold  it  downright  plagiarism  ior  any  author  to 
write,  or  even  to  think,  in  the  same  manner  with  any 
uther  writer  that  either  did,  doth,  or  may  exist.  It 
I*  a  sage  maxim  of  law — "  Ij^norantia  nemintm 
tJtciuat  — and  the  same  has  been  extended  to  litcr- 
Htore :  so  that  if  an  author  shall  publish  an  idea  that 
lias  been  ever  hinted  by  another,  it  shall  be  no  ex- 
cul(>ation  for  him  to  plead  iznorance  of  the  fact. 
All,  therefore,  that  I  had  to  do  was  to  take  a  good 
pair  of  spectacles,  or  a  magnifying  glass,  and  with 
.Salmagundi  in  hand,  and  a  table  full  of  books  before 
me,  to  mouse  over  them  alternately,  in  a  corner  of 
Cockloft  library :  carefully  comparing  and  contrasting 
all  odd  ends  and  fragments  of  sentences.  Little  diu 
honest  Launce  suspect,  when  he  sat  lounging  and 
scribbling  in  his  elbow-chair,  with  no  other  stock  to 
draw  upon  than  his  own  brain,  and  no  other  Author- 
ity to  consult  than  the  sage  Linkum  Fidelius ! — little 
did  he  think  that  his  careless,  unstudied  effusions 
wo-jld  receive  such  scrupulous  investigation. 

By  laborious  researches,  and  patiently'^  collating 
words,  where  sentences  and  ideas  did  not  correspond, 
I  have  detected  sundry  sly  disguises  and  metamor- 
phoses of  which,  I'll  be  bound,  LangstafT  himself  is 
Ignorant.  Thus,  for  instance — The  little  man  in 
black  is  evidently  no  less  a  personage  than  old 
Goody  Blake,  or  goody  something,  filched  from  the 
Spectator,  who  confessedly  filched  her  from  Otway's 
"  wrinkled  hag  with  age  grown  double."  My  friend 
Launce  has  taken  the  honest  old  woman,  dressed 
her  up  in  the  cast-ofT  suit  worn  bv  Twaits,  in  Lam- 
pedo,  and  endeavoured  to  palm  tne  imposture  upon 
the  enlightened  inhabitants  of  Gotham.  No  further 
proof  of  the  fact  need  be  given,  than  that  Goody 
Blake  was  taken  for  a  witch ;  and  the  little  man  in 
black  for  a  conjuror ;  and  that  they  both  lived  in  vil- 
lages, the  inhabitants  of  which  were  distinguished 
by  a  most  respectful  abhorrence  of  hobgoblins  »nd 
broomsticks; — to  be  sure  the  astonishing  similar!  y 
ends  here,  but  surely  that  is  enough  to  prove  that 
the  little  man  in  black  is  no  other  than  Goody  Blake 
in  the  disguise  of  a  white  witch. 

Thus,  also,  the  sage  Mustapha,  in  mistaking  a 
brag  party  for  a  convention  of  magi  studying  hiero- 
glyphics, may  pretend  to  originality  of  idea,  and  to  a 
familiar  acquaintance  with  the  black-letter  literati 
of  the  east ; — but  this  Tripolitan  trick  will  not  pass 
here ; — I  refer  those  who  wish  to  detect  his  larceny 
to  one  of  those  wholesale  jumbles  or  hodge  podge 
collections  of  science,  which,  like  a  tailor's  pande- 
monium, or  a  giblet-pye,  are  receptacles  for  scien- 
tific fragments  of  all  sorts  and  sizes. — The  reader, 
learned  in  dictionary  studies,  will  at  once  perceive  I 
mean  an  encyclopaedia.  There,  under  the  title  of 
magi,  £gypt,  cards,  or  hieroglyphics,  I  forget  which, 
will  be  discovered  an  idea  similar  to  that  of  Mus- 
tapha, as  snugly  concealed  as  truth  at  the  bottom  of 
a  well,  or  the  mistletoe  amid  the  shady  branches  of 
an  oak : — and  it  may  at  any  time  be  drawn  from  its 
Surking  place,  by  those  hewers  of  wood  and  drawers 
»f  water,  who  labour  in  humbler  walks  of  criticism. 
This  is  assuredly  a  most  unpardonable  error  of  the 


sage  Mustapha,  who  had  been  the  captain  of  a  ketch 
and,  of  course,  as  your  nautical  men  are  for  the  moil 
part  very  learned,  ought  to  have  known  better. — 
But  this  is  not  the  only  blunder  of  the  grave  Mussul 
man,  who  swears  by  the  head  of  Amrou,  the  beard 
of  Barbarossa,  and  the  sword  of  Khalid,  as  glibly  as 
our  good  Christian  soldiers  anathematize  lx>dy  and 
soul,  or  a  sailor  his  eyes  and  odd  limbs.  Now  I 
solemnly  pledge  myself  to  the  « arid,  that  in  all  my 
travels  througn  the  east,  in  Persia,  Arabia,  China 
and  Egypt,  I  never  heard  man,  woman,  or  child 
utter  an]f  of  those  pre|)osterous  and  new-fangled 
asseverations;  and  tnat,  so  far  from  swearing  by 
any  man's  head,  it  is  r -insidered,  throughout  the 
east,  the  greatest  insult  that  can  be  ofTereuto  either 
the  iivmg  or  dead  to  meddle  in  any  shape  even  with 
his  beard.  These  are  but  two  or  three  specimens 
of  the  exposures  I  woi'ld  have  made ;  but  I  should 
have  descended  still  lo  ver ;  nor  would  have  spared 
the  most  insignificant ;  and,  or  but,  or  nevertheless, 
provided  I  could  have  found  a  ditto  in  the  Spectator 
or  the  dictionary ;— but  all  these  minutiae  I  bequeath 
to  the  Lilliputian  literati  of  this  s.-tgacious  commu- 
nity, who  are  fond  of  hunting  "  such  small  deer," 
and  I  earnestly  pray  they  may  find  full  employment 
for  a  twelve-month  to  come. 

But  the  most  outrageous  plagiarisms  of  friend 
Launcelot  are  those  made  on  sundry  living  per- 
sonages. Thus:  Tom  Straddle  has  been  evidently 
stolen  from  a  distinguished  Brummagem  emigrant, 
since  they  both  ride  on  horseback; — Dabble,  the 
little  great  man,  has  his  origin  in  a  ceriain  aspiring 
counsellor,  who  is  rising  in  the  world  as  rapidly  as 
the  heaviness  of  his  head  will  permit ;  mine  uncle 
John  will  bear  a  tolerable  comparison,  particularly 
as  it  respects  the  sterling  qualities  of  his  heart,  witn 
a  worthy  yeoman  of  Westchester  county ; — and  lo 
deck  out  Aunt  Charity,  and  the  amiable  Miss  Cock* 
lofts,  he  has  rifled  the  charms  of  half  ths  ancient 
vestals  in  the  city.  Nay  he  has  taken  unpardonable 
liberties  with  my  own  person  1 — elevating  me  on  the 
substantial  pedestals  of  a  worthy  gentleman  from 
China,  and  tricking  me  out  with  claret  coats,  tight 
breeches,  and  silver-sprigged  dickeys,  in  such  sort 
that  I  can  scarcely  recognize  my  own  resemblance  ; 
— whereas  I  absolutely  declare  that  I  am  an  exceed- 
ing good-looking  man,  neither  too  tall  nor  too  short, 
too  old  nor  too  young,  with  a  person  indifferently 
robust,  a  head  rather  inclining  to  be  large,  an  easy 
swing  in  my  walk ;  and  that  I  wear  my  own  hair, 
neither  queued,  nor  cropped,  nor  turned  up,  but  in  a 
fair,  pendulous,  oscillating  club,  tied  with  a  yard  of 
nine-penny  black  riband. 

And  now  having  said  all  that  occurs  to  me  on 
the  present  pathetic  occasion, — having  made  my 
speech,  wrote  my  eulogy,  and  drawn  my  portrait,  I 
bid  my  readers  an  amctionate  farewell ;  exhorting 
them  to  live  honestly  and  soberly ; — paying  their 
taxes,  and  reverencing  the  state,  the  church,  and 
the  corporation; — reading  diligently  the  Bible  and 
almanac,  the  newspaper,  and  Salmagundi; — which 
is  all  the  reading  an  honest  citizen  has  occasion  for 
— and  eschewing  all  spirit  of  faction,  discontent 
irreligion,  and  criticism. 

Which  is  all  at  present 

From  their  departed  friend, 
William  Wiiamd. 


cen  the  captain  of  a  ketch 
itical  men  are  for  the  moM 
to  have  known  better.— 
meter  of  the  grave  Muuul 
lead  of  Amrou,  the  beard 
3rd  of  Khalid,  as  glibly  ai 
'S  anathematize  Ixidy  and 
and  odd  limbs.  Now  I 
the  world,  that  in  all  my 
in  Persia,  Arabia,  China 
d  man,  woman,  or  child 
sterous  and  new-fangled 
so  far  from  swearing  by 
nsidered,  throughout  the 
It  can  be  olTered  to  either 
le  in  any  shape  even  with 
two  or  three  specimens 
have  made ;  but  I  should 
;  nor  would  have  spared 
d,  or  but,  or  nevertheless, 
id  a  ditto  in  the  Spectator 
these  minutise  I  bequeath 
)f  this  sagacious  comtnu« 
iTting  "  such  small  deer," 
nay  find  full  employment 

us  plagiarisms  of  friend 
5  on  sundry  living  per- 
addle  has  been  evidently 
I  Brummagem  emigrant, 
liorseback ;— Dabble,  the 
gin  in  a  certain  aspiring 
I  the  world  as  rapidly  as 
will  permit;  mine  uncle 

comparison,  particularly 
lalities  of  his  heart,  witn 
Chester  county; — and  to 

the  amiable  Miss  Cock- 
rms  of  half  the  ancient 

has  taken  <iripardonable 
»n  I— elevating  me  on  the 
wortJ.y  gentleman  from 
l  with  claret  coats,  tight 
id  dickeys,  in  such  sort 
e  my  own  resemblance ; 
ire  that  I  am  an  exceed- 
er  too  tall  nor  too  short, 
h  a  person  indilTerently 
ling  to  be  large,  an  easy 
U  I  wear  my  own  hair, 
.  nor  turned  up,  but  in  a 
lub,  tied  with  a  yard  of 

I  that  occurs  to  me  on 

ion, — having  made  my 

id  drawn  my  portrait,  1 

late  farewell;  exhorting 

soberly ;— paying  their 

state,  the  church,  and 

liligently  the  Bible  and 

id  Salmagundi ;— which 

:itizen  has  occasion  for 

of  faction,  discontent  ' 


present 

eir  departed  friend, 

William  Wicako. 


